Virtual reality

It is a cloudy weekday afternoon. The kind you've always wished you could spend sprawled on a bed with a book, a coffee and some conversation.
"I'm feeling sleepy," i tell him.
"Welcome to the club. I am its President," he says.
We fight over that a little, then go on to wonder if there is any way we could sell our sleep to all those insomniacs and old people out there who dont have any. Donate even. It smacks of communism, i think he likes it.

"Have you heard Pee Loon?" i ask him. He lives under a rock as far as Bollywood is concerned, and i am his dealer of new hindi songs. He comes looking for a fix once in a while when he is completely out of stock, and i'm usually able to supply. "Not today," he says. He is on some weird Kumar Shanu and Abhijeet trip and is not in the mood for anything else. Which i might have otherwise let go, but he has just said no to Mohit Chauhan. I'm offended and i let him know.

He is stirred enough to defend his choice. "Romantic songs of the 90's, it doesnt get better than Kumar Shanu". I tell him to sleep it off. I cant really fight because i dont remember a single K.S number. "Let me help you out," he says, realizing this. "Badalon mein chup raha hai chand kyon". Damn. He doesnt kid around, this one, he has started with the big guns. "Der se hua par pyaar to hua re". I shrug, i havent heard. "Ek din aap you humko mil jayenge". He scores. "Tum Mile, dil khile". "Aye kaash ki hum hosh mein ab". I'm down and out.

After some silence filled with his gloating he asks casually, "So, what were you saying about Mocho?"

And then for a while i hear nothing but the sound of several pieces falling into place. At the end of which i'm embarrassed, sure, but i'm also in a happy place in the distant past. We had this senior in college whom everyone called Mocho. A quiet fellow, what little i saw of him, but any time he made an entrance, people stopped what they were doing to greet him with an "Arre Mocho". I never figured out why, but they all seemed really happy to see him. And thats where i was, in college, one of my happy places, probably my happiest. I wonder how i never asked why they called him that. Mocho. Its such an awesome nickname. I want my Mohit Chauhan to have it.

"Let me help you out some more," he says. "Ek meetha marz dene aana tum kabhi". This is ridiculous. Mocho has sung songs i dont know about?? "Its in Welcome to Sajjanpur," he says smugly into my silence. "You must have heard Guncha", he says. I shake my head. "Are you going to keep shaking your head till i come to Masakali," he asks finally. It is then that i realize that that is exactly and entirely my big war plan. I cant think of a single Mocho song other than that. I dig deep and come up with "Pehli baar mohabbat ki hai". And then i submit "Pee Loon" in case he'd forgotten.

By this time he has lost interest in the fight. For all practical purposes, he is fighting from both sides. He decides to get personal. Its good strategy. It'll either make the fight interesting or put an end to it. "What lyrics. Pee Loon. Aisa lagta hai nasha karke aaya hai". Thats it. "Download the song. Listen to it. You can then apologize to me," i say and walk away.

He apologizes later. The song has spoken louder than words. Mocho has won.



A few points:

1. Does the fact that this conversation took place over chat, with me sitting in my office in Pune and Monu in his department in Kharagpur make it any less real? (Other than the communist inclinations i imposed on him. Those are entirely my imagination). Chats are my primary (and for the most part only) medium of social interaction these days, and in spite of all its limitations i'll be damned if i let anyone tell me its anything less than face to face talk. Different, sure. But not real? No way.

2. I hope this post has put an end to all the (very valid) cribs about my being cryptic.

3. I also hope none of my seniors read this. After 5 years of no interaction preceded by a year of strictly necessary interaction, it'd be damn weird if they saw themselves featured in my happy place.

4. Monu's insistence on putting an h in Kumar Sanu's name reminded me of Pronoy Roy. He was once interviewing Amartya Sen and insisted on pronouncing his name as Omartyo. Which irritated me immensely! I wished Amartya Sen would stop answering his questions and tell him - "I dont know whom you are talking to. That sure as hell isnt my name!". Stupid, i know, but there it is.