Sharm hi Bhartiya Purush ka.. umm.. Gahana hai?

I am so totally against discrimination of any sorts. I know you must be thinking if I wasn't awesome enough already, but yeah, this is how I am.

I have always wondered why it is ok for men in India to roam around clad only in vests and lungis while women have to be covered from head to toe. Ok, this may have changed today - that is, I have seen chics in clothes that ideally should be worn by toddlers.. but yeah, that is restricted to Mumbai / Gurgaon / Bangalore and maybe 10 other cities? Men, on the other hand, get away with a lot of things.

Anyway, what prompted this post was this - We had gone to this new multiplex to catch a movie. And I had to use the men's room to take a leak. When I entered the place, I was amazed at the decor - it matched that of a five-star hotel loo I had once used. Brilliant lighting, modern fittings, amazing colour combinations and no separators / dividers between the stalls. Wait a second - no dividers? Only a bevy of pans placed next to each other!

So I just had to go there, whip my thing out, do what I was meant to do, with all and sundry free to stare? Forget the hyginene bit for a moment (I mean what if droplets get splattered and land on the hand/body of the guy standing next to me?), even otherwise, why was it okay for men to be nude in public? And noone other than me seemed to be bothered in the least. I rushed into one of the cubicles and did my thing - but this episode left me scarred for life.

Maybe I am more shy than most other men. But, there are some things that are meant to be private. Anyway.

Decoding the mind of a Serial Cribber

I always believe in doing good to others. In fact, at times, I even surprise myself by being this amazingly generous guy who would go out of his way to help the losers of the world. This Diwali, in line with my awesomeness, I help you petty mortals understand more about the Cribbo psyche. Frankly, there are too many poseurs around, and we need to make people understand more about us, so that they can tell between an amateur cribber and a seasoned one. So, here we go:

We crib. Therefore we are - Asking us "Why do you crib / why are you cribbing?" is like asking us an existential question (Why do you live / breathe?). It's the way we are. Deal with it.

Don't worry, we are normal - We don't need a reason to crib. We really don't. It could be something as life-shattering as getting ditched by three girlfriends in a row to something as trivial as your friend lighting one extra candle on your birthday cake. It could be the weather, the neighbor, job, boss, you, me, movie, cricket, more of anything, less of anything, how things are boringly perfect.

We don't need your sympathy - No, not even your empathy.

We don't like competition - I was once enthralling my co-interns with some of my choicest cribs when this lady butted in. She didn't look the cribbing type - but then I have never been so wrong about anyone in my whole life. What followed was a nasty game of oneupmanship between us "Our mess food sucks - our mess food sucks even more; we have n loser profs - we have n+1 loser profs; there are no hot chicks in office - there is a greater dearth of hot guys". Goes without saying, I shall hate her forever.

Cribbing takes style - It's an art. You need to keep it interesting and novel. Sadly, no one notices the hard work we put in. Sad losers.

I am done with my Good Deed for the year. Sigh, it was tough.

Happy Diwali

Wishing everyone a very Happy Diwali :)

A Neighbours' Nightmare

Nothing else could have spoiled the mood any worse than it did. It was all we could expect from her when everything was going so well. We had just gotten into the party spirit when Simple, as clumsy as always, managed to get her dupatta entangled with the table-lamp which in turn fell on the table with the water-jars - thus spraying water all over the switch-board and off went the room into darkness. And although Mr. Raichand hastily called the electrician, with everyone stepping on each others’ toes, nudging each others’ arms and patting each others’ wives in the dark, the party was surely not in shape.

It was a party in celebration of the Raichands adding a Pomeranian to their already long list of pets. They took pride in the ownership of two of the most irritating cats, one smart-ass parrot and one Labrador which would stare at you with its sinister looking eyes wide open and the menacing canines bared. It was only last month when they organized a puja (followed by cocktail dinner) on the birthday of Chink, the Labrador. Everybody looked forward to the Raichands’ parties but this one turned into a nice little hullabaloo.

And of course the one to feel all the more worse was Simple. She kept making sighs of grief and remorse and when she apologized to Mrs. Raichand for the eighth time, the latter really meant when she said “It’s OKAY Simple”.

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It was typical of Simple. She managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents, always. She was the type of girl who would coax you into letting her do your chores and then spoil them for you. She would run madly across the road, almost causing a traffic hitch, to just say ‘Good Morning’ to you. She would ring you in the middle of night to apologize for a mistake she’d done weeks earlier. But there was something about her which restrained everyone’s ire at her irksome acts. Perhaps, it was the feeling of guilt which showed through her deep and immaculate apologies. Often a time she had broken into hysterical tears at being playing the spoilsport.

So in a way no one really resented her acts. Mrs. Raichand never complained, not even when Simple broke her favourite hibiscus pot nor when she sprayed tomato ketchup on her new sari. The hag next door, who barked at kids for storming into her lawn, never fussed when Simple broke her crockery. So everything moved smoothly, at least apparently, with Simple being ever so ham-fisted and the neighbours being ever so understanding.

But I guess I knew Simple a little too well. And, so I could see things which others couldn't. And I was shocked to know that Simple knew that I know too.

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We were sitting in the park that day when Simple pointed towards the road and announced mischievously, "Watch". It was Mrs. Raichand coming with a heavy packet in one hand and holding the chain of the Pomeranian with the other, the puppy trying its best to break loose. Apparently, she had taken her pet on a stroll and had shopped on the way. While I still tried to make out what Simple wanted me to look at, she darted briskly towards the duo. She was just one step from them when she stumbled, one gracious fall and Simple was lying in the lap of Mrs. Raichand, the latter slumped flat on the footpath. The peaches in the packet had sprawled on the path and the Pomeranian had dashed into the road swarming with vehicles.

“Dilbert, Oh my God!!!!!!” yelled Mrs. Raichand in fright. The vehicles skidded to a halt, Dilbert gazed about in horror and Simple had already assumed an expression of utmost remorse. The lady fetched her pet quickly, didn’t look twice at the peaches and hurried home with Simple following her with tear-streaked cheeks and long explanations. However, she did turn and wink at me. 

Women!!!

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