Using siblings

A best friend’s birthday, transported me from my cosy bed to a new lounge or bar or restaurant or whatever they call it now on a weeknight. Now, as many of my irate friends know, I never like to step out of my abode knowing that I have to be at work the next morning. However, last night I’m glad I did.

In Mumbai, seeing a cute guy in person is like spotting the needle in a hay stack or more appropriately catching a shooting star in the smoggy Mumbai sky. Yes, it happened. I saw him. Dressed in a suit, probably arriving at the place straight after work, he had a beer in his hand and enough boyish charm to appeal to the naughty girl in every adult woman.

He was tall, fair and had this bashful look in his eyes, like he was embarrassed with all the compliments he had received up till now. I was definitely not in love, but I had willingly fallen in infatuation. And that’s where it ends for a girl like me. Not having enough confidence to approach him for a conversation I would eventually be condemned to lechery.

That would have been that, if it wasn’t for my brother who made a late entrance to the pub. Two drinks down I began narrating my one sided love story to which he just laughed. Little did we know we were to have a breakthrough in the wingman theory; to be later known as wingling.

We decided to step out for a smoke. While I passively inhaled the fumes, my object of desire stepped out at the same time, to shorten his lifespan as well. Standing beside him, the fragrance from his coat made me remember those days in school where we would have humongous crushes on prefects, the only ones who earned the right to wear a blazer. My brain had evoked the same attraction I had to those students who had more power than the others clad in plain uniforms.

I stood there giggling, as my best friend and brother made expressions similar to those teasing buddies who did the same when you stood next to a crush. And then suddenly, my brother emerged as the greatest wingman there was. Looking at my 1 hour old crush, he asks , “So how come the suits?”.

“We just got here from work actually”, he said casually. He spoke well. Tick mark to that.

“Where do you work?” asked my wingbro.

The conversation had started and it was full of surprises. My suitable boy was Indian, despite his foreign looks and attitude. When I was expecting some exotic name like Kayaan or Anay or Vivaan out comes Vasudev from his pretty mouth. The way he said that ancient name, I took a liking towards it immediately, making a mental note to find out the meaning on Wikipedia.

I watched in amazement as my wingbro set me up for a conversation. He smoothly maneuvered with words to extend the interaction between Vasudev and me. Honestly, I had never been this proud of my brother. It struck me at that point immediately, that a wingbro or a wing sis worked better than any wing man. 

Being of the opposite sex, there will never be any unintentional competition, unless either one is gay. The person of interest isn’t distracted by the same sex wing sibling unless he or she happens to be gay too. Wing siblings or winglings will always act in the best interest of the other sibling. And it would seem harmless, like poor Vasudev never knew that the only reason my brother extended that conversation was so that I could start off my own.

However, while they talked about work and the weather I didn’t say a word of any importance. I could have said a lot but my shyness bound my mouth to a hopeless smile.

When we left the smoking area after three hundred moments of anticipation and excitement and only five words from me, (Hi, nice to meet you) I returned to the seat with that smile spread across my face. Ten seconds later Vasu followed holding a red purse. For that split second, I thought my brother’s move had proved successful to my brother instead. Was Vasu gay? Had my wingling’s plan failed? Little did I know that he was in fact trying to locate me.

I had in my forgetfulness, walked away from my credit cards, cash, id cards and a smart phone kept neatly in my red purse. It was almost like I had denounced all worldly belongings for him. But like the prince with the glass shoe, he came forward to hand them back to me.I thanked him, like he returned my life.

And that was that, actually. Vasu and I were not meant to be. Even though I noticed he enjoyed retro music as much as I did, to have any future with him it would require me to step up to the platform that my wingling had created, and I had happily declined.

It was a chance encounter that I will always cherish. But more than that, it was the discovery of a character that I encourage others to use to their advantage as well. For me this trivial story marked the arrival of the more significant wingling; the best your sibling can be.

The Indian Clubbing Scene

Have you ever walked into an Indian club?


No. There are no super models who have a naughty smile on their face every time you look at them.
No. There are no men, who come up to you to make interesting conversation.
No. You will not find the "one" there.
No. Not everyone is not going to love what you are wearing.
No. This is not going to be the night of your life.


Chances are.
You will be bored.
You will want to shoot the drunk friend who can't stop talking.
You won't be able to shut him/her up over the LOUD music. Infact, it will be tough to hear your own thoughts over that level of sound.
And you will have to hold something in your hand. A smoke. A drink. A girl. A phone. Try standing in a club without any of these and you will feel like we have stripped off your clothes. Do try it next time and feel your self esteem get lowered.


Chances are you will find such characters:


Garba Girls: a bunch of girls who keep their bags in the middle and dance in a circle. Sometimes the steps seem to be predetermined.


The poser couple: A couple who will stand close to each other and look everywhere except into each other's eyes.


The Dancer: A girl or a guy, who thinks their audition for "You think you can dance" is happening right there.(Yes.They will mostly hurt you when they are dancing and you will feel like hitting them back.)


The Creep: A guy who holds his beer and stands towards the edge of the bar. You know he's not with anyone and so does he.


The photo uploaders: The girls who love to pose for pictures every two seconds so that they can subtly boast about what a great time they had. By the way, you find these pictures everywhere on Facebook. Its the same pose. The same smiles. The same drunk eyes.


The Aunties: The kitty party now makes its way to the club. These are forty somethings who hold cocktails and smile to show they are enjoying themselves. If we are lucky we catch them sometimes grooving to " My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard".


The Kids: The trendy super models with braces. Their stilettos are more expensive than your entire outfit. Their behavior louder than the music. Usually seen with boys who have just hit puberty with ill fitting clothes and facial hair equivalent to a girl who hasn't threaded her upper lip area for 2 months. 


And finally,
Us: The ones who watch all this and think "what the hell is wrong with them". 


The ones who fail to realise that that's what everyone in that club is thinking.

Drunken stupidity

Drunk driving is a serious offence. People do it without clearly understanding the consequences of their irresponsible actions. However, the intake of alcohol can also lead to another problem of modern society, which I feel needs to be given some serious attention.


It's a disease that never existed before we could hold cell phones in one hand and a Long Island Iced Tea in another. And nobody understands the seriousness of this problem. I mean there have been enough number of  public service advertisements on "do not drink and drive" but whoever thought of warning us about the perils of drinking and dialing.

Yes, drunk dialing is also an offence. To society. To yourself. And most definitely the person you have called. 

It starts like this:
You are usually two to three drinks down when this very innocent question creeps into your mind.
What is that person-im-so-not-supposed-to-call upto? 
After one more drink.
Will he or she or it be thinking about you?
After the seventh shot.
Where is my phone?


And what's the flawed logic swimming in the alcohol floating in the folds of your brain? I'M DRUNK SO ITS ALLOWED. 


Well YOU are drunk, and guess what it is more likely for you to forget the waste of a call or conversation, but that person is sober and will remember everything. 
Right from the fact that you ACTUALLY called.
That's ego boosting factor number 1. 


Now, ego boosting factor number 2. Your absolute confession of the fact that you want to kill him/her or that you have just realised how much you really miss/love/cannot-enjoy-that-9th drink without that person.


Ego Boosting Factor number 3: you would be rather talking on the phone than enjoying wherever you are (and I'm hoping that you aren't drinking alone in a bedroom). So "wherever"  includes a pub, friend's house, your house but with friends over or in some really sad cases your current bf/gf's place.

The above factors are enough to give that person a high. They might feel bad for you but they aren't in most cases going to do shit about it. So stop CALLING. Sometimes they are annoyed because they might be having a better time and the sorriness of your situation probably obligates them to talk to you even though you are speaking ABSOLUTE GIBBERISH. But they will love every moment of that conversation because of all the attention that is being showered on them. All thanks to your stupidity.

And where does that leave you. The drunken diallers. In this case you are the victims of the crime that you commit. You are the only ones responsible for the regret you feel the next day. And honestly, it is so not pretty. 


Not the sight of you sobbing (with snot in your nose) or the sight of you trying to snatch back your phone from your friend's hand. Nor the desperation in your voice when you beg your friend for that one call that might save you from a life of loneliness. Well, your friend is probably doing just that. But saving you from more important things. From sounding like a loser. 


So snap out of it. 


Enjoy that drink. 


And keep that phone away. 

Decoding Posers

In case you don't know who a poser is, you will figure it out soon. And surprisingly you will find a lot of them around you. 

Below is a typical example of how a poser might talk at a local bar.
The part in brackets is what he wants to say in all that talk.


Poser: Oh hello,I'm sorry I was late.
(Check out my watch by the way)
Got caught up in a meeting.
(They need me at work) 
But from today I'm on leave. I am going to Mexico!
(Sounds exotic enough? Also i have already updated my status on FB as "Mexico, baby!")
Can't wait to take a break.
(I work a lot. You should know this.)
So what's up with you?
(Lets not make this all about me.)


Friend: I am all set to go trekking on the weekend.


Poser: Really. That's awesome.
(Time to use the most useless and useful word)
Really awesome.
(One more time)
This reminds me of the time I was Jet Skiing in Hawaii.
(Jet ski and Hawaii. Two birds with one stone.)
We were so smashed. I hardly remember a thing.
(But i remember enough to tell you.)
Oops sorry.
(Enter my smartphone. Because I'm smart.)
Hey sweetie..
(My gf/bf/dog)
yup I'll call you back soon.
(Dude, I'm too much in demand.)
We haven't ordered yet. LIIT? Cosmo?
(I do know the names.)
Oh you should try the wines. Hey Santosh, can you get me Sula Late harvest.
(I'm a regular and I know exotic wines not available on the menu)
Thanks santosh.
So where were we?
(What were we talking about me?)