Steady breeze was seeping in through the window that was reluctant to close. The window was in a terrible mood today. Clothes were lying in various sexual positions on one of the beds. On the other one, a blanket was hanging precariously on the edge, threatening to commit suicide. A rug had half fallen on the floor. It did not seem in any mood to get up. From the half open drawer of the sleepy dressing table, one could, if one cared, see an army of dirty papers, bills, letters, slips, receipts, prescriptions etc. struggling for breath. Visiting cards were scattered on the table. Something illegible was scribbled on them. They could have been important phone numbers. If called at the right time and be given the right instructions, they could potentially have changed the course of humanity. They could have caused millions of dollars to be transferred all over the world. Important stock indexes might have crashed or risen. Presumably, now they had outlived their importance.

Ashish, the guy with the perma-smirk, was feeling happier with his life than he had right to be. He didn't feel the need to shave daily. He had no reservations about drinking alone. He could laugh loudly and whole-heartedly for no particular reason. Although he was prone to chronic hunger, he could ostensibly fill himself by just chewing gum. He used to be a happy man. Lately, he had been haunted by the fear of becoming engulfed into The Sea of Mediocrity. He had been leading a successful life by mediocre standards. But this success at mediocrity was apparently boring him. He had tried several diversions like paid sex to kinky sex to paid and kinky sex. He had tried different styles of beards and moustaches. He had thought to change gears and suck hard at everything he did, but then he was not bold enough or bored enough to start fresh again. He was afraid this clamor of getting out of mediocrity might just be a whim-something like his pledge to eat nothing but ice cream. Lasted exactly 6 hours. However, he saw a ray of hope. He was just back from a meeting of Club X.

Locating Club X is quite easy. Go to the address given in the prospectus of the club if such a prospectus exists, and you will find Club X if it exists. This is an exclusive club. The reason that precludes most normal human beings is neither the bylaws of the club nor the 25th amendment to them. The club keeps very odd hours. The official club clock, by which members have to keep their watches, is six hours behind time. So, to attend a meeting held at 6 P.M., members are supposed to report at 12 P.M. Furthermore, there is an unwritten bylaw of the club that discourages any activity to be held before 6 P.M. club time. One of the members later opined that this might have been done to prepare club members for overseas travels. Since they would be facing jet lag in their every day life, they would not be fazed if they had to face it on going to another time zone. Another school of thought held that the founders of the club were nocturnal creatures (probably moths), hence this arrangement. Whatever its origin, nobody has ever talked about fiddling with it.

To the casual eye, Club X might seem as teenagers up to hanky panky. But the more interested observer will soon discover that this shallow observation is nothing else but. There is an ideology of the Club and members stand by it. One of the most famous saying about the club uttered by a learned member is-"There is only one inflexible rule of Club X, that there is no inflexible rule of Club X." Other important slogans heard by bystanders and subsequently featured prominently in all major newspapers are-"We change lives". "If you are not joining Club X you are missing something." To which, an honorable member quipped," Probably, Club X". Needless to say, he was awarded Club X "quip of the day" award on the spot! Such is the expediency of the club in urgent matters! This story could have been about Club X, adding to the outstanding literature that is available on the subject. But, in all fairness to Ashish, probably nobody else is going to write about him. So, let his story be told. Amen.

Ashish was just back from a three member meeting of Club X. Let the names of the other members be "The egg " and "The bacon" for the purpose of this account. The egg was a tall and lanky fellow with a hoarse voice. The bacon was short and timid with piercing eyes. The egg wore a long shirt, called kurta in some quarters. His two-day stubble and tousled hair gave an impression that normally follows, that of a three-day stubble and tousled hair. He spoke hurriedly, as if new words were coming and forcing his mouth open before he could release old ones. The bacon did not speak much. He had the tendency to let go of most abominable of laughs unexpectedly. As if he had figured out an old joke.

The egg was doing most of the talking. "Normally, we think we are too old or too young to do something.

We should go ahead, and do what we want. Right now if I want to go Ganga kinare and dance to "Khaike Paan Banaras Waala", I would."

"So, why doesn't everybody do it?" asked the bacon.

"Dance by the river?"

"Whatever they want to."

"People are lazy."


"They want company", ventured Ashish.

"Good point. This is where Club X comes in."

"We are here to accompany you in whatever you want to do."

"Whatever?"

"Whatever."


"Well, probably nothing illegal".

"Yeah right. Probably neither immoral nor fattening."

"You are getting it wrong," said the egg "We are willing to do more than Club Y or Club Z."

"Not that these clubs exist, but you get the point," clarified the bacon.
Ashish hurriedly agreed. He felt sleepy and dozed off amid some increasingly spiritual discussions between the egg and the bacon. The perma-smirk was back. Ashish normally dreamt about Pritha, a girl he had fallen in love with. He would still be dreaming, hadn't the egg shaken him and offered him a cigarette. The bacon stood smiling mischievously. He liked the idea of disturbing Ashish's sleep. Ashish, nevertheless, felt very friendly. He could have punched them.

"How are you feeling, dude?"

"Pretty Good."

"Good."

"Is there anything to drink?"

"There is a bottle of Old Monk in the fridge."

Ashish wept with joy. Ever since leaving college he had to come across someone who drank Old Monk in summer. He was already drunk with camaraderie. He realized that such immense feeling of brotherhood required no manifestations. Still his euphoria got the better of him. He is believed to have tapped their shoulders in slow motion. The song "Pehla Nasha, Pehla Khumar" was playing in his mind; to this there could not be any doubt even in the most cynical of observers.

"I am missing Pritha."

"Oh, Pritha?"

"Yes, Pritha."

"Ok, Pritha."

"Who is Pritha?"

Ashish started singing the song-,"Badlon me chhup raha hai chaand kyu?"
The bacon rapped-"Yeah, why, tell me why?"

The egg was rapping-"Why, why, Tell me why is the moon hiding behind the clouds?"

Ashish had not met Pritha since they stood second and first in an essay competition about the existentialist dilemma of purple-blooded beavers. After writing a few verses according to the Maine Pyar Kiya Act of 1989,he had forgotten her.

The egg broke Ashish's chain of thought.

He came close and whispered-"Is there anything you want to really, really do in life?"

"You mean like, right now?"

"Yes."

"Sleep."

So, Ashish slept.

"Could you make me a drink?" asked the egg.

"Sure, dude. What made you think I would not?"

"Nothing."

"Oh ok. You know what, you are a nice chap."

"You too."

"I agree with you."

At this point, both of them thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to wake up Ashish and offer him a cigarette. This riled Ashish no end. He thought it would be a befitting to recite his love poetry to them. The night was long, the hour was still small and the streets of the city were paved with darkness. The sun would come and mint them in its golden light in a few more hours. The three of them had retired into a state of lazy fortitude, verisimilitude and attitude. They wanted to relax and think simultaneously. Ashish, who had initially thought of poetry as a means of revenge, was taken in by the ethereality of the moment. He started reciting in his deep voice.

In a day of predictable mediocrity,
You conjure up a sentiment in me.
Akin to something I felt,
On reading Robert Burns' verse.
Lazy I am my dear,
When profound statements I have to make-
But I know I owe one to myself,
Each time I see your face.

There was a stunned silence. The egg and the bacon clearly seemed to be overwhelmed. This was something that was way above or below their league. After a sustained applause, the egg cleared his throat and said-"It is apparent that we have a poet in our midst. This is a new event for the club."

"Lets do it," said the bacon matter-of-factly.

"I agree."

"What?"

"Yes, What?"

"Lets everybody write something."

The egg seconded this idea. Ashish was pleased as a punch. His mind was teeming with ideas. Subsequently, he did not hear much.

Back in his room, he picked up a pen and a notebook with yellow withered paper. He found it hard to start, getting more and more irritable. He told himself to get started. The story would somehow come by itself. A nagging sound was coming which particularly distracted Ashish. Reaching out for the bottle of water with one hand, he started writing in a careless scrawl with the other.

"Steady breeze was seeping in through the window that was reluctant to close. The window was in a terrible mood today..."