We at Tantheta don’t like December very much. This month reminds us of our inability to party like pseudo-high ‘bangla’ band rockstars. It reaffirms to us our lame, non-kewl, firgin-like existence. But like true sado-masochists we trawled through the city hotspots at night, cursing the higher beings with shitloads of cash picking up hot-n-stupid bimbos with the calmness and ease of Amol Palekar’s acting. This time around we were in Park Street.
Waiting for someone alone in Park Street anytime after 6 automatically converts you into a sex-hungry young/old professional with fond affection for school girls and college girls. (For the uninitiated, Park St pimps generally approach potential customers with a rhythmic chant of “school girl, college girl” .) Or maybe some of us just emit the “come hither pimp” vibes that attract the sex merchants. Whatever it is, it’s pretty fuckin irritating. At 16 if the same pimp approached me, I would feel a sense of dark thrill, perhaps. But at 23 the courtship of a pimp translates to “You look like you need sex and haven’t got some in a long time”. Which maybe true but that’s not the point.
where's the party tonight bhenchod?
Anyway, we ended up going to a disc in Cal (-cutta, not -ifornia). Excited like a bunch of horny hares, we shelled out 1500 bucks as cover charge. We ran out of this money in the next 25 min, following which we danced like fucktarded monkeys doing Pranayam and dard-e-disco at the same time, hoping to make it to the next Mimoh starrer (ayyee saala, woh Mithun ka laadkaa haii, agar tum bhula nahin toh ). Or at least to the bedroom of one of the many sloshed women gyrating like Johnny Lever on the dance floor. One hour and several epileptic dance moves later, we realized that the Gods have spoken. No sweet love for us for the night.
I switched on my razor sharp chick-vision and located 3 chicks promoting fags. Cigarettes I mean. A fellow Thetan was quick to spot them as well and immediately declared: “naati waali meri hai” (the short chick is mine). In a state of I’m-drunk-as-fuck-but-you-won’t-notice-it, he zig zagged his way to the girl with remarkable alacrity. Then, with all the panache of Shakti Kapoor ripping open the blouse of a mortified lead actress and the subtlety of Prem Chopra’s lustfull expression, he delivered the pick-up line of the century “I saw you standing alone and I didn’t like it.” He is still a Firgin.
Thetans never give up. They may procrastinate like hell, but never give up. So when it was my turn to score some points, I waited for 20 mins and made a mental flowchart that could be most appropriate for such situations. But such is love (or sexual desire) that all flowcharts are forgotten and all pick-up lines blurred when you are faced with your beloved slut. And when I walked up to the slut of my dreams and asked like a third-world James Bond look-alike “Are you as bored of this party as I am?”, I knew I had overcooked the chick.
“Yes” was the monosyllabic reply that had a get-off-my-friggin-face-jerk ring to it.
I was in damage control mode immediately and pat came my witty observation:
“So…do you, like…get commissions on each packet you promote or is it a per cigarette basis thing?”
Did you ever taste your foot as it entered your mouth? No? Well I did that instant.
“No” came another monosyllable with another get-off-my-friggin-face-jerk ring to it. Only the ring was louder this time.
Another Thetan, the most practical and methodical amongst us, was making inroads into the hookers circle. Realistic expectations are always easier to live upto I guess. Anyway he liased with some regulars and located 2/ 3 hookers who were quite eagerly looking for customers. We resumed our tribal dance and got as close as possible. The hooker, lets call her Miss Khanki, joined in too ! Oh the joy !! But before attraction could turn into action, a middle-aged man, with of course way more cash and sexual deprivation than us (at his age) started franctically grabbing his crotch and thrusting his hips sideways in a pendulum like motion. All the while his eyes were closed in a trance-like state, so we assumed he had a third inner eye to sense hookers around him. There are indeed superpowers in all of us. We were alarmed at first but realized later that he was only dancing.
The weight of rejection by sluts and hookers alike crushed us and we were about to go out and watch Twilight to end our lives when God showed us that good things happen to good, and horny, people on new years’ night. Two Russian women came out of the shadows and refreshed our sagging carnal desires. They took to the poles and displayed their flexibility to the enthusiastic and drunk crowd. Some articulate Bong muttered behind me : “amake amar moto thapate dao” (Let me hump it my way) a sly variation of a song with similar lyrics, almost. The raucous crowd seemed united in the appreciation of beauty in fishnet stockings on a pole.
Thus ended our night of glorious debauchery.
Happy new year to all Thetans !!
And to all our idols indulging in regular bang-o-rama sessions throughout the year: Spread love not AIDS.
(no apologies for PJs will be made)
pic courtesy Elin Elisabet (flickr)