Posts Tagged ‘stash’

We men grow up to be ‘men’ from being ‘boys’ first. And as boys, we sometimes do things that are considered unacceptable and, in some cases, blasphemous under typical societal norms. And this rule holds good across cultures with no known exceptions. In some cultures such behavior is considered a one way street to capital punishment or worse, having your you-know-what nipped! Now, I’m sure most of you would’ve guessed what I’ve tacitly been referring to. For the rest, I’m talking of the ‘curiosity to explore and enlighten oneself of the nuances and intricacies of the anatomy and physiology of the opposite/same sex (subject to individual preference), which in effect, results in referring to the widely available material in the mainstream media, particularly the internet, that serve as visual aids on the visible effects of manual stimulation of the reproductive organs and the subsequent act of copulation’. In crude terms – ‘watching porn’! Yes. Pornography is one area that all boys would, at some point, want to and have explored. But being discreet about it is also part of the process of exploration. Now, why all this nonsense, you ask? I’ll tell you why.

Boys will be boys!

Everyone would, no doubt, agree that being caught watching porn is bad. But one can easily get away with it with minimal tact. But being caught with visibly objectionable material stashed up among your books at home is probably the worst, like being caught with one’s hand in the…..err….chakkli-dabba? What excuse can one possibly give?

One night when my parents were out, my brother was busy cleaning his cupboard.  After a while, I noticed he was fixedly reading something. My brother wasn’t the bookish kind to be found reading so attentively (only recently he said he’d discovered the joy of reading, but I digress). I’d never seen him pay so much attention to a book. All I did was ask him what he was reading, hardly expecting to scare the living daylights out of him! He reacted as if I was coming at him with a boulder to smash his face! He looked up with a start, screaming ‘FFUUCCKK’ like a really bad actor from a B-grade horror film. His face flushed like a ripe tomato! Amidst the ruckus, a bunch of pages poured out of his lap. As they settled on the floor, several women in the raw, posing in innumerable lewd positions, lecherously called out of the pages. As I struggled to evoke a coherent response, my brother hastily attended to the screaming pictures as he cursed me for startling him so. I admit, my brother and I aren’t the most saintly of creatures, but I, for one, had never contemplated on bringing such controversial material home. Not because I was concerned about desecrating our blessed home that was synonymous with sanctity, but purely out of fear of being caught, given my mother’s occasional urges to purge our house of the filth it gathers. Therefore, I warned my brother about it and asked him to be wary and all was forgotten for a while.

A week later, upon returning home, I noticed that my mom wasn’t quite acting herself. My usually gentle and welcoming mother seemed to be on the brink of exploding like an overloaded power transformer. I could practically see her fume like one. This was absolutely unlike her. My father screamed from the bedroom inquiring, in objectionable language, if it was me or my brother. I hesitantly answered. He ordered me to call my brother on his cell-phone and ask him to come home immediately. My brother apparently had not answered his phone when called twice earlier. I sensed something had gone awfully wrong and that it involved my brother, but wasn’t quite sure what it was that had set our house ablaze. I picked up the phone and dialed my brother’s number. Two rings later –
“Hello?”, my unsuspecting brother answered.
“Hello, abey!! It’s me, K. Where are you? Mom and dad are about to explode. They want you home right away.”
“Why? What the fuck happened? What’d I do now?”
“You’re asking me? Dude! I have no clue. I just got home 10 min ago and they’ve been acting weird ever since. Things don’t look…..”
I was rudely interrupted by my dad, screaming from the bedroom again, “Ask that *a shower of bram-Telugu expletives* to get home right away!”
“You heard him? Now, you get your ass home right now or I’m not sure if we’re going to survive this night. Dude, please, wherever you are, just make your way home. Ok?”
“Ok! Ok! Fine. I’ll be there in 30 min. Chalo bye!”
“Bye”

I hung up and waited impatiently for someone to speak up. My dad had locked the bedroom and I could hear him in the shower. I tried asking my mom, but she wouldn’t say a thing. All she’d mumble was “Let him come!”, the menacing tone in her answer was just too obvious to ignore. “This is it!” I thought, “The end of my brother’s days!” But I was still unmindful of the gravity of the sin he had committed to merit such potentially lethal threats, nor could I even hazard a guess. As always, I was scheming to shield him from my dad’s wrath, lest things should get violent.

30 min later, my dad inquired in another brief fit of foul bram-Telugu. I placed another call to my brother’s cell and he answered saying he was in the building and that he’d be home in a minute.

A couple of minutes later the door-bell rang. My brother walked into the seething oven, that was our home, turned to me and whispered ‘Dude, seriously. WTF happened? Did someone die?’ As badly as I wanted to say ‘Yes. You!’ I was too concerned for him to quip like that. So I refrained and gestured an ‘I don’t know. Just go to dad’s room’ instead. I saw him walk into the lion’s den.

Silence!

A moment later, my dad screamed out again and asked me to come in too.

*Gulp* Now, WTF did I do? And what the hell is happening around here? What’s with all the lethal suspense?

My dad’s room – I took a deep breath and went in. Next thing I knew, my head was spinning like a top and I almost fainted. On the bed, was an aesthetically starved collage on display. The shock, I tell you! The offensively honest pictures were all generously spread out like we were going to be asked to pick one each so our parents could go ahead and match horoscopes! My father was facing the wall with one palm pressed against it. The situation reminded me of a K-serial-home-emergency, where four generations gather to discuss why the badi bahu cooked bhindi in spite of being asked to cook gobi, and chide her for her insolence. Only difference here was, two generations gathered and no cooking was involved. My father turned to my brother and not-so-innocently asked in whose company he had learned to do all this. My brother thought it best to prolong his bout of silence, than answer a question like that. Meanwhile, my mother, in a momentary lapse of her legendary self-control, grabbed my brother’s hair and slapped him twice. I had to gather myself from the shock to stop her. She turned away and flopped onto the bed and slapped her forehead in utter disappointment.

In the background, my father continued his opera of curses and expletives that ranged from addressing our ancestors, accusing my brother of drug abuse, of visiting a brothel, of resorting to wanton practices and cursing him of contracting various unspeakable diseases!

Where is the beeper when you need one, goddamn it!!

Anyway, my brother’s deathly silence had annoyed my dad, to the point that he grabbed a belt to whip him blue. I had to intervene. My father cursed as he withdrew. My mother in all her innocence, even in a fit of anger, posed some fundamental questions – ‘Why did you get these pictures? What do you do with them?’ Lost for words, I could only manage ‘Amma! Calm down! Calm down!’ while I wanted to say ‘Oh Dear God! You don’t wanna know!’

An hour of my dad’s unimaginable linguistic decadence and my mother’s inquisitive innocence resulting from my brother’s indiscretion in not ensuring the safety of his stash culminated in its summary destruction by subjecting it to flames. This, apart from facing utterly embarrassing questions and a certain degree of violence.

All my brother had to do, to avoid the domestic war scene, was exercise a little more caution. Just a tad bit more! This could have saved everyone the trouble and him, the embarrassment. He could have hidden the ‘seducational’ material in more parentally-inaccessible places such as with a trustworthy older sibling like yours truly. What are older siblings for after all? Amidst such resentment for pornography who else would younger siblings turn to for acceptance? My brother never brought home anything even remotely associated with pornography after that night. Well, if he has, then kudos to him for his vigilance! Should I say, ‘Once bitten, twice shy’ or ‘Better safe than sorry’?

P S: I actually dedicate this post to my brother, whom I miss and love very much!! He and I share many such secrets! Here’s to you kaakaaaaa!!

Images courtesy: My brother’s naughtiness and my shock.