An Open Letter To A Delhi Girl {From A Delhi Boy}

Disclaimer: If you believe in God, Human Race, Love, Gandhi  – Go find something else to do – only sheer Nihilists and/or diehard Quentin Tarantino fans would find this bastardly piece delectable.

I’m not sure how to start but cocksure that this gotta be written – paradox right – who really gives a flying frock [no I don’t really mean frock ]. I’ve procrastinated doing this blog for 3 & a quarter years. Heights! – nope – that’s just me –once some diabetically sweet soul asked me to describe myself succinctly – I said  ‘A conniving son-of-a-bitch – A pillar of Godlessness’ never heard from her again – so much for staying true – burn the bible & gita & SMOKE & sing -dum-maro-dum

The blog title is a spin-off of the feisty madrasan’s open letter – what! ---- what did ya say – Oh! You already noticed & that’s why you’re reading it – you nerdy little frocking Basterds.

Alrite enough of my dickhead-ery – here we roll

It happened when I was 11 - A well-endowed girl in nike runners & Victoria secrets’ wonder bra brushed past me – my head spun - my gun swelled {that was a first} at the sight of jelly-like female contours – primarily melony breasts – that was the day I started to mutate – today at 27 – I’m a full-blown shameless pig –with an ego no taller than a nondescript blade-of-grass -

A girl killed my innocence – brought to life the dormant beauty - The Lust – since the day mutation kicked-off - I’ve never wished to be in love – lust is my thing – is there even a difference – I haven’t got a clue –
 

My father made a fortune telling fortune to celebrities & politicians – His father had made peanuts telling fortune to dreamless govt. employees & jobless mongrels – see how doing the same thing to different species can produce bipolar fortunes. Good for me suckers

No! I can’t read tarot cards – reading leads to knowledge – knowledge to power – power corrupts – I stay away from reading – my true genius lies in punching numbers on the ATM & then swiftly pocketing the bundles of sweet smelling Gandhis.

GK1 is my home – it is my playground – GD Goenka my school – never went to college – graduated from a prestigious college – never did MBA – My scores on my final term of MBA are so high that even I get embarrassed {And I never get embarrassed} – so I never look at them – but I’m proud to have procured them by the help of few bundles of embossed rectangular Gandhis. Saved me years of torture & knowledge. Why one earth would I want that. Instead I frocked about the length & breadth of Delhi – none of this would have been possible without the lethal combo of 6 greatest qualities evenly divided between - Me & the Girl –

Me: Money, Lust, and Shameless Lies {All Derived}

The Girl: Greed, Insecurity, and Stupidity {All Inherent}

Let me assure you I’m no eye-candy – I’m not ugly but that’s about it. People who’re close to me, call me PPP {Pasty, Pathetic, Promiscuous} --My sickly white skin is all thanks to Dad who married my milky white mom, instead of his long-term Muslim girlfriend – because Dada Ji disapproved of Muslims & wheatish skin tones– but let me tell you the real reason – Dad is a spineless hypocrite – I’ve inherited that beautiful quality from him – Hail DNA

In the gone decade I’ve nailed 47 girls – on-the-dot. I keep a ledger – I know it is nothing to be proud of –but a glance at it never fails to cheer me up

It took me 6^1/2 years from the day my prick first swelled when I was 11, to figure out the right concoction to get into the pants of a Girl. But once I broke my duck – there was no looking back

It was during an after-party at my parents’ house on the night of our final 12^th grade board exam – that I bid alvida to my unwanted virginity. It only became possible coz I lied through my teeth how much I loved her from 6^th grade, making a face like lovelorn devdas & guiltlessly confessing she was the love of my life bent on my knees – my big house, my romantically decorated room {quite deliberate} & absent parents sealed the deal for me – I had bought a 3-pack of KS earlier in the day – masterstroke {see there was no i-pill in those days}

People say first-time is the most beautiful – I say frock-you-frockers – it was a horror-show –& there was only one virgin between the two – I came too quick - I got exposed – it was American Pie all over again - frock-me-dead – It is a shame to be a virgin in New Delhi – I never spoke to her again – she had a boyfriend – I had other girls to nail.

To get laid, I rely heavily on flattery, saying things, which I don’t mean, but say like I really do. Perseverance is the key element to get the compound I’m looking for here. Lust is abundant in me & it is delivered instantaneously on call – 24 hours. All said - Money is the linchpin – without money everything else fails – people who don’t have money or flattery & too much lust – go for rape – Rape is for the poor, of the poor, by the poor.

There is no reason/excuse for the rich to rape – even if they lack the flawless technique to bed hot-girls like me – they can always buy Russian, Nepali, American or anyone they want – Saddi Dilli vich sab bikta hai –

My father, uncles, some of you rich readers’ debauched fathers – they all buy –Let us all take a stand here & Say No To Rape & kill the Poor people to eradicate Rape – Kill them all

Oh Frock! Wait -- who’s going to clean my toilets, cook my food, massage my feet, sweep the littered streets, listen to my bakwaas jokes, raise my kids and take blame for the 7-year-old handicap girl I mercilessly ran over the other night at 3am – Damn! Damn! Okay please keep alive the poor people & kill their daughters instead – No poor daughters No Rape – cleanse the society of this malady

My Chacha is a self-anointed expert on every aspect of life – He once enlightened me that girls get raped coz they dress like Sluts. But to tell you the Truth he doesn’t know shit about the psyche of rapists.

His daughters wear shortest skirts & deepest blouses in his absence, but they don’t get raped - they regularly have sex with boyfriends, not always their own – Do they admit to it – What is wrong with you – No! They don’t tell their fathers or prospective husbands about that – they will be abandoned & die unmarried, if they did – Mantra is: Do but Don’t tell

The 13-year-old wiry homeless girl, who sleeps on the roadside covered-top-to-toe in rags gets raped everyday by the affectionate looking fleshy Police Uncle Ji who waves a sycophantic hello to me everytime I drive past him in my shining BMW. Father gives him 10,000 rupees every alternate month to send his daughter to a good college. Police Uncle’s daughter also never gets raped – everybody knows her rapist-father is in Police. She studies in St. Stephens College, she’ll be a path-breaking scientist one-day, I’ve never slept with her, she’s not my type, she has ethics & only wants to sleep with the one she loves – total retard

I’m so happy there’s plenty girls who are not demented like her. If I were to wait to fall in love – I’d be waiting forever – Love, just like God is a façade – The greatest Lie ever sold –

A friend of friend got real drunk last night – she got too close to me – later I slept with her – she woke up & asked me what my name was, as she popped an i-pill. After revealing my name - pouring coffee & lighting a mint cigarette for her, I gentlemanly asked her to leave from the back door. She asked 'why' – I disclosed ‘I’m slated to get married, later in the week’ She obliged. God Bless

My prospective wife is a re-constructed virgin. She got hymenoplasty done, to be on the safer side. We boys -&- our elders always have & always will want our wives to be Virgin Marys. I personally couldn’t give a rat’s ass if my wife-to-be had slept with all her ex-boyfriends and/or somebody else’s boyfriends but I can’t dare to utter such a blasphemous notion in front of my orthodox-cum-hypocrite father & ditto Dada Ji {they’ll snatch back my loaded ATM card}. My wife-to-be is sacred as Sita & I’m a god-fearing mortal.

The word I’ve always loved is Slut. It is a word associated to girls by our naïve society – I’ve my own definition of this word – Here it goes

‘A slut is not a girl or boy – A slut is someone who likes to expand his/her sexual horizons – as s/he finds monogamy redundant, unnatural & plague-like--’

There’s a bit of slut in each one of us – either we keep it a prisoner – chop its wings or let it fly free.

I’m a slut –

Frock-off-now – I gotta run, find & tell my wife-to-be the only truth remaining in the flood of lies

‘We’re Made For Each Other’

P.S. – All characters & references are fictitious – Any resemblance to a living or recently dead being is utterly butterly co-incidental. This letter is a in-your-face satire on our society – munch-on-it

 ---- God & Goodness Died a Long Time Ago – And left us Behind to frock-------