The Adorable Anda
Posted February 17, 2007on:
My earliest memories of Anu are of him wildly waving a cricket bat in his hand screaming murder **MANUUUUUUUU** as he chased his scared elder brother around the bend. This sequence was invariably reversed a few seconds later when the two brothers reappeared in the line of vision with Manu in possession of bat and scream on lips **ANUUUUUUU** in hot pursuit of a gleeful looking Anu. And thus this drama played itself over and over a countless times in our peaceful Mohalla. (Locality)
Although it may be an inaccurate description but I have always associated him with the “He is Fat, Lazy and Grumpy” message displayed on his Garfield t-shirt, often sported by him as a kid, along with his aquarium Action Shoes (the shoes had a small water filled compartment with plastic fishes floating in them). His forthrighness and straighforwardness were evident from the earliest days as exemplified by his genuine inquisition one fine day from a mohalla playmate “Am I Handsome??”. It is ironical that he took the playmates polite untruth to heart and has been living this lie ever since.
As a fellow K****I and constant companion in the quest for food joints which would satiate our refined palate (no kidding) and be within our budget (sub 100 rs amounts), I salute him. We have had endless hours of passionate debates on profound issues such as which food joint to visit on a Saturday night and what dishes to eat. That we would be sitting in Mandarin resturant in Sec-17 (the best chinese resturant in the world for your info) a little while later, waiting for Chicken Hot Galric Noodles and Singapore Noodles (give or take chicken chopsuey and subcum rice) was almost a given and both of us realised it was “destiny” which was inalterable. Once comfortably seated in Mandarin more intense arguments/debates would ensue regarding what to eat the next time we went out, and who the pretty girl seated at the neighbouring table was staring at (It is known to all who she was really staring at). This is all tempered with Anu genuinely worried and wondering what about the “quantity” of the forthcoming dishes (His obsession with “Quantity” is known to all) and us wondering if they really add Afeem (Cocaine) to the dishes.
A genuine sportperson with an especial passion for cricket – his only regret being the fact that he could never match me in terms of raw speed in bowling, guile in the field and elegant finesse in batting. Although conceding that he is an effective batsman I still mantain that his leg glance reminds me of a butcher chopping meat – and yes I agree he has a good pull shot. I must guiltyly admit to being the cause of his worst sporting moment – nonchalantly despatching him for three consecutive towering sixes in the face of a challenge, each outdoing the previous in terms of distance, till the ball merrily soared over a distant building never to be seen again. I hope my subsequent act of ultimate self-sacrifice – delibrately being clean bowled by him – helped alleviate his pain somewhat.
He is bold and plain-speaking – pretty decent to look at with that hint of red in his almost fair cheeks and the delicate curls of his fast dissapearing hair (though not the handsomest guy in town as he might claim)- and certainly not shy of the fairer sex – and there is no lack of the recipocation from the opposite side too. But for all his scheming and planning, and much to his dismay, the relationship takes a detour in the wrong direction – as the girl comes close to him, too close, extremely close – so close that theyre soon at bum slapping, punjabi expletive and chicken phadoo terms – read no romance. Perhaps the cause is a curse in a remote lifetime or K****Ipana setting in at crucial points in the relationship, who knows, but the romantic drought continues.
His only solace lies in the fact that I am a greater K****I than he is. He feels he would have acheived enough to be branded a casanova, even philanderer, by the time he is 26 (my age), but so he said when I was 23, 20, and 18. I keep reminding him – last or second last in a race – it doesnt matter – theres no glory anyway.
To be continued…