Habit Over Hate

For those of you who have been wondering why MirrorCracked hasn’t been updated for two months (to the day), well, you can stop wondering. I am still alive, unfortunately, and I’m back in business. For those of you who assumed I had given up, for those of you who assumed I was dead and for those of you who just didn’t (and still don’t) care whether this blog gets updated or not, the least I can offer is a friendly wave.

I’ve been living in a beach town for a while now and working for an ad agency, setting up a business of my own and working on my third book, so arguably, I’ve been a bit busy. Add an ill-timed illness and brand new fuckers around, it does get a bit dicey to manage blogging time.

But anyway, here I am, exactly two months after my last post, itching to tell the world about my beach town.

For a while now, I’ve noticed that the town I live in has been mistakenly called many names and not all of them pleasant. It has been referred to as the Crap Recycler, The Widowmaker, The Land of Opportunity and, my favorite, A Triumph of Habit Over Hate.

I don’t think it’s any of those. The more I look at this town, the more I come to believe that it’s a small-time beach town that has had a sudden influx of different dichotomies:  randomly distributed pockets of wealth and penury, steel-and-concrete monstrosities and corrugated cardboard disguised as houses, intellectuals and dumbasses.

There are still remnants of the little beach town that it actually once was – the early morning air with the slight hint of seawater in it, the small lanes paved with tiles, thatched roof huts (if you’re lucky enough to spot one), tall coconut trees and the stink of freshly caught seafood. People getting haircuts and shaves on the pavement, the constant cacophony of the crows (which seems to be a trait of almost every beach town), and finally, the vast areas of mangroves that signal the edge of land all make up for a wonderfully misunderstood beach town.

Then there are the beaches themselves. Some beaches here have been overrun by people who, I think, have never seen a beach in their lives and hence empathize with. But others are pristine in their naturalness. Vast stretches of sandy shores devoid of any human pollution, the gentle lapping of the waves as they kiss your feet and the distant horizon where the unnaturally large sun sinks, throwing up a fascinating array of golden lights dancing on the rippling water…

There I go again, losing myself while describing the sea. The point I was trying to make is that all these things put together make this place a lovely little beach town which has all the beauty and serenity of any other place like Gokarna or Mahabs or even some parts of Goa, with all the amenities of a fully-developed city of money, power, cricket and Bollywood. It would help if we go past the negativity that is being spun into our lives by everyone who’s been here. Every newspaper, on an average, consists of 90% bad news every day. Murders, political scams, money laundering, government incapacities, road rage, traffic snarls, and other nonsense. Forget all that for a day. If you live where I live, try and overlook all that for just a day. Try and connect with the small-time beach town that it really is.

I live in Mumbai.

The Man From Nowhere

“See the nowhere crowd cry the nowhere tears of honour 
Like twisted vines that grow 
Hide and swallow mansions whole…”

– James Hetfield, The Memory Remains

He came from nowhere and he didn’t know where he was headed. He seemed lost, confused, a paper boat caught in a hurricane, with turmoil eroding the last traces of sanity and reason in his head. He was escaping, hopefully to a better tomorrow, but he didn’t know for sure. He wanted a fresh start, desperately. He didn’t know how he was going to achieve it – his bad luck seemed to have followed him here as well. Everything he tried seemed to fail, and fail miserably. He caught himself searching for straws to clutch at.

He vowed to find a muse, an inspiration, a candle in the whirlwind of his bad luck. He wanted to find the elusive abundance of good luck that had deserted him for so long. He yearned for the peace and tranquility that had been hiding from him. It was not a search in vain.

He met her on a hot, sunny afternoon and they regarded each other cautiously, unsure of just how much attention the other person warranted. She seemed harmless enough, but he was expecting his seemingly unlimited quota of bad luck to step in again.

“Been a while,” he said. Cautiously. Two tigers, one paranoid and the other indifferent, circling each other.

“Yes. How have you been?” she asked.

“Good,” he replied and they went on to talk about other things mundane.

Time flew by and a pact was etched in stone between them, unwritten yet indelible. It took time, obviously. It did not happen overnight. He began to experience her presence more and more in his life until it almost became an addiction. Over time, he started craving for her company. She became the beacon of light in the darkness that had clouded him. She forced him to embrace good luck again, though he never knew how she managed to do that.

He still had no destination in mind, but he knew that his journey wouldn’t be lonely anymore; the journey that he had started from nowhere and had seemed to head nowhere; the journey that she had spectacularly derailed and made more bearable. He had a lot of things to be thankful for. And for a million things more.

He had found his muse. He had found his share of good fortune. The man from nowhere was finally home.

The Dummy’s Guide To Long Distance Relationships

“Wait a minute! What is this? The Dummy’s Guide? Oh my god, it’s back! It’s back!” screamed one hysterical groupie who ran into me on the street this afternoon. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or delighted. In the end, I just managed to nod my head, smile, make appropriate noises, and escape to the safety of my office.

After what seems like a really long time, MirrorCracked is proud to present the rebirth of the Dummy’s Guide series – the self-help guides that guarantee results. For the uninitiated, check out the other guides here.

This time, I write about a topic in which I have done very extensive research – women and relationships. I don’t claim to know all the answers, of course, but I know just about enough that is bound to help all those poor souls who are unlucky enough to be trapped in a long distance relationship. I have an ulterior motive in writing this post, obviously. I, too, am stuck in a long distance relationship with a wonderful woman who amazes me with her sudden bouts of weirdness. After a deja vu morning that saw me relive my gory days of 2006, when I was rapidly losing my mind and my hair over a dead-end long distance relationship in the US, I decided to write this guide to help ease the pain and mental agony that many of my fellow men face in similar situations.

Given below are a list of the top five accusations that a unhinged girlfriend/wife/partner can make against you in a long distance relationship, and the appropriate responses that you can use as rebuttal. These responses are guaranteed to ensure a long-lasting feeling of warmth and love in the unhinged girl’s mind, while totally absolving you of any grief, guilt or need. Here goes.

1. You never have the time to talk to me!

I’m sorry, I’ve been too busy talking to other people about you. I’ve been so held up that I haven’t really had time for anything. Everyone around me seems to want to know about you, and I’ve told the story of how we met and fell in love a million times in the last three days! (For added effect: Each time, with a smile on my face.)

2. You don’t communicate enough! I don’t know what’s happening in your life!

If I don’t communicate enough, it’s probably because there isn’t anything interesting to report. In the past few months, the only interesting thing that has happened to me is YOU. There is nothing else happening with me. Without you around, I lead a very boring life.

3. You are never there when I need you the most!

The obvious thing to say would be, “Well, neither are you, bitch!” but please refrain from doing so. Instead, say this: I know I’ve been preoccupied with certain things of late, but you’re always a priority, darling. I will make sure that I’ll take the effort to be there for you whenever you need me. You’re never off my mind. 

4. I don’t know whether this will work out or not!

Neither did the Shah of Persia, when he set out to walk around the world alone. But he did. He accomplished the seemingly impossible task by sheer faith. Have faith in us, and we will survive. (PS: There was no Shah of Persia, but she need not know that. Forrest Gump is also a good name to use.)

5. My friend saw you with another woman on the bike / car / mall / beach!

It’s true, I won’t deny it. I met a friend from school / college and we went out for a coffee / lunch. She called me a hopeless romantic because all I could talk about was you. 

***

PS: For tips on how to lie effectively to women, wait for my next guide.

PPS: For more information on specific scenarios, feel free to contact me. If I’m alive at the end of the day, I’ll reply to your mails. If not, It’s been sweet knowing you.

For The Last Time

You’ve been with me for seven years. We’ve held each other closer than anything else in the world. I’ve cared for you more than I’ve cared for myself. Or anyone else. I have loved you more than you can imagine. And you have given me such pleasure I can only dream about.

When we first started out, we were hesitant, unsure of how we would survive with each other. We hid our relationship from the world. Except one or two people, no one knew about us. We were careful, we tiptoed around the parents and the well-wishers. We gradually progressed into being much more than a casual fling. We became partners in life’s grand journey. I carried you through some tough times and you did the same to me.

All those days and wonderful nights where you have comforted me and given me pleasure are fresh in my memory. We’ve laughed, cried, drank, sang, danced, played and slept together. We have been each others’ best friends and the worst enemies. We have been each others’ best lovers and the worst dates. I’ve shared some of my most magical moments with you over a better part of the last decade.

And now, it’s time to say goodbye. I have been meaning to write you a love song but I can’t get myself to do it. I still have the occasional urge to kiss you and hold you from time to time, but for our sake, we should part ways. We have the power to seriously debilitate each other if we continue.

I wish you all the best. Thank you for everything.  I will never find a love truer than yours. Ever.

Image Courtesy: Clker.com

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

She wore a very pretty, pink, long-sleeved sweater that hugged her body and showed off her curves quite well. Her jeans were a couple of sizes too small, which was perfect for me, for obvious aesthetic reasons. She walked towards me from across the crowded bar, with a lovely smile on her lips – blood-red lips that broke into an easy smile that wrinkled the corners of her hazel eyes and made her look that much more beautiful. She was a little under 5’10″ tall, and easily one of the tallest women in the room.

She moved with a graceful, relaxed-yet-sexy walk, with her brown-streaked curls bouncing up and down with each step she took. She walked over to me, her smile widened as I stood up and hugged her tightly for a couple of seconds, and held out a chair for her. My fingers deliberately brushed her shoulders and her waist as I helped her into her seat, leaving no doubts in her mind what my intentions were.

“A gentleman,” she said. “You guys are hard to find these days.”

Her voice was sweetness personified.The lilting tones put my head into overdrive and even before I could say anything, I felt a stirring in my loins, an almost animalistic urge to pounce on her and take her roughly, right there in the crowded bar.

I smiled my best smile and said, “Then I’m glad you found me.”

We spoke of this and that, made small talk, and flirted quite a bit. I think my best line was, “I wish I knew Braille.” Since it was a blind date,  she got my meaning, and blushed deeply. Her lovely face turned bright crimson when I said it. We ordered a couple of drinks and a bite to eat. I reached my hand over to hers and held it there for a few minutes. She didn’t retract her hand. Instead, she locked her fingers between mine and we sat there, looking into each others’ eyes. Was this love at first sight? Was I really doing this? Meeting this beautiful woman, holding her hand, looking into her eyes and steadily falling in love?

The waiter handed me the bill, and just as I was about to pay, she reached over and snatched the bill away from me.

“I’m paying,” she said with a sweet smile.

I couldn’t react because I had seen something that had sent a shiver down my spine and in an instant, filled my very soul with terror. I wish I hadn’t seen it and I hoped I had imagined it, but I knew it was wishful thinking. I had seen the most terrifying sight that threatened to make me into a sniveling coward.

“Uh,” I said. “Look, I – I have to go. I am running late for a meeting.”

She stared at me coldly, stunned, unable to comprehend. Even before she recovered, I stood up, hastily threw down some money on the table and muttered something about it being my treat, stammered an apology and like a fool, I stumbled out of the bar and ran for my life. I did not take a cab, I did not even bother looking for my bike that I had parked close  by. I ran the three blocks to my house, in full sprint, not looking back. I was scared and I was not going to stop until I reached home.

After what seemed like an eternity, I reached my front door, out of breath and wheezing heavily. I rang the doorbell and almost collapsed into my roommate’s arms. Being one of my closest friends, he was obviously shocked and worried. He helped me into the chair, gave me some water and helped me calm myself down. My kid sister, who was also home, came out of the room and stared at me. I looked a total mess. They asked me what happened and demanded an explanation. They even offered to call the cops, thinking I had been mugged.

“No, don’t call the cops. They won’t be able to do anything,”  I managed to say between deep breaths.

“Nikhil, you’re scaring me,” said my sister. “What happened!?”

I looked into their faces – my sister and my best friend – anxiously looking at me, and waiting for an explanation. So, I told them my story about how I had met the perfect woman, the wonderful time we had had, the drinks and the dinner and the conversations. Then I reached the point of the story where the bill arrived and she had reached out to snatch it from my hand.

“What happened? Why did you run when she took the bill??” asked my roommate.

“Dude,” I said. “She had body hair!”

***