Live on one leg - Part 2 (Story inside a story)

"The one who laughs the last, just didn't get the joke." Jester of Sodomia

In the city of skyscrapers, my house stood out as a dwarf - a 3 storey, expansive apartment, with a sloping roof and an overgrown garden. Overlooking the garden were house's large gable windows. On its backside, the house was eclipsed by a high rise. Luckily, the house faced east, so I got enough sunshine during day. The evenings, however, started sooner for me than most people. I lived on the third floor, while the other two floors stayed empty.

"For a not so successful writer, you've got quite a fancy place." It was easy to figure out what SS was thinking, even if he hadn't asked it out loud. The question was hanging over his head like a comic balloon, ever since I pointed towards my house at cul-de-sac.
"It has a story," I said, and before he could express his interest or disinterest, like a trained cassette player, I started rolling.

It's an old house, no one's really sure how old, but its record was as old as municipal office itself. Like a battered tin can, it has been passed around a lot. Its last owner was a wealthy Parsi. He spent a fortune to make the house look the way it is now. But when he relocated here, he couldn't manage to live here for a month. The house was haunted, he said. There had been stories floating around about it - some about suicide, some about murder-suicide, and others rape-murder-suicide. Anyway, none of the tenants who stayed in the house since the Parsi left, stayed for long, and the price kept falling. Then I came to find this house.
The broker, saw me from head to toe, and quoted a price, that matched what I had in my pocket. The pig showed me the house and snatched the deposit before I could even get it out of my pockets. Then he ran down the stairs with a speed uncharacteristic for his girth, leaving large footprints on the dusty staircase.
"No refunds," I heard him yell, as he started his car and sped away.
For a moment I thought he had duped me, running with my money, but I had seen his office, and the house keys were dangling in the lock. So if it'd been a joke, it wasn't on me. I walked back to the door, and removed the keys, carefully latching the door behind me. As I turned around, I understood why the pig was in such a hurry to leave. There was a woman hanging from the hook where my fan used to be. Dressed in ragged old maid dress, her skirt was knee length and fraying on edges. Her apron had come undone from around her neck and hung like another pleat about her skirt. Her head was cocked to her right, with neck definitely broken. Had her face not been blue, it would have looked beautiful in afternoon light. I gaped at the corpse in wonder and the cigarette fell out of my mouth.

"Just where the fuck is my fan?" I asked loudly, expecting her to answer. But she just kept looking into oblivion lifelessly.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I trudged to the switch-panel and twisted the regulator knob to 5, as if it would cause the corpse to spin with its arms flailing. Predictably, she stayed still.

I went where she was hanging and tried to unhook her. The corpse was heavy as a tomb and it stank like piss. I sniffed my hands which were wrapped around her hips. Wet and reeking. Hem of her skirt dripping to form a puddle on the floor. I looked at her with a disgust you usually reserve for retarded children. Spit running down her skewed mouth was wetting the thin fibre of her shirt. Her nipple poked out defiantly. Piqued, I twisted her nipple. As if being electrocuted, her body shook in violent spasms. I backed off in surprise, embarrassed that her reaction scared the crap out of me.

"A leaky bitch and a fan thief." I muttered weakly, trying to put a faux brave face.
I found some old newspapers in a cabinet, and used them to cover her piss. Then I splayed her legs and tied a bucket between them. Once leaky bitch was taken care of, I called up the pig.
"No refunds," he squealed even before I could say hello.
"I'll fuck you a new asshole if you don't get me a table fan, a new bucket." I yelled back.
"And I'm not paying this bitch's rent." I added in the same breath.
There was a pause, the pig was trying to absorb what I had thrown at him.
"I'll send you a table fan and a bucket, but the bitch is added furnishing. Keep her or throw her, the rent stays the same."
"O.k." I agreed readily. I sucked at bargaining, so I tended to clinch whatever little victories came my way.
I tried to get rid of her initially, but she kept coming back. Basically I tried to fuck her, and she would fuck me back twice as hard.
"Fuck her?" SS asked me, interrupting my monologue for the first time.
"Not literally of course. I may not look like much, but I too have some standards. A rotting woman is not one of them"

I would try to pester her out of home. A few days after shifting to my new home, I came back drunk one night, chafed for not clinching a book deal. Either my mind imagined it, or the bitch's grin had gotten wider. It seemed that she was sneering at me.
That was the last straw for me. I emptied her piss bucket and tied it in between her legs. Filled it with old newspapers and rags, doused them with lighter fluid and lit the concoction. The corpse burnt, just as you expect the regular human flesh to. No fireworks there. Her ragged clothes fried off, her pubes turned to bristly ashes and fell off, the skin charred to a cooked blotchy grey. I pulled myself a chair and got me another beer to enjoy the show. From a distance though. I was worried that she would swing hard and throw that burning mess on my face.
When the show ended, i pissed a long piss in her bucket and left for sleep.

I slept a contentedly that night, curled up sideways in a foetal position, with a pillow to lean on to. In the morning I woke up with a heavy feeling on my ribs, and wetness in my armpits. Straining my eyes sideways, I saw the corpse sitting astride on my side ribs. Her ever leaking bladder was wetting my T-shirt
"Go away," I said peevishly, but without much authority. In situations like these, the ostrich in me usually takes over. I closed my eyes, thinking that she'll go away if I ignored her. But her weight seemed to be piling up, making it harder for me to breathe.
I open my eyes slowly.
Her impassive expression seemed to suggest that it wasn't her but me who was intruding her space.
"What do you want?" I tried to say these words, but only my lips moved. There was no air in my lungs to lend voice to them.
An ear to ear smile spouted on her face. Her lower jaw gave away, and her lizard tail tongue popped out, tingling my earlobes.
"Don't you have to swing from your noose today," I ask, brushing her dangling tongue away.
"Oooh.... not when the funny man's got a hard-on," she spoke in a maniacal voice that bordered yelling.
"What hard-on?" I asked, shamefully aware that I hadn't gotten a morning wood for the last two years.
"Oh yeah, I forgot that you need to have a cock to get a hard on," she said and yanked my cock so hard that I felt I would puke and shit at the same time.
"Great way to start your day," I coughed out this ill formed sentence.
"What?" she yanked my cock again.
I tried to push her off me, but I might as well have been pushing a wall.
"Go away," I pleaded meekly.
"Does funny man like his toy?" She asked.
I manage a feeble nod.
"Good. Then funny man won't like anything to happen to his favourite toy."
Her grip closes around my junk again. I close my eyes and I hold my breath for another forceful tug. But the next moment, pressure eases and she leaves me, dragging herself to her resting place.

After that, the only interaction we had was me changing her piss bucket or scattering some newspapers on floor when it overflowed. She remained dead for most time. Occasionally she would leave the house too. There was no fixed pattern. Nothing like cycle of the werewolf, or menstrual cycle. Most probably refilling her ghostly groceries. These trips usually lasted about 3 days. These were the days when I could bring hookers to my home. Awe them with my big house, insinuate a generous tip and get them to do things they won't agree to normally, and then kick them out without either tip or auto fare. This remained the only high point in my otherwise pointless life.

"So brace yourself to meet your would be flat-mate." I tell SS, as we step up the stairs leading to my home.
SS shrugs his shoulders and tries to wrap his arms around himself, looking like a sculpture of agony.
"Nothing in this world can let me brace myself pal." he chuckles.
"Well I can't say you didn't try." I say, kicking the door to my home open.

Live on one leg - Part 1 (A not so good madao)

"Don't stop dreaming cause it ain't over..." - Ghost K

I know I have seen that face before. My mind gnawed at me endlessly, trying to remember when and where. Then my feet stop involuntarily before my brain could command them.
In the next instant, I dash back, dash as fast as my limp right foot would permit.
"I thought you were dead." I accuse.
Not even looking at me, he leans back his head and blows smoke in the sky, in face of god.
"I thought so too, but not every wish comes true," SS say, the last part so softly, that it barely registers.
"You bled to death right in front of me, disembowelled, blood dripping down the stairs, one after the other, you shouldn't be alive," my clouded mind struggles to put such a long sentence in words.
"Then you shouldn't be talking to me, go away. Let me be," he says.
"Sorry," I apologize. He just shrugs and keeps on walking.
Without any invitation, I join him.
"So, where are you going?" I ask. No point in ruffling the ghosts he wants to keep to himself.
"Nowhere."
"But I'll know once I reach there," another cryptic reply. Sometimes it irked me, not a single straightforward reply from this guy.
"Come with me then, there's already a ghost living in my house. She may like some company," I offer, knowing if he'd nowhere to go, any place is as good as other.
"Let's go then," he replies, taking off his coat, slinging it over his shoulder as if finding a place had lifted a load off of him.
Still smoking his cigarette, looking somewhere distantly, he asks me "Taking a walk in the noon. Are you out of work or something?" It comes out as, "Aww you oww of wok or sunthin..."
"Right now I am trying my hand at being a writer."
"Published something?"
"Yeah, a book that sold 1002 copies before it got deshelved." I tell with some embarrassment.
"Hmmm..." he looks at me doubtfully.
I look down at my expensive shoes, thinking how to string my pathetic piece of tale.
"I wrote a book called How to kill anything," I tell him after a pause.
Having worked in a publishing house, I knew that books with unqualified titles- titles like, 'how to sell anything', 'how to win friends', 'how to get ahead in life', sell faster than satin panties. So I came up with this book that basically expounded that you can kill anything by bashing it repeatedly with a heavy object. Only I spiced it with spurious historical accounts, and enough words to fill 100 pages.
I even convinced my publishing house to run 5000 copies of the book. They gladly did, and it did sell briskly on bus and train stations. But then a 15 year boy got carried away, battered 7 people in his neighbourhood to death while they slept. When they searched his home, they found 3 different blood stained rocks. He would use different ones on men, women and children. They also found a copy of my book, neatly covered with a cellophane sheet, several sections of texts highlighted.
It was a scandal. If my company hadn't got me a good lawyer, people would have busted my nuts and set me on fire. My company saw an opportunity where people saw disaster. They recalled the cursed book and commissioned me to write a new one. Hoping the negative publicity will trump up book's appeal. Then they'll run 'Limited edition - How to kill anyone, with graphic art at 10 times the price.
"Sounds like an amoral bunch," SS remarks.
"Yeah, the most amoral you'll ever come across. It's great fun working for them." I boast.
"So what are you writing now?"
"Something similar, how to fight anything."
"And what's the big idea now?"
"Don't get hit and hit out as much as possible." I say, trying to keep my face as straight.
He whistles, "That doesn't sound very bright."
"But it will sell, once I repack it into something palatable."
"Good, I don't want to be kicked out soon after I get find a place to live," he quips.
"No one will kick me out that place even if I don't pay any rent," I reassure him
"Why so? Do you fight as well as you write?"
"If I fight as well as I write, I'll be dead before I parry the first punch," I tell, dousing his hopes if he was taking me for a sparring partner.
"And about the house, you'll find out soon."

To be continued......

The hands that strangled God

Straight highways bore me, give me a long and winding road, and just don't allow me to come to the point. - Jester of Sodomia

"As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred"
- Bob Dylan (It's all right ma, I'm only bleeding)

"Bhosdi chod khatkhatana band kar (Cuntfucker stop knocking the door)." I scream on the top of my voice. The fucker still doesn't stop.
"Saale mutthi maar raha hoon, baad mein aaiyo (Asshole, I am jerking off, come later)." I yell again, cursing my luck. For the whole day the door of my hostel room is wide open, and there's hardly anyone coming in. But the moment I close it, it becomes a knock magnet.
"Sahab, aaj dopahar mein hi shuru ho gaye (Sir, started so early today)," a couple of chortling voices enquire from behind the door, and I realize that house keeping has come for cleaning.
It's 12 in the noon. It's not that I am a late riser. Just that those greasy omelettes I had in breakfast made me sleepy. I ended up skipping the classes and found myself lying on the bed. And in confines of my rooms, started scratching my crotch absent-mindedly. One thing led to another, and there I was, making love to my hand.
And the sweepers arrive to spoil that sweet brewing fantasy.
"Bhaiyya baad mein aana (Go away, come later)." I ask them in a loud voice, almost pleadingly.
The sound of their equipment being dragged on floor tells me that they are no longer making fun of me.

Half an hour later, I creep out of bed, still feeling woozy, but too bored to lie down. Carefully, I pick up the cum filled newspaper (I jerk off on newspapers), and step out of my room to place the newspaper on my second floor balcony. My unsuspecting friends used to pick such newspapers for a casual read and when they opened to the inner pages, a pungent semi dried (sometimes still wet) blot greeted them. Never a perfect way to start a day. Now they touched every piece of paper in or outside my room with good deal of distrust. A disgruntled friend, after being fooled more than once wrote "Muttheria (serial jerker)" on my door. I could never get it off and this put stop to my dreams of inviting a lady friend to my room. Not that there were many dying to be invited.

Just outside my room is a corridor, then a balcony overlooking a sizeable expanse of trees before other hostel buildings sprout out. This corridor is shared by a strip of 7 rooms - Room # 301 to Room # 307, all occupied by friends who had been good for nothing in their previous lives. Now we were about to graduate to good for nothings with MBAs. Not entirely good for nothing though, each of us had atleast one redeeming quality that none of the others had, causing us to close ranks. Sage was street smart, Sethji's legendary laziness made us feel like Olympic athletes, S was a great organizer. I could go on, but you get the idea.

Outside it's the usual cloudy weather. A voice tells me that it's the perfect weather to take a nap, and I mentally stomp it down. Feeling a bit blue, I surveyed my corridor to see if there would be anyone to give me company, or better yet a smoke. All the doors were closed. None of the fuckers rise before lunch. Sometimes even lunch walks past them. But in my grumpiness, I don't care if they are still sleeping. I bang on sage's door. Sage is the same friend who'd decorated my door with his curse. Lacking imagination, I retaliated in same manner. A serial flirter, he was never short of women to bed. Sage's room has a back window, that usually stays open, and his room being the corner one, if you are adventurous enough, you can step onto balcony into his room and steal whatever you want. So I stole the same permanent marker and proclaimed on his door, "AIDS aur khushiyan baantne se badhti hain (AIDS and happiness spread by sharing)," wishing that it would dent the steady stream of women he was accustomed to.

Answering my steady knocks, the sage comes out, yawning and scratching (always complaining about mosquitoes, but never getting a repellent).
"Bhai, sutta jala na." I ask him to light a smoke.
"Ek hi hai, tatti ke liye chahiye (I've got just one, and I need it for taking dump)," he complains.
"Do kash hi marne hain, tatti baad mein kar liyo (I want just a couple of puffs, take a dump later)," I beg. I was an occasional smoker, but when the impulse rose, it was hard to keep it at bay.
He lights the cigarette take three deep puffs before handing me the cigarette.
"No class today?" he enquires.
"You had one, I had two, both of us missed."
He nods, looking at floor, as if trying to remember something.
"I fucked till 3a.m. in the morning before walking her to her room." he boasts out of nowhere, referring to his latest conquest, a first year girl who frequented our snooker place. It was his way of reminding me that the curse I put up on his door was futile.
"I just jerked off," I said, pointing to the soiled newspaper.
"And I will beat you with this newspaper, if you don't stop mocking me." I continue, not ready to concede defeat.
"Had lunch?" he asks.
"I will have it later, just had breakfast." I tell him.
"Bring some extra for me in your plate." he demands, before heading off to the toilet.

As our days on campus were numbered (a month and a half left), and mess had been made optional. We were supposed to pay per meal. This was a feature we were itching to misuse. One person would buy a meal for pittance, dump inhuman amount of food, and bring it to his room, where as many as 5 people would be waiting to devour. Since we were mindless about filling the plate, many leftovers were substantial. Several dogs and squirrels that frequented our corridor had gotten fat. Squirrels especially. They gorged on everything. Even the chicken bones we left. Not used to eating such oily food, they became so fat that their belly rubbed on floor when they used to run, and they developed bald patches and carried diseased look. Fat and slow, many squirrels fell prey to the corridor cat.

Dogs were different matter altogether. They had to earn their food. An easy target for cruel people like us, they were welcomed by kicks, flying shoes, bats and sometimes even darts. Usually, they would stand at either ends of corridor for an indecent amount of time, and survey it to check if they are more likely to find food or beatings. If the case was former, they would gait to the nearest plate, grab a couple of bites, and get the hell out of the corridor.

Of all the dogs, the unluckiest one was Bhagwaan Das, a black stray. How he came to get this unwieldy name? On Janmashtami's eve, some wise guy, in throes of piety, branded this dog with a long red Tilak on its forehead. Then he fed the dog till it couldn't eat any more. The dog, never been treated this well in its life, walked past while 4 or 5 of us had gathered in front of Sage's room to share a smoke. We could detect a faint smugness on dog's face, as if it wanted to brag that it had other friends besides us. Suddenly, Ganesh the practical joker among us fell on dog's feet yelling, "Bhagwaan, mujhe aashirwaad do (God, bless me)." Terrified, the dog yelped in surprise and turned around where rest of us were happy to scare it away. The dog left, but the name stuck. None of us were especially religious, so statements like, "Maine Bhagwaan ke tatton pe laat maari (I've just kicked God in the balls)" echoed carelessly in our corridor.

Coming back to the unlucky dog. As with most strays, Bhagwaan Das had floppy ears, and a damaged front leg, which resulted in it getting unfair amount of beatings. On top of it, Bhagwaan Das was an authentic dimwit. Despite having been kicked, slapped, its tail pulled, he would frequent our corridor like he was a long lost friend. The fucker even slept on the cushioned chairs, we kept in our balcony. On cold nights, it would curl up blissfully on our cushioned chairs, knowing fully well that he's a sitting duck for the first person that wakes up. In fact many times it were its shrieks that woke us up. The first person to wake up would see it lying on chair like some king of old times and hit him with belt or shoes or even bare hands if there wasn't anything around. Since the dog was retard, it would always try to escape through the armrest of the chair and get stuck there before its assailant dropped another couple of punches. We'd even come to think that dog was into BDSM, getting its dick hard by all those whippings. The dumbest part was its gullibility. If we offered as much as a morsel to it, it would turn extremely friendly, follow us around, not even pausing to remember the torture we subjected it to. A normal dog would have taken us for schizophrenic psychos and advised its brethren to keep distance from us, but for this retard, such capricious behaviour was absolutely normal.

That night, Sage, his latest but increasingly steady girlfriend, Sethji, S, Ganya came drunk (if there's an excuse to be presented) while I was in my room sketching the time away.
"Dhawan, bhosdichod, yeh kya chutiyaap kar raha hai (Dhawan, you cuntfucker, what the hell are you doing?)," Sethji shouted through my open door, irked to see me sketch. Any use of limb other than to pick up booze irritated him.
"Yeh gaypanti band kar, party karte hain (Stop being a faggot, let's party)," he yelled, even though I was sitting just 3 feet away. I smirked on the irony in Sethji's statement.
I accompanied Sethji to his room (which was next to mine), where music was blaring and the others were howling incoherently in varying states of drunkenness. Sage's girlfriend and Sethji were inveterate drunkards. No amount of alcohol could produce a slur in their voice or tremor in their hands. Sage, who doubled up as our bartender, seemed high but well in control. Sage's bar-tending skills were aimed to make his patrons dead drunk in shortest amount of time. His trademark drink was Chuttadfaad (Assbuster) - quarter rum, quarter whiskey and rest beer. Puke spots on Ganya's and S's shirts told me that they had fallen prey to Sage's atrocities already. Setting was perfect for me to be 'Drunk by Association' - act carelessly and foolishly, because everyone was too drunk to care. Sethji played 'Babydoll main sone di' on loop and in the redlight of Sethji's room we were flailing our limbs directionlessly. We all sucked at dancing, all except Sage's girlfriend (let's call her P, long names tire me). I've come to believe that girls are born dancers, so she was a norm rather than exception.

Suddenly we hear a plate crashing in the corridor. Ganya sticks his head out, takes a look and closes the door. His large eyes are red (more due to sleeplessness than booze) and he's smiling ear to ear.
"Bhagwaan gandgi faila raha hai, saale ki aaj gaand maarte hain (God's messing up the corridor, let's kick his ass)." Ganya says.
"Marni hai, to dhang se maarte hain (Let's do it properly then)," I tell them with a bit of seriousness, knowing that being the sober one, I could direct the play tonight. I asked everyone to get ragged T-shirts from their rooms and I slipped into my room to get my thick gym gloves.

While Bhagwaan cleaned the plates obliviously, everyone got the stuff ready. Sethji had a habit of purchasing chicken dishes from night mess, and leaving the leftovers in a corner of his room. Fungus would grow on whatever could rot, and the chicken bones would keep on bleaching. He used to rationalize that fungus kept the mosquitoes away. We found this logic too stupid to even question. We decided that P, who had never been mean to the dog, would go out and offer these bones to the dog. When she did, Bhagwaan became friendly immediately and started wagging its tail vigorously. We also came out. S too threw a bone to the dog, who lapped it up greedily. S then started petting the dog genially, and the dog lay down on its back exposing its belly inviting everyone to pet him, thinking that he was the star of the night. We obliged. The dog either didn't see the thick gloves I was wearing and the ragged t-shirts everyone was hiding in their back pockets.

The dog was lying supine and everybody picked up a spot to pet. I was scratching the dog's neck and chin. It seemed to like, as it stretched itself to be caressed more. Quickly, I grab the dog's muzzle, while S pins down dog's neck, strangling him. We both kept the pressure on, while Ganya tied dog's front legs together and Sage, its back legs. For an added measure, they also tied the bunched front legs with the back ones. I was worried that in their drunkenness, they would botch up, but they surprised me. All this happened with a synchronicity that gave dog no chance to writhe. Its limbs were so still that had it not been beating its tail about, I would have doubted if it was still alive. When the limbs were tied, S eased pressure on dog's neck and produced T-shirt from his back pocket. He had the most challenging task - to trap dog's muzzle. The dog was looking at me with large pleading eyes as I slowly started moving down the dog's nose and S started tying it with his T-shirt. Finally, I let go and we had Bhagwaan as static as a piece of furniture.

We stood around the dog, proudly inspecting our work. P, elated by the novelty of her deed lifted the dog from its tied limbs, assessing its weight. Then she started twirling so fast, with dog still in her embrace that we were afraid she'll throw it from the balcony and end our fun prematurely. Soon she got woozy and dropped the dog on the floor and it hit it with a painful thud.
"Bhagwaan, lagi to nahi? (Are you hurt god?)" Sethji mocked the dog, while kicking it in the head for a good measure. Both Sethji and P were least sadist of the bunch, and their sudden transformation astonished us. Maybe a bunch of suppressed closet sadists.
We were a bit of unsure about what we could do with the captive. Bhagwaan must have been imagining the worst since it had pissed all over the floor.
"Saale yeh kya kiya (God, what have you done)??" I asked Bhagwaan Daas rhetorically, while slapping it and pushing it onto the floor into its own piss. An idea struck me.
We filled as many buckets we could manage with water and brought them to the corridor. We blocked the balcony drains with rolled newspapers (none of them from my room) and emptied buckets on the corridor floor, spreading it wide.

One end of the corridor terminated in a wall, and at this end we formed a pyramid of empty buckets. Each one of us would get one shot to decimate this pyramid by sliding Bhagwaan onto the wet floor. Since the dog weighed some 15 Kg easily, we all needed a long run up before we could launch it. We would run some 20 steps, holding Bhagwaan from the middle rope (the one joining front legs and back legs) and throw it forward just before the floor got slippery. And in drunkenness (by association in my case), the direction was never perfect. The dog would swerve towards the side wall and hit other obstacles before it reached the buckets. We were about to find out if a retarded dog can suffer brain damage. The game ended when Ganya's shot swerved the least and dislodged the rightmost buckets, bringing down the pyramid.

We took the stock of dog now. It's eyes were shut tight, difficult to pry open. Its heart was beating rapidly (not that we knew how fast stray dogs' hearts usually beat), and its tail (the only body part that was erstwhile moving) was motionless. It was either passed out or pretending to do so, but the stray was too gullible to pretend, so more likely the former.
"Kya karein ab? (What should we do?)," S asked.
"Chhat se faink dein? (Shall we throw it from the roof?)," I suggested only half jokingly, ready to do the honor if they showed even mild interest.
"Saale gaand maarni hai, jaan se nahi (Fucker, we don't want to kill it.)," Sage intervened, his conscience still intact.
Ganya, who was until now relishing in his recent victory, shot off, clearly with something on his mind. In the meanwhile we tried to wake Bhagwaan up by shaking it furiously. Sethji suggested that we should shock him as they show in the movies. None of us trusted ourselves with electricity, so this was out of question. P suggested that we should set fire to dog's tail to see if it was pretending. Sage, without a second thought, stubbed the cigarette he was smoking, on dog's tail. It still didn't move.

Meanwhile Ganya came a large Cello dustbin with swing lid, which was a major attraction for all prowling dogs. This bin was about a meter in height, and cylindrical in shape. Ganya had to carry it from the first floor, because our floor didn't have one. Someone on our floor had destroyed the dustbin and hostel authorities never bothered to replace it. The dogs used to look for food in these bins by intentionally toppling them, scattering all the mess onto the floor. What better revenge than throwing Bhagwaan into this bin.
With its limbs still tied, we dumped the dog into the bin. S yanked open the T-shirt that covered dog's mouth before we taped shut the swinging lid (so the dog couldn't escape.)
"I want to hear him cry." S reasoned.
"Agar balcony se phenkein, to kutte ko lagegi? (Will the dog be hurt if we throw the dog from balcony?)," I tried to incite them again.
"Chup kar, jaan se hi maarke rahega (Shut up, you won't let the dog live)," Sage chided me again.
"Acchha seerhiyo se faink dete hain, lagegi bhi kam aur housekeeping waale kal sambhal bhi lenge (Lets throw it from stairs then, will hurt it less and house keeping staff will manage it tomorrow)," I tried to reason. This opportunity to hurt the dog was too dear to pass.
"Accha idea hai," Ganya seconded me.

We placed the bin vertically (as it normally stands) on the edge of a flight of 11 stairs. S, a good footballer, kicked the bin so hard that it flew the entire flight of stairs before it hit the floor. The dog howled more in fear than pain (or maybe the other way round). Its screams filled the entire floor.
"Meri baari (My turn)," I said as I placed the bin horizontally, primed for rolling down the next set of stairs. I too kicked it hard and it rolled down the stairs while the dog continued to yelp in fear. We all took turns to roll the trash basket until we reached the ground floor. Bhagwaan's screams were getting tiresome and somewhat boring.

"Chalein, daaru bhi khatam karni hai (Shall we go now, there's booze to finish?)," P asked.
"Ek aakhri cheez (one last thing)," I exclaimed. I picked up the bin from the floor and ran with it to the first floor, while others waited on the ground floor to see if I wanted to roll it down the stairs again. Instead I threw the bin from the first floor to the lawn flanked by the hostel block from all sides. As the basket hit the floor, Bhagwaan's howls turned into agonizing shrieks that lasted full half hour, before a kind security guard freed the dog from the bin. By this time all of us were in Sethji's room, where 'Baby doll' resumed again, but we were too tired to flap our limbs. The old monk opened and Sethji poured each of us a peg, and we all reminisced our favorite parts of the incident, having a good laugh at Bhagwaan's expense.

It was about 1:30 A.M. when I retired to my room. I woke up at 5 AM with a strong urge to piss as one has on cold nights, and a strange dream that someone was scraping at my door. I made my way to the washroom in half sleep and relieved myself. With the washroom door still swinging behind me, as I stepped outside, I saw that Bhagwaan had been following me to the toilet. Its limp had worsened and I saw a streak of blood dripping from its ears. I tried to hush it away by stomping my foot on the floor, but it continued approaching me with the determination of a fearless retard. Nervously, I jogged into the other direction, and took a longer way to my room (Our hostel block was rectangular, with toilet in the corner). Ferocious as the dog seemed, it was too fucked up to run after me. Locking myself into my room, I listened to the pawing that I thought I had dreamt, well into the dawn...

A Stuttering Love Story - Part 1

"I am a different man in the company of a woman." - Jester of Sodomia

PROLOGUE

I truly am but this fact was rotting somewhere at the back of mind, coming to fore some 3 months back. The realization that I hadn't slept with a woman for more than a year and that the porn I had been watching daily wasn't as rousing as it used to be, was having a depressing effect on me. Somewhere in last days of June, I decided to dive back into the game I had eschewed long ago- the Dating game.

My past trysts with this game had been disappointing. Either I got too attached, or I was completely detached, but I had never been able to woo a girl to bed, or rather, I couldn't put across to girls that I wanted to fuck them real bad. So even if any mutual attraction existed, it gradually dimmed to friendship, and ultimately extinguished (I am particularly bad at being friends with girls).

In Delhi, it hadn't been much of a problem, whores were aplenty. Indore, as a city wasn't as courteous. Even the locals were doubtful if any brothels existed there. But that didn't mean that my situation was hopeless. Unlike the undergrad hostels, postgrad hostels placed no restrictions on timings, or movement of boys and girls in premises. And since you weren't sharing the room with anyone, as long as you had a consenting girl, you could make some everlasting magic in your 10'*8' room. But that 'as long as' was a long shot.

CHOICE

The first step, naturally, was to find a girl to woo. Even if in my imaginarium, I had fucked every second girl on campus, I had to be careful about whom I was going to approach. Not too introvert (any sudden approach would raise her hackles), not too outgoing (trouble finding her alone in first place) and without moral inhibitions (few hangups about getting physical). In the next few days, I was sizing the girls who fit this bill. Apparently, those who did were already taken. Except one -SB. We knew each other by face - she used to date my neighbor in first year hostel. I had seen her fluttering around his room in cute short knickers and she had seen me working out outside my room countless number of times, but we were never formally introduced. However, in 4th term, we ended up having many subjects in common.

She was a bit of front bencher - a place people usually dreaded. So she used to sit out alone, sitting duck for predators like me (much later, I would be eating my own words - the role reversed big time). In the next lecture, I talked myself into sitting next to her. I pretended to be very attentive to the lecture, occasionally answering the questions professor asked, taking notes in my best handwriting - basically trying everything to make sure she notices me. She was an athletic nerd - a jazz dancer, a cyclist, yoga freak (with a body to kill for) and one of the college toppers. She knew that I too, was no slob when it came to fitness. So I figured, if I presented myself as one of studious types, 'similar-to-me bias' will kick in, and she will become more receptive of me.

By the time lecture was over, we still hadn't exchanged a word. I kept my mouth shut, as when I am unsure of things, I make a fool of myself by talking. I hoped that, we'll become more communicative in next few classes. When I stepped out of the hall, it was raining in typical Indori fashion, 5 steps into that rain and you will be drenched inside-out. As usual I left my umbrella in my room. Luckily for me, SB was standing right beside me, taking her umbrella out of her bag.

"Can you share the umbrella? I forgot to bring mine." I asked, glad that finally words were spoken between us.

"Sure, how about you carry it," she said as she handed hers to me.

We walked in silence towards the hostel. I was careful that she didn't get a drop on her, even if it meant that half my shoulder was getting doused.

As I stepped under a roofed area, I returned her the umbrella.

"Thanks SB." I said, as I walked away in my stiff yet agile gait, not waiting to see whether she was flattered or creeped out by the fact that I knew her name without her telling me. The choice had been made.

ASSISTANCE - WITH SPECIAL THANKS TO VIKAS (30th June)

After I managed to repeat the 'sit next to her' stunt a couple of more times, I broke the news about my plans about SB to my sage friend, who had his ways of befriending any girl in 5 minutes.

"Hmmm...so when are you asking her out?" he asked.

"When my balls give a green signal." I quipped.

"Don't wait too long, she's going on exchange program to Germany next term." he patted my shoulder as he told.

Fuck!!! my 'to be' love story came with an expiry date. I looked at him in bewilderment and just nodded so to conceal my disappointment.

I spent the night raking my brains about how to ask her out. When I woke up all groggy, my sage friend was waiting outside my door. In a rather quick string of words, he told me that SB is not dating anyone currently, and won't mind meeting me.

Last night's sleeplessness doubled my WTF expression.

"How did you manage that?", I blurted in my confusion.

"On chat." he shrugged his shoulders as he replied, as if it was a the most natural thing.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked.

"Ask her out for real, what else."

BLUES - WHY DON'T YOU LET ME BE (30th June - 9 July)

I let the entire day pass away in dallying the task at hand. At night, while I was having dinner in the mess with my friends, SB was sitting a few tables away, opposite to me. She and I caught each other's eye and our gazes stayed locked for more than decent amount of time. Any doubts about sage pulling my leg were instantly dissipated. I wolfed down the dinner and paced the corridor for half an hour, wondering what exactly should I say to her. Finally, I decided to ask her for good old fashioned walk. Too gutless to call her up, I texted if she wanted to go for a walk.

"It's too late, I am about to hit the bed. Maybe later." she replied.

Well, she didn't tell me to fuck off, so I wasn't disappointed. Rather than asking her out again next day, I waited for two days to pass. I wanted to keep desperation at bay at least initially. After 2 days, with a quivering heart, I called her and invited for a walk. This time she agreed promptly.

We rambled on for next one and a half an hour, chatting about interests (which we had many in common), places traveled, people pissed, and scenery as it appeared. I am usually a poor talker, but that night, words flowed smoothly between us. When I came back, my friends, who know my clumsiness with girls, smiled their cunning smiles and asked, "So, What happened?"

"We walked and talked, and she has great stamina for walking."

A loud laughter followed, as they connected stamina in general to stamina in bed.

Sensing that I didn't have much to offer them, they moved on to other things to make fun of.

On the next walk, that took place after another two days, we went to a secluded and rather dark vantage point in campus that overlooks Indore city. SB stepped on a platform that paralleled the railing and started walking on it in a rhythmic movement, probably reminiscing the dance steps she used to practice. I walked beside her on the ground, dwarfed almost by a foot. (Was it a subconscious move to demonstrate who was boss? - probably I am thinking too much).

SB asked me a question, I couldn't make sense of, "What are your plans for the future?"

"An easy 9 to 5 job that leaves me with sufficient time to pursue my hobbies," I told her almost automatically.

"So, when do you plan to settle?" she asked.

"I don't have any such plans. I want to live in this mode till I am 40 and then commit suicide." I told.

"Probably on sleeping pills and carbon monoxide, I would hate to die a painful death." I added as an afterthought.

She nodded, trying to sink in an answer she wasn't expecting.

"You know, you should count your blessings whenever thought of suicide comes to your mind." Thus began the lecture.

"Even if I don't get the job I love, or I meet an accident and get handicapped, I would love to keep on living for the sake of people I hold dear."

"Then I guess, I am one of the selfish kind, I would rather see myself dead than rotting, even if it means inflicting pain to my dear ones." This dialogue came straight from the heart. I hated to imagine myself getting old and useless.

"Hmmmm..." she pondered.

"To each one his own I guess," she added.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a while. I decided to break it. "What are your plans once you get through college?"

"Earn some money, repay my loan, get married in another 3 years," she told.

I winced at the M word, but not enough for her to see.

"To each one his own I guess," I said as we headed back to our hostel rooms.

I seemed to have hit a wall with SB after that walk. My attempts to spend time with her were rebutted with excuses of assignments and eating out. After almost a week of last walk, I caught hold of SB on lunch  table, where she simply nodded to my presence, and kept herself deliberately engrossed in eating her lunch. Not a meaningful word exchanged between us. I was completely ignored and although I hate to admit, it hurt me.

That night, I called SB, and asked if something was bothering her, and how her ignoring me sure bothered me a hell lot. There was a 10 second (could have been 3 seconds- but it seemed pretty long to me) pause on the other side. She was weighing her words carefully.

"Ankit, remember when I asked you about your future plans?" she asked.

"I do."

"I was hinting about what you had in mind, whether you were looking for commitment & relationship. Because I can't enter into a relationship at all. I have my reasons." She said in a single breath.

Shocked as I was, I blurted incoherently about how her grace and free spirit (she didn't mind telling people to fuck off on their face if they pissed her off) attracted me to her and made me approach her. If she didn't want to be in a relationship, it was fine with me. I hung up, surprisingly feeling less hurt than I thought I should have been. In fact I was glad that for once in my life I took a shot at girl, even if I missed by miles. 

Next day, for a change, she invited me for a walk, probably to check if I was seething with anger towards her. I wasn't, so the walk didn't turn out to be a drudge. Both of us pulled it as normally as we could, making sure that there was at least a foot of distance between us.

My friends, who knew about my inexperience with girls, tried to cheer me up, recounting their own failures and the futility of pursuing girls. (Ironically, the Sage was going on date on same night).

If it ended then and there, both of us would have gone on living in the pleasant indifference we were living in earlier. But my lady luck was pissed at me for some reason. It couldn't bear to see me happy, so she made sure that SB and I cross paths again.

A Stuttering Love Story - Part 2

TROUBLES THAT CAN'T BE WISHED AWAY (25th July)

In the next 2 weeks neither of us called each other. An occasional 'hi' in our common classes was the only interaction we had.

Then suddenly, after two weeks, I got a message from SB asking me if I wanted to go for a swim.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" was the first thought.

"She wants to see me naked." was the second thought, and it delighted me.

I had expired my swimming membership a few days ago, so I declined, but asked, if we could meet for dinner, which she agreed to.

For me, it was a signal that she wasn't as disinterested in me as she had shown earlier.

We had the dinner mostly in silence and set out for....take a guess....walk.

"I got drunk in the afternoon today, not as much as I wanted to." She told.

Hmmm...I nodded. Unsure about how to respond to it.

"What's happening in your life?" She asked.

"The usual bits of everything -novels, exercise, and yes, these days my friends and I are shooting cans with ball." I told. It was her turn to look incredulously at me.

We reached our usual vantage point and fooled around for a while.

She seemed to be outwardly cheerful that day. She showed me how to make a bridge with body, by throwing the hands backwards. Not to be outdone (and disregarding my rule about no exercise after meal) I showed her how to walk on hands. We were happy. No better time to set the record straight.

She was standing on the platform looking into the horizon, beyond city lights. I too climbed and stood beside her.

"Hey listen." I said, trying to get her attention.

"I am pretty bad at reading signals, so I think I should say it upfront."

"I want you to know that I still have feelings for you." the toughest 12 words I spoke in a long time.

"I had been attracted to you for a long time, and it's difficult for me to get over it."

A dreadful silence followed. She was weighing her words carefully.

"I have been in relationships before, and they has never ended well for me." She said in a wispy, almost cracking voice. She was on verge of crying.

"In fact, I had met the person I thought I would marry. Then I decided to come to this shithole place, and lost him. Forever. I still talk to him sometimes, but I won't ever get back with him," she went on.

"Why's that?" I asked, not really curious, but iffy about what to talk about.

"There are some problems that don't have any solution," she said, now actually crying. I thought that it would have been a perfect moment to have 'Rouya' playing in the background.

She was looking straight into the horizon and crying. I could just see her profile. Her kohl had dissolved in the tears, leaving a dark tear trail. Her nose ring shone in the moonlight. She looked so beautiful that I could have kissed her at that moment. But I stood breathless.

"I am sorry that you fell for the wrong girl," she said, rubbing her tears off with her arm, leaving behind a streak of kohl on her sleeve.

"I am not," I replied and somehow I meant it at that instant.

In midst of her tears, she let out a chuckle that I couldn't interpret.

I was pretty happy with myself, thinking that I had handled the situation quite tactfully. On our way back to hostel, I made a dreadful mistake that I wish I hadn't. I am still not sure how much it cost me later, but I think it was quite a lot.

Since SB was insistent that she couldn't be in a relationship, I told her that she was too precious to lose as a friend. My thinking was that I had been too direct when I approached her as a lover. Probably if I came across as a bearable friend, she would ease up to me, and I would graduate to lover subsequently. Foolish move I made.

EMBARRASSING DEEDS (26th July - 5th Aug)

The tearful stroll had warmed SB towards me. She began having lunch with me, whenever our classes permitted and chatted more than usual. Once when she won a bet with me, she wanted me to take her out for lunch and drinks. Was her aversion to dating melting??

To try my luck further, I did what sage used to do, get a girl to your room under certain pretense, like meal or dessert. I stocked a few chocolates and once after lunch, invited SB back to my room. She agreed and accompanied me, but seemed a little scared to enter my room.

The stunts I had been pulling in the corridor (bashing people on their birthdays, odd exercises) had earned me notorious nicknames like terrorist and madman, so her reluctance was understandable. Even when she entered, she seemed to be in a jiffy. Not bothering to sit, she made the usual noises about how chocolate will make her fat, as if I was shoving it down her throat. As soon as she was done with the chocolate, she hurried back, leaving me perplexed.

It was during this time that my behavior started deviating from usual. When my friends tried to usurp the chocolates I had been stocking, I barked, "Bhenchodon, bandi ke liye rakhi hui hain yeh (Sister fuckers, I am saving these for the girl)." Now this came from a person who never made any distinction between his stuff and his friends'. Fortunately the fuckers took it in a good stride, and commented, "Bandi aadmi se kya kya karwa deti hai (The things women make men do...)."

That same night, I was practicing shots (shooting cans with a tennis ball- a game that keeps our dumbasses busy for half a day) with Ganya (the best shooter in the campus). I was in my usual attire - only shorts. My clothing habits have been formed on territorial psychology - i.e. in my territory (hostel block), I am permitted to wear whatever I want. The fact that other people were using the same corridor had stopped bothering me long ago. They could change their passage if they wanted, but I wasn't going to wear a shirt. All it took to test my obstinacy was a sight of SB walking down the corridor. I fucking ran to the room- yes, no graceful departure - a full blooded sprint to grab my t-shirt.

Later I get a text from her, "I was going to the mess when I saw you and you ran away, what was up with that?"

My social clumsiness spelled a disaster for me.

THE FIRST REAL DATE??? (10th Aug)

I couldn't meet SB for the next 4 days. She had her excuses of looming assignment/ project deadines. I was happy as long as I got average grades, so was mostly unconcerned about studies. These 4 days were spent having text monologues with SB. The conversation was wordy from my side, and almost curt from hers.

Then on 10th Aug, I get a B'day message from SB. Not being on facebook means that I escape wrath of the people I had bashed on their birthdays. So this message of hers was a pleasant surprise. Rather than thanking, I asked her how she came to know about the date?

"Student directory," came a matter-of-fact reply.

That she made effort to unearth my birthday made me feel lucky. I called and asked her to go out for dinner with me. She agreed. With luck on such a free run, I expected to shit a gold bar that morning. Sadly no such thing happened.

After my friends conducted the evening ritual of defacing me with cake and dragging me around the mess, I was ready for my evening date. For first time in months I ironed a dark colored shirt (so sweat patches don't show), borrowed jeans from a friend (mine had turned into rags) and cleaned my dusty old shoes to make myself presentable.

We were supposed to take the college bus to a restaurant. Dressed in tight skin hugging jeans and a sleeveless frilly pink dress, when she walked her wavy walk towards the bus, I had to climb after her, so she couldn't see my legs shaking. Such was her effect on me.

I took her to a restaurant called 'Mashaal', which SB had decided. Betraying its name, the place was actually quite upscale. Beyond the main hotel, were the open air shacks, providing an exquisite view of the city and a chilly setting. We sat on a hidden table and ordered drinks, beer for me, breezer for her. I hadn't touched liquor in past 9 months, and it felt good to be back to old habits.

"Cheers to us," she said and we clinked our bottles.

As I set my bottle on the table, she glowered in mock anger, "Fucker, you aren't supposed to place glass es immediately after toast." I apologized, glad to learn a new etiquette lesson.

I had trouble keeping my eyes off of her. When I told this to her, a sliver of smile broke on her face. Either liquor was making me chattier, or it was breaking her inhibitions. Emboldened, I got poetic (or faggy) with her.

"You know, you've got damn expressive eyes." I told her.

"That's probably because of the kohl I wear." she replied promptly, so promptly that I thought she had heard this compliment before.

"And this nose ring really looks good on you." I said, realizing immediately, how lame the dialogue was, but not really caring.

"Yeah, it makes me look mature, without it, I will look like a school girl," came another prompt reply.

When the food came, it only intensified the banter. A Punjabi foodie by nature, she had strong opinions about food, which didn't match with mine. Our eating habits were polar opposite, and we were debating each other within the bounds civility permitted us.

By the time, we made it back to the bus, her eyes were drowsy. Sitting beside her, pretending to be curious, I took her hand in mine, commenting how I could count all 5 veins at the back of her hand, and then adding, how soft her hands were. I was going to exhaust my stock of compliments that night.

"Yeah, some people have sense not to do manual labor....and use a bit of body lotion every now and then," she replied, insinuating the roughness of my hands.

"Since when have you been holding hands with laborers?" I asked, raising my brows in mock surprise.

"Well, since the time a laborer took me out for dinner," she smiled back, biting her lower lip, settling once and for all that she had answer for everything.

INSOMNIA (11th Aug - 18th Aug)

During one of our cycling trips, SB asked me told me how she had booked a Delhi flight ticket for 11th Sep and that her subjects will end on 4th Sep. She was in a dilemma - to get the flight rescheduled or to spend a week in campus, getting her exchange program shit together. I suggested the latter, adding quickly how I will be spending the same week pulling my shit together for a project I needed to complete.

"My parents will pester me to return early," she said.

"You can always tell them that studies are keeping you busy, they aren't going to come here and verify," I suggested.

"I can't lie to my parents," she replied. I wondered how she turned 25 without lying to her parents, something I did so frequently that it had become an instinct.

"Your call." Her decisions were hers to make.

I thought that if indeed she spent that week in campus, when rest of the junta would be gone, it would be a golden chance for me to bed her. I sincerely wished that she stayed back.

The suspense about whether or not she was going to stay made me restless, started messing with my sleep. Even jerking off wasn't helping. I would toss around in bed, feel hungry, munch on peanuts and manage to catch just a flake of sleepdust at the fag end of night.

I thought that working out would help, so I upped the level of exercises I had been doing. After finishing my regular exercises, I committed myself to 100 steps of hand walking. The problem with that was I was a novice handwalker, even on my good days, I managed 15 odd steps. So it took me at least 10 sets to reach that 100 step milestone. My right hand, which is weaker than my left used to fail first and my right elbow would hit the ground. As long as the ground was damp, this wasn't much of a problem. But weak August rains had baked the ground as hard as concrete and my right elbow was dotted with permanent lacerations, leaving me in bad shape for the next day.

Sleepless for 5 days, I knew I was trapped in a vicious circle. Working out harder and not getting enough sleep, I feared that my body was going to give up on me. Lucky for me, help was living next door.

The sage, who used to smoke weed with his girlfriend, and had saved some weed for the future. When I came to know about this, I asked him to roll one for me. Unlike me, he didn't tell me to fuck off, that he was saving the joint for his girl. He calmly took out the pack of cigarettes he hides behind his books (he tells everyone that he has quit smoking, but keeps a pack, just in case), emptied the tobacco, and refilled it with weed. I had never smoked a cigarette before, so he taught me how to smoke one. Inhale a puff through mouth, inhale some more air through nose, let the puff settle in the lungs, exhale slowly.

3 puffs into the joint, I felt that someone put his hand inside my skull and pulled my brains out. A relaxing light headedness descended on me. When the joint was finished, I found myself reaching out for the bottle of water weakly. and drank the whole thing. All I wanted to do was to lie down. Judging my intention, sage cleared up my bed, but let Dylan's 'Jack of hearts' play on my laptop. The song worked like a sweet bedtime story. I happily clasped my hands, locked my arms between my legs and assumed a fetal position. Sage turned off the lights, and left me alone. Some time into the night, I convinced myself that SB was holding my right hand. My right had happily reciprocated by pressing her hand back, until the pain in my left hand told me that I was pressing my own hand. Amused, I started laughing alone in my room. I also realized that I had a serious inkling to piss. Judging by the recent out of body experiences, I had full faith that I would wet the bed, something that would be humiliating even by my standards.

Suddenly taking a proper piss became a very important mission for me. When I got to my feet, my legs felt soupy. The simple motion of walking out of the door seemed like a drag. In the cool air, either I was walking very slowly or the corridor had stretched. Bloody traitor!!! The journey to the urinal and back had suddenly become a challenging one. Aiming piss straight into the urinal was a victory I hadn't enjoyed in a long time. It left me so happy that I slept with a smile on my face for 10 hours.

Somehow I knew that in days to come, weed and I were going to be very good friends.

A Stuttering Love Story - Part 3

THE PLEDGE AND THE GUN (18th Aug - 4th Sep)

The dope helped me sleep, but didn't solve the basic problem - how to get SB like me enough to bed me. It was around this time that I told 'J' that I was trying to woo a girl. Knowing my nature, he advised me to be very careful about judging girl's mood and never to disagree with her. Sensible advise. Only not very clear about reading girl's mood part. I wished he could gift me a Saiyan scouter. One click and you get to read all thoughts above girl's head. Sadly, none was invented yet.

On 18th evening, I got a call from SB, telling me that she was indeed staying back in hostel for a week after the term. A million fireworks exploded in my mind. Already I had started fantasizing about the sex filled week. That night I vowed, that I won't jerk-off until I get to fuck SB. Now this might not sound much of a sacrifice, but I had been a serial masturbator since my teens, and this act meant a great deal for me. If this inactivity made me sleepless, I had the luxury of getting stoned.

I was under the impression that SB decided to stay back in hostel because I suggested so. So if she had any doubts regarding me not staying back or giving her company, I thought I should snuff these doubts sooner than later. So when we went for our jaunt the next time, I ask her to let me hold her hand.

"Why?" she asked, taken aback by this sudden request.

"I don't want to be punched after what I have to say to you. That right hook of yours fucking stings." I parrot a dialogue I came up after great deal of effort.

"Really, you didn't wince much that day." She said jovially, referring to the day she decided to practice her punches on my palms.

"Yeah, my palms are hard, my face isn't," I reply, wishing she doesn't counter. We were digressing from what I had on my mind.

"Listen," I say in a serious tone.

"In the coming weeks, I am going to become really selfish." I tell her.

"Selfish? Why?" she asks.

"You know, we don't have much time left together, hardly 20 days." I say to her and pause, trying to remember what my next line was supposed to be.

She nods.

"And I want to spend as much time as I can in your company, and hope that when we are through, you'll fall for me as hard as I fell for you." I say slowly, pretending that I was gathering my thoughts.

"Ankit, I really can't promise anything right now." She says. This dalliance should have rang alarm bells in my mind, but I was just too happy to deliver my dialogues realistically.

"Ok, take your time, I am in no hurry." I say while slowly letting go of her hand. I must confess that holding hands with another person was just as pleasant as holding worms for me. But people more experienced than me (read the Sage) had predicted that it has a comforting effect on girls. I wasn't so sure about this. When people opted for longer than a second handshakes with me, my default response is to squirm my hands out of his grip.

10 days pass by without much happening. In fact, I thought my last meeting had entirely opposite effect on SB than what I intended. We were hardly catching up, or rather she was hardly catching up with me. She had in fact become quite ingenious with her excuses...boils on foot while dancing, going out for eating (would have been credible, if she wasn't using this every other day), sulking alone in room were to name a few. Common sense dictates that given her tepid responses, I should have backed off, let her call me when she wanted to see me. But things that appeared so obvious in hindsight, were completely overlooked by me. Entrenched in the belief that she has fallen for me, I used to rationalize her excuses. Never bothering to take my head out of my ass to assess my situation objectively.

On 28th afternoon, while I was busy finishing off a project before its deadline, I get an unexpected call from SB. Both of us dreaded calls, and avoided calling each other unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Ankit, I had to tell you something," she says.

"Go on."

"My course is getting over on 4th Sep., and I really think that I should prepone my tickets."

"When are you planning to leave," I ask, not really interested, but I needed a few seconds to gather my wits.

"On 5th or 6th."

"Ok," that's all I say.

"I thought I should let you know, since you booked your tickets based on mine," she says with a tinge of guilt.

"SB, when you want to leave is your call to take, not mine," I tell her and hang up. I punch the cupboard before me repeatedly till my knuckles begin to bleed. The cabinet is stuck tightly into its enclosure. Although I hadn't been entirely honest to my self respect lately, I couldn't grovel before SB to stay back.

Only a couple of minutes later, a message from SB tells me that she wasn't changing the flight. I felt like she was holding my dick with one hand and a gun to my head with the other, unsure about what she wanted to blow.

I wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Her tone was serious, but the briskness with which she texted seemed to suggest that she was joking. Either way, I wasn't amused. I didn't reply or call her to seek explanations. She wasn't the only one who could turn cold.

STRANGLED UP IN BLUE (5th Sep - 11th Sep)

Finally, the week I had been desperately waiting for had arrived. Despite her promise that she wasn't going to leave, I still harbored doubts that she will leave any day, leaving me to jerk off or get high on weed by myself. Checking the ticket prices, I assured myself that if she hadn't already preponed her tickets, she was unlikely to do so anymore.

So like Mr. Burns, I was rubbing my hands, thinking "Excellent." Time to harvest the seeds I sowed 2 months ago. On 4th Sep, the entire batch had its exams over. Anyone who hadn't left by the evening, was planning to do so by the next morning. Our corridor, which is always ringing with the noise of cans hitting the floor, became silent. Only one of my friends who had his hands full with projects stayed back, but he too had a tendency to get drunk in the night and sleep till afternoon. So, apart from us rubbing shoulders somewhere around lunch, I was pretty much on my own.

With the intention of inviting her to my room, I asked SB, if I could treat her for a movie (3rd time). Rather than replying to the question, she told me she wanted to go to the city as she had some work to do.

My mind raced to guess what she wanted to do in city - sex obsessed as I was, I could think of only one thing - she thinks that I don't have any condoms, so she wants to buy them from city. Only two days back, she disclosed her reservations about getting raped in Greece (a place she was told was almost as safe as Delhi for women) and that she was warned to carry condoms everywhere. Was she leading me on? I remarked nonchalantly that having spent all her life in Delhi among sex starved men, she would feel right at home in Greece. This conversation was happening in the mess, so the people we were sharing table with were gaping us wide-eyed.

When I took the bus to the city with her, I came to know that it were the loan documents she wanted to collect from the old part of the shithole city. I cursed my excitement under my breath. It wasn't the first time that my wild imagination filled me with baseless ideas that crashed and left splinters in my mind.

The bus took us to a place called cloth market, a cramped street with cloth and sundry outlets on either side. Whatever space on the street wasn't encroached by the shops, was brimming with pedestrians, strays and vehicles. If you walked to the left, you risked being dragged into one of the shops by over enthusiastic shopkeepers, to your right vehicles scraped past. Out of chivalry (and my irritation with shopkeepers), I stayed on the right. SB was adept at warding off shopkeepers with one angry look. She dragged me around to an old Central bank of India branch. The building seemed truly historic. Not in a good sense. There were cracks in the wall, pigeon nests inside the bank, and if my eyes weren't mistaken because of power cut, I thought I saw pigeon dropping on security guard's cap. I spent some 45 minutes in that wreck of a place, while she went about gathering her documents.

"I am sorry, I bothered you for this shit," she apologized.

"Don't be, I had nothing better to do back in hostel," I assured her.

"And I too, had to buy a jean, my last one has been reduced to rags," I tell her.

"Don't get me started on shopping, once I start, I can't stop," she says, and I brush it off as a banality that every girl utters. I was wrong. In the next 4 hours, I spent about 15 minutes to buy a jean and she spent the rest buying slippers, handbags and a suit. I sauntered along, keeping my views regarding her choices to myself. The closest she came to a chemist shop on this tour was to buy a couple of strepsils. Not condoms.

This trip left me really befuddled about her intentions. I was starting to believe that her extended stay had nothing to do with me. She really wanted to get her exchange shit together and my role was simply to accompany her on her missions. Like a faithful boy toy. That night, a wet dream about a random girl broke my pledge. I guess my dick had realized that I wasn't going to get anything from SB, and decided to help itself.

On 7th, SB asked me out for movie in college auditorium. I had by now given up hope that anything physical was going to happen between us. If it had to, it would already have. Not being able to screw her was disheartening. But doubts about my chances were even more bugging.

Somehow, I dread the question 'what if' more than 'why the fuck I did.' So I decided that once the movie is over, I was going to ask her straight. But what exactly I was going to ask remained a mystery to me.

I am not a regular hindi movie watcher, so even crappy hindi movies seem hilarious to me. Such was the case with 'Shudhh Desi Romance.' Many audience leave midway, but I was howling in laughter. True that story didn't make much sense. I didn't mind. The movie was a welcome distraction from the trouble I was facing. And yeah, watching the movie, alone with a girl was another first for me. When the movie was over, I suggested that we take a longer route to campus. When we made it to a sufficiently deserted place, I thought it was right time to pop the question.

"SB, Can I ask you something."

"Sure."

"Since the time we met, has my attraction been one sided? Do you think of me just as a friend or something more?" fumbling, I managed to knit this filmy string of words. We walk for a while before she thinks the question through.

"Ankit, I had told you before, we could never be more than friends. Relationship was out of question for me," she replies. My suspicions confirmed. The struggling flame finally put out. Time to lay all my cards on table.

"When you told me you weren't ready for commitment, I still thought that I had some chance, even if just 1%, to change your mind," I tell her.

"Just remember that, whatever I did, it was for that fighting chance to win you over," my final confession.

"Just to let you know," she says, "you tried too hard."

"If a girl had to fall for you, she would have with half the effort," A lecture straight from the heart. A lecture I really needed to hear.

"You invited me for a movie, so many times, even when I was clearly trying to avoid. Any idea, how uncomfortable it was making me?" She says, her words stinging me worse than any bitch slap.

I didn't bother to explain myself, explain that it wasn't a lifelong marathon I was running to win her, it was a 2 month sprint; and in a sprint you give everything away. I wouldn't have tried this hard if I had the luxury of time.

Instead I say, "I guess you're right, I went too far on wrong assumptions. Forgive me for that."

"One final piece of advice," she says, "No matter how much you like a person, don't stoop too low for her, don't change who you are."

"Hmmm...," was all I managed to mumble. Dismayed less because what she said was true, and more because she had seen through all my acts. Desperate to fuck her, I had become what I wasn't. I knew this better than her. But hearing these words out so bluntly had a humbling effect on me.

"I am sorry if you feel bad," she says when I stay silent for too long.

"Don't be, It was a reality check I badly needed. With things being clear now, I feel at peace actually," I tell her truthfully.

I bid her farewell. As a friend, as an acquaintance, as a stranger. With each step I take I find her magnetic pull sapping. The self respect that I had cut and slashed to be with her will begin to heal soon.

Knowing that I wasn't going to sleep with her, I was free from the pressure to impress her. The lightness that had surrounded me right after she told me that nothing existed between us came back with even greater force. I was gliding to my room on second floor, three stairs at a time, go to Sumit's (the only friend, still remaining in hostel) room instead of mine, where predictably, a booze party in going on. Unconcerned about the people giving Sumit company, I declare, "Bhai, finally ho gaya break-up." As if break-up is possible in a one sided love affair.

"Roll me a joint," I ask him, "I want to take this freedom to new level."

"And to our health we drank a thousand times, it's time to ramble on..." - Led Zeppelin (Ramble On)

A Stuttering Love Story - After Thoughts

THAT'S NOT SO ELEMENTARY WATSON

What caused project WAGTOB (Woo A Girl TO Bed) to fail? To me the culprit seems to be miscommunication.

I read too much into signs that suggested that SB wanted to sleep with me (walks, meals, dates, sexual innuendos) and ignored completely, the signs that suggested she wanted to keep her distance (ignoring my calls and texts sometimes, keeping mum on suggestions about spending time in my room). Psychologists call this 'self serving bias', I call it 'fool's bubble.'

What she treated as friendship - walks, meals, talks; I treated as dating. With my friends, I rarely eat out, have telephone conversations lasting more than a minute, and walk only when we have common destination.

My wrong assumptions led to wrong actions that stretched too far. SB could have corrected my course at any time by telling me to fuck off. I was practically drooling with lust when I was around her, something that would have made any normal person sheepish. Rather than telling this upfront, she seemed to manage me like a flame, fanning when I became reticent, cooling when I got too desperate and finally snuffing me out when I got confrontational. Politeness couldn't have been the reason as she didn't stand to gain anything from me. Nor did she try to use me. So why at all was she spending time with me?

A. She was secretly enjoying the fool I had been making myself around her. Having me under her thumb, the power to squish me by knitting her brows, gave her a high that no drug could. I was her ego inflating dildo.

B. She took pity on my inexperience with girls and thought that she could teach me a lesson or two when it came to wooing girl.

C. She actually treated me as a friend, a needy, damaged sort of friend, who must be tended to regularly, lest he commits suicide and names her as the person responsible.

D. Finding myself as her mirror image (remember similar to me bias I spoke of), I must have appealed to her narcissistic senses. As we got to know each other better, cracks began to appear in this mirror. I came across as a shallow gym monkey desperate to fuck, and she an alcoholic Circe that leads men on, only to shatter their hopes of getting some.

The answer is something that I'll never know. Nor will SB ever answer it honestly. Most probably at different times, these factors were acting with varying intensity. What I do know is that the project was doomed right from the time SB told me about her previous failure in love.

At this instant, a scene from Cowboy Bebop's maiden episode comes to my mind

Old man bull: You take women too lightly, my friend.

Spike: On the contrary, old pal...

Unlike Spike, I did take a woman too lightly, and paid back in sleepless nights and significant emotional bruising. To reminisce it all and putting it into words was like scrubbing old wounds with a grater, just to check if they are healing. Now that I have the luxury to be objective about the entire episode, I can see a few islands of sanity emerging in my chaotic ocean (thanks to 'K' for Ocean theory).

To Risk or to regret: To me, the regret that follows from not having done something is more thorny than the regret of failing at something. All the dialogues I uttered to SB were out of character for me. More than half my mind was screaming at me to shut the fuck up. But had I stayed mum, I wouldn't have come as far as I did. And despite my failure, I am proud of the distance I covered.

The view depends on where you sit: Earlier when my friends were discussing their love troubles, I used to act as some sort of high priest, dispensing same advice dispassionately - that the woman in their life is nothing but an agent of dopamine high. Been in the eye of the storm, I can vouch that hormones are the last thing on a lover's (fucker's) mind.

Rise: Though I overlooked the fact that this experience was a dopamine high, I enjoyed it anyway. Acting out of character (dressing up to make myself presentable, cheesy dialogues and texts) was an uncharted territory for me. All the goof-ups (and the earful I got from SB) were the testament that I swayed too much from destination. This hardly means that I should give up on the journey. It simply means that I should contemplate a serious course correction.

Project WAGTOB, we'll settle our score soon...