PDA Kiya Toh Darna Kya?

Love and Sex

PDA Kiya Toh Darna Kya?

Illustration: Sushant Ahire/Arré

I

t was 2009, movie theatres had given up waging a war against the IPL, deciding to replay old movies, and we had just walked out of Dev.D for the fifth time that May. I remember it like yesterday. My first girlfriend and I in the underground platform of Rajiv Chowk metro station. Hands on waist, bodies pressed against the last pillar, the metro going by every five minutes, eating each other’s faces the way only teenagers can. It was wonderful, really — heavenly even — as my pretentious 17-year-old self would say. Then shit got weird.

An old dude, fairly tiny with an ugly ’stache screamed, “Kya ho raha hai.” It was my first “relationship” so I had to remain cool. “Kuch nahi sir, baal theek kar rahe the. Metro ki hawaa se kaafi udd gaye,” I said confidently, hoping he would believe that we were only adjusting each other’s hair. Now this dude clearly knew what was going on, so straight up went nuclear on us, “Papa ko phone karoon tumhare?” He said he was a metro employee and had caught everything on CCTV. Check mate. We gave him 800 bucks. Our combined liquidity for the week.

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