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Authors: Amrita Suresh
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up…’
‘I always thought she wasn’t right for you…maybe you should dump her,’ said Ankur, perhaps for the first time voicing his heartfelt opinion.
‘Listen, let him decide. Give it time Vyas,’ advised Souvik. He was using the word ‘listen’ a lot.
‘This too shall pass…,’ announced Pavan, Zen like. The Samurai movies he had spent the summer watching had definitely had their side effects.
Ankur was impressed. The good-natured Malayali had, for once, said something very sensible to brighten the ‘admos-fear’ that had hung over the ‘bo-eez’.
Seventeen
The lawyers were unusually excited one evening. It wasn’t over a case being fought in the Supreme Court, but over a VJ hunt being held by a music channel.
Ankur never considered himself a singer. In fact he was convinced that forget courtship, if he ever sang to his girl during their honeymoon, she’d make the lawyer himself draft divorce papers.
Souvik felt differently. He arrived at the venue of the VJ hunt and kept strumming his guitar till he was asked to stop. It was a VJ hunt, he was politely reminded, and singing was not exactly a requisite. The lawyer then tried to use his debating skills with the organisers and yielded only when told he would have to face the music instead. Ever since penning that near love letter to Jaishree, Souvik was convinced that he was destined to do great things in his life.
They say if a certain raga is sung at a certain pitch, it produces rain. Vyas could do that with any song. Not that it would invite the rain gods, but would certainly have people running helter-skelter for cover. Strangely enough, Vyas had managed to charm the judges, though his dress sense, he was told, was a decade behind time.
But one tricky question towards the end had him in knots. He was asked to name the sexiest object he knew. The bald judge with a French beard specified with a naughty grin that it didn’t have to be a sex toy. Vyas smiled, embarrassed. He had never seen a sex toy, leave alone attempting to name one before a hall full of noisy teenage participants.
‘The sexiest object for me is…,’ he said taking the microphone, ‘…umm… an ice cream.’ Vyas suddenly had trouble framing a complete sentence. An amused titter ran through the audience. Vyas was standing on a makeshift stage with bright orange light bouncing off the bridge of his oily nose. It was afternoon time and he was in the banquet hall of a plush hotel in front of a panel of celebrity judges. Vyas simply couldn’t have chosen a more elite venue or audience to embarrass himself.
‘Why an ice cream?’ asked the female judge with golden brown hair.
‘An ice cream…since…err…it’s sexy…it has multipurpose uses, you know,’ Vyas replied smiling with a naughty glint in his eyes. Caroline’s constant company had some practical uses. Vyas could actually crack a perverted joke with ease.
‘That is wicked!’ the female judge with long red nails declared, cackling into the mike. The bald ear stud wearing judge who sat next to her wasn’t as amused. Probably he was her boyfriend or he was just plain jealous of her peroxide mane. Or wig. Or whatever. He took the mike and jocularly declared, ‘You are a very bad guy…and bad guys never win!’
Ankur had always liked his teeth. They were all square and glinted uniformly each time he scrubbed them with pungent tooth powder. If there was one thing in his anatomy that he took good care of, it was his teeth. As a kid, Ankur would hold a solemn burial ceremony each time he lost one of his milk teeth. A welcome party would follow, with the first traces of his new tooth. That’s probably why his teeth served him well, accentuating the smile on his chubby face.
Even if he got tongue-tied and brain dead around a certain Sonali Shah, on stage, Ankur Palekar was a different person. He had learnt early, the art of public speaking,
‘I always thought she wasn’t right for you…maybe you should dump her,’ said Ankur, perhaps for the first time voicing his heartfelt opinion.
‘Listen, let him decide. Give it time Vyas,’ advised Souvik. He was using the word ‘listen’ a lot.
‘This too shall pass…,’ announced Pavan, Zen like. The Samurai movies he had spent the summer watching had definitely had their side effects.
Ankur was impressed. The good-natured Malayali had, for once, said something very sensible to brighten the ‘admos-fear’ that had hung over the ‘bo-eez’.
Seventeen
The lawyers were unusually excited one evening. It wasn’t over a case being fought in the Supreme Court, but over a VJ hunt being held by a music channel.
Ankur never considered himself a singer. In fact he was convinced that forget courtship, if he ever sang to his girl during their honeymoon, she’d make the lawyer himself draft divorce papers.
Souvik felt differently. He arrived at the venue of the VJ hunt and kept strumming his guitar till he was asked to stop. It was a VJ hunt, he was politely reminded, and singing was not exactly a requisite. The lawyer then tried to use his debating skills with the organisers and yielded only when told he would have to face the music instead. Ever since penning that near love letter to Jaishree, Souvik was convinced that he was destined to do great things in his life.
They say if a certain raga is sung at a certain pitch, it produces rain. Vyas could do that with any song. Not that it would invite the rain gods, but would certainly have people running helter-skelter for cover. Strangely enough, Vyas had managed to charm the judges, though his dress sense, he was told, was a decade behind time.
But one tricky question towards the end had him in knots. He was asked to name the sexiest object he knew. The bald judge with a French beard specified with a naughty grin that it didn’t have to be a sex toy. Vyas smiled, embarrassed. He had never seen a sex toy, leave alone attempting to name one before a hall full of noisy teenage participants.
‘The sexiest object for me is…,’ he said taking the microphone, ‘…umm… an ice cream.’ Vyas suddenly had trouble framing a complete sentence. An amused titter ran through the audience. Vyas was standing on a makeshift stage with bright orange light bouncing off the bridge of his oily nose. It was afternoon time and he was in the banquet hall of a plush hotel in front of a panel of celebrity judges. Vyas simply couldn’t have chosen a more elite venue or audience to embarrass himself.
‘Why an ice cream?’ asked the female judge with golden brown hair.
‘An ice cream…since…err…it’s sexy…it has multipurpose uses, you know,’ Vyas replied smiling with a naughty glint in his eyes. Caroline’s constant company had some practical uses. Vyas could actually crack a perverted joke with ease.
‘That is wicked!’ the female judge with long red nails declared, cackling into the mike. The bald ear stud wearing judge who sat next to her wasn’t as amused. Probably he was her boyfriend or he was just plain jealous of her peroxide mane. Or wig. Or whatever. He took the mike and jocularly declared, ‘You are a very bad guy…and bad guys never win!’
Ankur had always liked his teeth. They were all square and glinted uniformly each time he scrubbed them with pungent tooth powder. If there was one thing in his anatomy that he took good care of, it was his teeth. As a kid, Ankur would hold a solemn burial ceremony each time he lost one of his milk teeth. A welcome party would follow, with the first traces of his new tooth. That’s probably why his teeth served him well, accentuating the smile on his chubby face.
Even if he got tongue-tied and brain dead around a certain Sonali Shah, on stage, Ankur Palekar was a different person. He had learnt early, the art of public speaking,
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