Prose before hos

For some, the most dreaded proposition of all times in the world is getting to hear, "Can I ask you for a favour?". However, the standard club rules don't apply here and for me, "Why don't you spend the night with me?" brings out the worst in me. Now, before you launch into, "This is 2015 and the age of condoms", I don't really mean the act of intimacy alone. Intimacy can be defined as fornicating with someone and spending the night after (the fine difference between making love and fucking- the proposition makes the difference) but not restricting it to that. It also includes a large spectrum of situations and conditions, including that of pretty much removing me from my room, for an evening under any circumstance- be it for a vacation or a night out. This comprises of several components. Firstly, the fact that I can't be in the comfort of my house and in my room, and secondly, facing the morning after. This is the worst possible deal you can get because it not only means showing your bed head to someone but also, getting to see theirs. I know, I know, dramatic Snobster, can wake up early and do the walk of shame or meet the person for breakfast or never, or for that matter, request a separate bedroom or some such.


No.

This phobia or almost phobia of leaving my bedroom and sharing with someone else is the result of growing up as a single child. Mentally. You do things by yourself and keep it to yourself long enough in your adulthood to make yourself condition to having grown up as a single child. Although, my younger sibling and I spend a large chunk of our evening in physical proximity, we are mentally twice removed from each other. Come to think of it, this 'space' too is the most intimate thing to share with anyone. This idea of spending the night is not restricted to copulation or being in the washroom while the other person sits outside, but it's about facing the other person when you're completely in your skin. Several relationships go downhill or head for the end due to the personal habits/ablutions of the significant other. In my case, it's the ultimate act of trusting anyone and giving into submission if I do end up spending the night somewhere. Not only do you get to experience how strangely I breathe at night but also wake up to bad breath in the morning and possibly half zombie-half human face of mine in the state of utter dishevelment. If I can get goosebumps looking at my face in the mirror, trust me, you wouldn't want to see it.

Naturally, in my adulthood, this has become a major pain in the butt cheek of celebrations. Going to Gurgaon for night outs mean spending the night at someone's house in NCR, which results in the cancellation of my attendance and consequently, several friendships. I look back and think of the night I spent at Sohna Road, a couple of months ago, at a friend's flat for this birthday. I remember convincing myself to not pass out on his couch. Same reason, the discomfort of finding myself in complete lack of control at an unknown space where I wake up to horror- people looking over my face and wondering where did this exhibit come from. Besides the fact, the host offered me a choice of two bedrooms, I cringed at the people at one and made a face after looking at the other. Last I remember, a couple walked in on me at 7 am, stoned and hungover from hell (me), them amazed to find me eating Smiles while watching OC. Everyone, including the birthday boy had passed out/crashed by then. Most people had left. I did my early morning ugly-face walk of shame at 8 am vowing never to party again in my life. It comes to me as no surprise, I was never included in any plan hosted in that household by that certain friend ever again. I don't think he acknowledges my presence now, but we'll leave it to see at this year's birthday of his.

The other most prominent build up of the year was in Pune, where I was away from home with no choice but crashing elsewhere and waking up to foreign faces. I shared a room with a colleague and thankfully, since we were the first ones to arrive, we requested for single beds in a room, so that we wouldn't wake up to each other's face (gross, really). The other thing that was a constant in Pune was that I'd wake up early, barring one hungover morning. The evening is what I'd like to talk about here.

I was invited to a party at my friend's campus, about 2 kms away from my hotel. After an entire evening of dilly-dallying, a friend and I decided to give in and go. While the entire evening deserves a long, intimate post in its own (in case I haven't done), I was propositioned by several people, to spend the night. Naturally, with or without the Indian hospitality, 3 am is no time for a girl in India to walk alone on the road to her hotel, in a different city and the other, concerning a night only share of love. Some of these propositions were offered out of concern while the others out of the need to know each other before the blue sky cleared into a golden morning. Mornings never bring intimacy. They bring a ray of reality and that kinda sucks balls. Naturally, I was facing a situation. "Can I spend the night with stranger(s) where I will be forced to behave in a socially acceptable way of sleeping in a certain way? Do I have to pretend to not be freaked out when I don't find the mattress comfortable or the bedding clean? Must I have to borrow boxers from the man I met one hour ago?" defined my inner slurring monologue which was high as diamond in the sky (never quite got that besides The Beatles but okay). The instinctive reaction to this situation is my conditioned reply-

"I'm sorry, but I am not carrying my toothbrush. I have to go back."

The conversation proceeds,

"Don't be silly. I'll buy you a toothbrush in the morning."

or alternatively,

"I have an extra toothbrush in my room/at my home. I'll give it to you."

Okay, fuck. They're being super sweet. And, kind. Also resourceful. Standard troubleshooting reply, spit.

"Haha, you know I brush at night. I won't be able to sleep without it. Anyway, don't bother. Look, *points in the opposite direction* Adnan Sami!"

*proceeds to run as fast as possible, never to return*

While the aforementioned conversation is generally how the evening steers, there have been times when I couldn't have helped it. That night in Pune, as my drunk friend and I walked out of the campus, Retweaked remarked at the entrance of the campus, "There's a white man and a girl walking out at 3:3o am. If they make it alive, it would be a miracle." It was really a miracle then, that we found an auto driver, willing to drive us till our hotel and my roommate gave me the stink eye when I returned that night. I'd achieved nothing, but the satisfaction of sleeping in my (hotel) bed and brushing my teeth and waking up in my own bed wear was worth the risk and the heartbreak. You're advised to not pull such stunts, really. This might draw the conclusion that I can't do unprepared evenings, but no matter how prepared an evening is, I cannot pull myself out of my bedroom to spend the night with someone else. Or for that matter alone.

Growing up pain is having your trust broken at night outs. This one time at my advisor's place, where you could not have pulled an Adnan Sami or a Deleuze, I was made to wait the entire night on that toothbrush. Only, it ended up in a cat nap taken by my advisor and an all-nighter by me, without my oral hygiene routine. In all these cases of not being able to brush followed by, being at ease- knowing I was in a radius of 15 kms away from the house; I've always rushed out of the host's house at 6-7 am. This, by the way, includes my own birthday party last year, hosted at my friend's. She was kind enough to lend my friends and I here house, including having us all over. Naturally, I needed my bedroom the most. I was home and in my bed by 7:30 am.

Sadly, as I grow older, I find myself incapable of thinking if I can ever share my bed with anyone- friend, lover, parent or sibling. It comes out of having the comfort of knowing you're not troubling anyone. Preparedness of a night-out is akin to preparedness in the case of a disaster. You have to wake up, face their parents, friends and others and be in a socially acceptable outfit. This will be followed by facing the sunlight and the walk of pride/shame, depending on what you were upto the night before. As I think about doing it tomorrow night at some point of no return in Gurgaon, I find myself coming up with these ridiculous excuses ready to can the evening out:

"Hi, I've lost my toothbrush. Can I meet you some other time in Delhi?"

"So, I've decided to take a cab home at some point post-midnight to test my luck, because I kinda have a problem of waking up next to anyone I'm not used to. Also, I can't pull an all-nighter because I have work to do next morning."

"Um, can we celebrate your birthday with your farewell next month?"

"I've an assignment/exam to prepare for. Sorry! :("

"My imaginary boyfriend and I are on the verge of a breakup. We need to sort it out. Can I hang with you next week or so?"

"Can I not show up because I have nothing to wear?"

Now, before you recommend suggestions to can the evening out, I request you to look at the clean bedding you sleep in and consider exchanging that in order to spending the night with anyone, just for your convenience. That 'ABC' entity means the world's best wishes but leaving the comfort of your bed slash room slash mattress slash air conditioner slash quilt slash bed slash bedside charger slash extra set of boxers slash washroom with your favourite tiles is not worth any nightout ever.

(First post from Paragraph. Pending for nearly a week, now. If you're a Mac user, a writer at that, you must get your hands on it. Puns intended. Many thanks to FHB for 'gifting' the application.)

When you're in your 20s and no longer living up the 'first time' of things, you begin to realize how rare it is an opportunity to stumble upon something, which is a 'first' for you.

The human friend equivalent- of the guys who snap at bra straps to unhook the bra in a single attempt- are the kind of people I sincerely revere and long to stay away from. It's almost as if they can smell what's wrong, off you, in the moment you can rarely conceive for being present. A solitary exchange of words and they're able to gauge and extract whatever is the matter. This results in their actions which lead to an extreme reaction- in the form of breaking down, or the eternal catharsis that one is in tremendous need of, as opposed to the current state of clotting. 

Over several rounds of cheap wine and halfway decent beer, a bunch of us from my old college met earlier this evening. The get together had all the necessary elements that any house party slash get together requires- OCB, roasting, spillage of drinks, morose lighting and extremely happy faces. We discussed rumours, exchanged stories and spilled gossip about the ones who were not there. There was some amount of leg pulling, arising from previous get-togethers and situations where all of us were put together. If one could plot a graph, the best part of the parties are usually when everyone has hit the level of being stoned/drunk where nobody truly cares about filling the silence with banter. It's when everyone tries the hardest to recall the chain of thought- what were we discussing again?

Coming back to this evening, we had a lull some five-six times when we all went silent trying to think what I was saying before someone interrupted me. It's unbelievable when six people sit together and collectively recall what was being talked about and not even one gets it right. Anyway, most part of the evening was a blur, with different sub-groups passing out in different corners, and I, with my phone trying to figure the whereabouts of dinner.

Naturally, entire ride back home I went over the details of the lost plot that was going to be my highlight of the evening. Was it about the time someone was being inappropriately flirtatious? Was it about my job hazards? I wouldn't have wanted to discuss my colleague's fail interpretation of the web. So, what was it?

It just occurred to me, minutes ago, the lost plot of the evening. Incidentally, I was in the shower when I conceived of this- as a stirring conversation starter and also as an almost serious plan. Given our range of intoxicants for the night, I was pretty sure this would be a hit. This idea relapsed during a shower again, My money's with the person who invents a mechanism/application/device to record the shower thoughts.

I digress, but the whole things was a suggestion, rather an idea for a television pilot. Something more evolved and definite than a v-blog, yet, retaining the production value of something done by those with a management studies degree. I'd like to believe if Chetan Bhagat can judge dance, management studies degree holders can also make television.

The plot's roughly inspired by a Reddit AMA, I came across a long while back- wherein an upvoted comment was actually a suggestion about turning the AMA as a background into a script for a media project. Back in the day, The Voice had Adam Levine and not Himesh Reshammiya, and neither had I researched extensively about the nuances of the background. Now that the situation's different, I suppose we can look into producing a pilot. Giving out the idea here, in the eternal hope that someone can pick on it, develop it and win some awards off it. This is how it works now- you research extensively, for yourself- sit an exam, a fellowship or its equivalent- lose it to the person who's lifted off your work and extended upon incorrect research and it gets accolades.

This AMA was being done by a man, in a serious relationship with a commercially acclaimed pornstar. He'd provided with ASL along with some other intimate details of the lady in question, but had clearly avoiding narrowing it down to names. However, he had stopped short at giving out her pictures/identity as he had claimed that she was not comfortable. There were details, enough for anyone to have narrowed her down- and to say, there were more than a handful of people who actually did find the woman. Only, the man kept insisting that he wouldn't confirm or deny. The interesting thing about AMAs or this particular AMA was deconstructing this dude's life- from the hundred different perspectives of those who were participating in a collective discussion about his life as a boyfriend to a porn-star. How his average 'package' could weigh against the beefed up male pornstars' and how would his girlfriend react to his demands of sleeping with him, after a rough day at work (no puns intended). There were situations created for the man- what would happen after his girlfriend were to be introduced to his family. Would his mother flip out after finding out through the father- that her husband's possibly seen her naked- what would be her relationship with his friends- given how each one of them would have probably jerked off to her etcetera. It was quite possibly one of the most interesting threads on Reddit- the potential of each comment to actually materialize into a 45 minute slot. Two seasons of television show could have been easily written around it- with playing around the text and the voice. Apparently doing 120+ porn movies in your two-three year long career is considered a success in LA in the adult film circuit. Reading a dissertation on Kanti Shah has convinced me that the man knows his business and the fact that he should be making this series, for the right amount of pathos and action.

Having said that, if you do come across this thread online, please do read through each and every comment. It's over 5k responses so the best idea would be to visualize most of the content- as a script. Also, please feel free to lift off material and send it to your professors/boss/producers in case you run short of ideas. I will sleep with the satisfaction that I contributed something to the world vicariously. 

Of the 'things' I'd like to talk about:

Madboy/Mink's Sharaabi. Personal affiliation when it becomes the soundtrack of your life.

Ban on Maggi in Delhi. It's as bad as my mother not allowing me to use glorious cuss words on the dinner table, as the government conspires to control my meals on the same table.

Hearing how I've become a recluse. I don't have the patience/outfits/time to venture out for debauchery. I can finish a bottle of wine at home by myself. Do I need company for that? No.

The itch to make cinema. I spent a fortnight sitting in the theatre watching almost every single release of April-May. Spent all my monies at the candy-shop. I cannot explain the urge to be on a film set now. Please hire me.

Regret. Of being a total bitch to people, in the past-present and future. I dealt with all three today. If you're one of the characters who I spoke to, this evening, my sincere apologies for coming out as a total asshole at some point in my life. You probably deserved it, though.

Taking a break from Facebook. If you don't see me, it's because I don't want you to. I'd like a fucking break. Without Kit-Kat.

For being hot-cold. For Pitbull. For Peacock. For Meow. For Katy and also for the Perry.

For the in-betweeners. The one who is never captured in words or mentioned in time.

For Bae-rly True, consider this one an ode for not answering my phone and crashing at 9:35 pm this evening. Please call me when you read this.



For those, who have been around and those who have loved Kuhad as much as I loved.

If I were to write about the Phantom cigarette I'm gnawing while wearing black shades (with tinted glass) in a Popeye and Olive Oyl t-shirt, would you think it's the 90s?

If you were to initiate a date and I'd ask you to take me to Delite Cinema for a matinee show, would you oblige?

If I spent my week playing Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 on my tattered PC, would you give me unsolicited advice on how I should employ more security in my park?

If I'd ask you to call on my landline, as a response to "Why aren't you on Facebook?", would you give in to my eccentricity and be a participant?

If I'd quietly observe the lights on my way home, stuck between two ladies who're busy eating and replying to emails, will you then judge me for being occasionally lost?

Would you spoil me pretty stoned and take my periodic tantrums without the drama? (all the fucking puns intended)

Will you steer the wheel when I'm unimpressed by the mediocrity present in your cooking and drive down to bring home ice cream?

Will you be adept in handling my pop-culture cross referencing without being intrusive?

Will you be willing to hear me crib and cry and not be a burden by adding your misery?

Would you be kind regardless of all my flaws and still be as hopeless as you are now?