Whenever we talk on phone or in person, his discussion almost always turns to girls – just anyone, chicks, girls, aunties, or just any damn girl. This is not new; this is his chronic problem—ever since I first got to know him. At first it was in college, then in news on them from the school where he worked, new city he relocated to, and almost from anywhere he had a chance to check-out, talk or work with them.
College: yes, those were the days when everyone indulges in silly talks. So while I was not that vocal and descriptive in my thought-uttering them, he wasn’t shy at all. We had a code name for most of them. It helped when we used to talk about them using the codes in front of his professor uncle in whose house he stayed. When we used the CM or DM code, the professor of Sociology would think we were talking about some chief minister or district magistrate – he must have also thought we were talking about them in context to our political science lessons.
He spoke to them in college, while leaving for home from college, and even went to their house to share or copy notes. He would give me all the details. I would be awed by his guts. But when he spoke about this girl I had a major crush on, the one from Waverly Convent Mussoorie, I wanted to bash him. But I thought it wise to pretend being ignorant and just listen to him, though I also thought of camouflaging the object of discussion. But he had minute details of everyone and of everything.
On valentine day’s eve, we went to buy cards for few girls. O, by the way, he wanted to give, and he wanted me to select the best ones. Next day, along with her friend the Waverly girl came to me in a pretty upset and angry mood. She kept the card in my hand and inquired why in the first place I even imagined she would accept it from me. In milliseconds I was tomato red! When she was through with her charge, I opened my notebook and asked her to compare the two hand writings. She apologized and felt embarrassed. I still thought she was not convinced. I cursed for myself being in his company.
This guy did not turn up for next two days. And I skipped my favorite teacher’s class because I did not wanted to face the Waverly dame. The culprit returned and I saw him chit chatting with the Waverly girl along with numerous others. He always had tricks to renter a no entry zone. This time he shared some Xerox copies of some crap guide which he assured is being used to draft the Part II question paper. Girls jump on notes and hoard everything that may remotely have any reference to whatever is part of syllabus.
This guy had the knack of making other girls jealous and at the same time desiring him – in whatever way. I appeared more like his tag along whereas I thought the opposite – each guy during college days thinks no end of himself. I was under that illusion. But there were facts attached to this illusion: I could quickly jot down notes that the teachers rattled off, most people in college did not had English as their first language at school level, so they relied on him to get my notes and share with them [I came to know about it quite late]. I bought almost all the books on English literature which were Xeroxed and circulated, I spoke English with teachers of English literature – and that’s amusing, isn’t it! I also had enough money for both of us to spend some time in the canteen, where he thought he enthralled everyone with his velvety or nightingale like voice.
During college time, I never believed when he told me about his secret meetings with Tina, Mina, Bubbly and others. But once in a while when I used to observe him talking to them, I had doubts – maybe he was actually doing it. If he was closer to any one, I used to be far away from him. Not realizing people would not see me, but him.
Teachers were not spared either. Few incidents so I am not elaborating. But this guy had guts, and tact, tricks, and a never die spirit.
Once he did not show up for around two weeks. I went to the professor’s house. I was told that he had gone to meet his parents. He was back with some more stories about his short stint with his neighbors. I cared less now. Later he told me that someone’s uncle had threatened him and that was another cause of his absence.
Not that other guys did not vie for these girls, but he always had the upper hand. Girls watched him play basket ball. During that time I used to talk to some teacher in either the history or political science department. I always had so many doubts to clarify. One of the teachers avoided me. With absolutely no interest in 10 people chasing a ball to drop it in a hole with net, I used to just walk out of the college – to Maheshwari Sweet Shop for an aloo or puff samosa.
Life changes for all or all change in life, but this guy’s vision and mission in life has always been clear. We moved out of college, to different cities, were in touch through mails and phone, and I got to hear more juicy and real to believe stories. I had not changed in one domain at least. But this guy could write encyclopedia on everything about the fairer sex.
We met again, and this time his focus was on my experiences with befriending God’s best creation [according to him]. I had none, but call it peer pressure or male ego of not to be understood inferior than any other male, I cooked up stories for him. But in such matters, truth walks out with ease. So I guess he knew, but was sensible enough not to point out the incorrect technical details. Whatever, despite his being out of this world in this arena, I never loathed him. It’s his life after all, and friends come in all shapes and sizes.
He lives to this day in his own world. He does what he wants. He reminds me that applying skills is much better, and maybe useful, than having bookish knowledge. Or better to say; desire to do but lack of courage.
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