Hey Honey Bunch

  “What could have I done, Eti? He promised her.” I tried reasoning with her.

  “Glad she did not ask for the moon.”

  “Do you even realize, have you and your Pushkie Boy paused to reflect that the girl would be in the arms of another man right now, who is promising her the moon and a story and what not.”

  I looked around, unhappy about her berating me, but happy about the late hour and absence of anyone else around. She was not wrong. She was being brutally honest to make me snap out of this Pushkie thing.

  “So, you won’t help me. Are you jealous by any chance?” It’s the male ego thing. I had to act offended and angry.

  “Jealous my foot. Why should I be jealous?”

  “Well, no one will write a story for you. Not even a couplet.”

  “Duh! As if I want one. Even if I needed on, I would wrap my arms around you and melt you to write one for me. One moron is enough for me.”

  “My reputation is falling day by day.”

  “It happens when you go spend the evening with random males to discuss random romance about girls who don’t give a fuck about you.”

  “She loved him too Eti.” But she had already zoned out the conversation, establishing the bigger point.

  **

  “Do you need anything about my suicide attempts?”

  I was with Pushkie Boy at his flat where I had ordered him to cook fish fry (I am not a freeloader okay? I got my own fish) while I lounged comfortably. There was a pen in my hand and I was doodling on a notebook but with an intensity that would portray I was writing a prequel to Homer.

  “Don’t tell me, you are such a hopeless romantic that you decided to end it all and bull shit,” I remarked offhandedly.

  “Oh Okay.”

  “You mean, you are such a moron you tried to kill yourself over a girl.”

  “No, life was not good. I was not doing well financially; my health is also not quite good.”

  “And the girl you liked thought of you as a rude moron and a stuffed teddy bear to play around.”

  “Well, she did love me more than I loved her.”

  “So, you say. Did you tell her of your great attempts to reach hell?”

  “I might have. I seldom hid anything from her.”

  “You said she had worked as a suicide helpline volunteer. That she took calls from people thinking about suicide.”

  “For a brief time. A month or two.”

  “So, she should have seen it coming, if she really loved you Pushkie Boy.”

  “But she did love me.” He was sounding too confident.

  “Says the idiot who tried to kill himself over a girl.”

  “It was not because of her.”

  “Then was her love for you so week that it was easy for you to take a decision to end your life.”

  I knew I had to say it.

  “You knew Pushkie Boy. Didn’t you.” He had raised his high-pitched voice and it seemed he was shouting his lungs off. I matched the pitch this time.

  “You knew she won’t be there for you forever. You knew she will throw your love, your friendship away like a child outgrows an old toy.”

  Then we were suddenly silent. The only noise we could hear was that of oil crackling over the fish. He went over the kitchen and plated up the fish. I poured more rum into our glasses and added soda with it. We ate in silence. He did not answer and I didn’t want anything to ruin my moment with the fish and rum.

  “You said she is a trained psycho-something,” I spoke first, after gulping a long sip of the rum.

  “Psychotherapist. She has a doctorate. It’s not easy but she worked hard for it.” He was so proud of this fact as if he was the one who did a Ph.D. Jeez, guys who act so cheesy can get on your nerves at times.

  “I never liked those people. But tell me, then why didn’t she counsel you? A potential suicide case would be a dream catch for psychology people.”

  “No idea on that. She has bigger things to achieve.” He was defensive.

  “Bullshit. Eti was right. I am just wasting my time here. A girl is studying psychology. You say she loved you. Yet she could not see past your mind to see a suicidal man who tried to kill himself once. It was one time only right.” I narrowed my eyes to give my best stare, but only if would look at me.

  “Twice.” It came out in a meek sound. Gone was the high vocal pitch, jarring my ears.

  “Oh! Pushkie Boy what have you done.” I had to say something, but what?

  “I failed twice. I don’t like to talk about it.”

  That it did not shock me was a surprise in itself.

  “Let me tell you some awesome suicide stories then. But promise me you won’t try them.” Empathy just rose inside me.

  And then I told him hilarious stories of suicide failures, even though my sense of humor had drained away by then.

  **

  Delhi hosts several exhibitions around the year. Businessmen and professionals find easy connectivity and proximity to decent hotels good enough reason to congregate here.

  “Do you want to see her picture?” Pushkar asked me. We were strolling around at Pragati Maidan which was hosting the 18th Lifestyle or something exhibition. It was boring but we had nothing better to do, so came out to check it out. Someone known to me knew someone who was hosting a stall so had requested me for moral support. As if my presence will have a film star like effect on the stall. (The stall sucked. The guy had collected some cheap handloom looking stuff which would make your heart cringe).

  “No, I am struggling to remain an unbiased observer to this whole saga,” I told him.

  “Okay.” We bought some ice cream and sat down on the grass, me already thinking about lunch in Noida and Pushkar, about Neelima I suppose.

  “Okay, my curiosity beckons, show me what you got,” I said after some time when I was done with my Ice Cream and I had checked for any spots of its presence on my shirt.

  She was pretty, with a wide smile plastered across her face. She was all very tall, I told Pushkie Boy that.

  “Yes. Almost as tall as me.”

  “Good.”

  “Let me show you another photo.”

  “I will stalk her on FB and see all the pics.”

  “Just look at this one.”

  Okay, the girl was there in the photo, her arms around Pushkar. There were three other girls in the picture. One tall girl with a great chest caught my attention. I disciplined my inner self and looked at the image again. Oh, no it was not Pushkar, but an inflated version of Pushkar. Younger too. Maybe an old photo? I commented on that.

  He said no, and gave a puppy like smile. I suggested that he was definitely a relation of Pushkar if not his younger self.

  “It’s her new boyfriend.”

  “But dude it’s you. Okay, you are a little slim this guy is not as tall but you, but still, the nose looks similar, the hair styled like yours.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh shit! So, she did not only dump you and your love and your friendship but your replacement is your duplicate.”

  “You don’t have to get so excited about this.”

  “Excited! OMG, Pushkie Boy this is just the juice your story needed. Dump a guy and get his replica as a replacement. I am sure he is loaded too.”

  “Yeah. Ample of cash.”

  “So, a better and latest model of you.”

  “Lovely. I am sure Eti would love this too.” Nothing excites me like a good story.

  “But wait a minute. Pushkie Boy, how are you so sure that this chap and your Neelima are together. I mean are you stalking her or something?”

  “Cummon dude. Look at how her hand reaches his. Then her eyes. Can’t you see the twinkle, the way she is stealing glances.”

  I looked at the photo once again. I commented,

  “You are a moron dude. Let’s go and have some lunch.”

  **

  I tried to get Eti interested in the story by making her relate to Neelima. We were seated
in her living room and had ordered Chinese from Chin Mi, a cheap Chinese restaurant, which churns out street food style Chinese with some fancy packaging. Eti had taken out the Hookah I had presented her and busied me with the lighting of coal and setting it up.

  “Considering how possessive you are about this thing, why do I get to set it up?” I asked her, piercing the foil on the top with a toothpick. I would now place a burning coal over this.

  “Because that’s the way it is. Stop cribbing and set the Hookah properly.” She retorted back.

  “Ji memsahib.” I offered her a salute in mock servitude.

  “You also spent time in a suicide helpline center. Perhaps you came across Neelima?” I broached the topic as I sneaked a Dimsum off her plate.

  “Not interested. No, I never met her.” Her spoon hit the knuckles of my hands.

  “Do you know, she is supposedly hanging out with a guy who is a very close replica of Pushkie Boy.” I threw in a bait as I took the pipe of the hookah from her hands. I tried to inhale and blow out some smoke to see it was set okay. It was not. Eti took over and made minor adjustments. Now it was good.

  “Not interested. But you can show me the photos. You can’t even tell the difference between lavender and purple. How would you know?” I knew she was getting intrigued now.

  “Aren’t lavender and purple the same thing?” I sounded shocked as I blew out the smoke. Somehow, I could never form ring patterns when I blew the smoke from the Hookah.

  “You are an idiot. What would you do, when I marry a dashing prince and take in lesbian mistresses?” She smiled, carefully tucking in the Hakka Noodles in her mouth. After chewing the food, she took the pipe of the Hookah from me. When she inhaled and blew the smoke, they formed clear ring-like patterns. Eti was like that, she could perfect anything she set her heart on.

  “Don’t you say that Eti. My heart will fail. Here look at the pics.” I showed her the pics, conscious that I might have been staring at her mouth as she tucked the pipe in her mouth.

  “What a pervert you are,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Look at it, darling.” I nudged her.

  “Wow, they both look so alike. Especially the smile. Both have a similar smile. But the other guy is more puffed up and meaty. I like him better.” I was pleased that she had seen the pics. I was more pleased to get a validation from Eti,

  “He is taken. This is as per advanced psychological observations by Pushkie Boy.”

  “He is a moron. The girl friend zoned him or something and ruined his life. He just can’t look at that.”

  “In his defense, I would say, he is a moron so one can’t help it.”

  “Shut up,” she said, as she slurped some more noodles off her plate, smudging the copper lipstick on her lips.

  **

  It was a dull Friday evening and I was heading back from work when Eti called. I never understand, why can’t people just text. I am more of a text person. Eti likes to call even to say things like, I have reached or I am waiting.

  “Let’s have dinner together,” she spoke as soon as I had swiped the incoming call.

  “Uh- huh”, I knew something was not right. Eti would never call on a weekday for a dinner.

  “I was thinking, let’s eat out.”

  “Uh-huh” She will take her time, so I let it be.

  “I read about this amazing place near Saket, serves the best Chicken Curry in Delhi. It is an authentic Dhaba we must try.” She said pleadingly.

  “I am more well-read than you Eti, and I have never heard about this Chicken place, you are referring to.”

  “Moron. Are you taking me or not?”

  “Are you asking me out for a date Eti,” I whispered into the phone.

  “I will disconnect this call if you annoy me.”

  “You are the only one I want to annoy, Eti.”

  “Pig. Are you coming or not? I would reach in an hour.”

  I was too tired to go and was not at pleased with Eti’s choice for dinner. My own plans for dinner included a coleslaw sandwich which I would not even notice eating as I would be glued to my E-Reader, reading something.

  “Of course, darling. Would I ever say no to you?” I said.

  “You might, one day. If you found someone hotter than me.” She sounded as if she was smiling on the other side.

  “And that’s never going to happen.”

  “I know. Now move your ass to Saket metro station. You got one hour.”

  I reached Saket within 40 minutes to find Eti had already reached ahead of me. She was standing by a flight of steps at the exit of the station. She also had a sullen look about her. She was wearing a black floral dress which had pretty roses printed on them. It reached her ankles but the neck was deep and showed the beauty of her neck and shoulders. The dress was sleeveless but the straps of her laptop bag hung on one of her shoulders looked liked tiny sleeves.

  “I am on time,” I spoke. “And you look nice,” I added as an afterthought. As if that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

  “Whatever, let’s go.” She shifted her bag from one shoulder to another, uncomfortably. Now I knew what had changed her mood from the last time we spoke. Her enthusiasm seemed to have dipped drastically.

  “You bought some booze darling,” I tried on an accent but failed.

  “Shut up.”

  “So Eti darling went to buy booze and some men bothered her. She is upset when she should not be. She should not care about this.”

  “I know.” She let go of a deep sigh. I removed the bag from her shoulder, she tried to protest halfheartedly but I was quick and slung the bag over my shoulder.

  “Tell me about this God forsaken place we are heading out to.”

  “You will hate me if you don’t like it. You already hate me.” She was clearly upset. I was not about to ask what happened at the liquor shop. If you are as beautiful as Eti and go to a liquor shop in Delhi at night, alone, you know better than to expect a queenly welcome.

  “Of course, I do.” I was not her boyfriend or lover or brother. I had no need to be protective of her. Right?

  Of course, I could have asked her that she should have waited for me. I could have bought liquor from the store and she could have waited outside. But I had used that line, very foolishly I admit, before. I was berated to no end. “Poor Eti can’t go out to shop without her macho boyfriend.” That was the only sentence I remember which did not have a swear word in it. I am surprised Eti still talks to me, given her words that time. So now I just shut up and let things be. Eti was right. I don’t have to flaunt my ego around and show I am better or superior because of my manhood.

  We walked on to what appeared like a village center. I filled Eti in on my day and listened to her. After about fifteen minutes of walking, we came to an open square. An ancient tree stood in the middle of the square. Next to it was a shack like structure with a hand painted, rusting hoarding which read, “Afghan Chicken Centre” The whole area was dirty and surrounded by ugly looking buildings built like stacking matchstick boxes over each other.

  “You hate this place, don’t you?” Probably my cringing nose gave me away.

  “No Eti this is swell. Maybe when we get married, we bring our kids here.”

  “Shut up and stop staring at the gutter as if you are going swimming into the running drain water.”

  “It is kind of ugly, darling. We could have, you know booked a table at a restaurant or ordered in something. Even a fast food place would have done.” I know I can be a pain at times but Eti is quite tolerant of me.

  “My cute snobbish pig.” She said as she pinched my cheeks.

  “Whatever”. The sitting area was divided into two halls. A short guy wearing a tattered t-shirt showed us to the family room. We passed a general hall where only men folk were present. The room was for men so that they could go and get drunk or whatever without any female company around. All eyes turned to Eti as she passed by. In the family room, there were only couples
there, two were double dating and the other two were romancing around the chicken. No, they were not giving any importance to the chicken. What a waste. All eyes again turned to Eti as she followed the tattered t-shirt wearing guy. I was awed as usual.

  We got a table by the corner and as I tried to look at the menu, Eti put a hand over my elbow, probably aware of taut expression. I just nodded and she took out a cigarette from a pocket. She looked at the cigarette held firmly in between her fingers and then at me. I hurriedly started scanning the menu again. She gave me a stare and kept the cigarette back in its carton.

  “What?” I asked

  “Nothing.”

  We took out the bottle from her bag, which was a blended whiskey and ordered ice and soda. It seemed unlikely that anyone in the kitchen had any experience with Afghani cuisine. Still, we ordered the chicken which was house specialty and settled with our drinks.

  “Sleepover?” She asked, drawing out the cigarette and lighting it up.

  “No. What if you rape my innocent self?”

  “Pig.”

  “How is life?”

  “Boring.” We eased into a comfortable silence, munching the peanut salad which was just the way I liked it. Fewer tomatoes, more lemon and just the right amount of onion.

  “I might be going out for the weekend.” She let out.

  “Uh-huh” I replied

  “You know a bunch of guys, plenty of booze and weed.”

  “And crazy communal sex,” I added.

  “That too.” She said, reflectively. As if random group sex was a sad thing.

  “You can come along too. If you want to, though I know you won’t” She said sneeringly.

  “Well with all those sex acts going around, I feel shy,” I said it more for the effect as it was a pleasure to watch Eti burst into laughter.

  “What are you doing over the weekend?” she asked, lifting the glass to her lips.

  “Probably hang out with Pushkar,” I told her.

  “How is he doing?” She took a drag of the ciggy but she was careful to blow the cigarette smoke the other way.

  “No idea.” I checked her drink was gone, mine was almost depleted. I hurriedly finished mine in a single sip and asked Eti to fill in the glasses again.

  “His mental configuration is not right.” Eti was in a thoughtful mood. She compared both our glasses to check if equal whiskey had been poured into both glasses and then passed on my glass towards me.

  “I agree. Something is definitely not right. Although his mind appears to be very sharp. He is very knowledgeable about things and very well read.”