Rants and Rambles

How many kilometers from Washington DC to Miami Beach?

2009-05-16T22:46:00.004+05:30

On a quiet evening at my office sometime in 2008, I get a phone call from Shyam.
Shyam: Da! we got an Idea.
I: Who is “we”?
Shyam: You and me.
I: Oh!
Shyam: Da, lets drive from Delhi to Bangalore. We will do it in December, I have done the research on the route, things to see, places to stay and all... Perreria and nishu have agreed to come...
I: Wow!! drive from Delhi to Bangalore, wow! But what about the car?
Shyam: heh heh, its actually nishu's Idea. His parents are retiring and he has to bring the car back to Bangalore.
I: Oh yeah! I remember his email. Ok, man I will ask my manager for the leave right away... wow! I am so exited.... we rock dude!
Shyam: Control your “gay” attitude and get the leave now!
I: Ok, ok. Hold on machu, I will talk to him right away.

Suddenly, a thunderbolt hits Wipro campus and a certain engineer turns into a slimeball just like that!!
Slimeball slides up to the slimeball's manager.
Slimeball: Manager, manager could you give me a weeks leave during December?
Manager: No way! I am sending you to the U.S during that time. No leave!
Slimeball: What!!!! To the U.S of A where the blonde's live!!!
Manager(dreamy look in his eyes): Yes and please get off my boots!

Tring Tring!
Shyam picks up the phone and hears the following dialogue followed by a click.
“YOU DIRTY INDIAN!!!!” you can go to Delhi yourself, I am going to the U.S in search of my destiny.

The next call was to my mother.
Me: Woman!!! all your prayers have come to naught and I am finally going to the U.S of A.
Amma: What!!! “Entae velankanni mathaave! chathicho!!!*” How can you let my stupid irresponsible son go to that immoral country, where his corrupted mind will find fertile ground! Dont worry son, I will burn a hundred candles to stop this.
Me: What!!! don't you dare!!

The following months passed in ecstatic expectation. Fortunately my mothers prayers went unanswered and on a cool December night, I was all ready to fly. As is the custom in my family, before any long journey, there was a prayer said.

Amma: Hail Mary, full of grace....

Not to be left behind, I also said a prayer.

Oh Lord, make the blondes promiscuous,
The latino’s volptous
The blacks luscious
The chinese sensuous
and keep far away, the Indians!
I know, I am asking too much, but hey! Thats why we call you “God” God.

Thus, without much drama, I boarded the flight(Airbus A-380!!!) and reached NY.

Interview with the immigration official at the port of entry
Immigration official: Reason for visit?
Me: Fun fun fun…err I mean, to work in the U.S of A
IO: Your relationship with Al-quaeda?
Me: They intend to bomb the blondes…. I intend to bang the blondes. Erm... I mean we don’t have any ‘relationship’ as such.
IO: What is your opinion about the Iraq war?
Me: Your bomb to democracy strategy.... wow! what an Idea sirjee!
IO: It says your religion is “Syrian Catholic” what is your nefarious relationship with the Syrians?
Me: The patriarch of Antioch is a good man, I however, follow the Pope.
IO: Ok, One final question. How many kilometers from Washington DC to Miami Beach?
Me (Happy tears in my eyes!): "ha!ha!ha! I am the answer...Kilometers and kilometers.. in these days of degenerating decency of Miami beach to Washington DC when diplomacy and supercity become interchangeable from complicated America to America!!**"
IO(Happy tears in his eyes!): Welcome to the U.S son, Welcome Welcome!!

For those of you who would like to contact me while I am here. The address is provided below.
24/7 (read 24 “bar” 7)
Strip (and search) club
Hottie babes road
Sin city
Pin 666-666

For those doubting Thomases out there...

* Oh! My sweet mother Mary!
** Old Mohanlal movie dialogue.

Green Peace and New Year Resolutions

2009-01-03T04:59:00.003+05:30

Resolutions, I avoid like the plague, they are not meant for fickle minded people like me who should be put to sea, that their business might be everything and their intent everywhere.

But then, the flesh is weak and this year, against my better judgment I have resolved to learn cooking. (Wipe that dumb smile off your face, will you!).

Scene 1 - Camera rolling.
Camera man: What’s all this bloody smoke, I can’t see a thing! Is this cooking or smokescreen for shooting “I am a disco dancer!”.
Me (Sheepish grin): Err… I put the wrong oil I Think.
CM: what did you put?
Me: Was blue in color… come to think of it, could be kerosene
CM: Bloody hell!!!!!

Scene 2 – Frantic call home.
Me: Amme I have added the salt and pepper… now what?
Amma: let it fry for a minute.
Me (after a minute): It stuck to the bottom!! Why did you ask me to wait so long? You are so dumb amma!
Amma: Oh Really! That’s strange….. did you not add two cups of water initially like I told you to?
Me: ermm.. ummm…. Cant hear you….. bad line.. screech screech!! CUT!

Scene 3 – http://pachakam.com
Me: Search for ചെറുപയറു തോരന്‍ (green gram whatever)
Computer: Two recipes found!
Me: Click number 1
Computer: Add one cup of green gram to blah blah blah…

Two hours, 3 smoke alarms, 2 fires and one bad curry later.
Me (Thinking): What went wrong??? Let me check it with Amma.
Me: I made ചെറുപയറു തോരന്‍ today, this is how I did it… blah blah. But for some reason it went wrong!
Amma: Forget the thoran, how did the last one turn out, eh?
Me: I am asking you a q here!! Focus on it, will you!
Amma: Ok big shot, shoot your q!
Me: What did I do wrong with the thoran?
Amma: You seem to have done it right… hmmm did you soak the green gram overnight/boil it at least once in water?
Me: No! pachakam.com didn’t say anything about soaking.
Amma: You idiot! Even a 5 year old knows that you can’t add raw green grams to make thoran!! It would be so hard to bite.
Me: I am not a 5 year old you know!! CUT!!

Scene 4 – The ego swallow.
Me: Ammae…. Its me again…heh heh.
Amma: Oh! The snob is back! Thought you didn’t want any more advice from your poor old mom.
Me: നല്ല അമ്മ അല്ലഏ ഒന്നു കൂടി പറഞ്ഞേ (repeat please!)
Amma: hmm… well this is the last time I am going to repeat, so hear it proper, ok! You need to soak the gram for a night or boil it, add… blah blah.
Me: Got it!
Next day.
Amma: How did it go?
Me: Ever heard of paradise lost?
Amma: Speak no more!
Me: Ammae! How about cooking green peas?
Amma: What I want now is some green peace!!

P.S: I am selling some cooking pots, pans, plates, oil and rotten vegetables... real big discounts hurry hurry before offer closes. I need to buy some peace-of-mind though, know any good deal?

The compliment Trap

2008-11-18T13:55:00.002+05:30

An open letter to the toddlers of the day (Generation X Version N)

The best compliments are ones that are overheard.

For reasons unknown, the above mentioned thing has never happened to me. I however blame it on my low hearing power rather than on people not complimenting me behind my back.

But the above proverb (coined by me… Thank you! Thank you!) is incomplete. “At a high price” or something to that affect should complete it. For, it is my theory that each compliment comes at a high price. Let me enumerate using an example.

When I was a kid, I was bad at studies. Not because I lacked intelligence, on the contrary it was due to the fact that I had and uncommon amount of it. You see, I realized very early, that life was a set of rat races and you better join the “right” race. I saw my class mates slog it out and get 1st ranks. They got complimented to the high heavens for getting first rank.

But, did it end there? Oh no! They went on to the IIT’s and competed with an even superior set of rats. Naturally, they slogged their a**** off just to be in the race. Did it end there? (Hmm… why do I get the feeling that you already know the answer?) Of course it didn’t. They just went on to get their high flying (read back biting) jobs. Last heard, most of the men have gone bald and impotent and the women… well whatever they become under pressure.

I, on the other hand chose the slow moving race. Again, I reiterate… not out my lack of intelligence, but the over-abundance of it. I thus got 50th rank when I could have easily got the 1st. I got into an average college, an average workplace and guess what? I am today a half-nosed king in a land of the nose-less* (Not coined by me, but I am thinking of taking the patent anyways!).

The compliment trap.
Just imagine that for some obscure reason, your mother tells you “you are such a sweet kid”, don’t for a moment be kidded into saint hood. Just tell her “yeah sure, but I won’t repeat it!” I did it and just see where I am today. The lesser compliments you get, the lazier you can be.

The image trap
Another trap that you should look out for is “image”. Sometimes even the dregs of society will have a good “image” back home. End result… a split personality! You go to great lengths to keep your nice-guy-image and in the process end up worse by a hundred beers. Your father would be thinking “how did this imbecile ever spring from my loins? He doesn’t even want to share a drink with me” and you would be thinking “Ah! I have such a nice image in front of my parents…ooh! La la la!”

So here some pointers on successfully managing parental expectations
1) Be lazy.
2) Be a trouble maker at school. It’s a great way to trash your image.
3) Don’t fall into the compliment trap. So, if somebody says you are a good painter.. Abhor the brush from then on. Or they will end up making you the next Picaso!
4) Don’t fall into the image trap. You end up losing your identity.

Once you gain entry into the “hope-written-off” category, things are pretty easy (as if they weren’t from the start!). Show even a flash of mediocrity and everyone around you is all agape with wonder (Think mentally retarded person doing the sums). Show a little concern, a little love and a little mix of other human qualities and it is heralded as the “new beginning”. Of course if you screw up, nobody cares since the “I-knew-he-would-screw-up” psychology kicks in.

But over the years you may lose sight of the path and then, one fine morning you hear that whisper behind your back... the dreaded compliment! That’s when you know its time for a re-evaluation of priorities.

I will shortly be coming up with a book on “successfully under achieving – a guide to lazy happiness”. It will teach you the art of staying lazy yet brilliantly happy the whole of your life. And all this without moving even your little finger...:D (Ok, you got to turn the pages… but that is about it)

*Detractor’s claim that they can’t see my nose either… but then that is why they are called as such!

Following Buddha’s path.

2008-11-10T21:54:00.006+05:30

“Knock, knock! Open up you bloody ass*****” I shouted from outside Tony’s flat.
Tony (Pullachen) opened the door, his eyes looking blood shot (Whiskey eyes we call it).
But no middle fingers raised, no “get lost F*****” and to top it all, there is a smile playing on his tobacco stained lips!

I look around… is this the right house? Is this the same Pulla? Or was he just too drunk to reciprocate our honorable salutations?
“What’s it da? What’s wrong, why do you look so dazed?” I ask him, thoroughly bewildered.
“Nothing man! I was meditating.”
.
.
.

May the heavens open up and strike me if I am exaggerating one bit... But you could have felled me with a feather right then!!
Nothing rattles us Menacherry’s you know, but then there are these rare moments (The last one being way back in ‘82 when pop Menacherry saw me first time!) when even us great souls lay down our arms in defeat and cry, I quit!.

This was no laughing matter! Our gang’s premier pillar of immorality had suddenly turned into frigging snow white!!! Just like that! The world is definitely going to the dogs, I decided.

Seems like it was the "Pyramid spiritual societies movement" that did this to him! (Must be a pretty evil society!!)

I didn’t care one hoot for all this meditation crap, but he gave me the speech anywayz. It seems that all you need to do is to sit in a comfortable position, close your eyes and take deep breaths. Sounded easy! And to top it, if you are sitting inside a big pyramid, you end up getting a lot cosmic energy…free! No cash backs though…:(

Next thing I know, I am part of the gang that is supposed to visit this pyramid situated about 40 K.M from Bangalore, on the Kanakapura route. Naturally, I was not consulted about it!

Thus on Nov. 2 Sunday morning, I found myself in the company of (women? No! That’s just wishful thinking!) three dumbos who actually believed in this meditation bull shit, namely, Shyam, Pulla and Pakkan.

The place in q is still under construction. Like all holy places, one is supposed to remove ones shoe. I hate removing my shoes, but decided to conform to the rules and not be a spoil sport. What if the pyramid had any special powers after all, eh? Better to be on the right side of un-known entities. They are kind of well known to look down on people with shoes!

The pyramid… well it was an imposing structure, about 5 storeys tall (a rough guess). It looks grey from the outside with some sinister symbols drawn along its triangular faces. We trooped in and were welcomed by a number of boards saying “Silence please!” Thus, totally clammed up and in a highly spiritual mood we entered the pyramid... only to see workers happily hammering away at the struts! With each knock echoing about 5 times over inside the hollow pyramid. Ah! Such divine silence!

Situated at one third the height of the pyramid is the “Kings Seat” The point where all that elusive cosmic energy gets concentrated. We clambered up the stairs and sat in the requisite meditative pose. Pulla, with all his meditation experience entered into “trance mode” in about a minute. I, Shyam and Pakkan followed suit.

Though the meditation itself is simple, one basic percept regarding concentration is real tough. Your mind is supposed to be free from all wanton thoughts and be in full concentration. Easier said than done as I found out!

THUD!!!! That was Shakeela chechi being thrown out of my mind.
thud!! That was Aishwarya Rai.

More thuds ensued, but like Tharakasuara of folklore fame, for each one kicked out, a thousand sprang up! I peeked at the rest of the gang… they were all concentrating perfectly and that too with such serene expressions!

So, I closed my eyes and tried again. This time, I had better luck. I was able to concentrate for about..... 5 seconds...:( Time to change strategy, I decided. To keep my mind occupied, I started releasing the tension in my muscles one by one (an old technique learned during school days… but then, that’s another story!).

I started with my brow, then the pate, then the chin, then the neck… I remember doing it till my chest muscles. The next thing I remember is Tony waking me up..:( I must be an expert at meditation! It is said that only the greatest of the great can attain the "state of sleep" during meditation (Ok! I made it up, now don’t go Googling to prove me wrong!).

On the return journey, I kind of felt left out. They were going on and on about cosmic energy and how they literally “shivered” with all that energy. (Shivering my foot! The only shivering these idiots ever got was when they did not have their Friday night drink) But, I kept my peace. I was pissed off with myself for not being able to concentrate for any long period.

Thus, I am now in the serious search for concentration. I searched a lot and did some serious research on the subject. I guess, It is a well known problem. I found about a million hard ways to achieve it.

Some easy ways too! In my search for this great knowledge, I came upon this juicy fact. The Holy North Indian Baba’s smoke charas/ganja to achieve high levels of concentration!! Finally I have found my answer to all the worlds problems... Nirvana! Here I come!

Anybody got a bit of these narcotic items?? It’s for a good cause you know...:D

Sorrowful is the light my child and so soothing, the dark!*

2008-10-18T19:48:00.003+05:30

What is the longest running show on planet earth?
Sholay? Ha! It ran for a mere 5 years and that too, only in 1 theatre.
DDLJ? 7 years. Good, but not good enough to beat the mega show of the century(ies)

“Sorrowful is the light my child but soothing is the dark!” Never heard of it? That maybe since it is not a film in the true sense of the word. But once I introduce the cast and crew, the bulb in your head is going to light up (assuming that you paid your bill of course!)

Director: KSEB (Kerala state electricity board)
Producer: Govt. of Kerala
Actors: You and family.
Viewers: Hmm… considering it is dark, there is nothing much to view.

Like any other soap serial it has its fanatical followers and extreme detractors. I was born agnostic and should have been in neither faction. But in this case, I am definitely an avid supporter.

Power cuts are the epitome of get-togetherness when the whole nuclear family gets around the candle/emergency lamp/solar lamp and gossip to our hearts content. In fact, the most celebrated and eminent psychologist of our time Dr. Menacherry Avarachen** once remarked that “The absence of meaningful communication in the nuclear family is the root cause of all social evil, leading to mass suicides and general depression among the masses. One of the best man made remedies to this alarming disease was devised by our dear KSEB in their power cuts!”

Allow me to prove this theory in a more scientific fashion, with the relative advantages and disadvantages of a power cut.

Advantages	Disadvantages
No T.V	No T.V!
A great communication enabler. Everybody gossips!
Reduces global warming
Helps to develop keener eyesight and hearing
Reduces stress as one needn’t watch the horribly terrible, tear-jerking mallu soap serial where everyone seems to be crying their bloody hearts out.	Can have unforeseen side affects. Once, a tape containing some “funny” material got stuck in my V.C.R and God only knows the stress I went through till the power came back.
A nice excuse not to study. “Ammae do you want me to spoil my eyes reading in this dim light” dialogue always works!
An outlet to vent out for your sadistic urges. Pinching bottoms is so easy and nobody whacks you in return.

As you can see, the power-cut is one of the greatest social enablers of our time. This path-breaking treatment for depression and other such illness is sure to see new heights with the K.S.E.B announcing one hour cuts. Three cheers for K.S.E.B for providing this kind of “dhamaka” entertainment! What an idea K.S.E.B!!

*വെളിച്ചം ദുഖം ആണ് ഉണ്ണി തമസല്ലോ സുഗപ്രധം
** Any resemblance to living people is purely intentional.

The last of the Teetotalers

2008-10-12T01:37:00.004+05:30

[warning: Only Malaylees might understand this post due to the specific context and characters used.]

Prologue
Minister Paambu Velayudhan of the respected Govt. of Kerala was in a foul mood. It was a beautiful Hartal day when the Minister was enjoying his bottle of toddy, by a field of paddy and totally happy when those damn Green peace people (Stooges of a foreign capitalist power!!) called for a meeting to discuss about a highly endangered species.

The minister initially tried to squirrel out of the meeting, but finally, thinking of the poor endangered species he decided to attend.

The meeting
Green peace official (GPO): Sir there is an alarming decrease in the number of this exotic species. It is time that your venerable Govt. took action to save it from extinction.
Minister: I think you foreigners are exaggerating as usual. I am sure that there must be at least a thousand of those left in our beautiful state.
GPO: No sir! I am not exaggerating one bit. Our expert team has searched high and low for this species with no luck. We have used advanced G.P.S technology, satellite sensing, infra red imaging, nuclear fission and other classified technologies to find the last of the species, but all our efforts have resulted in failure. It is time now for the Govt. to take stock of this alarming situation.
Minister: Utter balderdash! Did you ask our most capable and fearless animal tracker to find this species?
GPO: Err.. no sir, who is this great man?
Minister: Shikari Shambu! Rest assured, I will put this expert on the job and he will get you a dozen of the species in no time.
GPO: Thank you sir!
Minister: By the by, what did you say was the scientific name of this exotic species?
GPO: “Sober Malabaricus homo sapien” It also goes by the alias “Pinthiri Teetotaler Malayalee”

The elusive species
On receiving instructions from the honorable Minister, Shikari Shambu packed his gun, upped his trousers, downed his hat and legged it to the nearest forest. This was the most difficult assignment he had ever faced. He spent months on end searching the forests of Kerala for this exotic species but with little luck. Up and down and north and south, there was no sign of this Sober Malabaricus imbecile! Those green peace people were right. The last of this species seemed to have died out millennia ago!

Thus, one fine day, he was sitting totally dejected, gun supporting chin, thinking of the next plan of action when Kapish made his appearance. “Looking looking twine, curling around leg”* thought Shikari Shambu. Kapish was the most intelligent monkey** on the planet, he would definitely know about this God forsaken species!

Shikari Shambu: Hey! Kapish! Have you seen this Sober Malabaricus homo sapien species anywhere?
Kapish: Yes, he made this state by throwing an axe, but that was a long time back. I don’t know about any more of the species!
Shikari Shambu looked downright unhappy at this sad news. There went his retirement plan!

On seeing the Shikari so thoroughly dejected Kapish felt sorry for him. He thought long and hard and finally devised a plan of action.
Kapish: Shikari! Don’t be so dejected! I have a plan up my sleeve…. Err.... tail!
Shikari: Oh really? What is it?
Kapish: There is another species in the state which fits all the characteristics of your exotic species. But it is not a pure Malayalee species… actually, it is Gujarati. But don’t worry, it has been in the state for many years now and can pass off as an authentic Malayalee.
Shikari: How did you come across this thing? I have been trying to find it for so long!
Kapish: Long story dude, but the short of it is that once this species made me pose in three different positions. Some kind of "photographic" tendencies, I think.
Shikari: Yuck.. that’s sick!
Kapish: Takes all kinds to make a world buddy!

Following the instructions provided by Kapish, Shikari Shambu made haste and found out not one, but many specimens of the species at different corners of the state. Apart from their un-natural abstinence from liquor (which was the defining quality of the species) it also exhibited a remarkable stiffness in its body. Under most circumstances it actually refused to move an inch. It was only after Shikari downed his bottle of toddy that it seemed to move a wee bit.

All the specimens were forwarded to the honorable Minister who in turn forwarded them to the GPO’s. The green peace team was totally stupefied by the capabilities of Kerala’s foremost animal tracking expert and offered him an onsite opportunity in America (Amazon forest!) Everyone was happy and three cheers, sorry prayers were said for the long life of this endangered species.

Epilogue 1
News Item in Manorma: “A number of statue thefts have taken place in the state, most of them being Gandhi statues. Eyewitnesses could not identify the person due to his peculiar hat. It covered his eyes!

Epilogue 2
Malayalees spent more on liquor than on rice and I am part of the disease… It has made me feel so depressed that what I really want now is another drink!

* തേടിയ വള്ളി കാലില്‍ ചുറ്റി....:D
** Indian Monkeys are kind of talkative!

Exam time..:(

2008-10-09T12:55:00.003+05:30

I was tagged by two people this past week. Reflections and Mathew. Since I live in perpetual fear of my mother stumbling across my blog (we have our little differences, but I really don’t want her to have a heart attack…:D) I have decided to postpone the “addictions” tag from Reflections by about a decade.

It is customary to write two lines about the person who has tagged you. But I pass the opportunity, since I don’t have anything nice to write about Mathew. Any guy who cooks like Mathew does, well, I just plain envy them. Period.

RULE #1 People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by them.

RULE #2 Tag 3 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Continue this game by sending it to other people.

1. If your lover betrayed you what would your reaction be?
Was that a nuclear explosion you heard in the back ground?

2. What’s it that you see in an ideal partner?
Is this some kind of trick question?? I thought, everyone thought it was breasts!

3. What, according to you, is the perfect date?
One in which she pays the bill.

4. Would you like to have children soon enough? Or would you wait till your mid-thirties for the first child?
I don't mind passing on my DNA. But my responsibility ends right there!

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
I aint gay!!!

6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Couldn’t care less, all that matters is whether or not we have sex.

7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?
As long as I have somebody else... ad infinitum!

8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?
The guys married to Salma Hayek and Monica Bellucci better watch out, is all I can say.

9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Legalizing Marijuana, Hash, LSD, Cocaine.....

10. Do you lie?
No. Err… I did it again!

11. Where do you see yourself 10 years from now?
Thalle! naatukare appozhekkm enne thalli konnittondakumadae!... (Don’t bother to translate!)

12. What’s your fear?
That Salma Hayek is growing old and I haven’t got my onsite to Mexico yet!

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
I'll bet that right now he must be cuddling his n'th girlfriend and crooning to her… "Dear, add some more sugar..." Hey! Stop cooking! It’s an unfair advantage, a genetic disorder and waaay under the belt!

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
Objection your honor! The question is irrelevant considering that Salma Hayek is rich.

15. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?
Infinite loop, system crash!

16. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?
The forgiveness, I outsource unto god. The revenge… that is mine!

17. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
God only knows all the crap man endures just to have some decent sex. Yeah, sure…. relationship!

18. What is your all time favorite film?
American Pie…ok, ok its Forrest Gump

From these answers, I must now appear to the reader as a sensitive, loving, caring human being, brimming with life and firmly on the path to saint hood. But, let me explicitly state that such was not my intention per se. It is just that these profound questions brought out the best in me….:D

Ladies… queue please!! This is not m4marry.com!!

I now tag
Anooja
Stillwaters
And Nishanth i.e when that Mandan starts his blog!

Gone with the wind

2008-10-03T14:37:00.008+05:30

The movie?? No no, it is about ma favorite topic… Me!!

I was born with this inferiority complex…. That I would never be a 6 foot tall hunk, muscles popping and the ladies ogling (you know, the stereotype!)

Each time I see a guy who fits the bill, I go mad with frustration and each time I see a female who is an inch taller than I am, I am on the verge of tears! Why God? Why? Why did you make me so short? Why couldn’t you add just an eeny weeny 5 inches more to my dwarf frame eh? Like most prayers sent skywards this one too returns with an “un-opened… return-to-shorty” typed in bold.

And to add insult to injury I was born thin. Emaciated-and-short in a boy’s school is no laughing matter. You always ended up with the support role. Anybody who felt like whacking you up (which was quite often) would in all probability, whack you up. To live through those 10 years, I had to grow nails, some really fast legs and teeth that could bite through hippo hides. And what’s more, even on the days you won the battle, the war was lost when the vanquished scathingly comments “bah! He fights like a girl, all tooth and nails, why don’t you join Mount Carmel girl’s school eh??” And the victor’s smile is wiped off!

Of all the screwed up comments I’ve had to put up with (sack-of-bones was just the beginning!) “yevanae, onnu oothiyal paranne pokumello” (a wind could blow him off) was the most insulting. I mean, unlike the other taunts this one was a blatant lie!

I did pull-ups, I played basketball, I bugged my parents to buy me wonder shoes which would magically increase your height, I pestered doctor relatives to give me steroids and I even (hold your breath) prayed!! But nothing worked. It is in your genes (and your heels) you know. I ended up 5 inches shorter than expectations.

Fortunately, I did not stay thin for long after my engineering. Some metabolic miracle (read aging) happened and suddenly mine was no longer the high-input, high-output system that it once was. The output started dimming and the input started growing around my tummy. I don’t know many people who would be pleased to have a round tummy, but I am one of them. In Malayalam we call it “thara-vaaditham”.

But 3 years down the line, with a protruding tummy, an intruding chest and skinny limbs, I had this wonderful idea… Get a 6-pack!. So what if my genes denied me my rightful 6 foot height? I could cheat them with my 6-pack. Revenge, sweet revenge! It was ten years late in the coming, but then better late than never.

So, off I went and joined this gym. Rs.500 joining fee, Rs.250 monthly fee, the instructor said. I waived my card without batting an eye. Ha! 750 rupees for a 6 pack… I would pay an arm and a leg for it! (Skinny ones, that is). The routine was fairly straight forward. Get up at 6 A.M in the morning, put on the track suit, jog to the gym, warm up exercises, jump up, jump down, spread out limbs, tuck in belly, look in the mirror, wipe out that constipated-look-on-weight-lift, cycle, die… err sorry I mean rest, drag your sorry ass back home, shower, put on nice clothes, office, work, eat, sleep, gym.

“ethra nalla nadaaatha swanpnangal!!*”. I haven’t ever seen the world at 6 A.M. In fact, I am not so sure it exists except in the realm of dreams at that uncivilized hour. This morning shift was a no-starter…:( I did it for one day, I did it for two days and then as lolan(our mega pinthiri) predicted, I did it on the third day on a purely metaphysical plane (read bed). Hey! stop smirking! I did it one more day than he predicted. It is definitely an achievement of no small proportion.

I shifted to evening shift but 6 P.M is really not a time for exercising. You are already tired, your non-existent mental strength is ah, well non-existent and motivation is in the pits. I persevered for exactly one week... Each day after working out, I would go and stand semi-nude in front of the mirror (ladies… control, control!!).

Protruding belly – Check
Intruding chest – Check
Non-existent shoulder muscles – Check
Skinny limbs – Check
Panting-like-a-dog-plus-constipated-look – Check
.
.
.
.
.
.
6-Pack – No check!!

Great progress huh? ok, ok, who am I trying to kid! As some parents are wont to say “nine ondakkunna samayathe oru vaazha nattirunengil…**” Mine was a fruitless labor. All of my 6-Packs has now joined together to form a consolidated sack.

It even brought out the poet in me.

It is no small honor,
To be lord of a manor,
Six sacks and bladder,
To hell with it, puttar!

Thus, I am currently the proud owner of a 6-sack*** body and a bruised ego thanks to lolan’s taunts of “I told you so!” Thankfully, with all the weight I am gaining around my tummy, “Gone with the wind” evokes no more dread!

*Such nice un-realizable dreams
**If I had planted a tree when I was making him... for the record "some parents" not equal to "my parents"!
***മലയാളത്തില്‍ "ചാക്ക്" എന്നും പറയും - Dialogue courtesy Samjith.

The Pilgrimage Part II

2008-09-26T18:51:00.005+05:30

Right after we reached the top of the first hill, the landlord’s elder son fainted due to exhaustion and we had to stop. We all felt very let down, but there was nothing much to do except slow our pace. From then on it was a sob story. The crowd got bigger each passing minute and we made very slow progress. To top it all, we got stuck in the series of gates (kilometers long u-shaped enclosures) and had to wait long hours before we finally reached the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Finally we saw the 18 golden steps which would take us to the Sannidhanam of Lord Ayyappa. The gold glittered brightly in the morning sun (maybe they apply some polish on it too!) almost blinding one with its grandeur. Thankfully, I could place my foot on all the 18 steps! Generally the crowd carries you forward with such force over these steps that you hardly touch any with your feet.

As we neared the Sanctum sanctorum the crowd became unbearable, I very nearly suffocated but at the final moment by a strange crowd pocket formation, I was able to view the golden idol of lord Ayyappa for at least half a minute! A record I think. But the long wait, the crowd and the snake-like queues had all but sapped our spirit. It was just not the way I had expected it to be. Especially after the terrific start we had made. As I made my way back, I was thoroughly disappointed. “I will come back again!” I told HL, he shook his head in agreement and said “next time, only both of us!”

Till date, I have not been able to make that pilgrimage again. But a story I heard from my mother made me think that I was not so unlucky after all.

Chakki chouvathi and Kelan were the servants of my great grand father. Each year Kelan would take penance to go to Shabarimala. During those times, the pilgrimage was fraught with real danger. The path through the forest had a lot many wild animals, chances of contracting some disease like malaria were high and sometimes pilgrims got lost.

Those days, it was believed that if a person looked back at his home or family after tying the erumudi-kettu, he would die. Each year after taking the requisite penance, Kelan would tie the erumudi-kettu and start out for the journey. But each time before he could leave, Chakki chouvathi would start beating her breast and cry in such a pathetic manner that Kelan invariably ended up looking back.

Then, thinking of all the penance he has taken, Kelan would start off anyway, much to the agitation of Chakki chouvathi. The first leg of his journey would take him to Koovapally, where my mother’s father stayed. There was an un-official servant’s quarter near that house where all such devotees could stay.

By the time he reached there, Kelan would literally be shaking with fear, convinced that he was going to die. Each day, he would start out on the journey and after travelling a small distance he would return, making one silly excuse or the other. Finally after a week or so of this thamasha, he would just lose heart and return home! Kelan never ever made it to Shabarimala thanks to Chakki Chouvathi...:D

I guess, I did better than that…:D

The pilgrimage - Part I

2008-09-19T21:46:00.005+05:30

You Idiot! Why did you take food from my plate? Shouted Anoop(H.L) as I took a bit of the masala dosa from his plate. I was quite bewildered by the outburst.
Why, what’s the problem? I asked.
I am taking the penance to go to Shabarimala. I am not supposed to eat food touched by anybody other than the cook. Now, thanks to you, I have to order again!
Oho, like that huh? Good, go ahead and order again!
Then I turned around and shouted to the guys sitting at the next table “guys, come over! H.L won’t eat anything that is touched by somebody else”.

As far as I know H.L went hungry that day.

But my curiosity was piqued and I felt a bit envious. Shabarimala had always held an enigmatic attraction to me. My mother’s native place at Koovapally sits on one of the major traditional routes to this south Indian pilgrimage centre. All through my childhood, I would see men and children dressed in black, with the “erumudi-kettu"* make the pilgrimage. The whole thing had a slightly romantic touch to it, especially since I was born into a Christian family and not allowed to make the pilgrimage myself.

“Da, can I come along to Shabarimala with you?” I asked H.L the very next day.
“No food stealing Christian is allowed into Shabarimala! Screw off! I am not going to take you anywhere”. He pompously shouted back.

I must be a real persuasive guy, since in hardly half an hour I had not only managed to convince him to take me along, I even roped in Arun George (AGT) for the same.

The hardest part of the whole exercise was the penance. I was doing it only for 22 days rather than the customary 45(?) so that I could go along with H.L. It was 22 days of abstinence from non-veg food (the maximum I have managed in living memory!!!), porn, female contact and a basically anything interesting in life! By the end of the second week all the “romanticism” and “enigma” had been rubbed off. I was dying for my rightful chicken leg!!

Finally the D-Day came. Our Shabarimala party had by then expanded to include H.L's room mate Sujith (Kokku) and his landlord's two sons. Before starting out on the journey, one was supposed to go to the temple and tie the erumudi-kettu*. I was a bit tensed when I went to the temple. What if the priest found out that I was a Christian? I thanked my stars that despite our different religions we all looked the same ( *general* look and feel i.e. I am of course, way more handsome..:D) Fact is, I needn’t have worried, seems that Ayyappan’s greatest friend vaavar-swamy was a Muslim! And the temple allowed entry to non-Hindus.

After the ceremony, I was in extremely high spirits (not literally!). Our bus journey was un-eventful and we reached there by 12 in the night. A swift dip in the Pampa River was the first on the itinerary. The water was cold, but not extremely so. I was raring to go by then. Faith, excitement, fear**… they were all palpable among the devotees milling around. Everyone around me seemed to be high on steroids.

The Shabarimala route is a set of five hills one after the other. Most of the path is concreted and a hill is almost razed to the ground. The “thorn-and-stone-beneath-our-legs” legend is exactly what it is… a legend!

As we began our journey we were joined by a group of Tamil pilgrims. All stout men in their twenties, they were actually running the route chanting several mantras as they went by like, “swamiye sharanam-ayyappa, devanae-deviye, eshwaranae-eshwariyae,kallum-mullum kaalukku meethae” etc. We ran alongside this group chanting at the top of our voices. Their devotion and fervor was infectious, it was like the mantras plucked out raw energy from thin air. I wasn’t even out of breath after the first hill. The way it was going I guessed that we would reach the sannidhanam (sanctum sanctorum) in half an hour. I had guessed wrong…:(

*Head gear consisting of two coconuts and other assorted offerings for lord Ayyapan)

**It is a forest path and supposedly you can see wild animals (The last of them who tread the path in a very long time being yours truly!) The fear is baseless but somebody shouts “animal” and everyone gets keyed up.

Mala-naadu liberation front

2008-09-08T21:24:00.006+05:30

[Warning: Language vitriol.]

Door Darshan did it. Some might already have guessed it. Yes, I am talking about the north Indian conspiracy to impose their language upon us Dravidians (the true sons of the soil!). I wasn’t prejudiced to the language you know. Even when I got zeroes in the language at school, I persevered and got even more zeroes…:(

By the time I was in 8th standard, my practical and far-sighted parents wisely allowed me to drop Hindi altogether. After all, there is a limit to which parents can see red in the report card and still abstain from infanticide.

But like most kids my age, I idolized Hindi movies and heroes. Over-the-hill-young-turk Amitabh, muscle-popping-rapist-cum-sister-protector Dharmendra and chocolate-hero Sharukh, they all conspired to teach me Hindi and what’s more I loved the conspiracy.

All the Hindi I ever learnt was at the foot of my 21 inch Idiot Tube. Hindi was thus an inalienable part of my day to day life. With one potential glitch however, I did not know to count after “Dus” (after “dus” it was “bus” for me!)

But along with worshipping Hindi movies and heroes, I also worshipped that supreme Indian sport, Cricket. What turned the tables against the Hindi language was the advent of the day night scheme of the game.

A run-away success in our sun battered subcontinent. It had but one disadvantage. The ending/most interesting part of the game always coincided with news on DD. And not one session mind you, but two bore-you-to-death sessions. One in Hindi and the other in English. Torture like this was enough to make even the most saintly south Indian ask in exasperation "why the hell am I watching news in Hindi when a nail-biting match is going on?"

It is only natural at this point of time that the reader notices a defect in my line of thought. Why is this guy ranting against Hindi news, why not English (foren language!!) news?? Valid q, but you see, I knew how to count in English, not Hindi! So when dear news-reading-auntie announced in Hindi that India’s score was “dou-so-chakees(?)” I would look heaven-ward and ask “what-the-f***ees?!!!”

Of course, you could brush me off for “not cause enough to hate your rashtra baasha”, agreed! But look what DD did right after that. They started doing cricket commentary in Hindi (a crime upon humanity, May heaven open up and strike a thunder bolt on the idiot who came up with this idea!!!). It was pathetic, no barbaric… no I am just lost for words to describe it!

Compared to all that we Indians put up with, Hindi commentary was definitely not the last straw on my strong back. I mean, I had a good mind to join the Tamil Tiger Eelam(M) - (Mallu group!!) and put a bomb right up DD’s backside, but being the non-violent Indian I am, I desisted (not knowing Tamil did not help either!).

But, while it did not break the camels back, a prejudice was born. And the prejudice deepened each time I heard “bastsman ne Shaantar drive kiya hai…seetha filder ke taraf!” (A beautiful shot, right to the fielders hands!!) I always wonder whether Gandhi could have heard this kind of dialogue and still stayed non-violent!

But what finally pushed me into the liberation movement was human contact with north Indians. It happened in Bangalore at my job. While I knew Hindi, I was never a fluent speaker (you can’t talk back to your T.V right?) So, I preferred replying back in English while in conversation with the northies. And that is when the last straw fell.

“You are *expected* to know the national language” says a northie to me. “err… excuse me” I said “did you just say you are “expected” to know Hindi”. “Yes, it is our national language. You are supposed to learn it”. My blood pressure shot right through the roof. The way my eyes bulged and veins stood up, he must have got a general gist of what I thought about the “national language” and “expectations” regarding it.

I controlled myself somehow and asked him “if our national religion was Islam and you were “expected” to follow it, would you?”. Something told me that he wouldn’t take the question in a light manner.

I was right. He went semi ballistic.

“But that is a religion!!! I Would NEVER follow it. Language is not like that. How can you ask questions like that?”
“To me language is as important as religion, if not more. I think being a Malayali and speaking that language defines me more than anything else. So don’t tell me I am “expected” to learn any language!”
“But it is our national language” he says.
“You made it our national language, not us!”
“well, so? Now it is and as long as it is, you have to follow it. I know so many Malayalees who speak the language well, what’s the problem with you? Eh?”

This guy was getting on my nerves!! No wonder rakshasas (our forefathers as per Karunanidhi) murdered these guys in cold blood.

Thus after much deliberation I have decided to create the nth secession movement of India. This one is for the independence of Keralasthan…hey! Wait! “sthan” is a north Indian word. Independence for Kerala-nadu it is! Wait again! “Keral” is also a Sanskrit word…argh! Ok, ok, I want independence for Mala-nadu.

With these thoughts in mind, I waived an auto rickshaw. Time was of the essence, I had to reach back home and start planning future bombings, arson, loot, rape, murder, what not!
The auto rickshaw stopped in front of me and I asked.
“Madiwala Jaayega kya?”

Just another blue moon

2008-08-21T21:47:00.005+05:30

It was early morning, about quarter past seven when my mother found out that we had run out of some vegetable/oil necessary for breakfast. Quarter past seven is when I am supposed to be slouched over a book mugging it up (snoring into it is what normally happened!). So, there was a happy spring in my step as I walked to the market a kilometer from my house, relieved to get away from the rote.

As I neared the shop, I saw two women waiting outside it. The shop keeper did not seem to notice them. He held a magazine (mangalam?) in his hands and was busily reading it. As I walked nearer I recognized one of the women to be the mother of my class mate Xavier*. She had on a white sari. “Must be on her way back from Church” I thought.

I was going to wait behind the women, but the moment the shop keeper saw me, he stood and asked rather brusquely about my purchase. I remember telling him what I needed and that is when she spoke “ho! Payyan kaashumayi vannappo Avante oru ulsaham kando!” (Look at his enthusiasm to serve the rich kid). The barb was meant for the shop keeper but it kind of stung me in the process. It was not my fault that I was “rich”.

I turned around and looked at her, but she ignored me. That’s when I noticed how poor she looked. Poor, but not defeated though. The shop keeper had made the cardinal error to reply back to her. “This is business” he said. It was exactly the opening she was looking for. Her next approach was classic, she feigned to show interest in his business. “oho, so this is how you run an intelligent business huh?” she asked, as if he was one of those geniuses at it. He couldn’t resist replying to that one. Flattery at its subtle best! Her success would decide whether Xavier would get his breakfast that day.

Everyone knew Xavier was a poor kid. He was always dressed badly and could never afford to eat even a snack from the canteen. Worst of all, he couldn’t pay the numerous little donations that we had to shell out each month to the school. Sometimes he had to stand outside the class because of this. But most teachers knew that he hadn’t forgotten to bring it, he just didn’t have it and so they would let him in anyway.

That day I met him at school, but “Hey! I met your mother” was not part of our conversation. I felt pity for him as only a child can, useless, sentimental pity. I considered sharing my lunch with him. But I was ashamed at the prospect of asking him whether he wanted it. I was even more worried whether he would feel humiliated if I asked. Other’s knowing about your poverty is not so cool.

It was one of those rare moments when I actually wanted to be poor, as an act of solidarity. A small lesson in life learnt, that being Poor is humiliating. My pity sprung out of guilt. What bothered me was that I was lucky to be born in a well to do family by no quality of mine. Xavier got the bad part and I got the juicy part to play in this drama that was written by neither of us.

That term, he was placed 4th in the class. The teacher congratulated him as if he had won an award. Xavier’s skin color stood against it, else everyone would have seen the proud blush he had. Finally the teacher said something to the effect of “your mother will be proud of you”. The smile on his face at that instant, if captured would have definitely won a Pulitzer!

Unfortunately this was the pinnacle of his academic life. Something went wrong right after that term. I still don’t know what it is. But from then on, he never did well in school and started getting into trouble. The very next year, he failed.

Once in a while I would see his mother at school and sometimes outside. Each time she looked poorer than before. Each time, I felt that there was less life in her eyes. Maybe I just imagined it all, maybe not.

After school finished I never saw him again. Years later, I met a friend in college and we had this discussion about old times. I enquired about Xavier and was aghast to hear that “avan ippo erachi-vettayitte nadakuv… paavam” (he is now working at a slaughterers place!).

One more instance in my life got added to the “If only I had done it then” folder in my head. I did not share my lunch with him on that day. I did not ask my parents if they could help him out (They may have said no, but I could have at least asked!). I did not help him with studies when he started to do badly. Fact is, I did nothing.

Could I have helped him out during that beginning phase when things went bad? To tell the truth, I don’t know. But years later that question still bugs me every once in a blue moon. And today was just another blue moon.

*Name changed

Horoscope madness

2008-07-22T14:55:00.006+05:30

Are you suicidal? Looking for an easy way to go? Allow me to suggest one that’s pretty sure to work.

Just mention the word “Jaathakam” (Horoscope) to Prasanth Rajan a.k.a lolan and he is sure to murder you in cold blood. After all, his problem is that he doesn’t have any paapam (Sin) in his horoscope while all suitable girls have loads of paapam.

For months his parents searched high and low for a sinless female, but to no avail. Finally last week lolan's father called up to say ‘I quit!’. These days he does some sin and calls up his father to tell ‘acha, I have sinned, does it count?’ and his father replies ‘No monae, only your birth sin counts. No point in doing any more’. But lolan is a persistent guy, he keeps trying sincerely!

Last month, the internet bill at lolan’s place was 12,000 Rupees. Most of it was due to our diligent viewing of porn videos. But a significant portion of the bill was contributed by lolan who surfed non-stop through match making websites. He would identify some good looking female, check out the match in their horoscopes and (don’t hold your breath) be disappointed.

Finally after months (years?) of searching he finally found not one, but two girls who had matching horoscopes!! To tell that he was elated would be an understatement. The only confusion was, which one would he marry? After all with such screwed up horoscopes they would be willing to marry any dumb idiot (I am not suggesting here that lolan is a dumb idiot, but Hey! its your free will…:D) who had a similar horoscope.

Both were good looking females. The character analysis would now determine who was the (un)lucky girl to win dear lolan's hand in marriage. So, off goes lolan and logs into Orkut.

Female 1 Profile:
Age:
Name:
DOB:
Blah blah blah
What interest’s lolan however is the ‘Turn On’ field
Turn On: Erotica

Now, if it was me, I wouldn’t have minded it. In fact I would have respected her for being so forthright. Not so, with lolan. He wouldn’t marry anybody whose turn on was bloody ‘erotica’. After all, babies are made by kissing right.

Female 2 Profile:
Age:
Name:
DOB:
Blah blah blan
What interest’s lolan this time is the ‘Interests’ field.
Interests: ‘Shappillae paatukal’ (Toddy shop songs)

Now if it was me…….ok, you get the picture.

These days lolan is planning to make an Orkut community named ‘Matham oru kotham, Jaathakam oru maaranam’ (Religion is an ass and horoscope a pain in them).

Then there is Samjith with his paamp(Snake). You see, he has a snake in his horoscope. There are many theories on how the snake got into his horoscope, chief among them being that on the day his horoscope was written he was drunk and rolling on the floor like a snake*. He denies it vehemently, but fortunately that story has a happy ending. He is going to get married next month.

And then there’s Nikhil, our very own ‘Most screwed horoscope for the year 2008’ award winner. He said "yes" to the first girl he met. The girls parents consulted an astrologer and found out that she wouldn’t finish the year if she married him (Hey! You don’t need to be an astrologer to tell that!!!).

He said "yes" to the second girl he met. But this time they found out that he had ‘Chovva dosham’ (Read 'The deep shit Mars effect').

Now, he went to the astrologers himself to make sure what was going on. The first one said he had Chovva dosham for sure. The second one said that he had Chovva dosham, but it was kind of benign, coz some other planet was more relevant and it opposed the bad affect of our villian Mars. The third one said he had no Mars effect. Rumor has it that, Nikhil wrote to NASA to drop a few H-Bombs there. Instead they dropped the Phoenix Mars Lander and maybe because of that, he is currently engaged to get married.

*adichu paamp-ayee ennu vaayikkuka

Antony - The wedding

2008-06-29T19:24:00.028+05:30

[warning: long post!]

Amma liked the girl. I don’t thing anything else ever mattered. That Antony agreed to marry her was just a slight co-incidence....:D

Some mothers hug their children when they come back home after a long time, others kiss them on their cheek, yet others rue at how thin their child looks. Mine pinched me on the arm! The outpouring of this motherly emotion was thanks to me botching up all the tasks assigned to me. Like writing a speech for the wedding, typing the addresses of relatives and so on and so forth. Appan managed the addresses and Joechen managed the speech, as for me, I thanked my big fat Indian family.

Thursday was marked by repetitive journeys to Ernakulam as last minute shopping hogged most of our precious time. I was appointed driver since Appan was sick and tired of driving to Ernakulam in the mad traffic. I liked the responsibility and the traffic was not as bad as I imagined. And for my services, I was rewarded with an excellent Jubba which I wore for the wedding.

Amma’s oldest (and most capable!) sister Elsey aunty and her grandson Joseph came on Friday. And from then on, Amma breathed easy. Friday saw more visits to Ernakulam and general preparations going into full swing. I was assigned the prestigious task of fixing the toilet seats in the next flat. If the Mahatma saw me, he would’ve been pleased no end… my father… well he just smirked! Antony was seen running around booking rooms for his and my friends who would be visiting.

Saturday was hectic. I had grown a full beard and when I suggested, that I could shave my head instead of my beard, it did not go down too well with the family (no sense of style!). But now, a new situation emerged that threatened the very social fabric of Kerala. My friends (read dregs of society) from Bangalore had just landed at Aluva Railway station!

As we had planned, I booked them a tempo traveler. Their initial target was Boothathan Kettu, which later changed to Aathirapilly and Vaazhachal. Nayantara, the south Indian heroine, was having a film shoot there. No prizes for guessing who got the paparazzi shots! My only solace is that while trying to take the picture, Shyam got bitten by a leech….again!

I was presently assigned to collect the wedding rings from Ammu's father and to supervise the parking arrangements at the church. "This isn’t a job for superman" I complained, "Yeah, it's a job for Aby" Amma shot back and the matter was settled. I came back home to see a packed audience. In my absence the whole house had filled up with relatives.

It was time for the madhuram veppu. Joechen (Amma’s only brother) was giving the speech. The long and short of it went like this

"Dhane dhane pe likha he Khaane valae ke naam"(On every grain of food, the Almighty has written the name of the person who shall have it) – Saying by a Mughal era poet.
In the year 2008, Antony Menacherry went to visit his maternal grand father at Edakunnam, Koovapally. After exchanging the usual pleasantries and spending some time around the house, he decided to take a bath. Unfortunately, there was no soap in the bathroom. So, Antony went out and asked his grandfather for soap. After checking the usual place he kept his soap and finding none, he opened the cup-board and took out a foreign soap, which he gave to Antony. The date on the soap caught Antony’s attention though… it was marked 1991. Pulikunnel Scaria Abraham was a man known for his spartan ways (a man who has 9 daughters’ needs to be I guess!). He had kept this soap safely in his cup-board for 17 years! But the story did not end there….

In the year 1991, George Menacherry was walking in a supermarket in Saudi Arabia. Among the many things he bought there was a Camay soap, which he presented to his father-in-law Mr. P.S Abraham on his return.

The moment George bought the soap, God almighty had written his eldest son Antony’s name on it and for a long 17 years it waited for him. The very same Almighty has written Ammu on Antonys fate and Antony on Ammus fate.”

Joechan then gave Antony his wedding present… a framed copy of the Camay soap cover. Everyone was left spell bound by this present and speech.

The rest of the night was devoted to feast and drinks. Unfortunately, the food was only average. The very same caterers were the ones in charge of the wedding feast. What if the food tomorrow was also bad? Amma looked tensed.

Early in the morning on D-Day, Appa was awake and thrilled, for his first born was going to get married. Amma was awake and thrilled, for her first born was going to get married. I was awake and thrilled, for I was the one driving the Merc to Church. Antony… he was sound asleep!

The driver came early and we went to church to check out if all the arrangements were made. Also, I needed to be familiar with the car. All the flower arrangements were in place. Everything seemed set to welcome the new couple. The decoration for the car was simple, one bouquet on the bonnet and one on the hood. More importantly, I drove a Benz for the first time in my life!

Back home a minor tragedy struck. Peetu chettans baby was dozing off when she fell from her mothers hands and knocked her head on the glass teapoy. The wound on her forehead was deep but not serious. We rushed her to the hospital and fortunately the doctor patched her up in no time. Amma was extremely sad that “blood was split” on such an auspicious day. But other than this small hiccup, everything else went on pretty smoothly.

Antony was 'dressed' by cousins. Unfortunately, I couldnt join in as I was at the hospital. He looked great in his blue-black suit and tie. I especially loved his tie. It kinda suited him well. This was followed by the "sthuthi kodukal", getting blessed by his elders. Though I am younger, I didnt get completely sidelined... I got a handshake...:D

Appan (Amma's father) blessing Antony

Daisy Aunty and Jose Uncle bless Antony

The handshake

Antony Aby Bhai Bhai

The 'old' family

We were early at the church and so was the bride. Existence of non-transferable duties in the church meant that this became one of the few weddings which I witnessed in its entirety. Fortunately, the priest kept the ceremony short and simple as he had promised to do. Since Antony had done some serious practice on tying the knot, there were no glitches during the grand finale. Antony looked handsome in his suit and Ammu was stunning in her cream colored Sari. More importantly, as a couple, they looked perfect. ‘Nalla cherchayonde’ was one happy whisper that I overheard.

Thaali kettu

However, what surprised most people was the ceremony (planned by Amma) after the Kurbana. Antony and Ammu were led to the reception hall, which was only a short distance from the church to the tune of traditional chenda kotte(drum beats) under a muthu kuda (bejeweled umbrella). The whole family marched in two columns behind them. Amma's long time dream thus bore fruit exceptionally well. She had the same plan for the engagement, but was discouraged by Appa since it was “their” ceremony. Anyways, everyone was impressed. Who knows, maybe this will become another Syrian Christian tradition.

My family firmly believes that the wedding ceremony is rated by the stomach. The food thankfully was absolutely delicious. The reception at the hall was a walk down the memory lane for me. Antony’s old friends from Kollam I.J.H.S School who had been my seniors were there. So were our old neighbors and Amma and Appa's old colleagues. I was meeting most of them after more than a decade and it felt great catching up.

Cho Chweet!

Lights camera action

The Gang

The lunch stretched on for 2 hours and it was nearly 4 P.M in the afternoon when we reached home. I, Antony and Ammu went last, so that the newly weds could be ‘received’ as per Syrian Christian protocol. It was a simple affair; Amma took a rosary and a bible, blessed Antony by drawing the cross on his forehead and then Ammu. Then she asked them both to kiss the bible. Ammu, then entered her new home with the traditional ‘right-foot-first’.

The welcoming party

Bouquet for the couple

Amma giving Chedathi the 'ninne edutholamedee' smile...:D

As per the family tradition the stage was set for ragging the newly wed couple. This ragging session was scheduled for 8 P.M. everyone was in high spirits (literally). The movers and shakers of the family were in full flow. My aunts and cousins took center stage and started singing. It was really a sight to be seen. The songs were, as usual, peppered with a good amount of innuendo. Antony and Ammu were forced to sing and dance too. Unfortunately, my video camera quality leaves much to be desired. But here are some snippets.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZ8Qcn-fsVM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJf6SCVisss

Ragging committee

Drum Beats

The party stretched well into the night with Vinu, Minu chechi and Shirley aunty stealing the show. Finally we sang the “manavaati…. Maniyara thura..” song and played ‘train’ with Yamuna chechi leading, Antony, Ammu and the rest of the family following. Each holding the others shoulder. But the “train” took its sweet time and lot of pleading before it entered the bedroom.

Merry-go-round

Once the "train" entered the bedroom, we all sat around the nuptial bed and “gheraoed” Antony and Ammu. “Start the show” screamed Joe Aliyan. “Yeah, yeah, we bought the tickets, now start the show” Vinu seconded and the poor newly weds sweated. Poor Ammu chedathi, the initiation ceremony into the Menacherry family must have been a shock for the poor girl.

Amma(?) finally came to the rescue and chased us all out of the room. Everyone left after wishing the newly weds a long and happy married life. And so ends this blog with my own humble wishes to Antony and Ammu for a happy married life.

*More pictures here and here.

The birth of a man

2008-06-13T20:48:00.003+05:30

She was the master piece of the Gods. Everything about her was perfect. Her eyes as blue as the sky, her skin of golden hue, her laughter a twinkle among the stars. But her heart, her heart throbbed with pain! The pain of loneliness, the pain of her tragic fate, a pain so inhuman the the very air hung in moody melancholy about her like a veil. For, she was denied a mate!

Men came from near and far hearing of her divine beauty. They were all drawn to her like moths to a flame. She aroused such uncontrollable passion that they went mad in their longing for her. But there was not one among them, who could even dream to wipe her feet. They were like candles to the Sun!

The years passed and her hope to find a mate dwindled like a trickle of water drawn in by the parched summer mud.
“Why do thee make me suffer like this my lords?” she cried unto heaven, but no answer came forth.

But, she was not of timid lineage. In her veins gushed the blood of ancient warriors. She was not somebody, who you could say no to, or refuse to answer! If the Gods be her adversary, then so be it!

She shook with such fury that even nature trembled before her. Her eyes glowed red and fire entered her heart. She decided to take up severe penance standing on one leg with a smoldering fire all around her. A feat, that even toughened ascetics balked at! Her penance was so strong that the very foundations of heaven trembled. The whole world smoldered in the heat of her prayers, life as we know it was threatened. The very balance of nature was upset.

In utter desperation, the Gods appeared to her and begged her to stop her penance. But she was inconsolable. A perfect creation as she was wasted due to the ineptitude of the Gods. And as each tear fell from her lovely cheeks onto the scorched earth, nature shivered in agony as if fed with fire.

Among men, she cared for only one. And that was her wise and saintly father. The gods approached him in their desperation, seeking a solution to this Gordian knot.
“O! Wise man!” they cried, “A creation so perfect takes millennia to create and the God who made her paid with his soul. For such is the effort he spent. And now she demands one more!!! A mate!!”

The wise father shut himself in a cave and thought for seven days and seven nights, finally on the morning of the eight day he emerged, tired and emaciated, but with a twinkle in his eyes.
“It is clear that you Gods will not be able to create a mate for her anytime soon, it is also clear that her youth will not stay forever, so here is what I will suggest to you…..Take her life!!!”
The Gods were shocked “But, it is not her time to die yet!”
“Oh, but, I did not finish” said the wise man “Make the most perfect man you Gods can think up of and reincarnate my daughter when you’ve completed this stupendous feat”
The Gods looked at each other and nodded their heads in amazement. Yes! the wise man had spoken the truth, this was the only solution.

So they made me.

Hey! Hey! Hey! Point is, my bro is getting married in like 10 days time and see… I am you know “single and ready to mingle” So I thought I would come out with this sales pitch that would have the ladies* swooning in my arm.

*Noticed the plural huh? Hey! No sweat, I didn’t stand on one foot… she did!!

Love in the time of cholera

2008-06-03T15:42:00.005+05:30

Did I love the book? Yes I did
Did I hate the book? Yes I did

When I saw the movie at the rental, I first thought of Kite Runner and decided not to watch it. But then curiosity got the better of me and I am thankful it did. Maybe because of my low expectations or maybe because of the abundance of mammary glands on display, I liked the movie a lot.

But mind you, this is what wiki has to say “Time rated it "D" and described it as "a serious contender [for] the worst movie ever made from a great novel ... Skip the film; reread the book."

And this is what I have to say, “You need a Nobel prize in patience to re-read that book” The inference -> Time is trashy, I am classy!

I read the book coz I paid a lot to buy it in the first place. It was an exercise in patience for me. The initial part of the book is extremely slow going, but once you reach the middle there is no stopping.

Gabriel García Marquez has woven a story that is intricate and enchanting around a story line that is depressingly ordinary. The essence of this story is about its characters rather than the story itself.

The story revolves around Florentino Ariza, the jilted lover. Some say that the pivotal character is Fermina Daza, a logical conclusion considering that she is the center of attraction for two men, her husband Juvenal Urbino and Florentino. But to me, there is no question. The perverted yet spiritual, sick yet romantic, complicated yet naïve, irritating yet sympathize-able (ok, I just ran out of words!) love and character of Florentino makes him the undisputed protagonist of the novel.

The story is about two young lovers Florentino and Fermina. Fermina's father disapproves of the love. For two long years they are separated from each other, but their love keeps growing with each letter sent. The moment Fermina returns back to town, Florentino rushes to see her and they meet in the market. But in that one lucid moment, Fermina “just knows” that Florentino is not the right person for her (after two years of passionate letter passing!). Even before the reader murmurs “ah! But why?” she gets married to the rich, handsome doctor.

So, is she just a bitch who dumped somebody for money? Nope! The next 50 years of her life are completely devoted to her doctor and philanthropist husband. Meanwhile, Florentino passes these years with two main themes. One, to try and forget Fermina, which he is unable to do and two, to wait for her husband to die.

Then comes the most perverted part of the story, about how Florentino tries to “forget” his love for Fermina. He does this by f****** anything that moves. He even keeps a record of it in his diary! Readers are constantly reminded of this perversion on his part and then alternately made to sympathize with him when he suffers greatly due to his true love. I say “made” because I really believe that Marquez has the skill to make the reader feel whatever he wants us to feel.

Finally when he says in passing that he has known more than 600 women, I (and you, assuming you are male) end up thinking “Daivamae!! enthoru aneethi!*”.

Apart from this “perverted novelty” of the novel, another extremely interesting part is the concept of love in old age which Marquez has beautifully dealt with. It is an eminently thought provoking part of the novel. Florentino proposes to Fermina on the very day that her husband dies. Initially, she fumes with rage at this affront to her widowhood but later they become lovers again (at the age of 80?). Fermina a strong person with hardly any misgivings is left wondering whether her life would have been better with her lover.

Finally it is the characters in the book that make it a classic I guess. Characters that make you hate and love them alternately. Suffices to say that even Fermina's pet parrot has "character"!!

Coming to the film, it has selected the right(read nude) scenes instead of falling into the usual trap of trying to show too much of the novel. The actors, except for Urbino are how I imagined them to be. Giovanna Mezzogiorno(Fermina) with her no-nonsense body language and excellent dialogue delivery fits her role perfectly. She is also the most challenging character to enact in the movie, since Fermina in her youth, Fermina in her marriage and Fermina the widow are very different characters.

Florentino Ariza’s character remains the same throughout and Javier Bardem was able to do it full justice. The scene where his uncle shouts at him for writing business letters to clients in the fashion of a love letter and his reply to it are nothing short of classic. It shows Florentino for what he is, the hopeless romantic. Again, the scene with him fornicating in his office as his uncle drops by, shows his perversion (though comically) the very same way it is in the novel.

If you catch hold of the novel do read it, if you catch hold of the movie, do see it. For there are only few such!

*That doesn’t need translation!

To B or not to B

2008-05-25T02:12:00.003+05:30

Once in a while, you sit back and look at life. Then you start thinking, hey, I’ve seen it all, nothing can surprise me anymore. And then you get hit over your head by a bloomer.

Yep, I am guilty! I was sitting in that chair for some time when yesterday I got what was coming.

It was ten years since I saw my child hood friend A. It was a chance meeting at the bus stop. A looked very different but I was able to recognize him in a moment. Meeting old friends is always a great experience; we laughed, joked and swapped some old stories. When suddenly he asked… “Hey! Did you hear what happened to B” I am somewhat of a fatalist, and god forbid, but the next question that escaped my mouth was “is he dead?!!”. I am not trying to justify myself here, but the way A asked the question, I really thought B was done for.

“No Da!” A replied, “But then, it is as almost as good as if he is….”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“He is Gay man!”

God forbid again, but the next thought that crossed my mind was “Oh, no!”
I: I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was C, D or E.
A: E is gay dumbo!
I (sputtering): eh.. ah… oh.. ooooooh.
A: Yep, Oooooh. You said something about not being surprised.
I: No, not surprised… just… ah “Swept Away”
I: So, B is gay…. Hmm..
A: That’s not the bad part…. He is Gay and he is telling the whole world he is! I mean, just think of his parents.

I was left thinking for a moment, well that takes some courage!
I: Hmm… if he is, he is. Nothing to do about it. It’s better to accept it I guess.
A: I dunno… makes me feel squeamish
We had a bit more of chit chat before parting.

I was left thinking about B by the end of it. B was not a close friend. We were in the same class till high school. B was not somebody that I would think about often. Maybe once in like every six months, I would wonder where he is, whether he is doing well etc. Turns out, that he is doing pretty well and is very successful in life.

I remember once, his mother came to school for some reason, I don’t remember her face, but I was left wondering, how she was taking this. But, somehow I feel a lot of respect to B. To be different and to accept it, takes a lot of courage. Especially in our ‘close-the-door-wipe-it-under-the-carpet’ society. Hats off to you dude!

Antony - Engagement

2008-05-13T17:59:00.007+05:30

Firday
Should I call it a bus or a moving wild life reserve? “Udayam” had it all, mosquitoes, bed bugs and even cockroaches! On top of it, we had to wait an hour for some guy who couldn’t make it on time. Traveling to Kerala from Bangalore has never been more horrid. I was thus manically depressed by the time I reached home, bereft of sleep and covered with sores all over me.

Saturday
The mana-sammatham (engagement) of Antony with Ammu was slated for 11 May 2008. Engagements are the sole responsibility of the girl’s family as per Syrian Christian traditions, so I didn’t have any heavy duty stuff to do this time around.

Antony was looking cool as ever (There seems to be some genetic disorder in my father’s side, nothing kind of “shakes” them. I’ve actually seen the family *laugh* and crack jokes during funerals!!). Amma, on the other hand was nervous and I was at the receiving end. Through much of Saturday, we crossed swords for the silliest of things.

Kasavu-Mundu and Jubba was what Amma ordered for Antony. I did not like the Dark Maroon color for the Jubba, but was proven wrong when he put it on. It suited him very well. I picked up a trouser for myself, but when paying time came, Antony “magnanimously” offered to pay. If only I had known earlier!!! Talk about lost deals.

I, with my typical hard working nature volunteered to look after the drinks department on D-Day. There was some competition from Appan who wanted the same post, but I won finally.

Sunday (I hate Sundays!!)
As usual, Amma forced me to church and that too at 6:30 in the morning! Relatives who were supposed to reach by 8:30 did not reach (as expected) so I stayed back and waited for them while the other three left for Kottayam. That was a good decision, Amma with all her pent up nervousness was sure to eat me alive, if I had gone along.

The Toyota Innovo, Appan had arranged was spacious and comfortable. I was joined by 4 talkative aunts and a silent uncle. In those 2 hours of journey, I heard more gossip about my family than in 2 decades. But, most of it was truly funny and we (me and the uncle) laughed all the way to Kottayam.

The church and my mother’s eldest sister’s house share the same wall. Thus, the house was a natural choice for all the ladies to change into their fine silk saris. As long back as I can remember, Antony was very much capable of dressing by himself. But today, the photographer deemed otherwise. I and other cousins were supposed to dress him up. Hmm… sounded nasty! But then, we thoroughly enjoyed “man handling” him. Antony, who was not too sure about his mundu tying skills, judiciously put on a belt above it, causing much amusement to bystanders.

He looked very handsome at the end of it all. Then came the second round of photos. Amma and Appan were asked to face the camera this time. Appan was game for it, but Amma was heard murmuring something about photographers in general. Next was my turn, fortunately younger brothers are not considered hot photo-able material and I was spared fast (The envious claim that it was coz the camera man wanted to keep his “standards” but then, you know better!)

We could walk to the church, but Appan decided to drive and keep our “status”. At the church, the girl’s family was waiting. I rushed outside to take some photos. It was 12 in the afternoon and sweltering hot, so I prudently decided to switch on the car a/c for Antony, lest he melt in his own sweat. What was not so prudent was that I forgot to idle the engine and when Appan found out that the a/c was running on car battery, he blew his top. I was left thinking “There goes the Menacherry-family-acting-so-nice cover”. In a moment’s notice the girls father was seen shouting at his son, seems like both families had shunned their “best behavior” formality.

The church function was short and sweet. Like always, the priest mixed up parents, families and edavakas while announcing the engagement. There was a beehive of activity immediately after the function in the church. It was the priest who blew his top this time, announcing over the mike that this was a church and that proper decorum was to be followed.

I had to get up on stage for the announcements but I excused myself by telling Appan that I had to take care of the drinks dept. Turns out that I had underestimated my family a bit. By the time I reached, my dear cousins had all but finished the last drop! I ran back so as not to miss the food. The food(especially the non-veg part) was great! I had multiple helpings of almost everything.

Now, the only thing left was to talk to my chedathi. This was the first time I was seeing her and we had never talked before. But as events turned out, we could exchange hardly two words before the photographer whisked them away in search of soft green grass and huggable trees in true Bollywood style.

Punch line by a dog tired Antony at the end of it all: “Now I know why people don’t marry more often!”

Next in the itinerary was the visit to girl’s house. It went off pretty well with no protocol gaffes. With this final diplomatic victory under the belt we set back home. Which left me thinking, “It was over so fast!” The enormity of the fact that one new member is going to join the family now hit me. But somehow, I know that this is going to work pretty well, you can just sense it.

Monday
“Paapi pokunidam pathalam”
-Hell is where the sinner goes – Old Malayalam proverb
The bus back did not have any bed bugs or mosquitoes, but with me inside it, something was bound to go wrong… It had engine trouble near Krishnagiri and could only go at 30-40 kmph. We reached Bangalore a good three hours later than usual.

Sibling Rivalry

2008-05-06T11:14:00.003+05:30

Either, Amma actually loved both of us equally or she was good enough not to show any special love even if she had it. Whatever it was, we did not have much sibling rivalry. Come to think of it, it had nothing to do with love; it was her mode of punishments that imbibed in us a touch of socialism. It was a no holds barred tongue lashing most of the times, but when push came to shove she never shirked to take the stick to our bottoms.

I was at the receiving end more often than Antony for the simple reason that I was more “saintly”. I don’t want to bore you with all the mischief I did, but then one instance stands out. By the way, it was NOT MY FAULT!! It was all Amma’s doing. Appa had just bought new furniture and cushions and Amma being an expert at sewing started stitching the cushion covers. Long hours were spend before the sewing machine and finally one fine morning she completed the task, put on the cushion covers and patted herself on the back for a job well done.

Now, if she had just put the cushion cover on the cushions, all would have gone well but as fate would have it, she also put me and a scissor on top of the very same villainous cushions. Friends, Indians, countrymen, I ask you, is it not the gravest offense on the part of the parent to put a child and a scissor on the same cushion? It was a tough decision, but even in that tender age I was my mother’s true son and never shirked from doing what “I had to do”. I took the scissors and very carefully (and exactly like my mother) cut the eeny weeny threads that were so annoyingly holding the two parts of the cushion cover.

I felt like a liberator and if I knew about George Bush then, I would have likened myself to him. In my mind, I was liberating the Iraqi people and granting them democracy. But my mother (read Jihadi) was as usual playing spoil sport with my grandiose plans. Antony, the greatest spy and backstabber ever, was the first to notice what I was doing. He immediately called Amma’s attention to the liberation.
I’ve never seen Amma that angry before or after that incident. Minus the frothing at the mouth she looked really really mad. And the only reason she wasn’t frothing was that she was screaming at high pitch at me.

Suddenly she calmed herself (don’t kid yourself, it was the calm before the storm!)… and asked Antony to bring a really big stick. Normally, he would have bought something two inches thicker and longer than stated requirements. But, sensing her mood, he first brought in a very small one and secured a nasty pinch(?) (My memory fails me here, I tend to remember only those atrocities committed against me) for the same. I don’t want to go to the details but as Rowling puts it in one of her Harry Porter stories “So-and-so’s buttock was never the same again”.

Hey, I am wandering from the point, my point was the there was hardly any Sibling rivalry between me and my bro coz of my mother. But boy, those golden days are over! Look what she did yesterday (which incidentally was my birthday too). I was rudely woken up in the morning by Amma. I was supposed to supervise the cleaning paripadees going on at the house as part of my brother’s engagement. Hey! What happened to good old “Happy Birthday monae”?

Then came breakfast, wherein I was lectured thoroughly about stuff that was to be done… again no “Happy Birthday”. That’s when Shyam called up and wished me. I said thank you and Amma finally picked the cue. With a beaming face she said “Happy Birthday!” I didn’t feel too happy, but I smiled anyways and said “Thank you”. After all, I was not some 10 year old kid, breathlessly waiting for my presents.

While having lunch on that very same day, I noticed a packet of expensive chocolates that Amma had put in the freezer. Normally, I would have devoured them all, but then a voice in my head held me back, “Hey! you are 26!, show some maturity and concern for other people. Don’t be so selfish”. I restrained myself with great difficulty, thinking “during dinner I can share it with Amma and Appa, it would be a good birthday treat. Not the best, but then good enough for 26”. After all she has so thoughtfully kept these chocolates for me.

Dinner came and dinner went, but no mention was made of any chocolates. Finally, I swallowed my pride and asked for them…
I: Ammae, let’s have the chocolates in the fridge, let’s make it my “birthday treat”.
Amma: What!! Are you crazy, I have kept it for a better occasion like say, Antony’s engagement.
I(Dumbstruck): what! At least did you buy a cake, on the way back from office?
Amma: No, I was too busy.
I: You mean, I don’t even get to eat a single chocolate on my birthday? And no cake either!
Amma: Don’t be so childish, if you open that packet how will I give it to our guests during Antony’s engagement?

Sibling rivalry is born! 26 my foot! I decided to be childish and devilish….. Boy! Is she in for a surprise when she opens that packet! And this time, there gonna be no stick…. After all, I am 26 and “un beatable”

On why I am not a monkey

2008-04-25T15:55:00.003+05:30

“Thank God it is Friday” was on my lips the moment I left office on February 22 2008. Tony (Toddy) Pullachen had invited us over to his flat for a drinking binge. I had been of the drink for quite some time due to viral fever and other god forsaken ailments, so I took to the invitation like fish to water.

Now, I pride myself on being a reasonable man when drunk.
Drunk and loud? Guilty your honor.
Drunk and obnoxious? Guilty again.
But Drunk and Unreasonable? No way. I aint the type who says “Don’t hold me, I can walk straight” or the type of guy who insists on driving the moment he is drunk. In fact when I am drunk, I insist that the sober man drive. But Friday was different..:(

After successfully downing God knows how much of those divine cups of Ambrosia, we turned on the idiot tube and lo! There was this old Mohanlal starred movie “Pakshae”. As we lay about watching the movie passing snide comments on how beautiful olden time heroines looked, Innocent (another actor) who does a cameo in the film entered the scene. One of his dialogues roughly translated to “let’s rock at the city centre, that’s where the fun is”.

You can’t tell that kinda dialogue to four drunken men without a response. Pullachen was on his feet in a second shouting “let’s go for a night ride, all the fun is in the city”. Not surprisingly in five short minutes I found myself the pillion rider of a bike driven by Shyam who was fortunately not too drunk. I would have stayed there if not for Samjith driving the other bike. You see, Samjith did not know how to ride a bike and he was riding it. I did not know how to ride a bike and I wasn’t riding it. Blatantly undemocratic and un-socialistic if you ask me.

I wanted to drive our bike then and there. Shyam soothed me with some soberly words and finally we compromised that I would drive up till the gate and he would take on afterwards. But, at the gate I decided that I could go up to the main road and I drove up to the main road. At the main road, I felt that I could drive up to Hyderabad (from Bangalore!) but fortunately two things stopped me from doing it.
1) The biked had very little petrol
2) Shyam decided to get the bike back (big monkey do as he please!)

All this time, Samjith to his credit was driving his bike very well. After going past Marthahalli on the outer ring road, we stopped due to lack of petrol. There was only enough left to get back in one piece.

Samjith on the other hand drove away with not a care in the world. As we waited for them to return, I badgered Shyam to allow me to drive “a little on the main road”. Finally Shyam agreed. Just as I spotted Samjith’s bike, I jumped on mine and accelerated away. Shyam was holding on for good life.
I: Ever seen “matrix re-loaded”
Shyam: Yes
I: Let’s teach Trinity a few moves shall we?
Shyam: No Way!
I: Yes! Here’s the way
Shyam: Oh noo….

I zigzagged between trucks like a maniac, my alcohol induced self-confidence kept telling me to “push it dude, push it” and I pushed it. At one point, I looked back to see where Samjith was (somebody forgot to tell me about the wind factor! You can’t just turn around and look when driving a bike at speed, you loose your balance!) Fortunately, the bike was stable and Shyam did not notice anything. But that moment of imbalance send electric shocks down my spine.

All the alcohol in my blood seemed to vaporized away. The foolishness of what I was doing struck me. Crazy! that’s what I was in those moments. What the f*** did I think I was doing? and that too with somebody in the pillion seat! Me, I didn’t have a license and more importantly I didn’t know how to drive a bike, this was maybe my 2nd/3rd time driving a bike.

It was only a few months before that a cousin* of mine had a bike accident and here I was happily repeating what my parents and relatives had pleaded me and my cousins not to do. I slowed down carefully, stopped the bike and gave it back to Shyam.

The good part:
1) I screwed up, but it did not harm anyone else, so thank you God
2) I screwed up, but I did not get harmed, so thank you God

To err is human and err I did, hence proved that I am not a monkey! Friends who for long had suspected simian antecedents in me are thus proven wrong!

*If my cousin reads this blog then all I gotta tell him in my defense is “hey! I was wearing a helmet!”

Kite Runner

2008-04-08T18:55:00.003+05:30

They say that the book is better than the movie. “They” must be pretty wise.

I read Kite runner some months back. Anish Chandran was the first to recommend the book to me. I did not give it much thought at the time, but when Tony K Thayil also mentioned the same book, I decided to buy it. And Boy! Was it worth every single ‘pirated’ paisa, so much so that I bought the original. Once I bought it, I just couldn’t keep it down. I even got up early the next day to finish it off!

The first part of the story focuses on the relationship between two boys, master and servant in erstwhile Afghanistan before the wars. A “nice” read is what I’d call this section. A morbid situation develops quite suddenly that pulls Hassan and Amir into a quagmire that would change their lives forever. This pivotal part is exceptionally well written by Hosseini who weaves in a plethora of emotions finally leaving you aghast. It breaks your heart reading it and you end up asking the “why God why” q. Here readers get the first taste of Khaled Hosseini’s genius. I must warn you that from then on, it is no longer a “feel good” book.

When a person reads a book he or she is affected differently from another person reading the same book. But the differences would be small (I am guessing a lot here). What is special about reading this book is that people seem to be affected in totally different manners. Most people relate to at least one character in the story. The characters are so completely original and different from each other that readers automatically gravitate to one of them and get affected as such.

Amir the cowardly writer is the protagonist. Hassan is his servant, innocent to a fault, naïve and completely loyal to Amir, he is the character which shapes the story of Amir. Baba, Amir’s all conquering father is the third character. Other characters worth mention are Ali, Hassan’s father and Rahim Khan, Baba’s friend.

I personally related to Amir, while I would have loved to be like Hassan and aspired to be like Baba. The whole damn this is “haunting”. You keep thinking about the characters weeks after you read the story.

At each point of the story, you are left wishing that something different happened. But the story has a mind of its own. It does not pander to the audience except at one point when Amir takes on his childhood nemesis, Assef and for once sheds his cowardice. Come to think of it, Kite Runner is almost like the antithesis of a “feel good” book. Fortunately, Hosseini does not fall into the trap of making it into a tragedy. The ending is not a tragedy, but then it is no “lived happily ever after” either. If I were to rate best endings I would rate it third after “The city of Joy” and “The Alchemist”.

To me, this story underlines two things, one that “nobody is completely bad or incapable” from Amir standing up to Assef and two that “great good can come out of evil” as explained by Rahim Khan to Amir regarding an incident in Baba’s life that I will not enumerate here(It would take the sting out of the story if you haven’t read it). The whole story is about atonement, about the evil things in your life causing you to do good.

Dialogues by Hassan really take one’s breath away “for you, a thousand times over” being one of the classics. “There is a way to be good again!” uttered by Rahim Khan being another.

The moment I saw the movie at my local DVD rental store, I picked it up. when you see a book you read, made into a movie, you always feel something is missing, that some important things are left out etc. I have the same gripe against this movie too. The biggest being that the way I imagined the characters like Baba and Hassan was not the way they turned out.

The movie also tries to catch a lot of childhood scenes but loses out in coherence since they are all small “flashes”. Character building is another thing that it misses out on. Except for Amir and to some extend Baba, the characters are not built up properly. Hassan is a startling example in that the movie almost completely misses his significance.

I don’t want to sound like a girl here but “Baba isn’t tall enough!” From the novel, he is said to be a huge person with an imposing personality. Homayoun Ershadi in the role of Baba is good but not great. And the heart breaking scene regarding Hassan is nowhere near heartbreaking in the movie. A bit of special effects like slow motion, total silence etc might have helped this scene.

The camera work and the background hue given to the film are fantastic. Afghanistan looks like Afghanistan should look. Thankfully, the characters in the film use native language, which greatly adds to the “originality” of the story. Overall it is a good movie by Marc Foster but I guess it won’t touch your heart the way the book does.

P.S: If you don’t want to lose out on the suspense, don’t read wiki.

Philosophy*

2008-03-31T14:36:00.010+05:30

Most days, I have the emotional depth of a teaspoon (blessed are those days!). But then, once in a blue moon, I do have my philosophical jaunts. On such days, instead of spending time on normal fantasies related to wet mallu aunties, my mind wanders into a higher plane of thought regarding such mundane details like “what is the meaning of my life” etc. Fortunately, these spells are short lived and I come back to self in no time. The simple reason(s) being that
1) There are no mallu aunties
2) I don’t get any answers.
3) It leaves me depressed and I don’t like being depressed.

But here goes the questions and train of thought, just so that other buggers out there like me know that they aren’t alone!
1) Why do I think that I am I? Why don’t I think I am you?
I got a brain. So do you. I got a body so do you. But what tells me that I am the “owner/individual/soul/whatever” residing in my body? See I told you it is depressing stuff! I am already confused.
2) How did this world begin? Ok if you are a religious you will say God made it, but who made God eh? “God was just there” doesn’t satisfy me.
3) What if we make the matrix? Do we become God?
4) Do we live inside the matrix?
5) Is God megalomaniac?
6) Meaning of life and its purpose?

Of all the other trashy philosophical questions that pop up, 1 to 3 are those that bother me the most… though not necessarily in that order.
Like, for the life of me I don’t understand why I don’t think I am Bill Gates i.e. after he made his fortune and not for criminal tendencies
Is it the “soul” that tells you, that you are you and not me? Well if you do find out, tell me!

Coming back to the age old chicken or egg question, frankly it gives me a pain just to think about it. Moses once asked God “who are you?” and pat came the reply “I am”. Pretty smart answer, but what happened before I am?..... I was? Or I am coming? Bah! It sickens me no end.

The latest bout of my philosophical over-anxiety was brought about by a bus journey. Lonely bus journeys, beautiful sunsets, a walk on the beach, deathly calm/silence, they all conspire to make me philosopher. Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge that you are thoroughly ignorant and you can’t do anything about it is frustrating. The fact that I will not find out the answer to any of these until death weighs on me….:(

Living in a country where the Sadhu’s chant “this world is baghvan ki maya, an illusion” I was not very surprised by the matrix concept. We are already creating virtual worlds out there on the net. It will only be a short while before science comes up with true artificial intelligence. Now for a moment assume that we can create a virtual universe inside a computer. The entities inside the program believe that they are really living in a world.
What should their morality be?
Who should they worship? Us, Or our God(s)? Should there be a friggin chain of command too?
Can I go in as the burning bush and tell a Moses “I am” (Hey! that would be cool!). Should they have a heaven and hell? Or will the despots and tyrants of this virtual world also get away with it, just like they do in our world?

Which brings me to the megalomania of some higher up entities (I won't drop any names here due to... let us say ah.. "superstitions"). Say, I create a virtual world; I might(read will) want to go in once in a while and have drunken wild sex orgies with an actress. But I just wouldn’t want people bent on their knees praying to me! (Well maybe that is why God is God and I am I)

The last of the questions bother the greatest of men (and women! for politically correct people out there). Maybe coz I aint that great or maybe coz I know that the purpose in my life is plain old debauchery; I am not much bothered by that q. What bothers me is the plain old lack of it…:( Hey! Did I hear somebody say “teaspoon”?

*Please dont blame me for the post, I was bored and I just finished counting my fingers for the nth time!

Exam Fever - The Other Side

2008-03-20T23:35:00.008+05:30

You can’t pick up the morning paper in the month of March without hearing news about a student’s suicide due to exam pressure. What drives parents, relatives and so called well wishers to put such undue pressure on their children is well beyond me. Is it a seat in a good college, a better life for their wards or plain “my son ahead of his son” mentality?

As humans living on earth which is pretty far away from utopia, I can understand parent’s sentiment. But I cannot for the life of me understand their actions. Life should be fun for kids not pain and tension. By that, I do not mean to say that children should not know about the harsh facts of life. Life is tough and being prepared for the rat race is good. But not great! After all it is a rat race and even being in the lead will be costly!

Much has been said of kids and exams, but little done to change anything. For once the government and politicians can’t be blamed, the buck stops with a sickening thud at our own door steps. It is an attitude, an evil culture that we have none but ourselves to blame. On the lighter side, one way to help students overcome their fear of exams is to have them do engineering. You get so many damn exams every other day that by the end of the course one starts showing withdrawal symptoms if there isn’t an exam scheduled for the week.

The solution I feel lies in counseling… not for the students (who should be out playing, not attending some crummy counseling) but for the parents. One needs to put this idea into their heads that exams are not everything…. In fact by my standards they are nothing. You win some and you lose some, then again if you got Indian hockey in your genes you lose all, but what the heck? The richest people in the world aren’t educated in high degrees nor did they pass any big exams. One of the criteria to being obscenely rich is to be under-educated. Those guys are just plain resourceful.

But then, if your kid was like yours truly, who ain’t resourceful and who ain’t good at studies. Hmm.. you got a problem there. But that is when being like my dad was helps you out. Turn a blind eye and hope that everything turns out to be good. If you are struck by the distinct lack of viable options/solutions to make your kids perform better at exams… fact is, I don’t have any…:D. But then I can explain one way of how NOT to put pressure.

Parent: Beta, study hard or you will fail your exams
Child: Yeah.
Parent: Don’t worry even if you fail, I will still be proud of you.
Child: Thank you pop’s
Parent: Yeah, I will be proud and you will be lacking your mobile, pocket money, cultural allowance, inflation allowance, petty allowances and all this with no debt waiver.
Child: Uh-oh, I will try hard papa.
Parent: Try, my foot!!! If you don’t get at least one more mark higher than our neighbor’s son, I will ground you for life.

Now, ten years back, if my father told me something like this and assume for a second I needed to suicide. Can you imagine how tough it was??? The shopkeepers knew me and my family and my whole lineage up to my great-great grandfather. Buying a rope, rat poison or any other such ingredients that I thought necessary for a decent suicide would be looked upon with grave suspicion, especially during March. Believe me, in those days one had no privacy, not even to suicide in peace!

Fast forward to today and you got Google…. You guessed right! I don’t want to explain anymore and anyway, a picture speaks a thousand words.

My syllabus was ICSE, which was on the tougher side as syllabuses go; so then; it was no wonder that I flunked at least 2 to three exams per term. What was however unheard of, was for me to get every question correct i.e. a humble 100 out of 100. But one bright summer day, when I was in the fourth year of torture called school I felt that I had achieved this unbelievable feat.

I knew every single question in my q paper. I finished writing the exam far ahead of schedule(which in itself was not surprising!) and even read all my answers to make sure that I didn’t make any careless mistakes. Everything was just perfect.

Much elated by this sudden turn of fortune, I raced home beating my brother by a foot and a half and shouted to Chedathi (our ayah) “I did great in my exams today Chedathi, I am actually afraid I will get the first rank”. Old Chedathi was of strong constitution and hence averted a joyous heart attack at this surprising good news.

That is when Amma walked in from her day at work. Chedathi was the first to break the good news.
Chedathi: Molae, Aby is telling that he did the exam so well that he is afraid he will get the first rank.
Amma(With a wide unbelieving smile on her face): anno? that is very good news… where is my darling little boy?
In true drama style, I jumped on to her lap, handed her the q paper and commanded “ye of little faith, ask and I shall answer”
Amma looked me over to make certain that it wasn’t my long lost twin of Bollywood soap box fame. I answered in style to each of her questions and my confidence grew as I answered each one correctly, so did my mother’s smile.

Finally all the questions were over and I had answered each one correctly. I was so puffed up with pride that I nearly missed the next question… uh-oh.. next question?? But I thought it was over right??
Me: Hey, where are you reading from? That question was not there for the exam
Amma: What??? Did I read wrong, I will read it once more
Reading once more did not help, the question still sounded unfamiliar. I snatched the question paper from her hands and looked….only to see that there were questions on the other side of the paper as well!!! I had completely missed seeing these questions. There went my first rank!

Amma laughed so hard that day that she nearly cried. I was happy too, I didn’t know the answers to the questions anyway and this gave me an iron clad alibi for the low performance. And for my father…. I doubt it if he has ever heard this story at all. So God, Thank you for my parents(you could have made them give me more pocket money but then, I ain’t complaining…:D).

Candle Stick Entertainment

2008-01-27T12:27:00.000+05:30

It’s funny how old memories can sneak in on you so damn unexpectedly. Take my case today; I walk in to my house in Kerala after a month or so in Bangalore. Amma is a neatness freak and I was absent for a month so everything is infuriatingly occupying their destined spaces. But something is definitely amiss.

It turns out that nothing is amiss, just that some new junk got added to the display. What was surprising was the color of the artifacts. Bright Gold! Surprising, considering that my mother avoided bright colors like the plague and she was especially averse to metallic curios.

With all due credit to my artistic taste, the four metallic candle sticks/bowl did look grotesque. I was picking one of the candle sticks when I got this rush of old memories. I had seen this somewhere! In fact the piece was so familiar that I knew each and every milli/micro/nano point of it. It was a dear old child hood friend.
It is quite natural that at this point you label me a certified lunatic who befriended candle sticks during his child hood, but hold on, A Genius needs explanation doesn’t he? During those dark childhood days, when one’s opinion and vote counted for naught, I was subjected to some truly horrible Chinese torture techniques each day. It would last 15 minutes and was for reasons beyond my comprehension called “prayer”. During these 15 minutes of family prayer, I was not only expected to pray but also forego all my God given motor abilities to worship God(yeah I know, so illogical!).

It is during one such prayer session that I found a friend in this candle stick. It had solidified and molten wax all over it. I picked out pieces of wax and then shoved them back into the fire small piece by small piece till all of it melted and fell down again. It was a highly interesting way to pass time during prayer.
For years, I used to pass prayer time playing with this candle stick, cleaning it, scratching it, solidifying and melting the wax again and again and again and again in one huge cycle. God’s gift to me!

I hadn’t seen this candle stick after I left for my engineering. I never thought about it either. In fact the last time I saw it, its color was something near black after years of use (misuse?). It is now gold plated, looking good as new and waiting for the next child.

How to work for an Idiot

2007-12-22T19:07:00.000+05:30

For months, Jiju has been bitching about his manager. He even bought a book called “How to work for an Idiot”.

“He doesn’t come for meetings on time.
He doesn’t care about my project.
He is rude.
He gives unacceptable timelines
He is blah blah blah…” Jiju's grouch list was endless.

When this very same manager bugged him to attend a seminar held by the Landmark Forum, Jiju was none too pleased. He dreaded going alone and roped me in to be a co-scapegoat. On the day of the seminar we were joined by Sony, Jiju’s cousin.

It is said that life’s experiences are totally unexpected. The seminar proved it right. It was held at a hall in Mahaveer Jain College on a Saturday between 11 and 1 P.M. The seats were comfy and I planned to slip back to sleep ASAP.

The session started and participants were supposed to speak out their first impression on entering the room. Some people stood up and told that “I saw so many smiling faces… it was such a wonderful sight”…. Did it ring a bell with me? No it didn’t, not yet. But something definitely sounded/looked familiar.

Slowly, the tempo of conversation changed, the expectation from the participants was to tell something, anything that they feel they should be doing in their life but was not able to do for whatever reason. A society’s tragedy spilled forth. All this sounded very familiar to me, but I was still unable to place it.

Now came the testimonial section (and the hunger, my belly was protesting violently by then).

There was this lady who came up and told
“I thought, I was always right, I never cared for anything anybody else said….. I was arrogant without knowing it… Landmark Forum opened my eyes now I am a changed person."

Another guy came up and told “I had problems with my wife. I was always justifying all the lousy things I did. Landmark Forum showed me what I was doing and I felt so bad that I had been such a lousy guy. After the session even my business prospered…”

The testimonials were endless. Students able to learn better, businessmen doing better in their business, spouses jelling better and even love between daughter and mother-in-law!

I was blind with hunger by then, but it was all so emotional and riveting that I stayed put. I had expected this seminar to be like all seminars… a royally boring affair. It was not. To put it bluntly, the "seminar" was actually a glorified sales pitch. I didn’t mind though, they were going about it so beautifully!

Even though most of the speeches were right from the heart, none had broken the “tear-barrier” so far. But that was till a middle aged woman came up and started crying almost immediately. She had been very cruel to her sister-in-law after she married, her self-hate list was endless. Nearly had me in tears too! That was when it finally struck me! I had been through these emotional speeches once before in my life.

As a practicing (my mother practiced it for me!) catholic who did school in Kerala during the 90’s, I was one among the millions who had to make a trip to the divine retreat centre at Pota. There was no escaping that fate. Even though Amma gave me hell if I didn’t go to church or tell my prayers piously every day, my parents were actually not so religiously inclined. The visit was put off for one reason or another for a long time. But in the end, they had to bow down to pressure and make the pilgrimage.

I was in the 8th and would have been happier playing cricket and chasing the neighborhood dogs, but no sir, I had to pray on my knees for a week. Cribbing and exaggeration apart, I actually liked most of the retreat. Unlike the adults I was doing it at the “Christeen Dhyana Kendra” for children, which was filled to the brim with boys my age. We had a whale of a time. But again, that was before the testimonials began. Most of them had me in tears! I felt terribly unhappy that I had such a happy childhood and no testimonial!!! Really felt left out, I did!

Now that I had placed Landmark Forum in perspective, things started making more sense. One of the first conclusions I made was that this was for truly screwed up people, not cool dudes like me. But that was till this cool dude came up and gave a testimonial about how he thought he was such a cool dude BEFORE he did the Landmark Forum course. There went my defense!

Jiju(that double dealing low life!) was the next to strike, “My manager has improved a lot in the past two months, since he did the course. Maybe this is actually good!” Somehow I felt bitching was better! Call me materialistic, realistic or whatever “ic” you want to, but I knew that the cost factor was gonna come up any second now. True to my prediction, it did come up in a short while. 5.6k for a 3 day program! I wouldn’t pay half as much for a 3 day trek in the Himalayas! Maybe I should become catholic again! At least the retreat was free of cost.

I was nearly convinced to do the program when, at the end of the program we had a chat with Jiju’s manager. He told us that this was one of the best things that happened to him. He struck me as a very straight forward guy.

Manager: You don’t become a changed man just coz you do this 3 day program. No program can do that, you have to put in hard work after the program.
I(Thinking): Ah! Hard work… there is my excuse for not doing it!
Manager: What this program does is, it gives you a feeling of how screwed up you are and a support structure to deal with it. I still contact my helper from our class whenever I feel I'm in trouble.
I(Thinking): If the helper is a mallu nurse I would too!
Manager – Speaking To Jiju: I know I have been a very bad manager, but I realized it only two months back and I am trying to make amends.
Jiju: Yeah, I also thought so! Of late, you have been very sharp with your timings. You are never late for a meeting. I have noticed changes. Maybe I should do it too!

That really set me thinking. I had been given an opportunity to lead 4 guys since two months ago. Mostly we worked well, but sometimes things didn’t go as planned and it was really hard to keep my cool on all occasions. Suddenly self doubt reared its ugly head in me… what if I was a jerk? Did they hate me? Was I doing everything properly?

On one side was Rs.5600. On the other, an opportunity to become a better individual. I was totally confused. I cursed Jiju for placing me in this predicament. After much thought, consideration, deliberation, what-not, I finally came upon a solution.... To buy a copy of “How to work for an Idiot” and present it to my team!

Mind your language!

2007-12-16T21:11:00.000+05:30

Tony’s Story
Tony a.k.a Pullachen, came back from office a seriously depressed man. Now, if you knew Tony, you would also know that his depression was highly unusual, almost like India winning a Gold medal at the Olympics. A man to man talk was imperative and what better place than a bar to hold it? So off we went to Gangothri to drown his sorrow with that ambrosia called beer.

A few beer mugs later, I found out the cause of his depression. He had lost an offer to work in Singapore, just because he couldn’t understand the Singaporean interviewer’s English accent. That he had lost the offer was of little importance, but the fact that he couldn’t even understand the interviewer’s English really hurt him to the core.

My Story
For quite some time I have been thinking seriously about personality development. Call me a perfectionist if you will, why else would somebody with such a perfect personality (me! U dumbo) go in for more development. On a more serious note, some facets of my “perfect” personality have been giving me a pain in the wrong places for a few months now. Part of the “maturing” process I guess.

Our Story
We decided to join an English speaking course, him in the hope of developing his career and English speaking skills and I in the hope of meeting up with some good looking mallu nurses on their way to England, the IELTS route.

We joined speak easy, an institute in Koramangala, Bangalore. Tony, with his good intentions had some divine backing. The course offered exactly what he was looking for and then some. Me, with my bad intentions and no divine backing ended up in a class with 15 males and one female! No prizes for guessing who was depressed now!

The first part of our course comes to an end tomorrow. It has been a good learning experience to say the least. The course offers basic English grammar, public speaking, dining etiquette and even tips on your wardrobe! But more than the English we learnt, the body language and dining etiquette sessions we had, I felt great joy in meeting up with so many new people. All of whom had one thing in common, a desire to become better in something that they were weak. Alchemy at work!

Some of my classmates are job pursuers, others, like Tony, looking for a change in career and a betterment of their communication skills. Our trainer, a flamboyant lady from Srinagar is one of the most riveting personalities I’ve seen. Altogether we are a motley crowd but one that has jelled well over time.

I am looking forward to the second part of the course which deals with accent neutralization. Hopefully, it will have at least one mallu nurse! Tony, on the other hand has gone completely off his rocker. He actually wants to neutralize his accent!! I guess depression does that to you, makes you serious and goal oriented! If you ask me, he has got his priorities wrong. Hope he doesn’t make this a habit!

Broken Heart!

2007-12-03T13:59:00.000+05:30

Warning: Not a happy ending!

To those wondering who is Tony? I am afraid that I can give you no single answer. Is he the protagonist? Nope! (Actually he is, but since I am part of this story and I am the one WRITING this post, it was my humble decision to take that “unassuming” position). Is he Mr. Broken heart? Not really, at least not now. But he was once. And I was the one who did the breaking. Sick minds reading this can wipe off that “gay” thought from your minds. It is a bit more complicated than that!

The story begins like most stories do, with the awakening of true love in our pseudo hero’s mind (remember, I am the protagonist!). Tony fell for the girl and he fell hard. That he fell was no surprise to me. We were both in that “falling” stage, with a new love blossoming every other day. What surprised me was that even after a long time (read one month) he was still hooked to the same girl. Is this true love? I asked myself. Is this true love? Tony asked himself. No! And Yes! Were the respective (and emphatic) answers.

I was ready to wait and see the outcome. But another month passed and he was still laid low by this new and powerful emotion. Maybe it is true love after all, I decided. The problem with true love is that it can work black magic on your tongue. Tony, a normally talkative person found his tongue on strike whenever he met his love. Things got so bad that each time he met her, he used to gibber out some rubbish and make a royal fool of himself. I being a true friend was immensely perturbed by the situation. A wave of sympathy for my dear friend engulfed me (big mistake!!!!).

Due to all that sympathy hanging in the air when Tony came up with that utterly hare-brained solution to the problem, I ended up saying “yes minister”. His elegant solution (monstrously screwed up idea, if you ask me!) was to do a slow build up of his sagging image in front of his beloved (responsibility --> MINE!!!) and then he would ride by like a knight in shining armor and have the lady swooning in his hands. Blinded by love (straight! normal! casual!) for my dear friend, I agreed to take up my part of the deal vis-a-vis the image building exercise.

Whatever his faults, Tony had one winning advantage and that was his logic. He had thus come to the logical conclusion that since his tongue was on strike some other tongue had to wag. No prizes for guessing who ended up doing this miserable wagging! Somebody forgot to tell him that love has nothing to do with logic!!

To enumerate my role, I was supposed to call the girl in q every other day and if possible, several times a day and talk high and mighty about Tony. I was never a natural with the ladies and this new task gave me the butterflies. But love for a friend was love for a friend no matter what and I took up my task with utmost seriousness (which, if I’d applied to studies, I wouldn’t by typing this here in the first place!). Tony was very helpful regarding the logistics part of the operation. He provided me with the phone number and other details to get started.

Now, I had my own plan of action. First and foremost, I had to build a friendship with the girl for all the wrong reasons. The idea appealed to my crooked mind, but the execution was not that easy. I called her up on a regular basis, but I never had anything to talk, it got so tough that on many occasions I felt like giving up. But my duty bent mind and my superb criminal spirit held sway and I persevered to build up something reasonably close to a friendship. At last, after weeks of effort we were on talking terms.

Now started the hard part, I had to talk high and mighty about the biggest wimp on earth. The art of lying was never too alien to me, but to do it in such bulk quantities was tough even for my non-existent conscience. Day in and day out, I would sing praises of Tony to her. “Tony is that, Tony is that...blah blah blah” but she would just kind of skim over those comments, or totally ignore them. Getting the conversation hooked on to Tony was near to impossible.

On top of it, I had to deal with Tony’s incessant questions regarding our conversations. In the end I guess that was the undoing of it all. He would call me up and go through our conversations in detail, trying to analyze them logically for any sign of a break through. At the end of all that analyzing he would be very disheartened.

I kind of felt that I was letting him down even though he wouldn’t tell me so. In fact, I used to feel so bad about him feeling bad that I started adding a bit of masala to our conversations to make him feel better (Yeah I know, very big mistake!).

Tony was now coming to the logical conclusion based on some truly questionable data that she was “softening” up. As such, lying to the girl itself was hard on my conscience, but at least I was telling good things about someone. But lying to Tony was definitely giving me the nightmares. As the days went by, my conscience troubled me more and more. Many times I thought of telling him the truth of the matter about how she didn’t care two cents about my praises about him. In fact I wonder whether she ever understood that I was actually talking about Tony the whole time.

Finally, I came to the conclusion that she would never fall for him with this dumb approach. The time to tell Tony the truth about the matter had come. But I did not get the right environment to open my heart and it was weeks later on the day before our Tamil Nadu entrance examination that I finally found the environment “suitable”.

Sitting in a lodge in Comibatore, his mind full of formulas and equations for the approaching exam, Tony looked tense. But I decided to end this melodrama once and for all and took this opportunity to put up the hard facts.

I: Da, I want to tell you something
Tony: Hmm…
I: It’s about her.
Tony: Hmmm?
I: I’ve not told you everything about the phone conversations.
Tony: what???
I: Well you see, when I talk about you to her, she doesn’t really respond much.
Tony: But you told me that she was lapping it all up.
I: Well I told you wrong. She hardly says a word about that.
Tony: What!!!
I: Don’t get worked up yaar, but it’s the truth, she isn’t responding at all.
Tony (Gibbering much like when he sees her): but but…
I: I wanted to tell this for a long time dude, but you were so emotional about it that I didn’t have the heart to tell you all this before.
Tony: And you tell me this right before the exam! You ******
I: Sorry yaar.
Tony: !$^%&%&#^&#*$^*#&^*#%^&*
I: Sorry maan!
Tony: $^$%&*%&%^%^&%&@&*^%#&**
I: Go ahead. I deserve to be called all that and more.
Tony: you deserve to be burnt at the stake!!!
I (Looking and feeling pretty bad): That too.
Tony: You just broke my heart!

It is a tribute to our friendship that it stands strong and tall today even after the traitorous stuff I did.

Tony was resilient though, showing more courage than you would expect of him, he did what was logically to be done, proposed to her! Naturally, she rejected it.

Never ready to lie low just because of one failure, he went ahead courageously and had many more such failures in life. If an association be made for the love failures of this world, he could chair it any day I guess.

Yesterday he called me up to say goodbye. He is flying to the US of A in search of a bright future and a great career. He was always a great fan of Gandhi and now has taken a leaf from the great man’s book to “quit India”! Hopefully, he will find the love of his life in the shores of that friendly nation*.

*God save America and that poor girl!

A journey to the unknown

2007-10-26T12:33:00.000+05:30

I am going on a trip to North India starting today. We(me, Tony k Thayil and Nived Gopalan) will be back on 8th Nov 2007.

Tour plan:
Bangalore to Delhi, Delhi to Srinagar by flight.
Srinagar to Kargil and Dras and onwards to Ladak by bus.
Ladak(Leh) to Delhi by flight.
Delhi to Jodhpur by bus.
Jodhpur to Agra by bus.
Agra to Bangalore by Train.

It has been quite some time since I have got this excited about anything. This brings back memories of my childhood when I used to get extremely excited about "long" trips . Back then, the definition for "long" was about 120-150km....:) Which was the distance from Kollam to Kanjirapilly/Angamally.

I can still remember how I would keep on asking Amma "when will we go?" "when will we go?" till she lost her patience, then I would just switch over to Appa, till he lost his patience. And on the night before such trips to native, I would dream a lot about our journey.

Yesterday I did not dream anything, maybe because I was bone tired after work, but the magic of the moment is still very much there!

I am nearly shivering with excitement!!!!!

We have decided to go for some rural sight seeing, which can be pretty injurious to health....:) Certain parts of the trip are dangerous, so please add me in your prayers*

*The only condition for those praying would be that one prayer is totally unacceptable i.e "Give this idiot some good sense!!!"

Deja vu

2007-10-19T16:12:00.000+05:30

Cricket is a funny game. On Wednesday (15, Oct 2007) it was proved yet again. This game put me back into the memory lane, back to a game played about 11 years ago in Bangalore between the same two teams.

The match was a goner from the very beginning. Australians as is their wont ruled the roost and then some. The Indian top order had crumbled in a depressingly familiar way, but the surprise came from the tail. The magic for the day was provided by Javagal Srinath and Anil Kumble.

As the wickets took a tumble, I clearly remember going deeper and deeper into depression. It was a time in my life when I firmly believed in God and Saints. Entreaties to the higher beings went up by the dozen but the result was one wicket after another falling in disgrace before a disciplined Australian attack. Even though nobody accepts it, I have a heart of gold, and to see India lose so pathetically to these damned Australians was too much for me. I watched as much as I dared to watch but as more and more batsmen started walking back to the pavilion, I couldn’t face it anymore and went quietly to bed.

I would read about the match tomorrow, I decided. To read about defeat is far better than watching it live. For once, I cursed the KSEB guys for not cutting the power. They had no issues about cutting it when India was winning, bloody Pakis!!! I was dreaming of some innovative ways to destroy the electricity office when Appa called out “da, we are fighting, come watch it!”

I was out of bed like a spring and reached the living room just in time to see Srinath hook one for a four! Ah! The ecstasy I felt! The crowd was in uproar, we (bro including) were jumping up and down in wild excitement and Amma was cussing us for making all that noise. But with Appa jumping along with us, who was she to tell anything eh?

Each ball had a story of its own, each moment was etched deep into memory, and each shot pierced through the very fabric of the mighty Australian ego. The goliath was about to fall, but doubt lurked deep within me. What if we lost just one more wicket? It was goodbye then. The very air was electric with tension. I was clenching my hand so tightly that it hurt. But Srinath made sure that on his home ground he would walk back with his head held high! A six and four later we were right on victory lane and in the end won it easily with an over to spare and then some.

What I did not know at that time (or care!) was that 11 years down the lane, the same boy would be doing the same sort of hand clenching. The heroes were again two bowlers. It was again the 9th wicket partnership that did the trick and in the end we had more over’s to spare than last time. The previous episode was sweeter though, they had won a berth in the final due to that win and the celebrations were understandably riotous. This time around, it was just a face saver and maybe a few people will keep their positions due to this one. But in the end who cares… We beat the Aussies in our last game and that is what matters!

But I really hope that I wont have to wait another 11 years to watch the next one!

The little world of Don Camillo, By Giovanni Gaureschi – A eulogy

2007-10-15T14:22:00.000+05:30

I am not quite sure how old I was when I first read this book by Giovanni Gaureschi. Most probably, I was in the 6th - 8th standard of my development (read destructive) stage. But I clearly remember the emotion the book evoked in me, the first time I set my eyes on it.

The cover was black and dusty. It did not look attractive at all. I was not impressed. This seemed to be one of those “Appa-Amma” level books which were way beyond my understanding. Till date, I am not quite sure why I went ahead and opened the book against my gut feeling. But after reading it, I found out that I had some real lousy gut feelings. The book itself belonged to some public library. Nobody in the family knows till date how that book got there, but nobody is complaining either!

This extremely simple and humorous story takes place in a sleepy Italian town, by the side of river po. It deals with the relation ship between a priest, Don Camillo, the town’s communist mayor, Peppone and Christ on the cross who has decided to intervene directly in most matters, lest things get out of control. The protagonists are at loggerheads most of the time and at fisticuffs the rest of the time, except Christ of course, since he is nailed on the cross!

The story hits you like a ton of bricks. The plot is so fresh, the ideas so innocent and the presentation so simple that one cant help imagining the whole story in 3-D! I like Harry Porter books, my respect for the author however is for her ability to write a novel that can be read and understood by people of all ages. Giovanni Gaureschi is a master of this art. The ideas put forward in this book are the experience of a lifetime and really deep stuff but written with such simplicity that even me, the 11-12 year old kid could understand them beautifully.

I have desperately wanted to read other works of this author for a long time, but since this was an out of print edition and an old book I had very little hope of ever finding the next in the series. But with the advent of Google, it was just a matter of a few clicks!

A review I found on the net about this book is pasted below
“Giovanni Guareschi--is best remembered for his series of humorous stories about the on-going conflict between the Catholic priest and Communist mayor of a small village in Italy's Po River Valley in the years just following the Second World War. Don Camillo, the big cleric with fists of steel and heart of gold, converses frequently (and colorfully) with the Lord, Who continually challenges him to take the higher path in his dealings with his Marxist adversary, Peppone. The feisty priest, alas, isn't quite able to confine his methods to the purely spiritual ... but neither is Peppone always able to toe his Party's line, so that the two find themselves seeing disconcertingly eye-to-eye at times.”

As a kid growing up in communist Kerala, I was able to relate to the story even better. During those days, I never bothered to read the author’s note or the publisher’s note of any book. All this changed the day I started reading this book. The Author’s foreword is so impossibly humorous, that I sometimes wonder whether the story is as good as the foreword! Even with my super-weak memory I can still remember portions of his foreword to this day.

This is a story that can teach you about the power of simple humor, about that very un-common sense called common sense. About that most rare facet called attitude. About courage, about morals and a lot more* and all of this comes packed in about a hundred page book with kid size font. Truly worth its weight in gold!

I am not very sure about the book’s popularity in India, but the author was a very famous man in Italy and France and they even had movies/shows based on the book. I have found a few videos of the same on youtube but all of them in French/Italian….:(

Currently the English version of the book is out of print, but a listing is given in Shelfari and I have found copies of it in Amazon. I am aiming to buy the whole collection! They are pretty expensive, but what good is a job and adult hood if you can’t realize even your simple childhood dreams!**

*Not that I incorporated any in my life!
**Especially when it is your brother who does the ordering and paying...:D

The blue escape

2007-10-06T13:47:00.000+05:30

It was the dark ages of cultural morality. The land of Kamasutra had suddenly become as conducive to kinky stuff as the Taliban had to music. It was, as they say time to take things in your “own hands”! Young men rearing at the leash for the weekly dose of wet saris, were deprived by some psycho at DD. Yours truly was at that time in the tenth standard and really feeling let down.

But then, where there is a demand, there is a supply. Video shops had mushroomed right across the state during this time period due to DD going slow on the wet stuff and Star and Sun finding their very airwaves censored. The shops had the stuff alright. But the only problem was the inherent risk attached with taking “nice” movies from them. What if the shop owner was a psycho and told my parents? Taking the risk and living in peace would not go hand in hand...:(

Fortunately for me, I had one advantage….. Actually I had many
1) I lived near my school.
2) My friends were equally desperate to be immoral.
3) Both my parents were working
4) I had a VCR.
5) My brother who had suddenly become all studious used to come late after all the combined studies at his friend’s place.

It was no wonder then that some of my more enterprising buddies suggested to me that they will take the risk of renting the tapes, while I should just provide them with the infrastructure required.

Anwar may have been really small in stature, but he was waaaay beyond us in “maturity”. Having born with a keen business mind, he decided to run the operations. He would run the risk of taking the tapes and supplying them. The risk was two fold, he had to take them and bring them to school where any of those teacher-loving jackasses could act traitor. The viewers, who ran the minimal risks, would be the payees for the tape. Except for me of course, since I ran some significant risks along with Anwar.

Since my mother came back at 5:45, we would organize a show at my place between 4 and 5:30. In a very short time the whole operation became a grand success. Each day, I had dozens of guys begging me to be invited. But invitations were strictly for my closest buddies. Shiraz, Anoop, Zachariah etc. Things were going on smoothly and if I had the least bit of business sense in me, I could have actually made a profit on it too! But like always, I (yeah you guessed it!) screwed it up…:(

It was one of those evenings when attendance was higher than normal. In fact I am sure that there were more people at my house than there was in the class. The tape was running, guys watching it with their eyes bulging, tongue hanging and a lot more happening when the calling bell rings. An electric shock went right through my spine. It was just 5:20, so why was my mother so early? Showing a presence of mind far ahead of my age, I stopped the video, gave some books to the guys (as if in mock combined study) and opened the door…. only to see Ashokan, our milk vendor standing at the door. Breathing a sigh of relief I took the milk in and gave back the vessel.

The show was right back on track when almost immediately the calling bell sounded again. “Must be Ashokan again, maybe he wants some money”. I stopped the video (I had set up our VCR so that when it was stopped the T.V came on automatically) and opened the door again. Only to see the smiling face of my mother (I have gone on record once about mother’s smiles, I felt much the same again). She brushed right past me into the living room. I was so shocked that I could hardly move. I made some drooling noises that sounded like “why are you so early?”, “Oh! My God!” etc and followed her in a state of moronic stupor.

In the living room she was surprised to find so many of my friends, all of them looking at her as if she was the walking dead. They may have been my closest buddies, but at the time of reckoning, all those supremely ungrateful wimps ran helter skelter. So much for friendship and all that bull shit. The only people left standing were me and Anwar. In fact I didn’t count as “people” right then the mummy effect had mummified me.

Amma looked at me and asked, “What is happening? entha parungunne?” why are you acting so shifty? I said “nothing”. “No, you have done something, I am sure!” It was not a question but a statement of facts. I had to give it to her, this mother mine, she had intuition(God’s biggest crime against man!!!) by the ton! After the “statement” she gave me one more appraising look and went into her room. Anwar told me that he will stay on for some more time for “immoral support” but I shooed him away. This was anyway the last day in my life, why should I take him down with me, was my line of thinking.

Anwar left. The tape was still in the VCR and I had to take it out before Amma found out the details. Right now, she only knew I did something wrong but not exactly what I did. And believe me if you knew my mother you wouldn’t want her to know either!!

Fortunately, she had closed the door when she went into the room. I went up to the VCR and ejected the tape, just as it came out, my brother walked in. Thinking “idivettu ettavanae patti kadicha pole” I pushed it right back in. There was one problem though. When a tape is pushed in to my VCR, it would start playing automatically, pressing the stop button was useless! The moment it started playing, I looked at my brother with a dead-man look, only to see that he had gone into the kitchen! I stopped it, said a “praise the lord” and was about to eject it when he comes right back and starts watching the T.V program.

To many people the complex theories of relativity put forward by Einstein would be beyond their understanding. I myself was in that group till this moment in my life. Those five minutes that my brother watched T.V is all the time I took to understand the full import of relativity. Those were easily the longest five minutes in my whole life.

He then got up and went for a re-fill. This was my chance! I had to get it out before he came back! I ran forward ejected the tape and the moment it was in my hand, both Antony and Amma walked into the room. People often wonder how I am able to deal with stress and tension so easily. Well, if they had my kind of childhood they wouldn’t be asking that question! Saying a deep prayer and trusting everything in the hands of our lord, I took the tape, turned around, walked casually back to the table where we used to put our tapes and placed them there. It was all done so naturally, that both of them did not notice anything. And if the Oscar committee saw my performance, Tom Hanks would have lost his statuette that year.

My baptism by fire was over. I stood up a mature man. It was time for some historic decisions to be made. The most significant two of them being that from now on, the table with the tapes would be moved near to the T.V and installing a peephole for our door.

I still remember that day with a shiver along my spine*, but I never truly understood what I had escaped till I went for a cousin’s marriage. The marriage reception was held in a posh hall in Ernakulam. After the cake cutting, it was time for the speeches. The first of which was delivered by another cousin who was a bosom buddy of the one getting married. He had the crowd in splits with all the funny things these guys had managed to do during their childhood. Everything was interesting, but one anecdote stood out from the rest.

The cousin getting married had once rented a blue film from a shop near his house and failed to return it even after a week. In the end the shop owner came to his house and asked his father for the tape. For months later, his father called him "blue". And now, right on his wedding day, in front of a thousand strong crowd, the story was out again. Boy! I really had escaped some major humiliation.

*I was so shocked by this incident that it took me a full seven days to get normal and air the next "show"!!!

What happened to good old Malayalam movies?

2007-10-01T12:52:00.000+05:30

A good movie is the communion of many factors. Its success lies in its ability to enthrall all people or at least most people with its varied charms. To “enthrall” guys like me, it is pretty easy. We are suckers for good old sex and violence, the more the better!

For long now, Malayalam movies have had neither. Gone are the innocent hippie days of the seventies when a Malayalam movie simply meant the collection of 3 stunts and 4 rapes. The actors changed between films and sometimes they didn’t. Films were not made for winning awards or scoring a point. They were just meant to entertain and believe me, they did!

Things were so simple back then in those golden days of Malayalam cinema. It was truly a mass entertainer. You did not need to have a degree in psychology or a PhD in philosophy to watch a movie. All people, right from the humblest rickshaw puller to the snootiest estate owner were entertained by the same genre.

Then came the eighties and already there was a dip in standards. I guess it had something to do with the “sick young men” doing rounds at that time. Every hero/heroine/kid had to die of cancer or some other God forsaken disease. But then films like Layanam and actresses like Silk Smitha more than made up for these minor shortcomings. During this era, Malayalam movies started winning national awards on a nearly yearly basis. A sure sign of impending decadence!

Come nineties and the spiraling downward trend was truly visible. This decade proved beyond doubt that “family” films were there to stay! And into this pathetic era, I was born. Actually, I was born in the eighties but as far as films go, I am a child of the nineties! Doordarshan which was very much a “peepul’s” channel, with Friday night hotties and wet Saris suddenly found out about morality. Unfortunately for me, this new found morality came at the crucial time when I was desperately trying to be immoral!

I don’t want to sound arrogant, but it is said that most states do what Kerala did about 20 years late. It is no wonder then that Kannada, Tamil and Telugu movies have discovered the unfailing formula for the perfect movie now. Way to go guys!! Keep it up and don’t follow us hopeless mallus anymore, you just found nirvana, believe me.

The final blow to “funny” Malayalam movies came when directors changed their modus operandi for star selection. Earlier the criterion was simple, actresses just needed to be teeth achingly beautiful, that was it! But along came the “Kala Prathibas” and this happy situation was repealed.

They were “good” girls from decent families who were exceptionally talented and had won state awards for their acting skills at school. They were the last nail in our coffin. These sophisticated women just refused to show skin!! Gone were the days of Sheela, Seema and Jaya Barathi with their in-your-face cleavage and king size posteriors.

Malayalam films had touched an all time low! Instead of judging by cleavage they actually started judging heroines based on their artistic talents… can you believe it!! If Ripley’s “Believe it or not” heard of this, it would be up for the picking as the most unbelievable thing ever in the movie industry.

But what irks me most is the step motherly treatment that these heroines give ONLY to Malayalam films. Many a heroine who has shifted to Tamil/other languages has gone in for the good old skin route. But the moment they hear “Malayalam” these same heroines get all conservative and nun-ish. I ask you, don’t Malayalees too have feelings?? Is this fair?

But, if truth be said, I really do not bemoan the hippie films of the 70’s. They had no real substance. On a more artistic level it was the death of Pathmarajan that was a huge blow for viewers. He was one man who could direct films with such panache that I get goose bumps each time I remember them. The genius of that man lay in the fact that none of his movies were vulgar. He had the ability to take sensual shots and still make it a family film. The scenes would be a cent percent natural, in touch with the story line and absolutely mouth watering in its execution.

Did I leave out something… yeah, sure I did. I left out Shakeela! But even though I am a true Malaylee, I simply cannot understand the rage she created with her Minnara Pookal and the rest. I still don’t know what the Malayalee saw in that movie or the rest of the sleaze that came after its release. I mean, wake up guys, those were the crappiest movies ever made in Mollywood. After serious thought into the matter I have come to the conclusion that most guys, like me, in the hope that there was a new “awakening” watched them to make sure for themselves. It was a waste of my father’s hard earned money is all I can say for myself!

These days, like many other Malayalees, I still live in the hope of seeing another Pathmarajan.

Desire is the cause of all Sorrows

2007-09-24T11:56:00.000+05:30

“Desire is the cause of all Sorrows” said Buddha. If he was alive today, maybe we could award him the Nobel or shower him with some such meaningless gesture. Materialism has been one of my core principles since the dawn of my senses. As far as I am concerned all this no-desire bullshit is for wimps who don’t dare to desire.

But even I have put a line on my desires. A limitation if you could call it that. Like, I don’t desire to be the richest, sexiest, handsomest man on earth. I just dream about being that. My desires are very much rooted in the harsh realism of my existence… like owning a Ferrari, going to the moon, climbing Everest in the nude and basically stuff like that.

Materialism needs money, a lot of it! And there lies my woe. The oxymoron poor materialist aptly describes my state of life. It is a dangerous combination, the type that makes normal men think seriously about the possibilities of drug trade, smuggling, share markets and basically all get-rich-really-really-quick schemes.

My latest bout of materialism was brought about by a close friend of mine. I wonder why it is always “friends” of mine who do this peculiar damage to me. I was leading life normal and boring as usual when this guy comes up with an idea to tour Ladak and Leh in the state of Jammu and Kashmir. On top of it, he wants to stay in Srinagar for two days “just for the heck of it”. Telling me about plans to go to Leh is like enticing a fish on land with water. I always fall for that kind of stuff and he knew that too, the slimy b******!!!

The year 2007 has been rather special in my calendar, the beginning saw me going to Himalayas, the second quarter saw me going to a number of small trips to places as close by as Mysore and Madras. The third quarter was devoted to Thailand and a trek to Mukruthi. My pocket now looks like one of my “air conditioned” engineering era underwear’s. It is full of holes!!!

Having over-exceeded my budget for the year already, I had lain back to enjoy the peace of staying back in my room for the next few months. But, right at that juncture he had to do it! Temptation is not called temptation for nothing, it makes one forget one’s common sense (snide comments to the affect that I hadn’t any in the first place are totally unwelcome!!!) and thus I agreed to join the trip. But where is the money????

The last time I was faced with this predicament, I borrowed from my brother. I still haven’t given it back. After all, what are big brothers for, eh? Problem is, I can’t go and ask him again. He might escalate it to higher authorities with dark forebodings of a prodigal son in the family. And if by my wretched luck the “family” actually checks out the facts, then the original prodigal might look like a saint compared to me!

Family is definitely out. Next comes friends, but I am one firm believer that asking money from a friend is a sure way to loose him. So, I made a list of friends whom I don’t mind losing. Top of the list was the bugger who called me up for the Leh trip. He deserved it you know! Problem is that he is already short in the short term.

For a short time, I dallied with the idea of taking the Mother Theresa route of “God will provide I don’t have to worry” philosophy. But I am I, not Mother Theresa. Being of a slightly practical disposition (just reading my desires is enough to convince you I am sure) I am inclined to look for my fortune myself rather than leave it in the hands of God.

But all this beating around the bush was taking me where I was sure I was heading right from the start. It was just that I had to make this charade of looking at all options. The only option I ever had is the only option that a lot of people ever had. Sell something to buy something. Saying a prayer of thanks to Uncle Sam and capitalism, I sat down to look at all the things I could sell.

The sifting-through-artifacts took very little time. I wasn’t surprised. I was never famous for re-sellable materialism. I am a sucker for the services industry and that is one thing you can’t resell after paying for it….:(

All doors seemed to be closed when I got this mail from one Divya Singh who has been suffering from blood cancer since the day I joined the IT industry. If there is a record for the longest fight against cancer, Divya would win it hands down. She is been having if for years on end and every few months most IT employees get a reminder about her serious condition. Some company was paying a rupee (dollar?) per mail forwarded and that was how she covered her expenses.

Viola! That’s when it strikes me, start a mail chain in collaboration with some MNC who will pay a dollar per forward. I was sure that all self-respecting trip and trek addicts would forward my mail a thousand times and I would have more than enough money to trek around for a life time!

This blog is a just a humble beginning buddies. Be ready to be spammed by a mail about the pitiable life of one Abraham whose sad story would make thee weep. The mail would be about a man unable to laze around and have some decent fun just because he doesn’t have money. A plot that I am sure all of you can relate to. Please join me and make it a big success. Of course there is some percentage in it for you too, read the contract agreement to see the details*

*Forward the mail 10 times and you will get luck
*Forward the mail 20 times and you will be blessed by God.
*Forward the mail 100 times and you will get it back a 100 times.
*If you don’t forward it, your next trip will get cancelled.
*If you delete it without reading, you will not leave your room for the next ten years.

The day I nearly got married

2007-09-19T11:50:00.000+05:30

The morning was dark. Ominous shuffling voices could be heard, but that was Rameez getting up from his bed. I opened my sleep weary eyes and looked up to the ceiling. So, today is the D-day! I didn’t feel much tension but very funnily I couldn’t remember her face anymore.

But something was definitely wrong! A gut feeling told me it could be the time. A quick glance at my mobile (after buying a mobile I have quit wearing hand watches!) confirmed my worst fears. I was late!

The song “I just did it again” wafted into my mind. I had truly done “it” again. I was late on this most important day of my life. Will she (still can’t remember her face) forgive me for this unforgivable error? Hmm… it is completely my fault. How stupid could I get? I cursed myself. I should have set an alarm at least on this day. Actually, on the night before I had taken the mobile to set it, but then a conversation with Shyam distracted me and I forgot.

But what excuse would I tell her? With my superhuman intelligence powers I guessed that excuses like, I forgot to set the alarm and hence got up late today would not sit well with my better half. They are not called “better” for nothing I guess. Have to think of something better.

How about saying that some aliens abducted me? But that sounded sixty-ish. Nah! She wouldn’t fall for that one. Maybe I can say that during the bachelor’s party I drank too much, but that would be doubly damning. I cursed my lethargic grey cells, ungrateful barbarians! You nurture them for a quarter century with the best of sights/smells/sounds/ideas and when you need a wee little excuse, they act funny. I ask you, is this fair?

Temptation reared its ugly head again in the form of sleep. The cold morning, the gentle breeze and the calm surroundings made sleep weigh like a ton on my fragile eyelids. Now the grey cells started working and gave me my excuse “anyway I am late, what difference will a few more minutes make?”

“They give such nice excuses for such wrong reasons” was my last thought before slipping back to sleep. But now logic knocked at the doors.

Logic: get up boy! It is already late for the church ceremony, but if you get up now, chances are that you can at least eat your wedding cake.
I (very groggy): Shut up! Just give me five minutes more. I am sure the cake is not going to run away. How can I go to my own wedding looking sleepy eh?
Logic: You idiot, if you don’t go now the girl will find somebody else to marry.
I: Don’t fool me! Who else will marry her? My family will stop any such funny business!
Logic: Speaking about families, where is yours now? How come they did not wake you up?
I: Please let me sleep, we will think of all that later.
Logic: No! Answer my question now!
I (supremely uncaring and totally irritated): I don’t know, running around doing the arrangements I guess.
Logic: I have come to the logical conclusion that the most important part of today’s celebrations is you and there is no way that they could have missed out waking you up.
I: Hmmm… food for thought… very fishy if you ask me!
Logic: Very fishy alright!
Logic: Why are you lying on the floor?
I: what has that got to do anything with my marriage?
Logic: Because you have a bed at your house and right now you have a hangover and you are sleepy and lying on the floor! And that doesn’t make sense AND I HATE STUFF THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.
I: Alright alright calm down will ya! I am on the floor since I am at Bangalore.
Logic and I together: Shit! That means that all this is a dream.
I: Cool! That means I can sleep more…. Yeah!
Logic: No idiot! That means that today is a normal office day and you are frigging late!

I finally woke up wondering why all early morning dreams finally end in minor tragedies. Well, on the good side at least the major tragedy (marriage) was averted!

P.S: Today when I woke up, I was one very happy man!

Weight gain mantra

2007-09-12T16:11:00.000+05:30

My mother and her mother-in-law got along pretty well. But that was till I came along. Even though I look like a film star now (quit smirking!), back in those uncivilized days, I looked like… well I looked like a sack of bones.

Boost did not work, neither did Complan. Maltova was totally ineffectual and milk powder just stuck in my tooth. Whatever my mom gave me, I just did not get fat. I was the proud owner of one of those physiques that followed Newton’s law to the dot. To restate the law for those truants among you, “For every morsel of food input, the body has an equal and opposite shit output”.

A normal conversation between mom and grand mom would go somewhat like this.
Ammamma: Are you trying to starve him?
Amma: No Ammachi, whatever he eats, he just does not put on weight, what can I do?
Ammamma: You are not diligent enough, that’s the whole problem. He looks like a sack of bones. (Ammamma was well known for calling a spade a spade!)

That was the problem with adults. They act like you don’t exist, as if you can’t understand what they are saying. The subject of the conversation would at that point be hanging on the pallu of his mother’s sari and playing Tarzan while keeping a keen ear out for all the conversation being bandied out. Believe me, I understood every single word they spoke.

I would look up at my mother with a “you-are-such-a-hopless-mom” look and she would give me one “wait-till-you-get-back” + round eye treatment + maybe even a pinch. So before the last part was carried out, I being an intelligent kid, would climb down and go take a hike. I learnt at a very young age that there are times when you can hang about your mother’s sari, and there are times that you can’t.

Time went by and I grew up from being a baby sack of bones to a kid sack of bones. All efforts to fatten me up proved fruitless and by that time Amma had given up hope of ever seeing flesh on my bones. But me, I was a very dutiful son. I resolved that if for one day, then one day I would become a fatty like Antony.

The wrong version of the story doing rounds in my family
My opportunity came one day while we were out playing in our compound. There was a tree right in front of the verandah. A tree to a kid is an objective, an aim, a destination and a challenge. I hope you get my point. No challenge was to be left unfinished, so I climbed it and reached the first low hanging branch. To me, this objective was like the one set to Arjuna by Drona. I just saw my destination nothing more, nothing less.

Antony, on seeing my acrobatics decided that big brother means bigger branch and started to climb. But then, he wasn’t blessed with my kind of concentration. The good(?) thing about not having my kind of concentration was that he noticed that the tree trunk had about a million chorian puzhu* attached to it. He was the type of big brother who believed that “if anybody has a right to hurt my brother, it is me!” He promptly pointed out the seriousness of the situation to me.

To Achilles his heel, to me my panic. So, instead of waiting for him to get me out of the mess, I panicked, jumped back on the tree trunk, slid about two meters and reached terra firma with about a hundred of the worms stuck on my body.

My memory grows weak here, but from what I remember Antony rolled me about or did something with a branch or something to get all the worms out. Fortunately they weren’t sticky…. They just bit like hell!

The true version of the story
I saw the worms even before I climbed… it was out of my desire to give a good name to my mother, combined my dutiful nature and burning ambition that made me do this selfless act.

To the confused reader hunting for the co-relation between “fat” and Chorian Puzhu my answer is to try getting bit by one and you will see that you get a real big inflammation on that part of the body. Now make them do it uniformly all across your body and you will see that this is the shortest way to gain weight.

Family version
Seeing all those worms, the itch and the pain I cried out and ran back into the house. Straight to my mothers lap. This part of my childhood is what I like to call the “manager” mode. I had just screwed up badly and now it was the responsibility of my “engineer” mother to fix it. I didn’t care how she did it, but I wanted it done fast and painless. As far as I was concerned, it was now her problem!

Truth
Proud and fat, my head held high, I walked back home.

Amma took some dried coconut leaves (the ones we get on Palm Sunday from church) burned them to ash and applied on my body. The swelling was gone in about 15 minutes. But for those fifteen minutes, I was fat! I had done it!

So, my advice to all you bony people out there is that “If there is a will, there is a way to be fat, you just need to find enough Chorian Puzhu".

*Chorian Puzhu - Believe me you don't want one of those worms anywhere near your body! Does anyone know the english name of the same?

F for frustration

2007-09-06T18:24:00.000+05:30

Long live Sushma Swaraj!

To those of you wondering what happened to me, to actually support this nemesis of the country’s youth, this guardian of our morality, this destroyer of after dark movies. Well, haven’t you heard “circumstances make/change the man”?

As of today, I have decided to change my whole outlook on life. From worshipping mindless violence, total sex and absolute debauchery, I am shifting to the Bhajan groups. In short, I have decided to become mature and act like a man who doesn’t care much about all this anymore. After all, in the days that I did care about all this, none of it happened. Now that I don’t care anymore maybe all this is going to happen by the truckload (I haven’t quit dreaming yet!).

I wasn’t always like this you know. I was a normal kind of guy having a normal frustrated life in conservative Kerala where every one is pretty much as screwed up as I am. Then I came to Bangalore. Ah! The culture shock I got! Girls and boys holding hands, cuddling, hugging, kissing, biking and a whole lot more. The scenes were enough to drive any sane and frustrated man insane.

For the first few months I just gawked. Trips to M.G Road, Forum and other official hangouts of the denizens of this swashbuckling metro was enough to satisfy my “urges”. I was content to just watch, after all, country bumpkins like me were never supposed to dream. But as time passed, my heart forgot its humble moorings and started to yearn for what it had just seen. I envied the guy’s who had all those babes hanging about them, but it was a “constructive” envy, I wanted to be like them, I did not want them to come down to my standard. “Lets all be rich” was my ideology during those days.

The dreams got more and more insistent, the heart grew weak, and something had to be done! I don’t know what exactly it was, maybe it was my million dollar face, my Arnold Schwarzenegger like body, my rivers of charm or my heavenly disposition. But something was definitely keeping away the fairer sex.

I had heard that too much of the good stuff can keep the opposite sex away. They think you will be too hot to handle. After much thought into the matter, I found out what was wrong. “Just look at all those utter nerds hanging around with the babes, you need to be a nerd, dude” I told myself. That is how one fine day, I actively started becoming a nerd. No smiling at girls, no humorous comments, I hated spectacles or I would have tried that too, just to complete that nerd look. All in all, I became a nerd, but the women just stayed away. God must have given them some 6th sense to smell out fake nerds. Whatever the reason, they just refused to bite (the bait, I mean!).

With the “attack of the nerds” petering out, it was time to change my strategy and do some constructive counter-attacks. Off went the nerd looks and in came the metro sexual. Torn jeans, expensive deodorants, shaven face and cropped hair were in vogue. Problem was that not only did they burn a hole in my pocket, they simply did not work. One word with me and all those country bumpkins hiding inside would just pop out like Champagne corks. Being somebody that I wasn’t was definitely not working. Time to be myself!

Just-out-of-bed-looks, unshaven face, smell of a pig sty, totally-pissed-off-with-this-world-attitude and you have me being (no prizes for guessing) me. Again to nobody’s surprise nothing happened. Time to get married I decided, so I called up my mother

I: Ammae, I am bored, I want to get married
Amma: How can you be so selfish, don’t you know that we are looking high and low for your brother right now? And anyway you aren’t mature enough to marry.
I: What’s the big deal if I marry ahead of him eh?
Amma: oho, like that huh? Ok, ok if you are so desperate tell me the girl you want to marry and I will fix the rest, you have selected someone haven’t you?
I: On second thoughts, I will marry after Antony. I see the wisdom in your words.
Amma: eh? Are you mad? You talk one thing at one time and the exact opposite the second! So why don’t you want to get married?
I: oh God! Ammae just forget that I even called, this is all a bad nightmare ok. Just forget it!
Amma: Don’t put down the phone! tell me about the girl. Oh God! I am sure she is from some other religion, Oh God! What do I do now?
I (Thinking): How I wish!
I: For God’s sake Ammae, there is nobody ok! Now just put down the phone!

On the way back, I see the girl sitting behind the boy’s bike, hugging him so hard that I am sure he can’t even breathe. “What a bunch of exhibitionists! There should be a law against such people” is what I think. No more constructive envy from now on, if I don’t get it, then nobody gets it!!!! As I said earlier “circumstances make the man”

“Sushma Swaraj Ki Jai!” Come join me! Let us safeguard our 5000 year old culture from this mindless westernization of our irresponsible youth!

fatally ill

2007-08-30T15:12:00.000+05:30

I woke up early. A sure sign of impending death! I must be seriously sick I decided! I had a very bad nightmare just before I woke up, but couldn’t remember the details. The atheist prayed, “Oh! God, hope it is not fatal, don’t take me so young God….. pleeese! I will attend Sunday Mass every week from now on, promise!”

Normally, I evaded hospitals and assorted paraphernalia like the plague. But this was different, I had a life to save! Biting back on my revulsion, I brushed, bathed and dressed for hospital. The “New Registration” board was fairly easy to notice once I reached there. I stood in the queue about 3 deep. I waited my turn with patience. After all, what did it matter if your immortality cover was blown a few minutes later.

The line inched forward slowly and in time, it was my turn. “Where is the form?” asked the lady clerk at the counter. “Uh-uh what form?”, she looked at me exasperatedly and pointed to a far corner, “Fill the form given there and come again!” Normally this would have pissed me off, but not today!

So I loitered around to the corner and found the form, only to notice that I didn’t have a pen. An old lady was sitting behind the counter and she had a pen. “Can I borrow your pen for a sec?” I asked. “Give the form to me. I’ll fill it for you” she replied. All the better I thought, I hated filling forms anyway. In fact my last death wish would be never ever to fill another form/sign.

She filled the forms and asked me the nature of my illness. “I got up early… er….. I mean I have fever”, that’s quick thinking abe for you, always devising the best alternative lie at the drop of a hat. “Counter near the corner, pay 200” said the lady and shooed me off. I loitered back to the counter (the old one, all the loitering made me forget the crisp directions I got). I stood in queue for another quarter of an hour before I got the same piece of information from the counter wallah.

I switched queues and waited for another ten. But all the waiting set me thinking. “what if the fever doctor doesn’t know anything about my strange illness” I shouldn’t have lied! I had read somewhere that a lot of people think that their illness is unique and only they are afflicted by the disease in the whole wide world. I definitely thought so, I had never heard of anybody complaining coz the got up early. But that was because it was them, not me!! I was hopelessly fatally sick and the getting up early was its first symptom. I could feel it in my bones, I was already feeling weak. I shouldn’t have come alone! What if I lost consciousness? (Not that I have any, most of the time)

When I reached the counter, I decided that it was time for some straight talking. “What is your illness?” asked the girl at the counter. It was already written down in my form, I guess she was just cross checking.

I: I got up early.
She: What? I never heard that illness before, what was it again?
I: I got up early.
She: What!! So?
I: I think I am sick. I need to see a good doctor.
She (muttering beneath her breath): You sure need a doctor buddy… at the mental asylum!
I (Thinking): Ok, that fixes it! I am the proud owner of the newest human disease. Hope she is the next victim, would serve her right!
She: Go and wait before Room No: 5. The nurse there will call you.

After about two hours of waiting, finally my chance comes. I have broken out in cold sweat by that time.

Dr: Hello Abraham!
I (Sounding very croaky): Hello Doctor.
Dr: Hmm, so you have fever right?
I: well ah.. hmm.. you see…
Dr: Ok tell me the symptoms, do you have body pain?
I: No
Dr: Vomiting?
I: No
Dr: Loose Motion?
I: No
Dr: Cold?
I: No
Dr: Temperature?
I: No
Dr (Now he looks incredulous): Well if you don’t have any of the symptoms of a fever, then what is your problem?
I (Thinking): Aha! Now we get down to business.
I: Doctor, in my whole life, I have never woken up early on my own accord and today I got up early. Doctor, I think I am suffering from some serious disease, I don’t want to die so early doctor… waaaah……(Sound Effect: wet sobs)
Dr (Did he smirk????): There, there, my boy, nothing to get so worried about. I am sure that it is perfectly normal.
I: No Doctor, I am definite it is not at all normal. I already feel so weak.
Dr: Forget all that, just keep talking… tell me what do you do?
I: I work in an IT firm Doctor.
Dr: Good! So what do you do on a normal day?
I (Sheepishly): Er, ah, not much work these days you know…. On bench.
Dr: Then.
I: Hmm… I wake up late. I go to office, I check my mail, I drink tea, I repeat the process till 6 with a lunch thrown in between and I come back home.
Dr: Then
I: Hmm… well I watch t.v.
Dr: So, what did you watch yesterday?
I: Well, I watched a movie called “Jaani Dushman Ek Anoki Kahani”. Though I didn’t complete it.
Dr (With a repugnant look): Well, when I watched that, I got nightmares for a week!
I: Come to think of it, I got a nightmare today, but couldn’t remember the details
Dr: People think doctors can do anything! You drink five bottles of alcohol, you take cyanide or try suicide… I may be able to save you. But you see “Jaani Dushman…” and I am helpless
I: So what do I do?
Dr: Well thank God that you didn’t see the whole movie. There might still be hope of saving your fragile mind. Take these medications and meet me in a week.
I: Thank you doctor!

A review on the movie. This should convince the reader on the benefits of watching this movie.

Responsible Journalism

2007-08-27T10:47:00.000+05:30

For years we only had DoorDarshan, the news in which was at best a lame duck affair. As a rule, on every day the governments view, the oppositions view and sometimes the peoples view were aired. Not too good, not too bad. But for all its drawbacks, it had one important facet, namely “Responsibility”. For e.g. we in India are not new to riots, but in the days of Doordarshan, care was taken not to put in pictures or use language that could spark off trouble in other areas of the country.

Of course the flip side of this was that some legitimate concerns were never aired, which exacerbated the wound. Kashmir comes to mind once too often, if only the media had shown some common sense and reported how discontent the people of the valley were and highlighted government apathy, Kashmir might not have burned. Instead the media chose in “national interest” to snub out stories from that part of town and naturally nobody even knew about how bad the situ was before the terrorism began.

But today with the advent of cable T.V, things have changed dramatically. Each bomb explosion is covered minutely, video footage is rerun about a zillion times and words used in describing are at best “inciting” and at worst…. Well they just lead to the next riot, maybe not today, but definitely tomorrow. Is this type of reporting good? Yes, it is. Is it bad? Yes it is.

A bomb explosion rocked Hyderabad two days back, as usual killing innocent people with no regard to age, sex, religion or just about anything else. As usual the channels were working overtime giving the people a dosage of the gruesome scenes (they don’t even put up a warning these days saying “adult content”). But today morning’s news paper gave me back some faith in the media.

Malayala Manorama had a front page picture of one of the relatives of a bomb victim. It showed a wailing Muslim father whose son had been killed in the explosion and I thought to myself “how correct”. The boy had come to Hyderabad from Bombay with his friends (all the rest Hindus). Each of those boys had relatives I am sure, pictures of any of them could have been published too, but the paper chose to present this one. Some would call it “pampering the minorities” but I would call it responsible journalism.

At a time like this, when the nation is shocked, it is so easy to blame the Muslim. After all it was a Muslim(s) who had done this dastardly act. The paper could have shown a bloodied picture with body parts lying all around. It could have shown the picture of some suspected terrorist, but it has wisely chosen to show that most important picture.

Just seeing that picture, one would easily understand that a bomb does not look or ask for the religion of a person before blasting him to smithereens. Just seeing that picture, one understands that “everybody” is at the receiving end. It gives out all the right messages, to the next fanatic Muslim who wishes to explode a bomb, it tells that “Your own people are gonna get killed buddy” to the next fanatic Hindu it tells that “see it is not just the Hindus who get killed, but everyone”.

Since I was travelling, I came to know about the explosion rather late. A Muslim friend of mine was with me at that time and his first words on hearing about the explosion was “I hope it doesn’t start a riot”. The same words, millions of other Muslims around the country would be mouthing now.

For the sake of a little sanity in our embattled country, I hope that the visual media would stop airing such disturbing pictures and give a bit more respect to the style of reporting done by “boring” Doordarshan.To all worried Indian’s all I can say is that our mother India is a very strong woman. She will bear this with her legendary stoic courage and I am sure that we will come out stronger than ever before! Bharat Mata Ki Jai!

The Great Indian Railways

2007-08-23T12:00:00.000+05:30

Me and trains, we are linked by something deeper than the season tickets. For instance, the day before I was born, Amma decided that it was better to “download” me at her ancestral place in Kanjirapally rather than at Kollam, so she boarded a train which was newly inaugurated on that very same day. Appa still considers that as one of the dumbest things she ever did, on the other hand, I am angry at her for not downloading me on the train. That would have meant free travel for a lifetime.

Traveling in Indian trains is always a mind broadening affair. The number of people you meet, the friendships you strike up, the food you share, the songs you sing, the vendors who cajole and push you into buying the food stuff, the filth, the smell and the Good Byes. In short, the amount of “life” in each journey is extremely high.

Superman
I and Appa used to frequently go to Trivandrum by train. During these journeys when Amma was not around, Appa would play a game with me. After the train whistle is blown, Appa would ask me to start pushing on the windows “to start the train”. Poor me, I used to believe that I was the guy who actually started the train with my superman strength. But I guess it was good for my self esteem. Anyways, I have decided I will play the same prank on my kids too!

Damn the crowd
When I think of trains, the first thing that comes to mind is their peculiar “iron” smell, the next is the crowd. I don’t know how many billion people the Indian Railways carry each year, but it is definitely no small number! Like most other compatriots, I have traveled in every “position” possible. From sitting comfortably on a seat, to crouching on the floor, to standing on one foot in the loo, to hanging out from the door doing some “wind surfing”. Depending on the crowd, I have felt like I would suffocate to death, get slowly cooked in the heat, die of cancer from the illegal smoker who has to smoke even when you cant get a single breath and a lot more!

Discovery of India
“The real India lies in its villages” or something similar was once said by the Mahatma. In the same vein, any “discovery of India” will be incomplete without extensive train journeys. The villages, the scenery, the dilapidated bridges, the poverty, the wealth, the beauty, the mountains, the sea….. the railways show you everything. The best and the worst, with nothing hidden!

Desibaba on a train
Except for trips to Madras, my train journeys were fairly short 3-4 hour episodes. But that changed when Amma along with Appa’s sisters decided to ditch their husbands and go for a trip to North India. But they wanted one male to carry their bags and basically act as a non-obtrusive escort for their escapade. Since I was hanging around jobless after my engineering, it was no wonder that I was an obvious choice.

The journey itself was fantastic. We got nearly two nights and two days on the train, but the real “fun” started somewhere near Indore. It was sometime in the afternoon and I was lying down half asleep in my window side berth, when this reasonably good looking Auntie comes and sits near my foot. Before she sits down though, she pushed my legs a little to the side to get some room.

I half opened my eyes and then closed them, but a few minutes later, she was doing something with my feet which woke me up again. She was trying to arrange them, as if they were some inanimate objects. In the end, she put one of my feet on top of the other, then put her arm around the top one and rested her breast on the bottom one! I put on a “what the f***” look on my face, and an “ooo man this is my lucky day” look in my mind.

Out of the corner of my eye, I took a peek at my mother and saw to my dismay that she was giving an appraising “CBI” look at this saintly lady. I had hoped that she wouldn’t notice, but that was not to be….:( This is the problem with mothers. They can’t take a lil bit of innocent fun in the right sense! Now, I had to show my “displeasure” regarding my foot hijack. So I wiggled my toes, which naturally had the reverse affect. She held tighter now! Unfortunately she also gave me a conspiring look in full view of my mother. I am no groper and didn’t plan on becoming one right in front of my mother, so no-heartedly I was forced to pull out my legs from their utopian embrace. I still remember that occasion as the best part of my North Indian trip….:)

Those were the best trains of my life
But the best train journeys I had were the ones to Chengannur. Every weekend there would be at least 20 people from my college in the train, enough to cause a general riot. We used to sing, play games and have a whale of a time in the train. When my stop came, I would feel so bad about getting down, that I always seriously considered going on till the next station.

Caught!
Normally, I never travel without a ticket though a lot of my class mates did that. I was always in love with the Indian Railways. To travel ticket less, was like cheating somebody in the family. But on rare occasions when I did travel without a ticket, I was never caught, except once. The fun fact being that actually I had a ticket till Ernakulam, but I decided to get down at Aluva and that is where I got caught. The ticket checker took one look at my angelic face and for some reason decided that I was up to no good (is there something written on my face?) and asked me for my ticket.

I begged and pleaded for quite some time. It was late in the night and I guess he was sleepy too, so in the end, he let me off with stern warnings. One more reason for me to love the great Indian Railways!

P.S: I remembered all this when I saw the mal film “No. 20 Madras Mail” and decided to post it.

India's Loss

2007-08-19T14:31:00.000+05:30

The car showroom was somewhere in Trivandrum. When we reached there, Appa was in a magnanimous mood. This was the first time in his life that he was going to buy a car. But very gracefully (regally?), he allowed me and my brother to do the selection. “You can select whichever one you want!” he told us, his head held high. Our decision was unanimous (which was very rare). We ran forward and selected a red Gypsy.

“No! Not that! A car!” exclaimed our poor father. Amma looked at us with a condescending smile and repeated Appa’s words. “A Car! what you have selected is a Gypsy”…. as if we didn’t know!

“But we want a Gypsy” we cried. This was cheating! But then parents always got away with that. So, rather half heartedly, we selected a rather unobtrusively placed red Maruti 800.

The year was 1985.

Appa being a rather liberal type of guy allowed Amma to drive his new car. If my memory serves me right, she had actually learnt driving earlier but had never got the opportunity to drive a car after that. A woman driving a car was not exactly unheard of. In the whole district of kollam, there were about 3 more women who did it already….:)

Mothers are never too well known for their logic. But when Amma insisted that I too sit with her when she drove the car, so that “if something happens” I would be able to “handle” the situation. I didn’t give a darn about the logic. I just gave my full support.

The year as I said earlier, was 1985.

Yours truly was in Kindergarten. Yours truly was a very brave child!

Our daily routine during those days, still gives me the goose bumps. Amma would start the car and after much effort get it out of our front gate. Then she would ride past my primary school to a nearby church. At that time of the day, there would be nobody in the whole church, except for us. There we would kneel down and pray for 5 minutes in heavenly silence. Then she would drop me at my school and go to her bank. The prayers we said earlier were supposed to guard her during the rest of her journey when I was not there to “protect” her.

One morning, we had just sat in the car when Amma suddenly realized that she had forgotten her handbag(?). Knowing my penchant to play with objects like levers and pedals, she gave me stern warnings with dire consequences if I were to touch anything inside the car other than the seat I was sitting on. The message was clear, “play statue till I return”.

Nobody ever called me an obedient child. So the moment her pallu(Sari tip) disappeared from view, I jumped into the driver's seat and started playing Schumacher. I was just flying over one villain’s car, when to my left I suddenly noticed another villain coming in at full throttle. The situation called for some mind chilling maneuvers, so I threw the hand break, stepped the accelerator full and rotated the steering… all in one split second and that is when I saw the third villain coming in for the kill!!!

He was on the right side, so I stepped on the breaks kicked the clutch and rotated the steering in reverse direction….. Only to find that the steering no longer moved!!! I had done it! I had just managed to spoil our car!!

Oh God! What was I supposed to do now? Amma would be coming back any moment and I couldn’t even start to imagine her face when she would find out. I cursed the moment I felt like sitting in the driver’s seat. This is my entire fault I decided. If only I had done what Amma asked me to do, I wouldn’t be in all this trouble. Curse damn temptation!!! But what was I supposed to do now.

My mind was working overtime, what were my options? I couldn’t obviously put the blame on Antony, he was nowhere in sight and anyways Amma would call the bluff. Maybe I should run away. Maybe I could act as if nothing had happened. When Amma comes, I would act saintly, as if I never even seen the steering before. But knowing Amma, she would find out. Somehow, she always knew (she still does!).

That is when I noticed a colorful blur in the rear view mirror. A second look confirmed my worst fears, she was coming back. To say that my heart was in my mouth would be an understatement, I felt like I had already puked it out! My whole life (which was rather short, considering that I was about 3 - 4 years old) flew before my eyes.

Like an automaton, I opened the door and stepped out of the car. Then I ran towards her… there was two feet between her and the wall and about 5 feet between her and the house. So If I ran beside the house, I should be able to dodge her. And then I could run into the streets where I would live like Tom Sawyer/Huckleberry Finn/Oliver Twist.

But as I ran, my legs started to disobey. It was like somebody pulled them toward my mother. She was coming toward me with a sweet wide smile on her face (for the record, wide smiles on your mothers face is the worst thing that can happen when you have done some mischief. Mothers, as a rule should refrain from wide smiles altogether!!).

Finally after a bollywood filmi like run, I reached my mother. Now, it was the turn of my mouth to disobey. “I think I spoilt the steering Amma” I said tearfully. “Now it is not rotating”. She just smiled wider and said “You are a good boy Aby. See, you have told me the truth and now everything is going to be all right”.

It didn’t quite register. I mean, I was expecting to be burnt over the fires of hell, for my heinous misdeed and here was mother telling me everything was all right. “Really?” I asked, very relieved and bewildered.

Later, she explained to me about the steering lock and how when you put the key and turn the steering it unlocks. “But you were not obedient! You shouldn’t have touched it” she chided in the end. I had just escaped from eternal damnation! I was so relieved that I promised myself that I would never touch that devilish device for the rest of my life! And that is the story of how India lost its Schumacher.

P.S: The car was with us for 18 years before it was sold of as scrap.

The male customer

2007-08-13T12:03:00.000+05:30

Rajan was never too well known for his tact in matters related to the opposite sex. But this past week on a white water rafting expedition, he proved his mettle as one of the corniest guys around yet again.

The engineers from Chengannur had gathered for a get together, which for some reason included white water rafting in the itinerary. Normally one wouldn’t expect so much “depth” in their weekend frolic, the maximum they usually do is booze and get a lap dance.

God help those poor San Franciscans, is all I can say. Excerpts from the mail report about the incident from Sreejith a.k.a Ceiji and Jaimon a.ka Monje is given below.

Attaching the photo of rafting guide for Rajan's group.. take special notice of her... below were the questions Rajan had for her while rafting.

Rajan strikes...
Rajan: "What will happen if the paddle falls into water?"
She: Smiles and replies politely "it will flow downstream"

Rajan strikes again...
Rajan: "Will this river flow upstream?"
She : Her smile vanishes, she looks at others and says a polite "No"

Rajan never stops...
Rajan: "Why is this helmet for?"
She: Acts deaf

Rajan thought if he fell down in water, she (rafting guide) will catch him and help to enter into the boat… so he tried to fall down.. but Biju was near to him, and Biju also thought in the same way, so Biju caught him… then Rajan threw out his paddle into the river....

And the ultimate...
Rajan: opens his mouth to ask the next question...
She: jumps off the raft..

In the end, the looser was Biju.. he had built a good 'stuff' with her by asking weder she had bf, weder she was alone, weder she liked to dance etc... due to the intervension of rajan, biju lost...

If there is a Nobel Prize for “suffering” your customers then this lady would sure be in the list of top ten contenders.

P.S: Seeing her picture, I can understand why Rajan behaved the way he behaved...:)

E-Mail from God@heaven.com

2007-08-08T16:40:00.000+05:30

To: All_You_Insufferable_Vegetarians@earth.com

Subject: vegetarianism, the abomination.

Hello hypocrites,
When I made the world, I put in some laws of nature. One very important rule was, “Everything eats everything else directly or indirectly”. If you don’t want to eat a particular class of food (read non-veg) then, that is your decision and being a very democratic kind of God, I accept it. Albeit, not whole heartedly. But will you kindly stop bugging my true followers who eat everything that moves?

Now, I have called you hypocrites for good reason(s)
1. While you resist eating living things that move, you have no qualms about eat living things that don’t move. Do you think that the trees and the herbs have no feelings just because they don’t move and don’t make a sound? Ever seen tree sap ooze out of an injured bark? Looks like somebody is bleeeeeeeding!

2. While you resist eating/killing living things that you can see, you have no qualms about killing living things that you can’t see. Remember the mosquito you swatted? The genocide you unleashed on the poor bacteria and viruses each time you sneezed/moved? Ever thought of those poor orphan kids of those unlucky bacteria?

Just like you kill the virus, I have allowed the virus to kill you, the maggots to eat you, the trees to use you as manure and the vultures to pull out your innards. In the same spirit (not to be confused with the holy Ghost or the bottled one), I allow you to eat all or any of them.

As I mentioned earlier, I don’t mind you not eating the good stuff. But when you start guilt edging people into vegetarianism…. that is taking things too far! Some of you don’t eat veg-food from a non-veg joint. I know so many guys (including one son of mine named after an Israeli “father of the nations”) who lost out on the delicious Chicken Mugalai and Bengali fried fish just because you girly grass eaters refused to go to a non-vegetarian restaurant (and that too on company expense!!)

Another abominable tactic of yours is to stare at my dutiful children with that “ooo-you-are-a-killer” look and/or pass snide remarks that are too uncouth to be written down. Yet another tactic involves “converting” your spouses to vegetarianism against their wishes by use of emotional blackmail.

Thank your stars that I have mellowed down a bit in the past 2-3 thousand years. Back then, my normal modus operandi against people who did unnatural acts was to give them the sulfur fire treatment (remember Sodom??). Other creative ideas included the water treatment (Noah fame) and feeding prophets to the sharks. Forget people, just look at what I did to those dinosaurs. Those guys were getting too big. Along comes a comet and bang goes the dinosaur. You think that was chance?? Think again!

Stuff like this keeps happening all through my curriculum vitae. Of course, you don’t need to worry so much. I am, after all, a loving God who is just in the habit of making offers that you can’t refuse. So here goes the 11th commandment. Next time the menu for your cafeteria gets decided, thou shall not interfere and make it a vegetarian menu with utter disregard of all the non-vegetarians around thee.

[Violation of the above rule is prohibited under section 666 of the heavenly penal code. Transgressors will be cooked in the eternal flames of hell and fed to non vegetarians. ]

Now, it is time for a confession. People believe that I am perfect and I am, but that doesn’t mean that whatever I make is perfect. Like, if you make a million electronic chips, no one chip will be the same as the other completely. In the same way, no two people I make, are the same. There are variations (ok, ok there are defects too!) like people with Down syndrome, people with a tendency to eat vegetarian stuff etc.

The defect with vegetarians is that they suffer from the “what I am doing is correct” and “everyone who doesn’t follow this path is wrong” anomalies. This anomaly is the result of the sum total of the anomalies in the equation forming the matrix trying to balance blah blah blah….. Point is, I couldn’t fix it! But take heart! Have I not blessed you with enough and more intelligence? In time, you will find a medicine for vegetarianism too. In the mean time please stop converting others to your misguided path (Or else…)

So, my message to you is..... "The world doesn’t need more vegetarians, it just needs far lesser human beings!"*

Luv,
God.

*One practical solution being to eat each other! And only non vegetarians can do that.

Signature Blues

2007-08-06T14:28:00.000+05:30

It was one of those perfect mornings when you don’t feel like getting out of bed. So I faked a stomach ache to play truant. I am sure that Amma must have known it was a fake the moment I tried it. Fortunately for me, she was feeling rather sympathetic for her “baby”. She must have thought to herself “Anyway I can’t sleep like this with all the cooking and chores written in my fate, at least let my son enjoy it a bit when he can”.

Problem was that Amma forgot to sign my leave letter for the next day at school. I was in 6th standard and not too worried about it. After all, my education and circumstances had made me a very capable fraud by that time. It was a simple matter of faking her signature. But that is when I found out a sad truth. For some reason whichever way I tried it, I couldn’t get to sign the way my mother signed. The Guy up there had forgotten to install the “copy” software when he sent me packing downstairs….:( Talk about low quality at high places!

Fortunately for me, he had installed some up-market best in the league fraud software, so I found another way around this nagging issue. Every problem, you see, is an opportunity!….. for somebody else….:). I bribed Reny (I think) with my meager resources to get it signed and the day was thus saved.

It was in 10th standard when I was up against the wall again. This time the problem was my own signature… I couldn’t even “fake” my own signature a second time! In the end I decided to make it a very simple “Am” (my initials written as they are normally written) No fancy stuff. Having solved the problem once and for all, I was living life happily ever after when Amma got jealous of my happy life and decided to muddle it up a bit.

I don’t remember how she saw my signature, but the moment she saw it she blurted out “what is this “kaaka thoori” (crow shit) thing u have written here”
Me: My signature!!
Amma: Don’t think I am flattering you, but if somebody sees this signature, they will think you are illiterate!
Me: Shut up! If they think I am illiterate, let them!

Problem was that her tactless words had hurt my ego. I decided that a change in the signature policy was of prime importance. After much painstaking research, I decided that scrawling my first name plus some fancy stuff should be enough.

In the years that followed, I had to sign on many occasions, but nobody noticed that I never signed the same signature twice. Mainly because I made sure that they hadn’t seen any other signature of mine. Like, when I went to the bank, I would distract the clerk with some innocent jabbering to take his mind off my signature discrepancy. Life was tough, but bearable

That is when I and my fellow roommates decided to go for a trip to Thailand. The trip itself was fantastic and it would take many pages to describe our adventures. But the real adventure was waiting for me back home at the Bangalore airport. I had to fill in an immigration form. Naturally, like all governmental forms, this one also had that despicable column for “Signature”.

I filled it, signed it and gave the form and my passport to the official. He took one look at my signature and said “Wrong signature, sign once more!” I had no idea how I signed in my passport. Suspecting the worst, I signed once more and he said “wrong again”. But, he was a helpful chap, so he told me “ok, as a favor I will show you how you have signed in the passport” and showed me my signature (Big favor indeed!).

It definitely looked like crow shit to me. Now how the hell was I supposed to replicate it? Cursing my own karma, I tried to copy it…. With disastrous results….:( He took one look at the signature, a worried look at my face then a look at my passport. Nothing seemed to fit!

Official(with narrowed eyes) : Sign once more!
Me (Do-I-look-like-a-terrorist? Look + wide smile): Ok, I will sign once more.
Official(looking at my 4th sign): Now you have signed in four different ways! And none of it like your passport signature!
Me (Helpless look + smile): Er… can you show me my passport sign once more?

The official must have been an aspiring saint or something, he actually showed me the signature in my passport once more. Not surprisingly, one more permutation of my signature was added to my infinite kitty. He shook his head in negative. I was left wondering whether he would deport me to Pakistan or Afghanistan. Feeling pretty sick about my bleak future, I turned this way and that, when I suddenly noticed an ad hanging on the wall behind the official.

It was my company’s ad!!!! I took out my company id and showed it to the official and then gestured at the wall behind him. Finally satisfied, he let me off the hook. I said a silent prayer of thanks to the Supreme Being for not sending me to the world as a Muslim. That could have really complicated things!

Overseas trips don’t come cheap, so it was no wonder that yours truly was filing for a personal loan application the very next month. I had to put about 30 signatures on various papers containing God knows what. The agent in charge took a look at all those signatures and promptly said “You will have to come to the bank to get this sorted out”.

It was two days later that I went to “sort things out” at the bank. The official at the bank took out a copy of my pan card and asked me to “sign like you have signed in the pan card”. He said it so easily! I felt like I should wrench his neck. Why can’t these guys do something like a retinal scan or some high funda stuff in this so-called age of technology when everything is digital? Murmuring a few choice words below my breath, I started to “copy” my own signature.

Naturally, he was not satisfied with my “copies”. The jerk actually made me sign twice for each sign that I had made on the papers. Now instead of 30 different signatures he had about 100 different signatures on his hand. I was at my wits end when the manager walked in. He looked at my signatures, looked at me and said “how can you do this”
I: How can I do what?
Manager: How can you sign in such totally different ways???
I: Oh, that…. I don’t know, I just do that
Manager: This won’t work!
I (with a forlorn look on my face): Take my fingerprint or whatever but please don’t torture me with all this signing
Manager (laughing): Ok ok, I will take care of this. Don’t worry.

I am not sure for how long I will have to suffer all this injustice! I look forward to a future when pen and paper is banned, trees saved and people dont have to sign for nothing, no more!

A Parable

2007-08-02T12:42:00.000+05:30

When I was a kid, my mother bought me a children’s Bible. It had beautiful pictures with big-print words and a nice cover. I really loved the book and its contents. My favorite part of the book was the New Testament parables.

The parables I liked most were about Jesus and the prostitutes (not that I actually understood who they were). My understanding was that, if you needed a straight ticket to heaven, then you better be a prostitute!

Somewhere along the way, I have lost all that innocence, but a small story I heard yesterday, suddenly made me remember those days again. I was left wondering once more, whether you actually need to be a prostitute to get that ticket (not that I believe in heaven anymore).

Tony a.k.a Pullachen had had a few pegs before the story came out. For sake of conciseness, I will not explain the context in which he told it.

During his time in engineering college, Pullachen used to find himself in financial deep shit by the third week of every month. By the fourth week, not only would he be broke, but even the “world banks” would be broke.

The high-profile 10, 20 and 100 rupee notes would have already bid adieu to his pocket by that time. Only the coins, those ill-respected friends of a needy student would remain faithful. On such occasions, Pullachen would sometimes go to a nearby shanty shop (murukan kada) to buy a banana or some small snack.

This particular shop was (and still is) run by a woman in her late 60’s. She was a very kind soul, who would give two or even three snacks/bananas for a paltry rupee on seeing his plight. Naturally, she was very popular during the fourth week of the month. But during her formative years, she was even more popular (?) for a totally different reason. She was supposedly (according to Pullachen) the no.1 prostitute in Chengannur.

The years passed and finally engineering was over (Praise the Lord!). But when we passed out, the job market was really down. It was tough to get even a single interview and it took Pullachen nearly a year of job hunting to get a decent job. Naturally, he was right on cloud nine when he got it finally.

It was time to say thank you, to a lot of people. Thus, he went to see his old acquaintances in Chengannur. All of them were extremely pleased that he had got a job and unsurprisingly most of them immediately asked for a grand treat. Pullachen was more than happy to oblige these requests.

Finally, he went to see this old woman and told her the good news. She was so very happy to hear it that instead of the normal modus operandi to ask for a treat, the poor woman actually pressed him to have a few more snacks from her humble shop. He tried to pay for it, but she just wouldn’t accept anything from him. Pullachen was left open mouthed at her display of such innocent joy. Happy to know, that he had such a genuine well wisher.

What she gave him would be worth only a few rupees. But 4 years down the line, it is heartening to see that he still values her genuine heartfelt gesture as “priceless”.

An Everlasting Love Story....Brought to you by, Wills - Part II

2007-07-27T12:43:00.001+05:30

The situation was spiraling out of control! I had to do something about it. That is when we had this Christmas friend thingy happening. The idea about which is that you draw lots and get a friend to whom you have to give a present. Also, the loser who gets your name has to give you a present! Ramba’s friend was one of my hostel mates (Jiju?). After much haggling and begging I finally got to be her Christmas friend.

My calculation was that the co-incidence factor of me getting her name-slip in a “free and fair” lot draw, would undoubtedly sit in good light with her. Women are such suckers for “signs” like these and after all, we Indians are so happily superstitious. I knew it in my heart, this was gonna work for sure!

Opportunity does not knock twice and I saw this as a God given chance to prove my undying love for Ramba. So we (notice the plural?) decided that I (notice the singular?) should use this opportunity not just to give a present, but also to propose to her. Lesson Learnt: It doesn’t matter who all decide, the doer is the loser!

I too felt much the same. I had to make use of whatever scant chances I had. To this date, I am not cent percent sure who gave me the actual idea on HOW to propose. Nikhil claims that it was his idea. Seeing how screwed up it was, I am pretty sure it is. His idea (my undoing) was to use a cigarette packet to propose to the her!!! Yeah, you read right, a cigarette packet! The plan was to take a “Wills” cigarette packet, highlight the part that says “made for each other” in red ink, put in some toffees inside and present it to her.

I still can’t believe that I fell for that one. I mean, how sick is it to propose to a girl (and that too an Indian, conservative girl) using a cigarette packet? I guess it was all those stressy engineering papers, that did this to me… confused me, they did! (See, even after 4 years, I am still talking like Yoda of star wars!). Anyways I was so star struck with the opportunity to propose that nothing else seemed to matter now. I felt that whichever way I did it, she would definitely say yes.

Finally D-Day arrived. The whole hostel rallied behind me (after all, who lets up on making somebody else a total ass!). They got me the cigarette packet, the toffees, somebody (I think bonnie) even wrote a card. The only job I had left was to go and give it to her. I had this bad feeling about the cigarette, right from the beginning. But, with such great support from my friends, I pushed aside all my misgivings and went straight…to slaughter!

It was after the second last hour, that the presents were to be distributed. I spent most of the day in the toilet. I was that scared. I mean, how would she take it? Will she say “yes”, “no” or “let me think”?? I was in total confusion. My earlier sense of confidence seemed to have evaporated away like morning dew under a hot sun. “Nervous wreck” best summed up my state of mind.

At last the hour of reckoning approached, did I hear the angel sounding the last trumpet or was it just my over active imagination? Shrugging it off, I walked up to her seat. But, as I walked, somehow out of nowhere, I seemed to get a lot of confidence. It was like, “Man what is the big deal? You can do it! Just keep your cool”. So, with a winning smile (a horrid blush according to bystanders) on my face I went up to her and said…

I: Hello Ramba!
Ramba: Hello Abraham! Oooo are you my Christmas friend! Cool, it is such a pleasant surprise!
I: Smiled (I mean, I still don’t know what to tell a female when she “ooo’s” at you).
Ramba: So, tell me, what have you got for me?
I (smiling shyly now): It is a rather novel gift. Hope you like it.
Ramba: Ofcourse, I will love anything you give me, I am sure!
I (Thinking): maaan, she’s gonna say yes! I am sure! The stars have shined upon me!
I: Well here it is, open up and see.

At that precise moment, the villain arrived on scene. Lesson Learnt: “anything that can go wrong will go wrong” – Murphy’s Law.

Villain: Hello Ramba, see what I bough for you…
Ramba: Are you too my Christmas friend?
I (What the f**** look on my face)
Villain: No, I am not, but I thought I will get you a gift anyways.
Ramba: oooo! So thoughtful of you! I am flattered (and me flattened!)
Villian: It is nothing, just nothing. It’s my pleasure.
I (Thinking): If it is nothing, then why did you bring it, pest!

She opened his gift first and guess what, it is the poster of her favorite cricket star.
Oooooo! She shrieked. So loud, that everyone in the class turned around to see the hoola boola! She ran around the class with that poster, doing a jig and dance with it. My present still lay unopened at her seat!

The professor walked in at that point and everyone went hush hush. I had to go back to my seat... white as a sheet! Nikhil was there to cheer me up, “Don’t worry machuu, once she opens her gift, she is all yours, believe me!” Poor me, I believed him. Lesson Learnt: Never believe Nikhil, especially on matters of love advice!

From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see her for the next one hour. But it wasn’t necessary. After about half an hour, I saw the guy sitting in front of me happily chewing something. “Where did you get this dude, you got one for me too?” I asked, “Sure, here’s one” he said and gave me one toffee… the same that I had given to Ramba! Lesson Learnt: What goes around comes around!

It was only after class that I could talk with her. Fortunately the villains were taking a break and I was able to walk with her alone. I thought I would walk her to her hostel, what she needed was a cool and calm mind. Then she would understand my love!

As we walked together, a big silence hung between us. But by the time I reached the steps of our fifth floor, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I was desperate to know. In the end I blurted out “Did you open my gift?”, “Yes” she hummed back. “Did you… did you…. did you see the part marked in red?” I asked. My heart was beating so hard that I was positively afraid I wouldn’t be able to hear what she said. After a long pause, I heard the acknowledgment to my q coming…. “Hmmm…” she replied and then she just stood there. No “yes”, No “no” and No “let me think”. Only a “Hmmm…”! Things didn’t look good!

I was one step below her, so I looked up into her eyes….. and there I saw.... pure heartless rejection!!!! But, what if I was mistaken??? So, I walked down one more step hoping that she would follow, but she did not. I walked down two and looked back again… she still did not follow. Lesson Learnt: Never propose while standing on a step! *

Well, so I walked down the rest and went back to my hostel and lived happily ever after!**

*They say failure is the stepping stone to success, well if you find the guy who said that, please do me a favor. Break his ruddy neck!!!
**Were you expecting, some Greek tragedy???

An Everlasting Love Story...Brought to you by, Wills - Part I

2007-07-26T11:00:00.000+05:30

The internal exams had just got over. It was a small period of respite in my packed first year when one could loaf around without much guilt. As I wandered about, I saw Bonnie sitting in the spacious landing-cum-balcony of our 3 storey hostel, enjoying the cool night breeze. I went and sat near him enjoying the calm and serene surroundings.

In retrospect, all this romanticism in the air was what gave us the idea. “Man, don’t we need to do something in college other than just study study study?” I asked, “Yeah man!” he replied.

I: I had such high expectations when I joined college…. about bunking classes, chasing skirts, what not!
Bonnie: Yeah, me too man! Me too!
I: F***
Bonnie: F***
Us: F***
Bonnie: Let’s do something about this macha.
I: Yeah, lets!
Bonnie: Hmm… let me think.
He proceeded to think with that constipated expression on his face and I proceeded to stare listlessly into nowhere… Ideas were never my forte.

Bonnie(now with a bright smile): da! Let’s romance two chicks in our class. We will make it a one month effort. At the end of which, we either get screwed or we get “screwed”….he he he.

I will not go into the details of my screwed up romance life then [and now…:(], suffices to say that it was screwed! I am really not a ladies man. For the 0 number of proposals I had done till date, I had got 0 replies and 0 rejections. All in all, a very poor state of affairs prevailed.

I(The eternal pessimist in romance): Just tell me the name of two “chicks” in our class. In 2 months, I haven’t seen any!
Bonnie: True! But then beggars can’t be choosers, so let’s select the best two from the worst and start off anyways.
I(Resignedly): Ok.

After a thorough search of possible candidates, we finally decided that I will go after Ramba* and he would go after Menaka*. The plan of action was pretty normal, start chatting, start calling, start dating and then propose.

I hate following plans. So at the end of one month, I had about talked with the girl in question once or twice and given her an odd smile. On the other end, Bonnie was spending hours and hours each day with Menaka.

“Speed thrills, but kills” is one advice that Bonnie never followed. He is not dead yet, but his romance is. Instead of building up a rapport, doing some hand holding and eating some ice creams before proposing. He went ahead and proposed at the end of the stipulated month, with disastrous consequences….:) Till date, he has refused to divulge the details of what happened during the “proposal drama”.

On the other hand, my life is an open book (blog?) as far as my romances go. Not because I wanted it that way, but because my romance was never a one man effort. I had the active support of my entire hostel. In fact, I am now convinced that as far as Ramba is concerned, it was not only me but my entire hostel that did the romancing.

There was a free flow of advice on what I should and should not do right from the beginning. One good piece of advice was to write small chits and pass to her. This technique allowed me to break the ice. I gave her chits and she replied back with chits. Then one day she wrote down the words of a Hindi song in English for me. I didn’t really request it, but somehow she did that for me.

I was extremely thrilled at this phenomenal change from lowly chit to Hindi love song. The song went like this “chup gaya badli mein jake chand bein sharma gaya , apko dekha to phoolon ko pasina aa gaya.. are mahi… (read are abraham….. ooo)”. I don’t want to show you my Hindi score card, but believe me, it could stop a train in its track with all the red. I was utterly stupefied by the words, I did not understand anything. The time, I decided was ripe for some active bluffing. So I went up to her seat and thanked her (with tears in my eyes) of how beautiful the words were. About how honored I was to get such a personal present from her.

Then, before she could utter a single word and call my bluff. I ran back to hostel. I had to see Nishanth, pronto! He was born and brought up in Delhi and was a natural with Hindi. He painstakingly unraveled the beautiful meaning of each and every single word, for me. To tell that I was elated when I understood the meaning of her words would be a gross understatement. It may never win the best song award, but to me, at that moment, it was nothing short of an ode to love.

Maan! me the loser had done it! I read the song a hundred times and even tried to sing it out loud. I was thwarted at that attempt though... My hostel mates don’t appreciate “original” talent…:)

This was a very important milestone not only in the love story, but also in my life. So, it was no big surprise that when the guys asked for a treat, I was at my obliging best! I bought everyone a dozen laddoos in the hope of impending success. Lesson learnt: don’t count your chickens before they hatch!

Now the romance went into full swing, I started chatting her up and even became friends with her friends. Just to be in the “loop” you see. I felt that the stage had been set for me to become a total Casanova. The only problem was that there were some other aspiring Casanova’s already hanging about Ramba. Bloody gits!!!! But this did not deter me! She had the softest spot for me, I was sure of that.

That is when the next exam came along. Our free time was cut short dramatically. As is the wont of first year engineering students who think too much of their exams, everyone fell into “Nerd Mode”. Naturally, my romancing took a back seat and our time together dwindled to almost nothing.

Once the exam was finished however, I saw to my absolute horror, that the other guys in the race had over taken me by far in the “quest” for Ramba. They taught her subjects, gave her notes**, carried her bag to the station, bought her free lunches in the canteen and pampered her in other such imaginative (read sick) ways. Gone were the days of innocent monopoly, now, free trade knocked!

*Names changed...:)
**Bethelites reading this are requested to refrain from even imagining what would have happened if I lend her my notes…:D

War of the Nerds

2007-07-23T09:27:00.000+05:30

Statutory warning: If you are not a game freak, then this post may not be too interesting.

I was walking up the stairs of the BJohns hostel, when I heard what sounded like a big fight going on inside. It sounded like Rameez and Zanub at each others throats! Deciding it best to intervene before those two knuckle heads came to blows, I rushed into their room. But when I reached there, I found them playing at their respective computers while abusing each other at the same time. Thank God for the virtual world, this was just another virtual battle going on, nothing serious.

But, their passion for the game got me hooked. It was Microsoft’s Age of Empires that these guys were playing. Their virtual armies were fighting each other, while in the real world Rameez and Zanub were right on the verge of exchanging some non-virtual blows. Rameez is a sore loser and Zanub is a natural at games. The combination as you can guess, was rather volatile.

Naturally Rameez lost the game. He got up fuming and desperate from his terminal, ready to choke anybody in the vicinity and that’s when I put up my neck for the slaughter. I asked, what sounded a very innocuous request at that time, “Da, Can you teach me to play this game?” To Rameez this was a sign from God Almighty! Here was a rookie, whom he could beat as many times as he pleased. “Ha! I will teach you alright, now come sit at the computer” he said and almost dragged me to the terminal.

I do not wish to write in any detail those painful first four or five matches I played with Rameez. He trounced me each time and gloated like he just won the Age of Empires world championship or something (did I mention that he was a gloater too?). But to his credit, he taught me the bread and butter basics of the game well. In each new game, I learnt a few more tactics, but in the end I always ended up dead (in the game I mean!).

Things got so bad that, whenever he lost to Zanub he would come over to my hostel (a few hundred meters away) and personally invite (read drag) me for a game at his place. Then he would make short work of my rookie talents and gloat for an hour about his accomplishments as the “best gamer ever”, out of Zanub’s earshot of course! Life as they say, was down in the dumps right then. It seemed that even in the virtual world, I was all set to become a loser.

Then one day, Zanub challenged me to a duel. It was plain suicide to play with the guy, but then, since I was getting slaughtered anyway, why not get slaughtered at the best hands, was my line of thinking. I guess he took about half an hour to put in my R.I.P and sign my death certificate. But, that was because he went to have a drink of water in the middle! Anyways, after trouncing me, he gave me that extremely valuable piece of advice. “Da, to fight, it is not just an army you need, but an economy to back that”. Hmm… interesting!

This time around I did the inviting, Rameez eagerly accepted. After a long drawn out game (knowing theory is ok, implementing it is a lot harder!), I managed to win! “You were just plain lucky” said Rameez. He was totally disgruntled at having lost, but the best part was that he did not even see the change in strategy that had come over my game. The score card read 1-5. I had opened! “Let us do this again” he said and I beat him once again! He left it at that for the day saying it was just not his lucky day.

It was exam season, so it was not surprising that I got the next invite to play on the eve of a semester exam. I decided that “I need to relax a bit, right now I am saturated” and took the invitation, I beat him again…. And again…. And again! As for the exam questions on the very next day… I (and he) got beat again and again and again! Well, at least I won the games. Poor Rameez, he lost out on both.

After about ten straight losses to me, he started picking up that some thing was very wrong. It did not take him much time to figure it. Suddenly, we were on par again. Time to cook up a new strategy, I decided.

I am no great thinker, but there was something that was nagging me at the back of my mind. I normally selected the Spanish civilization and occasionally some other civilization too. Zanub on the other hand used to select all types, mainly Spanish, Turk and Japanese and sometimes even mediocre guys like Mayans.

What was interesting however was that Rameez, almost always selected the Turkish civilization. Initially I thought that Rameez was just very comfortable with them and that is why he did not change. But, mulling over why he did that, I was suddenly struck with a revelation! This guy was actually playing Muslim in the virtual world!!! Now, if I went about destroying his mosques using my “crusader” army, guess who would be mad….:)

In the next game, I made sure to destroy every single mosque he put up. The idiot actually built walls for his mosques and towers for their defense! Needless to say, I won the game with a song on my lips (and that too a Christian song..:D), just to infuriate him that extra bit..:)

Now, Rameez is such a bad loser that he simply cannot take it in stride. He used to get emotional about it all. His normal modus operandi after losing a game was to run out of the room and shout to everyone that he beat me. Naturally, no one ever believed him. They would just come up to me and say, “Dude, keep up the good work, we love it to see him so frustrated”.

A few more games went on like this, until he caught up on my new tactic. By then, I had become a bit complacent with all the wins I had. So it was no big surprise (at least to me) that he won our 20th or so game. He was way beyond happy, he was ecstatic. Pure joy radiated from his face. But then, nobody had witnessed our game, so he ran out to spread the good news. Melvin was at that precise moment, walking into the room. “Macha! I won macha! I beat Aby!!!” cried Rameez.

Melvin, with that utterly bored look on his face replied…“Oh, yeah? Just f*** off loser, I know Aby won it as usual”..:)

The Final Battle!

2007-07-20T10:36:00.000+05:30

Statutory warning: This post is meant for game freaks, others may not find it too interesting!

For those who came in late, Age of Empires is the Microsoft Game made for the laziest people on earth. It is a game in which you can create your own virtual world, empires, armies, trade, people, buildings....the works! “Hardworking” is one adjective that nobody ever insulted me with. Put two and two together and you come to the logical conclusion that I played the game as if there was no tomorrow.

But, even I stand in deference to that legend (read freak), the one and only Zanub Hassan! He was the looniest, craziest, gamer to set foot on terra firma (or at least my part of terra firma!). He played all sorts of games ever invented, right from those 80’s model Mario to the ultra modern half life and Max Payne. The type of guy, who had his priorities set straight. Games, before studies and exams, were his motto for life..:) There are rumors about him that he actually dreamt games. Like, why else would someone cry out “Attack! Alarm! Goal!” etc in their sleep???!!!

There were three computers in our hostel that we interconnected to “maximize our gaming experience”. On normal days, nobody bothered to even switch them on. But come exams and all of a sudden there would be this huge rush to play the games. It was no surprise then that yours truly and the legend in question were seen one exam eve playing furiously.

I will not go into my painful score card of playing with this guy. In fact, I considered a game “well done” if I could hold out for an hour against him. But I had thought out a well planned strategy for this one, in this one I was going to win!

Things started off as I expected. Zanub selected the Japanese civilization and I selected the Spanish civilization. Zanub also selected his favorite “big Islands” scenario for the game. He got an island to build on, I got an island to build on and we both built on without bugging each other for quite some time. But with all that testosterone floating around the room, war was not only a possibility, but a way of life.

To attack somebody you need at least 3:1 to 5:1 superiority in numbers. But that is for the real world. Here in the virtual world, you could easily manage with a 1.5:1 and come back singing your national anthem or whatever. My strategy was to tire him out. So instead of focusing on attack I built forts and towers around my island. Since I was pitted against such a good player, I had no illusions on the speed or ferocity of his attack. As expected, by the time I had made about 10 soldiers and a few towers, he came in by the hundreds in transport ships to attack.

But the towers held firm, a number of my virtual soldiers died heroic deaths and the day was saved. But to Zanub, this was just another “probing” action, not an all out attack. He would just keep coming back, bigger, stronger and faster. Fortunately this first round win had given me a small advantage in time. I used it to build some ships and raise a decent army. The economy was going just fine. Builders built, traders traded, wood cutters cut and basically everyone did a fine job of what they were supposed to do. No strikes or labor hassles in the virtual world!

That was when the second attack came. This time, I was even better prepared and was able to repulse it almost immediately. But in the back of my mind the writing on the wall was all too visible. This guy was just going to hammer me out till I gave in. Time for improvisation!

My plan B was that there was no plan B. I mean, I had the perfect strategy right, why would I need plan b. By this time, a number of fellow hostellers had taken front row seats to watch the action. The next best thing to gaming, is to see somebody else gaming! Every one was shouting out ideas, tactics and advice to both of us. Above all this din, I finally got my idea. I would sneak in a few workers to Zanub’s island and start building there.

But how would I sneak in without him noticing? A diversionary attack was all that came to mind and that’s exactly what I did. I recruited a few “would be martyrs” and sent them on an impossible mission. While that attack progressed, I sneaked in about 3 villagers to the opposite side of Zanub’s island. As expected, he made short work of my martyrs (poor guys! I still remember them in my prayers) and sent in another attack. But who cared, I had already engineered my silent coup. Now it was only a matter of time!

My villagers were on steroids I think, those champs made a town center, castle, tower, armory, stables and almost every other building in a very short time. On top of it they even dug out his gold from right under his nose. Ha! The satisfaction of a spy master! It is hard to explain the joy I felt.

I had started making an army right on his soil without him noticing it and boy, a big one it was too. In the mean time, he put in attack after attack on my island. But not with much ferocity I must say, the second attack must have demoralized him a bit. I lost a few towers here a few castles there and good number of people everywhere. It was all working out so well. I was lulling him into the illusion of a win, while I was getting ready to land that sucker blow!

At last my large army was ready. I just needed to give the orders. Finally after tweaking the formations a bit, I gave the order to attack with cries of "VIVA LA REVOLUCION!!!" (I am Spanish, remember?). The trebuchets were the first to set base and attack his castles (you should have seen the look on his face!). He had just wound up his final campaign, in which he destroyed all of my ships and achieved complete naval superiority when right in his back yard, I was throwing stones at his castles!

This was my day! The day of David! Goliath was gonna hit the ground anytime now. Sensing an imminent win for the underdog, the crowd of supporters who had gathered to watch the game was now cheering me on! I felt like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky, going in for the final punch.

But that is when I noticed a small red patch on my island right next to my town centre. A small irritant, that. He might have sneaked in a small ship full of soldiers into my territory. Nothing big, I could handle it easily with my home guard and towers. But the fact that he did this irked my ego a bit. How dare he! I was going to show him who was master and lord, once and for all. Charity begins at home, right. So I was going to fix him up in my island before I finished him up in his island.

Now, for quite some time, I had been a bit negligent about my island, except for warding of a few serious moves, I had pretty much focused on getting things done “undercover”. When I went back to look at home good home, I was in for a shock. Yeah, you guessed right! That slippery b****** had set up shop in my island and what is more, he had incinerated most of it by this time.

In about five minutes of intense fighting he took out my entire home guard and the rest of my island, while I had by that time taken up the rest of his island! Talk about going back to square one! It was declared a “perfect draw” but I guess, me being the underdog and taking the rocky factor into account, I won!*

*If Zanub ever writes a blog about this, you might find some interesting changes to the ending..:)

Burning the midnight oil

2007-07-19T13:06:00.001+05:30

Nithin wanted to study alone. So he went to one of the empty rooms, laid out his book and started in earnest. The exams were just 2 days ahead and even the second round of revision was not over (Geez! what a Nerd!). But in the corridors beyond his room walked his greatest nemesis. No prizes for guessing who it was!

Now, I normally don’t disturb people who are studying unless they do it in my room. But with the exams so near and nerves so jittery, I was not my usual self. As I walked past his room each time, I felt more and more frustrated. I couldn’t digest the fact that there were guys who actually finished the portions and had started revising this early before an exam. And Here I was, who had not finished even the first module, forget the revision! I ask you, is it too much to ask for a lil bit o’ company when you are as screwed up as I was?

Each room had a master switch outside. You turn it off and nothing works inside. So, it was no wonder that my hand inadvertently turned it off when I walked by. Nithin, came out cursing. “You bloody ass*****! What the hell do you think you are doing eh??” He then turns on the switch and goes back to study.

I reach the end of the corridor which is rather long, come back and again my hands “inadvertently” turn it off. Nithin is fuming mad by now. He got all the looks of a clinical psychopath. He somehow controls his temper and turns it on again. This time around as I pass by other rooms with equally frustrated people, I spread the news of what is happening. Everyone comes out to watch the unfolding tamasha. The third time I did it, Nithin comes out with the silent attack. His eyes all ablaze with fury and that “do it one more time and you are dead” look.

On a normal day, that’s the time I let things cool a bit. But then, exams make me act rather funny. So I repeat the whole thing again. This time around I see helplessness. I start wondering whether this guy is practicing for some acting lessons. He was dishing out all human emotions in all sorts of funny combinations by now. For some unknown reason he couldn’t see the fun in all this….:)

By the fifth time, he has stopped coming out of the room and is just sitting there in the darkness staring at nothing. I can’t stop myself giggling. There is a light in every room except his. But by the sixth round it was I who was in for a surprise. As I walk by, I expect to see a dark form huddled in a dark room. Instead I get to see a guy studying by candle light!!! The whole scene was so hilarious. Everyone came out to see this wonderful engineer, “burning the midnight oil”.

It was of course no wonder that when the results came, I was in deep shit and Nithin was one of the toppers. Well because of me, he can at least brag to his kids* about how he had to “struggle through adverse situations” and face “immense difficulties” to get his degree….:)

*Comments like "can he actually make kids?" are absolutely unwelcome! As they say "it is beyond the scope" of this article to discuss it....:)

Ctrl + Alt + Delete! The Kate Winslet Affair - Part III

2007-07-17T13:41:00.000+05:30

Scene 1 Take 2
Chacko sees Chemmachen walking towards the room with a wide smile on his handsome face.

He could have turned off the monitor, he could have turned off the computer, he could have done a lot of things, instead, all he did was keep typing “ctrl + alt + delete”. In the deathly silence that filled the room, only the frantic “tak tak tak” sounds as he pelted the keyboard were to be heard.

As is normal during such abnormal situations, the computer failed to respond! Kate Winslet still stood proud and erect with a faint smile on her supple lips defying all logic for a messy shut down.

“Enthokke onde bonnie” (How are you) Chemmachen asked in his friendly tone to Bonnie lying on the bed. He had not seen the computer yet! Chacko did a last ditch effort now, about 5 dozen ctrl + alt + delete’s in the flash of a second. But Kate Winslet just refused to budge. Nobody ever expected Nishanth to act. After all, all this was way beyond his primitive comprehension. The only escape, if it ever came would be from Bonnie. Now if Bonnie had a mind, he could have shown presence of mind. But then at that point, his non existent mind was in limbo/coma/vegetable state (I have a suspicion that it is always that way, but more of that later) what is important is, nobody uttered a damn word!

To make matters worse, Bonnie’s eyes unconsciously wandered over to the computer. Chemmachen’s followed suit! Chacko by then had given up all hope of ever getting Kate Winslet off the screen and sat dejectedly at his seat. Nishanth had his heart in his mouth, with the look of a man who lost his soul. As for kate Winslet, she still had that smile on her face as if in mischievous defiance of the unfolding drama.

At last the long wandering eyes of Chemmachen fell on that most beautiful image. It was all over in a second, with shock written all over his face Chemmachen turned and silently walked out of the room, past Chacko, past us, past the long corridor, to his room.

Scene 2
The call to his room came late in the evening. The three musketeers were called for. I and Nikhil went with them for “moral support” but were promptly shooed away by Chemmachen. Those three were in for a long session of counseling. "Since there are three of you here, I will give you three choices" said Chemmachen and gave them the following 3 choices
1) I tell your parents about this
2) I tell your parents about this
3) I tell your parents about this

The musketeers did a lot of head hanging and negotiations that day, fortunately Chemmachen agreed to accept an apology letter from all three instead of the opening a parent information service.

Bonnie and Nishanth gave in proper apology letters saying a straight forward sorry, but Chacko decided to do a bit of obfuscation. I guess he was trying to win the Pulitzer, with an apology letter! His letter went something like this.

“Whereas on the morning of this day, I was found wanting in the spiritual plane. The reason for my delight in the pagan pleasure of the flesh was totally unbecoming of Christian demeanor and vision. However seen in the light of my mellow age and adverse affect of being exposed to a belligerent media with unbecoming ideas, the depth of my action should be seen none too deeply.
Whereas you were also pulled into this ignominious delight of the flesh by the actions of one whom I wish not to name in an officious document such as this. My inability to mask you from this demonic horror has increased in me the perception and depth of my folly to such a level that I am in dire danger of self wrath… Blah blah blah…

“Ethu vayichal njan anne kandathenne parayoolo!” (If somebody reads this, they will think I was watching it!) Exclaimed poor Chemmachen on reading this "work of art". The week that followed was one peppered with talks on ethics and morals. Not surprisingly, we did not stay there for too long. In about a month’s time we had all shifted out to a new house where free, horny Indians could do as they please without worrying about the Sushma Swaraj’s of this world.

Ctrl + Alt + Delete! The Kate Winslet Affair - Part II

2007-07-16T11:29:00.000+05:30

Bonnie’s idea was simple (and shitty!!!). Put in an “aesthetic” photograph of a teeth achingly beautiful actress right on the desktop. He said he wanted it for motivation, but somehow, I have this funny feeling that it was for “blood circulation”. None of us were too enthusiastic about the idea, what was the use anyway?

Truth was that, actually there was some percentage. Our hostel due to its pious surroundings had gotten a lot of bad press as being a “Bujji setup” meaning an abode of nerds. “Nerd” is one way you really don’t want to be known in college. It is really bad for your non-existent social life! But while we got the bad press, we also got a lot of visitors to our hostel, ostentatiously for “combined studies”. What better way to show those chums that we too were “cool”, than by putting up a pic like that right on the desktop eh?

Thus purely as an exercise in un-nerdifying our image, I agreed with Bonnie. Most of the others did not bother one way or the other and thus Bonnie put in a picture of Kate Winslet in her birthday suit (ahem…!) right on the desktop. That day, she added ten more fans to her existing millions.

But a dark presence loomed over our lives. An evil eye looked upon our happy souls. Our “innocent” and carefree days were coming to an end….

It was one of those study holidays with an exam just two days down the line. There were only 5 of us in the hostel. Three including Chacko (at the computer), Bonnie (on the bed with a book in his hand) and Nishanth (on the chair) were in the computer room. Nikhil and myself were in an adjacent room, with him explaining the finer details of a digital problem using the female anatomy (Yeah! Just imagine those 1’s and 0’s) to me.

Scene 1 Take 1
Suddenly out of nowhere Chemmachen walks by our room. He nods to us with a wide smile and we nod back with wide smiles. As he passes the room, the creature in my gut contracts telling me something is amiss. But I can’t quite figure out what the problem is. Subconsciously I walk out of the room, my eyes following him as he walks to the computer room. He is walking walking walking and I am watching watching watching, when all of a sudden it strikes me! Nikhil had that somebody-kicked-my-balls look on his face, by which I understood that he understood. We exchange helpless looks and then keep looking at the door through which Chemmachen has just disappeared.

The rest of the story is better explained the way Chacko saw the situation….

Ctrl + Alt + Delete! The Kate Winslet Affair - Part 1

2007-07-13T15:48:00.000+05:30

In the end you can blame it all on our college not having a men’s hostel. But the beginning was definitely due to Nishanth bringing a computer to our hostel run by the Bishop.

The actual person running the show was a very pious brother named Alias*, whom we called Chemmachen (meaning brother in Malayalam). The hostel was rather “religiously” positioned on the third floor of a building that housed the bishop’s residence, library, prayer halls and a church on the side. Altogether, a very holy atmosphere.

Thus, we were all on the path to imminent sainthood when Nishanth brought in his pc. Pavam Nishanth, he had such high hopes when he brought it along, higher marks, better life, what not. Such misplaced optimism! From the moment it came into our lives, there was no looking back. I mean looking back on vulgar life, not sainthood. It was our window to the “funny” world outside, an oasis in the desert, a light at the end of a very dark tunnel, the only silver lining in our hopeless existence!

Our nights that were earlier spent in prayer and meditation were now in hyper drive mode enjoying the paroxysms of rather non spiritual emotions. People who never wanted to come back to hostel from college were seen rushing out after the last hour in class. We set new records in running cross country from college to hostel…. Ah! The "innocence" of those bygone days!

The affect of this morale booster was immediate. Guys, who looked like they were the walking dead, started singing in the halls. Suddenly there was life outside the text book. Creative ideas like SUS (to be detailed later) and writing letters to Indian Express youth edition claiming we were gays living in the seminary were born during this golden era!

All this while Chemmachen, that most pious brother was ascending the ladder of responsibilities of his station. Sometimes, these responsibilities took him away for long periods of time from the hostel. It was during on of those long absences that Bonnie had this bout of constipation. Constipation so fearsome that he could not even fart! In the end, all that fart accumulated, built up a huge pressure and went right to his brain and thus was born one of the shittiest ideas during our first year in college.

*Name changed...:)

The Unknown Hero

2007-07-11T14:32:00.000+05:30

Readers Digest is one magazine where I have read a lot about unknown heroes. They are the small people who do big things and make this world a better place to live in. I am an avid fan of these people, but I would personally like to be in the well known sphere if ever I do anything big. My whole motto for life is, if you do something worth 10 rupees then give publicity worth 100*.

On my way to office the other day, I was crossing a road. Now, “crossing a road” might seem to be very trivial, but try doing it at the Madivala market near the police station at rush hour and you will find that climbing Everest could be an easier task. I, on average take more time to cross this road than to walk from my house till there. That road is a one-way and vehicles just do not stop for you.

The whole crossing exercise is like a foot ball game. You go in to the other side almost till the end and then you are pushed back due to a speeding vehicle back to your side. I went in about 3 times and had to come back on all three. Totally disgusted, I tried out the last trick up my sleeve. I call it “blind-walking”. The idea is that you look straight ahead instead of to your sides and just keep walking. It takes a lot of guts and even more faith in the expertise of some Indian drivers and their braking capabilities. It helps if you are deaf too, coz normally you get cursed at a lot if you do this.

Thus, I had just started my blind walking and reached a quarter of the distance when all of a sudden I feel a touch on my right elbow. It’s was a frail old lady who, under the impression that I am a responsible crosser, had tagged along! Now, things were a bit more complicated, coz blind walking requires that you be in prime physical form to jump away from a braking vehicle, do a jig and maybe even a partner-less salsa by the time you reach the other side. I normally end up jumping the last quarter of the road to escape unhurt.

But in one way, I was pleased. After all, I had seen so many movies where the lead helps out old (and usually blind) ladies to cross the road. Here was my chance to play the role. I took it in full seriousness and with some heavy hand signaling (including the rude ones) managed to reach the middle. Now, we were really trapped. There was traffic behind us and ahead of us. To move an inch this way or that was a straight ticket to the hospital. The only thing left was to wait for the rush to clear a bit.

As I was waiting, I also did some heavy scanning. As I said earlier, I don’t dig being the unknown hero, I like being appreciated you know. But the filmi touch ended with the old lady I guess. There was no heroine watching my heroic actions on either side of the road! What a tragedy!

If I knew a bit of Kannada, I would have asked her, whether we could repeat this whole charade a few times till the right “environment” was available…:) Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the vehicles in front of us cleared a bit, but not enough to do an easy cross. I had run out of patience by then and decided to take the plunge. By the tightness of her grip, I could understand the poor woman’s tension. Maybe, seeing the old lady or whatever, the rest of the vehicles fortunately slowed down and let us cross, without us having to resort to any fancy acrobatics.

I was still scanning the surroundings when we reached the end of the road, but lady luck stayed away and there was not a girl in sight. But then, for my heroic efforts, I was awarded with an extremely sweet and toothless smile from the old woman. To hell with the heroines! I felt right on top of the world just seeing that smile.

*Nishanth, don’t dare to comment that this post was for cheap publicity…. Well, even if it was, I wont admit it….:)

"Pee"-a-boo

2007-07-09T22:02:00.000+05:30

It was a cold evening. One of those windy, gusty days you get in Bangalore. Through the streets leading to Maruti Nagar in Madiwala, a man walked at full speed. He showed exceptional dexterity at dodging the human melee and traffic on the road. It was a dexterity born out of necessity, for his bladder threatened to explode if he waited another minute.

This unfortunate man was none other than yours truly on his way back from office. I was running to reach home, sorry… toilet. All of a sudden I hear my name called out, it’s none other than co-conspirator Athul Dev and my roomie Shyam. “How about a beer dude” says Athul. I cringed at those tasteless words. “Beer” is one word that you don’t want to hear when you are in such dire need to take a leak. Forcing a smile on my strained face, I explained the severity of the situ.

The sympathy was immediate, after all who has not been in my situation at one or more points in his/her life? But the solution that I got from them was one thing I would regret in times to come.

Athul: If it’s so serious, then take a leak there (pointing to a nearby dark alley) and then come with us.
I: The Street is so crowded! There is no privacy yaar!
Athul: Nobody is loafing around there dude. Do it fast and come with us!
Shyam: Yes man, do it there and come. By the time you reach home you would have peed in your pants he he he he!
I (Thinking): Probably true!
I (Speaking): But this is not an open area, it’s near somebody’s house. Its not right guys!
Them: Poda! Since when have you followed peeing etiquettes? Eh?
Seeing the supreme logic behind their arguments I bowed down and accepted the plan of action. That was Wrong Decision Number 1.

Hoping that nobody would come that way, I unzipped and started the charade. If I were to rate all human pleasures, I guess peeing after holding it all back under such pressure would definitely be up there in the top 3. On top of it, I always had an artistic tend of mind. So, it was no wonder that I started pelting the wall with my high pressure output in all sorts of modern art designs. That was Wrong Decision Number 2.

As I was reveling in this divine God given pleasure, the first signs of discord appeared in my paradise. It was no snake this time, it was a grand old lady of about 70-80 wearing huge soda glass specs and Tamil Iyer style sari. She started looking at my direction with more than a grandmotherly interest. I was left uncomfortable and fidgety by the type of stares. My artistic designs started going awry and I made a total mess of it (looking back on it, the design might have still grossed a few million dollars at any reasonable art fair going by the stuff I have seen on display).

But designs were the last thing on my mind then. What with an octogenarian staring so avidly at my manhood. Uh! The insult of it all! Where was our culture going to? If this is how the old guard behaved, what of the NextGen? Deciding to take matters by their head (pun un-intended) I changed the angle. The problem with this new angle being that every body going up and down the road could now see the performance. I got a few “bloody-pervert-exhibitionist-lets-murder-him” looks before I decided to revert back to the original angle.

A voyeuristic grandmother was better than a full life time worth of nasty looks. With my Greek God looks ladies were prone to look (quit laughing!), but all this while, I got this gut feeling that there is something I was missing out. With a heavy heart, I stopped the flow and re-zipped, slightly peeved at being robbed of my divine pleasure. As I was moving away from the wall, the old lady moved out in front of me. In the millisecond before she opened her mouth, I at last understood the issue. The “wall” on which I was peeing was actually the wall of her house, most probably her bedroom I guess. For all I knew, she could be allergic to uric fumes! The only thing I was sure about was that I was in for a round of counseling.

I was thus fully prepared to get a lashing in Kannada/Tamil on the ills of my generation when to my surprise she starts berating me in the finest oxford accented English I’ve heard. It’s rather easy to hear a few strong words in a language you don’t know. You just need to hang your head in pretended shame and then walk away with a hunched back. I was totally taken aback by this outburst in a language I knew. She gave me a thorough lecture on the ills of relieving myself in public. The same indiscipline and lack of manners/culture that which is the root cause of all our nations’ problems. In short she drew parallels between me and the national ills and found that I was the reason for the national ills. After about two minutes I really felt ill!

Like all old people, she too had learnt the difficult art of patience and forgiveness. So she finally dismissed me after getting solemn promises from my side that I would never repeat the crime again. I was relieved, I could go now, but before I even turned to go, she asked that final question.

“You look like an educated guy, where do you work?” That was when I noticed the company tag around my neck! For one moment I quietly visualized the next day’s news paper “Techie found urinating on old lady’s bedroom wall”. Believe me, it didn’t look too nice. So, I quietly took the tag off my neck and put it in my pocket and replied “I am a student”. They don’t call me quick thinking Abe for nothing you know!

I had noticed by now that the lady lacked a lot in the eyesight department, that she could only barely make out people with whom she was talking to, from one feet away. My faith in the old guard was thus restored! She had not noticed me removing my tag, Thank God!

Old Lady: “ok son, don’t do it ever again, now you can go!”
Me (appearing subdued and humble): “ok”
Truth is, for quite some time after that, I never peed in a public place.

A mail from Jiju

2007-07-03T15:08:00.000+05:30

When I was in college, I always thought that this guy would become a priest one day. Instead he has become the biggest abhasan ever to set foot on earth.

Just before our trip to Thailand, I got this mail from our venerable Jiju.

Sukrithuukallee,
"Fuuuninnuu vendiullaa theeraathha dahavumayi,
Fun mathramulla puthiyaa meechil purangal theedi
Thailandileekuu parakkunnna,
Nammudee priyaapettta Funnersnuu :-
Entey perrillumm nallavarayya ellaa priyaa fun aswadhaka sahridayarudee perillumm nyajan ashamsakal arpikkunnuuu.."

Ellavarkuumm etttupadamm : Funners anthemm
"Bottoms up Kick Ass Ahllaadippin Ahlaadippin :- "
"Funnumm Pennum Sindabhad"
"Fun power, 24 hour shower"
"Whereever we go Fun follows"
"Bollooo Funners keee"

I was bowled over by this outpouring of "emotion". If this guy keeps at it, he may actually end up a poet!

Hug and Sell

2007-06-25T18:31:00.000+05:30

It was my first overseas visit ever. I was ready for all the new experiences that I would encounter in a foreign land but I was so impressed by this one that I decided to post it.

About 150 kilometers from Bangkok is the famed floating market. In olden days when waterways were the prominent mode of transport in Thailand, people used to buy and sell their wares in such floating markets. Nowadays, it is just another tourist attraction.

Once we reached the floating market, we went for a boat ride which cost us roughly 300 Baht. It was a reasonably good experience. The ride was for an hour and we went hither and thither looking at all the assorted wares on display. Our only purchase being three coconuts!

After the ride we were rather unceremoniously dumped (this was because we overdid our haggling and irked the boat man) at the exit point. Now the exit point is not a “point”, it is just the path to the exit and you got a large number of shops on this route selling much the same stuff you find on the canal. Due to our restricted budgets we had decided not to buy anything and just gawk around. Our main shopping was destined to be at “Siam Square” an up market shopping mall located in Bangkok.

Thus we were doing our gawking and pretty much avoiding the stores when this old/middle aged lady jumps in front of me. Her store has all sorts of handicrafts and curios stocked to the brim. I tell her that I don’t want anything from the store but it doesn’t work, she like most Thais does not understand English. So I wave my hands around gesturing that I don’t want anything. She gestures right back and asks me to look at least once.

Just to please her, I look around a bit and there is this dinner tray set made of soft wood and Bamboo that catches my eye. It looked good and would make a good present for my mother, but I had no intention of buying it. I had programmed myself to buy all things from Siam Square mall where things were cheap and branded. Unfortunately for me (fortunately for my mother) the keen old lady saw the look in my eyes and at once smelt a potential customer in me.

She took out a calculator and typed in 1800 baht. I was astounded. That was way beyond my expectations and anyways I did not want to buy it. So I said no, thank you, I am on my way. So she took hold of my arm and said ok, ok, how much. I said I don’t want it. It is too expensive. The crucial mistake on my side being that, I said “very expensive, very expensive don’t want” instead of a simple “no”. By that she understood that I was interested in the product but not in the price. Hmmm... the going just got tougher.

Now she typed out 1750, I just smiled and shook my head. That was more than my total day’s budget. Next she typed out 1600; I shook my head and smiled harder. All this while, I was trying to make good my escape. But she had a good grip on my arm. I looked helplessly at Shyam who was standing aside enjoying all this drama. Seeing my unenviable state he came in at last. Sorry, I should have said “he tried to come in” coz the moment the old lady saw him coming in, she rounded him and gave him a sort of broad smile and pretty much asked to him to keep his big body out of the business.

After the short commercial break sponsored by Shyam, we were right back to the calculator typing business. In due course she typed 1200, 1000, 800 and even 700. At 700 she said this is the last price. I again did the smile and head shake and tried to get away. Again she gripped my arm and this time, she gave me the calculator to put in my price. I thought for a second to put in 0, but thinking that would be too rude, I just gave it back to her. She gave it right back. Now we had moved on from arm gripping to calculator passing. I can guarantee that any basket ball player/footballer, watching the scene would have learnt a dozen new improvisations on the art of passing.

On account of my youth and vigor I was on the verge of winning this pass game, when the lady in the next shop decides to step in and tip the scales. This lady, the new one, she was beautiful and I did not mind too much that she now started the arm holding business. The old lady had by this time typed in 600 Baht. Shyam mouthed that 300 should be the last price. I decided not to take a risk and typed in 250. Actually Shyam had mouthed 200, which I had misread/heard. So he came in to clarify and guess what the old lady does? She gives me a hug and stops Shyam from making it to me, next she gives a playful punch to Shyam’s stomach saying “no no no” all the time, by which I guess she meant that he need not interfere.

For one moment I was transported back to my own mother land. How different people are! Back home a normal haggling would involve the choicest of filthy language, posturing, strutting, cursing and general bad blood. Here I was, totally cornered into buying what I did not feel like buying. But I did not feel mad, I did not feel angry, I just felt a bit funny to be the centre of this melodrama. Well, it was no surprise that in a short 5 minutes I was the owner of a mini dinner tray set that I did not want for a grand total of 250 Baht. What is more, I even felt very smug at having brought down the price from 1800 to 250. That was an achievement wasn’t it?

Very uncharacteristically, my mother was very pleased with this set. I was expecting a big lecture on the virtues of thrifty living, instead I got a smile. Guess it was not a bad buy after all.

The Yezdi Jinx

2007-06-12T18:17:00.000+05:30

Isaac had a Yezdi bike. He still has it. He had a girlfriend. But he doesn’t have one now. According to Rameez, they broke up some time back. Since then, Rameez has been doing (overdoing?) his duty to Isaac as a loyal friend. Cunning bastard that he is, he played both sides of the fence, lending a shoulder here and an ear there.

If it got over with this shoulder lending and ear sharing, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this post. But no sir, it had to go on. After all, the likes of Mahesh Butt and Karan Johar make a living out of this kind of stuff. Yeah you got it, Rameez ended up lending more than a shoulder to the girl in question.

The girl is Bengali, Isaac a Malayali and if it worked, it would have been Diwali. But things didn’t work out quite like that. Fate, it seems cares naught for poetic rhyme. But it does seem addicted to repetition. The new equation still reads, girl Bengali, boy Malayali.

I don’t quite understand the mechanics of over-the-phone-crying. But the fairer sex seems to be very capable at the act. What is more, they usually get one bugger or the other listen to all those sniveling noises too! Rameez fell for it right away. Knowing how sexually frustrated the guy is, neither I nor my house mates were none too impressed. Rameez being Rameez, he was bound to screw it all up anyways. So we weren’t too jealous either.

But that was until the day he said (read: announced in a gigantic 10000Watt power noise) that he is going out for dinner with the girl in q. Now, that was taking things a bit too far wasn’t it? Here we were, six of us, as hungry as the next kid in Somalia (for a normal social relationship) and this rich kid (read Rameez) walks in sucking on a damn cone of ice cream (read dinner with girl friend). There were silent prayers on all lips save one, for an utterly disastrous ending to this affront to our bachelor hood.

The exact situation was thus. The day, a Saturday. The time, around 6 P.M. Apart from the house dwellers, quite a few stragglers were also present. The occasion was a treat from a U.S returnee friend at one of the semi-posh Malayali hotels in Bangalore. A lot of chit chat and leg pulling going on, the music turned on to full volume and people having a nice time before the commencement of the treat. Rameez being a clinical sociopath by nature walks in at this happy juncture to announce the sad news of his impending dinner at another place.

Prasanth Rajan a.k.a Lolan: Da, tell her that you will come tomorrow for the dinner, why do you want to miss the treat? It will be great fun with so many of us attending.

Rameez: Poda! Why should I spend time with a bunch of losers like you when this lovely girl calls me over for dinner?

Now if Rameez had stopped with that, we MAY have forgiven him. But he had to gloat! A rich kid minding his own business and eating an ice cream in front of emaciated Somalians is one thing. The same kid, flaunting the ice cream before those hungry eyes is quite another. You got to experience it to know it! We were lost for words.

To give the reader a sample of the things he said:-
1) I think it will be candle light dinner at her place.
2) If that doesn’t work out then we will go to some romantic hotel and have the dinner.
3) Maybe be I should go to a discotheque with her. All the moving and shaking is bound to “loosen” her up a bit.
4) Guys don’t worry if I don’t come back for the night, I may be sleeping over at her place you know (Rameez later told me that his idea was to have dinner, go to his cousins house and come back the next morning anouncing that he had actually slept over. If this had happened, bangalore would have seen a mass suicide!)

His gloating session over, he left a bunch of “lately-happy” guys cursing their own karma.

Looking back on the scene I couldn’t help but notice the “Shishupalan” factor in all that gloating. Shishupalan for the Mahabharatha illiterate is the dude who gloated to Krishna during Yudhishtaras Yagna and got his neck chopped off with the Sudarshana Chakra.

The next part of this story is based on Rameez’s own confessions. He is more than capable of fudging facts and making it all look very trivial. But I would suggest the reader amplify (by a factor of about ten) whatever goes on next.

Rameez started off on his Yezdi and barely three kilometers from home, it starts to rain heavily. Due to Bangalore’s ultra modern sewage systems, he finds himself in a mini flood in about 5 minutes. All around him bikers are stopping and cursing their luck. “Yezdi is the best, it may be old but look at it run without a hitch in knee deep water when all these modern bikes are choking” thinks Rameez and before the thought is out, the Yezdi sputters to a halt.

!@#%@$%^@$& must have been the next thought he had, but he refused to confess it.

Anyways he knows that if a Yezdi stops, it normally stops for good. So he calls up the girl to call off the date. The location is diary circle fly over. He moves the bike to the flyover and just for the heck of it, tries to start it once again and viola! It starts! Considering that to be a god send miracle he calls up to announce that the date is still on. Just as he kept the phone down, the engine wheezes to a halt. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t budge this time even after repeated cranking, cursing and pushing.

The humiliating decision to call up Lolan for help took a lot of time to make. As he puts it, the rain helped the decision a lot. Just before the call though, he tried just once more to get the bike to start and miracle of miracles it started!!! Not wanting to push his luck too much he decided to call up the girl only after riding a few meters and make sure that this time he was going to reach.

Call 3: The date is on, the bike started, just wait a little bit more ok

The Yezdi may be old, but it had a heart of gold so this time around it didn’t wait for him to put the cell back in his pocket before it stalled again.

Call 4: It stopped again! Date is off, sorry

Lolan (enjoying himself at the treat), gets a phone call now.

Call 5: Lola, I am in deep shit dude, Yezdi……

It is well beyond my writing capabilities to explain the amount of leg pulling that happened then. In the end lolan agrees to get Moosa Bhai the Yezdi specialist from Shivaji Nagar and come over.

Moosa Bhai comes in, takes a look and says it can be solved in a jiffy.

Call 6: Date is on, the mechanic is here and he says it is ok

Moosa Bhai takes another look and says that it is going to take a few days more. The coil is gone sir, I can’t do anything now. Sorry.

Call 7: Date is off. Mechanic says it will take time to fix

Call 8: (Incoming, from Anand) Dude, how is the candle light dinner going on. Arrey yaar, tell me, are you facing any problems lighting all the candles in the rain?? Need my help? Rameez disconnects

Call 9: (Incoming from Aneesh) Dude, what is the color of her bed sheet? Rameez disconnects.

Call 10: (Incoming from Samjith) Dude, did you kiss her, or was it just food and talk? Rameez disconnects.

Later investigation suggested that he got a lot more calls but he refused to pick them up.

All this time, Moosa Bhai is taking a final look and in a short time he starts the bike. “Very small problem sir, nothing to worry, you can go ahead. I was mistaken earlier.”

This time, for reasons unknown, he did not call her again….:)

Rameez had a Yezdi bike. He still has it. He never had a girlfriend. He still dosen't.

Kannada Gothilla

2007-06-05T12:54:00.000+05:30

Transcript of a top-secret phone call made on Saturday (02-Jun-2007).
How about a party tonight?
Ok. Where?
Gangothri.
Fine! But, how many guys will come?
Four. Maybe five.
Cool.
8:30 P.M, ok.
Ok.

I was doing the inviting and Tony (a.k.a. Pullachen) was the one getting invited. Turn to your Bangalore’s hip and happening places guide and you won’t find an entry for Gangothri. Leaf through Bangalore pubs, you still won’t find an entry. If any one has recorded the names and addresses of all second class, badly run places in Bangalore, well in that case you may (and that’s a big may) find it somewhere at the bottom of the list (Between Chennappas bar and Gangammas beauty parlor.)

It was a long time, roughly two months, since we had held a general body meeting of all the drunkards in Bangalore. In fact, things were getting so bad that we had every possibility of finding ourselves in the teetotaler list! Believe me, that is one list I don’t want to find myself in, at least in the near future.

Me and my engineering buddies, we were never too well known on account of our punctuality*. But fact is, we are a punctual lot, in fact we pride ourselves to be at a place before time. Problem was that, the so called “authorities” who distribute these punctuality awards aren’t looking at the correct places. Like, if they just looked at Gangothri bar at 8:25 P.M they would have found 4 engineers huddled around a table, having a nice time.

After about half an hour of waiting, a waiter shows up. “Sir, order maadi.. and something else in Kannada”. We look at him and shake our heads…..”Kannada Gothilla, hindi maalum?” “Hindi…something else in Kannada” we being exceptionally gifted guys, understand immediately that he said he doesn’t know Hindi.

Deepak: Great, what do we do now?

Waiter repeats the first sentence again, a lot of hand gestures (not the rude ones!) head shakes and basically blah blah blah in Kannada. At last we get the gist, he is asking us to order all things in one shot, the food, the liquor and the cigarettes.

I: Big frown on my face.
Rest: Bigger frown on their faces.

This is not normal modus operandi. Any one with even a little experience about bars would know that you first make a small order, and then you order again and again till you either drop down or the cash burns out.

I: Ok, whatever, lets order something and get started, I am hungry… and thirsty!
Others: Ok.

Chapter 1 Order-1
1 Egg Burji
2 Finger chips
1 Pepper mutton fry
2 Haywards five thousand beer.
1 KF canned beer.
2 Baccardi Breezer lemon flavour (for me!)

Waiter: Finger chips illa (illa = no)
Us: Ok, bring the rest (message conveyed using advanced hand signaling)

He jots down the order in two pieces of paper, one for the liquor and another for food and departs.

A short while later, he comes back with the liquor and I find that instead of lemon he has brought cranberry breezers. No food though.

My Law: the number of engineers gathering at a place is directly proportional to the number of pegs to be had and inversely proportional to the number of lectures to be suffered. So it was not very surprising that four more friends came within another 15 minutes to join us. Now we were huddled across two tables.

After much calling and hooting the waiter returns. We ask him, where is the food?

Waiter: Tells something in Kannada, which basically means that he, lost the order.
We are angry, but the pegs in the belly have soothed us into an affable mood so we repeat the order

Chapter 2 Order-2
1 Egg Burji
1 Pepper mutton fry
1 Peanut masala.

Waiter dutifully jots down the order, takes the liquor order from the new arrivals and leaves. We get the liquor in about half an hour. Its rush time so nobody is complaining and with 8 people on board there is a lot of leg pulling going on.

When the liquor comes, we ask him for food again. He shakes his head and says…. Well he said something in Kannada which we took to be that he lost the order again!

Chapter 3 Order-3
1 Egg Burji
1 Pepper mutton fry
1 Peanut masala.
Repeat order for liquor.

Whoever said “history repeats” was no fool! The very same thing happened again. We were having pegs in our bellies but our affability levels were on a fast paced decline. By this time I was really fuming, I needed to get the order across somehow.

I: do you know Hindi?
Waiter: No (I already knew what his answer would be!)
I: do you know Tamil?
Waiter: No
I: do you know English?
Waiter: No
I: do you know Malayalam?
Waiter: No

I won’t say how, but we managed to repeat the order once more, making sure that he jotted it all down.

Chapter 4 Order-4
1 Egg Burji
1 Pepper mutton fry
1 Peanut masala.

I have seen some bad services, but this one topped the list easily! A waiter in a Bangalore bar, who doesn’t know Hindi, Tamil, and Malayalam or English… That was a rarity. Normally they know all south Indian languages + Hindi + a little bit of English too.

Chapter 5 Introspection
This time around, he brought the food (at last!). It took about half an hour, during which I did some constructive thinking.
I: how long have you been in Bangalore?
Me: Three years!
I: Is Kannada a tough language to learn?
Me: No, its rather similar to my mother tongue, it should be fairly easy to learn.
I: Then why haven’t you learnt it even after 3 years???
Me: Whoa, hold on! I stay with mallus, I work with Northies I chat with Bengalis and see Tamil movies. How am I supposed to learn Kannada from any of them?
I: Bad excuses buddy!
Me: Ok, but I do know a few important Kannada words, hogi, maadi, gothilla etc. I have managed to survive with these words till now.
I: But not good enough to handle a pure Kannadiga.
Me: Hmmm… true, as we just found out!

Chapter 6 The result
My part of the bill from the bar: Rs 225.
“Learn Kannada through English” CD that I bought later: Rs 300.

If you are a firm believer that bars should be closed and liquor prohibited, let this be an eye opener. So many good ideas are born in a bar….:)

Say NO to Kannada Gothilla!

*If you know a way to be punctual and still bunk your classes, just let me know, ok

Bankrupt!

2007-06-04T16:31:00.000+05:30

The good news
At various occasions in my life I have been in the financial red district, but never at a position where I had to say “I’ve no way to pay this all off”. In fact I haven’t even come close to that situation (Praise the Lord!).

The bad news
Today I heard that my client company (Amp’d Mobile) has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in U.S. How does it feel when you are bankrupt? How about owning a lot of money to a whole load of people? I am just another techie who is hardly (in fact not at all!) affected by this bankruptcy, but I seriously hope that they can pull out of this one.

Working with them for 9 months has forged a small mental attachment in me to the company. I know a few people who work there directly and a few more indirectly. Mostly lower management and engineers. Guys who are good enough to get another job and I hope that they get it!

It was only a week since my project ended. It was actually supposed to go on for another 2 months. I should have smelled a rat there. But having this rosy picture in mind about all clients being stinking rich and on the path of making even more green bucks, I was in for a rude shock. Most probably, the guy dealing with the client got wind of the impending implosion and cut losses by pulling out a.s.a.p.

Anyways this has been a rather different experience for me and one that I hope wont repeat!

Avarachen Everestil*

2007-06-01T18:07:00.000+05:30

Most of my dreams are what most people dream. Yeah you got it right! The wet ones! Explicitly stating them here would be a bad Idea. Dreams that can be stated publicly with Shiv Sena approval are rare and far between.

Hence this Everest dream of mine is somewhat of an exception. It doesn’t contain the normal quota of voluptuous babes and kinky wear. Nor does it have white saris and aunties in the rain (It does have a nude Sherpa (female!!!!) though). In fact it is so alien to my usual train of thought that sometimes I wonder if somebody “planted” it there. Anyways what makes it so different is that I am actually trying to fulfill it. Hope I have better luck with this one than with the wet part, believe me, those are really hard to fulfill (as if you didn’t know!).

Let me elaborate the dream a bit. The picture looks something like this when I see it in my head. I am standing on top of Mount Everest. On my right hand I will have the national flag. A Ray-Ban anti-glare glass fits my eyes. Instead of a skull cap, I will have a red towel (chumanna thorthu) wrapped around my head, I have communist tendencies you see, so the color. I will be wearing a Kitex vest and lungi (Sarong). On my left hand I will be holding the poster “Chandrans chayakada” (Chandran’s Tea shop). A beedi (cigarette) hanging from my lips.

The reader is requested to abstain from immaterial queries like “how will you wear a lungi on Everest?”, “are you mad?” etc. To all such frivolous questions my answer is “I am a proud mallu and this is how I dream!”

On my right side stands Mr. Shyam Chand Kalakat, my adorable room mate and compatriot and co-climber clothed in similar fashion. The only difference is that his left hand holds a camera.

The next part of the dream goes something like this. As we climb to the summit, I will ask Shyam to set his foot on the summit first, he refuses and asks me to do the same. We may be low on oxygen, our brain cells may be dying by the millions, but courtesy is courtesy no matter what. After a long session of bickering, we decide to step on it together.

Both of us being expert at double crossing each other, we both try to step first. The result is a small avalanche that covers Nepal/China in ice for the next millennia (Did I forget to mention my sadistic urges??).

To continue with the realistic part of my dream, (stop laughing!!!) our Sherpa (remember he is a she!) now does a belly dance and then we do our Salsa and then… ok, ok, this is getting wet again, let me discontinue!

This is what happens when you try to write out a dream, it looks dis-jointed and as badly edited as any other Bollywood film.

To start from the start, we start from the base camp. There is a low humming wind, visibility is 0 and our lungis are a-flutter. I grip my rope like there is no tomorrow and take one painful step by painful step. The going is slow, the elements against us and Shyam is nowhere to be seen (visibility being what it is). Suddenly I see a flash, it takes my de-oxygenated mind a few minutes to register that it is no lighting flash but that dumb camera freak Shyam taking pictures (you wouldn’t believe the lengths he will go to get a pic!).

I use the choicest of market language to bring the bugger back to his non-existent senses and get back in line. This super human effort would have tired a lesser mortal. But you forget that I am the dreamer cum author cum lead of the story. I take it like a Sunday morning stroll to the church. Suddenly the wind picks up, and we find ourselves in the middle of a howling tornado. The going just got tough but the tough (read me) gets going now. With superhuman effort and raw will power, I manage to trudge along all this while pulling up a sensless Shyam (You want your version? you write your blog!).

All of a sudden, I feel the rope slacken. The wind has dislodged it! A lesser being would have quailed, but me being me, I don’t give up. It is instinct that shows me the path. It is determination that keeps me going. It is hope that keeps me alive but above all it is the thought of the Sherpa which drives me to these superhuman feats! As Mohanlal says, who wouldn’t want a “hot blanket” in these cold conditions? His dialogue, like my blog may be out of taste, but definitely apt for the situ.

Just as we think that the worst has come to pass, along comes an avalanche and all people except the Sherpa, me and Shyam are killed (told you I was sadistic!). After all, when this dream is made into a movie, who will pay for all the extras? All said and done, it is so much better to kill them all off….:)

The trek is now a matter of life and death, but we keep at it with dogged determination. In the end, even Mother Nature accepts defeat and steps down the tempo of her capricious elements. So much so that by the time we reach the summit, we have perfect conditions for photography. My daydream conforms to the “pictures-speak-a-thousand-words” concept so I am not surprised that at the most critical place we have perfect conditions.

Coming back to the nude Sherpa ********** (censored by Shiv Sena VHP and all other keepers of our 5000 year old tradition.)

The end as they say, comes swiftly. So let me skip over the return journey and jump to the publicity. Our names are splashed across all Malayalam news papers (and the odd national ones too), hailed as the first Malayalees to conquer Mount Everest. Malayala Manorama devotes the full first page on us, complete with the route we took and a red heading (36 size font) “Avarachen Everestil”. Meetings with dignitaries, dinners with the elite and inaugurations by the truck load follow. After months of partying, corporations come forward to sponsor us and we spend the rest of our life doing nothing but spending the money**

*To the non-malayalee, the heading means “Abraham on/at Everest”.
**I may be a sadist but I am still a sucker for happy endings.
********** You will find this at desibaba.com.

Pulikunnel house, my Grandmother and a doctor.

2007-05-24T14:08:00.000+05:30

This month I visited Pulikunnel house once again. It had been a long time since I went there (Pulikunnel house is my mother’s ancestral home). The reasons for visit, being a family get together. It was a low key affair compared to the 100 strong crowds that used to gather there for occasions like marriage, manasammatham etc.

My mother, being on very good terms with her mother, used to dump me and my brother there on all vacations till my grandmother passed away. We used to have two months of unparalleled fun. At all times there was a crowd there. Cousins, aunts, babies, wizened old men, the works!

To add to the human melee was the innumerable insects, hens, cats, cows and all such God’s creations. Add to that acres and acres of rubber, all types of trees (on which we honed our aerobic and acrobatic skills), big and small brooks, hills and boulders on the background, well it was a kid’s paradise. I am sure that it would have won hands down on comparison with any ultra-modern kid’s park.

Ammachi (our grandmother), was the pivot on which the house revolved. She was an excellent cook. The memory of her jack-fruit chips makes ones palate melt even to this day. The name of Bertie Wooster’s aunt’s French cook eludes me. But to P.G Wodehouse fans, I guess you must have got a fair idea of her culinary talents by now.

Kids, especially pampered ones like yours truly are bad eaters. My mother usually used the “round-eye-treatment”, “shove-the-food-in” and “plain-old-cane-and-blackmail” methods to get me to eat. Ammachi however used the much more diplomatic “story-for-food” program. Where she told the story and we ate the food and everyone was happy. This feeding program was made tougher by the fact that on most days we preferred having our food in the play houses we made on top of the adjoining hill. And/or in the shed where Appan (grandfather, but somehow we call him Appan) stored all the coconuts.

With the advent of the pizza age, the ceremonious lunch seems to have taken a back seat. I didn’t like ceremonious lunches much myself. Problem was there was an order in which to eat, etiquette to be followed, rules to be obeyed and all that hog wash. I am personally a fan of the pizza life but I still wouldn’t mind having that sort of lunch every Onam.

But that was not all. If ever there was an adventurous grandmother, then it was she.

As part of the “Grand Child Pampering Program” she used to take us all over the rubber country (Kottayam District) and allow us “holy baths” in all kinds of small, medium and big brooks. The reason for these circumambulations was ostentatiously “visits to old and dying relatives”. On rare occasions she used to take a dip herself, much to the consternation of older cousins who felt that she was a bit more wanting in her “modesty”.

On such journeys, on the way back, if it was already too late, she would make us tell the rosary in the car itself. That was one thing she was strict on. That her grand children should grow up pious and God fearing. But at least as far as my memory goes she was not "pious" strictly in the religious sense. But her life was.

Every time I reached Pulikunnel, I would run to the kitchen to see her and she would invariably pick me up grunting at how big I had grown over the year. Once she sprained/broke her arm (I don’t remember which) and my sister (Marina) tells me that I asked Ammachi to pat me to sleep. She patted me with her good arm, but I was not happy with that. I badgered her to pat me with her sprained arm and poor woman, she actually did that. Of course, I have decided to take a leaf out Kerala politics and “vehemently deny” that such a thing ever took place! A figment of an overstretched imagination no doubt!

Before the advent of distilled books on G.K, people genrally had proper G.K regarding their environment and acute practical knowledge about everything that was worth knowing. Ammachi was no exception. She passed on to us gems of knowledge that no G.K book could ever give. After all, I know that “thottaal vaadi” is a medicinal plant useful for small cuts and bruises and I know how to use this. But what do I do with “the first man on moon was Neil Armstrong” info?

Talking of medicine, how can one ever forget trips to Dr. N.E. Eeapens with Ammachi. English medicine was never much her strong point and to questions like “pallu maravicho” (do you feel the anesthetic?) the typical answer would be “maravichilla” (no affect) till he gets exasperated and says “aah, athrem maravichathu mathi” (that’s enough of waiting for the anesthetic to take affect), let me pull out your teeth.

I remember him taking out my teeth while I was talking, as if by magic! In fact, I only understood that it had been taken out when he gave it to me to keep as a souvenir.

For her the end came rather quickly. She did not have to suffer for too long. I guess at most she was sick for half a month or so (not sure here, cousins/Joechan can confirm).

Coming back to the house, it now has a new coat of paint and I had a camera. The rest is pasted below for all of u to see (Yeah, I wish, I had an SLR).

The house, it looks rather like a fortress from this angle.

nalukettu.

inside out.

Frontal

Frontal Right(I still haven’t mastered the padinjarae, karotae, thekkae and vadakae usages, so kindly bear with the right and left...:))

Frontal Left

TV Time, did you notice the clarity. I clearly remember seeing more grains than images on this TV for close to half a decade!

Chilling out on the easy chair.

Find the missing tree contest. The Mylanji tree is still there but something is definitely missing.

Thozhuthu

Rubber trees minus chocolate kuzhi

Flowers and trees. Anybody know what that "flowery tree" is called?

Great expectations

2007-05-22T18:52:00.000+05:30

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a lorry driver. What with every second auntie you meet demanding to hear your nursery rhymes and every third auntie asking “Monae, what do you want to be when you grow up?” This ambition did not remain secret for too long.

For some reason I did not get much encouragement from my parents about following my dreams. Those were the uncivilized pre-alchemist days of my youth. So instead of sticking on to my dream no matter what, I tried different variations like bus driver, car driver and even train driver. All of these evoked much the same response.

Things were looking quite bleak, when one day I said I wanted to be a pilot! This time around my father did not give me that well rehearsed condescending smile that he usually reserved for such career outbursts. Unfortunately for him, this state of enlightenment did not last too long. By the end of the month I had enough of flying imaginary airplanes and demanded a role change to priest. I had taken a fancy to those trendy “lohas” worn by Indian priests. Fortunately for me, this did not last too long either.

Next in line was scientist. I still wouldn’t mind being one, even though I fall rather short(ok, ok very short!) of the required IQ’s. I had ideas related to running trains on water, sending rockets to the parallel universe (idea snitched from Amar Chitra Katha) and basically impossible things or things considered impossible whichever way you take it.

Thus I was contemplating the design of my latest space ship when the phone rang and Amma asked me to take care of the Dosa on the stove. To the Dosa ignorant, making a Dosa requires that you toast both sides. So you need to turn it over to the other side when one side is finished and this was my current responsibility. I just loved doing it. When Amma came back, she was pretty happy to see that
1) I was still in one piece
2) I had not managed to set the kitchen on fire.
So, she didn’t mind too much about the burnt Dosa.

That was when I decided to be a chef. Amma was all for it. Looking back I see a bit of self interest acting there. Her bright intellect must have calculated the pros of having a good chef in the family. Anyways, with her support I didn’t mind Appa’s evident displeasure at my latest career choice.

Then one day I wrote a poem. It was not too bad for a kid my age. With one famous writer in the family and some more not so famous ones writing here and there and everywhere, I got immense support to be a poet/writer. Now I must confess one quirk in my character (the jealous whisper that my whole character is a quirk but more of that later). I am a rebel and a non-conformist at heart so when you encourage me to do something you are actually doing the opposite. Thus even after all the encouragement and “hoola-boola” surrounding my imminent rise to “poet-dom” nothing happened. In fact I steadfastly refused to write even one more poem and that was the end of that.

All this time I was forcibly made to attend a school and get “educated”. My dream all throughout high school was to be the richest man on earth. The only imaginative and sound part of the dream being that I would not raise my little finger to achieve this feat! Let me put it this way... "My belief in lotteries was rather high during this period".

Here, I would also like to borrow from Larry’s (second richest man on earth) speech to Harvard graduates. It seems that there is no graduate in living memory who has made it to the top ten richest people in the world. All of that exclusive club having come from school dropouts! Now that was one thing that they didn’t teach me at school!

Later, experts found out that education actually reduces your imagination and risk taking power. Must be true, coz the higher I went in high school the lesser I dreamt about being something. I hate experts who give this kind of information rather late. It is like telling a career smoker at the end of that fiery career that science has found you just fired your lungs!

To swim with the tide is easy. Nobody, even my arch enemies have ever alleged that I was a hard working, motivated and or driven guy. But I did make a whimper or two, regarding my career choices. I half heartedly decided to do commerce which was whole heartedly rejected by my father. The general population was doing engineering and that was what I was also supposed to do! And I did…:(

The old and now dying scientist career thingy got a fillip during my engineering days. Especially, when I was doing my project and later while trying for my masters.

For most of my engineering though (other than for those pathetic “scientific” interludes) I dreamt of being a drug pusher/drug lord. As I saw it, society was far too melancholic and suicidal. Drugs were the new coming thing. I even did some market study and found out that this segment had the steepest supply demand curves! There was huge demand and no supply. It was a guaranteed run away success. And anyways, I was a sucker for curves! This dream is however rather long lived compared to my other dreams. I still have it you know.

Then one day I read Paulo Coelho. This book is all about following your dream, about your destiny and being one with the world and all that crap. If I do meet Mr. Paulo Coelho, I will definitely ask him about this drug lord thingy. But till then, general society is as usual playing spoil sport with my ambitions and destiny and believe me, I got no beginners luck here either!

Last rites to my chef dream was given during my initial bachelor days when I had to do the dishwashing after the cooking. Male dominance is the way to go here I guess. After this experience, I have taken my own advice to marry a typical Indian girl who will do the dishwashing.

These days I wonder whether Charles Dickens had a similar life before he wrote the novel!

Life on a bench

2007-05-21T13:14:00.000+05:30

“adhikam aayaal amrithum visham”
-Malayalam proverb meaning too much of anything is bad.

Every techie worth his salt would have spent at least some time on bench. To the uninitiated, IT companies do not have any "benches". Benching is the term used to signify that you are not in any project.

Usually this means that you get no back-breaking schedules. You do not need to attend totally useless meetings where somebody speaks and nobody listens. You don’t need to fill in your time sheet and most importantly nobody looks over your shoulder to see the “status” of the work.

A month on bench is considered ideal per year. It helps to rejuvenate body and soul. Renews your outlook on the industry and just about gets you raring to go for the next project.

Bench has its disadvantages too. Usually you don’t get a computer and free access to internet. Sometimes you don’t have a seat, let alone a bench! And under most circumstances you can only go to the library and re-read some crap magazine that you have already re-read twice. Sometimes I wonder whether this is somebody’s doing (The library thing you know). I have never been in a library for the whole duration of my college days and now with nothing to study and no notes to make, I suddenly find myself in the library more and more!

An even better situation is when you are in a project and still do not have anything to do. To achieve this “perfect” state you need to do some real good deeds all along your many incarnations. In this situation you enjoy all the benefits of “benching” while you suffer none of its ill effects. I must have been one real nice guy in my previous incarnation coz, I find myself in this very pleasurable situation currently.

The pictures pasted below should give you a rather reasonable idea about what we are up to in these days of peace and quiet.

Problem is that even this “perfect” state can get to your nerves after about 3 months of doing nothing.

A pat on the head

2007-05-16T16:21:00.000+05:30

"The army marches on its...."

Give the guy a tough trek, a long journey, no rest and hardly any sleep. He hardly murmurs a word. But to this concoction you add bad food. Well, now you are asking for trouble! This particular guy sits below my chest and above my hip and in the past he has been responsible for many a dozen pains (most of them fraud, I was an expert at using him as a blatant anti-literacy weapon).

Anyways, the above mentioned combination of evils happened to me this past weekend on a trek to Mukhruthi, near Ooty. I am really not sure where exactly I got this minor case of food poisoning, but the effects started from Sunday evening.

It was Anoop who was first deduced with the symptoms. I pitied the poor chap. He was throwing up and acting funny. I gave him a sort of pep talk and bundled him into the cab. Our destination was Coimbatore which was a 3 hour drive from Ooty.

Poor foolish me. I was just getting proud at how good a constitution I had, when I was duly put in place with that good old feeling to throw up. Now me being a veteran at throwing up, I was not so perturbed. But things got bad when I did not throw up and the ill-feeling refused to go away.

Half way through I had enough of it and decided the old epicurean "hand-in-throat" trick to throw up. It was only a minor success, for some reason I only vomited the water I had drunk ten minutes back.

By the time I reached Coimbatore, I had a slight fever and body pain to add to the queasy feeling. Mind you, when you are together in misery, it is not all that bad. Every one else in the four member team was feeling much the same. I had initially planned to travel from Coimbatore to Bangalore on the very same day (I didn’t need no doctor to tell me how dumb an idea that was) Anyways we hit the sack and slept peacefully.

The next day, I was still weak and did not feel like eating. The silver lining was, I did not feel like throwing up either. Being a firm believer that reaching home is one of the best remedies for most illness, I decided to get a ticket to Bangalore and scoot out fast.

My train was at 2:30 P.M and my friend's at 12:30 P.M. As far as I have heard, nobody ever gave Indian Railways an award for punctuality. Fortunately the trains were only half an hour late. By this time, I was feeling really weak and a bit alone since my friends had left.

Presently, the train came and very luckily for me there was no rush. I was able to stretch out as much as you can stretch out on 3 seats. Thanking the creator, I lied down and fell asleep. But it was too good to last. The lack of food and the terrible heat got to me and in a short time I was wriggling around, irritable and weak.

On top of it all, I felt a bit scared because I was alone. What if I fainted? (I have never fainted so I couldn’t say how bad that was). I was already feeling dizzy and the extremities of my body felt a tad funny as if the blood was not reaching there.

To shut out these negative feelings I shut my eyes. Almost as soon as I shut it, I heard a female voice above me. I opened my eyes as saw this 18-20? Year old girl in a rather neat but simple churidhar standing beside me, hands out stretched. I didn’t get it. She did not look like a beggar. She was far too well dressed for that. Then from the corner of my eye I noticed another "girl". I had noticed this same "girl" on the platform and was in doubt whether it was a he or a she or a eunuch. But the one standing over me definitely looked female.

As my thoughts raced, she stretched out her hand again and said "help me brother". I was in no condition to speak or I would have replied "help me sister". Instead I shook my head to mean negative. I did not feel like giving her anything. Even if I did feel, I was in no condition to take out my purse from my jeans pocket.

I closed my eyes as if in dismissal and then re-opened them to see if she had gone. She hadn't! So I shook my head again and I guess it must have been a pretty pathetic shake because she did not leave but just kept looking at me again. I again did the "eye-closing-dismissal" sequence and this time I kept it shut.

What came next really surprised me. She gave me a pat on the head, the kind you give kids by ruffling the hair. I don't know clearly how to explain my feeling. Somehow my loneliness vanished. Here was a complete stranger (and whom I had refused to help) giving me support in her own small way. The world may be bad and going down the drain as per the news papers. But in moments like this I feel that there is so much good in it too.

I felt like getting up and paying her, just for the gesture. Somehow the idea felt a bit crude and on top of it my soul, saintly as it was, was stuck up with a non co-operative body. So I didn’t move a muscle. But from then on I steadily felt better. Guess most of my queasiness was psychological rather than bodily. Though I did not feel like eating, I forced myself to eat a bit of bread-cake bought at Coimbatore. Later, I had a cup of tomato soup, which really energized me. I reached safely and by then was feeling ok enough to eat even the cold, hard and tasteless dosa at my place.

To the girl in the train: I am sure that we will never meet again. I am also sure that you will never see this blog. But just in case you do… know this… “I am so very thankful to you!”

The Hutch connection

2007-05-10T14:35:00.000+05:30

Moving out of a house is hard work. Doing it twice in two months is stupid, and doing it for the wrong reasons is plain insanity. Guess you can call me insane now!

The rent was 10k. There were six girls in the house below us and a ladies hostel right across the street. A three bedroom flat, lots of space, 7 guys and loads of fun. No, I am not explaining about paradise, I was just telling you about our house.

Eons back some pessimist remarked "Good things do not last". Problem is that the words were prophetic. At the end of our first year in this dream home, our owner (an a****** first degree) ups the rent to 12.5k. Owing to the dramatic change in rate realties, we decided to hold a full house meeting to sort out the next plan of action. Its a bit tough to get the full house, with 3 going for night shift, one(read me) going for any shift and the rest in day time. In the first round of talks, held with only half the participants, it was decided to follow the India Pakistan route and set a date for the next meeting so that everyone could participate rather than actually fix any issue.

Thus it was a Saturday night that we held our full general body meeting. To improve participation and to reach a sufficiently colorful plan of action it was decided to drink half a bottle of Johnnie walker before we started off. I will not get into the details of the debate. Just let me put it this way, it was in "high spirits". 4 out 7 including me, wanted to stay on paying the extra rent and 3 wanted to move on to greener pastures. In the end it was decided that we would move on. This stupendous result was achieved by the green pastures team by pouring more spirits down the opposing throats and with some backend handholding diplomacy.

The leader of the green pastures team, Mr.Prasanth Rajan a.k.a lolan agreed to scout for a new house and get things rolling. In a short time and with determined effort he found out a new house which as per him was "perfect". It was a big house in a good locality with a "colorful" environment and a rent of 10k. The owner as I earlier remarked was a big time a****** and he asked us 12k for the painting and other work on the house. We were caught in a cul-de-sac where he had our advance money, new owner needed our advance money and he wouldn’t give us our advance money without deducting the painting charges. Anyways in the end we paid the hefty sum, cursed him to his face that we hoped he lose ten times that amount and left for the new house.

The day of shifting saw half the populace going to native, one caught in office due to a production issue and three stupid guys, including yours truly, left to do the manual labor. It was a tough job, especially since there was no lift and we had to carry our beds and cots down the steps. But then I did not grumble much, my body was getting some much needed exercise and this process need not be repeated for quite some time. At least that was what I thought.

The new house was ok, it was not paradise but definitely livable. Thus I was taken completely by surprise and indignation when lolan said he wanted to shift again!!! The reason became clear very soon. It was his hutch connection. He did not get the connection in his bedroom. He would not listen to pleas of "change your connection" or "just put your mobile in the living room". The reader would have assumed by now, that this guy has a grilfriend(s) and he wants to chat in peace in his bedroom. Sorry, you are soooo wrong. The only people this crummy guy chats with are his parents!

"I have decided to move out alone" he said. We had studied in the same college. We had known each other and lived together for about 8 years by now. We were not going to let him move out alone, even if he wanted it!! For the next one month he was the butt of our jokes. For even the smallest of issues we would cry out "I had enough, I am moving out alone". But this joke attack did not cure him. He found fault with everything in the house from the ventilation to the occasional spider. One day there was no water and he took it up as a major issue. In the end we had to bow down before his whim and agree for a change lest he actually carry out his threat. But all of us declined to check for another house, and I personally declined to move any of the stuff. I would just come and live in the new house I said.

Lolan did the house hunting but he was not so successful this time. In fact he got so frustrated by the middle of the month that he was again considering moving out alone. In the end he got hold of one house, but then our owner now demanded 6 months advance for vacating earlier than 11 months. Lolan spent another 10 days cursing the owner and generally building up a high blood pressure. In then end we lend him a hand and got some new guys for our house. These new guys gave advance to the owner and we persuaded him to give back ours, which he thankfully did.

The day of the second moving was no different from the first. Again half the populace was at native and the rest at office. To make matters worse the new house was two storeys up. I had promised not to lift even my little finger for shifting into the next house. But I was moved by sympathy for lolan who had been having one tough month and decided to pitch in anyways.

The new house is small, and there is hardly any space for all of us. Most importantly it has only one bathroom (for 7 of us!) and on most days we don’t have any water!! But of course I forgot about the hutch connection. The hutch signal is strong at all points in our home, the bedrooms, the hall, the kitchen and even the bathroom. So then who cares, right!!!

Britto Bosco and Berchman

2007-05-07T20:41:00.000+05:30

"Ammae my house the Britto’s have won the overall sports championship at school today" shouted my ecstatic brother as he threw his bag on to the sofa.

That was the first time I heard of Britto’s. My brother must have been in 3rd standard and yours truly in the 1st. The information sounded a bit foggy to me. Moreover I was in the "Who? What? Why?" stage of my developmental age so I barged in and asked Amma "what is Britto’s Ammae?". But big brother wanted to finish his story first. So he gave me the "round eye treatment" and hogged the rest of the conversation.

He raved about his house captain who ran so fast for the 100 mts race that there was a dust cloud behind him and the other contestants were blinded! By now I had quite a lot of "what’s " accumulated. What is a house? What is Britto’s? What is 100 meters? . But having got the round eye treatment once, I decided, very wisely, to wait for him to finish.

In between mouthfuls of some tea-time goody he explained in fine detail the main events of the day. I was left in awe of the all conquering Britto’s by the end of it. "Ammae, can I also become a Britto?" I asked. "No monae, you need to be in 3rd standard for that". oooh third standard! But third standard is so long away! I was sorely disappointed. The injustices of being a child were becoming too much to bear these days. I just wanted to grow up fast and be in third standard ASAP. That’s where all the action was.

The years passed in quick succession and in no time I was at the threshold of becoming a big man. "kettikaraya kuttiyayi!"(You are of marry-able age!) exclaimed my mother as she put the buckle on my knickers and upped the zip. I was going to third standard now. My classes would be in a new building where all the older boys studied. I looked into the mirror on our Godrej almirah and felt proud of being as big as I was.

By this time, Britto's house had raked in one more sports championship. "In the past 8(?) years, nobody has beaten Britto's" claimed my brother. To the post Harry Porter reader Britto’s would definitely be Gryffindor. Even in my mellow age, I had enough common sense to pick out the winner. I am going to be a Britto I decided. But how do I become one? I raised this crucial q to my big bro. "you don't even know that!" exclaimed my big bro with a condescending expression. I didn’t like the expression one bit. But being very diplomatic, I decided to get that extremely important piece of information through the higher-up route. "Ammae, Antony is making fun of me" I wailed. Big bro is also diplomatic. After all, diplomacy runs in the family. He grudgingly gave up that highly guarded secret and settled an issue that could have snowballed into World war III. I thanked my stars for having such a reasonable brother.

The process it seemed was pretty simple. It was all based on a tie. The color of the tie you got while buying books for third standard decided your fate! Thus the reader would thoroughly understand my disappointment when the teacher gave me an orange tie instead of green. I might be of tender age, but I was also an Indian to boot. I knew that there would definitely be a way around the system. Ah! I will ask for a replacement tie, I decided. But the queue was a kilometer long and Amma flatly refused to stand again. The Supreme Court had overruled my petition!!! I was down but definitely not out. There had to be some other way I thought and Eureka!!! My brother had sketch pens, if I could paint green color over the tie then that should do the trick. Congratulating myself, I decided to reach home and get things rolling.

Along with this generous gift of grey matter that the reader would have noticed by now, I was also gifted with a lot of procrastination and a little bit of "yellow" blood by the Guy up there. In short, I could not gather the guts to pull off the crime. In the end I decided that when the teacher asked me in class what house you belong to, I would say Britto's. Very few plans are fool proof, even fewer will hold under treachery. Mine failed because of both I guess. The guy next to me smugly pointed out the tie conspiracy to my teacher when I shouted out "Britto". I had forgotten that the tie was very much around my neck at that time. Anyways, I managed to talk out of that one. Made it look like a discrepancy rather than a conspiracy. A narrow escape!

This is the story of how I became a Bosco instead of a Britto.

But lady luck had not deserted me all together. The Bosco house won three times in a row right after I joined it. I may not have run, I may not have jumped, but I did cheer my team like there was no tomorrow and because of all my cheering our house just couldn’t get a step wrong. I was in the sixth and a mature man who could take a defeat gracefully by the time we first slunk to second. I had a period of immaturity in seventh and eight standards when we won again.

In the 9th I decided to act more mature. And what's more, I even joined in the sporting events. I participated in two events and finished second last in both cases. But then, since I was mature and since I had heard that participation is more important than winning, I took the blows very casually. Taking a cue from me my house also finished second last.

10th as is well known to any kid who has studied in Kerala, is a draconian year with pressure from all sides. Studies take up paramount importance, so who cared that we lost again. After all it was the marks that counted that year!

All said and done, I am very happy that I was not put into Berchman. They were third 7 out of 8 times!

Bed lice! but what are they doing in a Bus?

2007-05-02T17:10:00.000+05:30

The Past
Mosquitoes bite me, snakes give me the horrors and pests in general pester me a lot. But I reserve my hatred for the bed lice as my principal enemy no: 1.

To escape from mosquitoes, I do not use any repellants. I just go to Melvin’s (my friend)side. Mosquitoes and him, they have a special bond. With his 110kg 6ft2 inch body and gulf blood, they idolize him over any skinny country fellows nearby.

To escape from the occasional snake that comes my way, I run as fast as my legs can carry me.

But I am to bed lice what mosquitoes are to Melvin. They just seek me out. They bleed me dry and if I am in a 10 kilometer radius, rest is assured, you are safe from bed lice attacks! I got familiar with them since the day they bit me when I must have been all of 5 years old. It was when I was watching a Mohanlal (famous Malayalam actor) flick. While the great man was delivering his blood curdling dialogues in a B-class palm thatched theatre, I was delivering my blood to that most abominable of God's creations.

However it was not till I came searching for a job in Bangalore that these guys started giving me hell. The room that we had rented had them by the thousands. The going was so bad that at times I used to sleep in the morning in sunlight (they can’t stand sunlight) instead of at night. Other tactics included pulling two chairs together and sleeping on them. But even the chairs provided very little protection after about half an hour. By which time the whole lice populace would have smelled me out.

All the available "high-end" technology can do nothing to exterminate these guys, you spray them, you squash them, you burn them… nothing helps. They just keep coming back. Pests are the best biological systems invented by Mother Nature I guess. They can endure ANYTHING and come out biting.

Once we got jobs, we shifted our place of stay to better locales. The lice did some piggybacking and arrived alongside. But through some judicious "sunning of our bedding" and burning of our valuable books infested with their eggs we were able to wage successful war on them. Of course you can’t win, but then they are now nothing more than a minor nuisance.

The Present
Thus I was relishing a lice free life once again when I decided to go home for a short stint. I had to attend some "tie-the-knot" ceremonies that my cousins are so rampantly up to these days. As I sat in the bus (Kallada travels), I felt that very familiar itch on my right arm. I caught the culprit and squashed him. Next I felt an itch in my back, this time however the perpetrator escaped into the cushions before the squashing ceremony. I was seriously un-nerved. This was just the beginning, that whole journey was one biting fiasco. I remember being awake till about 4 A.M in the morning. I must have slept off after that due to utter exhaustion. I thought that this was a one off experience that would not repeat. Yeah, people tell me that I have case of "clinical optimism". These days, while traveling between Bangalore and Kerala, I, the pseudo atheist and religion hater chant out incantations to all possible pests-related-Gods to save me from these guys.

But ever since the flick "the Gods must be crazy" I guess all's not so well in up-up land and rarely are my prayers answered. I read numerous blogs on pest related violence in Kerala-Bangalore buses. There was one pathetic one about a mother who had to sit up for the whole night in a sleeper bus and kill them so that they wouldn’t bite her 1-year old. If the reader has a grudge against someone, don’t go about hiring “Goondas” to beat him up. Just buy him a ticket to Bangalore. You get your revenge, cheap and sure, no goof ups involved.

The future
I was watching "Blade" an exceptionally dumb special affects crammed English flick about vampires and other God forsaken creatures. I was about to doze off, when the lead makes this stupendous revelation. He is a vampire who is sunlight resistant. This proves that the Gods are not as crazy as some Hollywood script writers! I really hope that the lice don't become sunlight resistant!

Right now I am in the mood to become a Zoroastrian. Sun rules!!!!

Infatuations of a normal mind

2007-04-27T14:19:00.000+05:30

Over the years I had thought that I had grown out of infatuations. A video proved me wrong.

It was about ten years back as a straggling youth of 15 that I first fell in love. My "love" is married to some other guy and at last count she had 2 kids. The less said about that love, the better.

The two years in my plus-two saw me getting infatuated to almost anything that wore a skirt. My infatuations changed weekly. I was always pining for my beloved who kept changing her face... and her skirt.

But once I reached engineering college I became mature. At least I thought so, when I was in there. The weekly infatuations had trickled down to monthly and quarterly happenings and by the final semester I did not have any left.

I was wrong there. It was just that the infatuation cycle was growing longer. Next came work and boy oh boy there were those good looking Northie girls with Ulti figures (the Haryanvi’s and Punjabis) and seductive eyes (the Bengalis). Not to mention the suave and chic ones from our capital city. Life as they say was "beautiful"...literally.

But my maturity levels had increased far more, and this aesthetic change in environment could not offset the increasing delays of my infatuation cycle. The first sign of this decadence was when I found myself asking the name of a girl to ascertain her caste/religion etc... Before I decided to “fall or not to fall” into infatuation. At last, I was getting realistic, mature and perfectly Indian! This went on till one day I truly believed that I had gone into menopause (yes there was a paucity of words to signify end of my peculiar "cycle").

Then one of my Bengali friends gave me this video. I am not much of a music buff, and I don’t understand good music even if it hits me in the ear. But boy, I loved this one at once. The song, the way the girl moves, her face, her actions, her curly black hair, her eyes... EVERYTHING!!!!! . I would have called it the “Return of the Infatuation” if I was Bruce Lee.

Yesterday in my dream she pointed at me and sang... "you are my staaar mahiyaaaa..".. "tu hi he mera pyaar mahiyaaaa...".
Here’s the song Infatuating video

To,
My beautiful singer,
Subject: Love letter.

I LOVE YOU!!!…..

From,
An adorer suffering the pangs of “everlasting” love!

And thank you for showing me that I have not lost out on infatuation. That it has just reached the “Olympic cycle”.

Pets and Bachelors - The Rabbit Tale

2007-04-26T14:51:00.000+05:30

When I went to my friend's home in Bangalore I was surprised to see three cute white rabbits playing around in the house. They had bought them last week from Shivaji Nagar for Rs.350. Some people are crazy about their pets and I was not so surprised to see the three being treated royally to carrots, cabbage leaves and what not. What I was not prepared to see however, was Anand holding one end of the cabbage leaf with his teeth while the other end was being bitten off by the rabbit. Looked like a "mother-feeding-kid" scene right out of animal planet.

Anand has even made a "home" for the rabbits out of the TV cover. During the day with nobody around, they stay inside their home. But as soon as somebody comes back from work they are let outside to roam around (and shit around...:)) the house.

With Six office going bachelors to look after their every need and many more like me dropping in to "coochy coo" them, they must be leading a dream life. Problem with raising rabbits is that nobody has written something akin to "100 ways on how to raise your child" on rabbits... poor fellas.

Opinions are varied on the raising techniques and destiny. Nobody kinda knows how much we need to feed them. If we overfeed will they die is the main q . Finally after a long drawn debate it has been agreed to overfeed them. At least that way they can die on a full stomach..:)
However in the matter of destiny, the two factions have reached no amicable solution. I am looking forward to fatten them up and then eat them. While Shyam and Anand have promised me that if I as much as raise my little finger on them, they will eat me first!!!

The next problem was with naming them, this was however solved very easily. Three guys in the house are now doing their onsite stints and the rabbits have been named after them. Hope the female doesn’t mind the name "Jaimon". Problem is, even Jaimon hates the name Jaimon...:).

Badai and gossiping being our main occupational hazards I was explaining the train incident with much ado and masala to Samjith(yeah I know we mallus have some funny names) when I felt something wet on my feet. To say I jumped would be an understatement. It was Jaimon on one of her "Columbus" trips to the bedroom. When I put my foot back down, she started to lick it clean. Guess it is the salt from the sweat she is looking for, or could be that I am just too hot for a female to resist..:)

This incident has been an eye opener to me. I always used to think having a pet is impossible in our bachelor environment with little space and no one at home full time. Truth is, if you really want something so bad then you can get it no matter what your limitations. Hats off to you Anand Abraham!! Thou hast shown the courage to take responsibility for three more lives! And in the process you have fulfilled your long time wish too. I say, some people have all the luck.

P.S: I would still like to eat them once they are fat you know.

Marriage for 60 acres

2007-04-24T17:48:00.001+05:30

Marriages are made in heaven they say, but somebody forgot to add "and dowry in our world".

On my way back to Bangalore from Kerala by train this week (22-04-07), I had one of my college buddies traveling with me. He is what would be considered "hot" on the marriage market, well educated, good family, nice job and a handsome fellow. During our train journey his mother calls him up to tell about the latest marriage proposal he has got. The conversation that follows goes like this
Mom: monae(son), I have seen this girl for you.
Son: hmm...
Mom: she is from a good family in Kanjirapally(wild west of Mallu land)
Son: hmm...
Mom: she comes from a rich family, and they are offering 60 acres as dowry! and with loads of gold too.
Son: wow! 60 acres!!! Cool….
At this point the phone disconnects….

My friend is ecstatic. He tells me, I am going to get married dude, MARRIED!! Wait till I break the news to that bugger buddie2 (name changed!), he is going to be dead jealous now.
I: You haven’t seen the girl!! What if you don’t like her???
Him: Dumbo! with 60 acres of rubber who cares about the girl...
I: hmm... but you got to see the character right??....
Him: poda, you are crazy
I: k, as you wish... plz pass on my sympathies to the girl...:)
...he gets a call again from his mom at this point.

Mom: so, as I was telling you, this girl..
Son: Mom, I am ready! I am ready!
Mom: what?? What ready?
Son: Ready to marry I mean!
Mom: You Idiot! I already rejected the girl. She is not very good looking and not so sociable either.
Son(Crestfallen): but... but...
Mom: ok, bye for now. Call me once you reach Bangalore ok.
Son: ok.

Him: My mother acts as if I am some Ghandharva (heavenly male beauty). She rejects requests for the smallest of reasons.. Blah blah blah
I: don't worry dude, we will get another one with 100 acres! Take heart.
Him (still crestfallen): hmm… ok.

Moral of the story: Switch off your mobiles while traveling in a train!

P.S: My friend in truth does not really care about the dowry nor does he actually mean his words, so kindly read this one in a lighter vein....:)

Islam, a different view and some counter views!

2007-04-10T14:40:00.000+05:30

Today I got a mail from a friend, a normal forward that I would have normally read and deleted but since I was dead bored, I replied.

Another friend(also in the loop) replied back saying that the reply was good, hence I decided to post it, more to alleviate my boredom rather than to make a point.

The mail is about how screwed the vision of the world is when it comes to viewing Islam and muslims. Things printed in black from now on and the pictures are parts of the mail I originally got, things printed in blue are my replies to them.

1)
How true!

2)
Why a Jew can grow his beard in order to practice his faith.
But when Muslim does the same, he is an extremist and terrorist!true again, feel that each person has the right to grow his beard(or hair!)

3)
Why a nun can be covered from head to toe in order to devote herself to God.
But when Muslimah does the same she's oppressed.
The way the french authorities have banned hijab-> very autocratic, bad way of doing a thing.
Q that remains? are muslim women oppressed? i.e if at all a women does not want to wear a hijab, will her family/society accept that too? only if that is accepted can muslims claim that their women are not oppressed.

4)
When a western women stays at home to look after her house and kids she is respected because of sacrificing herself
But when a Muslim woman does so by her will, they say, "she needs to be liberated"!true! assuming that the muslim woman does so by her own will.

5)Any girl can go to university wearing what she wills and have her rights and freedom?
But when Muslimah wears a Hijab they prevent her from entering her university!true again....

6)When a child dedicates himself to a subject he has potential

But when he dedicates himself to Islam he is hopeless!he is not called hopeless he will be called an "upcoming terrorist"...:)

7)When someone sacrfices himself to keep others alive, he is noble and all respect him.
But when a Palestinian does that to save his son from being killed, his brother's arm being broken, his mother being raped, his home being destroyed, and his mosque being violated -- He gets the title of a terrorist! Why? Because he is a Muslim!
If there is one struggle that is 100 percent true to its cause and truly acceptable , it is this, it is this, it is this!.

8)When there is a trouble we accept any solution? If the solution lies in Islam, we refuse to take a look at it
When someone drives a perfect car in a bad way no one blames the car.
But when any Muslim makes a mistake or treats people in a bad manner - people say "Islam is the reason"!
caution... big answer ahead!

Before the rise of "islamic" terrorism, carlos a.k.a "the jackal" was the biggest wanted terrorist in eruope, he was a christian from latin america, but he never made an organization with the name "christian" attached to it, did not do his terror acts in the name of "jesus/god" or in any way mix his actions with his christian religion, naturally nobody said terrorism had anything to do with christianity.(The same goes for bush and iraq, though he has actually once said that "God" asked him to go and attack iraq privately).

But when a muslim terrorist(who is nothing but another carlos) starts bombing or doing terror acts, the first thing he does is create an organization with "islamic" tagged to it, make videos in which he cries out "Allah-o-akbar" a thousand times, mix his religion and his god and his prophet in every possible way with his mis-deeds. Actions come with consequences, so if they do these things and then say "dont drag the name of islam into terrorism" thats not going to work.

One good example of this is kashmir. It started off as a freedom struggle by kashmiris... now it is hijacked by "islamic terrorrism", what in Gods name has a freedom struggle between kashmiris and the indian govt have to do anything with islam? why should terrorists kill kashmiri hindu pandits who themselves dont like the indain govt much? In kerala there is a huge fight going on between two factions of the orthodox church and the government is said to favour one faction, but I never heard the other faction fighting the government in the name of christianity!.

Conclusion is that if there is anybody responsible for tagging islam = terrorism it is the muslim terrorist and the moderate nothing-to-do-with-terror muslim who does not respond to this tagging. The wily americans just make use of this propaganda that the muslim has so helpfully created for them. 9)
Without looking to the tradition of Islam, people believe what the newspapers say.

But question what the Quran says!
"But question what the Quran says!" this is one thing that i really dont like about muslims. The quran is unquestionable, the prophet is unquestionable etc etc... why would somebody say that something is unquestionable? only if there is something to hide. Agreed that the prophet has extreme respect of the muslims, so much so that each time his name is uttered they also utter "peace be upon him" along with it. Sometimes I feel that the prophet himself would not have minded criticism because he was a humble man...but his followers do! rajavinae kalum veliya rajabhakthi!. Fact remains that you cannot shut peoples mouth however much you try, and criticism(even if you are God, because God himself made it that way) is bound to happen. The responsible thing to do in this scenario will be to respond in a mature way, do discussions and dispel doubts, not burn effigies and issue death threats to cartoonists.

Last but not the least i have one more grouse against the muslim people. They only cry and make noise when another muslim is hurt, never when another christian or hindu is hurt. Slobodan Milosevic and Saddam Hussein were perfect parallels. Both were dictators, both killed muslims/their own country men by the thousands. But when NATO(full of christian nations) attaked Slobodan who was happily killing his muslims no muslim nation uttered a single word of protest. When the same nations attacked iraq... well all hell breaks loose.

I have seen similar mails like this one which bring out the muslim point of view(but this one was definitely a gem of a mail) but never have I seen a muslim mail saying that Saudi arabia does not allow other religions in its soil or that most muslim nations(except maybe turkey) are very very intolerant to other religions.The pakistani cricketer mohammad yousuf had converted to Islam, nobody said a word, but in that same country there is a law saying that if a muslim converts, he will die. Why these double standards? why do Muslims want tolerant governments every where in the world but they themselves will not be tolerant?

In the end if the muslim really wants to be taken seriously, he has to start reacting against all issues not just muslim issues. The changeI feel needs to come from inside Islam not from outside. Instead of issuing fatwas against Salman Rushdie and Taslima Nazrin(she worte about the plight of hindus in bangladesh) maybe the muslim should start issuing fatwas against terrorists who use the name of Islam and kill innocent people.

Phoenix Tattoo

2007-03-12T16:32:00.000+05:30

It all started with Ajay a.k.a "kunnu" doing a tattoo, anyways everyone knew that he was a bit off his rocker . I have heard that some forms of madness are hereditary, but I never heard of any that was infectious.

But then here was Juwal who wanted to do a tattoo at my doorstep on a Sunday Morning at 6:45 A.M. "Well, that’s one new thing I've learnt about madness" I decided. After a quick shower and breakfast, off we went to Ibrahim Street, near commercial street in Bangalore. I was hoping that the "tattooer", whoever he was, had the sense not to open his shop on a Sunday.

Unfortunately for me(unfortunately for Juwal too) the shop was open. It was a shady setup and easy to miss. Mr.Cold Feet had caught up with Juwal by then, "should I do it da?", "will It pain a lot?", "a waste of good money isn’t it?".

This bugger had woken me up at 6:45 A.M on a Sunday morning and now has the audacity to think that he can back out... well I for one was not going to allow it!. "No problem dude, it does not pain much, in fact kunnu told me that he hardly felt it, C’mon you came all the way from Kerala paying a good 1000 rupees and now you want to back out?? crap man, don’t even think about it!!"

Juwal saw the supreme logic behind my argument(sheesh I should have been a football coach, I can give real good pep talks!) and nodded agreement(Ha! sucker!). The design was to be two dragons in combat. A show of "equality and symmetry", claimed Juwal. It must be the Dan Brown effect I thought, coz I did not see any symmetry in it.

Vijay K(K for Kreative??) was the "tattooer?" he had long hair and looked his part every bit, the type of guy that if you seem him on the street you would immediately associate him with tattoos and piercing and all other God forbidden stuff. "Why don't you go through my designs?" and he passed on a big catalogue full of intimidating images. Juwal was pretty confused when he leafed through, each one seemed to be better than the previous one, but with none catching his fancy totally. Fifteen minutes and two catalogues later he finally decided on the phoenix bird, much like the one on Harry Porters cover.

Now it was time to decide the rates, 300 per square inch for non-colored and 500 for colored said Vijay. We were none the wiser, so we decided to rephrase our q... how much would this one cost? pat came the reply "around Rs.8000"... If I could hear heartbeats using my ear then I would definitely have heard Juwal's miss its beat. He had that "oh my gosh!" look written all over the body language.

"If you make it a bit smaller" Vijay began gesticulating above Juwals right arm, "then we can do it for 6k". Now I am one of those guys who having taken a decision, go all the way to make it a complete success, no half-way jobs for me. So I had quit taking decisions quite a long time back. These days I see it prudent to apply my principle only on the decisions of others. In this case, the scapegoat was Juwal. "You have come here all the way from Kerala just for a tattoo. This tattoo will be there with you for the rest of your life and 2k is going to look like peanuts ten years from now, so I suggest that you do the one for 8k" was my response to Juwal's enquiring look.

The "tattooing room" was behind a curtain and Vijay was kind enough to let me watch the process. He started off by drawing the outline of the image with a pen on Juwals right arm, just below his shoulder. I got bored and decided to pass the time by taking some pictures and videos of the same. It took him close to half an hour to finish drawing the outline. Once done, he opened his desk and took out the paraphernalia used for making a tattoo, I was expecting some pin like device with which he would make the tattoo, since I had heard that you need to poke with the pin to make the design. My guess was more or less on the spot, but I had forgotten that electricity was invented quite a few centuries back. It was a pen-like electronic gadget with a detachable pin that did the job.

Now things were hotting up, Juwal started sweating seeing all the life-threatening stuff around him and I was waiting with bated breath for the first stroke. Would Juwal jump in pain or would it be ok? Thankfully, it was not so painful and Juwal claimed that it is just like multiple ants biting at the same place and the same time. Bad, but not so bad. The outline piercing took more than one hour and we talked for most of the time.

His whole arm was a mess of black ink and I couldn’t make out the outline much, but once it was finished, Vijay took some dettol, mixed it with water and wiped the whole area clean. It looked majestic, almost as if the bird had life. For quite a good part of the hour long wait, I was mulling over getting a tattoo myself, but I was just joking with myself was not even 10% serious. But once I saw how good the outline looked, temptation loomed large and dear in my heart. There was this split second when I almost decided to "ok lemme do IT!!!". But with the last vestige of my self control I desisted from the urge.

Both of us were hungry by now, so I went out and bought some veg spring rolls from Aryaas restaurant. By the time I came back Vijay had started filling the image with colors. It was a far more painful process compared to the outline. I guess Juwal was by then habituated to it, so he did not express anything. For the next three hours multiple colors were filled in, one by one. Meanwhile we went on talking about our old college days, his new firm and our old friends. I was trying to keep his mind off the pain, but nearing the end, he was really getting tired. Fortunately, Vijay kept promising "just half an hour more" so things went by.

At last by about 4 P.M, it was fully over. But I couldn’t see any of the colors of the original picture in the tattoo. In fact it all looked red to me, even after cleaning the whole part a number of times it still was red! Vijay claimed that it was ok, this is how it looks and that after a few days the colors will come out(I hope for Juwal's sake that it does). Right now it looks like he really needs a doctor. The final price was haggled to 7k and the experience pegged at "priceless".

Juwal is now the proud owner of a red blotch, which will hopefully turn out to be a beautiful phoenix bird in the coming days.