About a month ago, on March 8th, the whole world was celebrating International Women’s Day. Everywhere I looked, on TV, in magazines and newspapers, women were smiling back at me. I was going crazy. No man and I really mean it; no man can handle so many women at the same time. And then I wondered, what was the point of having a women’s day? Isn’t every day about women anyway? We men didn’t even have a day dedicated to us until 1999! Wiki says men whined for years till we were finally given a day out of sympathy to call our own. And then, I started to think about what’s so special about women anyway? I mean apart from the taking care and understanding shit, mom, sister, girlfriend, and wife thingy, what was so special that a woman had done in my life except for what would have happened anyway? So I sat down, started working my brain to see where and how a woman had made a difference in my life.
My first girlfriend (puppy love) left me one day saying I stink. I tried to ask her many times what I had done. I later realised she literally meant that I STINK. Well it wasn’t really my fault. Everyone goes through a stage when your feet stink when you take off your shoes and your underarms are stink heaven. She never realised that she lived so far away from my place that I had to jog 6 kilometres to her place to see her. And she left me because I used to stink! I decided that I would never again make a girlfriend who lived more than a few blocks away from my house. After that two things in my life changed: 1. I started collecting perfumes. 2. All the jogging helped my lungs expand and I could smoke more simultaneous cigarettes than anybody else I knew.
Well, that was that and I moved on. High school was fun and like every other guy, I was amused by technology. Carrying a cellphone with an in-built camera at that time was considered the highest level of ‘dudeness’ anyone could reach. Dad wouldn’t let me have one giving me the ‘you are too young’ lecture while mom gave me the ‘MMS scandals’ lecture. The DPS MMS clip had just become popular and parents all over the country were replacing their kids’ high tech cellphones with MMS functionality with the Nokia 1100. I wondered why I had to suffer because some random girl gave a guy head. After a lot of persuasion and explaining that I would never do such a thing (Big Lie!), I ended up getting one of those cheaper models with the VGA cameras. I went over to one of those Airtel outlets to get a number. The salesgirl was really hot and I felt familiar feelings in some specific parts of my body. I tried using a cheesy pick-up line (Now that you know my number, can I have yours?). Oddly enough, it worked and within a week, I was in her bedroom, on her bed, cellphone in hand, getting a head. Having my very own MMS clip felt like I had achieved the impossible. I showed it to all my friends and felt really proud. I soon understood what the phrase “pride goes before a fall” meant. It seems, one of my friends’ somebody’s somebody saw the clip and told somebody who told somebody else who told her father. I still haven’t figured out the exact sequence. She eventually buckled under pressure and told her father that the guy in the clip was me. I decided that I would never buy a cellphone with a camera ever again. Her father eventually told mine and as a result, we left the city, my cellphone was confiscated, and my father told me I had a twisted head. I still don’t know which ‘head’ he meant. Two more things changed in my life after that: 3. I acquired an inferiority complex because my head was twisted, didn't matter which one. 4. I never used a pick-up line again.
After high school, my dad expected me to join IIT and become a great engineer. I had humbler plans and wanted to be a movie star. But I sacrificed being the next Shahrukh Khan for the sake of my father’s happiness hoping he would forgive me for having a twisted head, whichever one he meant. I joined a coaching institute. It was there that I met her. She was preparing for medical exams and we had our mathematics classes together. She told me she was interested in making a documentary on safe sex. I told her it was my favourite topic and we decided to do it together, the documentary, not sex. And so we set out to meet different kinds of doctors. One of them kept playing with the cast replica of a vagina for almost an hour talking about minoras and majoras. Both of us were enjoying the show but for different reasons. Another one gave us the name of twenty different condoms recommended (used?) by doctors. Then there were the nurses who were nice enough to tell us the details of vasectomy and tubectomy. For some reason, I couldn’t sleep for a week and when I did, I kept having dreams about scissors and blocked pipes. It didn't make sense. Anyway, about a month later, we were finally done with the documentary. We decided to watch it at her place as both her parents were doctors and were usually away at work. Halfway through the documentary, I slid my hand into her t-shirt. At first she did her ‘this is not right’ thing that all girls do but soon gave in, like all girls do. Being faithful to the message in the documentary, I had brought one of the recommended condoms with me. We were fifteen minutes into foreplay when I took it out of my wallet. I put it on and was going for the kill when she pushed me away and instead started using a fruit for self-satisfaction. There is no other way to describe it. Any other way would seem too obscene. I had no idea that she was this serious about being safe. I looked down at my man who was by now drooping in sadness, and then at her, eyes closed in delight, and then at the fruit in her hand. I felt incomplete, small. I could’ve handled it if she had told me I was bad in bed, but she hadn’t even tried! When I asked her what was wrong, she said that I had a twisted head. I finally understood which head my dad had meant. Then she said something about a watermelon in her refrigerator but I was too preoccupied with my thoughts. I decided never to screw around with a girl who screws around with a fruit. Anyway, the next day I told her that we shouldn’t have done what we did and I’d rather be friends. She instantly turned psycho. For a week, she came outside my house and threw stones at the window, abused, destroyed my beautifully kept garden, burst crackers. I finally caught her sober one day and asked her what the heck she was doing. “You bastard! You cheater! You dumped me! Three years of a relationship gone to waste!” She screamed, slapped me in front of everyone and went away. Three years? I had hardly known her for a few months. Relationship? We weren’t even officially together! Cheater? She was the one who had cheated on me with a fruit! I was so ashamed I couldn’t even tell my friends what exactly had happened. They still think I really had cheated on her. After that, two more things changed in my life: 1. I never ate a banana again. 2. I always made sure to install shatterproof windows wherever I lived and kept the garden as messy as possible, just in case.
To be continued...
The Lover @ SoulIntoxicated