A pack of condoms. I mean, what is there to feel so embarrassed about that? Stride into the medical store, look the storekeeper in the eye, and boldly blurt out – “can I have a pack of condoms, please?”. Well, well, well, not everything in life is so simple. As Tushar & I learnt it first hand that day.

It was in preparation for a colleague’s wedding, and Tushar & I were the chosen ones from office to get him a ‘boys’ kind of wedding gift. The article in question being a honeymoon pack of KamaSutra condoms that came in different colours, flavours (???), textures, and God alone knows what else. Ashish, the married man in the group gave us the necessary tips – “you won’t get this in your typical corner store, they would be having the usual packs of ones and twos. You’ll have to go to a proper medical store to buy this one…”, words from the master.

A Saturday evening, a slightly heavy war movie (“Flags of Our Fathers”), a long walk around the Bandra lake and some excellent conversation later, we set out to do the task.

First, find the shop. Ashish’s words of wisdom replay in our minds – “the shop should be a slightly larger one, and well stocked too. Remember that they wouldn’t display the honeymoon pack right out there in the front, you’ll have to ask for it, and the store guy would fetch it for you from somewhere in the back. Hope you get the pack guys, all the best…” Wink, wink.

Okay, a store has been spotted. This is one of the leafy bylanes of Bandra – no one knows us here. So all worst case scenarios of standing at a store holding a honeymoon packet of condoms and turning around to face your mother’s best friend automatically stand ruled out. Nevertheless, there is a schoolish embarrassment before walking to the store. Uh, there is a girl there buying something. Perhaps we should wait until she goes? Okay, she’s gone. Damn, did that aunty have to choose this particular moment to visit the shop? Perhaps we should walk up to the store when there isn’t anyone in the vicinity. Or hell, may be we should just walk up there and get the thing over and done with. Oh come on, it is just the purchase of a packet, why the needless hoopla over it? Yup, let’s do it. C’mon!

Ummm… well, who’ll walk up to the store?

You do it Cyril, you are the ‘mouth’ after all. No way! You do it Tushar, where’s your spirit of adventure gone? A toss of coin decides the purchaser, and Tushar the adventurer gets to go, adding another notch in his long list of ‘acts of bravery’ done in life.

Tushar walks up to the store the way a panther walks up to its prey – slow & wary, cautious and deliberate. I walk behind him, ready for anything.

The person minding the shop is a boy, the shopkeeper’s son may be. He sizes up the two gentlemen who’ve walked up to his store. Tushar looks at me, I look at the boy, and the boy looks at both of us. Then we all look at each other. It is a short but really, really an awkward pause. And then Tushar, the brave adventure boy, pulls on his straightest face and asks him in a very matter-of-fact manner – “bhai sa’ab, aap ke pass condom hai? Woh honeymoon packwaala...”

There is a deafening silence after that. The kind of deafening silence that follows a massive explosion. The kind of pind-drop silence that would make headmasters go green with envy. And then there is rip-roarious laughter. I’m laughing, Tushar’s laughing, and so is the boy. Between laughter, it is conveyed that the gift is for a friend who is getting married, and we’re the chosen ones from office sent out for the task.

True to Ashish’s words, the shopkeeper emerges from the back with the honeymoon pack, and we pay the guy. I even take a photograph of Tushar buying it (his first ever condom purchase) just for the sake of it. Can the shopkeepr give the pack gift-wrapped? Laughter. Sorry, this is a med store, if we wanted, there was a stationery store further up the street where we could get wrapping paper. For now, we’d have to settle for brown paper.

That was that. Tushar and I parted ways that night wondering what gifts would await us from the boys in office when we get married. We think up some whacky ideas, laugh it up, and leave.

But that is not what I’m thinking of as I’m writing all this. What I’m thinking of is – two young men, educated and employed, and well versed in the ways of the world. And we giggled like school kids while deciding on who shall make the purchase. We giggled like school kids while asking the shopkeeper for the pack. And we giggled like school kids on our way back, after making the purchase.

Let’s put things in perspective here – condoms are aids for birth control, a topic that the government seems to take seriously. And we talk about how ill-equipped our schools are when it comes to sex education, and how ill informed our youth is about matters related to sex as compared to our western cousins. And I wonder – consider for a moment the average school teacher, a man/ lady with a Bachelor of Education degree, facing a class of giggling teenagers, with diagrams of a penis and a vagina, trying to keep a straight face. Let’s face it guys, definitely not the most alluring proposition for the middle class Indian brought up on his/ her share of Kyonki’s and Buniyaads as against say, The Wonder Years or Beverly Hills 90210.

And we crib that sex remains an intriguingly enigmatic taboo topic for the growing Indian teenager.

At times I wonder if we’re even looking where the real problem lies.

“Baat bathaata hoon bhai sa’ab… sex ke time bahut dhyaan lene ka… yeh slip disc tabhi bahut problem karta hai…”

 - A taxi driver’s sage advise, on learning that I had a mild slipped disc problem. The Reliance Ad is absolutely correct, everyone in India gives free advice.

“I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me

And if we go someplace to dance, I know there's a chance you won't be leaving with me

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like “I love you”

 - “Something Stupid”

Frank Sinatra & Nancy Sinatra original, cover version by Robbie Williams & Nicole Kidman