Valentine Massacre
I have got a little table calendar on my table. It's a typical ‘25-year-old-single-male’ calendar with pictures of young pretty international models. As I was flitting across its pages one evening, my eyes came to a stop on February. I suddenly realised - ‘Oh no, it’s back’..
I wish Valentine’s day was a Hailey’s comet that comes once in 76 years or something. Being 25 and no girlfriend to take around, I felt I had to be some Archies gallery franchisee or St Valentine himself to love this day.
Surprised to read such harsh words? I wasn’t always a ‘mohabbat ka dushman’. Like any fat Indian boy exposed to a healthy diet of ‘pyaar-ishq-mohabbat’ brand of Bollywood, I dreamt of all the sweet things that would happen on V day.
The ‘beautiful eyes-fair-enchanting' girl in my school would accept my proposal on this magical Valentine’s day. Nope. Fast Forward: The ‘kind of pretty eyes – dusky – decent-girl’ in my college would surely say "Yes" this Valentine’s day. Nope. Fast Forward: Maybe the ‘normal eyes – dark – normal girl’ in my engineering college would be my valentine this frigging Valentine’s day. You must've guessed what happened by now seeing my track record. After a careful observation I have come to the conclusion that a girl would rather go out with a fully armed Osama Bin Laden than me. So, I no longer dream about V day.
On the dreaded day, I avoid any living thing... including the dogs outside my housel as they have that ‘Dude-where-is-your-girl?’ look in their doggie eyes as they run around with their bitches. I wake up late, and take leave from my boss with my bimar bahanas. My movements outside the room are as restricted as that of the cupboard in my room.
To make sure I stay strong and don’t chew on rat poison in depression, the music for that day is completely unromantic with no mention of any females, humans or otherwise. From personal experience, I can say that ‘khoon kharaaba’ loud tracks dealing with new york gang fights, guns and bullets make for some excellent V day music for me. For people who can’t pretend to understand the lyrics of an ‘angrezi’ song as I do, try Baba Sehgal's ‘Orange Kurta Peela Pajama’. Personally, after listening to this song, I feel lucky even to be alive.
The TV channels need to be selected with utmost care. I avoid any channel that beams visuals of couples kissing, holding hands, chuckling, and then kissing again. This may trigger unpleasant emotional turmoil, resulting in TV damage at my hands. Sports channels are the safest bet. Again, ladies tennis is avoided. And if nothing else works, there is the internet. I google for Shiv Sena who tell me how this day is destroying the Indian culture. This, with reassuring details of how they plan to pull apart silly lovers coochie cooing in parks and malls and complain to their parents. Sometimes These guys can be real angels for my morale.
I know I sound like one of them, and you think I have a dozen trishuls stacked under my bed. But the ruthless, cold and insensitive girls have converted me from a dreamy-starry eyed-V day anticipating boy into a cynical-heartless-I love Shiv Sena guy. You have fun on this V day. I am ready for cricket on the telly. :((
