Hello readers! Fun fact: when a character in a film
interacts with the audience - it is said to be breaking some third or fourth
wall. Like Genie from Aladdin or Deadpool.
But what if a character in a story - that is I , who is also
the writer of the story - which is this, interacts with the readers. That's not
breaking any wall. That's usual. Characters in stories often narrate the
stories to readers.
Why this difference in discernment? While I was in the middle of forming this conjecture, I was
interrupted:
"Khatam kar yaar
glass, tu kitna slow pita hai! Aur agla gaana main lagaunga."
Next glass of whiskey was poured. And a next chain of
thoughts. Then discussions:
“Kohli naa, sachin ka
baap hai. Statistics dekh lo. Bhogle ne kaha hai: Sachin gave us hope, Kohli
gives us assurance.”
“Saale, tu wohi hai
jisne Sachin ke retirement pe kaha tha tu cricket dekhna chor dega!”
-------------
“Jagjeet ke saath Gajal
bhi mar si gayi hai. No one aspires to be Jagjeet Singh, Sabko bas Honey Singh banna hai.”
“New Gajal singers
will emerge. Naye parindo ko udne mai waqt toh lagta hai.”
-------------
It was one of our weekly rendezvous in the college hostel room
where we lounge, put our livers to work and talk about life: our college affairs
in general and world affairs in particular; or is it the other way round?
It
was recently that we stepped up from beer to stronger intoxicants. It was a
good time.
In those discussions, we disagreed a lot. But agreed when we planned our future, and we made a lot of them: Only a few realistic ones, others
right out of the diary of Mungerilal.
The difference between those who have tabooed alcohol
consumption in our society and those who have not is that when they are drunk,
the former do stupid vicious things and the latter mostly talk about doing stupid things.
One should learn to keep calm and drink in peace.
There are always some plans to plan, some day-dreams to
dream. We talked of everything under the sun but the one topic in which we invested the most was: Girls.
On that particular night, a particular girl was the center
of our talk. She was our classmate in our graduation class and a friend - with whom one of us wanted to be more than a friend. What she wanted was the hot topic after the third glass of
whiskey.
-------------
I wonder sometimes after which glass of whiskey, in general,
is the boozer the best high: happy with good ideas; When his brain conjure up
the best thoughts before getting all wobbly. What is that sweet spot? The vertex
of a vertical transverse axis hyperbola (we were studying mathematics in
graduation).
Three, isn't it?
Three is also the right number of people to sit and get
drunk with.
Two leads to too much sentimentality. Too much bro-mance.
Four is fulsome. Crowded. Might as well call a house
party.
Three is right. It's more than two but not too much. There
are but three musketeers. Even the wise Gandhi talked about three wise monkeys!
Pati patni aur woh, teen deewarein, Teesri kasam, teen
patti: apart from the last one, the first three are great movies.
You got the point, right?
-------------
So the three of us, Saurav, Praveen and I (Don't need to put
a name to my character, as I will be referred to as I, throughout this)
discussed about our classmate Sheha and Saurav's prospects with her.
We were in the third semester of college and as we have
established, three is usually the most productive one, it was in this semester that Saurav decided to act on his feelings for Sneha. They have known each other for more than a year
now. They have been good friends. Like Rachel and Ross of the first season.
We wanted them to be the Rachel and Ross of the second
season.
Saurav was putting up his case with some sound arguments:
"Yaar, we sit together all the time in class. She laughs
at my jokes, sometimes. I should ask her out before she starts dating someone else.”
And some sound anti-arguments too:
"Yaar, a couple of guys have already proposed to her in
the last one year - which I know of. I don’t want to be the third rejection. We
are friends now at least. I can at least sit next to her and borrow pens and
share lunches. If she rejects me, this will all go away."
How would Saurav - in love - vulnerable - would know what's
going on in the head of Sneha. Should he tell her about his feelings for her and risk their friendship, or not?
Should he do it, should he not?? (Two questions, two
question-marks. #fuck_grammer+Heil_Maths).
I know I know, you all have been there. It has been an
evergreen problem, without the right answer. The P versus NP problem of people in love.
But since we just had 3 glasses of whiskey - and arguably were at our
optimal best - we had to find a solution.
So we came up with a workable idea: Write her a song. From
Saurav to Sneha - with love.
An idea which was workable in the pre - ARPANET era.
We pulled up a piece of paper and wrote a piece of poetry. Saurav
provided intentions, the other two of us added rhymes. The song was as juvenile as
the idea of writing it; anything written after three pegs ought to be cheesy. Read here to decide for yourself.
Then we bottom-ed up the fourth glass, after which we planned the
method of delivery. It was bound to go downhill, as everything does after the
fourth.
If you are novice drinker, remember not to do anything of
significance after the fourth drink. Nothing good has ever come out of it. Also,
smoking is injurious to health.
“We should post a letter to her place. Pink letter with the
poem written in it.”
“Achaa, and what if her father receives the letter?”
“Call her and sing the song on phone.”
“Sing her a six paragraph song. On phone. If I had that much
courage, we didn't have to become all Galib in the first place."
After much deliberation we decided on the most cowardly
option of all: Write the song on a piece of paper and drop it inside her notebook
- Hoping that she would go home, open the notebook and read it.
One less drink and we would have known how silly the idea was!
However the next day Saurav followed suit: sneaked the letter in her
notebook during the last class of the day. It was a Friday so she had the whole
weekend to open the notebook and read the song.
Alea iacta est.
-------------
She was a day-scholar, we were hostelers. So we would meet her only on the next Monday with her verdict.
For Praveen and I, the weekend passed as the weekend before that. Not for
Saurav. He was anxious as if his UPSC results were to be announced. If things
were to go as we planned, rather hoped, he would not be spending his upcoming weekends with us.
