He was abrupt: “Hey Dikuna men. I’ll call you back, give me 20 minits,” the sound of metal doors clanging in the distance.
Illustration/Uday Mohite
I called Lobo Lobo, my cable repair man.
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“Lobo Lobo, hi… can you come?”
He was abrupt: “Hey Dikuna men. I’ll call you back, give me 20 minits,” the sound of metal doors clanging in the distance.
“Lobo Lobo, what’s that sound? Talk to me... where are you?” I asked, concerned.
“Boss, I’m in de Virar Police Station. But, it’s all ok men. I’m just leaving.”
“What are you doing in a police station? Is something of yours stolen? Have you been in an accident?”
“Uhm uhm uhn no men. Dere was a misunderstanding.”
“What kind of ‘misunderstanding’?”
“I was uh, wot to tell you, Dikuna men, slight ‘uhm… dere was a complaint by uhm… I was wearing… or rader… not wearing…”
“Lobo Lobo”, I yelled, “Did you go skinny dipping, did you ‘flash’ in front of girls, have you exposed indecently?”
“No, no, no, Dikuna. Dis is not Section 294 of Indian Penal Code. Whachyoiucallit ‘indecent exposure’ chhe. Wot wot tings you say. Uhm it’s a little embarrassing. See… I was wearing ‘ripped’ jeans, but dey were not torn when dey were bought!”
“How do jeans become ripped, unless you cut them with scissors!”
“No, no I didn’t cut dem wid scissors men, chhe!”
“Anyway, Lobo Lobo. Wearing ripped jeans at your age…with your spindly legs... so uncool. Ripped jeans are style statements. They are tailor-made for women to wear. It’s what makes them easy targets for misogynistic uncles posing as politicians to make regressive comments. Only male hip hop stars can pull them off. In any case, how can wearing ripped jeans get you arrested?” I yelled.
“Arrey Dikuna men. Jus chill ya. I’m not arrested.”
“Okay, Lobo Lobo, my apologies. Please tell your story.”
“See men! My daughter Cinderella and son Ronaldo, boughted me a pair of jeans from de footpat near Virar station. Dey were proper jeans men, no rips or tears at all, but one ting, dey were damn tight, uff!
Anyway so dis morning, I wore dem, I was trying to run after de bus, but as I was alighting, frrrrrrrk, de jeans got a little torn near de inner tigh! So, as I was trying to get into de ottorickshaw, dey tore a little more…frrrrrrrk in bot de knees…den I was attempting to jump on de blinking train and den anuddder tear above de calves …frrrrrrrk. So, at one point, my blinking legs were exposed men chhe…dere were many tears men. De jeans were torn everywhere, in de knees, de tighs, all over men. Dere was hardly any denim left, if you go to see,” he said a tad shamefaced.
“So why not just go home and get changed?”
“I was trying to do dat only, but on de way home, I got hungry, chhe, so I went to my regular vada-pao stall, which happens to be outside a college. Anyways, while I was munching I tought I saw my neighbour’s daughter, who studies dere. So, I smiled and waved! Akshully it was some udder girl. She got damn scared men, she started screaming, oooof… she called de security and de principal.”
“I don’t blame her, some stranger with torn pants waving like a pervert, but why wave at a stranger, Lobo Lobo?” I asked.
“Arrey men, wid dese bleeding COVID-19 masks, dey half cover de face, who knows who it is anymore? Next ting, I am in de police chowky,” Lobo Lobo said.
“So do you need me to get down there?” I asked.
“No no, Inspector Dhondu from Virar Police station, is my college chaddi buddy. I explained him everyting. He has released me, we are having a chai.”
“So you’re ok then?”
“Yes, we are having a rip roaring time, excuse de pun, Dikuna men,” Lobo Lobo concluded, chuckling.
Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
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