Going Over The Moon is everybody’s prerogative. Growing responsibilities, age lines, stressful client management will lure even the oldest of us out into the dark alleys for some fun. The young ones are already there, there. As a writer, I would more than love to go on and find out. Curiosity kind of takes me to all kinds of places. Riding the Over The Moon, literally. Until I met Mr Deepak Tijori, the alter ego. I have decided to make him one of my main characters in the next novel.
The night was young, and Over The Moon (name of the pub for real, now) is a surreal mixture of celebrities and mere mortals. Women transcend on this particularly moon like Divas. The place sees celebrity gracing by some of the most fabulous of Tollywood. Men in their best black shirts missing out buttoning the top one on purpose and wearing that strange kind of perfume at times. Sporting those wandering, restless eyes to throw around the so called Hyderabadi Bisket on women. Sheesh. All this is absolutely pardonable. Everything else is. Until the Deepak Tijoris and Kamal Sadanahs of the old world Hyderabad happen.
Now, these men are a disaster in their own right. Walking their own swagger and shining on their own style. As though, time stood still. They are more than ready to give those feeble shoulders lost in shirt sleeves to cry and vent. They stare on as though they are the only last resort. That silly “you turn back and you will still me” crap? As if, I care. But seriously interesting. They come about and unfortunately for me, they would shockingly end up being my friend’s friends. Oh whattay coincidence. Clearly, time had passed and they need some reality check. Not that being Shaukeen is not allowed. Please knock yourself out. But stay away, kindly.
Mr Tijori comes strutting along with my friend. Steals glances at me. Makes a punk like face, flashes endearing smiles. That reminds me so of the Aashiqui song bygone. Not the Aditya Chopra walah, his grandfather Rohit Roy walah. And please, even Mr Roy was hard to endure those days with all due respect.
Tijori makes a move after my friend introduces me to him. Heck, I’m 35. I will command and give respect unless I go astray myself. And after living like for 3 decades, I have finally begun to rest my feet. Tijori gets all enthused about my writing thingy. I’m still trying to write that much wanted best seller. But he already declares me Chetan Bhagat. Corny.
Mr Tijori here has lived all his life in Hyderabad. Trust me fellas, this is but the first time I have met someone with that cheesy Sanam Bewafa Salman’s roman haircut. I’m sure he was also wearing old baggie pants, conveniently now calling them Palazzos or some such. M&S, shame on you.
He silently starts making a move. I start rolling my eyes helplessly like the good old Sonu Walia who gets exploited by all the Kabir Bedis of the world. Thank god, I have moved to wear what is currently trending. M&S, Thank God for you. He starts dancing to Usher’s number like childhood version of Saif Ali Khan. Doom.
I ask my friend “Yeh Deepak Tijori kaun hai?”. My friend laughs. Says “Tera Deewana Hai Re”. I retort with angst, “My bad luck continues to chase me relentlessly even after 15 years of trying hard”. We have a hearty laugh. The group gets lively. Music starts kicking in. Deepak Tijori gets jumpy as I have a 12 o clock deadline to get home. Yeah right, Cinderella. No? Heart is young but feet have grown old for sure. He takes a step closer “Can I have your phone number please?” I go on, bluntly – “What for?” For a woman in mid 30s cares less for etiquette with the “has beens”, particularly. Tijori is a bit scared now. I feel victorious.
But just like some of the old 90’s Ke Mai Baap of Bollywood, he continues to steal glances. Wear baggies. Draw a punk from his roman hairstyle. Perhaps to try his luck with the next generation heroines of his eyes.
Last straw. Bye bye, Mr Tijoris and Pandeys. Wanted to have some fun against all the adversities of the world, after a long day. Maybe, it’s time to pub hop. For even the moon is now filled with perseverant losers. Meh!!