—✮☆—Love Letter to a Gujju Basterd—✮☆—

Hey, Lal.

It was year 2001, I was 19, in college in Melbourne. I was sitting in a tram with my friend Rohan & his friend. They were speaking — I was listening. Rohan’s friend was talking about his future — he knew exactly what he will be doing after graduating, at 23, at 31 — I mean, this fucker had the blueprint of life & beyond — this human masterpiece knew exactly the moment he will impregnate his wife with a girlchild & precisely the moment his son-in-law will impregnate his daughter — 27 years in the future. I fell madly in love with this prophetic bloke — he all but, turned me supergay at the speed of light.

That’s also the first time ever I consciously realized how clueless I was about everything. I had studied Commerce in high school as Science was way above my paygrade. For college, I headed to Adelaide & took Hospitality as one of the uncles in the family thought Hospitality was glamorous & the in-thing — I couldn’t care a damn as I was allegedly in love with a girl I went to high school with & she was now in Adelaide. After finding out that the girl I was allegedly in love with was already dating a bloke infinitely sexier than I was, I dropped out after a semester & moved to Melbourne. There, I, on instinct, walked into a college & asked them if I’m eligible to enroll in Bachelor of Business. At first, they told me that I was too late & enrollments had shut about a month ago. But the moment I revealed that I was an international student, the enrollments opened wider than a Dutch stripper’s legs in Amsterdam. Surely, everyone loves a full-fee-paying foreign student than a parasite local lad who pays [if ever] the discounted tuition fee in tiny installments after at least three years of graduating. 

That’s why I, often, quirkily say — Nothing is Permanent, but Death & student Debt ;)

After I graduated 5 years later [it was a 4-year program], I realized I was still as clueless as I was the day I had walked into the University & gotten enrolled in Bachelor of Business. But I was in love & about to get married in March 2006 under Niagara Falls in Toronto. But shit hit the fan & I got divorced before I tied the knot.

I was 24 — I was at a crossroads. Instead of doing a phoenix — rising from my ashes, I decided to dig a hole & jump. That’s when I bumped into you in that boys’ PG in Kundan Park in Ahmedabad. I lived there for about 3 months — I didn’t get super close to anyone. As the years rolled on, Baba & I became thick as Swiss chocolate. Whenever Baba & I spoke or met, we often reminisced about our days at Kundan Park. Pinkesh the Supernerd — Pukhi the Stud — Masala + Saada + Sumit + Hathoda + Sethi & are all geniuses at Nirma ‘Washing Powder’ University.

You were the one I remembered as the human with ice blood. I never saw you losing your temper, getting involved in drama, or doing anything dim-witted. It wasn’t that you were a pushover or a boring bloke. You almost reminded me of the masterpiece who, all but, turned me supergay. You were so certain & level-headed that it scared the living daylights out of me. I thought so highly of you, so when years later in 2013, I got a chance to meet you in Bombay, I pounced on the rare opportunity like a drunk pounces on free Scotch.

You know what they say — “Never meet your heroes — they always let you down.” That’s precisely what I felt when you invited us [Baba, Janki, Yash…] to your apartment in Bombay. I will never forget that you kept working throughout the 7-8 hours we were there drinking & hogging cold pizzas. After we left at 3am, I told Baba, “I really expected a lot from Lal. But he turned out to be a cookie-cutter corporate clown.” That night I changed your name from Lal to SoL ‘Sell-out Lal’. 

I pulled out my metaphorical leather-bound, papyrus notebook & added your name next to all my “Fallen Heroes.”

Paradoxically, meeting you still remained a seductive proposition. When I moved to Bombay, I met you a few times — we mostly watched football — talked football. You were still always working for some bloody Ketchup company. No wonder I hate Ketchup. I kept feeling let down by you. But you were so likeable that I couldn’t stop meeting you whenever you made time for us to meet.

Over the next few years, I realized one thing about you — You weren’t nice; you were kind. I really liked that about you. 

I don’t like nice humans. 

— People are nice to make people like them — People are kind because they care.

Also, you’ve unmistakable humility — an attribute that’s extinct in the ‘Humans of the 21^st Century’ who all reckon their vaginas are made of pearls & dicks made of diamonds — while having the self-awareness, wit, & charm of a fossilized cockroach & pedophile priest.

Nevertheless, I still didn’t like that you kept working all the time. I still recall when you finally quit your all-time job & were moving to Sydney, you had a few days off. You told me, “Tomorrow I don’t have work. This is a situation I haven’t faced in a decade. I really don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow.” What makes it wickedly beautiful is that you weren’t exaggerating, you really felt how Jadeja felt while Captaining CSK. As Zlatan would feel bowling for Gujarat Titans. You were like a black dude who got outta prison after serving 23 years for stealing a fucking VCR.

That tomorrow when you didn’t know what to do was the beginning of a new journey which changed your life’s mode from auto-pilot to “Ah! So that’s how a squirrel feels everyday.”

It’s been 3-odd years since you’ve taken a step back. You no longer work all the time. 

A year or so ago, you began appearing on our Podcast, BluntBasterds. Your philanthropy of appearing in 50-odd podcasts without getting paid puts you right next to Nobel Peace Prize winner Kailash Satyarthi. I often tell Bikram how you always “show up” when you could easily not show up. I know you may not think of it as much, but you’re the only human who has given so much time to our podcast & always stuck to the committed time week-in, week-out that I don’t know how to not be grateful. 

We met 18 years ago. We met when United were the Top Stock. We are still friends when United have become a Laughing Stock. 

I’m still as clueless as I was 20 years ago. I’m the Lord of Cluelessness. That’s why it baffles me when I see someone more clueless than me — a.k.a Rishabh Pant :)

I didn’t write this letter to tell you how amazing you’re or how Elon Musk will turn gay for you. I wrote this letter to tell you that I’m grateful to have met you & everything we’ve been through in these 18 years.

I’ve surely checked your name off my list of ‘Fallen Heroes’ in my metaphorical notebook. And I’ve realized you aren’t a hero at all. You’re a human, who’s flawed like all humans. You are also someone I’ve intense admiration for. You still amaze me with your emotional intelligence, integrity, character, calmness, & objectivity. 

If you ever decide to run for President [either in India, Canada, or even Pakistan], I will vote thrice for you. 

Final Word [sponsored by KuKluxKlan Kondoms made exclusively for White Supremacists ;)

The thing about life is — the more sure you’re about something, the more it ends up screwing with you. For all I know that masterpiece did get married, but his wife cheated on him bigtime & got impregnated by some neighborhood Gupta & his girlchild turned out to be a firebrand lesbian. 

I don’t even know why I expected you to do something different than what you did after graduating, but I did — & I still do. Most humans are so run-of-the-mill that they can’t think beyond checking the boxes. What a bloody waste of a brilliant human it is if you were to do exactly what every half-wit with an engineering/B-school degree does.

For me, I always envision you as Limitless Lal. I don’t know if you’ll be the next Twitter Boss after Elon has had his fun, but I do hope you never stop exploring, unearthing, taking risks & waking up everyday like a super-hungry chunky baby ready to eat the universe.

P.S. I really wanted to write a few lines to you, Gunjan. I wish I knew you a little bit. I don’t. So, I don’t want to write anything phoney. But I will write something that I do know. When Lal told me about you before you two decided to tie the knot, I felt the love that’s between You & Lal. Love is rare in the modern human world — so I’m sure you cherish what you two have carved together. It’s beautiful. 

Take care, Lal & Gunjan.

Don’t Die.

I will leave you two with something delicious. 

—Whoever, wherever you’re, always remember there’s someone, somewhere, who wants you dead ;)