Mr. Beautiful

He welcomed me with a gleeful smile. Most salonwala bhaiyas I have known are never happy to see another customer. At least in Calcutta, they never are. Bored with work, they just want to sit idle, pick at their noses and listen to Himessssh songs on Radio Mirchi. But this chap was different.


Me: 'Baal kaat do yaar'
Dude: (running his fingers through my hair) 'Sir, shampoo kar doon? Aapke baal bahut dry hain'
Me: 'Nahi yaar. Main ghar jakar shampoo kar loonga. Tum baal kaat do - aur chote mat kaatna' I warned him.
Dude: 'Normal cut ya style mein katoon?'
Me: 'Normal. Baal kahan hain style karwane ke liye. Duh'
Dude: (again tousling up my hair) - 'aap spa kyun nahi karwate. Baal ekdum mast ho jayenge'
Me: 'Nahi yaar. Tum zaldi baal kaat do'
Disappointed, he got to his work. And I started dozing off. Then he jerked me awake.
Dude: 'Aapke baal girte hain?'
Me: (irritated) 'Bahut'
Dude: (perhaps sensing the bitterness in my voice) 'Sab dandruff ki wajah se hai. Aap spa karwa lo'
Me: 'Arey paise nahi hai bhai. Karwana hoga to bolunga main'
But he was just too enthu about his job. After the haircut, he offered to do a facial with some 'special gora banane wali' cream. I gave him a flat 'no'.
Dude: 'Sir aapke sare dark marks chale jayenge. Girlfriend khush ho jayegi.'

I was amused. But I didn't give in. Paid him Rs 60 for his shitty haircut (in Calcutta I would have paid only Rs 25!) and came out of the salon.

And I don't actually blame him for peddling these products to me. The modern day metrosexual man goes to the spa, gets facial done, gets pedicure, manicure and what not cured. He is increasingly trespassing on what used to be female-only territory in the bygone days. Companies are launching beauty products targeted at men - to make men fairer, softer and possibly, more girly. Kudos to Shahrukh Khan for starting this madness - he told the whole world that his beauty secret was actually a Lux soap.

But some of this is also getting out of control. If my 'male' superboss can announce that he is addicted to pedicure & manicure and start taking tips on the same from a 'female' colleague of mine, I know that the world is spiralling out of its orbit.

It's not that I don't take care of myself at all. I am very concerned about my falling hair and I get repeated nightmares that I have gone bald. And just like I would do if you bring a cockroach all of a sudden in front of me, I flinch on seeing an ujda chaman. So I have started getting head massage where I make the salonwala bhaiya apply smelly nariyal oil on my hair whilst he keeps pleading that I opt for its super-costlier version hair-spa instead.

Maybe this would stop soon. Or, maybe the day is not too far away, when men would be 'beautiful' too.

Once upon a time in the 21st century.....

.... man stopped talking or writing. Because he found out that he can tweet instead.

Tweeting was after-all a far more evolved form of communicating. Once you have tweeted, people all around the world can see it, and do random things in response (apologies, I don't yet know what all you can do on twitter). On facebook, for instance, once you had posted a status update (e.g. 'I just farted!'), your friends can 'like' it, comment on it (e.g. 'Is it one of those smelly ones?'), share the update with their friends, have a conversation around it and someone sitting in Prague who you don't know at all will see the update when they log into facebook simply because his friend's friend's friend is also your friend and this might just make his day ('OMG, Indians have smelly farts!'). See the magic yet?

Thanks to Orkut, Facebook, Twitter and now Buzz for Googlomaniacs, losers round the world can have a thriving virtual social life. E.g. I never forget my friends' birthdays, anniversaries, weddings anymore - I facebook them! He may eventually never know that I wished him because he would have 250 other 'friends' also facebooking him the same day, but I will have to live with that. I am now in the know of all my friends' minute-by-minute activities like A is at the airport tweeting around, B is getting bored in office and is hence, facebooking, C is watching Kites in a theater and has buzzed about how pathetic the movie is. The only downside is that I don't get any brownie points for supplying gossip anymore as everyone knows everything. But, ta da, I save money as I don't need to call / visit anyone at all.

Truth be told, I am somewhat scared. I am scared when I see how willingly people share their lives on a public forum. How easy it is for someone to find out anything that he wants to know about you, your appearance, your thoughts, your daily routine, your likings, your fears, your relatives, your hobbies! Websites like facebook, google and many others, in order to supposedly 'enrich' your surfing experience, track what you do on the net. So, don't be surprised if next time you notice an innocuous car ad on your google homepage if you have been doing online research on cars. You realize how far this can go?

The other day I received a facebook prompt - "Mr. A visited your album". Here, A neither commented on my album nor 'liked' any of the pics. A was not even in my friends' list. Still I know that he visited my profile and looked through my pics. Next time facebook might tell me that B likes visiting a particular porn-site or that he's been googling on schizophrenia purely based on his online activities and without his knowledge.  Scary, no?

Ok, I guess I am done. Now, let me post a link to this blog on facebook and also update my gtalk status message telling the world that my blog is updated. I also think I should finally start tweeting. How else would my friends know about my stupendously interesting life!

Ass you like it

It used to amuse me earlier. But now my reaction borders on that of disgust.


I have actually seen all types - fair or dark, smooth or hairy, bony or muscular, tight or lumpy, guy's or girl's. A good view used to get an appreciative nod. A pathetic one got only a chuckle. But I am bored of the show now. So I will blog on this topic instead.  


Indians catch on to a fashion fad like fire to fuel. Ok, maybe a little later than the rest of the world. But they also overdo it to crazy levels. 


First, we were supposed to show off our underwear. We only had to wear our jeans a little lower than where they ideally should be. Then, we thought, what the heck, a little bit of ass-crack would do no harm. Now, everywhere around we see asses on display. Guys', girls', uncles', aunties', kids'!, the sabziwallah's, the electrician's, the cobbler's, the receptionist's, the courier boy's, the chaiwallah's, my friends' and their friends'. One of my earlier kaamwala boys had his ass-crack on show with panache. John Abraham has done it on screen. I am sure than Shahrukh Khan will do a personal show for you if you pay him enough money (he may already be doing such shows - you may want to check if interested)


Since I have decided to dwell on this at an intellectual plane, let us wonder why would one want to resort to such an antic:


1) Mini-striptease:  Peacocks dance to attract peahens. Maybe, for modern-day man, showing one's ass is a mating ritual. Maybe, lust at first sight (of a cute ass) can finally transform into eternal love.
2) Maybe the clothing brands don't make right sizes anymore. Or like true Indians, we buy our clothes one size bigger just in case we put on weight later :)
3) For making a statement like 'Meri underwear teri underwear se mehengi (aur choti) hai'
4) Maybe to show the world that you have lost weight. And, you have lost a lot of weight real fast. So fast that you didn't have time for buying new clothes
5) In the hot Indian summer, we prefer air around our sweaty asses. 
6) Maybe this is the way members of a secret cult identify each other?

Main aur mere Kaamwale Boys

Jobs that suck, atrocious weather, travelling by local trains, house-hunting, living away from home, and I had thought that Mumbai had tortured me enough. I was, obviously, wrong.
 
Ankit and I wanted to live the good life. And we decided, after painful encounters with Mumbai's Kaamwali Bais ("Main undergarments nahi dhoegi aur ghar zyada ganda nahi chahiye aur bedsheet roz roz dhone nahi dalne ka aur....... khich-khich, chik-chik!!"), that we shall keep a full-time flunk to cook for us, do all the household chores etc, get cigarettes for Ankit when he ran out of them, have no qualms about washing our underwear and...  let us make the house as dirty as we possibly could. We did not know, then, that this was going to be a big fucking mistake.
 
So, let's look at the various kaamwale boys we have had:
 
1) Hero Hiralal
 

Our first was a decent chap - short, lanky, malnourished, polite, hardworking. He looked very very decent. And apart from the fact that he occasionally wore these ghastly KRK-inspired glittering shirts, we had absolutely no issues with him. He made amazing Aloo ke Paranthe - and that is the one reason why we missed him the most. He also kept the house spic-and-span. When Ankit's parents came visiting, he won their hearts like a susheel bahu. And then one day, the devil played his dirty game.
Imagine. You are called at work and told that your domestic flunk has locked himself up and is not opening the door. You rush home to find 300 angry Marathis standing at your door baying for the blood of your Bihari servant - accusing him of molesting a school-girl. You break into the house (with the help of the angry mob) to find the flunkie crying, in a state of delirium, pleading innocent. You manage to save his life but the flunkie is now an outcast. He should never be seen in Kurla again. The real truth will never be known. But we got to know that the mob's definition of 'molesting' was talking to the girl on the road ("Iske iraade theek nahi the"). And we lost our best kaamwala boy to date. 
 
2) Two-timer


Then we got someone who was already working at a friend's place to also work for us. He was ok except for the fact that he gave us this step-motherly treatment.  
He was a little lazy but he worked when told. And he always seemed to spend all the money the same day we gave him. And we used to wonder how. Finally he went to his gaon with two months' advance salary and never returned. Worst thing was we were, once again, left at the mercy of temporary kaamwali bais.

3) Kaliya
 
The third guy looked the kamina type. Let's refer to him as Kaliya. He loved throwing all our stuff away when we were not at home (giving stupid explanations like 'mujhe laga kaam ka nahi tha'). He broke everything precious we ever owned. You get a family pack of ice-cream and leave it in the fridge. It's gone by the time you get back home. You get 10 packets of Lays Chips for the party you will throw over the weekend. Nothing can be found on Saturday morning. Fruits, dry-fruits, churan, he used to hog everything like crazy. Our ration budget went up at least four times. And, one day, when he crossed the line (by answering back), we decided to throw him out.
 
4) Psycho
 
This guy came highly recommended through a friend's friend's friend. He was a little old and so we were apprehensive from the very beginning. It hadn't even been a day when he showed his true colours.
He gets up early in the morning and starts knocking on our doors to wake us - it was a weekend for heaven's sake! Then he says something funny:
"Bhabhi ko bol dijiye taiyaar ho jaye, naashta ready hai"
We looked at each other with suspicion. When all three of us shrugged, we told him, "Yahan koi Bhabhi nahi hai"
"Abhi to thi wahan saari pehne huye"
Then without waiting for an answer he runs into the kitchen. We leave it at that, thinking he may have seen Ankit (with his small frame) and thought it was a girl.
 
Evening 10 PM: We are having dinner.
Psycho comes to us, looking pensive. "Main aapko pehle se hi bata deta hoon. Police aane wali hai aapko pakadne". We choke on our food.
"Aisa kya kar diya tumne?"
"Maine? Maine kya kiya hai? Raat ko aap log hi to sab kar rahe the"
"Kya kar rahe the hum?" 
"Yahan 20-25 logon ko bulakar aaplog andhere mein puja kar rahe the. Kahin baithne ki jagah nahi thi. Aap log zor zor se mantra ka jaap kar rahe the"
"Hum teeno apne apne kamre mein so rahe the. Aapne sapna dekha hoga. Aur police kahan se aayi beech mein?"
"Mujhe mat batao. Main sab jaanta hoon. Yahan, wahan, sab jagah log khade the. Bathroom mein, balcony mein teen log, Kitchen mein.... main jakar neeche garage mein soya. Itna shor. Baki building ke logon ne police mein complaint likha di hai" he looked scared, and dead serious.
"Isne bhoot to nahi dekha?"
Several shots from Ramgopal Verma's horror flicks flashed before our eyes. What if the house HAD ghosts.
 
We called the watchman. He confirmed that the guy had slept in the garage in the night. But he hadn't heard any noise. Then the psycho threw his trump card.
"Aap log mujhe kal raat ko kitna maar rahe the! Kutte ki tarah patti bandhkar mujhe ghumaya. Sab mujhe laat mar rahe the!"
 
He was obviously hallucinating. We got so scared we immediately (at 11 in the night) called his family members, packed his bags, called a taxi, gave the taxiwala money and his brother's address and parceled him back.
 
5) Marathi Manoos


Next was our first and last marathi flunk. He was lazy no 1. He was with us only for a day half of which he slept through. And then he announced that there was too much work so he couldn't do it! 
 
6) Shehenshah
 
Next guy lasted some time. He had this gorkha look and was polite. He kept the house extremely dirty but we were so desperate by now that we didn't say anything. He also wore his pants very low so that half his ass was exposed - we didn't bother unless some female friends were to come over.
Then one night, he drank all of Ankit's daru, took Arjun's car-keys, took the car out from the garage and rammed in into another one. He apologized profusely when he came to his senses but we had to throw him out after that.
 
I am forgetting about a couple of others who came and went like a whiff of stale air, only leaving the nausea behind.


With Sonia now to deal with the kaamwali bai, my life is a lot simpler. Married Life. Good Life.

PS: After I have been threatened with dire consequences if I even as much as try to suggest watching Prince, I have given up on my aspiration of writing the review. Please don't thank me on this blog.

Yogi Baba ke Nuskhe

 "Marriage is one of the few institutions that allow a man to do as his wife pleases." - Milton Berle

After having been blissfully married for the last 4 and a half months, I think I can author this blog in the capacity of an expert. For benefits of future generations (I already belong to uncle-category now), I shall generously pass on the secrets to a happy married life:


- The wife is always more beautiful than the hot chic next door or any other female that she may think is good looking (Yes, even Katrina Kaif). If you don't work for a bank and have not been trained in the fine art of lying yet, then you may say something to the effect - "Mere liye to tum hi duniya mein sabse khoobsoorat ho". This is not what she wants to hear, but this will not piss her off completely.


- You should always agree with her views, points, viewpoints, and practically anything she says. But this doesn't mean that you keep nodding your head like a retarded Shahrukh Khan in MNIK. Listen, analyze, contemplate and then reply. For she will occasionally catch you unawares with a "Do you think I have put on weight after marriage?". You have to always reply with a vehement "No"


- Never complain about her cooking. In fact, in this fiercely feminist world, you should thank your heavens if she agrees to cook in the first place. Even if she says "Aaj to daal mein namak zyada hai", you have to pat her lovingly and say, "This is fine, darling" and then take a second helping.


- When you go shopping (which you will do more often that you can imagine), don't ever criticize her choices. Else be prepared to do all the grocery shopping for the whole of next month yourself.  And you don't have to buy her gifts while you are shopping together. Your gifts for her should always be surprises :)


- You should always guess what she is thinking. I know you are thinking 'Am I a psychic or what?' but still you should try. Gradually, you will realize that she gives you these small hints. She loves playing these games to check how much you love her. If you can't get these hints, you don't love her enough.


- You can never refer to her as a woman, aurat or mahila. She will always be a girl (ladki).


- If you think she is being illogical and irrational, you are probably right. But you don't have to point that out to her. Ever.


- Your guy friends are all sad idiots with no life. Accept this fact and start ignoring their phone calls citing too much work at office.


I wanted to add a lot more. But that would take all the fun away when it happens. Marry and then go figure.

To write or not to write

I have never written a movie review before.  

But the temptation is just too much to handle.... ahh

Slow Local

When in Mumbai, do what Mumbaikars do. Which means you need to screech a lot at everyone around. Be bossy, impolite and pushy (and I mean literally 'pushy' - that is you 'push' people away, even if they are not in your way!). And, you travel by local trains.


Actually, you cannot avoid the local train bit, even if you want to. Fastest and cheapest (ok, maybe buses would be somewhat cheaper but then you actually feel you have aged a little by the time you get off the bus), traveling by local trains becomes a necessary evil.


And they are always jam-packed. No matter what time you take the train and in which direction. Even First class! Ok, as many of you will know, my cribbing will have no end, so let me stop right here and start with what I actually intended this blog to be about.


People you are likely to meet in a (packed) Mumbai Local Train:


The Gujju Stock Broker (and his gang) - Sitting on top of each other in some corner playing cards, or standing in the doorway discussing stock movements, property prices and what not (and, unintentionally am sure, blocking the entry/exit), mirthful, teasing each other on silly things like 'teri pant kitni tight hai', laded with jewelery of all sorts - chains, bracelets, earrings, rings, diamond-studded-shirts - seriously! (and, yeah, gold is passé, they prefer platinum now!) - you just can't miss the Gujju gang in a Mumbai local. They speak only in Gujarati and hence, it might be difficult to follow the entire conversation - but what I like about them is their being so full of joy, energy and jest, all the time. While I did get irritated at 'all the loud banter' first, I have begun to like such gangs. They, somehow, find a reason to smile, a reason to joke, a reason to have fun. 


The Motu Uncle - He will push his way through, occupy as much space as five people and then give you a dirty look that would say 'don't mess with me'. They rarely apologize after nearly crushing you to death. As a co-passenger once commented (after a Motu Uncle started squeezing him) - "Uncle, aapko gym hi jana padega. Aise dabane se pet kam nahi hoga" :)
Though, occasionally, having a Motu Uncle in front of you, when you have to get off a crowded train, does have its benefits. You can easily pass through after he has cleared his way. Just ignore the massacre all around.


The Gunda - He is rude, loud-mouthed and found mostly in Virar fast. He won't let you get onto the train, he won't let you get off. He will be a nuisance in general. He is occasionally with his other gunda friends, when he creates twice as much trouble for others. He will chew tobacco and spit everywhere. He will blow smoke in co-passengers' faces after smoking a beedi. He particularly hates UP Bhaiyas. He will abuse and crib. You will find it easy to hate him.
An advice: You should always ignore him - though the temptation to sucker-punch him or push him off the moving train would be very intense.

The College Nerd - He is the standard studious type. He will carry a huge bag filled with books. Even in a crowded train where people can barely stand, he will have the uncontrollable urge to take out a book and study. And this is no Calcutta where studious kids are offered seats by other passengers. Geeks like me will associate with him but when, in the jostling crowd, you realize that he is taking up extra space, you start giving him dirty looks. 


The Newspaper Freak - He is the grown-up version of the College Nerd. His books are replaced by Newspapers now. He has embarked on this impossible mission to read the entire paper before the train reaches his destination station. He takes multiple poses while reading the newspaper (some of which look inspired from Kamasutra).  


Mr. 'I-don't-believe-in-bathing-at-all' - He is the smelly kind. No more words.

Hairy Harry - These are uncles with an overgrowth of hair on their heads. Now, now, I am not making fun of them because of envy at their hare-bhare gardens. But in crowded trains, they tend to shake their heads a little too often which means that those standing around them will be gifted with loving strokes of their tresses. Best is when the Uncle in question has a penchant for applying smelly hair-oil. You will actually achieve a state of eternal bliss when a strand of oily hair brushes past your face. 


Raasta bhatki Aunty - Occasionally, a lady will board the unisex compartment (mind you there are no men's compartments) and then all hell will break loose. Men, who have accepted the kicking and jostling as part of their lives, will be forced to behave appropriately - try fruitlessly to save that poor woman from the torture that mortals are subjected to in a Mumbai local.


Mumbaiya Tapori - He is the milder version of the Gunda.He tries to boss around but gets shooed away by other passengers. He lacks the evil look and tries to make up for it by using a lot of swear-words. He is the wannabe Gunda. Maybe he will never achieve the same perfection. But he tries for what he is worth. 


The Gay - You find them everywhere. And you gradually learn to ignore them. And, frankly, in a crowded train it is difficult to identify who is trying to molest (if guys can be molested at all!) you and who is just another victim. A warning though: Some of them get pretty aggressive if you continue to ignore them. And, a dirty look will suffice to ward them off.


The 'madly-in-love' couple - Coochey-coo couples, falling over each other. Thankfully, this variety avoids crowded trains. They, instead, choose to do PDA (public display of affection) on the platform.


Oye Chakka Chakka oye - They run India's largest extortion racket. First class compartments are well within their reach.


The Chotu Ustaad - The modern-day dwarf. He cannot reach the overhead bars. He is usually crushed between bottoms and has to shriek to make others notice him. He will hold on to you like you are his long-lost-kumbha-mela-wala brother. Though he is particularly crafty in squeezing past people in crowded trains.

The Mandir ka Pujari - This gang sits together chanting mantras and hanuman chalisa. They often occupy an entire compartment. And also distribute tasty prasad after their puja is done :) 

Now, now, this is definitely not an exhaustive list - but I had fun writing it :)

Mumbai, ahoy! - Addendum

Have finalized the flat at Bhandup. However, no celebrations until we actually move into the flat! But what I can do is narrate two particularly funny encounters that I had in course of my khoj:

Episode 1#
Aunty welcomes me into her flat with a gleeful smile. The broker (who is incidentally a lady herself) looks very puzzled at the warm reception I am getting. Aunty quickly tells me that she will be moving to Kerala and hence wants to give out her fully-furnished 2BHK on rent to someone nice and scholarly. It turns out that she was a teacher and she loves good students. I am all smiles.

Aunty: Beta, you are an engineer?
Me: No Aunty, I am a commerce grad
Aunty: (slightly upset) Oh...
Me: (quickly adding) I did my MBA - from IIM Bangalore (close-up smile)
Aunty: (eyes light-up) Good. But you look so young to have done your post-grad. So beta why do you need a 2BHK?
Me: Aunty, my family will be moving to Bombay....
Aunty: Oh, your mom and dad?
Me: My wife, Aunty
Aunty: (suddenly jumps on the sofa) Oh my my! You are married. You look so young!
I look down at the floor and give a slight smile (in a sharmila bhartiya purush sort of way)
Aunty: So beta, how many kids do you have?


Episode 2#
The owner is a nice, slightly overweight but good-looking guy. He introduces me to his wife and shows me the flat. Then suddenly he asks.... "You will be staying with your family, right?"
"Yes, with my wife" I reply
"Oh" he heaves a sigh of relief!
"Why?" I ask
"Actually, bachelors are not allowed in the society!"
"Why is that so?"
"Because they are such a nuisance!"
Though I am no longer a bachelor, I take particular offence at that (having stayed with a bunch of guys for almost 2 years in Bombay now! If all societies thought like this!)
"Like?" I ask
"They play loud music, they get their friends over, they booze! They are an overall nuisance. We earlier had bachelors staying in many flats. I have personally complained against them many times. Now, we have banned owners from renting flat to bachelors!" Smug smile.
I decide not to push it further Like it matters to me now :)
"I will be giving the flat on rent for only 12 months. Because I come back to Mumbai in a year."
I look at him with surprise.
"Actually I am going to IIM Calcutta for a one year executive MBA" Smug smile 2
"Great". I give a wicked smile (while mentally picturing him running from the loud music-playing, boozing and philandering junta at IIM)

********************

Mumbai, ahoy!

Househunting... and the Mumbai rains!

After a self-imposed exile from the blogosphere for almost 2 years, what could have possibly motivated me to return...

Life in this godforsaken city had always been exciting - I could have written about my travails of commuting by local trains (that sure deserves an entry of its own!), could have written about how my job sucks, about how I switched my job and the second job also sucks, could have written about the end of the glorious era of my bachelorhood, about 'Wanted', about how I discovered the marvels of Playstation, about Rakhi Sawant, about the online-CAT fiasco.....

But I did not, any more, have the patience for blogging. Reading and writing were the only two (good) hobbies I had had. And both were snatched away from me. Don't know why, when, by who.

But today when I visited my blog (by random chance), I saw that this post of mine has been lying incomplete for ages! And, by now, I can write a book on this topic :P .... so, fasten your seat-belts, here we go:

Episode 1#

Broker looks like the south-Indian sidey of some B-grade Bollywood flick's villain. Turns out he is actually a Bong. He will charge one month's rent as brokerage. Both of us (with less than a month of cumulative work-ex) protest that it is din-dahade dakaiti, but give-in to his demands. We say to our hearts 'All izz well' and embark on the househunting journey.

Fast forward a couple of weeks - Found a house, Ankit used his negotiating skills over the phone (in person, his size would give all away!) to get us what we thought was a good deal. We paid the Broker half his commission (balance to be paid on the day of registration). Owner is in Calcutta but is nice enough to let us move into the house before the agreement is signed. We give the sidey the cheques for deposit and rent and we enter the unfurnished 2 BHK, on the top floor of a seven-storied building.

Day One: Sunday, we goto Big Bazaar and do max-level shopping. Ankit orders his furniture, we buy mattresses, grocery, utensils, what not. Otherwise, the day passes without event.

Day Two: Monday - all the Gods simultaneously take a leak and Mumbai is semi-flooded. We return from work to find our flat flooded as well. Turns out the roof leaks majorly - distraught and on the verge of tears, we call the broker. He feigns ignorance. We call the owner - he is like, 'didn't the broker tell you, there is minor leakage problem the society has been trying to fix for the past two years? You just have to adjust during the monsoons' . We cry foul and want our money back.

Broker - Actually Sirs, you have to pay me the rest of my brokerage. I can't help if you don't like the place now.

Owner - I have lost your cheque in any case. You can put a stop-payment on that cheque if you want, but I want additional one month's rent.

Ankit uses his charm over phone once again. We finally get away with minimal damage, monetary as well as mental.

(and everyone we speak to says, 'You shouldn't have taken a top-floor at all! You should know this in Mumbai - you could have asked me for advice!')

Episode 2#

We find another place and have to shift before the weekend - so that we don't have to pay the owner extra one month's rent. Only option is to move our stuff after office-hours. We book a tempo, return home from office in torrential rain and wade through knee-deep water to reach our building. The tempo guy refuses to come in such heavy rains. Now, it's a choice between some desperate last-minute jugaad and shelling out extra 21K. We choose the former and with umbrella et al, start scouting the locality for some tempo-wala who will help us out. We finally find a young boy who agrees to drive us (at exorbitant cost, of course) but he refuses to assist in getting the luggage loaded/unloaded.

The picture of that night, when the world around us seemed to be dissolving, and we were busy carrying our stuff from the 7th floor down to the garage, will be etched in my memory forever. And not only because of Ankit's decision to drive the tempo. Thankfully he handed over the steering wheel to the driver after nearly causing an accident (while we were still in the garage).

Stay in the second house was uneventful for the next one year, except for the time when I had to single-handedly fight (verbally, how else!) with a crowd of 300 angry Marathis because my Bihari servant was charged with eve-teasing a Class VI school-girl. But that is for another time.

Episode 3#

One year has elapsed. We have to find a new house. Ankit is hell-bent on taking a place in Wadala (which seems to have an aspirational value for all IIM-grads). Dosti Acres and the nearby shanties get a premium becuase all IIM junta stays there. The facts that it is absolutely unreachable by public conveyance and that travel cost is raised substantially do not seem to matter to the wannabe Investment Bankers. I finally manage to convince him against the very idea.

We finally take a 3 BHK in Kohinoor City itself. We get the local guys to move our stuff - and the day we are supposed to shift, the skies open up again! Not much of love-lost between me and God, since we were only moving to the next building.

Episode 4#

I get married and so have to find a place of my own. Being a SINK family (as opposed to DINK), this was anyways gonna be a mighty task. Finding a good house in a good locality at affordable rent! I did find one such place and promptly closed the deal with the owner - a Bengali software engineer who had gotten transferred to Ireland and hence was giving his place on rent. Then one week before my wife is supposed to join me in Bombay, he gives me a call:

Makanmalik: Jogesh, I have shocker of a news!

Yogesh: Erm?

Makanmalik: I have just been informed my Ireland project is canceled!

Yogesh: Erm?

Makanmalik: We have done the agreement and all (where I had slimy-ly put in 6month lock-in period), but that is all fine, right? Thanks for the cooperation. Happy House-hunting!

If you haven't guessed, I am still house-hunting after recovering from the above shocker of a shock! And, hence, couldn't resist venting out my frustration when I saw this topic in an incomplete status :)

Life @ IIMB - The Final Chapter

For the past two years I had waited for this day. But when it came… it felt like it came too early.

After all, I had just started enjoying my vacation at IIMB.

Hours after hours of doing nothing.. playing World of Warcraft in the Computer Centre Lab night after night, taking a walk to Athica’s with friends at 2’o clock in the night for a cup of coffee, sitting in the OAT at 4 AM in the morning bitching about people, getting drunk on L^2 parties (and hitting on a girl?), watching a night show in a theatre and on our way back doing a little jig in the rain… the second year of my stay at IIMB was as chilled out as the first year had been rigorous, perhaps more … not because it was designed that way by the Insti… but because I had decided, after a lot of deliberation, that I want to enjoy this one year of my life to the fullest.

And enjoy I did. From travelling to Malaysia on a fraud project in a fraud course, to vacationing in Goa, to not mugging for FSA mid-term because I had to finish reading that newly released Harry Potter book (and thus, somewhat foolishly, showing the middle finger to grades), to organizing Karaoke parties in the night to the annoyance of the entire Girls’ Block, to spamming away to glory on all the BRacket folders in the name of ATF… second year at IIMB was fun. But always, somehow… there was an eagerness to run away from the place which had so few happy memories for me… I had always waited for the day when I will finally go far far far away from this hell-hole…

Now I realize how wrong I was… At times, we do not realize what is it that we actually want… maybe I didn’t realize too.

Second year was as different from the first year as it possibly could have been. Maybe because we knew by then that in this race for surging ahead of each other, in this game of marks and money… we are falling behind in this journey called life… we knew by then how to bend rules of the Insti, how to study just before exams and manage the passing grade, how to keep safe distance from the RG-loving, marks-hungry junta… how to ignore people who really don’t matter and … how to live your life your way.

Second year also shattered some myths for me… most important was the realization that my expectations have been misplaced all along… it is not necessary for friends to be like-minded, to crave for the same thing, to follow the same road. I made friends who couldn’t have been more different from me, they still are and will always be… and they formed part of every bit of fun that I had at the place. Had it not been for them, I don’t know if I would have survived IIMB at all. We have fought, we have shared, we have celebrated, we have cried together… have shown each other different facets of the world, have been each others’ conscience, have prayed for each other…

And all that was over…

I remember the day I left campus…

Mummy and Papa were waiting in the cab.. all my luggage had been loaded. I locked the room and rushed to the Hostel Office to deposit the keys… the corridors were deserted. Most students had already left campus. And those who remained would do so in a couple of hours. The first years were busy writing an exam…

It was in that moment that the feeling sank. So, this is it? IIMB is over?

I tried hard to contain tears.. not in front of Mummy and Papa!.... A couple of friends were standing near the cab to see me off… I felt strange. I didn’t know what to say. It was like I am leaving a part of me behind. I looked at the campus one last time… took in everything. There are thousands of things I can complain about and I have been doing that in all earnest. But I know one thing for sure - these were the two best years of my life.