Auspicious Gossips

This is a continuation of my previous story of the Nuptial Pimple. I was attending my friend One-time Writer’s wedding. Though I was a total stranger among the bridegroom’s relatives and neighbors at his native place, I was fortunate enough to have the company of a common friend of us. They were college mates, and this friend known by the name Utham, had many funny tales to share about the boy who was getting married.

I think cracking jokes and chattering gossips about the bridegroom is an informal universal custom observed by his friends on the wedding day throughout the world irrespective of any sectarian divide. Though inadvertently, we both also have started to wag our tongues revealing some known and unknown tales about the one-time writer. 

As a college mate, Utham had some interesting stories to share about him. The one-time writer was an odd kind of guy, during the beginning of the college days. People considered him a simpleton. But when he started to attend camps organized in the college, the leader in him was revealed. He proved himself an excellent organizer and a skilled one in delivering inspiring speeches. After that, the people who initially considered him a stupid guy felt ashamed.

Another Interesting information that Utham revealed was about his writing attempts.

“He writes a lot, you know?” Utham asked.

“Yes, I know. I call him ‘the one-time writer’ in my blog,” I said.

“Your blog? Do you have a blog? Do you write?” Utham was surprised.

“Hmmm...not really, ah, then what happened next?” I said with a slight embarrassment.

“Ok, so your one-time writer once wanted to write a great story. He wanted to write only serious stuff portraying the real problems faced by the common people. He found that the fundamental problems faced by everyone across everywhere were the same. To experience the real nature of the problems, he wanted to travel” Utham said.

“Really?” this was a new information to me. 

“So, he wanted to go amidst the common people. He had heard about some tribal people inhabiting since the prehistoric era in the lap of the Western Ghats. With his organizational skills, he made a small group and went to the tribal people to live amidst them. His parents didn’t know about such a journey. So, they were worried without seeing their son.”

“Oh, then what happened?” I didn’t hide my surprise hearing a curious information about the one-time writer.

“After one week he came back. So that was the story,” Utham finished his tale.

“I will ask him about that. This was a first-hand information. I never knew that all the time, when he was appearing as a perfect friend of mine, he had some additional traits which he concealed successfully from me.”

After one week, when the one-time writer called me, I asked him about his one week visit to the tribals.

He said simply, “buddy it was nothing. At that time I wanted to write a story. Since I was an inexperienced guy, I wanted some more experience. So, I went to visit them,”

“How was the experience?” I asked.

“Nothing, they had a perfect social living system, except a sophisticated life style like us,” he said.

“Did you write any story out of your experiences with them?” I asked.

He said, “yes, the story was published in the college magazine and it got good reviews from the students in the college. I got a lot of appreciation from the professors as well,”

“Ok, tell me, in your story, how did you portray the life style of the tribals that you met during that one week?”

After a pause, the one-time writer replied, “Buddy, it was not a story on tribals. It was actually about the parents’ worry when their children go missing for at least one or two days.”

The Story of the Nuptial Pimple

                          Or 

How Do I Make My Posts Look like Fiction!

It was the One Time Writer’s wedding the last week. I attended his wedding at his native place to convey them my wishes and greetings in person. My friend, who was introduced in this blog through ‘the Confessions of a One-time Writer’, was actually in a many months-long preparations prior to his marriage. Despite of his attempts to shed the weight as described in my previous tale on him, ‘the Fat Boy’s Dilemma’, on the marriage day, he looked exactly like the way how he looked sans exercises. 

As part of his preparations to make his marital day beautiful, he had been practicing many other things. To make himself appear graceful, he used to visit a beauty parlor to undergo facial massages and clean-up treatments. (Am I creating an instance for the women folk to mock the men?) In addition to explaining to me the benefits of the Orange Galvanic treatment, which he used to undergo, he suggested some other massages and treatments. It was true that he looked absolutely shiny till the day I met him before the marriage.

On the marriage day, I woke up in the early morning, and caught one of the first buses to his home place, located about a hundred kilometer away. Though my travel was hindered due to the traffic blocks, I made it there some minutes before the conclusion of the church proceedings. 

Though after marriage I met him with his partner for life, he was rushed by his relatives to the reception hall. Every man is a celebrity, on his wedding day; I thought about attributing one such quotation to my credit, since as a wannabe writer, I am really lacking credited quotes.

Anyway after the reception, I met him. He looked very bright. But, I shocked seeing a new pimple on his upper lip, tarnishing all his past months’ efforts. The pimple looked almost like as if it was germinated just on the previous night. So evident was the pimple’s majestic posture on his upper lip.

I asked him about the curious appearance of the pimple on the day just before his wedding day. 

He replied, “What to say buddy. These things are beyond our control!”

All right! So that was the story of the nuptial pimple. Now let me explain what I did to make a real life incident look like a fiction.

First of all, I didn’t ask him at the marriage venue about the sudden appearance of the pimple.

After congratulating him, I came back and remained involved in my works. Today, I thought about posting about his pimple. I felt that it was better if I had asked him about the pimple at the spot. It might have given him an embarrassment, but I would have been justified since friends have the freedom to tease.

If I write a post about it, it will be complete only with his reply. So, I just picked up my phone and dialed his number. Without any extensive how are yous, I asked him about his nuptial day pimple.

He replied in a pathetic tone, “What to say buddy. These things are beyond our control.” 

Dine Time Love Tales

While having lunch from outside today with my colleagues, the Workaholic described how his friend wooed a girl during college days. I remembered some similar occasions when my friends shared me some interesting love stories, which they had heard. 

The first such tale comes to my mind is the one told by X-EN-Tric. One evening, while waiting for the supplier to serve those usual junk items, he told me about his friend who settled now in Hyderabad. When appointed to a company during his initial days of career, he had an instant crush on the girl who interviewed him. If such a fancy ever occurs to him, he never hesitated to reveal that. He began to woo her and finally won that special place in her heart. By the time they became man and wife, he had acquired a superior position than hers in that company with his hard work and efficiency.

The second such story happened during the initial days of my college. Though it is not exactly a love story, I like to write it here simply because of the fun factor. While having lunch during the noon time inside our class rooms, we had a general discussion on girls; the way they dress, the way they talk, or the way some one was winked at. One of my friends shared an interesting thing about a special girl, who was our batch mate.

“Hey,” smilingly he invited our attention, “do you know the girl in the second batch who usually appears with a cheerful pretty smile?”

Anxiously I listened to him.

“Who? The bubbly one with curly hair?” someone asked.

“Yes! During the camp, she had a small doubt. When she shared it with other girls, they told her to ask it to a particular boy,” he said.

“And what was the doubt?”

“Well, she was open-minded and innocent. So, she didn’t understand that her friends were pulling her legs. She straightaway approached that boy and asked him with no introduction”

“Hi buddy, I have a small doubt. My friends said you know it well,” she said.

Happily he greeted her, “Hello girl, and what’s that small doubt?”

She said, “Well...err...what’s a condom?”. He shocked for a while and stood speechless for some moments. It is a well known fact that the conservative Indians do not appreciate any talk between man and woman, if it is related to sex. Unfortunately, this girl didn't know that condom was related to sex.

“Eh...what did you ask?” unable to believe his own ears, he asked.

“Condom? You know that well, right? Condom? What’s that?" she repeated her question. 

He said, “Well, that’s a funny thing. To tell the truth, it is your friends who know it well,” and thus escaped from the embarrassment.

Now let’s get back to the tale told by Workaholic. Though the Workaholic always wanted to be referred to as the Corporate Communist, I prefer to call him by the former name as it is easier to write. 

Workaholic told this tale while we were having lunch with Creative Guy, Full Moon Girl, Talkative Techie, and Practicing Clairvoyant.

According to his tale, his college mate had a crush on a girl. So, one day, gathering all the courage, he approached her with a smile.

He said, “Hi, I wanted to tell you something. I thought a lot, and for the last a few days, I couldn’t even sleep. This feeling is so disturbing. The moment I saw you for the first time, it began to hurt my heart. I don’t know what this emotion is, or how I can express it. And I don’t even know to narrate this special feeling in words. I have only one way to show you what I feel in my heart. Let me tell you frankly, I love you my dear girl”

She looked at him and stood still for a moment as if she was taken aback by his words. He saw a special grace on her face.

Stretching his arms he said, “Here is my bleeding heart, my love. Please accept it, won’t you?”

He saw a disdainful smile on her face, “But, I’m free of such emotions,” she said haughtily.

The Workaholic finished his tale.

The Man with the Piggy Face

On Easter day, when the Writing Pro, who has been mentioned in the cryptic story of the ruined house, visited Cochin with his photographer friend from Bihar, I was also asked to accompany, to help them with my knowledge of the local areas in the process of collecting beautiful colonial visuals of Fort Cochin. Delighted of having an easy Sunday evening ride through the otherwise crowded areas, I enthusiastically rode my ‘sincere bike’ with ease, singing to myself a tune which I found melodious.

Seeing a petrol bunk at side, I immediately thought of my bike’s decreasing fuel level, and thus straightly rushed towards the staff there and asked him to add some fuel.

“How many kilometers from here to Fort Cochin?,” I inquired pretending to be a first time visitor of the place, while he poured petrol to my fuel tank.

It was at this juncture, this particular person, with a familiar face and with a friendly smile approached me in a sudden as if he was appeared from nowhere! With a sociable tap on my shoulder, he asked me, with no introduction, or even without an excuse-me, some money; ten rupees exactly.

I could’nt say ‘no’, at least for some seconds, because his smile was so friendly and convincing. Ten rupee is not a big amount, how many rupee notes had I burnt in smokes and how much money had I spent for buying worthless fried junk items, I thought.

While trying to reach for my wallet at back pocket, I asked him, ‘why do you want money? Just ten rupees? What is the urgent need?’

He murmured and tried to give me some vague answers, like, ‘it is urgent,”, “they are fined” and he even said, “he has no time to explain why he wants money”.

I raised my head and suddenly looked at his face, and I noticed curiously that with the clean shaven appearance, his face almost looked like that of a fully grown swine.

I questioned him, “I don’t understand? Why do you want money? And in what way I am bound to give you money?”

“Sir, we are law college students and we are penalized. Just give me rupees ten,” he pleaded but without losing his friendly charm.

“Law college student? An aged one like you?” I didn’t ask. That was my soliloquy.

Since he said ‘we’, I looked around him to see the rest of the gang, but with no success. What I saw was a car parked at a distance close to the air-filling machine. In the car, I saw a woman and a small child. In front of the car, a gentleman was giving instructions to the staff at the pump to fill up the tyres.

Curiously I saw, all those people were keenly watching me. Did that woman show some gestures?

I looked again and she again said me secretively using gestures, “don’t give him money”.

The piggy faced man asked me again about giving him what he asked.

I smiled and said, “No man, no money. I am also a penniless one just like you,” and drove my bike away.

I am thinking about closing this post with a typical Chandrika Shubham style of question regarding the person’s identity.

But, my inherent curious mindset urges me to fill the missing links using my own intellect.

Here is my salute to the master of deductions, Guruji Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and let me start my conclusions.

The piggy faced man is a dependent of the couple in the car. From the woman’s close resemblance to the man, what I deduce is that they are siblings. (and of course, her face was not swine like).

The pseudo law college student is a good for nothing guy, he earns nothing, but spends lavishly.

I seriously suspect that he asked his sister some money for a cigarette or some refreshments, (cigarette is more likely, because he asked me ten rupee). Evidently, she might have denied his request.

He wanted to revenge them and wanted to make them feel humiliated. If her brother begs for small amounts of money at the street, it would indeed bring shame to the family.

So, he approached the first simpleton he met on the street, and asked money.

Though initially persuaded, later when I proved myself not a simpleton, contrary to my common appearance, the curtain falls, and the story comes to an end.

The title is the result of a fruitless attempt to imitate the way the ever green Sherlock Holmes tales were titled.

In Last Picture: Actor Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes.