Love Guru

This is not a fable. Previously I might have made up some rather bizarre first person posts, just to strike a chord with the readers. But this one is totally, absolutely, brutally, physically true. As true as Michael Owen’s love for Liverpool.

There has been this digestion problem that I face that just refuses to go away. As with Yossarian’s liver troubles in Catch 22, it neither aggravates nor vanishes. It keeps on popping its ugly head from time to time and causes me discomfort. A lot of medication has been tried. All of it worked for a certain duration. And then again, ’twas back to square one. Some very enthusiastic members of family decided a while ago that homeopathy – those white tablets which when magnified could resemble naphtalene balls – was the way ahead. And I had to rest faith in the homeopath to find a panacea to this recurring ailment.

Being my first visit, I was told to fill a thick booklet beforehand. In hindsight, I think I should have scanned the booklet for it would have really been apt for this blogpost. The booklet needed me to fill all possible information that even my mum wouldn’t bother asking. It was fun. So I thought while flipping through the pages and writing a big “-N/A-” for most questions.

My number was called and I handed over the booklet to a guy at the front desk. I could see from his face that he was clearly dissatisfied with my resonses rather the lack of them. Yet he chose to smile calmly. He looked at me affectionately. We are living in the times where 377 has been legalised. It is no more a taboo. I felt a slight churn in my tummy. He politely reminded me that I’d have to give verbal responses to all the questions since I had acted like a jackass by not taking the booklet seriously. He escorted me to a small room. I was quite relieved to know that I would not have to answer to him – 377 not withstanding. To be honest, I was expecting the doc to take over from here. But hell no!

Two female sidekicks made their way into the room. I’m not a great judge of person. But both seemed to be in their early 20’s. Pathology or pharmacy graduates, perhaps. I don’t know if it is the standard protocol to be questioned by both of them in unison. But my shin(e)y,glowing face must have made them re-think their routine.

There was a pause. Some smiles. Without further ado, one of them nodded their head and mumbled, “Start”. Now, I had no voice recording up my arse, so I started slowly. Stammered and stuttered. Mostly in angrezi. Within a few minutes I realized that both of them didn’t really enjoy the Queen’s language. So I switched to a cocktail of angrezi, marathi and hindi. I finished off the basic problem, symptoms all in one go. Instead of being asked to leave, I was asked an innocuous two word question that would make the next 90 minutes worse than sitting through Kambakht Ishq – “What else?”

Now, there was a sinister plot behind the question. It was designed in such a way that come the later stages of the booklet, it would bite you in the backside. Lets get to the booklet now, shall we. It was the most amazing example of what I would call “ethical voyeuring”. It asked you everything – what you ate, why you ate, when you ate, how much you peed, did you smell your pee, how much water you drank, how much did you sweat, if you loved summer or rains or winter, if you had dreams, what did you see in your dreams, when did you dream, if you had any fears, how was your sexual appetite, if you thought about blondes and jerked off in the shower, the frequency of the previous activity, your joys, your sorrows, your reactions when you were angry, your fraands, your views on fraandship, your admiration for Paris Hilton’s chihuahua (the dog i meant), your relationship with the milkman of the second cousin of the President of Tajikistan et al.

After the initial bit pertaining to the problem, the femme fatale decided to quiz me on my dreams -

Do you dream ? Erm. Not really.

Have you never ever dreamt in your life ?

Yes. I have.

When was the last time you had a dream ?

Hell. I remember.

No. But still ?

Seriously no clue.

What happens in your dreams?

Whom do you dream about? *mutters*

Do you dream about yourself?

Well. Yes.

Do you ever dream about friends? Some special friend?

*at about this time I realised where it was all headed. For the next twenty minutes, they beat about the bush without uttering the “girlfriend” word*

The questions were very innovative but they really could not muster the nerve to ask me face to face if I had someone with whom I cuddled up every weekend. I kind of laud their sheer enterprise though. They tried all they could to unsettle me but I wouldn’t give an inch.

Questions included -

How were you in school ?

And what else?

How was your nature in school ?

And what else ?

Ok.All that is academics. Is there something else you’d like to tell about school/college life?

And what else ?

How many friends did you have in school ?

And what else ?

How were your relationship among friends ?

Is there one friend whom you’re still in touch with?

And what else?

Do you tell your secrets to your parents ?

Do you have any special friends whom you share your secrets with ?

And what else ?

Now I think about it, I feel really grateful to them. No one has ever taken so much interest in me. And in the 90 minutes that I had with them, they fondled me with so much affection. They made me feel important. They had a heart. They really understood me. It was Kissmat KKonektion all over. *sob* *sob* I extend my deepest gratitude towards them. I won’t be meeting them for a while I guess, but I’ll never really forget the time we spent dissecting my past.

After the interrogation, I was taken to the Doc. Ironically, he barely conversed with me. He just read through all what was written by one of those dames and prescribed me a course of those tiny naphtalene balls.

As I sit here poking ridicule at the entire process, they’d also have had a silent laugh at me and my responses. By now, they’d have forwarded my details to couple of matrimony sites as well as a prospective customer. But I’d prefer to believe that silence is golden. And I’m convinced that I kind of steered through the questioning very tactfully. After the Arushi homicide case, India TV had a shocking expose (acute over the e – as in exposay) of the messages she had sent a guy about a day ago which read somewhat to the tune of – ” u r mah bst bud. lv ya lds. kss. mwah. mwah. “. Now, if I do something which would make me front page news in this country, you know where to look for the shady details, don’t you ?

It seems that he's written something new. Aha ! :P

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