Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention for a moment.
Back in high school when I first saw him, I remember him as the kid who was too smug to raise his hand. Usually, the rest of us jumped and waved and convulsed when the teacher quizzed us with something we knew. Grab her attention, spew out the answer and that would mean you can relax for the rest of the class. Not Kundan. He knew the answer most of the time but wouldn’t let it show. He would lie in his seat, this self-satisfied know-it-all prick, and lock eyes with the teacher. The entire exercise of asking questions was about renovating the weak and balling up the shy. In such a scenario, Kundan’s confidence was an open challenge to the teacher: don’t you have someone to reform?
Back in high school when I first saw him, I remember him as the kid who was too smug to raise his hand. Usually, the rest of us jumped and waved and convulsed when the teacher quizzed us with something we knew. Grab her attention, spew out the answer and that would mean you can relax for the rest of the class. Not Kundan. He knew the answer most of the time but wouldn’t let it show. He would lie in his seat, this self-satisfied know-it-all prick, and lock eyes with the teacher. The entire exercise of asking questions was about renovating the weak and balling up the shy. In such a scenario, Kundan’s confidence was an open challenge to the teacher: don’t you have someone to reform?
But as model as he might
have been in lectures, between them, he was just another awkward kid trying to
fit with the cool ones. These cool ones sat at the rows in the back with their
pack of Lays, discreetly passing the chips under the table as soon as the
teacher turned her back. I remember going with Kundan in a departmental store
once – the kinds where you get those trolleys with a kid plank on them – and
searching for a similar tall pack.
“How can it cost 80
rupees?” Kundan had wondered. “Do they have even half as much as eight packs of
10 rupees.” My rationale for not buying the cylinder was different- they don’t
come with eight tazzos. But I remembered his words. Every time I passed the
aisle in the coming months, his words came back to me, not for their impact but
imprint.
We parted ways in college.
He went to a renowned commie instruction centre while I struggled with my
engineering aspirations. Of course, we bonded every now and then over our
mutual reverence of paneer tikka and
fast cars. But I could slowly see the change in him. Soon, I wasn’t comfortable
sharing my text messages with him. He, on the other hand, decided that the more
luxury he saw, the more disgusted to get. He experienced it all while staying
aloof. Success wasn’t measured in your money but in what you did for it, more
like what he did for it. He was the centre of the world’s moral compass. Not
that it stopped him from cribbing when the lesser mortals of his batch, those
who averaged in their 80s, went ahead to join CA firms and silicon valleys.
“Get this: 6.5 lakh is his
starting salary,” he whined once. “Once he starts having children, try asking
what they want to be when they grow up. I will tell you what them kids will
say- ‘Consumers’.”
Then you came into his life. A few days ago, he bought you a diamond ring.
You calmed him down, Molly; you cowed him down. He conformed to the ideals set
by advertisers and lifestyle-setters. But that got your best friends telling
you how you two complete each other. So here's wishing him a happy marriage
with the beautiful bride sitting by his side. Clink your glasses and down the
nectar of haze in one "Bottoms up" and go decorate the sunset like
there is no tomorrow as never has been. Meanwhile, I will go to the nearest
moor and dig a hole six feet deep to bury this nostalgia for my friend's
eccentric, self-righteous yet defining nature. Something that made me stand by
him and defend his fort all this while even as the world stood before us
ridiculing him and, in turn, me for not knowing any better than to side with
the rebel.
Truth be told, I am not big on theology that insists on Mall Rat’s Guilt. Steve Jobs put the ‘i’ in buy and it is our responsibility to make sure his death didn’t go to waste. Just as it is Narendra Modi’s duty to make sure every tribal enjoys the dental benefits of working for an MNC. I don’t make my life decisions thinking of the starving kids of the sub-Sahara. And here’s the scoop: neither does Kundan. Not any more.
Cheers.
