They say, Cupid strikes where Angels dread to tread and at an interval, atuned to every strike of the gong.

Neatly packed, old letters, crushed under the sweaty palms, arch into the bright red, never used basket, on its way into one of those heart stopping, newly replaced municipality dustbins.

No wonder he is in love again, leaving the lovelorn lover behind. New love is old wine (must be they are telling the truth).

With all my rebelling and experimenting years steeped into the Idly-Dosa school of conservatism, such atypical setting was an unknown entity. Realising that all these weird "Love", "Live-ins" are a hard nut to crack, I am destined to some hard and straight truths from an old timer, later that day.

With a handful of 3 pointers under my belt, like an old hand, I set out for my sojourn into the seedy and shady corridors of this melting pot of India.

Well next door lives two cousins, best of friends. Amidst their chattering in an accented American English, I manage a word here and there, and we get along fine.

Without being nosy, I sometimes bring up the question of their place of origin. They say it is not an issue. And it never is an issue until the bomb drops. I am introduced to a colleague of his, a self proclaimed prototype of a hippy of the rebellious 60s (His dress says it all), and who swears by any and every available 4 letter words, unheard of in the dunkiest shanty of a foul mouthed Afro-American.

When he glibbers, Oh! you too from Manipur, I smell a rat and without much ado, a friend comes out with the results of his coveted sting operations. The cousins, well yes, are cousins by permutations and combinations. He has a cousin whose best friend is her cousin. Ha...ha...ha. Well another Big Bang Theory.

Trying to come into terms with the crazy way the Arithmetic is involved, I see one of our liberated girls, arms linked with a Firangi, totally sloshed , looking for steady steps on even ground near a neon-lit chemist shop, in the middle of the night.

She belongs to the ilk, whose sole foray into the limelight involves bold shows of passion in public with them firangis of various hue. Their clothes get skimpier and scantier as the night gets older. Ahem...a million dollar dream.(God help America).

Cajoled and physically pulled towards every directions by the peddlers of pirated VCDs in the sweaty confines of crowded Pallika, I knock upon a long lost friend (keeps happening all the time). We take the escape route up and once on our own, on the heated grass we start talking about old times and get on to the present.

As always we come to GIRLS. With a sly grin, he mesmerizes me with his exploits in the shady bylanes of girldom, I manage a wink. Holy Cow! He transforms into a demigod and with the authority and conviction befitting one of those speakers on MIRACLE NET, he preaches about sexpertise and many vague terms and comes up with equally vague ideas like - He is Adonis reincarnated and he is God's gift to womankind.

Another Pig, who will quit his job of crunching numbers at the drop of the hat, if at all, his obsession with giving a headcount of his prized possessions of used condoms, showcased in vertical arrays along with his antiques, is paying.

Far from the madding crowd, I am off to a friend's apartment in one of those satellite offshoots. A weekend calls for a party here. He invites a few of his friends, mind blowing and like minded. Having had a dose of the party pill, with a sense of deja vu, I act perfectly normal.

The party begins with the usual Whisky/Beer rounds topped off with joints. With blaring records and drinks flowing like water, sparks begin to fly. It reach the crescendo. WOW! a perfect setting (For ?????)for the night is still young. With practiced steps the room begins to empty and I am left alone with a redhead.

Oh I almost forget that I do have a partner. Being hard on the drinks, I have a long last look at her and with a sigh, I hit the mat and drop dead.

A heavy snore beside me wakes me up and the sun is already sky high. Lighting a mini joint, and leaving a curt note, I huff and puff homeward.

I find myself next to a cute chick, with bundles of books under her arms, wiping off her ever perspiring forehead, in the cab. I tell her it must be terrific with all those books. Engaged in small talks, the flyover comes into view and the cab drops us off in Dhaula Kuan. We exchange numbers.

Getting down to lunch after a refreshing bath, lost in thought over that descent girl, the phone barks. And yes! she is available for the weekend but she is a little tight on cash. I tell her I am broke, with all hopes flying out of the window. I begin to understand that there is nothing like a free meal it comes with a bill attached.

Well I started out hoping to find love at every corner, but then I must be moving in a circle, a rather vicious circle. I AM BROKE AND AVAILABLE (ON DISCOUNT). Don't stare at me I am just normal.

Been there, Seen it, Done that (just kidding).