I got home late in the afternoon on a Sunday. I was on a date with a girl. I date a lot of girls. And my parents know that.
“All the girls you date. Is it about sex?” my mom queried.
“Sex? Sex!! I can buy all the sex I want. Would you be able to do anything about it?”
Mom went silent. Dad said, “You frustrate me.”
“Frustration? You know what frustration is? You got a wife, a home to call your own, a good enough son. And you are 60. What am i? I am nearing 30 and still am a marketing manager in this obscure firm where my boss treats me like I am his pet dog. I have changed jobs thrice in the last two years, because there are MBAs by the score now. I drive around on my bike all frigging day trying to impress people that, yes sir this shit is very useful for you, this is what you absolutely need. And what have I got? A wife? A home? A good son? Nothing. Now how is that for frustration, dear dad?”
I was pissed off. But I felt like smiling because I had rebuffed my dear father. He fell silent too. I had had enough. I did not care for any fucking lunch. I stormed out of my house (home?) and went to my friend Kingkor’s shop. Our bar, that shop.
Hapa was already there with Kingkor. They were gossiping like a pair of old ladies who have nothing else to do. They in fact had nothing else to do. Summer was just catching up and the heat was rising. There was no electricity; to help Mother Nature punish us mere mortals for desecrating Her whenever we could. They were sitting there looking like sweaty pigs. They laughed at me saying I was looking like a mad bull. Hapa went to the extent of waving his red handkerchief at me.
“Whatever. Let’s have a beer each. It’s too damn hot.”
Nods of approval all around. Kingkor left on his bike and returned with three beers. We guzzled them down. Some talk about girls, sex, marriage, more sex, booze, some more sex, and dope. Another round of beers. Then we decided we needed a ride in the cool evening breeze. Yeah it was already evening. We decided to this eating joint on the highway. A dhaba it is called.
“Oi, I am gonna take Shadow with us.”
Shadow is my ferocious nine month old Doberman. Hapa was a little reluctant.
“O-okay. You t-two get on my bi-bi-bike,” Kingkor stammered.
So we went on this ride, me riding pillion on Kingkor’s Passion, with Shadow sitting docile on my lap. We reached the dhaba. Some food was ordered. And some more booze- whisky this time because beer would be too costly to get drunk on. Very risky, eh?
“Let’s finish up fast guys. I need to go home early,” I said.
“When did you get married?” Hapa asked.
We had a good round of laughter. But I insisted that we get home soon. I wanted to make up to my parents for my behavior in the afternoon. Fate intervened though. FM called up Kingkor, and when he knew where we were, he asked us to wait. He was coming too. We called him Fm because he was the marketing manager of a FM channel. Hapa and Kingkor startednfooling around with Shadow because they were bored waiting for FM. Also because I too was fooling with him. I got rewarded with a few licks to my face and arms. What both of them got, however, was a couple of shallow bites each. That made them see sense and they stopped teasing Shadow.
FM came and ordered some more booze. No food this time though, since all of us paupers were low on cash. We finished the whisky and a few cigarettes. Party over. Time to go back home.
I got on Kingkor’s bike again with Shadow. Kingkor was drunk, so was I. Shadow was dead sober. We were cruising at a nice speed, the cool breeze refreshing us. Suddenly Shadow sees something and jumps off my lap.
I was standing there near Kingkor with Shadow at my heel. I was feeling confused.
“What happened? Why did we get down? To pee?”
“You got h-h-hurt. Shadow pu-pulled you off the bi-bi-bike.”
I touched my face. There was a nice little bruise just below my right eye, I saw in the bike’s rear-view mirror.
“You were out f-fo-for about a minute. I thought ha-ha-had died. I was thinking goo-goo-good rid-d-dance. But you stand up again.”
We both laughed. We got back on the bike and got back home. My neighbour’s eight-year old spotted me when I was stagerring towards my home (house?).
“Yuck. See. Bruise,” he screamed pointing at my face and ran into his house (home?). I laughed like the idiot I am.
P. S: The name was inspired by PP's "Yuck. See. Dent."