Anyway, to begin with, it was a June Sunday. Place: Delhi. Don’t remember well, if I’d cleared the college or was in the final year. But those were the days, when being a Theatre person was high on my agenda and was associated with Advait Theatrical Group – that thought of itself to be a revolutionary concept, with flying egos.

The Director-Founder of Advait was a dear friend in those days, and was four/five years my senior in college. We followed him, if not blindly, but followed him ardently and thought of ourselves as some philosophers who would change the literary world and the art world. Thank God we spared the society of that. Again why am I meandering? Because the story is all about meandering.

The pressure on me was though not too high to appear for the IAS exam but was certainly high on my friend. Let’s call him The Friend only. His parents were convinced that one day their son would leave his vagabond lifestyle and join the mainstream by being a high positioned bureaucrat in the Indian Civil Services. Had The Friend been serious, he would have certainly qualified. I never doubted his intellect, even still though his reckless life has made him sacrifice many friends. Yours truly being one. But that’s a problem with all artists I suppose, who are non-conformists.

On a Saturday night, we decided to stay at my place in RK Puram, as the centre of the exam – some Government School, near Sarai Rohilla Station (near Karol Bagh) – was closer to my home. I don’t remember if we boozed that night or not. But we did sleep late. By the time we woke up next morning, the Sunday, we knew that we were running late for the exam. We hired an auto-rickshaw for the centre and after every minute were looking at our watches. We had to find and trace out the centre too. We were exactly 20 minutes late. We found the classroom where we were supposed to be seated. The invigilator declared that he could have allowed leniency of 10 minutes only and 20 minutes was too much of a time as per the rules laid down by the UPSC (Union Public Service Commission – that conducts the civil services exams). While I was too happy to be late as that would have meant one chance lost – as I knew I had not prepared for the Preliminary exam and I stood no chance to clear it to go to the second round – The Mains. The Friend pleaded with excuses that we had come from Ghaziabad and the train was late to reach the Sarai Rohilla Station. The pleading fell on deaf ears. Later, The Friend told me, “I just wanted to quell my guilt feeling that I did not try.” He unlike me, was under pressure from his parents to appear for the exam.

So what next? We already were feeling the Delhi June heat. We couldn’t go home. As we should have been giving the exam. There were about two-three papers on the day with a lunch break and it was supposed to end at 5 PM. We would have to while away that time out. Even though a friend stayed quite nearby, we didn’t want his parents to know that we’d bunked the IAS exam. So for the mutual love of books we decided to go to Daryaganj – the biggest of the Sunday Market for second-hand books. After a ride on one of the deadly Redline buses (that plied on Delhi roads during those days) we were in Daryaganj in half an hour. The market runs across an approximately 1-km stretch and the heat was unbearable. Still we managed to cover the entire market, with our hands full of, if I’m not wrong, with only James Patrick Donleavy’s The Ginger Man. It had been just over a three quarters of an hour, and the heat had already drained me out and my back and knees too seemed to have lost their lubricant.

The stretch managed, what next? It was just 11 or 11:30 PM. A brilliant idea struck us. Remember not too much money was in our pockets that we could go to some restaurant. It was decided that we’ll watch some movie on a Rs 20 per ticket at Regal in Cannaught Place. The 12:30 PM show. Just about 10 minutes were left for the show, and there was madness for the tickets at the ticket counter. Delhi didn’t have multiplexes or the hep kind of theatres during those days. Priya Cinema and Chanakya were the only decent places. Anyway, back to Regal. The movie that was about to start was – I don’t remember the name – the like of Jawaani Ki Aag, or Jawaani Ki Dushman or Jawaani ki Bhool or Something Something, if you know what I mean.

We weren’t interested in the movie but to escape the Delhi summer for at least two hours, Regal seemed to be a good idea. But the good idea wasn’t that good as the tickets were being sold at a flat rate of Rs 50. That was too much for us. May be we had about Rs 100 put together in our pockets but still Rs 100 for a C/D grade movie was too much for our egos and the artistic fellows who were born to change the way how art was looked upon. We were after all theatre people.

Should we try out any other theatre? The shows ran across Delhi had fixed timings unlike the present days when movie-halls or the multiplexes run shows every half hour.

So what next? A little bit of loitering around in Cannaught Place and 50 paise wala machine ka thanda paani, we found ourselves under the shadow of khajoor type trees in the Jantar Mantar arena. We lay beneath one of the khajoor type trees, hardly a leaf for shadow. I still wonder why there aren’t any shady trees there. We talked for a while and tried to have a wink or two. But the Delhi summer wouldn’t let Lady Sleep come nearby. After every five minutes of silence we looked at our watches. These minutes seemed to be as hours. We tried hard to not to look at our watches. But couldn’t resist the temptation. There were a few middle-aged loafers – like us – there too trying to sleep, or just whiling away time. The only difference was that they were not future bureaucrats in the making and not come out to give an IAS exam. Nor were they the theatrewallas with fine sensibility and refinery for art. May be that was their life. One, pulled out a newspaper from where I don’t remember, opened each sheet and laid them down nicely on the grass to lay upon.

The Friend and me, tried to talk, philosophise or what else? But the sun seemed to have caught itself in the mires and designs and dials of Jantar Mantar. By the way, we paid Rs 5 each for an entry into the Jantar Mantar complex. How the loafers had got in, I’m not sure. They were beggars, I suppose. The newspaper man, said to the other, “Chal lunch karke aate hain, Bangla Shaib (a popular Gurudwara in Delhi and near) pe.” The plan didn’t seem to have gone down well with the other man. The newspaper man then followed it up with all kinds of abuses to the Sikhs, and then turned to us, “Buraa mat maanana Sahab, main bhee Sardaar hoon.” Must be a cut-Sard (Sikhs who have cut their hair and don’t wear a head-gear – the turban). Anyway we were least interested in finding out his background, except that there was some amusement going on for us to get us through the day. Then the newspaper man tried to offer us some sheets of the newspaper, which we politely declined, hoping that he doesn’t start his rant with us. “Main toh ek rupaiya ka paper isiliye khareedta hoon taaki aaraam se so sakoon.”

May be Lady Sleep pitied us and we managed to get some uneasy sleep for about 15 minutes, when our newspaper man shot out, “Bhai sahab, bhai sahab, teen baj gaye kya?” Startled we woke up and looked at our watches and nodded our heads in affirmation, still fearing to open our mouths lest the man starts a rant with us. That didn’t resist him, and asked, “Poocho mujhe kaise pata?” We didn’t try and answer him neither in words nor through our body or any expressions. Still, he answered, “Yeh aurat dekh rahe ho? Ye r**** hai r****. Theek teen baje aati hai yahaan pe. Har roj. Ek baar mujhe kehti, ‘50 rupaiya de, tera l***a c******gee’. Maine kaha, ‘hat s****…” followed by some other words, which cannot be put down in asterisks as well.

The woman got into some small talk with other men around, and soon came to this newspaper man. He too engaged her in small talk, while he looked at us with a smile and an expression, which probably said – See, I had told you. We thought that it was time for us to move out from the place.

We got up, loitered around Jantar Mantar and marvelling the historic place built by His Highness Sawai Jai Singh, – that was more appropriate for us, The Theatrewallas - and left the place. Soon we found ourselves behind Janpath Lane, where some Kashmiri boys were playing cricket. They were, I suppose, the local shop-keepers or who else, I’m not sure. Not to forget that we must have smoked about three packets of Charms cigarettes by then since morning. We smoked Charms those days. Charms with its denim look pack was a cult amongst the theatre people and the rebellious. “Charms is the spirit of freedom, Charms is the way you are” was its positioning statement those days. We weren’t trained in marketing fundas, hence we called the positioning statement as a ‘slogan’ only. Some years later, Charms changed its statement to “You’ll like the taste my friend.” The motto for us was over and we shifted to some other brands.

But again this is not the story about Charms. We saw the Kashmiri boys playing cricket, while trying to decipher what they were talking in their dialect. Around 4:15 PM, we thought that it was too much to bear and we could go home and tell our respective parents that we had finished the paper early, by about 4 PM and had left the venue in an auto-rickshaw for home. Tired, we took our ways. The Friend left for Noida from Janpath and I for RK Puram, not in an auto-rickshaw but in a bus hoping that it’ll trudge slowly picking up passengers on the way and give me a leeway time for little explanation at home. So I boarded the No 615 bus plying between Minto Road and JNU (Jawaharlal Nehru University). But against my prayers, the driver wanted to speed – but true to the character and nature of the Redline buses. On the way, some students of JNU hopped on to the bus. They were on their way back to their hostels after appearing for the IAS exam. So a bleak light that well the exam could be finished by this time – except that my centre was way far than theirs. I tried to gather the threads of their conversation – the questions they were discussing. So armed with some questions that had been asked in the exam, I rang on the door bell at about 4:45 PM.

Nobody asked me, why I was early, except, “Kaisaa hua?”

“Theek hee ho gaya,” I said.

Nobody again asked me what kind of questions had been asked, still I was eager to tell them – the questions I’d eaves dropped upon from the discussion between the JNU students.

Any regrets for not giving the exam? Not as of now, till may be my boss throws me out for non- performance during the economic slowdown and inability to get stories. That was a Midsummer Day’s Dream. I could have entitled the story that but then why vulgarise the copyrights of The Bard, Shakespeare; particularly when we were at that point of time, besides Advait, bringing out a literary magazine called – The Bard. So my due respects for the greatest ever playwright. We had just made an Ass of ourselves. Nothing else.

However, Hmmmm, I bumped into Apna Bagdor once again. Taking Maasi’s ad-wise (which obviously is influenced by my Mom’s instructions), I surf for ads on Manojkumarmatripaise.com and look for Himachali Girls. Hmmm… I find Apna Bagdor there. I find it an opportunity to make it good with her and may be a file-tag… I click on Read More… It says – The Profile you are looking for does not exist…. May be Apna has deleted her profile. But there’s another option too – Express Interest. But I have to register for that and Log In. So I create my Profile, and go back to Apna’s Page, which again shows the same error. But I click on Express Interest. A message pops up: You can only express interest to an opposite sex. Now I remember why Apna Bagdor had said, “I’m a girl.” Anyways, I presume, honestly, this time, no puns, jokes apart, Apna had not put her sex as Male there, and as she’s deleted her profile, the manojkumarmatripaise.com’s server is playing truants, though her name is still there in the database.

Now I log on to khemsinghpartner.com (Khem Singh is our office runner – Jeevan’s saathi… OOps! Colleague). I take interest in a girl. Her father is an Exercise and Relaxation Instructor. She’s a paid member and contact details are revealed. So I call up my Mausaji and ask him, if he knows somebody in the Exercise and Relaxation Department. He says “yes”. I tell him the purpose, and ask him if he can find out more about this Instructor. He agrees. But as he could not trace his friend’s number, after three days, my Mausaji called up the Instructor himself. Mausaji reported back to me, that the Instructor had seen my Profile and that I had a daughter, which Mausaji negated. But I have a daughter. A 21-year-old daughter – Witness. Any way, after exchanging details, about where about and how about, the Instructor said that they’ll discuss at home and get back. Fine. Now at the end of the conversation, I ask, my Mausaji - What’s the Instructor’s name? He says, XYZ. Now I come to the main point. Did you ask him the girl’s name? Mausaji seemed a little scared to answer that. “Nahin.” What? – I shoot back. “Nahin, yes that’s her name,” he says. I burst out laughing. While taking a sip of juice that I was having, I got choked laughing. This name “Nahin is not going to leave me.

Finally, Mausaji too started laughing. He had a word – Theek hee to hai – People ask you – How’s Nahin? You always give some excuse or the other. If it works, you can always say… She’s Nahin. I don’t know, whom did you see earlier.

Nahhiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn…..

Any ways, I enjoy these jokes, life is playing. Keep playing.

(Note: Some things have been filtered and adapted.)

9XM – Bheegi Billi, Main hoon Bheegi Billi. Well it’s not a promotion for 9XM or Bheegi Billi. Just what Apna made me feel… A Bheegi Billi. I’ll call her Apna. The association started with Apna, a few days ago, when a proposal came to us from Forge Foundry, to document Lok-yores on our site HisOrHerVoice. It was by chance that I saw a picture of Yachna on Chirkut and told her that she’d changed a lot. So I traced her number in my phone-book and called her up. It turned out to be the number of Yachna’s elder sister Apna. Well, I was put on to Yachna and from her came to know that Apna was doing Am-Fill in HimHer Lok-yores from Jay-Noo. I was excited. Apna could have been a great help in our project, so requested for a meeting.

But Apna was too BeeZee; you know. But Apna did take out time one day on her best friend’s birthday. So me and my daughter, who was a ‘Witness’ to the meeting went and met her in Sasta in Defensive Polony. The meeting went on fine. In fact, there were many things I learnt about Lok-yores. Thought that we could mutually learn from each other. And Yachna was a good friend, rather a family friend of Ma. So I called up Ma and asked her “Hey Ma, what do you think? Can we take help of Apna for our project? She said, “Sure.” Or did she mean “Suar”? So I’d gone ahead and met Apna.

Through out the meeting, Apna insisted on how there was no money in Lok-yores and how it could not be commercialised and how she did not have time to help us out. But she’ll try after July 1.

As we moved out of Sasta, my Witness daughter shook her head. I asked for the meaning later. She told me – Apna won’t help. Still my Journalistic mind was optimistic. Patience and persistence… I said.

After July 1, I called up Apna again. She was BeeZee again. So called up after a few days again. Meanwhile, the meeting had woken up in me the suppressed interest for Lok-yores. And Apna had suggested for interpretation rather than just documentation of Lok-yores. I took the suggestion seriously and took up books on Indian mythology, spirituality to interpret Lok-yores better.

I called up Apna again. Meanwhile, I decided to do my Pee-Etch-Dee in Lok-Yores in Journalism. I thought Apna could be of help. So called her up again. She did “not have time to die.” I requested her not to die as we need her for the project and my Pee-Etch-Dee.

She even told me that she was looking for a job as a Cheater. I have a friend who’s a Cheater in DU. So I told her, Mukhda Tata could be of Great help as she’s a Cheater in DU and references work. So Apna asked me. Who is Tata? “A Bong,” I replied. Tata’s aren’t HimHers? “No,” I said. But Apna said she had one neighbour in HimHer, who were Tatas and Tatas are HimHers. May be she thought Tata as in Priety Zinta, Narinder Bragta, and myself as ….Ta – all Tatas are HimHers. Was it so? Any way, then Apna asked me – How do I know Mukhda? I told her, she was Cheater of my Ex-Knife. And incidentally, Mukhda was also separated. (I was Die-Worse-eeeeeehh). What an irony? Apna had a suggestion – Why don’t I marry Mukhda? Oh! I forgot, meanwhile, there’d been an Yachna: “Hey Ma, why did He Die-Worse?” May be Apna took pity on me, hence came the suggestion.

However, I talked to Mukhda that Apna was looking for a job as a Cheater and Mukhda told me – if Apna was looking for a job as a Cheater, she could call up Mukhda any time, as references work in this profession. So I informed Apna and gave her Mukhda’s number. But Apna never called up Mukhda. May be that was asking her to “die.” Remember? She didn’t have time, even to die.

Any way, a couple of days later, I called up Apna again. She was travelling, so could not talk, and she’d be home in an hour. Instead, I call up after three hours. She says “Yellow” and when I say “Yellow” from this side, She disconnects. I call up again, thinking the network was down. No response. So I send her an Yes-Mess, that whenever she goes to Jay-Noo, can she find me one book. I get no response. So in the evening, I call up again. No response. I call up again, thinking the phone must be lying here and there. No response. Finally, I send her an Yes-Mess again that I want to discuss my Pee-Etch-Dee topic with her. No response.

Finally, at 11 PM at night, I get a Mrs Call from Apna. My heart skips a beat. I call Apna back. Apna is angry, and is roaring like a LOIN… for the continuous calls I’ve been making to her. My heart forgets to beat, and this time skips many a beats. But I still survive. Even I don’t have time to die. She informs that she is a girl. (I thought, she was a boy and I was a gay and I was madly in love with her, errrr… HIM.) And she is too BeeZee and can’t help me out. And that if she is not picking up my calls that means she is BeeZee. Well, I was tempted to give her my peace of mind. “We journalists are just pursuant.” She’s not a News, Apna informs me. (Well that was News to me actually. Even that she was a girl… was News. It had to be Breaking News, Flash News or what ever…) I wanted to tell her that 11 PM was no time to call then, if she was so concerned about scruples. But as per Apna, she would not have been able to sleep that night had she not talked to me. Wow! I feel so IMPOTENT. But what about my Sleep then? Did she care… Will I be able to sleep after that? She has an advise too… “Please don’t take it to your heart.” I wanted to give her my peace of mind. But then I remembered Hey Ma. And stayed quiet. Apna told me that I had Intel(inside), so I should under-stand-sit. Whatever… I told her, well having Intel(inside) was not relevant to the topic. She said she worded it wrong. Rather I was Main-Chor, I should understand. I apologised “Profusely” to the BeeZee girl, and felt like a Bheegi Billi. Main hoon Bheegi Billi… 9XM

Well, later, I called up Hey Ma and told her that I wanted to lose out my peace of mind to Apna, and just because of her I stayed quiet. Ma asked, then why didn’t I? I have my own ways of doing things… So here it is… Let me tell Apna through these columns… I’m more BeeZee than her. I drive 1 hour to office and 1 hour back. Reach home at 3 AM in the morning at times, not from the disc cos but from Office. Read Books till 4 AM. Then even take out time for HisOrHerVoice. Write articles for that. Update the Plugins, the Wordpress, the Scripts, Change the Home Page, Approve Comments, GO through Akismet Spam if some relevant Comment has not been trapped in it. Hmmm… there are othjer projects as well. Still get time for Social Work and still am able to help people who come to seek help. Gyaan baantne se badta hai. And still have time to act as Agony Aunt (or Uncle); and even get time to write this Trash on my Blog. At times, even write Poetry. Oh! Yes… I Chirkut also, and FaceDiary too and manage to get Linkedin. Answer mails – I love writing long mails. Now, I’m sure, I’d be able to squeeze out time for my Pee-Etch-Dee as well. But, yes, this all madness doesn’t allow me to go to the mountains to ease myself. So I use either the office/home wash-rooms, and at times, the Delhi Walls – away from the prying eyes of people, with a fear lurking at the back of my mind – Hope the MCD guys don’t catch me and challan me.

But I’ll manage it Apna… without your help… the project and my Pee-Etch-Dee. I have Intel(Inside). Well BeeZee Bee Apna, Best of Luck to you. And may you Bee always BeeZee.

I remember, Guru Nanak/Gobind Singhji’s story. Once passing through a village, the villagers just disrespect him and pay no attention to him and his followers. While leaving, Guruji blesses them “Base Raho”. In another village, the Guru and his followers are treated well and respected. While leaving, he curses, or was it a blessing? “Bikhar Jao.” The followers were amazed. They ask him the reason. The Guru says, “Well “Base raho, because they shouldn’t spread their pervert minds out; and remain restricted to this place.” And “Bikhar Jao so that they can spread their goodness and wisdom to the world.”

So BeeZee Bee, be BeeZee Always.