The Horny Mallu and the indecent proposal – Part I

Since the 2nd of May, I’ve been examinationless, and blissfully so. Unfortunately, the bliss that had settled over me was unsettled somewhat because I was struck down by a severe case of writer’s block (yet again!). It was then that I stumbled upon http://ketaki666.blogspot.com/2005/04/stalk-statement.html. This reminded me of the yarn of

The Horny Mallu and the indecent proposal – Part I


It was as I was travelling to college on a rickety old bus that I received the first such message from some number I had never seen before.

‘Hello… can we be friendship?’

It was the work of a moment for me to figure out that this was some horny bloke, to whom a girl had last spoken to in 1990, who was the mastermind behind this message.

Resisting the temptation to request him to stop assassinating the English language, I ignored his message, hoping he’d go away like some of those bad dreams I’ve had, where my vice-principal chases me with an AK 47 in one hand and a Chemistry text book in the other.

But the stalker was more tenacious than my vice-principal. (who usually gave up the chase and lets me wake up after he’s taught me a couple of units in Engineering chemistry)

Message #2 popped up, a mere 5 minutes later.

‘Why no replying?’

This chap was not just persistent but mentally deficient as well, I concluded.

‘ Do I know you?’ , I typed tersely.

Since I had not the misfortune of being stalked ever before, I found it rather ridiculous that the same chap would send me two messages at once.

‘No, but we will know each other. I am Warrier too.’

He knew I was a Warrier?!! A sudden dread filled me. Could this blighter be homosexual, and looking to commit his sodomy for the day? Like a Boy Scout making life miserable for all and sundry trying to perform his good deed for the day? Like Shakti Kapoor out to cast his couch for the day?

It was then that it dawned upon me that this connection was in the name of my mother, &^&%^. And that the idiots at reliance thought that posting mobile numbers on R World was a altruistic gesture. Besides, the Reliance Directory contained nothing to indicate that &^&^&^ was the mother of a 21 year old. Mr. Stalker doubtless had a 21 year old chick in mind.

I was about to inform him of the sad truth when a terribly devilish idea; an idea of Machiavellian – nay, Sistoian ;-) - proportions struck me.

I typed in furiously like a man possessed.

‘Oh that is so nice. Hello’

The next message took a while coming. I began to wonder whether the friendly neighbourhood stalker had been taken aback by what was probably the first decent reply he received from a ‘woman’ in the space of the last 500 SMSes.

Then, ten minutes later, I received a message that removed all the fears I had of Mr. Wonderful’s sexual orientation. I also realized that he was not merely straight and desperate, but was also in a hurry.

‘O I m bharat frm kochi.u v sweet.i kno ur name is &^&%^.sweet name.i wnt 2 tlk u hear ur voice.pl tell wen I can cal den I wil cal please ’

I could well imagine him slobbering over the phone as he typed it in. But a work of art it was not.

Shakespeare, if he had seen the SMS, would have probably shaken his spear at it.

Don Juan would have told Casanova,
‘Romeo, this chap is not!’, and Casanova would have shaken his head wisely in agreement.

The wanting to hear my voice bit was something I had not expected. At least, not so soon. When I was about to counsel him on patience and on the wonders that a little foreplay could do, devilish idea #2 dawned upon me. It was almost as if the spirit of Machiavelli had taken possession of me.

‘Maya*, come here a minute, if you may…’, I hollered to a friend of mine when I reached college.

As she walked over, I told her about the amorous advances I’d been the recipient of. I informed her about how this bloke wished to hear sweet nothings from my ruby red lips.

My crisp baritone, though admirably potent when put to use on the female of the species, would not pass muster here.

‘And since I don’t anyone with a sweet voice, I guess you’ll have to do.’, said I.

Maya ignored the slur, primarily because I offered her quite a few doubloons from the Warrier chest. The fiscal strain on the coffers would be tremendous, but us Warriers can take the rough with the smooth.

I messaged the boor,

‘Hey, you can call me whenever you are free.’

I had hardly pressed the ‘Send’ Button when the phone began to ring. I handed it to Maya.



Maya: Hello, I’m &^&%^. Ohh..you must be Bharat. (ridiculous falsetto that would have aroused suspicions in anybody else.)

Bharat: Er…hello I am bharad. I simbly colled to make friendship.

Maya: Oh that is like choooo sweet of you. What do you do, Bharat? (sounding like a VJ from a music channel who bears a strong resemblance to a buffalo)



As the conversation progressed, it got more and more inane. Bharat’s heart-strings had been set a-flutter by the warmth with which Maya’s voice was so liberally suffused.

But a week later, I realized that letting Bharat speak to a female voice was a Himalayan Blunder, as Jyoti Basu is so fond of putting it.

To be continued

* The name of the girl who did the dirty work is changed to protect author’s life and limb. And I’m particularly safe because I don’t know no Maya. :-D