Single Serving Acquaintances

It is all so crazy…….socializing.
You meet someone through someone at a Hard Rock Café, and voila! You are friends in the cyber space.
I made a lot of house-fly friends in that manner.

Cocooning!

My friends, all of them aspire to be future cool guys, all to get laid for the last. Some smoke pot and they deify that, others are sports-cool, some both, watching two alien football clubs fighting in the fields and then getting touchy about it, most of them don’t know shit about the game and they do not really even have a craving for that, all imposed taste, to be acceptable in the cool, their own social acceptability norm.

Natural selection in the pseudo-supra world!

Some appreciate art and culture of past especially which flourished in Europe and elsewhere, in a phony elite manner. Girls, they want to be either ladies as England once taught their servile predecessors or if they are not hot enough, the bohemian intellectual, talking boisterously about existentialism, the state, or as for as art is concerned cubism, the de stijl, minimalism; Boy! You talk about theatre Oh! Dada, the surrealists, the absurdists, don’t forget Bertolt Brecht’s (and Kurt Weill's) the Three penny Opera.

The Whores of Mensa! One dinner a throw.

Yeah! And there are beatniks too, drifters. Ask them any thing, mundane questions like “do you have ‘x’s phone number? I have to make a call to x” And the wannabe drifter answers that “I am somewhere in hills smoking a “J”,” while he is necessarily not doing so and even if he is, the interrogator doesn’t want to know details. But in cyber space a response like that means that this answer is not a particular answer of a specific question, rather the initial question becomes just a piece of induction to disseminate the boring and unwanted information to the larger populace sharing the common cyber space; your question is reduced to a pretext; just a fucking pretext.
Dude! Fuck you! Who is interested in knowing what the hell are you doing with whatever, wherever, when one only wants to know a little phone number.

Mercy! On the Road!

Then there are these girls. They might be very intelligent, rocking in studies, excelling everywhere in every class, armed with astronomical grades, getting the best fucking jobs in the biggest corporate, media or whatever, but Dude! They always are mesmerized by their boy friends, no matter how big a loser he is.
Boy! They are impressed.
One of my senior students, one of those Babas at my otherwise splendid alma matter (a provincial University, where sons of small peasants from the Indo Gangetic Plains come to become corrupt Civil Servants or something of that sort, if not the same) once told me that “Guru! Ladkiyan to paida huin hain impress hone ke liye.”. “Girls are born to be impressed of guys” is what he meant.
At that time I could not get him; I did not know many girls, unlike that Baba who was a great womanizer. Later that Baba became a Sales Tax Officer, though he never looked like one interested in Tax matters of the state.
Then, Hindi poet Raghuveer Sahay’s poems; I thought of the Baba’s statement and these poems as male chauvinist reactions. But in Delhi I came to realize those profound statements when I met, all mesmerized women of their sex-dolls.
Dude! After all their mental capabilities in cracking problems, photographic memories (that’s really helpful in Delhi University), straight forwardness towards academic matters; no compromise in studies (especially examinations) they were always looking forward to get laid and therefore being impressed with whatever piece of shit they are going to sleep with was a comfortable pretext.

Local anesthesia before a painful operation!

Now these potheads; smoking pot has been an ancient tradition in daily wage earners at construction sites, rickshaw pullers, dharma bums (not what Kerouac describes). Marijuana plant is an ordinary site in villages. Along the sugar cane fields of eastern U.P. these plants may be seen, forlorn and shabby in appearance. Except on the occasion of a Shiva Pooja, they are not considered important at all, gloomy shrub of no use from the standards of an average villager. Addicts, who are richer use alcohol or shoot Heroin.

But Dude! You should see an average pothead in Delhi University sans rickshaw pullers. They smoke worst quality weed, a total dog shit as a matter of fact, which will never give you a high unless you are pretentious enough. Some times it is not even weed, that’s some greenish soil mixed with some cheap shit medico-tranquilizer, used for operating small cysts up one’s ass or something.
And yeah! You roam around the North Campus of D.U. you will catch up a glance of wannabe Mary Pranksters (all ‘off the bus’ kids), though lacking a Ken Kesey while full of Mountain Girls and Cassadies and Dude! This country is not even waging a fucking war on some shitty country up there in the East Asia so why this self-imposed reaction.

Circumscribing a failed counterculture; no hip of any use!

And apart from the above observations of yours, one day you realize that the girl you adored is getting hooked up to a guy who is a hot-shot, unlike you. That she is getting married to this shithouse very soon. That she made you go ‘blush’ one summer night while you were confiding/convincing her about your deep, down your throat feelings. That she turned you down also on the basis of lack of manliness at that very moment of your confession. That she informed you about your being a timid piece of paranoid shit. That she made you also realize about your being an incestuous bastard. That she used the word ‘scope’ instead of ‘possibility’ to describe something about your being extraordinarily ambitious, as for as your thinking of her, as your girl was concerned.

Symptoms of terminal illness!