True, Lies and Hump

By Ehsaan Nashad

"Puppy why do people marry?" asked Chinnu with lowered eyes.
"To produce little babies" I replied.
"But can't I just adopt and take care of them?"
"Of course you can, but who is going to take care of this baby?" I asked sliding my hands under the sheets and turning her nose with my index finger and a thumb.
"Won't you take care of me Puppy?" I smiled and remained silent. On not hearing a reply, she brought herself closer to me, scooped her head onto my chest and clutched me as if it were end of days.

True, lies and hump, is a tale of living denial, where travesty of young society meets its gradual renaissance. It portrays the raging storm in the heads of twenty-year olds and the confusion that they go through to endure the highs and lows of life. It is a tale of transformation of an arrogant and self-centric creature to a mature and mellowed down human being. It also gives an insight to one of the greatest corporate fraud that India has known, through the eyes of an employee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ehsaan Nashad
• Release date: Mar 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9788183520911

Ehsaan Nashad

Ehsaan Nashad is a Canadian author of Indian Origin and is the author of critically acclaimed romantic-tragedy novel ‘True, Lies and Hump’ (2011), National bestselling author of ‘In Search of Love’ (2014), award winning Anthology of poetry ‘PLS: Poems, Love Letters and Songs’ (2015), Sahib Parables of a Companion (2018), Bitter Half Trilogy (2020) and Cihldren's book author of 'Daddy Loves You', 'Who Loves Puppies?' and 'Mommy and Daddy Why?' and a contributing writer to National Library of Canada.

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True, Lies and Hump

True, Lies and Hump

The most beautiful form of pain is love!

EHSAAN NASHAD

Published by

ENDPOINT PUBLISHING HOUSE

801-498 Queens Avenue, London

Ontario N6B 3K9, Canada

Ph: [phone], [phone]

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website: www.ehsaannashad.com

© Ehsaan Nashad

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

First Published: September 2010

True Lies and Hump

ISBN (10): 818352091X

ISBN (13): 9788183520911

This Novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Distributed by

ENDPOINT PUBLISHING HOUSE

e-mail: [e-mail]

Printed in India

Dedication

For my mother, the crazy little form of

God, without whom my life would be

meaningless.

For the thousands of Satyam employees

who stood the test of time.

For those who have known the feeling

called love and Chinnu.

Acknowledgement

Sincere thanks to those who have touched my life in one way or another.

The most benevolent and merciful, Hyderabadi biriyani, Ramalinga Raju, BITSians, MJ, My publishers Mahaveer, Binay Sir, Dilip Sir, Krishnakumari mam, Sangeeta Sharma mam, Jai Telangana, Yadi Reddy, CGI, Vikas sir, IMAGO Barry John, Abbas Ali, Pappa, Guddu, Naffu bahiya, Adil, Navya Nagavali, Baba Mojo, Hawsi kutte, LIGHTS Brigade, Bloggers, Josie- The wildest cat, Shago, Single Mutmaare, Kashi, Agra, Takla Rana, Genda, Punnu, Atif Mayank, Chulbul Pandey, ICIC ka Raja, Arun Baadu, Psycho Vastani, Sheeri, Bal Killa, Bhojpuri Shruti, Nagaraju Sir, Sanskrit master Shridhar, Vivekananda, MMM, Agilent, Sandeep, Neetu, Chutun, Choms, Illads, Gults, Mallu, Mime club, Fash P, Kandaswamy, Filmi Mayur, G Manjit, Yudi Hairstylist, Shraddha, Samba Swati, Chinna Gurram, Binani, Sid-Ayush-Lavan-Bharath, RT-Jholkar-Lodha-Shama-Darling, King Uncle, Kapil, Friendly people of Iran, Steps Ahead, AnuGupta Mam, Chakrapani, Russian girls, Sarat Kashyap, Kingshuk Nag, Vikram Sampath, CBOR, All crazy fucks, Tattoo Sagar, Saddi Dilli, Green park, Bandra Band stand, ISB Kiran, PEP Phani, Preeti, Renu, Anshula, Mermaid, Divya, Sachin Ganguly, IIT friends, NIFT, Schlum Hingle, Delloite girls, DAV girls school, Punjab ki kudiyan, Terrific trio, Naukrani, Himalayas, Iron Maiden, Led Zepp, Metallica, Ozzy, Nietzche, Fuhrer, Kiyosaki, SRK, Hashmi, Shivaji Ganesan, Dilip Kumar, Doordarshan, TOI, DC, Jenna Jameson, Munni-Sheila-Raziya-Laila, Jamil Akhtar, Superstar, Megastar, Polestar, Mughal Empire, Saddam, Tipu Sultan, Genghis Khan, Genie, Mesco, Chindichor, Junaid, Naimath, Md Rafi, Pasha, Baig Saab, Messwaale bhaiyaas, Maghya, Bhandav, STC, MKL, KLPD, LKB, BSE, NSE, Facebook, Bookreaders Lounge, Chillibreeze, Spartacus, HIMYM, Dexter, Sopranos, Sienfeld, Grey, House, Titanic, Aishwarya Rai, Woody Allen, Stanley Kubrick, Dirty Harry, Coppola, Spielberg, K. Balachandar, Beethoven, Federico Fellini, Yimou Zhang, Majid Majidi, Satyajit Ray and all the amazing girls.

The lady in white

As bright from source, strokes thy padded face,

I wish my palms wrap the sol and confer haze.

In perturbed repose, thy digits slide, dab dribble,

With dose of rebelling moans and thumb to nibble.

When thou would yawn and twitch thy nose,

Gold fishes blush and puppies wag and pose.

Slothful eyes demur to oblige but open in due,

Reddened smile averts, on finding me look at you.

Cognizance of thy self makes thou crouch in quilt,

Tardy arms extend, thrust my amused face to tilt.

In circle of love, I fall again and to you I am drawn,

Eye in eye and lip to lip, only then my day is dawn.

Woman’s greatest strength is their weakness and a man’s

greatest weakness is his strength.

Love is to relinquish oneself in its presence and anguish in its absence.

- Ehsaan Nashad

Profound Thinker

Table of Contents

The Beginning

Back to school

Chicken Mania

Honeymoon

Love and King: A Knight’s Tale

Midnight Masala

Lawrence of Agraba

The Project

Hail Diplomacy

The apartment

Early to rise, early to fall

Linga Saga

The Chance, the Choice, and the Decision

Two days of Condor

The Beginning

Am I a pragmatist, an idealist or someone caught between the interwoven threads of understanding? Why does my mind detest pain and seek happiness? Why do I have mood swings that make me wonder what I was cut out for? Why do I always have to bear responsibilities for my actions and of that of people around me? Can’t I just exist, and nobody would know about it? Why did God have to give us the power of understanding and put us through a life of unfolding mysteries as a result of our actions? Can’t I be like a plant that grows, withers out and contributes to the ecological balance? Instead, why do I have to be all the time judgemental, aware, responsible, and seeking answers to queries of my mind and that of others? Why do I have so many questions and so less answers? Will I be relentlessly pursuing them till the end of my time?

Is it me or the whole world around me that is going crazy? I probably think it’s the age I am in that makes me sleepless at nights and sleepwalk during the day. With such relatively less time framed by my own mind and so much to prove, I have lost track of my present. My senses are impaired to accept any decisions, immaterial of them being productive. I want to prove no one but myself and when I am done with proving, I hit an all-time low and still wonder, why my life isn’t going anywhere? I know this age would be soon gone and I would have more responsibilities. I also know that I will get used to the humdrum of life or maybe my mind will be occupied so as not to let me crave for more sunshine. And this knowledge of future mediocrity gives me jitters and makes me worry all the more that I will grow old; I will be settled and happy, but feel unimportant in my own eyes, for my calibre was put to no use.

If I were to be born in some other era other than this one with less technological influence and a slow-paced life, would I have less questions and complications? Or would I be still asking the same questions? I am sure there are answers to all my queries in a book or with a Rabbi, but I am determined to seek them on my own, for finding them along my way would give me more gratification for having at least tried.

I look at my past and feel good about the decisions I have made but repent for the ones that I didn’t.

The past is such a benefactor to cling to for it gives you a smile whenever you think about it. The faded photos in your albums, the sweet memories of your friends and a glimpse of the face you had cherished the most, makes you right away to give them a call and ask how they are doing; the things that made you cry now bring about a dent in your cheeks; the fights that you fought now bring about a chill to your feet. How wonderful it would be to remember it all in a flash and wrap up with a smile just before you leave this world.

But now, in my present, I have grown to be a calm and contented person in my appearance, but my struggle within scales new boundaries with each progressing day. Maybe I was born this way, but my complexities, personality and understanding were never the same, not at least two years back. I wish I could live my younger days, not because they were fun, but because I was an untouchable and nothing that went around made a difference to me. I was arrogant, egoistic, demeaning, filthy, abusive, self-centred and yet I could sleep like a log. Now that I am more mature, responsible, caring and calm, I despise every minute of my life, for I was better off with an empty mind and a reckless heart.

❋❋❋

The Young and Arrogant me

There was a time when I thought I could do anything, and I did it as well. Later, what I did, went on to become a routine and I perfected the art of doing the routine to the end. The real challenges and opportunities shied away, and the chain of routines was all had left. Had I not got stuck up with perfection, I would have gone on to create history.

I was pretty good in my studies; subject to motivational factors such as my pestering mother, beautiful classmates and of course, the fact not to end up being miserable. I earned admission to one of the premier institutes (May be during my days) BITS- Pilani, by beating the crap out of myself every night, by studying and thus topping my Board exams. My class-teachers and friends thought otherwise, for they said I chased paper, for instance.

This probably would give a vague picture of me with the final word that which is yellow need not be just shit; it could be gold.

I actually wanted to join the University so that I could stay away from my family and have fun. Moreover, some moron told me that I could lead a life of that of a hippie there. Then of course, for other routine reasons - bright career, knowledge acquisition and merger with some rich bride.

Like as someone has said that a newlywed bride seems hot only for a stipulated time, all I can say is, Damn you, visionary.

Going with the general notion, if I were to say that college days are supposedly one of the best days of anyone’s life, it would totally be untrue. They were rather miserable, suffocating, horny and dispensable. There were times I wanted to commit suicide, being unable to cope with the academic curriculum. Right from my first semester, I eagerly awaited my convocation day, but the irony was that when the day arrived, I wanted to relive those initial days. The days of raging, flirting with senior girls, then being thrashed by their boyfriends, all the booze, the weed that we grew in our lawns, the quick-shared fags we had during our night-out sessions, carefully climbing the statues of crow-shit-laden freedom fighters. If I were to give a beak to those days, I would call it a hummingbird or rather a humping bird.

 Please do not be mistaken, this is what I had to say in my convocation speech to please a few snobs.

My college days were more or less similar to the ones mentioned in the five points with a few twists and bumps. For instance, the protagonist in my story was I, the dude, who was among the trio. Rather than the professor’s daughter, it was my watchman’s; instead of the hostel rooftop as the boozing point, it was our clock tower; my university was amidst a desert rather than the city.

During my university days, I hung around with a couple of groups. The first group consisted of twelve guys from my batch belonging mostly to the northern part of the country. We named ourselves Hawasi Kutte loosely translated as ‘Desperate Dogs’. We even had an evil laugh or howl, to make our presence felt during events. The other one was a club called Lights, responsible for all stage activities that took place around the year, but mostly during the inter-university fest. The club comprised of not more than twelve to fifteen guys at any given time. We recruited the best three guys from every new batch to compensate the passing-out fellas. The group was called LSD – our abbreviation for Lights, Sex and Drugs. Such lame names, I know, we used to find amusing in those days.

I was fortunate enough to have come to acquaintanceship with three to four fabulous young girls during my stay in Pilani. I still cherish the moments of hanging out, participating in various activities and finally coming to terms of agreement of not getting emotionally involved, even if that required severing our relationship forever.

The hideous and meritorious girls from small towns, admitted in the college, were content in their own perspective, but what made me loathe them was their behaviour that changed over a time span on coming into acquaintance with their urban counterparts, developing some unexplainable complex that grew out of proportions and eventually turning them into miserable models with skimpy and flaunting clothes, right after the first year vacation. When I come to think of it, these inflated growth projections are still a mystery to my understanding. If Pamela Anderson were to witness this, she would blush her way to the grave.

I did try to get to the bottom of this and when I did, by conversing with a girl called Akhi from my batch in my second year, her processing time took at least a minute to understand my query. That was my last attempt to solve the mystery.

So, coming to the point, they would eventually find someone like Gollum, who would never betray them, not because they did not want to, but because they had no other option. Surprisingly the small-town girls actually liked the way the things were and felt safe. I narrate this story because most of us wonder, why do hot chicks end up with not-so-desirable guys? Hot chicks here refer to the pretentious ones.

Himanshu and Me

Sahil we are meant to be great, out of the ordinary. I don’t want the people to speak of us long after we are gone. I want them to speak of us right now, while we are young and successful, said Himanshu, who had been a dear friend of mine since the first year of university. He looked like a starved skeleton with an evil smile. His wily answers to our questions and his great looking hair would make the devil envy him.

I still remember the day when we were in our hostel room, wondering what would become of us after we graduated. This was probably the time in our lives when we realized that working for an employer, agreeing to all his filth and climbing up the corporate ladder, was fine to an extent, but the delusion of owning the ladder was more lucrative.

I have come so far on my own, but there is nothing commendable about my actions, that I can think of. The thought of failure excruciates my pain and frustration haunts my mind. Never ever I have come across such haplessness in my life that interferes with my thoughts and destructs my actions. I think I am losing my mind. Something must be done or else it will be a shame for the earth to have borne such a brilliant mind, I said, aligning terms with Himanshu.

Incompetent warrior

Thou have not fought a war in ages,

Not succumbed to trenched rages,

Standing at your post, day in and day out,

You watched seasons prowl in and crawl out.

You lost your pride, shackled your honour,

And you turned yourself in to a living goner.

Life’s a battle weren’t you told,

Then why rust the riffle that you hold?

Giving in now again, will hold no good,

Think of the inscription on your death wood.

Die now to live and dispense in vain,

Or live now to die and be reborn again-n-again.

I don’t want to end up as miserable as our seniors in the limited 4*4 cubicle, where we constantly bitch about our suffocating life. I don’t want to come back home from the office and think about the good old days and wonder what if I had done that, what if I had taken a stand and did what I really wanted to do! I don’t want to get a pot belly and call it a sign of experience, though deep inside I would know that I am expendable and would be replaced any day by someone, at some point. We need to do something so that history should speak of us and people should sing in our memory, said Himanshu, who got really carried away after watching the movie ‘Gladiator’.

We came up with some business plans and worked day and night relentlessly in its pursuit. Finally, we zeroed down to a business plan that would cater to young minds and sharpen them with expertise of the industry-mongers. The idea conceived included setting up of a finishing school. Not that the concept was not already in action by big players, the idea was to serve the students of smaller cities and give them a helping hand which they so deserved.

Some people speak of destiny, while others speak of making their own. I was the one who believed in making it on my own, but now to think of it, I think it is just a journey to your grave. After relentless efforts at setting up websites, printing study material, visiting educational institutions across northern parts of India and making marketing strategies, we finally found success after being rejected for our lack of brand name and experience. One of the colleges in Nainital offered to test our plan with a few of their students. I am delighted to say that we did quite well in our endeavours, in spite of our lack of funds which had been making us confront all sorts of hardship that an entrepreneur could think of. Luckily, since we were doing well, one of Himanshu’s uncles came up with a proposal to buy out our company for a decent amount and add to his already existing business. We were determined to meet our fate on our own, but due to geographical constraints - my family residing in Chennai and Himanshu’s in Uttaranchal, we were forced to reconsider our options.

When our own campus placements started, we were caught in a dilemma because either we had to opt for a routine job or climb the invisible ladder of entrepreneurial success that we had initiated.

After devoting an enormous amount of time to deep thinking, we came to the conclusion that we should join a company that would not expect too much from us work-wise and yet pay us some sufficient money to make our ends meet. I gave my interview in a few Bus companies, as we used to call such a category of companies that would bring along a bus and herd us human beings as if we were a herd of cattle. Eventually I zeroed in on one company that was pretty clear in its image and gave good remunerations, so I thought. The company was Satyam Computers, a well-known brand in those days for its training and on-site opportunities. Himanshu decided to get back to his previous company where he had served as an apprentice. The company was called Chambal fertilizers. Both of us decided to save some money while working, so that eventually we could pursue what we loved the most - making history.

Our stay at Pilani was almost coming to an end and we were all set to be caught in the net of the big bad professional world, the glitch being that we were of the wrong temperament  to be able to prove ourselves in this world. I had ample time for nearly three months before I reported to the company, so I wanted to break away for a while from my eagerly awaiting family.

I, with four of my friends, decided to hitchhike to Haridwar and Rishikesh to smoke out the tensions from our lives. We left for Delhi and reached Paharganj marketplace, which is notorious for shopping by firang hippies. We bought a few beaded necklaces and printed kurtas as a preparatory step for the journey. Since I already had shoulder length hair, weed dealers constantly stalked me and pimps tirelessly poached a couple of my friends. We had to explain to those poor souls that we were going to a place that was the mother of all small things. Then we caught an evening bus from ISBT to Haridwar.

We could not have expected for a fabulous start to our journey, as to get a bus driver who was a drunken psycho bitch, who took every chance to get us killed by crashing us into any animate or inanimate object. Since we were guarded by the protective hands of some unknown evil force, we could escape unhurt. When I wanted to take a pee, the driver did not pay any heed and let me piss in a civilized way. Hence, I had to piss out of the bus window.

We reached Haridwar late at night and were hounded by rickshaw-pullers to make our stay as comfortable and shady as possible. The next day we got up early to get a glimpse of Homo sapiens taking a bath in the riverside with their ding-dongs hanging without any cover. We purchased a chillum (hubble-bubble) and were on the lookout for the infamous Haridwar’s weed. A so-called Baba, who had run away from his family in Karnataka many years back as he was being pestered by his family to take up a job, recognized his potential customers in us. He voluntarily came forward and offered us a packet for a mere five bucks.  The ding-dongs and grass had made our day.

For the rest of the day we were on a high, higher and highest. Things went wrong when we took some cheap beverage from someone whom I can hardly recall now. We woke up to find ourselves amidst loads of green puke and shit. Taking a hot shower and munching aspirin were few of the imperatives that came to my mind then. We approached a local travel agent, who took us to Rishikesh and arranged for us to go for water rafting. We ate some nice pasta and pancakes in a restaurant called Tulsi and advanced as warriors in a battle, with our oars. On reaching the place, our defences buckled when we saw an Italian couple. Even now, the image of the fairer sex comes to my mind. What a hot chick she was in her white transparent pyjamas and a black panty that got drenched in water. Each one of us rowed hard to display our masculinity to that angel. Nevertheless, in the end, none of us was favoured by lady luck. Had we been so, the Italian mafia man would have shoved us into the swirling waters.

Then the whole of the next day we smoked pot, then some more pot and when I could not take any more, I decided to bunk at my parent’s place for a change. I borrowed some money from them to travel, which I still have to pay up.

Then one fine morning I woke up after smelling the gutter, which gave way to my incoming train. I would have easily mistaken the city to be Kolkata, but had to settle down to its immediate successor, Chennai. As a thumb rule, I purchased a couple of pirated books from Mor Market beside the Central Station. I called the first person who could have thought of replicating these books and movies as one of the finest and accomplished businesspersons. Who even buys such expensive pieces of paper crap, when you get it all for such rock bottom prices?  Nevertheless, never ever dare to buy my book from such impostors or else you are bound to find yourself a suitable place in hell, if you believe in one.

My destiny had brought me back to my home to Chennai,