Water, water, everywhere...

…. and I don’t know how to fucking swim!

I am sure it’s quite normal to have nightmares of dying a gruesome death. I am not sure, though, if such nightmares should involve drowning in the sea while fighting monster cockroaches.

Monster cockroaches – we can park that thought away for now. Other than my dreams, I am unlikely to have to fight them anywhere. Not that the tiny ones don’t torment me enough in real life, but that’s something that looks silly if cribbed about. Let me concentrate on my other nemesis: water, lots and lots of water, all around me.

I never learnt how to swim. When all my friends were joining the swimming classes way back in school days, I felt shy at having to enter the pool in tiny swimming briefs. I had even enquired at the swimming training club if half pants were allowed to be worn in the pool, and the trainer had looked at me as if I had asked him to part with one of his kidneys. ‘Everyone is dressed like that in the pool,’ he admonished me, ‘how can a boy feel so shy? You can buy the swimming briefs from us at a very reasonable price; we don’t sell swimming half-pants. In fact, there is nothing like swimming half pants’. I imagined the very bony and lanky me entering the pool in tiny briefs to loud guffaws from shapely swimmers all around, and that was pretty much the end of the swimming aspiration in me. Add to that the fact that we didn’t have showers installed at home, and had to use the traditional bucket for taking bath. Thus, I never really got comfortable with the idea of my head going under water! Not that I never got drenched in rains, but rains and rains, and showers are showers, and getting into the shower and closing my eyes would immediately send a panic wave through my whole body. This happened for most of my life and it is only now that I have gotten used to taking showers instead of using buckets and mugs!

I am not really aquaphobic. I am just perfectly capable of drowning pretty easily. I first learnt this years back when visiting the newly-opened water theme park in Kolkata – Aquatica. Here they thankfully let you wear vests and half-trunks. So yeah. I liked the shallow wave pool a lot, and also some of the other rides, and then I saw my cousins effortlessly slide down a giant water-slide riding on a slippery mat. They slid down from great height into a shallow pool and remained afloat on the mat, gracefully got off it into the pool, laughed and splashed water at everyone, and came out laughing even more. I wanted to do it too. It looked so much fun. And perfectly safe. The pool is shallow. I will be on a mat that floats. What can really go wrong, right? The moment I started sliding down, my second greatest fear of steep heights kicked in and I closed my eyes. But I held on to the mat alright. Then I hit the water with a giant splash, and realized that I was drowning. The mat was nowhere! I could swear I was holding on to it till a second back, but it was nowhere. I was supposed to float, but I was drowning. Water was entering my nostrils, ears and mouth. I opened my eyes and could see nothing, and my head was spinning. Someone grabbed me and pulled me out, and made me stand. We were only in waist-deep water. ‘What happened?’ the person who had made me stand-up asked. I coughed out some water, and my head cleared. I looked all around me. People were watching me, some with shock, some giggling, and some laughing quite derisively. I just turned and fled from the pool. Even kids were doing it all right. And here I was a fifteen year old buffoon, drowning in a shallow pool!

You’d think that this incident would make sure I don’t go anywhere near water again, right? You are wrong.

During my MBA days, I took this fraud course where we could travel to Malaysia for two weeks. And while there, we went holidaying in Langkawi, that’s what that place is called I think. We did water-sports, played on the beaches, clicked some amazing pictures, and then decided that we should go snorkeling. The whole group saw some amazing sights under the surface of the sea, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t take my head under the water-surface, not even with the gogs and the breathing pipe thingy over my nose and mouth. I tried, but I couldn’t. The moment my head would go under the water, I would feel as if someone has sent bolts of electricity through my body. I gave up. I contemplated if I should join swimming classes to get over this problem. Then I looked at my lanky hairy self, and thought the better of it. Who wants to go into water regularly anyway?

But not one who learns lessons easily, I agreed when some of my batch mates asked me if I wanted to join them for a quick vacation in Goa. This has been the biggest masochistic decision of my life, as it has given many of my batch mates fodder to tease me for the rest of my life. This time I was very clear though, no going under the water business. I stuck to rides that were either on a boat / scooter etc. or remained simply on the beach. And then some asshole tricked me into going for something called a ‘banana ride’. I didn’t know that the whole point of the ride is to take you deep into the sea and then topple that silly balloon on which you are seated. It is supposed to be the high point of the ride. Oh so much fun, a bunch of us being thrown off a boat in the middle of the sea. Only if we had a few sharks around, it would complete the process of attaining nirvana. Anyway, so yeah, I was wearing life jackets all right. I was told that there are trained swimmers with us. But I wasn’t prepared for the water going over my head. I panicked the moment we hit the water, and I panicked like no one has ever panicked before. I have never really been afraid of death per se, but I started shouting for help assuming that I was drowning. In reality, I was just floating. I held onto the person who was nearest to me and warned him to not let go of me. It turns out he didn’t know how to swim either, but he maintained his calm, and held on to me. I only stopped my drama once someone pulled me back onto the banana boat again. I cursed at a lot of people for nothing, and then as we were approaching the shore, the boat was made to topple again! I mean, are you kidding me! It was Aquatica pool all over again. I would have drowned then and there had someone not pulled me up to show that we were only in knee-deep water! The humiliation on the spot aside, this story quickly made to others in my batch, and I had to endure shouts of ‘Help, I am drowning!’ from a bunch of losers for rest of my stay on campus. Dimwit morons I tell you.

All this made sure that I won’t go anywhere near a water-body for many many years to come. Even if I had to, I stayed content with dangling my feet into the pool while sitting on the edge. Until this weekend that is.

We were holidaying in a sea-beach resort over this weekend, and I was playing with my three-years old daughter (who loves water!) in the baby pool. Don’t laugh. I was in the baby pool only because I was with her, ok. We had spent quite a lot of time, and Ishu had started sneezing, so we decided to get back to the room and get dry. I got up, pulled her up, made her stand outside the pool, and was walking to our slippers while holding her hand (I was inside the baby pool, and she was outside it). Suddenly, the floor vanished under my feet, and I fell into the deeper part of the pool. I hadn’t seen that the baby pool, quite strangely, merged with a deeper pool at this point. Thankfully, I came out of the water immediately, and looked around. Others in the pool were laughing. But I had panicked. Not because of the water, but because I was holding Ishu’s hand. I could have pulled her towards me while going inside the water, and hurt her in the process. But she stood outside the pool, looking at me thoroughly concerned. I heaved a big sigh of relief, gathered her, and came running back to our room.

Pools, and seas, and beaches, and water-bodies, they aren’t meant for me I tell you. When I die and go to hell, the Devil can simply push me into a pond and let me drown, no need really to roast me in hellfire.

Meri gaay ko danda kyun maara?

Nothing can act as a better prelude to my blog than this episode in Douglas Adams’s super-amazing Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy that leaves you with mixed emotions on the morality of meat-eating. As all the four protagonists sit down for dinner at The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, they are presented with the unique opportunity of meeting their ‘dish’ before they eat it. A quick (abridged) extract is reproduced below for those who have missed out on reading this masterpiece:

 

A large dairy animal approached Zaphod Beeblebrox's table, a large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with large watery eyes, small horns and what might almost have been an ingratiating smile on its lips.

"Good evening," it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, "I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in the parts of my body?"

……..

"Something off the shoulder perhaps?" suggested the animal, "braised in a white wine sauce?"

"Er, your shoulder?" said Arthur in a horrified whisper.

"But naturally my shoulder, sir," mooed the animal contentedly, "nobody else's is mine to offer."

……..

"You mean this animal actually wants us to eat it?" whispered Trillian to Ford.

"Me?" said Ford, with a glazed look in his eyes, "I don't mean anything."

"That's absolutely horrible," exclaimed Arthur, "the most revolting thing I've ever heard."

…….

"A green salad?" said the animal, rolling his eyes disapprovingly at Arthur.

"Are you going to tell me," said Arthur, "that I shouldn't have green salad?"

"Well," said the animal, "I know many vegetables that are very clear on that point. Which is why it was eventually decided to cut through the whole tangled problem and breed an animal that actually wanted to be eaten and was capable of saying so clearly and distinctly. And here I am."

……

"Look," said Zaphod, "we want to eat, we don't want to make a meal of the issues. Four rare stakes please, and hurry. We haven't eaten in five hundred and seventy-six thousand million years."

The animal staggered to its feet. It gave a mellow gurgle. "A very wise choice, sir, if I may say so. Very good," it said, "I'll just nip off and shoot myself."

He turned and gave a friendly wink to Arthur. "Don't worry, sir," he said, "I'll be very humane."

……

~ From The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

 

Before we begin, I must put out the disclaimer that I don’t eat meat, and certainly not beef. I am not a ‘pure’ vegetarian if you must know; I am that moderately impure variety which also eats eggs, other than your regular veggies. But, I don’t mind if the person sitting next to me is eating meat or fish (I live in Bengal) or squids (on one occasion, live squids!) or cockroaches or whatever-rocks-your-boat-man. I have also lived through inanities like, ‘Have you really never eaten non-veg?’, ‘What do you eat then - paneer all day?’, ‘You know that you are missing out on so much in life, right?’, ‘Plants have lives too; Go hungry then?’.

 

If I were to ever do an award-waapsi (once I get an award that is), I would do it against the intolerance of meat-eaters towards the veggie-eaters like me. I mean you guys are another level of bigots. Not only do you cock a snook at any veg items that I may order during our eating out together, you would then also shamelessly mooch half my food till your bloody meat arrives. My list of problems with you guys is long. But then, this blog is not about that.

 

This blog is about our ‘Holy Cow’. The new cuss word in India’s collective conscience. The cow that our forefathers worshipped as the abode of all Gods. And, today, every bleeding heart liberal can spontaneously crack a dozen jokes on it, write Op-eds on how our reverence of cows will be the end of humanity, and mirthfully organize circle-jerk beef parties. And the only person to be blamed for this entire farce is you, the self-apppointed protector of cows: the gau-rakshak. You have reduced a harmless bovine into an excuse for terrorism. When the PM of the country, the man that you have repeatedly reposed your faith in, and the Head of the social organization, which is primarily responsible for mobilising your community, openly do not support your brand of vigilantism, whose side are you really on when you resort to violence, arson, and murder? You are harming the cause, if I am to assume that there is a cause worth our time and efforts.

 

But can we really debate on the ongoing national epidemic around cow-protection without understanding basic human nature? In fact there is no debate on cows at all, it is only on basic human nature.

 

The shaakahari and the maansahari:

Like chicken-and-egg, we don’t know which breed came first. But, let’s say some of us, over time, decided that we don’t want to kill animals to feed ourselves. Not that this reflects in any way on how humane we are in our general conduct in life, still let’s just respect this choice and move forward. For some others, the bloodlust was too strong. Ok, ok, delete that. For some others, they believed that food chain is nature’s way of churning the ecosystem, and we must play our role in it. This is absolutely fine too.

I am told that we have enough evidence to suggest that our forefathers ate meat. Nothing then explains how a large section of Indians came to look down upon meat-eating. For example, in my house, non-veg food is strictly not allowed. My mother would faint if she gets to know that the person sitting next to her is eating meat; in most cases she will know just by the smell of it. Even in Hindu households where meat is eaten, the utensils meant for puja are kept separate so that they are don’t get apavitra or impure. We all have those weird friends who are vegetarians on particular days in the week. Overall, even though many of us eat meat, eggs or what-have-you, vegetarianism is considered ideal from a spiritual perspective.

 

What holds us together?

It is now beyond doubt that human beings are perfectly capable of completely obliteraing our kind in a matter of seconds. What is it then that holds us together? Not just members of a family, community, society, country, but even you and me – two strangers. No, don’t give me that old dope on how humans are superior to other species. Animals are far better at living in groups, and fiercely protecting their common interests. What holds us together is LAW. Not just the law created by Governments because governments came much later, but laws created by societies, religions, communities, and every other thing that defines our personality. These are known by different names: conventions, practices, rituals, beliefs, culture. And these laws evolve over time. Some become redundant with passage of time, and are discarded. Some become oppressive to a few of us, and are amended. Some are forgotten, and then again revived. Sometimes these laws take the form of moral values, and sometimes plain superstition. Every such law must have been created with some rationale at some point in time, and more often than not, it must have been the greatest good of the greatest number. Standing today, it’s not always possible to see that rationale, and we must decide what is right in today’s context and collective sensibility.

 

But lots of these laws are breaking down today in urban settings with alarming frequency, and an unintended byproduct is celebration of the individual over society. We are an impatient generation, more selfish than the earlier one, and this degeneration (if we can call it that) is getting worse with time. And the rift between the thought processes of us, the urbal elite, and them, the rest who form the backbone of societies, is getting wider. We don’t understand them, they don’t even want to understand us. World over, we have eaten humble (eggless) pie when trying to predict how they should be behaving.

 

Can religions co-exist?

Hindus worship cows, and oppose cow-slaughter. It would be silly not to admit that other religions are primary consumers of beef. Do some Hindus not eat beef? Do Hindus really take care of their cows, to justify them getting all self-righteous when opposing cow-slaughter? Do slaughter-houses smuggle cows meant for farming? A logical analysis of this problem is almost impossible. There are too many ifs and buts. But what is clear to me is that if different religions were not involved, the problem would not have assumed such importance. Every religion has an inherent distrust of the others, and this fuels most of the anger, and need to assert its own importance. It is about cows today, it will be about something else tomorrow. What is needed is for us to teach our children to learn to accept others as they are, with their different religious beliefs.

I don’t know what should be the solution? Can the Hindus be a little less touchy? A Bengali colleague, who often passionately discusses myriad socio-political issues with me tells me why he doesn’t eat beef: he is a hardcore non-vegetarian, and needs to have his fill of meat twice a day for him to have a good night’s sleep. Yet, he’s never had beef. He tells me that when he was very young, his family owned a cow, and he has fond memories of playing with it, washing it, drinking its milk, calling it a mother. As they grew up, maintaining a cow as a pet was no longer practical, as everything that mattered - space, time, money – shrunk. How can I eat beef when I have once called a cow my mother? he tells me. He’s an MBA, working for an MNC, and yet see how emotional he gets on this topic. He will never impose his own views on others who may want to eat beef. And his is the story of so many of our generation even in cities, let alone villages. To write off the emotions of such people by making jokes on cow, is again us vs them all over again: we are not capable of this analysis.

 

But vigilantism is a crime, and it needs to be treated us such. No one has given right to a bunch of hooligans to go around beating people up. Gau-rakshaks who beat up others are as malicious and hypocritical as those who make up fake stories of being asked to get off an auto for carrying a leather bag. You are not the solution, you are the problem. And what needs to be done is to call out these people and get authorities to punish them. We will be achieving little by writing satirical articles on Cowcracy, or by initiating a gau-raksha andolan. Let that poor animal be, please.

 

 

Rishte mein to hum tumhare.... huh, kaun lagte hain?

Superheroes have difficult lives ! 

Every superhero must have a tragic personal crisis. Call it destiny. Or a balancing act by nature. When one achieves supernatural expertise at this very huge and humongously important thing (e.g. saving the world, duh! .. if you must ask 'like what?'..), he must fail miserably at some other petty thing that turns his personal life upside down (....like remembering names and faces of relatives; also read: this, this and this...). YogiMan couldn't be an exception.. no, no, no Sir, he couldn't be. 

So, yeah, I am miserably bad at remembering people. I will forget your face, name, where do I know you from, when did we last meet and what did we talk about etc. Problem reaches epic proportions when I am dealing with relatives. I just don't remember! I forget their names even if I have met them a zillion times, I forget how I am related to them, I forget important details about them that every distant family member is supposed to religiously remember. Not only is this pretty embarrassing, this can get people like your parents and wife mighty upset with you as well ('only if you spent more time attending family functions rather than play on your laptop / phone, yeh din dekhna na padta ....'). 

Sample this: 

You are made to attend a wedding. Familiar faces smile at you from all around, making your head go in a tizzy trying to remember who they are. Then suddenly you are confronted by a smiling lady, with a toddler tugging at the hem of her ghagra. 

Unknown Lady: "Vicky, kaise ho? How's Sonia? What have you named the little one?" 

Me: "Umm... accha hoon. Sonia and Ishita are good too. Ishu turned 7 months now", you smile, telling yourself that you obviously know this female, but can't recollect how, why, and other such details. 

Unknown Lady: "Nice..." 

*Long Awkward Silence when you both look here and there* 

Me: "Umm.. you have lost weight" ... (this is usually a nice thing to say to strangers) 

Unknown Lady: "Haha, not at all. Just been watching what I eat", she beams and then tells the kid, "Radhu, don't pull the lehanga beta" 

Me: "Your daughter is cute! " The smile almost vanishes off her lips. 

Unknown Lady: "This is my niece. My son is two years old.... he's over there *points*.. with his father. You are probably confused" 

Me: " (Oops), yeah, sorry, how old is your daugh... umm... son? (wait, she just told you .... you are not making sense, ass!)" 

Thankfully, another lady barges in and steals her away by murmuring about who she needs to meet. Phew!

Imagine the plight if you make such a mistake with your in-laws? ! *shivers* 

Up, up and away! 

Chhatri na khol barsaat mein... !

When I was very very young and impressionable, I had seen an advertisement for Gladrags model hunt in some magazine. It said that men need to be minimum 6 feet in height to be eligible to compete. Somehow, that figure stuck in my head and I always wanted to be taller than 6 feet. But as it happens in most tragic stories, I stopped growing in height after 5'10''. I was shocked, shattered, paranoid and inconsolable when that happened. Buy then I meekly accepted it as my fate. Of course, the fact that I was still taller than more than half of men around me helped to alleviate my misery.

But then, at times, you just wish you weren't as tall as you are. For example, when venturing out of home in rainy season - all you see is a sea of umbrellas in front of you, and you also get poked in the eye (Ow!) with tips of umbrella ribs carried by all the dwarves around you.

I have now decided I don't like umbrellas after all. I don't completely blame my height. It's also the dumbness of people that's responsible for my distrust of umbrellas. Here's my advice to you, umbrella-carriers-on-the-streets-of-Calcutta:

*If you want to carry an umbrella, please also carry a plastic bag, to keep the wet umbrella in it once you have boarded a bus, auto, metro train. It may not seem that important to you, but your co-passengers certainly don't want to get soaked because you are most likely to push that dripping wet umbrella against their bodies!
*When you want to open an umbrella, please either move to a safe spot, or look around to see if anyone is likely to get hurt. Umbrellas have these pointy tips which can be pretty dangerous, in case you haven't noticed.
*Umbrella is to save you from rain, not for dueling. So, please don't rush madly through a crowd of people with your umbrella jostling for space with theirs.

Or maybe don't carry an umbrella at all. Saves so much trouble for me!

And, by the way, watch that totally awesome rain song here.

5 rupaiye ka common sense dijiye please

Life would have been so much simple if common sense was available in kirana stores.. because we all seem to need it. And small doses would do, better than having none at all, right?

Don't know about you guys, but it would have been  a lot more benign for me at least.. for my senses can no longer jhelofy the stupidity of people around me, which has attained atrocious levels of late.

Some typical instances of people not realizing that they lack basic common sense:

- You are talking on mobile, to one of your clients. Another client of yours wants to talk to you - he calls you on your mobile, finds the line 'busy', so he calls you again, finding it, to his surprise 'busy', and so he calls you some 10 times, shocked at how your line can remain 'busy' for full 3 minutes. I mean, obviously, there aren't any other people in the whole world who you speak to other than him. So, he decides to call on your land-line but no one picks up (maybe, because you are on the other line?) and then he calls your colleague who tells him that you are speaking to someone on phone and will call him back. This, when you have a habit of promptly returning each and every call that you missed. Stupid?
.... and I, seem to have too many such clients!

- You find that one of your friends seems to have posted a video of a girl in a short red skirt with an axe on Facebook. The post is tantalizingly titled 'Don't you want to find out what happens to this stupid girl?' and your friend seems to have tagged some 149 people in the post. Now, your friend never does such a thing... posting a random video and then tagging random people in it. Maybe, it's a spam / bug / worm? But then, how can you NOT find out what happens to that girl in a short skirt? The voyeur-with-a-dirty-mind in you gets the better of the normal-man-in-possession-of-common-sense and you click on the video.
... only fact that will save you from the ignominy of telling the whole world you are a creep is that all your friends will also fall for this trick. And there seem to be too many such worms on Facebook and too many dumb people in my friends' list.

- You are a Social Networking Activist, which means that you want to spread awareness about all that is wrong in this world from the comforts of your cozy bed, by posting your opinions on Facebook / Twitter / Orkut and other such sites. So you read somewhere on the net a headline that goes .."Madras High court ruling that sex is equal to marriage... " You jump in joy. What a kill!... and you update your status - How many of you got married today? ... oh my God, Madras court has gone senile.... This happens only in India!... and your other Social Networking Activist friends join in with appropriate OMGs and Let's sign online petition opposing this and shit. Of course, not one of you thinks it would be relevant to read the context of the decision at all (huh, like I care?).
... but don't worry, no one will find out that you are dumb, because no one will bother to know the context anyway. Your activism shall thrive and people would feel happy that they have done their good deed for the day by 'liking' your status update.

Morons!

Why preach when you can threaten

Smoking is cool. Smoking defines machismo. Smoking helps you calm your nerves. I totally buy all that logic. And after all, it's your life and your fucking lungs. I am really not bothered.

But then you don't let me be. You walk beside me on the road and blow smoke in the air around me. You stand next to me at the chai-wallah and light a cigarette. You stand in front of me in the queue at the station and defile the air that I breathe. I am not asthmatic. But I hate inhaling smoke like thousand others who do. And I definitely don't want to die of passive smoking. That would be stretching imagination a bit too far, no one dies of passive smoking, you would point out and laugh. So let me explain my problem in an alternative way.

How would you feel if we are all standing in a queue, and suddenly I take out my bottle, gulp some water, gargle and then spit it out all around. Obviously I do it in a way so that drops of water fall on your body. Disgusted?

Better, we are all sitting in a restaurant and I stand up, turn around so that my bums face your nose, and let out a nice, smelly fart?

I can take it to the next level, but you should get the drift by now.

You may say it's not the same thing. I would agree with you. And add that what you are doing is actually worse. The smoke that comes out from your mouth has possibly traveled across all your innards and would carry with it (in addition to the toxic tobacco fumes) traces of all kinds of germs that reside in your body. My spit or fart would be less harmful by a long shot. I am no doctor or scientist. I am just using plain logic.

So, next time you are in company of people who don't smoke, or in any public place, and you itch to light a cigarette, just be warned that I may be lurking around the corner, waiting to offer you the wettest of my spit or the smelliest of my fart. I never liked the concept of 'tit for tat' more than now. Good luck with that.

Meri pant bhi sexy hai

These trousers are apparently a
cross between frocks and leggings

I am a fashion disaster in every possible sense of the term. There was a time when I would only wear pleated trousers. Then, gradually, I moved on to flat fronts. But, by this time, the world seems to have taken several leaps as far as fashion is concerned and my wardrobe is still filled with the traditional old-school trousers.

And the woresht thing is that I don't even like the new styles that people wear these days, so how do I adapt to them? Arre, don't laugh, have you seen the kind of stuff people wear these days?

*Pants that are so tight that one cannot even wriggle their legs through them. I mean how are you supposed to sit, run, walk, or squat wearing them?

*Then, there are pants that seem to balloon above your knees. Like you are wearing a frock and then someone just took a sellotape and wrapped the lower part of the frock around your legs tightly.

*Pants that are orange, pink, yellow and red? I thought only Govinda had licence to wear those.

*And, yeah, boxer shorts were supposed to be worn as underpants, no? People seem to have adopted them as the new pajamas now.

So much so, that if you look at someone from behind, it's hard to tell if it's a guy or a girl. Clothes, hairdos, there hardly seems to be any differentiation. Sadly, gone are those days when Calcutta was wayyy behind in catching up to these mind-fucked fads. In times to come, people on the road are gonna point at me and laugh  madly - 'Look he is wearing normal trousers. Ha!'.

Death only.

Return of the skinny Hero

The malnourished, skinny
hero is back?

It is not technically a 'return', as Bollywood never really had skinny heroes. But the whole obsession with ripped abs and bulging biceps had attained completely crazy proportions of late. Even the background dancers in Bollywood songs these days seem to be gym-regulars. I mean, what had the world come to.... But then I saw the promo of Raanjhanaa... and heaved a sigh of relief.

Let me explain the background first.

As those of you, who read my blog on and off, already know, I am no Adonis. From early childhood I have been lanky, those types whose muscles refuse to camouflage the bones, and the latter stick out at odd angles all over the body. I successfully managed to thwart Mummy's attempts to feed me nutritious food, and remained proud of my lean frame. By the time I realized that girls had now started drooling over Salman Khan and John Abraham, it was too late.

But now, I am hoping, the trend shall reverse. I shall proudly wear my half-sleeved T-shirt and roam around on the roads. No more would Sonia look at me tirchi nazron se, when while watching a movie, the hero on screen lifts up the heroine in his arms and pirouettes all around. And if anyone ever makes fun of my non-existent biceps, I can shut them up by saying - Fashion hai yaar, even heroes are skinny these days. 

Amen.

'Finger on the lips' was taught in school for a reason

I am a curious fellow. And this curiosity makes me ask silly questions all the time. Sometimes, I wish I could keep my big mouth shut. At least when watching TV with Sonia and Mom, if not always.

Let me illustrate now, why I say that:

I come back home early from work. As I enter the drawing room, I find that everyone's watching some serial on TV. I remember the characters and bits & pieces of the plot from the last time I had come home early (say a few weeks back). But I notice that there are a few more characters who I don't know.

'Yeh kaun hai?' I ask innocently.

'She is fiancee of the main lead', someone replies.

'Hmm... but wasn't the main lead engaged to the the other girl?'

Everyone looks at me impatiently. 'Do you want to know one month's story in a few minutes?'

'As if these serials have a story', I murmur and leave for the bedroom.

Similarly, on other occasions too. So, we all are watching this dance show where celebrities (apparently) dance to get brownie points from judges. The women in my family, who truly understand the beauty of dance art form, let out occasional gasps and appreciating shrieks, while watching the show. 

Some couple is moving funnily on the dance floor. 

I snigger, 'Yeh bhi koi dance hai?'

The women look at me angrily, 'Aapko dance aata hai?'

'I can't dance, I agree. But then I also don't want to dance on TV!'

'This is called contemporary dance. What do you know?'

'I don't want to know', I murmur and leave for the bedroom.

One more example, let me give. We are watching some saas-bahu serial. The saas is taking the bahu's case, royally. I look at my mom, bare my teeth and say, 'Mummy, why don't you scold Sonia like this?'

Do I even need to tell you guys what had followed? Sigh. Finger on my lips from now on I tell you.

And then I am not supposed to judge you?

I am usually nice to others. And I also try and be as patient with morons as is possible for awesome people. But then there would always be those who make you wonder what exactly went wrong with human evolution.

And I am not even talking about things like farting in public, adoring SRK and his panty-revealing antics during IPL, borrowing my pen and not returning it etc. I mean I have matured now into tolerating all of these.

But not these:

When using the Men's Room:
- Try and pee in the pan (that's why it's there!), it's not so difficult to aim you know. I don't want to step into a pool of pee when I use the men's room
- You are not a woman. So please don't start a kitty party in the men's room. Do your stuff and leave, what's with all the conversations and camaraderie while in the stalls!
- Wash your hands after you are done? The number of men who don't do this is mind-boggling! Be sure, if I have seen you just rush out in apparent hurry, I am never shaking that hand again.

And otherwise:
- I have a terrible memory. And I am totally not the guy who'd remember your name if I don't meet you everyday. So I would understand if you have the same problem. But what's with faking a memory lapse? Does it give you some false sense of superiority?
Umm... I know you are Patwari.. and your name starts with a Y and ends in an H, but I can't remember what it was.
- Govt. has made public parks where young couples can sit and express their love for each other in myriad ways. Then there are other popular places like the Rabindra Sarovar or Nandan Cinema where, unofficially, singles are not allowed at all - as they take up space which can be put to better use by couples.
But then you choose to do PDA inside a crowded Metro compartment? I refuse to blame it on raging hormones... your hand in his back pocket, and his hand somewhere on you doesn't even appeal to the voyeur in me.

There are many others. But what's the point? I can't change the world. (But I can Blog).

Ladka ho mere jaisa, ladki ho tere jaisi

I am convinced now that my accidental decision to do an MBA might have been actually a blessing in disguise. Because had I not done an MBA, I would definitely have ended up being a bachelor all my life.

I am privy to a lot of matchmaking conversations these days. And MBA grooms are the only ones in demand.

Sample this..

"Ladka MBA hai ji", heightened interest all around.
Being the inquisitive guy that I am, I end up asking, "umm.. which campus?"
And they give me what-does-that-mean? look. "I meant which school did he do his MBA from?"
"That we don't know.. some college in College Street, but how does it matter? He is an MBA, that's all that matters"
I decide there is no point in me participating in this conversation at all.
"He would be making 25-30 lacs I guess. Not everyone can earn that crore salary ji. What say, Vicky?" they clearly don't want me to kat lo that easily.
"Huh? How would I know... not all jobs..."
"Arre, how much do you earn, tell us?"
Now that's one question I hate. Flashes of earlier "Haw, didn't u study at IIM Bangalore?" conversations run through my mind. "Umm.. around... <some arbit figure>"
"He would definitely earn this much... see, college doesn't matter then..."

Random aunts have been calling me to ask if any of my MBA friends would be suitable for their girls, or girls they know. Apparently, it's not only the parents, but the girls themselves, who want only MBA husbands. Not without reason then that a lot of p(h)onytail MBA institutes are springing up here and there... and they get SRK to endorse them, the most eligible husband that our generation has seen, whatever that means.

So, yeah, MBA. And blissful married Life. Bet you never foresaw this correlation. Sigh.

Revenge

She giggled, as they sat,
In the ominous shadows,
By the calm of the lake,
Not letting time slip by.

He heard her chortle,
Through the veils of thunder,
Echoing in his mind,
And it made him shiver.

She fell back into the water,
Beckoning him, with her eyes,
He laughed out loud,
As he lunged forward.

He reached for her hand,
And held it tight,
As she pulled him down,
Deep.

She wouldn't let him go,
He wouldn't let  her go,
Her eyes spitted fire,
And his, untold tale of yearning.

I need to be paid more, because I put up with Mr. Grumpy

I have dealt with a lot of weirdos in my long life of 28 years. And most of them in my short working career of last 4 years. But then there are some people who clearly drive you to the brink of your patience.

So this colleague of mine thinks he is God's gift to mankind and the whole world is out there to make his life miserable. Here's what I want to tell him and yet, being the nice guy that I am (*sniggers*), can't, so I am venting it all out on my blog instead:

*You can't complain about 'work-life balance' when you come late to office, leave early, and play the whole day on your iPad. I mean have you ever looked at people around you and realized that each of us is slogging our asses off, while you sit on your over-sized bottom doing nothing whole day?

*Has there ever been a day when you have come to office and said, 'Wow, what a beautiful day! I am feeling hale and hearty'? I am amazed at the amount of creativity that goes into coming up with ailments such as 'involuntary spasms at the back of my upper arm' - use some of that on work-related things and I may actually like you.

*Are you really that gullible that everyone around you wants to cheat you and you have to have heated telephone conversations with them, demanding compensation, reversals, alleging mental harassment, wanting to speak to seniors of call center employees and what not. And all of this while you are in office. I mean why is that everyone from mobile operator, to credit card company, to doodhwala, to kaamwali bai, to insurance company, to retail chains, to local kirana store, wants to defraud you - within a span of a few hours, and this goes on in a loop?

*If you are walking with me on a crowded pavement, and people nudge past you, you cannot screech like a schoolgirl. No you can't.

*If you do decide to come with me for client meetings, don't expect me to ferry you around in cool-cabs. And if I have managed to cajole you into one of those yellow taxis, don't crib about heat and pollution. I have enough worries in my life that to tend to a 35 years old baby which throws tantrums every other minute.

I have a tough life at work. But then, I sometimes think, wouldn't life at work be boring if I didn't have people like you around.. 

Bollywood, you have sinned!

If you want to get into my bad bad books, you don't really have to try that hard. Try any of these things and I will run after you like a mad bull:

1. You make fun of bald men: Yes, I find such stupid jokes to be in extremely bad taste. I mean why single out bald men - make fun of those fat men, those short men, those Bihari men who hold each others' hands while crossing the road, those hippie men with long hair, that John Abraham strutting around in undies, Uday Chopra getting another movie, Shahrukh Khan doing... anything (haha, really weird!), Arindam Chaudhury, Saurav Ganguly - there are so many options. I just don't like such silly banter about bald men - and no, it's got nothing to do at all with the fact that I am losing hair at a crazy pace.

2. You say Harry Potter is meant for kids. I just have one word for you. Muggle!

3. You mess around with anything that's related to Sridevi. And Bollywood, you are testing my patience on this one. I mean why can't you leave some things alone. Just, just leave them alone, my memories of Sridevi included.

First it was Tusshar Kapoor - who's an example of everything that can horribly go wrong to a star-kid born without looks or talent - trying to bump bottoms with some female (who agreed to act opposite him!) and rendering irreparable damage to one of the bestest Sridevi songs that ever was.

Then it's that John Abraham, whose career has quickly gone down the chute (in spite of him stripping for filmmakers who are known to appreciate such things) trying to pull a fast one here. I mean, how lame does it sound! ... whoever thought it was a brilliant idea to twist around with the lyrics of the song is an ass!

And then we have some ghostly-white belle from south impersonating Sridevi herself! If you guys have run out of original ideas, fine, I can tolerate all of that. But, don't mess around with things that are too sacred to touch. Get it this time...

Relay

"Rafique, please understand. We serve pure vegetarian food in 'Krishna' restaurant. Your appearance... ... ..
...our customers don't feel comfortable walking in when they see a Muslim attendant.. hope you understand... "

Rafique was seething with anger as he maneuvered his bike through the crowded lane, cycling furiously. He almost threw the bicycle in the alley next to the staircase and rushed upstairs. How would he feed his family now? He entered his kholi to find Ayesha adjusting the cushions on the diwan. Her dupatta wasn't covering her head. In a fit of rage, he slapped her tight across the face. "Begairat!".

***

Her face still smarting, Ayesha peeled the skin off the potatoes and dropped them in boiling water. She didn't even realize that tears were welling up in her eyes. Sarika's arrival diverted her attention.

Sarika looked glad and content. She had a notebook and pencil in her hands. Ayesha's eyes widened. In a quick movement, she snatched the notebook away with one hand, and pulled Sarika's ear with the other.
"How many times have I told you not to touch your brother's things?"
"Ammi, I want to go to school too"
"I will send you to school! ..." shrieked Ayesha as she forced Sarika's right palm in the pan filled with boiling water.

***

"Come play with us Sarika"
"No I am not in the mood", Sarika sat on the stairs nursing her bandaged palm, as her friends played with clay dolls in the aisle. She could see Amruta limping in the distance. A wicked smile appeared on her face as she got up and hopped towards Amruta.

Amruta saw her and stopped in her track. Her eyes were fearful. Sarika pinched her on her arm.
"Don't" shouted Amruta.
"Why? What will you do otherwise? Run after me and hit me?" Sarika's laugh was maniacal.

***

"Why do you go out to play with that Sarika, baby?"
"I don't mummy, she comes to me and hits me" Amruta was inconsolable.

She finally felt better after her mom gave her a chocolate bar. As she limped into her room, Amruta found her grandfather sleeping on the cot. She hated sharing her room with this old man, who irritated her with his stories. Even her mom and dad didn't like him and were waiting for the day when he would die and leave them alone.

Balaji woke up and looked at her polio-ridden granddaughter with extreme sadness.
"Come to me, beta"
Amruta made a contorted face and sat down to play with her dolls, ignoring her grandfather's call.

***

Balaji Rao was proud of the way he had raised his sons. Even though he was a man of little means, he had ensured that both his sons studied in English medium schools. And what a gem Shrikant had turned out to be. He worked in a reputed bank, had a beautiful wife and a lovely daughter. Only if polio hadn't affected poor Sarika. Balaji let out a sigh.

Neelesh entered the room with hesitant steps.
"Papa, do you want anything from the market?"
"Yes, get me some poison, will you? Better to die than have a son like you"

As Neelesh left, Balaji gritted his teeth. What sins of his previous birth had made him sire a gay son?

***

Neelesh sat on the ledge, staring blankly at the waves breaking at the rocks. It wasn't his fault.

"Neelesh, you are sitting here! We have been looking everywhere!"
Neelesh turned and saw Ashok and Kalpesh running towards him.
"What happened?"
"You forgot? Today is our rally!"

How could Neelesh have forgotten! These asshole Biharis needed to be taught a lesson. They'd come and defiled their precious city, made it dirty with their filthy ways and worse, undercut them to take up their jobs.

But things would change soon. Rana Saheb had taken up arms against these infidels. Only today morning, his party people had bashed the owner of 'Krishna' restaurant in a North Indian locality, for refusing to put-up a signboard in Marathi.

***

Five years

They stood there, together
Like strangers,
Who knew each other too well.

Feeling claustrophobic, in the open park
He finally let go,
Letting the silence tear his heart apart.

He looked back, after they bid goodbye
polite and curt,
This wasn't meant to end. Not like this, anyway.


****

It had been just five years. No. It had been five fucking years. And it felt like they had met each other for the first time.

****

'So, you will call me, right? I don't have money to call you in London', he chuckled.
'No, I won't, fucker' .... he rolled his eyes, snatching the cigarette from his hands, and laughing madly. 'Stop talking like a kid, it's just London'.
'I am gonna miss you man'
'Abbe saale, internet hai na'....

****

Lux wala Shahrukh

It's been a while that I have written anything on Bollywood at all. And every time this happens, I start getting all panicky. I loiter around the house, lost in thoughts (making Sonia anxious) and also my bowel movements suffer (making me anxious). So, let me get this out of the way like it should be done, by blogging about all the recent stuff Bollywood has made me sit through.


Garmi wali Thand

In Garmi wali Thand, girls wear overcoats
with short skirts

Student of the Year was made with a purpose. To boost sales of pharma companies: by sending an entire generation of teenagers into depression about how their school isn't as cool as the one shown in the movie, about why the guys can't have those rippling muscles by the time they are sixteen, about why the school-girls can't go on holidays with friends to exotic beaches and strut around in flimsy bikinis, about why if their parents had to be poor, they could at least be able to afford designer clothes and sports bike, like in the movie. Of course, the movie had other agendas too: like launch the next Arjun Rampal (with, possibly, the shadiest ever double-meaning song playing in the background).

In the movie, Kareena kept waiting
for a policeman with a dead son
and a mad wife

Aamir wali Movie

Like all movie-goers, even I was looking forward to the next Aamir movie. Kuch to alag hoga, for sure. Little did I know that it will be baap of all alag movies. It was like Paris Hilton inviting you for a date and then when you reach the venue, you find Uday Chopra sitting there with pink roses in his hands. It was like you showing all answers to the pretty girl sitting behind you in the exam and then during the bye-bye moment, she saying 'Thank you bhaiya'. I mean the performances were good and all, but who the fuck goes and watches a Bollywood movie for performances. Only saving grace was Kareena looking like million bucks, even in the devastatingly KLPD climax.


Lux wala Shahrukh

Sale of Lux Soap dropped sigficantly after
the release of JTHJ

It is perhaps the worst kept secret in India that men use Lux Soap and Fair & Lovely cream (not the mardon wali, but the original one). The sale of Lux Soap had actually skyrocketed after Shahrukh Khan was shown on TV using it, kind of legitimizing what men had always done anyway. But much to HUL's chagrin, Shahrukh plays a 25-year old with wrinkles in Jab Tak Hai Jaan. Men came out of the theater wondering if the same would happen to them if they continued using Lux. The movie also starred Katrina Kaif's wax statue and Anushka Sharma, who was dressed in Lux (different from the above Lux) underwear and banyaan.

Sridevi taught viewers how to speak with
a French guy in Hindi

Sridevi wala Back-with-a-Bang

Midst all the madness, there was a no-nonsense, light-hearted, simple tale of love, respect, dignity and pain, that tickled your funny bone and tugged at your tear-ducts at the same time.

Ok, ok, I am a big-time Sridevi fan (as all those who read this blog already know) and my reviews are normally biased. But this was one good movie, and no one can take that away.


Next post on Bollywood only after I come back from my little vacation and then having seen Mr. Chulbul Pandey in his new avatar *Giggles*

The curse of Rani Mukherjee

We all have these moments of truth in our lives, when we realize that we actually aren't as awesome as we've always thought. And these moments can hit the narcissist in us anytime, anywhere, without much of a warning.

So, I was working my ass off as a treasury dealer, hating my job to the core, but being the nice guy that I am, putting in every bit of me into it. And then the fateful day arrived.

We struck deals with our clients on phone. And because these deals involved obnoxious sums of money, all calls were on recorded lines. So, we could refer to the recording anytime there was an issue on any deal. So, yeah, there was an issue with a particular deal of mine, and my boss and me, went to the back-office to listen to the taped conversation between me and the client.

The recording started playing. There were two people talking. And I was in shock.

Hang on a second. Which one is my voice? Not this one! No, No, No! I sound cracked, a little like Rani Mukherjee!

That was a day I died a thousand deaths. I realized that I speak in a coy (like am scared), kiddish, lame, subdued, cracked (this was the most irritating bit) voice. I hated the tone, the pitch, and everything that sound is supposed to be made of. I can't possibly sound like this! I mean, why me!

I was in depression for a few days. I prayed to God, please make my voice more manly, heavy and tough. Amitabh Bacchan? Ok, I am willing to settle for Arjun Rampal. Ok, maybe, thoda baritone? But that wasn't supposed to happen. I am pretty used to my voice now and have resigned to fate.

As if I ever wanted to participate in Indian Idol. Hmph.


PS: Make no mistake. I am still pretty much in love with myself. The eternal type. Just that there is no harm in laughing at one's own fallacies. Makes life a little more bearable :-)

Ladke ki chaal mein khot hai!

It's been two months in to my new job. I usually take the Metro to and from work. Today a colleague and I left from office together, and we were walking towards the Metro station. Suddenly, out-of-context, he asked, 'Tum modelling karta tha kya?'
I pompously gave him a 'oh-I-get-this-so-often' look and asked with a twinkle, 'Kyon?'
He did not tell me what I wanted to hear.
"Your walk... it's.. weird", he said, while looking at my legs.
"What do you mean weird?"
"You walk as if you are walking on a ramp."
"Huh?"
"Not in a bad way, it's nice, but it attracts others' attention" he added, now that I was visibly upset.

I was taken back to my childhood days when my dad would scold me for not walking properly. I don't walk, I hop, he would say. Maybe, I should have listened to him then. Is umra mein aake yeh sab nahi sun na padta.

Among peers and family members, many have always told me that I walk faster than the rest. But no one, ever, told me that I walk in a weird way. I mean, I have made fun of so many of my classmates on how they walk. No one ever made fun of me! But then, they also had to borrow my notes for studying.

I was brought back to the present by the sound of the Metro's arrival. My colleague was still looking at my legs. "Maybe one of your legs is shorter than the other" he said thoughtfully, as I contemplated pushing him in front of the arriving train.

Are you the new random person in my life?

My LinkedIn profile has been bombarded with 'Invitations' to connect of late. 90% of these are people I don't know. No, nothing spectacular at all has happened in my professional or personal life, which could have catapulted my popularity to new levels. Initially I thought maybe it's my cute-boy-next-door display pic, but nah, honestly, I just have no frigging clue why I am getting these invites. Maybe LinkedIn is the new Facebook, where more 'connections' matter. Just like I was getting these Facebook friend requests some years ago, before I got married that is (*fondly remembers*).

So, I sent this message to a few of them, asking them if I knew them, and also telling them, in a brotherly sort of way, that it would have been polite if they'd sent me a message introducing themselves before sending an invite. That must have scared them I guess, for none of them replied. Now I've stopped sending those messages to random people who add me.

A lot of juniors from college, school, tuition classes (!) add me all the time. Initially I used to do a thorough background check before adding them. Then I simply started accepting all requests, too lazy to investigate. But, now, when I figure that half of my Facebook friend list is people I don't know, I reject any random request that comes. Don't care if the person thinks am rude anymore.

Most of these 'friends' are content at just adding me. And they never bother me, send me no messages, never 'like' any of my pics or status updates. So, I was pretty convinced  that it's just a numbers thing... having more friends! But then there are some weirdos too. So, this chic added me on Facebook a few months back.. had a marwari name, and I thought must be some relative or junior.. and I accepted the request, without bothering to check who she was. She pinged me a few days later-
'Do I know you?'
'I don't know.. you added me two days back I guess'
'Excuse me, I don't add strangers!'
'Funny, because I don't add strangers either! :)'
Two minutes later ...'Now that we are friends, no harm in knowing each other. What do you do?'
I removed her from my friend list.

Kids!