Sensei, my friend, philosopher, guide, role model (I must stop now) and I are very rarely in touch, however, we do make it a point to call or message each other whenever something bizarre happens. My Bizarre index, therefore, is whether an incident has provoked me to call Sensei or not.
Sensei and I share the same problem which plague women all over. We are young, pretty, sexually attractive (Sensei has those wolves howling, oh yeah), well qualified (am skipping the economically independent line), funny and smart. There's nothing wrong with us. At least too much.
But we've been with the worst men ever. Ever. Seriously.
(Ooh...ooh. Whatay opportunity to start ex bashing. But no, no. I am above all this.)
Sensei has a theory behind why the craziest things always end up happening to me. We have a theory on everything. Her theory is that the craziest things happen to me, because I have the wonderful capability of making all these little instances extremely hilarious and narrating them to her and the rest of my friends for their entertainment.
So Sensei, this one's for you.
Yesterday, at a wedding, I got felt up by a yucky old man. So what, happens all the time. There are zillions of yucky old men out there. This wasn't even the first time that this yucky man felt me up.
But what makes this one, uh, special?
Because, tan-ta-ta, about a year back, I was being felt up by his son.
If this turns you on, kindly close this browser window and never, ever come back to this blog again. Yuck. What kind of a person are you, anyway? Disgusto!
So this, I suppose merits a flashback. Here we go:
There once was a girl in Mumbai, who found herself single after about 5 years. To top it off, she was in a new city, in a new job, and very disorganized. She had a friend, who decided to do her a favour and set her up with her other best friend.
Enter: Sub Conscious Boy. (SCB)
If only he was a creation of my inner self. Oh no. Of course I dismissed him at once - a "perfectionist", a guy who got into relationships "for keeps" (I had actually gotten used to the idea of being single), etc etc. And then one night he lands up at my house.
Point: You never meet Prince Charming when he walks into your house at an unearthly hour.
No sparks, nope. It also helped that I was wearing my infamous "PMS - Putting Up with Men's Shit" t-shirt. Egged on by our Cupid, though, we wound up meeting up one evening.
Point: A date that keeps you starving is a bad date.
There I was, freezing on Marine Drive (it gets chilly in November) and starving to death while this guy went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and... and... and... and... on...
To be honest, at the time, I didn't realize that he just kept talking about himself and that we just kept talking about HIS job and HIS plans and HIS family and HIS friends until maybe 4 months later, when I was sitting at Bandra Bandstand with a curly haired boy who now, hopefully, will end my accumulation of ex boyfriends. He asked me questions which were rather innocuous, but all about me - my job, my house, why I was single (grin, grin). I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish. I had almost forgotten how to talk about myself.
Ugh, how distracted I get. Anyway, SCB and I talk on the phone, a lot, and when our Cupid is back in town, we get together to see her off and then decide to sloth at home.
Point: Dodging is for Dicks.
Now let's make one thing clear here. If a guy does not want to kiss a girl, and if he makes no attempt to do so, even when 'accessibility' is not in question, well. It's pretty damn insulting. So my ego decided to make the move, and I was unceremoniously 'dodged'. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I was Dodged.
And then, to add insult to injury, I get lectured. Lectured, on how kissing is only for the 'one' and its too early and...well, you get it. This story should have ended with me throwing him out of the house right then, but it can't, can it? Instead, he left for Pune, for study leave, for 4 weeks.
I expected in all honesty that the good boy would not be seeing much more of this giri hui ladki, but, surprise surprise, he would call me about 8 times a day.
Point: If he calls you to discuss 'feminist jurisprudence' and actually discusses 'feminist jurisprudence', then, Houston, we certainly have a problem.
So 4 weeks, examinations, bad time at work, and allied matters later, I found myself boarding a bus for Pune. He convinced me to spend his post exam weekend in Pune with him. And so it was - holding hands, footsies, random hugs, but no, no, nothing further.
Back in Bombay, however, I decided to pull over and ask for directions.
"Exactly what is happening here?"
"Nothing. I think we are very happy together."
"And what are we?"
"We are friends. Very good friends."
"Riiight", I said. "I think friends shouldn't be sitting on each others laps while having conversations."
Just as he had succeeded in explaining to me how happy he was with this warped arrangement and just as I began to realize he was crazy, we had a (very bad) kiss.
And that just killed it.
According to SCB, a kiss was just opening the Pandora's box to evil, and evil followed suit.
"I don't know what came over me, Ruma, I swear. What is my shirt doing on the floor?"
I had enough, and so I told him that it was not possible for us to be 'friends'. By now, I was really mindfucked. From 'kissing is only for the girl I want to marry' to now more-than-kissing with a 'good friend', this was not working out at all. I banished him, only for him to land up at my place a day later unshaven and bleary eyed.
"I can't live without you. Please don't leave me."
The damage had been done, because just the previous day a very pained Ruma called up Crossword's "Dial a Book" service and got home delivered the single woman's bible - "He's Just Not That Into You". I cried through it, laughed through it, and now, I was ready. That evening, his shirt may have done the disappearing act again, but this time, I was in control.
He shifted base to Delhi, and after one torrid bye bye session it looked like things were getting sorted out, although it was increasingly getting nasty. He felt the relationship was great but had no future as we were going to be in different cities, and he was getting married in 2 years. He didn't know who she was, she would be anyone deemed suitable. Don't get me wrong here, I didn't see marriage in the picture at all, but him prioritizing a woman who he didn't even know over me was insulting, to say the least, but then again so was this entire relationship. I was lonely, the city was getting to me, and I saw, rather, misread something to look forward to. Obviously, I hadn't paid close attention to the Bible.
Every story has a happy ending, and I'm glad that in this case it didn't end with another guy coming in and saving me. In fact, it ended thanks to a guy who I saved.
Republic day weekend, me and Singo are in a car to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, my lifelong cherished dream. We never get there, though, because our car gets smashed behind a truck, and Singo's life is saved by a whisker. Two traumatic days in Delhi later, I get back to Mumbai. SCB, ironically, is in Mumbai at this time.
SCB comes to see me, bedridden by a whiplash injury, and in spite of my resolve to now put an end to this farce of a relationship, I found my hurt body and peace of mind warming to the idea of some physical comfort.
And again, I am dodged.
I look at him, puzzled through the Valium and Ibuprofen.
"Ruma, I can't. I can't get involved with you."
"What the fuck were you doing for the last 2 months, then?"
"No... you see, every time I got involved with you, it was my subconscious' doing. I am involved with you only at a subconscious level. My morality doesn't allow me to get involved with you consciously."
"So you mean to say that if your subconscious took over and made out with me right now, it was perfectly OK."
Perhaps it was Greg Behrendt's teachings. Perhaps it was the drugs. Perhaps it was the joyous look on his face when he learnt that I had figured out his warped thinking. I would like to think that it was the rush of life I felt, having survived a 7 car pile up and saved the life of one of my closest friends. Life was short. Too short to waste on scum of the earth, for sure.
"Why don't you, your Conscious, your Sub Conscious and your Morality go outside, have a conference call, and get back to me." I stumbled off the bed, and walked towards the door.
"Where are you going? Why don't you lie down? What happened?"
"ABC, just get out of my house."
And that is how the story ended.
Life must always be complicated, and so SCB's Dad and my Boss are chaddi buddies. SCB's Dad handles the Supreme Court work of my Boss, and in a sooper important matter, he even came down to the High Court.
As I stood, waiting for our matter, I saw him staring at me. Whatever.
Matter called out, Boss stands up, I stand behind Boss, but am forced to move away.
No excuse me, no friendly tap on shoulder. Instead, I feel a hand on my bare waist (saree, sorry) and am physically shoved to the side.
Enter: Father of Sub Conscious Boy.
Not only that, after the matter is over and we are collecting the volumes of papers which were being pulled out during arguments, I was walking off with about 4 bundles in my hand.
"Why should I take the papers? What are these Juniors here for?"
So saying he dumped another 3 bundles on my arms. Now, I was not only overburdened, and sexually harassed, but also, blinded.
That's kind of what his son did, right, felt me up and then treated me like shit? Just that he did it all in 2 hours instead of 2 months. Sweet.
And so he turns up at Boss's son's wedding, and spies me slinking away from his line of vision. He graps my hand and pumps it up and down.
"How are you?"
"Good, good." And the icky leery grin of the century. "Remain like this only."
Yes, whatever that means.
My Dad, while warning me against dating the son of a convicted molester (no, this isn't a 'type' I date), reminded me that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. As a rebellious 21 year old, I dismissed it. Now, am not too sure.
So much so that I consciously (haw haw) avoided the area where the sub conscious family sat - father, mother, other son and other son's cute baby. Maybe the whole family knows our history, I mused. Maybe they are into this whole sharing thing. What do I do if the other brother starts messing around? Or, god forbid, the little baby?
The killer of course was when I met SCB online after my first encounter with his father.
"I met your Dad. I can see where you get your influence from"
"I met your Dad. I can see where you get your influence from"