When one hasn't yet stopped wondering how a thin and weak looking black guy will rule the most poweful nation in the world, that a friend of mine insidiously informed me last evening that he was no longer a virgin. It felt like the betrayel of a lifetime. I was in the extremeties of shock. I asked him the details; he feigned a casual shrug, meaning there was something hidden. The smile in his face seemed to say he had some hidden knowledge no one had ever acknowledged, and with which he was extremely content and a man apart. He implied that but both of us knew it was bullshit. Both of us knew he had no hidden knowledge and had plainly gone to a whore. Before giving any details he started explaining it was the right thing to do, it was a mere need exchange, morality wasn't involved; and if it was then he he didn't give damn. He did what he wanted and paid the person what she wanted in exchange. The passion from him was unasked. I was just interested in knowing where he had gone and how was the entire experience. He said he was given a complimentary bear after the ACT. I asked whether it was frightening, he answered it was. But the desire defeated it of course. I asked how the girl was; he said she was good. I asked whther they spoke anything. He said hardly anything of consequence. Consequence!!!
The wword coming out of him, the emphasis on "consequence", was so laughable that I had a hard time looking at his face for the next half an hour. Would he go again?
He said he didn't have money. He asked me whether I would be interested?
I said HARDLY!
"I will fucking kill that bastard", shouted my friend named Papi, who had been drunk now for two long hours, punching his fist at the frightened air. He had shouted at me. Unfortunately I wasn't drunk. I tried to analyse the cause of his anger. At the very basic level he was angry because I had made an unquantifiable mockery of his favourite Telugu hero ( through whom I actually wanted to disgrace the whole Telugu film industry); and the other parameter was the sudden decay of our relationship, which had started without alerting either of us; the decay had now grown so deep there was an evident effort from his side to block the hole expanding inside both of us. But I somehow seemed to him uninterested, and that caused fury. The disdain in him was so huge he could have killed me there without guilt catching up with hin for at least the next two weeks or so....
Then came the other turn. Next to our table, a couple of drunk youngsters, probably bored with each other and looking out for excitement, approached Papi. They tried to talk friendly at first and then turned abusive. They shoved and I stood up. I tried to get them apart. But the fight had started now. No one was listening to anyone. And everyone was shouting. And Papi was now completely entangled in their arms. I stood up and tried to split them apart. It was tougher then I expected. I forced myself further, and suddenly out of nowhere a punch, fast and accurate, landed on my face. I fell down cursing myself why I hadn't gotten drunk. Sensibility sometimes could be killing with its deep sense of identifying what's embarrassing and what's not. Drunk, I would have felt and remembered nothing. Luckily no serious injury had occured to my face. I was ashamed for two weeks and eventually forgot the defeat in the hands of two drunk youths, that is if it was they who had punched me. Papi surprisingly took me home and fought on bravely. What's the purpose of this narrative shit?
No idea....absolutely none. I just watched the movie "Munich", it's great.
