Pulp Fact-ion

Scene 1 : Was walking out of the Vishwavidyalaya Metro station, when a glowsign neon ad made me pause. It showed a bunch of young we-were-the-original-cast-for-RANG DE BASANTI type of fellows jumping high in the air. they had smiles on their faces, smiles that remind you of horny uncles that lure you towards them with candy or lollipops. The ad said - Study in Australia!!! enroll today and win tickets for the next musical at the Sydney Opera House!!! The people behind me, who obviously were not jobless like i was, didn't find my sudden halt amusing as they grunted while colliding with me. "Arrey BehnChod!!" one of them said under his breath. I wasn't allowed to follow the stop-stare-think routine once again (story of my life). I walked on. U2 forever!!

Scene 2 : The token checking machine( i'm sure there's a word for it..just not in my vocab) and the queue that led to it, saw me standing next to the same BC obsessed guy, only this time he was right in front of me, rummaging through his pocket for the token and holding the line. Should've retaliated, now that i think of it, but i was too busy thinking about the Ad i had just seen. The guy turned behind and smiled. A smile that we men generally use for moments like when someone points out to you, in public, that your fly's open. the index finger that points towards the exact co-ordinates of your crotch doesn't help either. pathetic as i am, i return a smile as if losing the token was the sweetest thing he had ever done. U2 rocks!!

Scene 3 : The Brotherhood of Richshaw pullers waiting outside the metro station had definitely pimped up their style, if not the ride. Spanking the empty seats, they say in perfect rhythm, "Ajao, meri wali pe chadh jao!!"....which translates into,"Come, climb onto the one thats mine!!". The nostalgic memories of the millions of times i've shared a rickshaw with friends, suddenly nauseates me. So avoiding the main exit, i take a detour through the parking lot. the sight of dogs making out is way better than Rickshaw Spank Inferno. Surprisingly, the dogs were absent that afternoon. The post lunch humping hadn't begun yet. Instead i see a Baba with a chillum. He smiles at me. Finally a genuine smile, phew!!. ..so what if he was high as a Kite? U2 should be paying me for this.


Scene 4 : Waiting for a friend, who likes pork and beef as much as i do. The problem of being a guy sitting outside the back gate of a girls hostel, is that every freakin living creature hovering around, will stare at you and give you the "Look". i try to duck/look away/meditate...doesn't help. i run out of options. i look up. An Ad for a computer institute ideally named "Dics" catches my attention. This time people aren't jumping around. just smiling at you. i can actually picture them calling out to whoever bothers to listen - "Come to us, we shall bestow upon you the magic of Dics...Dics....Dics ver1.2". Creepy. The smiling creeps in the Ad have gelled hair, whitened teeth, and extra ironed shirts. i could sense the pride in their Dics....i mean Pics. Bono and The Edge loiter inside my head.

Epilogue : My friend doesn't make me wait a lot. We head off to the land of Beef. Funny how when you're in good company, you stop thinking about Sexually motivated Education Fair Ads and famous Irish rock bands.

Seven. The number of joints you need to smoke using pure RK puram grass to “lose it” and, as entertaining as it may sound to your friends, open up. For amateur smokers out there, “chhoti” gold flake tobacco, for the mixture, gives you a better high than Navy cut. The topic of conversation can range from kids in Darfur to ‘how groovy the plane looks’ as it zooms overhead like a Mothership that doesn’t exactly know where you are. Previous relationships also add variety to the ‘talk’ but personally i find that dangerous although in public i would rather say its boring. Escapist? You might add. Pink Floyd has become a cliché. Times have changed. Its the age of the Dandy Warhols now. And please don’t spend any money on “decking” up the room to create the perfect ambience. The whole idea of smoking up is to let go of those worries. If you really have extra moolah, get more grass.

Coming back to the number seven, yes, make sure that you have all the necessary material needed for that perfect high – Rolling paper, unused wedding invitation cards for weddings of people who don’t give a fuck about you( the feeling needs to be mutual) – they make excellent roach, cheap quality fried stuff – chips, potatoes, chilly pork/beef, and yes, people who smoke up – i call them grasshoppers. So, are we ready now? Almost. I almost forgot the main ingredient – an acoustic guitar. Floyd plays better on a guitar than on winamp. So there you go, a perfect night awaits you. And yes, please comment if you think we can make improvements. Its open source ;)