Love Beyond Hookup

By Aditya Bhutra, Sr

Corporates do have hearts beating in their spreadsheets.
Why people go through a proper assembly line procedure – Talking, spending time with girl, dating, going out for movies, candlelight dinner, bearing her tantrums, the first kiss, hearing her plight and consummate a relationship.
Mukul does not believe in rules and keeps it short – Casual and if yes, unprotected sex. According to him, life is too short to talk to a single girl. Live your life to the fullest and enjoy every moment of it.
This book uncovers the corporate veil and discovers the world lying behind the glittering and emotionless skyrocketing buildings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aditya Bhutra, Sr
• Release date: Jan 29, 2020

Book preview

Part 1

Chapter 1 – Mumbai Roommates

Vicky

May 8, 2019 – Mumbai

She kissed my lips once and moved away like a flash, believing that I won’t accept this sudden act.

I smiled. In the next 0.22 nanoseconds, my lips were playing with hers. She was in the mood for swift action. Her lips moved in quick motion, between my upper and lower lips, alternating with quick and slow movements, teasing me. At that moment, I cut myself loose and let her do whatever she wanted with my body. Midway, she brought her tongue out, desperately trying to suck as much juice as possible out of my lips. I succumbed as if I was her slave, who allowed his mistress to do whatever she wanted to do with him.

Both her hands were entangled in my hair, as she tugged away with full force. My hands held her tiny bosom, – soft as a new cushion. I turned oblivion, to enjoy the flow of events that were bubbling and for upcoming surprises.

Her lips covered mine as if they were one. For her, time seemed limited. Her tongue immersed deep into my mouth, groping its way trying to reach even deeper.

After five minutes of her dominance on me, I realised that her lips were not on mine. I sensed trouble. The next moment, I saw her drawing the curtains on the windows and shutting the windows. For the first time I felt as if non-living things too were jealous of my abilities.

Hey, wait this is not me. My name is Vicky. The scene I am describing is about my friend and roommate Mukul, a resident of Delhi.

I have been with Mukul for the last three years, and our understanding is so perfect that we don’t communicate through words, a wink is enough.

I met Mukul on the Nestaway app, which helps you to get accommodation on a sharing basis in Mumbai. They were already three roommates and were looking for a fourth roommate, not only to decrease their cost of living, but also to enhance the cleanliness of the apartment. The maid was asking a colossal amount to clean the entire house, and they were not inclined to pay so much. A fourth roommate would take care of the additional cost of the maid as well as divide the sharing of the rent, by one more part.

I learned this, after a year of a pleasant-cum-adventurous stay in this flat.

When I first met him, he welcomed me to this hell. He was wearing a capris and a funky type of T-shirt that read, ‘Fuck You’. Cigarette stubs lay scattered everywhere, and there was the fragrance of kewda to diffuse the unpleasant stench coming from the plethora of socks marring the entrance. The first thought that struck me when I entered was the count of shoes that were lying haphazardly. Three occupants, but twenty shoes.

Three years ago, I was very judgemental. I had the traits of an Indian aunty, and the credit goes to my neighbour Sarla Dadi who would feed me with some ancient fundas about, ‘How not to deviate in this world?’

Even though she did not step outside her three-storeyed house to purchase dhaniya (she would ask the sabjiwala to come inside her rusted iron gate), she proclaimed to possess a third eye that knew every nook and corner of the universe. As it is easy to instil in a kid’s mind that a ghost resides behind the neem tree, she brainwashed me. I distinctly remember that day when I dumped my last bit of baggage on the front seat of the Ola cab; she came rushing to me, with the, Amul dahi in her right hand. While feeding me with a spoon full of curd, she taught me ‘The Good Qualities of an Ideal Roommate.’

Her punch line was, "Roommate aisa jisko baar baar pujne ka mann kare."

She listed things that an ideal roommate should possess, which included, believing in Hanuman, not uttering vulgar words, not speaking to girls, being vegetarian, not smoking, not consuming supari or drinking beer. To top the list a good roommate should be excellent in his work, return home by 8 pm and not be funny!

After half-an-hour conversation with him, it was clear that Mukul did not fulfil my Dadi’s criterion of the perfect roommate. However, the other two breached the cap, when I measured them on the same parameters. They were both excellent in their work, and their trophies, ‘Best Assistant Manager’ and, ‘Best Rising Star’ substantiated the same. They were not funny and replied in monosyllables.

Naman and Amrit were the other two roommates. Their names matched their nature. One could sense the serenity of the sea on their face. I was about to convey my decision with a Big No, when Naman’s words came as a ray of hope for me in the darkness that engulfed my dreams. If you decide to live here, you would be sharing my room.

It made my conviction firmer that ‘Achai does exist in this Kalyug.’

Wondering what I would tell my ‘Sarla Dadi’?

Though her blood did not flow in me, she interfered in every aspect of my life from the moment I was born. I planted a seed in her mind and showered it with water that, ‘I have found two Harishchandras in the world of Ravana, and they are a perfect fit for me.’

I accept the initial days of this journey were quite bumpy. Mukul overshadowed Naman and Amrit because of his extroverted nature in all the fields of life. In the roommate meetings called to divide the expenses and express their concerns, Mukul swayed the entire session. No one dared to raise a finger against him. When he asked me for an opinion, I would murmur, I am fine with anything. Go ahead.

Though Naman and Amrit lived in Mumbai, they created a world that looked more like an uncle whose only aim in life is to earn bread and butter for his family. To be more specific, if we try to draw their life timeline on a canvas it will appear as boring as a routine of a commute, from home to office, and then dragging one’s tired feet back home. The only sex they would have was on suhaagraat, only because it was a social obligatory act. After long term planning, two children was the next step, followed by struggling to buy a 1BHK flat on EMI in Mumbai. The ultimate dream in life would be to purchase an Alto Maruti, after much consideration and debate. They could not afford the luxury of an early retirement, to enjoy a little luxury and relaxation in life, but would have to wait for the complete grind of retirement only when they turned 60 years.

Mukul was the opposite. He lived a life that I always dreamt of, but was unable to pursue because of the imposition of the so-called Harishchandra restrictions on me by Sarla Dadi. He had every characteristic that every Indian aunt would hate in a boy and which every teenager would ever love to do. He ate without any restrictions, worked without any captivity, drank without any budget and had unprotected sex, without the fear of AIDS.

I always tried to keep more than an arm’s length distance as I thought I would commit a sin without impunity.

However, as the adage goes, ‘the more you try to catch a girl, the more she will drift away from you and eventually turn into a mirage.’

So manoeuvring a little, ‘The more I tried, the closer he came.’

I had completed my bumpy ride of a six month stay at Laxmi Apartments, and I was near the brink of replicating my past six months, herky-jerky experiences in the seventh month.

Though in the corporate world, you receive a mail from the HR congratulating you for completing the probation period, here, the situation was quite disparate. You get a badge of, ‘Qualified Washroom Cleaner’ and get entitled to order groceries online for the entire roommate family.

One fine day, when life looked like bliss, a voice aired that conferred me goosebumps.

"Hey, chu**e, ruk na. Where are you going? You always tend to tide away from me," Mukul said in a jaw-dropping tone.

Ahh… I am going downstairs. I have some work to… my meek voice fumbled.

"Abe ruk. Today, you won’t go downstairs. The work can wait. Sit here."

So he sat on the black cushioned leather sofa that had rugged upholstery, parked in our living room. The couch was the only spot in our house that dispensed relief, similar to one that a nomad unearths in the shadow of a tree and the tranquillity that a son receives in the lap of his mother.

I sat across him and waited for him to blurt out.

Have you lost your virginity? he snickered.

As I was about to voice my words, his typical OnePlus ringtone pierced my thoughts.

Heya, Wassup? he asked on the phone.

He switched his phone on speaker.

Not feeling good. A girly meek voice from the other side enlightened my curiosity about, ‘Who was on the other side?’

Why, babe?

Suffering severe pain due to …

I know, baby. You can express yourself freely.

Yeah. Thanks. Suffering from menstrual problems. These days, it has become really painful and sometimes even severe. Today, I didn’t go to the office because of this.

Is it more harrowing than your previous cycle?

"Haan re. My periods are getting delayed due to this."

Their conversation went on for around half an hour, with me sitting across him like a child, who has been called by the principal to his office, for the ruckus he had created in the class.

I pondered about where Mukul mustered such courage to talk freely on such taboo topics, riding against the flow of the wind? We are living in a society where, ‘We want a grandson’ is considered as more sanskari and acceptable than one-word ‘sex’.

So, do you know about periods? he hung up the phone, concentrating all his attention on me.

Ahhh, yeah.

Wait, I am not talking here about school periods. He cackled, as if some renowned stand-up comedian has cracked a joke on India’s GDP.

Even though he threw the question before me, he did not let me answer that.

He started pouring out his heart and thoughts on the most sensual topic ‘sex’ that everyone yearns to discuss, but refrains from due to the fear of the society labelling them as ‘tharki’. His version of sex was very different from the way it was taught to us in the 10th class through the NCERT book.

He made me travel mentally through lessons on flirting, how to talk to a random girl and ask her out on a date, how to make out in the cab, how to win a girl’s heart in a second, how to masturbate correctly, how to convince her to have sex, which does not cast an impression that we were ‘despo’ in her eyes and also at the same time, satiates our basic humanly desires.

It was 11.40 pm and I had, for the first time in my life, faltered on the coercive promise that I made to Sarla Dadi to sleep at

11.00 and wake up by 6.00.

Naman and Amrit had returned from the office, and as they were about to enter the premises, Mukul was ready with his pun.

Welcome the bright future of India, so bright that I am unable to see it.

Please stop demeaning us. Don’t drag him into your dark world, where there is no one except you. Naman’s words arrested my attention with his short term bravery.

I think his distress was more due to the office than the pun of Mukul. Corporates suck your blood gradually through a straw, which doesn’t come to your attention, but it has a long term repercussion in the form of sycophancy.

With jittery hearts, they went to the kitchen, grabbed their part of the food in the unclean thali and sneaked to their 10X8 darkroom.

Let’s go to bed, I expressed in a lamb’s voice.

You are ageing. Who goes to bed so early, bro? You are in Mumbai. I thought we would watch a TV series together, Mukul reverted, with a sympathetic tone.

What is a TV series? I asked inquisitively.

"Oops, something went wrong. Let me introduce you a section of the amazing duniya of a bachelor’s life."

So he bounced towards his room, emerging finally with his laminated Apple laptop and black-skinned JBL Bluetooth speaker.

I have seen this series thrice, but still love to watch it again and again, as every time I discover some new ingenuity of Michael Scofield, he spoke, while plugging the charger in the socket and synchronising his JBL Bluetooth speaker with the laptop.

Can we see this on Saturday, as I have office tomorrow? I raised a light protest with hesitation.

"OK. We will watch one episode and the others on the weekend, fine, Baba?" he surrendered to my meek protest.

I think you will require subtitles, and he downloaded the same, without seeking my response.

The TV series was, ‘The Prison Break’, and the first episode lasted for around 46 minutes. I did not understand anything, as my focus was more on subtitles rather than on the story, which put me in a spot that had no answer. What would I answer, if Mukul asked me about the review of the episode? But by God’s grace that fear did not materialize.

Mukul succumbed to sleep in the middle of the episode only, which gave me sufficient time to browse on Google ‘Anna’ to copy the review of others on Episode 1 of the Prison Break.

After half an hour of the probe on IMDb, which resulted in the collection of some facts about the episode that I could blabber, I switched off the lights of our living room and stealthily entered my room to avoid disturbing Mukul and Naman’s (my roommate) sleep.

Though my toe did touch the steel glass that lay on the floor, but due to some good karma, nothing happened. I put the black leather belt that rested near my three-year-old pillow in my drawer and dozed off with an unanswered question – Why should I watch a TV series?

Chapter 2 – MBA

Vicky

May 9, 2019 – Mumbai

Hey, Naman, be quick. The time you spend in the washroom is more than the combined time the three of us spend in the washroom. I am getting late for the office. I knocked at the washroom door.

Yeah. Give me five more minutes. I have applied soap. The shower is not working properly. He yelled, but his voice was side-lined by the loud music Mukul played in his room and the water running down from the tap to the bucket.

At the time of concluding for my residing in the flat, I took into consideration the number of washrooms. This piece of wisdom was shared by my Sarla dadi, who was of the notion that majority of the boys fail to notice this and consider it as mundane, later expressing their regret after remitting the deposit to the landlord.

Our 2BHK compact flat had two washrooms, each in one room and they resembled the Sulabh urinals, which can be traced near the station, dissimilarity being the odour, as we used Godrej Aer Pocket Bathroom fragrance.

Naman and Amrit earned their bread and butter from an NBFC, located at Churchgate. I was deployed in a small CA firm and caught in between the daily struggles of Mumbai life and my dangling dream to feature in the Forbes Magazine list of Billionaires under 30.

Mukul worked in an unpopular start-up, but with a package of more than the total of three of us. It was like a revelation that was difficult to digest as he held a Civil Engineering degree from a mediocre college of Jaipur. The revelation turned commonplace after following a YouTube video, the thumbnail of which stated that ‘How an average engineer from a usual college can earn 20 lakhs?’ It gibbered about the hard work and consistency until he disclosed the exact reason – communication skills, in which Mukul was a