Sunday, December 02, 2007

Hurry om Hurry !

To me , getting off a plane is always interesting . Besides giving me a chance to smuggle out the in flight magazine, It kinda reflects the times we live in . It goes like this . The tyres hit the strip with a slight thud , bouncing off the ground a couple of times and waking up the old women who had dozed off . The pressure of the air against its extended wings soon slows it down . It glides slowly on the strip , making a couple of lazy turns while some lady on the announcement thanks you for flying with them even though they made you wait 4 hours at the airport and tells you the temperature outside is way too low than you hope it is . Now the plane stops down . And then , the interesting part starts .
People jump off their seats , brushing their bottoms against each other faces . Uff . Excuse me . Watch it . Will you please pull off your suitcase off my toe ? Pulling open the flaps over their heads . Switching on their cellphones . Someone yells "What ? You havent sent the car ? What the hell! ". Before Anu Malik can steal another tune , most people stand scrunched in the aisle , all forming an untidy queue , looking with tense eyes towards the end of the plane , wondering why the doors aint opened yet .
I still lie pushed down in my seat , while maroon5 in my ears croons that she will be loved (Nice floating song .Chahiye to bol de. I hate piracy , starting tommorow)
And as I lie in my seat , watching people stand on each other's feet , I wonder , jaldi kya hai yaar ? This plane blows up in three minutes ?
So many people are in so much hurry . That guy in a silver Swift behind my car who is honking is in a hurry to get to his office ( Yaar overtake karte hue gaali kyun deta hai ? Accha hindi ki gaali to mat de ) . Students are in a hurry to read their chapters before they face the exams . My boss is in a hurry to get that report .That waiter at McDonalds is in a hurry to serve table number 4. People sitting at table number 4 are in a hurry to eat what comes to the table. People at the boarding gate are in a hurry to get onto the plane . When it lands , they are in a hurry to get out of it. Everybody is in a hurry to get somewhere . Few people want to stay in the moment they are in.
Now I don't know . Maybe these guys know where they want to get to. They see where they need to get to and they want to get there fast . You see , driven , focussed people. Achievers . Desh ko aage badane wale log. People you see shaking hands with white people on NDTV Profit . Maybe I am just a slow guy who likes to listen to music and type down words which interest nobody while the world around me reaches for the stars . You see , I don't have a problem with the 'wanting to achieve things' thing . Even I want to achieve things , even if they are a vegetable burger with cheese , and a TV remote , and someone who shares all that with me .
But what I don't understand is that why hurry ? Jaldi kya hai . Kidhar jaana hai ? I mean , life is not in the future . Life is now . This moment .I mean , it's like..
When I was in school , people told me happiness is getting 90% in board exams. We know that , kid .
When I got those 90% , they told me happiness was getting into a top engineering college. ( Note kiya , kitna intelligent hoon main ?)
When I got that , they told me that happiness is definitely getting into IIM. Pakka . Sachi . Muchi. Confirmed.
When I did that , happiness was defined as getting out of IIM and earning a salary which is in seven figures. Arre 100% happiness yehi hai . USA mein researchers bhee yehi kehte hai.
Now When I have done that , happiness is ? Hello ! What is it nowwww ? Bol do kaka . Kidhar jaana hai ab ?
So ladiesh and gentlemans , now that the world has been telling me what to do , this is what I have learnt - all the above stuff is important , but happiness is something they dont need to tell you about . It is something you feel . And only you decide what makes you happy . When others don't know where you want to be , how can they tell you how to get there ?
Like , for me , happiness is..
On a lazy Sunday , I watch a jim carrey flick on TV , eat a full lunch , and watch another jim carrey movie.
When ma asks me to take a bath and I put my arm around her shoulders and say "Chill , ma.Do dinn hee to hue hai."
When I say stupid things to someone who would not think "Huh? Isko problem kya hai?."
Sitting in my balcony on a December morning and eat an orange and squeeze the orange peel in the left eye of my sister. Right eye mein bhee .
Talking to someone who understands me , and accepts me even when I am all boring .
Playing chess with Papa , and beating him at it too . ( We dont do that anymore , he is tired of
Caring for someone I want to care for.
Meeting a bunch of friends over a couple of huge pizzas and crack pathetic jokes about our college professors and why worst guys get the best girls.
Happiness is just , being me .
So you see , what makes me happy is stuff I have not achieved , but stuff , which , I already have , had all the way along . So I know I need to achieve things , but hey , there is no hurry .Because I need to achieve things to survive , but to be happy , not much is needed . Some music and a vegetable burger , with cheese , will do just fine for now.
@Shalu - If you reading this , my best wishes for your wedding ! :)

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Diwali Notes

There are few times when life gives you a breather, when you can look back at your life as you walk and drop quietly into an uncovered manhole in the process. For me, these three days away from office have been just that – A time to break away from the shampoo sales, reflect on the direction my life is heading in (Which, I discovered, may be heading right into a smelly pile of cow dung), and in a rather unusual moment, grab a ‘pooja ki thali’ so hot, my fingers still smolder like the venue of a fresh nuclear test.

And , of course , celebrate Diwali , the biggest festival of North India . It may leave the street dogs terrified. It may make people blow up crackers which cost half the entire GDP of Botswana . It may have burned down Mrs Chopra’s garden , as it did the year before last . But then, an year without Diwali is like a three feet deep bungee jump . Safe but no fun.

You know Diwali is around the corner when all the ladies in the colony arrange themselves in pairs and start discussing how to please the ‘kaamwali’ this year.

A typical conversation between ma and Mrs Kapoor , our neighbour , a day before Diwali..

Ma : Aapne soch liya ?
Kapoor : Main to soch rahee hoon aadhi kilo milkcake aur ek saaree theek rehegi . Kyun ?
Ma : Cotton ?
Kapoor : Haan .
Ma : Ab , aap dekh lo . Pichle saal Mrs Malhotra ne cotton saree dee thee shobha ko ..agle din hee bhaag gayi thee unka bone china collection chori kar ke..
Kapoor : Accha ? ! Chalo theek hai , silk kee le deti hoon ….milkcake to theek rahega na ?
Ma : Haan Haan , fresh hoga na ?
Kapoor : Bilkul ! Rohit ke papa personally jaakar maamlo mein I can not take a risk na !
Ma : Bass fir chinta kee baat nahi . Chalo abhi main jaati hoon , pata chale ki Mrs Chopra ne kya diya hai to batana ..


The exchanging of sweets with friends and relatives is another domain which calls upon the recycling resources only a woman can possess- Chopra Ji gets the ‘burfi’ given by Gupta saab. The kurkure gift pack from Chopras finds a place in Kumar Uncle’s house. Junejas are the lucky recipients of ‘something’ we got from the Sharmas – did not open up the pack , so don’t know what. But a logical thinking mechanism is indispensable here.If possible , a diagrammatic representation should be used here. Because one little lapse of concentration can be very hard to accept for the Kapoors who ended up getting a ten pack set of Real Juices from us , which they had gifted to the Kumars .

Also , firecrackers are an integral part of Diwali . It’s all good , unless your Chachaji’s daughter burns the corner of her skirt during Diwali 2005 and your mother takes it too seriously.

Not withstanding my mother’s views on the world destroying capability of fire crackers , and in a stance very much in conflict with my age ( I was referred to as ‘Abhi Uncle’ by the seven year old kid of the Yadavs when they visited us two days back . Saale Yadav , apni aulaad ko control kar !) , I decided to get firecrackers this diwali.

A day before diwali , I walked upto my mother as she stood in the kitchen , and in a tone generally reserved for declaration of independence and such historical moments , declared – “Ma , Iss baar patakhe laaunga.”

Ma- "Chup Reh ! Yaad nahi do saal pehle Chinky ke saath kyun hua tha ! Bechari jal hee gayi thee almost ! Chup Reh !"

Me- "Ma ! Uski skirt ka corner jala tha !"

Ma- "Chup Reh !"

Two words which kill off any scope for negotiations, pleading or begging. Especially if they come from a lady who has three types of kitchen knives within her reach. The permission was gained only when I promised to wear one of those inflatable dresses members of bomb defusing squads wear, keep at least four buckets of water placed next to the site , not fire a single rocket which is not perpendicular to the ground and to get married to a girl of her choice.

Note - I have no idea why the second rocket I fired this Diwali changed direction as soon as it left the bottle and zoomed downwards to end it’s eventful journey with a sharp thwack on the windshield on Mr Khosla’s car.. I think Khosla should look at it with a positive outlook – I mean , it could have hit his seventy three year old father . Ask Mr Sharma. Unke papa ne mere fourth rocket ka kya bigaada thaa..


The ‘Aarti’ is a rather noisy affair at our home , with the collective prayer singing led by my father , who considers himself just a shade higher than Mohammed Rafi during his crooning of ‘om jai jagdish’ . My mother , who sits besides him , tries to keep out his booming call to the gods out of her ears and my sister keeps busy trying to keep the prasad out of my reach till the aarti ends. This year too , everything was regular , until I decided to pick up the ‘aarti ki thali’ placed neatly before the idols , shimmering diyas and all . Not realising that it is slightly hotter than sun , I reached for the plate and grabbed its edge with my right hand . My sister is having trouble hearing since then . It is her fault she was sitting so close when I yelled ‘Aaowww’.

Gambhir just rammed hard into Afridi and there are some sharp words flying out there !! Gotta go watch this . Pakistan ki @%# !

Sunday, October 21, 2007


Steal my laptop. No seriously, I will leave the thing outside the front door tonight, power cord and bag included. Just hop in over the garden hedge and pick it up. I will sponsor your trips to the malls all my life. And for all you single engineering students out there, videos are in F: drive.

If you think I am not serious about this way to get rid of work, you need a little newsbreak on my life.

Last eleven days, I have been on six flights. I have been getting out at 8.30 in the morning and the earliest I came back one day was 8.45 pm , when my sister asked “Half Day today?” as I stepped in through the main door. Today is a sunday, and I have spent five hours since morning on an excel sheet with bright red and yellow colored rows and columns and a whole lot of numbers which was interrupted only once , when my mother asked me if I was actually nuts , or only looked like one.

And if all this is a chocolate cake, the cherry on its creamy head is that I still get calls from Head Office which start with “I am still waiting for that data” instead of a hello.

And while I was doing this stuff, nature nudged me a bit more towards the gates of “Um, do you have pond’s anti ageing miracle cream?” club. And there is something strange about turning 26. One moment, you are 25 and before you can finish a garlic bread, you are 26 and thinking “Huh, so by the next world cup, I will be almost 30.”

You know, it changes something in the way you think. You realize that marriage and kids and a life when people depend on you for their expensive earrings and indecent beauty parlor bills and maths homework may be closer than you think.

People think being a teen is confusing, but I think the questions one faces at 26 makes being a teen look as simple as peeling an orange.

For one, there is work, which isn’t getting any lighter. And being from IIM, people expect you to sell a shampoo bottle to Anupam Kher. Not that I worry about that, but the mentally convoluted types who need an excuse to run you down are like “Oh, the sales are up only 18 percent? And the money we spend on you IIM types, eh.” Since I am talking work here, tell me how it is if you have used Fiama Di Wills on your hair. It’s the shampoo I am helping launch in North India these days. If you haven’t heard of it, it says that either you live under a rock or I need to spike up my marketing noise.

Also, and this is more complicated than a psycho’s mind, is the human relations part. You realize that unless you clear up your mind and drop that “Uhm-err-I-I-don’t-know” phrase, two years down the line you may find yourself eating dinner with a girl who is thinking “Shit.Why did I marry a guy with such terrible table manners?.”

So I need to wake up to the fact that choosing a life partner is a decision as huge as Jupiter. And I need to find a girl who is happily excited to see goofy table manners.

I have had the coffee-movie-pizza thing with friends who are girls, but in some years, I will need to find a girl whom I understand and who understands me and decides much more than which pizza to order. And finding her is not easy, considering that I think girls are indirect, complicated, get angry too fast and ask questions only to hear the answers they want.

So all this, and add to that a jerky internet connection which takes slightly longer than a test match to load blogger, thick Gurgaon traffic and a cellphone which keeps ringing, and life gets a little jumpy for me at 26.

In a childish sort of manner, I want to ring up god and ask him “Hey, can we rewind my age by four years, I am not exactly ready for this!”, but I think he will just bang down the receiver.

But the good part is that this time my parents actually bought a cake for me. And even though I think they did it because they wanted to eat cake, blowing candles with three people singing the birthday song around me was something out of a childhood album.

But if I look at the overall stuff, I need to bring back some balance in my life .I need to ask myself some questions. I need to find some answers .How do I do that? I will figure it out right after I finish working on that excel file with red and yellow rows.

By the way, if you are emotionally moved by the questions I face, here is one you can help me get off my mind –

I need to get a laptop for my dad. He needs to develop no satellites communication software using that. So we can use a laptop which is good enough to handle the routine stuff . Any suggestions?

Sunday, September 23, 2007


Like other select young, successful and rich men around the world , I drive to work every day.Windows rolled up.AC cooled.FM playing.Laptap bag on the back seat.The normal setting.
It takes me half hour to get to my office in Gurgaon, time which I judiciously invest in planning how to avoid the boss during the day,how many coffee breaks to take that day,and what songs to download in office.Ah yes , and I spend time standing still in the middle of a sea of cars,bikes,tractors and trucks at the third most common thing on indian roads after potholes and lazy cows- the traffic signals.

Now , when the light is red ,it is a strangely empty phase of your life. Like those phases in the elevator,Loo or a bad date,when you need to just wait till it gets over.You can do a number of equally useless things.You can stare at the "Horn Please Ok"/"Road kee Rani"/"Keep Distance" painted in dirty yellow colors on the posterior of the truck ahead of you.You can check your hair in the rear view mirror ,though its a rather girly thing to do. Or , like the typical irritating and nosey indian male, you can stare at other people waiting in their cars around you.Which is what I do.
Strangers.Young men.Families.Women in their 30s.Headed to office.Tapping fingers on the steering wheel.Impatiently.Few relaxed.Most hurried.Their lives forcibly paused for those few moments till the light flickers to yellow .And then green , to signal the resumption of life as they know it.
Now, maybe I am one of those people who sterotype people.You know , the kind of guy who thinks every bengali wants to participate in a strike atleast once a week and every north eastern guy is born with a black belt holding up his diaper and every Indian living south of Madhya Pradesh worships Rajnikanth.Because whenever I look around at people in their cars at the traffic signal ,there are some typical kinds I find:
The Corporate Honcho
40ish year old.Balding head.Smart black business suit.He reads a Business Newspaper through his gold rimmed glasses as the powerful AC whirrs silently in his Honda Accord.A uniformed driver holds the steering wheel.Even the driver looks well fed and bathed.He belongs to the upper strata of drivers.Not like the shabby and wiry auto drivers who dig noses and smell like Harbhajan's vest after his ten overs.Class drips from the car and everything in it.But for a man so rich ,the guy reading the newspaper looks as uncomfortably stiff as an electricity pole (To be honest,my first thought was to compare the stiffness to that of something else.I know you know.)
He looks a bit grumpy.Like a guy who had too many mooli ke paranthe last night and woke up this morning to find the flush was broken.Maybe his son doesnt listen to him.Maybe he is worried about closing that all important deal with the Japanese.I dont know.But I dont want to be this guy when I get old.I know this much.
The Brat
Meet the College guy, who has been described as the "Ameer baap ki bigdi aulaad" by Bollywood since stone age.The kind which bullies bespectatcled nerds and ogles at Giggly girls at college.The car won't be very big here , unless Daddy is too lenient.Generally a Santro/Swift/Esteem.The back windshield plastered with stickers which say 'Speed Demon'/ 'Extreme Speed'/'No Fear' and other phrases with similar philosophy.Infectious Punjabi/Hip Hop music blaring from the speakers.And , a lot of dents and craters on the car body as if the car substituted for a Pakistani , when an angry ,Handpump toting Sunny Deol could not find one.
Finding him at the signal on my way to office is not easy due to two reasons-
A.He does not get up this early in the morning.
B.Even if he gets up and gets ready ,you need a tank or a Haryana Police Hawaldar to make him stop at a traffic signal.
I think all the female drivers - Young,old,trendy,homely,fat,slim,etc etc should be grouped in one category, as I have done. Because in spite of their diversity in appearences and lifestyles ,they share that one common binding force in the matters of driving a car - They are all life threatening to the rest of the people on the road.Specially if they are on their way to a Discount Sale.

Don't get excited and organise a morcha yet.I know Sunita Williams went to space and did things like floating upside down there.I know Chak De India is a hit and we loved when the girls won.But pardon me , for I speak from personal experience.For one,women are extreme drivers.Either they drive very slow.So slow , Manmohan Singh in a frog race would overtake that car.Or , they will go fast like they got a pregnant friend on the back seat who is seven minutes away from delivering.
They would utilise the waiting time at the signal in pouting their lips at the rear view mirror.Checking if slight wrinkles at the eye corners are still there.Young girls who have a boyfriend ( Who doesn't,these days? Contact me.) may manage to send a cheesy sms before the light goes green and they are let loose on the society again.
If you love life , stay away from them.
Call Centre Cabs
I don't know how things are in other parts of the world.But in Gurgaon,the sight is as common as thumkas in a Bhojpuri movie.White Qualis or Innova.Young men and women cramped inside.Office cards hanging around their necks.Tired eyes.Crumpled clothes.These are the Sams & Jims and Marks of India who work in the Call Centres of Gurgaon , which outnumber the entire population of Alaska and Ibizza put together.Tired after a night of explaining how to switch on that washing machine to super dumb people in the USA ,these youngsters just lie slumped at the signal,unable to move because of lack of energry and space in the cramped vehicle.The drivers in this case,though mildly dangerous , are still angels when compared to women.
Though in very few professions you to get to spend the night with each other ,this car looks more like a sleeping lounge than anything else.
Young,sophisticated,rich,mannered and elegant men
These are men in their twenties who cheated in their exams and got into good Business schools and are now young managers in Big Companies.They dont look tense like the corporate honchos in the Accords since they havent got all those heavy duty tasks yet.They dont look tired like the call center guys since they got back early from the office last night claiming tummy pain and enjoyed a prolonged and refreshing sleep after the India Australia match.These are the perfect,most balanced and most wonderful men anyone can expect to see at a traffic signal,or on the planet , for that matter. Incidentally, I belong to this group.You could have guessed that from the adjectives ,anyway.
You see,trying to notice the different people waiting with you for those few moments at a signal is like trying to stuff Mayawati in a butterfly net.Different people.Different lives.Different emotions.Stuff above is as inadequate as my answers to the class X chemistry question paper.But I need to shift the gears and go now.The light just turned green.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Chartbusters Unlimited - Volume 1

In spite of a cricket team which plays like a bunch of arthritic grandmothers, I really like being an Indian at times. I mean, what other country would give me a day off for celebrating the birthday of a guy who may have never existed? I wonder how many of us really strap up cardboard conical caps to our heads and shout ‘Happy Birthday Krishna’ on Janmasthmi, but I am sure a lot of us get a day off to lie unbathed , download songs and type grammatically horrendous blog entries. Perfect country for a guy like me, I tell you.
Anyway, earlier today, I decided to renew the songs on my system. So I delved into my hard disk, into folders that had been long forgotten, lying untouched since ages like your old bicycle which lies dumped in the attic once you grow up. Folders that had been lying embedded deep in the disk like abandoned Umrao Jaans. Folders that contained songs which once made my heart dance like a drunken monkey who just gained entry into a hostel housing young female monkeys. So I rediscovered some old classic songs which were once played at every tea shop in this country.
Songs which define the times I grew up in. Songs which contained the gut wrenching grief of a lost love , the cute joy of a blossoming love, the mischievous naughtiness of a lover’s wink. Songs which embodied the emotions which fill the developing heart of every Indian boy when he is growing up. Songs which shaped my thinking when my mind was still impressionable. Songs which have made me the man I am. So ladies , gentlemen and Bobby Darlings , not wishing that these gems ,which have played such an important role in the making of this sophisticated , refined and tasteful young man go unrecorded on this blog , I give to you , a few of these life changing creations -
“Kahan Gir Gaya Dhoondho Sajan
Button meri kurti ka”
English translation, for the benefit of my overseas readers ( Yes , I have one from Bhutan . A girl from Uganda visits sometimes,too.)
(Where has it fallen , please search Darling ,
The button of my shirt )
This extremely naughty and imaginative song sensitively captured the anxiety and terror of a young girl who, due to a unskilled tailor who used a cheap thread, has lost a very crucially located button on her shirt. To make matter more intense, she is dancing dangerously close to the young hero of the film, the purpose of whose existence is to tease the young girl and belt out bone bending pelvic movements at the same time.
It doesn't take much to notice the anguish on Mamta'a face
.You gotta be anguished when you got Mithun with you and your shirt button is missing.

Hey Saala ! Teri Jaat ka paida maaru ! Mamta meri hai , kya !

The song was picturised on a well fed Mamta Kulkarni along with a clearly uncontrolled Mithun Chakraborty ,who looked as dapper as ever in his wet swept back hair. Now you know why Mamta was so terrified. On a personal note, the song left a huge dent on the contents of my skull , and taught me a lot about what to do when life presents you with a lady who has lost a button on her shirt.



Angana mein Baba , dware pe Ma

Kaise aau gori , main tohre ghar maa


Khet gaye baba , bazaar gayi ma

Akeli hu ghar maa , tu aaja saajna



Your dad is in the courtyard ,

your mom is at the door

How do I enter your house , oh fair one ?


Dad is (defecating?) in the fields ,

mom is in the market

I am Home alone , come in Darling .)

If the previous song carefully brought out the menace of cheap buttons and improper tailoring , this song points its finger at the age old problem faced by every young couple – Parents. The song starts off on a touching note where a troubled Govinda is itching to enter the residence of a rather conservative Shilpa Shirodkar.

But at the same time , Govinda is concerned about his physical safety as he believes Shilpa’s parents are at home too . As the song progresses and tightly captures the longing of Govinda , the mood is relieved when Shilpa coyly informs him that her father is in the fields and her mother has gone to the market to avail the 60% discount on Ajay Kunwar Sarees.

In a shocking display of modernity , she not only informs but invites Govinda inside her home . What followed after his entrance his beyond the scope of this post , though of deep interest to the author of this blog. On a parallel note , I strongly believe that Shilpa’s father went to the fields to defecate . Being a resident of a (Gur)Gaon myself , I have been a traumatically close witness to the happenings in a field , and I can confidently claim the purpose of Shilpa’s father’s visit to the fields.

On how the song affected me , it was a clear indicator that if I ever love a woman , I will make sure there is a saree discount sale on around her home and her home does not have a toilet.

How do I enter Silpa'a House ?

Shilpa , the girl whose father went to the fields.


"Tera kale kale lambe lambe naagin se baal ,

Dekho Ankhiyon se goli mare ladki kamaal"

(Your hair is dark dark , long long and like a cobra

Look , The fantastic girl shoot bullets from her eyes)

A trend setting number of its times, this track was the first of its kind which made a girl sound like a weapon of mass destruction .Govinda , who sported a dress which was strikingly similar to an art gallery , first compares Raveena Tandon’s hair to a serpent of deadly virtues – The Cobra .

As the audience lies stunned and little babies in the hall start wailing, he proceeds to bravely declare that Raveena has the ability to fire bullets using her eyes . A totally novel and unique concept , this became a talking point across the nation and the Indian Military ranks .

A few days after the song swept across the country , cheap tabloids reported that some very excited Officers from the Indian Military had invited Raveena at their Weapon Research Laboratory .What happened in the dark confines of the Lab remains a mystery , but Raveena was never the same chirpy girl again. Reports pour in to this day , with recent news being Raveena has been posted at the military base at Leh border with a bulletproof vest and no guns , except her two eyes.

Govinda sings about Raveena's shooting abilities joyfully , just before the Military picked up Raveena.

So , my fellow music conoisseurs, these were just three of the gems which have offered so much to our lives , to my life . I have laughed , cried , chuckled , sobbed and done a lot of strange things listening to these songs . I hope to showcase more songs soon . But for now , I just have to sway to “Jab tak samose mein rahega aaloo..”.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Chak De !

Stepping out of the hall, I casually asked my mother , “Kaisee lagee , ma?”.

Usually, asking my mother this question after a movie tells me how it is going to end up doing at the box office. She says ‘Theek Thaak’ and the movie is an average grosser. She says ‘Tu hamesha bekaar picchur hee dikhaata hai’ and the movie is a flop.She says ‘Chal iski ticket ka refund maangte hai’ and the movie is a mega flop with a high probability of the director's wife leaving him soon.

Getting back to the question posed earlier this day. “Acchi lagi. Sacchi mein dil kar raha tha ki humari team jeet jaye!” , she exclaimed, almost as excitedly as a teenaged tamil girl in the middle of a dinner date with Rajnikanth.

That was the moment when I knew this movie is going to be a hit. I mean, when a movie can make a 52 year old woman, with a spirit burdened by the strains of bringing up a son like me, say something like that, it sure can cause a young India to pump out adrenaline enough to fill up all the overhead water tanks in my colony.

It was only after my sister explained to me that I was turning into one of those work junkies who spend their lives changing column sizes on excel sheets and are finally found dead slumped on the keyboard by the office boy one morning, that I decided to take my mother and sister to ‘Chak De India’ at Metropolitan Mall in Gurgaon. Of course, my sister predicted other details like how no girl would agree to marry me if I continue to neglect human relations, but then , let us skip the gory part.

I attribute it to my innocence and ignorance of the female mind that I expected shopping would not be a part of the outing. When two Indian ladies step into a mall, evading shopping is like a cyclist trying to avoid being hit when caught in a race involving blueline buses. My consolation remains that in spite of a season ending sale on at most stores in the mall, there was enough space in the car for all of us and the shopping bags on our way back.

But coming back to the movie, I think King Khan underlines the fact that he can deliver a powerful performance with an unshaven face and without the overexcited romantic antics. It was refreshing to find a bollywood movie sans the girls-rotating-on-steel poles and muscular- guys-with-guns routine .It could have been a shade better if the guy sitting to my left could have used a more society friendly deodorant instead of the one he was wearing which smelt like the underpants of a pizza delivery boy on a hot sticky day. But notwithstanding that, I enjoyed the movie.

The story is as much a secret as Paris Hilton’s night life, so you don’t spend the movie all twitching in your seat and biting your nails till they cease to exist. But the pace of the movie, the normality of the team characters and the sheer spirit of an underdog taking the pants off their disapprovers carries it through.

No wonder that when our girls hit the winning stroke, many in the hall leapt to their feet, whooping in joy like schoolboys who find out the next class is not happening because the teacher has been diagnosed with chicken pox*(See Note).I suspect some of the overweight middle aged Punjabi aunties threw up their flabby arms too. Even the strange smelling guy next to me let out a gritty ‘Yesss’ , though that does not enhance my respect for his tastes in deodorants in any way.

*Note-Talking of unavailability of teachers, my fondest experience remains when our standard VII chemistry teacher got pregnant and the school could not find a replacement for us. For three happy months, we guys spent chemistry classes talking about girls and playing trump cards when we should have been memorizing the periodic table. Seldom has the birth of a child marked the death of happiness for so many children.

I particularly liked the part when the girls beat up a bunch of eve teasers. Due to some unexplained reason, I feel good when I find a girl beating up a guy. Though not that good that I would not walk up to a girl and say “Hey, please punch me. I have not felt good since morning!”.

Also, It must be particularly tough on the guys playing those eve teasers, even if it means starring in a Shahrukh movie. I mean, I can imagine the guy’s proud father watching the movie and pointing out to the people around him ‘See!See! That’s my son there! No, not the one being kicked by that bunch of Manipuri ladies. My son is the one in the yellow shirt, who was just thrown across the table by that Punjabi girl!’.

So even though I doubt the movie will spark off some kind of revolution and seven year old kids all over Punjab will start selling off their toys to buy hockey sticks, it is a decent experience. Dhoni posters will still sell like hot cakes and kids will still believe a hairstyle like Dhanraj Pillay’s is a punishment . Wishing three hours would revive a sport is as ambitious as wishing I would act in Dhoom 3. So nothing great in here,but maybe you will like it. My mother did.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Happy Belated(Ouch!) Birthday!

There are some moments in life when your mind feels like the inside of a salwar kameez store full of Punjabi ladies during the annual discount store . There are some moments in life when you wish your leg was flexible enough to curve back and land a sunny deol-ish kick on your own behind bad enough to render your morning rituals ineffective for three months . There are some moments in life when you wish you could rewind life and clean up all the mistakes you did.

It hit me when she sent me a very comforting “I will kill you” on gtalk some time back and I blurted out a ‘Shit!’ so loud , all the babies in the neighborhood soiled their chaddis.

I know I sound like I have done something as bad as becoming an unwed daddy of twins , but what I have done is worse than that – I forgot
Sunshine’s birthday.

For those of you ‘jinhone apne TV set derr se khole ho’, Sunshine is a friend so close, we get any closer and the Shiv Sainiks will go berserk. I mean , the word ‘friend’ seems as weak as an A K hangal when it comes to what she is to me . Along with my family , she is one of those very few people who I know will be around all life. And even as I type this , I can’t believe I forgot her birthday. And even though I can write her a mail about this , I want this blog to know how special she is.

Sunshine , I know I have been as insensitive as a paralyzed cucumber at times , but you are one person with whom I share too many fond memories. Meeting up at the Rabindra Sadan metro station. The aimless chatter over pizzaz (Kitna khaati hai tu..) .Your mock proposal which still makes me blush. The day we spent in the science park watching a 3 D underwater movie and huge clay dinosaurs . The CD selling plan we chalked out in that park .Your insistence of not taking a cab and my insistence on not taking an auto ( You gareeb..) .The ‘NDTV’ office on campus. Nandan cinema ( Wasn’t bad..) .And obviously , the timeless classic “shey jey…!”. I guess they can make a seventy episode soap opera about our time together.

So now to make it up to you , I will get the date of your birthday tattooed on my arm in permanent ink even if it makes my arm look like a reminder pad . I will go around telling everyone you are a Miss India finalist even if you put on weight . I will buy you a huge exotica pizza and that disgustingly fatty ebony and ivory ice cream you like when you come to India even if you don’t want to eat . I will be there on every special day of your life from your next birthday to the birthdays of your grandkids even if I have seven meetings lined up on the day . I will tell my wife your smile is dazzling enough to light up all the metro stations in Calcutta even if she goes green and calls up her lawyer. I won’t regret writing all this even if G rearranges all the bones in my body.

And I am so sorry for being so stupid even if you say you are not angry.

Happy Belated Birthday !!

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Sawaal Apke , Jawaab humare

So , a blogger called Aparna tagged me . And you know me , I am the sort of 18th century quixotic chivalrous gabru jawan types guy who would challenge the entire deol family to "do-do haath" if a lady asks me to do that .And completing a tag is much simpler than protecting my physical well being against Dharam 'Garam' Paaji , Bobby 'Soldier' Paaji and Sunny 'Dhai killo ka haath' Paaji , so here I go.

1. Pick out a scar you have , and explain how you got it .

Mar jaawa mirchi kha ke , these guys are talking about painful memories right away . I have a strong belief that any decent young man without a history of police encounters or public beatings should not have any scars on his 'jism' ( Waise compared to the word 'body' , the word 'jism' sounds as cheap as the fromt row ticket of Sonia Cinema Hall na ? ) . So after a prolonged examination of the wonderland that my body is , I proclaim I have no scars on my body . I know the question demands I find a scar and even talk about how I got it as if it's the world cup trophy , but then what do I do if I have no scars ? Ab blog post ke liye I won't go around asking people "Bhai saab , please stab me thoda sa , I need to write about the scar in my blog ."

2. What does your phone look like ?

Whoever designed this tag must have been a girl . And when I say girl , I mean the 100% girly girl , who screams 'Cho chweeeeeeet' everytime looks at a baby ( Itni excite ka 'cho chweeet' bolti hai ki baby diaper mein susu kar deta hain) . I mean , no male , unless he is under the influence of alcohol , would ask a question like "What does your phone look like?". But anyway , my phone looks like..umm..surprise...a phone ! . If you are still amazed , it has a keypad and a screen too ! . And it is as black as Janet Jackson. Chalo ho gaya. Ab phone ke baare mein aur kya documentary banau ? Phone hai ustaad , global warming nahi hain.

3.What is on the walls of your bedroom ?

Yaar yeh sting operation paltan tho bedroom tak chale gaye . Arre miyan , shareefo ka mohalla hain yeh , ek jawan ladke ke bedroom ke baare mein poochna kahan ki sharafat hain ?
Aaj bata detein hai bass , dobara mat poochna ( Oye yeh tho chlormint ka ad ho gaya.) - I have on the walls of my bedroom the face of an AC sticking out , a plastic mickey mouse smiling stupidly , and framed photographs of Pooja , Naina , Tara , Tina , Julie and Rita . A sensitive lad like me would always keep the pictures of his ex-girlfriends . Yaadein . Meethi meethi yaadein.

4. What is your current desktop picture ?

Arre ab kahan wo zamaana . If you had asked me this question when I was at hostel , then you would have got a rangeen reply . You know what kinda desktop pictures we keep when at home - sunsets , palaces , gardens , monuments , waterfalls etc etc . Waise right now I see my dad smiling at me on the desktop . Hi Papa .

5. Do you believe in gay marriage ?

Huh ? Oye gay marriage hain , koi UFO thode hee hain jo pooch rahe ho "Do you believe ?". I believe a marriage is a union of two minds , who then commit to tread the path of life together , facing all adversity and celebrating all joys together , and helping each other grow in the process . Gay or otherwise , the essence of a marriage is unaffected by such trivial issues . Subhan allah , ekdum miss world waala answer diya na !

6. What do you want more than anything right now ?

Watch Die Hard 4 . Looks like all my friends are either married or committed to find time to go out with me . All boys outings ka tho zamaana hee nahi raha . I am planning to take my mom to the movie after convincing her it's a comedy movie starring Akshay Kumar and Salman Khan . ( Yeah , my mom loved 'Mujhse Shaadi karogi' ).

7 . What time were you born ?

On a mildly cool afternoon that fateful day in October , 1981 , I was delivered into this world , with no indication of the fact that I was to grow up to become the wonderful and charming young man I am today . Within seconds of my being born , a pretty nurse with big eyes wrapped me into a soft white blanket . As she was turning back to get something else , I suddenly gripped her finger with my tiny palm , pulled her towards me and squeaked in my newly discovered voice - "Aunty , time kya hua hain ?."

You actually think all this happened ? Nahi na . So how am I expected to know what time it was when I was born ?

8. Are your parents still together ?

Oye ! Abbe western culture ke poster , humare India mein parents remain together . They are very much together and have no dangerous plans . Shaadi mein fevicol khaayi thi mummy papa ne , mazboot jod hain , tootega nahi.

9. Last person who made you cry ?

Me . I believe no one else can make me cry . Tears arise out of what I do with the thoughts in my head . ( Kaafi profound hain yeh jawaab , samajh na aye tho koi nahi )

10. What is your favorite perfume / cologne ?

Yaar main koi Page 3-socialite-fashion designer types hoon jo itna perfume conscious hunga ? Apna 100 rupye mein axe deo lekar use karta aa raha hoon saalo se .Ladkiyan tho ad mein hee attract hoti hain . Real life mein tho 'Namaste Bhaiyya' hee kehti hain.

11. What kind of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex ?

Am a very adjusting and easy going person . You ask about the colors , even a lack of hair and eyes is totally cool with me ( Jyada bol gaya emotional hokar , maybe I won't be totally cool with a girl who looks like a blind Anupam Kher )

12. What are you listening to ?

'Bol na Halke Halke' from 'Jhoom Barabar Jhoom'. The first time someone told me there is a song which goes "Bol na Halke Halke" , I thought it was about a couple of engineering students whispering answers to each other during an exam.

13. Do you get scared of the dark ?

Not if there is Amrita Rao in the same room .

14. Do you like pain killers ?

Like ? What's there to like or dislike in a pain killer ? If there is pain , I take the pill . You don't expect me to 'like' pain killers and yell "Mummy ! Aaaj lunch mein aloo ke paranthe aur pain killers bana do ! Bott din ho gaye accha khaana khaye hue !."

15. Are you too shy to ask someone out ?

I am as 'besharam' as a C grade tamil movie . Aati kya Die Hard dekhne ? Ab bolna tho "aati kya khandaala' chahta tha , but abhi khandaala jaane ka mood nahi hain.

16 . If you could eat anything right now , what would it be ?

The guy who put so many questions in this tag . With some tomato ketchup.

17. Who was the last person you made mad ?

Mummy. I do that with alarming frequency.

18. Is anyone in love with you ?

Ladies , this question is for you. Aaju baaju mat dekh , baat dil ki bol daal.

Chalo abhi I need some help . If you are involved with any Pharmaceutical / Biotechnology company in or around Delhi , please let me know. Mail me at . Thanks !

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Title ka kya achaar dalega ?

Idhar ruka tha main rajasthan mein , standard note karo ladke ka.
I found this on my disk . I clicked this some seven months back in Kerala.Creativity note karo ladke ki.

Abhi bheje ke engine ko garam mat kar , iss dard bhari tasveer ka logic baad mein samajh ayega lollipop singh.

Last week when I reached office , a brown envelope was placed on my desk . Ab aajkal tho it is the zamana of e-mail , and passing around paper letters qualifies you for a place in the stone age , so I was like "Yaar yeh kya akbar ke zamane ka item rakha hain". Scared that they might have found out I have been stealing mousepads from the office and hence were firing me while asking for the mousapads back , I tore open the envelope along an edge and pulled out a neatly folded letter. It said that I had completed one year in the company and congratulated me for that.Abbe ek saal hee tho complete kiya hai , congratulate tho aise kar rahe hain jaise main kunwara baap ban gaya hoon. But anyway , the letter sure made me go like - "Uee ma , ek saal ho gaya mujhe office mein free ki coffee down karte hue?." It sure doesnt feel like one year since I walked out of the gates of IIM as a confused guy and walked into the corporate world to confuse everybody in there. But an year it has been , so all you funky people out there , raise a toast . Waise ab toast kahan se laoge , so raise a pakoda , burger , samosa , parantha , jo bhee fridge mein available ho.

And I got my dad a Nokia 6300. Now my dad is the kind of guy who would keep a cellphone till its keypad falls off , its screen disintegrates and the Archeological society of India takes it away and places it next to the pottery found in Mohanjodaro , so I just decided to get a new cellphone for him . I think the model looks pretty good , and slim bhee aisa hain jaise teen mahine se kuch na khaya ho. When I gave it to my dad , I expected him to turn to my mom and say "Dekh humara beta kitna mature ho gaya hain , ab is kee shaadi kar deni chahiye." , but he said something which was on the lines of "Humare bete ko money spend karne ki sense nahi hain , is kee shaadi abhi nahi kar sakte."

And talking of shaadi , my family recently took me to this purana filmy temple . The type of temple which is talked about by ghoonghat clad women in villages , you know the "Tumne suna nahi bahin ? Uss mandir jaakar jo maango mil jaata hain." types wala temple. So while coming out of it , they saw this Pandit Maharaj who sat outside with some books and a sign that said something like "Shri Guru Maharaj Astrology Centre." And cutting short all the gory and kaali details that followed , he announced that any attempts to marry me off within next three years would be as dangerous as Mika at his birthday party. So looks like panditjee has destroyed any immediate plans of "hum do humare do" for me , and I will continue to be the most eligble bachelor in my colony.

And recently I went to Rajasthan in 'kaam ke silsile mein' ( Kitna manager type lagta hai na sunne mein ) . I stayed in this hotel which was a palace Maharaja Ummed Singh had leased out . In fact , I was told the royal family still stayed in the part of the palace which had not been leased out . So this place had corridors adorned with black and white photos of the Raja Sahib and his gang of underweight and ever grinning chamchas . The Raja dude had snaps with a foot on the deadbody of almost every animal I have ever seen at the zoo - Lion , tiger , cheetah , wild boar , crocodile..photographer ke paas thoda aur time hota tho earthworm ke upar bhee joota rakh ke foto khinchwa letein Raja uncle.But the one thing which had the most bura asar on my masoom dimaag was the washbasin in my room . I mean , now you know what that gadget in the picture at the top of this post was .

For half a day , I did not wash my hands thinking this thing would blow up if I ventured within three feet around it . Apparently , this was some ancient style faucet which had been carried over from Raja's time to add that heritage touch to the room.But jo bhee ho Raja Sahib , aapka plumber kaafi over-excited ho gaya washbasin ke faucets design karte hue...

Chal yaar michael , it's 1.30 in the night and mommy always says 'Soja nahi tho Richard Gere aa jayega' , so I must sleep to avoid any kisses now.And haan , yeh tho sun lo , I am going to Kashmir very soon ! I hope udhar aise washbasin na ho.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Some more help needed ( Yeh blog hai ya help desk..)

I will sure try to get the recording from the station so those who have not yet fallen in love with my voice can do so . Thanks for the appreciation and saying things like "Your voice is so cool". My mom listened to the show and she still asks me "Why did they call you on a station for girls? ". I guess that's one insecurity every mother of a rich ,cute and modest guy faces.

Now for some help I need . I have worked out a thing with Pizza Hut where Bingo shall be delivered free with every home delivery Pizza Hut makes in Delhi NCR . Should run for around a week more. If you order a Pizza , and don't get a Bingo , just shoot me a mail so that I can fix up things . We will together sue the Pizza people and end up making a couple of millions ok ? Ok , no suing but do let me know so that I that I know the thing is running all over the place.

Also , if you are involved with any kinda college fest , mela , haat or any public event in Northern India where you need sponsorship ,we can work it out . I am involved with ITC brands like Sunfeast , Bingo , Ashirwaad , Candyman , MintoFresh and all in North India , so keep this in mind . I know it sounds kinda depressing to talk about work on the blog , but then , I love my job . Chal yaar , abhi nikal leta hoon . I will make sure I get that recording . Else the way I am going , I guess I will be in movies soon eh ? wow , my modesty is dead.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

I am on air !

Whoever said life is not fair was damn right . In spite of me being totally uncool , some people think otherwise and have asked me to be on a radio show.

So Delhi kee junta , catch me on Radio Meow (104.8 Mhz) today , between 5 to 6 pm.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Totally Random

The needle on the speedometer flirts with the 90 mark. The car cruises down the broad road which spreads out before me like a neatly ironed silk ribbon .Mustard fields dotted by yellow specks of flowers sway gently on either side. And I , going back to Delhi after spending five days in Ludhiana, sprawl on the back seat , watch the fields glide by , and wonder – why do senior guys in the corporate world wear suits all the time ? Though technically I should not care, because I am not one of the senior guys yet, and can attend office covered by Banana leaves ( Waise in that case , what will the people at office say on a day I look good ? Nice leaves ? ) . But I find all this suit-wearing as ridiculous as Upen Patel. All these VPs and CEOs must have ponds of sweat formed in their underwears by the time they get back to their homes.

And when I checked into the hotel I was staying in , the receptionist smiled and asked me “Would a room overlooking the swimming pool be fine , Sir ?”. I had instant visions of ladies looking strikingly similar to the Miss India contestants splashing in the water on a 24/7 basis and blurted out “Yeah sure ! I love water so much , people mistake me for a submarine !”.But all through my stay , the only things waddling around in the water were overweight uncles so hairy , three sweaters could be made out of just the chest hair of the cleanest uncle. No wonder our nation has not been able to produce any good female swimmers. No girls seem to be practicing.

And if you thought god exists, here is proof that even if he exists , he is not guiding the Indian Music Industry . One fine day, Shekhar Suman woke up , switched on the TV to catch a promo of Aap ka Suroor , and thought – “Here is a short , unshaven guy who is respected only by the member of Indian Cap Manufacturers Association and sings with a very wrong part of his body . And by god , he is a movie star now ! Given my personality , I should be playing the lead role in Spiderman 4 , but I will start with a music video for now !.” So if you haven’t caught the spectacle by now , watch out for a music video with Shekhar swaggering down a beach with a guitar , sunglasses and a girl who should be addressing him as Shekhar Chacha .

And someone should launch ‘Indian Idol chaap tissues’ urgently. You would think someone of national importance has died if you happen to watch an Indian Idol show. The hosts , ( Mini Mathur in a sleeveless dress , and some guy I don’t care about ) , would thrust a microphone in the face of a girl who has just been told her singing sounds like a noisy table fan , and Mini would ask – “Kaisa mehsoos ho raha hain ? Dukh ho raha hain ? Mummy ko kaafi ummeed thee kya ? Unhe takleef hogi ?.” I mean , what is the girl expected to say – “Bott mast mehsoos ho raha hain ! My heart is dancing like a peacock ! A million flowers bloom in my heart ! And mommy ? She is already buying carrots , she is preparing gajar ka halwa to celebrate my being kicked out ! Yay !”. If the show would have been a little more permissive , Mini would have been grabbing even the judges and shouting “Ro saale ! Warna kal se full sleeved dress pehan ke aaungi !”.

And have you ever been informed by your mother that the comments on your last post include two ‘I love you’ statements and one ‘mmuuaah’ ? My family knows about this blog , and it is their belief in charity that they are letting me stay at home after such comments . ‘I love your blog’ and ‘I love you’ are statements as different as Bappi Lahiri and Rajpal Yadav , and while one with a terrible reading taste can love my blog after reading it, one needs to know me in my entirety to love me . Nobody hates attention , but every emotion of yours is priceless , you should invest them in a deserving guy you know , not in a unknown guy who writes a blog once in fifteen days . And writes it using terrible grammar .

And I really appreciate your giving some feedback on Bingo . We marketing managers are used to being blasted . So tell me your neighbour choked on Bingo , your dog attacked a cow after being fed Bingo , your girlfriend left you after you fed her Bingo , tell me anything as long as it is honest . Because consumer feedback is an intergral component of the Iterative loop of Product improvement . I learnt the last phrase at IIM.

Chalo yaar , now I shall get back to watching the fields glide by as I cruise on this road which spread out before me like a neatly ironed silk ribbon , flanked by yellow fields on either side . The ipod plays some song called ‘Beete Lamhein’ ( From Train ? ) which sounds good. Though any other song would sound like a grammy winner once you listen to Shekhar Suman sing.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Truck Truck Truck !

choI feel John Denver must be in a very brave mood when he crooned “Country Roads, take me home” . Because in around twenty days since I moved back to home after three years , I notice that adjusting to home is not exactly as easy as singing a song . Though with a voice like mine , singing a song is not easy either.

Of course, I need to be a politician to deny the good things with coming at home .Round the clock food , a car to drive, and a TV remote which can be procured after a briefly violent argument with sister are the perks which come with it. But in this entire exercise , there is one entity which considers me stupid , careless and in urgent need of a attitude restructuring – Mum.

If all the things mum tells me could be written in a book , these days she is writing a big chapter called ‘Abhi-The worst and most rash driver in the world’. Whenever I slip in the driving seat with mum buckled in the seat next to me , I know I am in for a lecture on how to drive , from a lady who incidentally , doesn’t know driving herself . I would be cruising down the road as smooth as a Katrina’s leg , when she would suddenly pip up “Munnu ! Truck Truck Truck !”. I would hit the brakes instantly , the car behind me would swerve and the driver would give me the ‘I-will-eat-your-kids-next-time-you-do-that’ as he passes me by , and then I would turn to my mom and ask “Where is the killer truck !”. “Did not you see such a monster , it just zoomed away !” , she would say pointing to the road on the other side of the divider .And so my mom would keep imagining all the truck drivers in Delhi are paid to fly over the dividers and crush us to a road painting and since I could not imagine that , I am a the agent of death when it come to driving. I mean , while we are watching the TV together , she would suddenly start shaking her head and say “I still can’t believe how you almost killed that cyclist this morning” , and I would silently wonder ‘Cyclist ? Who cyclist?”.

And she has warned me that if I eat any more maggi , she would tell Dad how I once burned his tie as a kid . Now , when a single guy stays away from home for three years , you can be sure he is deriving half of his nutrition from Maggi , the other half coming from booze and dope. And suddenly mom wants me to give maggi up and get back to the world of aloo mutter and chapattis . I can almost visualise the strands of maggi crying out "Nahi munnu ,after all that we have been through ,tum aise nahi jaa sakte!" , reaching out to me valiantly as my mum pulls me away from them mercilessly.

And of course , then there is the precious question most mothers start to consider once their sons start bringing home boxes of peanuts known as salaries – When should I get him married ? In my case , to add to the colors , I have already been through a marriage which almost happened before things got wrong , so she has some added side-questions to consider .

Anyway , I will leave my mum to the noble task of turning me into a safe driving , aloo mutter eating husband and get back to striking things off my To-Do list for today . On a personal note , life has been a collage of to-do lists , planning how to boost sales for Bingo , managing things at home in absence of Dad , and trying to watch Star Movies when Mom wants to watch Star Plus and sister wants to watch Sony .

So I am off to the market for some work now .And mom , do not worry , I am not taking out the car , I will just walk down.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Help me fool god

I am such a wicked guy , they should lock me in a cage with Mike Tyson and Altaf Raja , with Altaf making sure I die a slow and painful death in case Tyson spares me , high on some Gandhian theory he read on the internet . I mean , I once pushed an old lady off an elevator just to see if she lands head first or feet first . I regularly plug chewing gums on car doors and recently , I dumped my neighbour’s little dog in a trash bin because it did not stand up on his hind legs when I told him to.

So now , just to fool god into thinking I am not such a bad guy , I need your help.This is serious now.

I want to sponsor a girl child , but -

-> Given the nature of my work , I cannot make regular visits , hence I intend to extend help , financially and otherwise, through correspondence .
-> I do not want it to be a mechanical cheque writing exercise , I want to know about the child , her progress , her life on a regular basis . I want to know her as a child , not as an address I send some money to.
-> There are many such programs on the internet . But I want the kid to be actually helped , hence it would help if any of you has been involved with any such work or can guide me to a program which achieves what it promises .

My experience with any such thing is zero , to be precise . But I definitely want to make a start now , and I do not know anyone who can guide me . If you can , please do mail me at I would be grateful.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Ordinary Sunday musings

It’s amusing to watch TV on the day next to a world cup final. Apparently, all men who had ever been near a cricket bat had been shaken out of their beds , shipped to the studio , offered free coffee and salted biscuits and told by the director “Ok guys , now just talk , but do not pick your noses .You are on TV.”

So there was a man with a cumulative experience of seven minutes (Including a drinks break) in being on field in international cricket , clearing his throat , scratching his left ear and saying “Well..ahem..based on my experience as a player , I would say Australia is the best team right now .”

Not to be outdone , and with a burning desire to impress all the ladies from his colony watching this show , the other guy on the panel who could not tell a cricket stump from an electric pole to save his wife , commented ‘Yeah , and trust me when I say this , Gilchrist’s 149 played a huge role in this victory .”

So while these men who think a leg cutter is some ancient chinese torture mechanism spent the day discussing things my three year old nephew could tell , I spent the day reading a book , cleaning my apartment , doing dishes and watching MTV on the telly . I know the part about cleaning my apartment and doing the dishes would have appealed massively to the ladies reading this blog, so yes, I am pretty much husband material.

In another incident , recently a friend told me only ‘Creeps’ go to a movie alone . In fact , she being a girl , did not say ‘Creep’ , she said ‘Creeeeeeep’ , reaffirming my faith in girly pronunciation .

So , if her definition is to be believed , I have been a creep , and a double creep . For the second time in a week , I went to a movie alone . But blame it on a disturbed childhood or too much FTV , I actually enjoy being alone . Just to wait in the cafĂ© outside the hall with the ipod and a cold coffee for company , it is like watching a range of different lives . There would be young couples who come only to sit on the corner seats , whisper things , giggle and say things like Hehehe,Sshhh,Abhi nahi , chodo bhee , haath mat pakdo . There would be fully loaded families which are a dream for Suraj Badjatya and a nightmare for family planning commission with the Dad asking loudly “Sabke paas ticket hai na ?” , the ladies trying to count the kids while the kids appear all happy and say “Mummy ! sabse aage wali seat lena !.” There would be the college boys who laugh loudly , check out anything that moves and resembles a girl and laugh again .

Not wanting to detail it too much , watching so many different people , with their different lives , needs , attitudes as they walk into that hall is interesting to me , maybe , in a strange way .

Coming to the movie – TaraRumPum , I went pretty numb by the intermission due to a storyline which seemed like a desi remix of The Cinderella Man . To make sure I walk out with no faith in humanity , the guy sitting next to me decided it was perfectly legal to stick out his elbows till I was sitting in a space a coke bottle wont fit into. And I won’t even mention I could not find a single auto after the show and had to walk 4 kilometers with unshaven , scratchy men commenting on my curvy legs.

Anyway , no self respecting young man blogs at 2 in the morning , so will I wrap this up now . I admit I need to reply to comments , and I shall not rest till I do that . Starting from this post , I shall reply to all the comments . I knew I said the same thing when the last post went up , and I myself say my photo should be included in the official definition of procrastination.

And one last thing . Earlier this day , while browsing the net for something young single men generally browse in their free time , I read that Mandira Bedi has apologized for wearing a saree with the Indian flag featuring below her waist . For those who were not too busy drooling at Katrina Kaif in Namastey London , in a scene from the movie , the wind blows away Rishi Kapoor’s lungi revealing his underpants made out of the Union Jack , the national flag of UK . If the British shared even half of the nationalist fervour we Indians exhibit , by now the British army would have cleaned up Rishi Kapoor ( with emphasized damage to what was underneath the union jack ) , Akshay Kumar , Katrina Kaif ( Or maybe , they would have taken her to Charles ) , and the rest of the movie unit , down to the last spot boy . I mean , we Indians really need to find something to do , or we will just keep harassing girls who are brave enough to host a cricket show without knowing anything about cricket .

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Naya , naya, naya , teeveeeeeeeeeeeeee.....

If you read the last post here , and more importantly , since then did not undergo some ‘bada hee bhari sadma’ which took away your ‘yaddasht hamesha hamesha ke liye ’ , you would remember that there was something wrong with the sound of my TV at my apartment . I mean , the sound of the TV had gone poof . Star movies dekhne mein tho problem nahi thee , because I did not understand what they were saying anyway , and the himesh videos actually felt better without the voice , but I was missing out on all the hindi movies .
So the owner of my apartment took away the telly to get it repaired. It had been three long days and three long nights without a TV for me when I unlocked the door and walked in after office today. And there it was , a gleaming Philips 52 inch flat TV sitting proudly on the trolley in my living room.( 52 inch hee lag raha hain , kaafi bada hai , Adnan Sami and Arjuna Ranatunga dono saath saath iske andar reh sakte hain ). So it was like , a Bunty who entertained himself by playing saanp seedi had been given a Xbox. It was like a nerd who had last talked to a girl in 1984 had suddenly found a Sridevi sitting on his bed , complete with the ‘haldi wala doodh’ ka glass on the side stool . So all those reading this , please pause for a moment , close your eyes , look up at the stars ( Oye , eyes close karne ke baad stars ko look kaise karoge ?) , and send a little thanks to the owner of my apartment .
And after a long time , something went perfectly fine in my life . After spending almost an year in Kerala , where I ate so much dosa sambar that during the last blood test they found sambar in my veins and the nurses saved it for some flavor during dinner , I have been transferred to Delhi . So all you Delhi guys , lock your girlfriends in refridgerators , for the hottest guy in the country is coming to your town . ( Abbe sacchi , you should have met me when I caught that 103 degree fever in 2003 , I was so , so , hot .) And as I type this , I see the South African team is struggling like a Mahima Chaudhary surrounded by the izzat looting trio of Amrish Puri , Gulshan Grover and Shakti Kapoor . At 98-7 , these guys need to be Shaktiman clones to beat the aussies from here . So considering a Aussie-Lankan final this time around , I will be rooting the Lankans . Australia tho itna door hain , Sri Lanka tho ekdum India ke bajoo mein hain . So I will be hoping our friendly neighbourhood Lankans take away the cup. Apne paas biwi nahi tho kya hua , padosi kee biwi dekh kar hee khush ho lenge na.
Ayyyyyyyyyyyyye Huzoor , pehchana mujhe ? Nahi ? Arre , samjho na , kuch tho samjho na . This is me , Himesh , before I threw away my shaving razor , put on a topi , and decided to show the bilady kuttas of my colony that they are not the only ones who can howl . Ab main bhee aise howl karta hoon ki mohalle ki sabse pyari bitch bhee attract hokar ghar ke saamne aa jati hain .

And one thing I am awaiting as desperately as Engineering students await the kissing scene in a Emran Hashmi movie , is the biggest blockbuster of the year , which is going to blow away the ‘cap’ from the dark and brooding ‘mohabbat ke zakhm’ his heart carries , is Himesh Bhai’s - “Aap Ka Suroor”.
( Abhi ticket book kara le bhai , early bird prize hain ek shaandaar leather topi autographed by Himesh bhai himself )

The country may laugh at him , there are endless jokes about his topi , people imagine everything from a tattoo saying “mera sar takla hain’ to a size 10 footprint under his cap , and his voice sends the colony dogs into a frenzy who fear a new entrant into their territory , but in spite of all this , I am sure a lot of people will go and watch his upcoming movie , even if just to have fun at his cost .And that brings in the moolah . Thus , underneath that tattered white cap which says Banana Republic on the front , I see a very astute and smart brain .

And last week , for the first time in my life , I watched a movie alone – The Namesake .(Haan Haan I know that sounds creepy , but Kerala mein akela rehta hoon tho movie saath jaane ke liye kya Priyanka Chopra kee wax statue lekar jaun ?) . The good part about watching a movie alone is that nobody bothers you.When the heroine and the hero are looking into each others eyes searching for eye infection and slowly moving their lips closer , there is no friend on the next seat who pokes his elbow crushing three of your ribs and whispers “Abbe kasam banana wale kee , kissi aane waleee hain !” and you say "accha ? Mujhe laga badminton khelne wale hain". So when alone , you can watch the ‘kissi’ in silence and wonder why the hero needs to be paid for doing such scenes .

Abbe gudgudi singh , MTV pe Himessss Bhai is crooning “Tere binn dil naiyyo lagda” with so much pain in his eyes , I feel like pushing a couple of pain killer tablets under his eyelids .So bhaiyon aur behanon , abhi main bhee apna dard apne dil mein samet kar log off kar leta hoon .And as a friend told me , I think I will resume replying to comments from this post onwards .But now , it’s time I enjoy the extreme machine my new TV is. Bhagwan mere apartment owner ko Himesh ki movie ki do tickets dilaye.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Karate that Racist Dog !

What would you do if after a tiring day of minimizing solitaire windows and installing yahoo messenger at office , you get back home at 8.30 in the night , ring the doorbell of your apartment , and the apartment caretaker ( who , by the way , is a mallu . Racist me.) answers the door with an expression which is on the lines of ‘hai-mai-lut-gayi-barbaad-ho-gai’ and says..


If you are a 6’3” broad shouldered north Indian ‘tired-after-office’ guy , you yell “What the duck are you trying to say?” , and without waiting for the answer , smash his nose with your laptop case just like Sunny Deol , and walk in as he lies on the floor clutching his nose and screaming ‘aiyyoo’.

However , since I am almost as tall as a sitting Rani Mukherjee , I chose to murmur a “Eh..ok..that’s wonderful” and walked in without any bloodshed when I faced this situation this evening . Soon I discovered that what my profoundly verbose caretaker was trying to say was that the sound in my TV had conked off. Now I am real good at lip reading , but just could not do it as well as I would have liked when I tried to watch what the judges on American idol were trying to say during the four minutes I tried watching the TV without its voice , so I decided to get back to good ol’ racist blogging tonight.

Now , lately , a lot of people have been pretty angry with me on this blog , accusing me of being racist . People have quoted clippets from Indian Penal codes supposed to make me go “Mommy!I don’t wanna go to jail” . Comment after comment has labeled me a jerk as insensitive as a paralysed elbow . Little pink Kids all over North East are being trained in Judo to grow up and take revenge from the racist and wicked blogger Abhi. ( See , with such sarcastic statements , I still can’t stop being wicked ).

Now , initially , I was amused . I was mesmerized by the innate ability of people to dig out a national issue out of a blog post .I mean , I was like “Wow. When were these guys born ? During some riots ?”.I was like “These dudes are really concerned about this country , such passioned emotions about four lines on a web page ?”.And to be honest , I still am . I mean , honestly , it takes a huge amount of passion , vocabulary and free time to write such focused comments , dissecting me , my sexuality , my sense of belonging to this nation , and my significant contribution to the scum of this country .But somewhere , a little bit of irritation took me over too . I mean , it’s not everyday work for me to be blasted apart on a public forum.And then , sometimes I don’t think clearly ,like when faced with such disparaging remarks after a hard day at office. So during one such moment , I allowed myself to get irritated over this .

But now , after eating a full dinner of a steaming bowl of Maggi ( and watching four minutes of soundless American Idol ) ,as I sit on my bed , with the ipod crooning a dreamy lucky ali’s voice in my ears , I know it was my fault . It was my fault because I expected people would not judge me .I expected perfect strangers to see the world the way I see it. I expected some unknown guy I would never meet to keep aside his self-importance for a little while , for over the three years I have been writing this blog , I have laughed at the cost of myself , my as-high-as-a-side-stool height , my as-low-as-Amrita-Rao’s-neckline grades , my as-outdated-as-a-fossil cellphone , my as-crashed-as-a-MIG 27 relationships , my as-twisted-as-a-roller coaster life. And in writing this blog over the last three years ,from a lazy engineering student to a more lazy manager , I learnt to laugh at myself , but perhaps , I forgot that people still judge me here . I forgot that people judge my words, they judge me . Now I can’t change the attitude of anyone who reads my blog , hell , I have trouble changing my socks ( I have been wearing the same pair to office over the last three days ) , forget a person . But still , all I ask you , is to lighten up . Life is too important to be taken so seriously.

Now before anyone screams “He is still so racist , bring out that Indian Penal code book please ! ” , let me log off now , wait for “She hates me” ( Kinda situational , isn’t it ?) on the ipod to finish off , and then watch reruns of Friends on the laptop . Much better trying to lip read what that black judge on American Idol was saying . Oh shucks , did I say ‘black guy’ ? Am I into apartheid now ?

Ps - Anyone working with TOI/HT/NDTV/any of media houses ? Need some help for a friend .Please mail me. Do not worry , mailing a racist isn't a legal offence.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Main aisa hee hoon

A couple of days ago , as I stood before the mirror trying to decide if I look like George Clooney or Matt Damon , my cellphone rang . I glanced on the number as it ran across the screen . It was a friend , and a female friend at that . Never the one to turn down a girl's call , I picked it up , flipped open the phone and said a seductive 'Hi' . Now she is not the kind who would wake up , clean the mandir , water the tulsi plant and then proceed to sing Anoop Jalota's bhajans all day . So I wasnt expecting her to recite anything too religious from her , but as soon as I said a 'Hi' , she exhaled loudly and said -

'Munnu , tune apne last blog pe comments dekhe ? Duniya walo ne teri le li !.'

Now , for all engineering students and other spoilt people , I dont need to explain what 'duniya walo ne teri le li' means. As for the beautiful minded people of this nation , it means , well , that the people did not like what they read , and I am very polite when I explain it that way.

Now , I need to be somewhere in about an hour , so cannot explain much , nor do I need to , but sach , I am beyond the stage when the admiration or abuses affect me . So bhookh hartaal karo , buses jala do , tamaatar maaro , jo karna hai kar lo yaar , good or bad , this is me .

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Main noodle ka stall kholna chahta hoon

I have trouble speaking english . At school , my english teacher used to taunt me regularly . In a moment of seclusion in a lonely corridor , she even tried to suffocate me while screaming "Itti gandi english bolne wale to jeena ka koi hakk naheeee." I still keep a pocket sized edition of Rapidex English Speaking Course in my backpack for emergency situations like interacting with english speaking pretty girls.Hence when I share such an uncomfortable relation with a universal language such as english , it is downright unfair on the part of blogger to expect me to work with dutch.

When I logged into my blogger account some eleven minutes back , I discovered that due to some reason , my blog language settings have been changed to dutch . As I type this , I see two buttons below the tying area . One says - Als Entwurf Speichern. The other says -Veroffentlichen.Ab this is like my mummy saying to me "Munnu Beta , aaj tinda khaoge ya gheeya ?." Ab I dont know which means 'Publish Post' out of the two , but if you are reading this , veroffentlichen means "Publish Post". Dekha , baithe baithe dutch seekh gaye na. Ab holland jao tho seena thok kar bolna veroffentlichen.

And why are there so many north eastern people in Bangalore.Yesterday , as me and a friend roamed brigade road and wondered why every pretty girl has a nasty looking boyfriend who looks like a cross between Crime Master GoGo and the african striped Owl , it suddenly struck me -

Me : " Oye , yahan noodle ka stall khol lete hain."

Friend : "Kyun be , tujhe sapne mein hanuman jee ne yeh aadesh dia hain ?"

Me : "Abbe mamta kulkarni ki kasam , dekh kitne saare bruce lee jaise log hain yahan , meri bijness sense cheekh cheekh ke kehtee hain ki a north eastern food stall is the next big thing on this road."

Friend : "Haan yaar , yeh tho sach hain . Aisa lagta hain china ne attack karke brigade road ko india se cheen lia hain."

Me : "Sacchi . Tho abhi 'Bruce Lee memorial noodle corner' kholne ka business plan develop karte hain.Baad mein ek 'jackie chan memorial karate coaching center' khol kar aur paisa kamayenge."

I have suddenly noticed a north eastern guy sitting on the next computer.He has long hair and a tattoo on his biceps says "Born to Kill" with dragons on both sides. And I dont enjoy the vision of me being karataed into seven pieces by him , so I will save further details for a later date.

But saugandh ganga maiyya kee , I will have to hand it over to Bangalore when it comes to the 'Dude and Dudette' quotient of the city . Pata nahi , maybe it is because I have been in Kerala over the last nine months or maybe because I am as much as a dude as Rabri Devi is a Dudette , I look around in this city and say "Mar jaawa khatta kha ke ,inn sab ka janam beauty parlor ke waiting room mein hua tha?". I mean , guys have bulging biceps , long hair , tattoos all over.The same "duniya mere baap ki hain" expression on their faces. Girls look like shrunk versions of Bollywood extras .Their clothes are so tight . I mean , I can visit Vaishno Devi and get back and I bet a girl would still be struggling to get into that oh-so-tight low waist jeans.I mean , theek hain bhaiyya , 21st century hain , cable TV generation hain , india shining hain , but phir bhee , are we out of girls who have a mind of their own and are self confident enough to wear a salwar suit because they want to , even if the girls around her go around looking like vamps in their haltar tops and mid riff exposing jeans?

Now all you dont jump around screaming "Bloody shiv sainik" and write me death threats . It is just my opinion , and I said it. I somehow admire a girl more for her strength to be herself.I mean , chill yar , mujhe kya farak padta hain .Mujhe thode hee chote kapde pehnkar aur baal khol kar bhangra karna hain , I am cool anyway.

And yeah , I deleted the last post because half my relatives and friends read it and concluded I was seven minutes away from a suicide and just needed a strong nylon cord to facilitate the process.I agree , the post came out thoda dark dark and all , but when my sister called me with a "Munnu ! Kya hua tujhe ? Dekh , sambhaal apne aap ko" and my ludhaina wale mamaji called me with a "Dekho beta , aatmahatya karna paap hain" , I thought "Abbe hatao iss post ko , warna meri condolence meeting ka card bhee chap jaega".So all you who wrote to me, thanks , and chill , I am the kind of guy who can run over three guys with my car and then brake to see if my car has a scratch.So I was sad , but now , I am all fine and ready to make others sad .

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Help kar do uncle

Gaon walo , I need a little help . I need to get a little , rajpal yadav sized questionnaire filled . Only 5 questions , no personal questions concerning your sly nose picking habits .If you have ever been near a keyboard , it wont take you more than three minutes and seventeen seconds to get over with it . So if you got three minutes and seventeen seconds , please mail me right now at and I shall send it across . Harr help karne wale ko dee jayegi I can't offer you a three days and two nights all paid trip to Mauritius ( Lunch included ) , so I will just offer you my thanks.