It seems that August 14th is ‘Half’ Valentine’s Day. Now these are those dreaded days which remind me about my miserable single status. My life has become as barren as the parched Telangana lands. Such infertility, that some of my cells commit suicide on a regular basis by drowning themselves into water. I am unable to stop this cellular genocide as I am incapable of providing them with their counterparts with two X chromosomes. Like the Indian Government, all I can do is provide them with promises and packages. But I am not sure how long I can manage this way.
Yes, I did try my luck with the members of opposite gender. And all I got was the realization that I did not have the magical four-lettered word. Luck. (No, I am not thinking yet about its rhyming partner, which is more appealing.)Those who met me, never came again. I did hear from some common acquaintances that I had a repulsive odour. Now, this, I knew was a blatant false claim. After all, I regularly have a shower on 5th of every month. In addition to this, I also avail the complementary spray from the MCH every monsoon, which keeps not just the germs but even big mosquitoes away.
I approached the Ministry of Youth ‘Affairs’ to help me set up a date. They agreed support me under their
Scheme for Promotion of Adventure. After all, spending time with unpredictable species like girls is no less than an adventure. They promptly (i.e. after 8 months) sent me an application to be filled with a few supporting documents like Caste Certificate (may be they din’t want to disturb the endogamous nature of our society), Birth Certificate (Moron, if I was never born, then who the hell is sending you this application), Age Proof (Does my desperation to reach you, with full knowledge of your bureaucratic redtapism, need any more proof of my withering age?), Ration Card as proof of my BPL status (Impoverished people eat meat. They don’t play with it)
Anyways, I managed to get all except the ration card. I decided to forge one. But for that the DTP guy wanted to have a look at the original. I approached my servant maid. She looked puzzled and asked, “What card?”. “Ration card”, I replied with maximum stress on ‘Ration’. She replied with an air of obviousness, “At the moment, I have Credit Card, Debit Card and SIM card and my boy friend has an AGP card and WLAN card. But never heard of Ration Card” Before I could react, she excused herself to reply to an SMS from her boy friend. I was as frustrated as seeing my inbox filled with spam advertising Viagra.
I finally did manage to send the application. It was returned saying that I had to submit to the MRO, who would then forward it to the District Collector. He would then send the documents for verification to the issuing authorities. There would then be a personal verification by the Special Branch of the City Police. After confirming the veracity of my claims, my application would be forwarded to the State Secretariat. Since, the programme is partly funded by the Centre, a copy would be forwarded to the Ministry of Youth Affairs, who would make a parallel verification. I protested saying that if they followed the whole process, what I would get is not a girl to take me to the bed, but a nurse to take me to the bathroom. He promptly (0.08 seconds) put down the phone.
I approached an NGO, Youth for Equal ‘Opportunity’, to help me take up the case. They gave me an ingenious idea to file a RTI application with census department so that I can get a list of all eligible, or rather, available females. I finally managed to get 22 contact numbers, The first one had a very stern recorded message “This facility is not available in your telephone”. The rest also had the same message in rest of 20 regional languages that appear on the currency notes.
Miraculously, the last one clicked. The female very coyly replied that she would date only with parental consent. I jumped with joy with some potential chances in vicinity. My parents would give consent for anything that would keep me away from them by 500 meters. She soon killed my nascent hope when she clarified that parental consent meant her parents. What? Me going to her home to ask permission? What a cruel comedy! Leave alone entering her home, in my present status even the stray dogs won’t let me into her street.
But it is not that I never dated any female. Thanks to Internet, may Eros bless who ever invented it, I did meet a girl whom I met on the chat. The moment I saw her, it was Kuch-Kuch -Hota-Hain for me. But unfortunately, and as usually, the Kuch-Kuch-Hota-Hain was not in my heart, but in my stomach. She appeared like a creature straight from some genetic engineering labs in Zimbabwe. She dressed up so jarringly that I never understood which was her skin, which was her dress and which were her accessories. She spoke little, ate a lot and had some childhood affinity for monosyllabic replies. And when she spoke, it was mostly over her mobile. Of course, I never got what she spoke. Her monosyllables, laughter, giggles and burps, all sounded the same - like the Jurassic Park ringtone which I use to identify my dad’s calls. Later, I realized that Blind dates are meant for only for those who are not just blind but also deaf, dumb and mentally challenged.
I have lot more, but would like to save them for Full Valentine’s Day. All those who know of any available members of the opposite sex, please recommend me to them. For every successful referral you would be eligible for a free aquatic screensaver.
All those singles who want express their solidarity with me can treat this as a mercy petition which would be forwarded to the President of India. All petitions, be it about sex or stray dogs, are usually sent to him and I don’t want to break the convention, though that guy himself was not successful with females. (Wonder who gave him the title "Missile" man.) So please sign this petition by leaving your comments.
Update: I have been married for sometime now. But I must confess that it has been as disastrous as my dates!!!!
