The Story Of Lele And Mr B

It was a hurriedly arranged mamak session. Nevertheless, we arrived on-time at our regular hangout only to find Lele already there. (He’s never early). It was a match night, students from the 318 condos in the neighbourhood had gathered to attempt and break the record for the biggest mamak gathering during the EPL season. Which teams were playing? Erm.. how do you tell?

Amidst all the incessant cheering and jeering, Lele seemed to be in a world of his own, desolated and ignorant to the world around him.

“So which guy is it this time?” I had to break the silence.

Lele started his account reluctantly, carefully balancing between the intensely painful urge to share his disappointment and frustration, but at the same time, not revealing enough of his desires such that these could be used against him during teasing wars at happier moments.

He met B online. After some exchanges of SMS, and phonecalls, they had fixed a meet-up earlier that afternoon at some secluded spot near a stadium. B didn’t turn up? Yes, he did. Did they eventually meet? Yes, but not the way Lele had imagined it to be.

B caught a glimpse of Lele at the carpark, not far from the agreed meeting spot, and proceeded to execute a disappearing act. First few calls to his mobile went unanswered, and subsequent ones were routed to the voicemail, leaving Lele standing there, confused, frustrated and disappointed.

“You have been using THAT pic for your online profile again, haven’t you?” I went straight to the point.

“If your memory hasn’t failed you, even your ELDEST SISTER couldn’t recognise that was you!” It’s getting late, I pushed further.

“Mr B most probably was expecting SOMETHING else. Why do you keep repeating the mistake?” I delivered the final verdict.

“Mamak, kira!”