The Mysterious Caller

I know what you are thinking with a smug expression-this lady thinks no end of herself. First it was that stalker at the walk story, then getting a lift from a handsome stranger, to all the crushes on her and now a mysterious caller. But by the end of this all, you would be sympathising with me again dear friend, instead of envying...trust me, even though I don’t do so myself.

I absolutely wait for the ridiculous to happen with me which is rarely a disappointment so that I could splash it across here for my readers to float along with big monkey grins on their blessed faces over my misery yes, I know I am weird. And anyways, the last two serious posts had got me unbelievably itchy you don’t wanna know where to find my funny bone. After giving up searching in lards and yards and what not of me, I think I finally found it or at least hoping here that I did, thanks to a relative stranger again god bless them all in their species.

Since the evening of 3^rd June, the Friday, I had been receiving messages on my mobile from an unknown number-the usual philosophies of life moving on to love notes and hard-to-fathom shayyari. I delete numbers on my contact list after a while if there is no exchange or need of the person’s details on that space. What can I say, I just hate clutter. So on the 4^th morning, after the “good night’s” and the “good morning’s” became a little obnoxious and a tad bit curious for curiosity might not kill the cat here but it could definitely send her in a mini coma of sorts I messaged back asking, “Who’s this?”

Pat came the reply: “Ur friend”

Wow, wasn’t that unexpected!

Me: Say who you are or stop messaging.

After this the shayyari continued, getting much to my nerves for it was of the variety that shows like Comedy Circus boast of, dashed with romance to render it the most outlandish spectacle on the face of mobile phones. I mean who creates that kind of crap and worse still, who betrays humanity and his duties towards being a responsible citizen by circulating the preposterous!

Anyways, an hour later or so I received a call from this number and absent-mindedly I picked up. I do receive calls from unknown numbers I am not a celebrity yet.

He (in an amazingly squeaky tone): Hellooo Surucee!

Me (in an amazingly aghast tone, put there by just those two words): Kaun bol rahe hain?

MC (Mysterious Caller that is-any resemblance to any other anagram is purely coincidental and the author takes no responsibility): Mein Sameer!

Me: Sameer who?

MC: Arre, tum nahi jaante?

Me (wondering if someone called Sameer was just crowned the President or married the Prince of Wales that I am expected to know of this name even in sleep): Ji nahi. Politeness in the face of the absurd is the true quality of a lady my dear...what crap, I didn’t know how to blast him at such short notice.

MC: Acha I am a Second year student, kya hum dost ban sakte hain?

Me (losing it now): Whaaaaaaaaat? Please don’t call up again!

MC (with unmatched confidence, Dhoni should learn from him actually): Arre kal se messages kar rahe ho, thode der baat to kar lo.

Me (lost it now): *disconnects and does not pick up thereafter from Mr.  Persistence Personified*

Omgggggggggg! I was flabbergasted!

MEIN messages kar rahe hoon...MEEIIIIIIIIIINNNNN????

I didn’t know what to get more angry on this guy for:

1. He presupposes after badgering me with about 50 messages, to which I innocently and eventually just asked “Who’s this?” to MEEEEEEEE messaging him...sweet mother of lord, the guy needs help!

2. He was in Second year of college-I am hoping he didn’t mean second year school for that would mean class 12 and take my omg to the Himalayas. I mean agreed, age is no bar, but it is not an éclair either-Okay poor joke, but the guy must be twenty for crying out loud! When I was in my flaming teens, he was in his wetting nappies...such thoughts flashed my mind, which was in no way flattered by the attention.

3. Never mind that....story does not end there...picture abhi baaki hain!

The whole day thereafter the messages continued and also the hourly calls. He was instantly saved on my contact list as “DON’T PICK” to avoid making any blunders again. So DON’T PICK now said, “Mere se koi galti ho gaye kya?”

“Somebody sounding so sweet, how can she be so sour”-YEEEEEEEEEES...these were the exact words, followed by crueller massacre of the English language that almost prompted me to check his messages, edit with a big red pen and send him back with a big F that’s Failed by the way!

When the saga went on way into the night, G was informed and he seemed grim. I thought he would get angry. He seemed sad...I wanted to console him saying I belong only to him, my body, heart and soul saat janam tak, with a whole lot of drama that would put the entire Bollywood to shame, but then he uttered those words...Na bachche ‘DIVORCE, DIVORCE, DIVORCE’ nahi, re!

“You still get calls from admirers and are in demand but I don’t. Tum abhi bhi jawan ho aur mein buddha ho gaya kya?”

Omg...would the men orbiting my horizon please act as sensible men?

This is not about you baby, it is about me and I shake him up like a nice cough syrup ka bottle, after reminding him of the saat vachans to guard my izzat, taken round the holy fire eleven years ago during our wedding day!

So the next morning is encounter time*playing background music of some cowboy theme where the two opponents wear squeaky shoes and walk up to each other in painfully slow motion, reverberating with thak, thak, thak...you can also imagine close up shots of the silly faces in the crowd and bemused faces of the horses, for absolute imagery there*

At the first “good morning” G calls the bugger from his cell.

G: Kaun hain bhai aap?

BC (that stands for Badtameez Caller now, situation ke saath thoda adapt karna padta hain na): Aap kaun hain?

G: Aaj kal bade messages and phones kar rahe ho kisse ko? Kya baat hain?

BC: Haan kar raha hoon...to? Kya kar loge?

G: Beta, yeh sab jo kar rahe ho, lagta hain tumhe maar khaane hain?

BC: Kha lenge...ho sakta hain ulta ho jaaye.

G: Acha to milo tum abhi mereko station ke paas, mein batata hoon!

BC: Theek hain...arre nahi abhi nahi, 3 baje milte hain!

And he disconnects the line.

OHHH MYY GOOOD GOD!

One would think two people were asking each other out on a date! I didn’t know about the BC’s sexual preferences, but mere aapne maathe ka sindoor and yeh sab! Ghor Kalyug! I gave a stern look to G, that said, "Kar kya rahe ho aap? Usse time pass nahi karna hain...hadkana hain!" And what on earth would you derive on meeting the bugger anyways? 3 baje to aise bola jaise facial, manicure, pedicure ka time mind mein set kar ke aayega, mera haath maangne- @#$%%#$@##@!

A minute later I get another message, “Tumne apne boyfriend ko bata ke acha nahi kiya”. Omg please don’t keep the omg count here, some situations demand repetition!

Nahiinnnnnnnnn! Yeh meine kya kiya*one hand on the forehead with the 'mein lut gaye, barbaad ho gaye 'expression* I almost imagined a group of bikers in high boots, growling engines, leather jackets-oops, okay it is summers-costume change-in white shinning vest with muscles-shuscles rippling, circling my poor G in the nukkad near the station. And as soon as G got up with a very determined look that said ‘do or die’, I also thought of maaro-ing the favourite line, “Station tak pahunchne se pehle tumhe mere laash par se guzar ke jaana padega!” Thankfully or not, G had only got up to go to the loo!

Half an hour later he emerged from the washroom looking all victorious, which is generally anyways his look after every such trip and generally the IST-Indian Standard Time taken by the men in this family inside there I have often seriously thought of putting cameras in there but that for some other time.

G: The matter is solved. He won’t bug you any further.

Me: Huh? What did you do? (I was thinking he had contacted Pappu Bhai, whom I have overheard him saying umpteenth times on the phone, “Is baar bhai mera kaam theek se karvana, koi gadbad na ho!”)

Well, to cut the long story short, G had asked the bugger point blank if he knew whom he was calling and that the woman in question was married and ek bachche ki ma! G said I should have heard his tone for it seemed someone pulled the earth off his feet. He obviously didn’t know. The bugger had bought a mobile phone from a friend ka friend, found a girl’s name on the contact list and randomly sent messages hoping someone would get hooked.

Five minutes later I get the last message on the phone,

“Sorry yaar, chal bye.” G has not been able to wipe the smug grin off his face uptil now and I am still recovering from the disappointment of not being able to render my drama lines.

Morals of this story:

1. I may not be as jawaan as G thinks after all and G may not be all that useless in handling my izzat ke questions as I thought.

2. Though I truly believe we should not disclose marital status and baby issues in such sensitive matters to ensure a complete closure...where is tact, people?

3. Pappu Bhai is the garage owner where our cars go for servicing and repairs.
4. For heaven’s sake, people-delete the contact list before selling your mobile phones. It can bring someone’s home/ego crashing down!

5. That picture up there is not mine- just mentioning, in case I still have some market value that may not come staggering down to below zero thanks to that lady!