Robin Arora saw Karan Bhagal coming out from the elevator. It was three years since both of them had seen each other. They had last met each other at Crappy’s reunion. Karan hadn’t changed- he was still cursed with a height of 5 feet 4 inches, a custard full of pot belly and looked horny as always.
Robin ducked behind the edition of the Metrosexual men magazine that he had been reading. There had been an interesting article for men that talked about how one could manicure his nails so that no one would come to know that they had actually been manicured. Robin tried to hide behind the magazine cover but had no luck.
As usual, Karan was as subtle as a donkey’s fart.
“Oh……Burrraaahhhh….Dude…..Yeah….Robin…Huhaaaaaa….Ohaaaaaaa!” Karan yelled embracing Robin close to his chest until Robin felt suffocated from the foul smell of garlic on his breath.
Robin was touched by the sentimental greeting, until he felt Karan’s hands caress his butt.
“Ohaaa…..Hublaa….Oh…Oh!” Karan yelled not letting go of Robin. Robin pushed him with some difficulty and said, “Karan, dude! How are you?”
“You know,” Karan yelled, “I am a typically stereotypical Punjabi kuda. Chak De Fatte!”
Robin shushed him. “Karan control your emotions. Don’t let them turn into loose motions.”
Seeing Karan after three years was so mind-blowing crazy for Robin! But Robin was mindful of where they were and said, “Shush Karan. Do not forget we are here to see a psychiatrist.”
Karan became serious for a moment, “Yes. I forgot we were at the psychiatrist!”
Robin asked in a surprised tone, “Fancy seeing you at a psychiatrist? You are always so exufossil!”
“You mean exuberant Robin!”
“Yes. Same thing,” said Robin, genuinely concerned at his friend’s state of mind. Karan saw tears in his friend’s eyes and his heart started pumping blood more vigorously in sympathy.
“Robin! Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it Karan. The stench from your garlic is very strong.”
“Oh! Haha, tell me Robin dude, what are you doing at the psychiatrist?”
Robin sighed, growing misty in his eyes, “I lost in love. Then I wondered if I could love again. Then love happened twice. Then I lost again.”
“What brought you here Karan?” asked Robin.
“I married the girl I loved who was from a different state. Then I lost it.”
For the next nine and a half minutes, Robin and Karan spoke, giggled and made fun each of each other, poking at each other’s midriff.
Then Robin asked, “What are you doing Karan?”
“I am gently prodding your midriff and cracking jokes. High five!”
“No,” said Robin shaking his head, “I meant what are you doing professionally?”
“Well I pursued my lifestyle dream of completing engineering, then I did my MBA and then like I always wanted to be, I became a writer.
“No Shit,” said Robin, appalled at this turn of events. Robin himself had always been the more creative of the two.
“I am world famous in India dude! Don’t tell me you haven’t read my books,” asked Karan in disbelief.
“No no,” said Robin not wanting to hurt his friend’s fragile inflated ego. “What do you write about?”, Robin asked, feeling as curious as the cat who got killed.
“Well general stuff….my college life….girlfriend boyfriend….courtship with would be wife..wife’s parents. ..wife’s parent’s college life…..”
“Oh,” said Robin disappointed. There was no tragic love story here. Romance was more his cup of green tea. Ever since he had read Eric Segal’s Love Story he had been wanting to write a tragic love story.
Karan said excitedly, “Let’s go and drink beer and have tandoori chicken.”
“But…,” said Robin glancing at his watch. “It is ten in the morning.”
“So what? Let’s go. I was anyways going to pay the psychiatrist to talk. Let me talk to you instead as my therapy.”
"No shit,” said Robin, feeling a tremor go through his body. Oh the putrescence of it! Beer and Tandoori Chicken in the morning. And he had said no shit twice.