How you doing?

Yes, I am older than I look. Sometimes I take it as a complement, else I just add it to my short crisp list of plausible reasons why my mother never thought I was mature 'enough'.

While Pinky flew the world as an attractive, smart n suave air hostess, I was left to continue getting addicted at night, and do anything during the day that would help me pay for my addictions. While on some days, stealing sterilized syringes would do the trick, whereas on some other days I would shamelessly call the 'broker'.

Gigolo job was easy at first. All I had to ensure, was that I knew a few dance moves, a few holly-wood lines, keep my physique in shape, and one day's work at a kitty party would be sufficient to ensure a month full of happy nights. I personally hate the escort job; but the pay is good; no risk - my broker says. But the market is much more competitive these days. Old age Indian family values have been shoved out.  Money smells like heaven, and the addiction can get people to do almost anything. I wanted to distance myself from this shame. The shame I speak of, is a new part of my thought that is linked to Pinky. I don't think Pinky will understand if she ever got to know this. Not that she really wanted to know what I did for a living. I had managed to neatly avert the question whenever it came up, and she never persisted.

Alice

"Yes, I am older than I look". Alice always enjoyed saying this for no apparent reason and to nobody in particular.

Last I saw her, she was feeling home sick, I guess.  I found her sleepless one night at 3 a.m by the kitchen table with a bowl of strawberries and cream. "You know what Nuts! I wish my mom were like you. I mean it. You give me so much space and time to feel comfortable. I so want to go home and meet my childhood friends and relatives this summer. But my mom's going to corner me into submission. I don't want to get married. Not now, never, ever. I am so happy here".

"As long as you pay your share of the rent and other utilities buddy". I muttered sleepily.

"Listen I have a flight to catch in a few hours. I am off to London. Can I get you something from there?" she spoke to the glass of water on the table.

"I envy your life Alice. Flying around the world and getting paid for it. Can't complain, eh? Listen, do you think you can get me some English weed from the Buckingham Palace? I am just tired of smoking the regular stuff."

"You'll die very soon; and I shall be on my way to jail for playing accomplice" she smiled. "I'll get you something to help you smell good. Don't you ever bath?"

I brayed my opposition to the idea and went off to sleep. That's the last I saw her. I shared accommodation and a sweet friendship (with a hint of love) with Alice for 3 years. It's been 5 years since I heard from her.

I am married to weed now. Fully committed to promoting the popularity. Interested?

Rewind

 A childhood confined to books and school never took off in the intended direction. As far as I can remember, nothing was ever as big as Bret - The Hitman Hart. Not many of my school friends knew much about The Hitman, and I pleasantly volunteered to educate them wisely, always. 'The Hitman' attitude was what I dreamily wished to own someday. He didn't have the physique to challenge the other heavyweights, but what he did have was a resolve to not cower down. How could someone not want to be The Hitman? Almost Gandhi-isque in a world of professional fighting.

So I took a huge scoop of this awesomeness, drizzled in some Choco chips, and called him my Hero, my inspiration. He didn't own a cape or a mask. So I borrowed the air, the heart, the walk - everything  in the name of inspiration. It infinitely improved my ability to take in the pain during a fight (which, now that I come to think of-- was almost never; but I always felt powerful) and a new dream to grow long hair - which the genetics and societal pressures would hardly accommodate. Thank God, The Hitman shortly decided to cut his hair short, and the inspirer and inspiree lived happily ever after for the duration of my school days.

Time flew by, college stood at the door. True lack of faith showed its colour and I had to leave my hero home. A new life in the hostel needed new friends. Friends had to be made from a large group of similar aged boys, all of whom were strangers to each other. We searched for similarity to form a bond. The most popular camp was - region of origin. Rationale - if I am as far from here as you are, and we would have to take the same train home in an apocalypse, then we must stay together. Then some people formed friends out of common hobbies, passions, dreams, heroes. So I perked my ears and waited patiently for someone to hopefully mention something about The Hitman, or maybe even the WWF, and that would be my cue in that hypothetical moment, as I would jump from the unknown and blow everybody's minds with the unimaginable amount of knowledge I had about the best hero ever. 

But boy was I off the mark! Fast forward to today, and I am still waiting.

Nuts - My tale

"Hold this by the scruff, and give it all you got."

Welcome reader! I had this crazy drink at the bar last night that got me all tipsy. And as my kocked out self wondered where my feet were, somebody smelling strongly of something pungent, pushed this incredible looking bong into my hand. So here I am, all dazed and hung-over on a Saturday morning. But that's me, and I don't care what you think about it. I was told you wanted to know me better, and it is a bit weird to have a one way conversation. But let's get over with it quickly.

Pick one:

 1. My love

 2. My past

 3. My dreams

Love as I knew it

My friends say I changed a whole lot for the better, when she rang that bell and strode into my life. She was a 20 something with shy and beautiful eyes. A common friend, unknown city and a few drinks later, she comfortably eased in - to my life as a roomie. I must admit am not the typical romantic loonie, but I did crave for her company when she was away. She grew on me unbeknownst - likeable, caring, soft spoken and dreamy. Through her eyes, this same earth of mine, looked much like a fable. She never had to search for another place to live in. Her work took her around the world. She must have met tons of more people than I ever can, but she just never saw the love in my eyes.

Still interested! I didn't imagine I would lose her so soon.

By the Way - It seems like the guy at the party who shared the bong with me the other night, also knew her; such a small world.

Table for 5 please

Scene: TD Orientation Program
Characters: A french italian, a canadian italian, a french chinese, a canadian english and bechara me.
Time: End of Day 1.
Walk into Hard rock Cafe for a few spirits that might loosen the Canadian in us and get 5 strangers to talk from thy heart. But the spirits don't work at 4:30 pm on Monday, so we talk about the regular stuff that makes strangers pass time together.
1. Beer n the likes.
2. Food n its related relevant individual adventures.
3. Real estate.
4. Europe.
RULE being - talk if you know, talk if you don't know. Do anything but listen.

Then magic crackles! We pay our individual bills and walk out with an un said promise to meet with a smile, come tomorrow. No unnecessary goodbyes.