Nattu bann gaya CD

Hi , I am 21 , Male , Single .I want to know you more .Please Please Please talk to me !!! Mail me at Romantic_bandar @ single-apes.com

Like a good masoom seedha saadha Indian Citizen , I should warn you beforehand – Highly senseless and Hindi ridden post ahead. You better watch TV instead. Or listen to backstreet boys instead . Or take a bath instead .

This post is inspired by the numerous cyber guys who would give their pancreas , large intestine and liver to talk to a female. Some facts have been modified to protect the privacy of some individuals. The views expressed are entirely and stupidly MINE , intent is not to offend anyone , but just to express my amusement. But if you are actually offended , I can’t help it. All I can offer is an apology in anticipation.

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There is a blog which is maintained by a girl. Some days ago , I find this comment to one of her posts -

*****
hi ,

Blah Blah Blah ( you know , all that nice blog , cute blog , sweet blog , mast blog , coochie coochie blog types formalities )

I wanted to know u more, plz drop in a mail to me

Cool_dude231@aao_chat_kare.com
*****

So I was like “Hmm , must be from a boy’s school .Theek hai , itne saal ladko ke beech , thoda sa direct hai…fine.”

Two days later , I find this comment on the same blog by the same guy –

****
Blah Blah Blah.

aur haan , agar time ho , then i wud really like to chat with u.
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So I was like “Oh , must be from a boy’s school and must be having no girls in his colony. Theek hai , na school mein ladkiyan , na colony mein , thoda chipku types organism hai…fine.”

Two more days , another comment .Same blog.Same guy.

********
hey, sach , i want dosti .
Can we chat sometimes on yahoo etc

Cool_dude231@aao_chat_kare.com

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So I was like “Whoa ! Is it a bird ? Is it a plane ? No , wait ! It’s a CD !”

CD ? Now before the techno geek in you thinks Compact Disk , let me explain. And in a tribute to all the dadi ma log of this world who have long serenaded the colony kids pappu , gappu , pinki and dinky by their stories , let me explain in the way of a little story.

Ek CD ka janam :Ek ladke ki tanhaayi ki sacchi kahaani

Once upon a time , there was a boy called Nattu , who lived in the remote village of Ramgarh in some remoter state of India.

Now Nattu had a very deep interest in girls .Nattu cut out pictures of bollywood actresses from Hindi Newspapers ( primarily Punjab Kesri , and some other ‘chatpati khabron” wale papers ) and kept them in a little wooden box and dreamt of having a girlfriend of his own . He spent 25 minutes before the mirror on a daily basis and moved a comb in his ‘chameli ka tel’ oiled hair to grab the hairstyles of Ajay Devgan or Anil Kapoor or Mithun Chakraborty. But haye yeh bedardi zamaana, uske gaon ki kisee kanya ne Nattu ko nahi daala daana .

So Nattu kept to cutting out pics of Mamta Kulkarni and Juhi Chawla and Kimi Katkar ( Kimi who ? Abbe HUM nahi dekhi ? The Jumma Chumma kudi ) from Hindi newspapers and wondering when he would find some girlfriend.

Then one fine day , Nattu’s Dad – Chaudhari Kartaar Singh , and their neighbour Chaudhari Lalkaar Singh were sitting under the village Banyan tree in their baniyans .Over long and gurgling blows on the wooden hukka they were sharing , Chaudhari Lalkaar singh bragged about his son Lallan finally moving onto class 3 after spending three years in class 2 . Chaudhari Kartaar Singh felt offended at this unwanted bragging .

Within three minutes , Chaudhari Kartaar Singh and Chaudhari Lalkaar Singh resorted to physical fighting and were rolling in the dust while tearing at each other’s clothes with elaborate referrals to each other’s sisters and mothers in their native language. Villagers managed to separated them , but not before they had broken the hukka , torn apart each other’s baniyaans and threatened to murder each other’s cattle .After this , Chaudhari Kartaar Singh went home , beat his wife Laajwaanti , gulped down three bottles of Haywards 5000 and yelled “Mhaara Beta bhee Sakoool Jayega !”.( My sonny boy shall attend school too ! )

So Nattu hoped he would be able to work his imagined charm on the girls in his class now . But Nattu was heartbroken again , to find that he was being sent to “Ramgarh Senior Boys School”. So even though Chaudhari Kartaar Singh could now sit proudly under the Banyan Tree and proclaim about his son spending years in the same class , Nattu was all the more frustrated . He tried to woo the RaamPyaari , who sold cheap ice creams near his school gate , but was promptly beaten up by the Pappu Muscle , brother of RaamPyaari and the reigning champion at the “Ramgarh wrestling tournament” organized by the local Hanumaan Akhaada on an annual basis .

And then , it happened.

Nattu was introduced to a computer in class 9 .And with it came internet .The revolution.

Messenger. Chat rooms. Orkut. Blogs.

The world was his playground. And the world’s cyber girls were his potential girlfriends.

Nattu picked up Salmaan Khan’s image for his profile pic , learnt some basic “ hi hello how are you thank you” English , stretched his fingers on the keyboard and unleashed his desperate fury …..Nattu bann gaya Cyber Despo !

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And the cyber world is bubbling with such Cyber Despos right now. I am not talking about the thing where guys and girls around the cyberspace log on , indulge in harmless banter , a bit of leg pulling , silly talk and then log off . It happens all the time and isn’t anything too freaky for me .

I am talking about this exotic breed of guys who continue to amaze me with their amazingly low sense of self respect and amazingly high need to talk to a girl. I mean , the way they sound desperate , I guess they must be going around pleading “please talk to me” before electric poles in some time . I mean, I don’t know if girls like such guys , but I would have been a girl , I would have been like “Abbe , itna desperate kyun hai mere laal ? ”.Before I end , some real scraps left by guys on girl’s orkut scrapbooks -

Salaam... u look so cute...u look sort of simplicity...wana be my friend...

( No thank you , and if I look ‘sort of simplicity’ , you look ‘sort of stupidity’ )

friend so sweet as me
u wont have else 2 see
wanna have an awesome twosome rap
then drop a word in my little scrap.
hi, love to have me ur friend?
u'll be gettin such sweeties ,i send

( Arre Baba Sehgal jee , aap orkut par ? )

hey hi hw r u du hve any yahoo id of urs

( Yess yess yess I have a yahoo id : sis_of_tyson . Wanna chat ? )

Hi....hand of friendship......wanna hold? :)

( Hand of friendship ? Uee ma ! What happened to your own hands ? )

hello mam u havent told me abt what ur doing....
i m not like all guy present here in ur scrap book.....if u r intrested in reply then only i'll write u scrap more....otherwise i wont write u ny more...
so dear just like a good frd tell me something........

( Hai allah , kitna self esteem se bharpooor ladka hai , subhaan allah ! )

hi
what r u dooing now a days bcoz u stopped scapping me please reply i'll wait four your reply

( It is so moving to hear that you would wait four me. I will wait five you )

Twenty aur Troubly

I am a very rude boy , the type who pushes old ladies off escalators , but I have to say this . I think if anyone takes out some time to leave a comment on this blog , even if the comment is about some Russian Matrimonial Website , it is my responsibility to reply to that comment .I mean , its like someone says "hi" to me , so I need to say something back to him/her.But one fine day , I come back from my class , kick off my shoes , log on and see 55 comments on a post of mine.So I forget my responsibility and choose to say a combined THANK YOU to all those who left a comment to the last post.I am grateful to all of you.It's not that I am like "Seee , I got a comment !!" . It's like when you left a comment , you spent some of your time saying something to me , even though you could have saved that time .So thanks to all those who commented on the last post and to those who mailed me --

ashu , sayesha , ruchita , meena jee , nidhi , viv , divya , mani , viveka , zarine , neetie , samir , ajay , vidya , handa , hari , karthika , fathima , senorita , aastha , phoenix , kanika , cactus , vidhi , deepako , rusted , shreyansh , vikram , tinkerbell , antonio , rana saab , entrance exams wale bhaiyya , myth , rinku , the dq , pratik , ck , ruchika ,all the anonymous angels and devils , stuti jee , sunshine and of course , yossarian .

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If I say I need more time to blog , it’s like Bill Gates saying “Hey, can you lend me a dollar?”. My typical day is made up of a couple of classes, some Business school contests, some table tennis and movies. So I can fit in blogging. But blogging is like making a baby pee , you cannot force it , it just happens. I don’t want to make anyone click on this blog and find no new post and be like “Kalmoohe , khud ko kya Vikram Seth samajhtaa hain ? Naya Post karrne mein itne nakhre !” , but what do I do ? The baby decides to pee when it does. Anyways , now that baby says “Uwwaan Uwwaaan ( Remove my diaper idiot , I want to peeeee )” , I shall blog .

Now I see Miss.Zarine has tagged me. And the tag is kind of troubly. ( I know Troublesome is the right word , and ‘Troubly’ is no word ,but I used ‘Troubly’ in the topic for Filmy reasons ).

I wish Miss.Zarine had asked for one of my kidneys rather than tagging me with this. I have to write 20 random things about me. Now If Shahrukh Khan says he loves Chocolate Ice Cream , some thirty three hundred girls would sigh “Oooooooh , you heard that ! Shahrukh loves Chocolate Ice Cream , how cute !”. Or if Sushmita Sen says she likes men with impeccable english , ‘Rapidex English Speaking course’ will be a bestseller overnight . But even my mother won’t be interested in facts about me. Anyway , what me worry.

1. As a kid , I was very violent. Almost a mini Suniel Shetty or something. In class sixth , I broke a tooth of one my classmates. Maybe it was already loose , but I still am sorry for doing that. Then I changed schools. I hear that guy grew up into a big guy and is a regular at some Hercules gym now and still smiles a toothlessly wicked smile and is hunting for me . It’s rather nice he doesn’t read blogs and doesn’t surf the net too much .

2. I desire fame as much as you desire a dead dog. If you are the kind of person who dreams of getting on the cover of Business World , send me an X ray of your brain . I do not understand the way your brain works.

3. I hate arguments. People are like “Your blog puts me to sleep.” , and I am like
“See ? Who needs sleeping pills now.”. People are like “You are a pig” and I am like “Grunt Grunt Grunt” .People are like “You are a little boy who is lost and has no idea about life” and I am like “Can you take me to the “Gumshuda Talaash Kendra” and get me admitted please. ”. I don’t want to irritate people.But they wont stop judging me.And I wont burn my fuel on arguments.

4 .The day my hair straightens out , India would beat Brazil 9-0 in soccer , Osama would open up a Flower Shop in California and start handing out white daisies to little kids for free ( with a smile ) , and Brad Pitt would star in a Bhojpuri movie. In short , it keeps curling itself into locks and wont keep straight even if I use an iron comb on it.

5 . I am short . I meet people and ask “Hi. How is the weather up there ?”. Ok , maybe not so bad. I don’t need binoculars to see people’s heads , but you won’t dream of me playing basketball even if you have the IQ of a Miss.India.

6 . I like shy girls. Girls who keep looking at the floor and think forty one times before uttering a word.No I am not making fun of them.I really like shy girls , there is something so Indian and elegant and pleasant about them.

And haan jee , for the anonymous guy who left the “Seedhe Saadha bol nayi ladki chahiye life mein” comment to the last post–.

“Bhai sahib , tussi to gajab ho , bheje mein ghuskar thoughts ko newspaper ki tarah pad lete ho .Very good. Aapne jeeta hain ‘Cheap and Anonymous Limited’ ki taraf se 50 rupye ka gift hamper !!”

7 .Take away my small intestine , take away my marksheets , take away all my Aishwarya’s posters , but don’t take away my winamp and my music collection. I need oxygen and music to live.

8 . I cannot dance. I tried once. It was my cousion’s wedding and some fat aunt pulled me to the ‘dancing area’ and yelled “Naach munnu , naach !”. I started doing my moves. She looked at me in horror. Then she yelled “Someone help ! He is having a concussion !”. She killed my self confidence. I cannot dance ever again.

9 . So now we present the ‘Outsider’s View’. Last week , we had this personality exercise in one of our classes. Some of the adjectives my classmates gave me – Down to earth , humorous , never loses temper , great attitude to life , trivializes issues , natural ,undisciplined , low on sincerity , hard working , Fun loving ,unambitious , too much chilled out. Guys who stay with me said that , so I need to be a politician to deny what they said.

10 . I sleep between 3 and 4 in the morning. My biological clock has had its frame crushed , all its springs pulled out ferociously , its dial smashed and its hands twisted .

11 . I speak a lot and I speak nonsense ( Hai na jee ? ). As I explained to a dumbstruck friend “Yaar , I don’t think my tongue is gonna be placed in some museum after my death , so I better use it enough.”

12. I do not drink. I do not smoke. Mommy , I am a good boy.

13 .In my class nine , a girl from my class took hold of my collar , shook me to and fro as if I was a toothpick and growled “What is your problem ?”.Wait.I guess it was “What is your bloody problem?”.Yeah.She said bloody. I swear on Rani Mukherjee’s eyes , I look at my collar even now , and I see her hand clutching it. Psychological long term scarring is the phrase I think.

14. I faint at the sight of blood. Mommy nicked her finger in the kitchen once. I was in a coma for three days. Ok. I love exaggeration. But I did faint.

15 .I cannot get away with lying to my mommy. Have you seen a walking Lie Detector machine ? I grew up with one in my house.

16. I am beginning to hate Miss.Zarine by now. Someone get me a pistol.Ok , I haven’t got a licence.Someone get me a baseball bat .

17 . I hate lights. Most of the time , the lights are switched off in my room , with the computer screen being the only source of light.Could not Edison invent anything else ?

18. I can maintain a deadpan face and say weird things .There was this foreign national student who had just joined the class through an exchange program. And he wanted to approach a girl asking for some class notes. And I was sitting next to this guy.So he asks me –“Hey man , what is that girl’s name ? The one in the pink shirt .”.And I say – “Rani Mukherjee”.And he goes over to her and says “Hi Rani Moo-ker-jee”.As time went by , that firang guy met kajol , urmila matondkar , sushmita sen and a couple of others through me.

19 . You need to be amazingly bad to make me angry. I don’t believe in messing up my peace of mind because someone else got pissing me off on his ’50 things to do before I die’ list.

20 . I don’t believe in forcing people to do a thing. I pass on the tag to Sunshine , Mani Raj , Ruchita , Lakhotia and Ashish. Take your time to complete it.I am not forcing you.But do it , or I will kill you.

Happy Diwali :)

“Chetan Bhagat graduated from IIT Delhi in 1995 and IIM Ahmedabad in 1997. He currently lives in Hong Kong and works in a prominent investment bank . Chetan’s first novel , “Five Point Someone” was released in May 2004 and continues to top the bestseller lists across the country ever since , over seventy weeks after its release.”

And last Sunday , I met Chetan Bhagat , listened to him tell about his life and writings , and bought a personally signed copy of his recently launched second book .

That’s another good part about being at an IIM. You get to meet people who get clicked by pesky reporters and can be seen smiling on NDTV and smiling a little more on page 3 of glossy newspaper supplements . Over the last few months , we have had Lillete Dubey , Harsha Bhogle , Shyam Benegal on campus , to name a few.

Chetan told us the bosses in corporate world can be real bad . And in spite of the fact that the employee stood first in every contest held around him , from the leg tied frog race in class three to the entrance exams , the boss can make an employee feel like a perfect ten scorer on the uselessness meter . And he said his boss did just that to him. And he needed to do something which he enjoyed, and made him feel slightly more useful than a ladies perfume in a boys hostel . So he wrote . And wrote Five Point Someone.

Now I do not if this like a god given gift or something , but I can feel things coming. And I can clearly visualize my boss, yelling in a Americanized accent – “You goof !! When are you going to submit that report ?! Sometime after the next Hailey comet sighting happens ?” , while I stand apologetically and mumbling something to prevent an immediate firing from the job. And I would love to do a little rebel act then , and come up with some novel called “I am not a goof. My Boss is a goof.” or “Kidnapping my boss’s daughter” or something which goes onto become a bestseller and is talked about at all the parties my boss attends and is discussed by my boss's in laws .

Chetan pointed out a thing. A young , pretty , shrill voiced Nursery class teacher asks a classroom full of bumbling little kids , “Tell me how many of you can draw ?”. Rahul remembers the Giraffe he drew in his last class and sticks up his hand. Shreya thinks about the drawing she drew of her pet dog , and even though her depiction looked more like the corpse of a dog ran over by some three trucks , she sticks up her hand. And most of kids in a nursery class would say “ I can draw.”

But when a lecture hall full of IIM students was asked the same question, just three hands went up. Are we scared to free ourselves and see what happens ? And who knows , whom you may have within you , a writer , a poet , a painter , a singer , a kuchipudi dancer , a caberet dancer .

And in other news , imagine a big mental asylum. Imagine all the crazy inmates there who drive imaginary cycles and swim in imaginary pools and spend hours calculating the distance between New York and USA . Now imagine taking out all of their brains and fusing them together to make one combined brain.If you think this brain would be crazy , the class schedule here at IIM C is going crazier. I attend classes at 7.30 in the morning and some classes end at 10.45 in the night. Mom calls me up at 10 in the night and I say I am in the class and she says a three year old kid can think of a better excuse to avoid talking to his mom.

And before I close this post , I wish all of you a very Happy Diwali. It sounds a little strange to wish someone I don’t even know. But , whoever you are , whether a jealous you stole your rich classmate’s expensive pencil case in class two of school , or you still bitch about your boss who drives a Lancer and makes you work overtime , I know you are good at heart . Everybody is good at heart . So bring out that goodness . Be good. Do good. May you get all the good things you want , except Aishwarya Rai.

I would miss being at home and the Diwali aarti session where we sit down before the little temple at our home as a family , and sing all those aartis . Its more like yelling though and god must get real pissed at all that noise . If someone asks “who can sing ?” , no one should from my family should put up a hand.

Happy Diwali .

Road

Ram Gopal Verma is a kind man , so I steal the title of his movie for my title to this post. Now for the post. The day began just the same. The same wonderfully “appetite-killer” breakfast which was an insult to the hen who laid the eggs that went into its making. If that hen tasted that omelette , she would spit it out and ask the cooks, “you killed my kids to make this piece of crap ? ” . Even the newspaper was the same. Man kills wife. Woman kills husband. Then both of them kill themselves. The same old Hum Vs. Tum battle, but without the songs and the happy and safe , Saif – Rani ending.

And then I came to know that Nidhi, who is just like a sister to me, had rammed her kinetic in some kind of school bus a day before. The kids got late for their classes maybe. And the little girl landed up in a hospital. Apparently, she is relatively ok now. Some bruises and scratches . And an improved knowledge of the way the underside of a bus looks. Get well real soon , sister .

I used to have a bike when I was in my engineering college. My dad and me had made a kind of pact – “I get into an IIT. Dad buys me a bike.” I could not get into IIT. Dad still bought me a bike , though it was not presented in the “Kodak moment” manner , where dad comes up from behind and covers my eyes and asks “guess what?” and I say “bike ?!”. It was a more practical manner , where dad was like , “Ok , Ok , you bugger ! Now eat your lunch and stop slamming every door in the house.” Emotional blackmail. Harmless and effective. Try it. Girls already use it. Boys can make a start now.

So I got it , and used it for almost four years of my engineering , after which it was sold .So these days , the poor thing works hard to carry around Mr.Bhatia , Mrs.Bhatia , their kids Jaspreet -Manpreet and some particular woman from Mr.Bhatia’s office , whenever Mrs.Bhatia is not in town.

But I have never been involved in a big accident . I have driven into a vegetable cart , into a bicycle , into a group of college going girls , into a stupidly parked scooter , into a thick sardaar ji whose idea of asking for a lift was jumping in the way of my motorcycle in a rather sudden manner. But no buses or trucks. On a personal note , driving into the pack of girls was most embarrassing but most enjoyable too. Sardar ji episode comes a close second , just due its impressive score on the enjoyment barometer. To listen to abuses in a pure punjabi accent , it was good and pleasant .

But I have seen a friend spend a year in bed , when he should have been studying in USA. He chose the wrong night to test his bike’s capabilities , and spent many a night regaining his own physical capabilities.

You have seen those advertisements on doordarshan. Use iodized salt to prevent swollen necks , feed ORS to munna when he shits a lot , wear a condom all the time , and the rest .You know how boring those preaching advertisements are. So I won't make this into another “drive carefully , your kids and your dog are waiting at home” advertisements. Just that to imagine a bruised and hurt nidhi makes me feel like doing a traffic policeman act . So whenever you take out your car / bike / scooter / moped / bicycle / truck / bus / auto onto the road , just remember that a lot of people want you to return alive , primarily , all those guys whom you owe some money .If you drive some vehicle , please drive it carefully. It takes a moment to ruin everything. Do not allow that moment to happen .

And just as a little sidenote , I know the “To be continued” still waits uncompleted. And I owe you that one. But trust me , I would have done it if I could. I am really sorry for this.But believe me , I would rather marry Mamta Banerjee than acting pricey.But I got a reason this time .How is “Due to unexpected and unavoidable circumstances” for a makeshift excuse ?

And as far as my experiments with accelerators and clutches are concerned , a new chapter beckons when I start work next year. Again , me and Dad have made a pact – “ Son gets a good job. Son gets a car.” In case I get a good job , it shall be all peaceful with dad handing over the keys to me and white doves in the background. Else , emotional blackmail. Harmless and Effective.

Nidhi , wish you get well soon . And please deliver pleasant newsflashes to make my mornings more eventful. Till then , I can try to love hen-insulting omlettes and murderous spouses.

Bunny , your memories shall live on.

Hey ! How are you doing ? If you are doing great , that's great. If you are not doing great , do not make me fall into some depression by pouring your sob story , and just keep quiet. Ok. My exams are over.I do not have anything to do.Not even a dog to take out for a walk. By the way , talking of depression , do you think animals fall into depression sometimes ? I mean , would Johnny the parrot fall into some depression if Julie the sparrow broke up with him after their romance and all those songs they sang in the trees ? Or would Bruno the stray dog fall into depression thinking of all those french poodles who are bought dog food from supermarkets , get a sweater to wear in the winters and are carried around in big and swanky cars by their owners ? No ? You think animals do not fall into depression ? Then why is bunny the rabbit trying to kill himself here !

"Uhm.I flunked my physics exam.Dad would feed me to the dogs.So I built this to kill myself.Tell mom I love her .And tell my physics teacher I hate her"

"Mom does not let me watch TV.I am killing myself.And see , I got the remote now"

"Eee.I hope this won't be too electric a way to die."
"No one loves me.Happy Diwali"
"Aah.This post is too stupid.How do you survive this blog ?I don't wanna live now".


I am sorry.I sound like some three year old , right ? Maybe even a two and a half year old . And if you are really frustrated by this stupid post , you can punch some wall , or yell "aaaarggghh" real loud , or call your ex girlfriend and tell her she is crap or just send me some hate mail with scary lines like "I am coming for you" or "You are dead" or " I am cleaning my rifle". But please do not fall into depression.Do not be another bunny the rabbit.

Say No to clothes ?

Flashback – I write the last post , do not complete it and scoot off into the sunset with the words “ To be continued”. Flashback ends.

No , don’t give me the “Cruel guy of the Month” award yet. I know I have been cruel , something like Hitler and Mussolini combined. Now I know how difficult it is to leave something hanging with the words “To be continued”. It’s like , you write “to be continued” and go back to work but this thought stays at the back of mind – “man , I promised to complete that , I gotta do it , god is seeing me , I gotta complete it.” My sympathies to Ekta Kapoor. She got a tough job.And my apologies to all of you for making you come back to check and think – “ Ok. He has still not completed it.I want to chop him into 836 pieces now ”.

You seen the Bajaj Avenger advertisement ? Where the guy says “ I forgive them all. I feel like god”. Here is your chance to feel somewhat like god , by forgiving me. I am really sorry. And you know the best part ? I still haven’t completed the last post. Ok . Thank you for the “Cruel guy of the Year” award now. But in the meantime , my exams got over. And I found this picture somewhere.

“Hi.I am Mallika Sherawat. Remember Murder , naughty boy ? As you can see , I have been made to wear a saree , and that too with a “pallu” as big as a curtain , which is covering most of my body. This causes me a lot of mental agony. I hate wearing clothes . Even when not in the bathroom. But this photographer won’t understand. I wish he clicks the camera now so that I can take off this damn saree and get back to my natural and open state ”.

In the photograph , Mallika Sherawat is actually wearing something which could be called decent. And it is more disturbing than the fact that I have screwed my exam so bad , that the only way I can pass it is that I kidnap the wife , daughters , aunts , and grandmother of the professor and then call him up and growl “Don’t flunk me or else….(sinister laugh in the background)”.


But my mental /physical/social/economical agony pales in comparison to the pain Mallika aunty must have felt in posing for this picture. I mean , anything more than a bikini , and she feels over dressed . I wonder what made her wear a proper saree and on the top of that , pose for a camera too. That can shred her image , which she has pain stakingly built wearing shreds of cloth.

Now now now , I am not the type of guy who hates too many people. I don’t hate many people. I do not hate our neighbour , Mrs.Kocchar , who drove her maruti van into my bicycle when I was seven. I do not hate the senior who made me sing “Kaliyon Ka Chaman” , complete with belly button thrusts and gyrations , as a part of my ragging. I am the sort of person who finds traces of cuteness in even a Gulshan Grover with all his evil activities. But I don't like Mallika Sherawat. Boom Boom. Those were the hand grenades lobbed at me by “Mallika Fan Club” members.

I mean , in all her movies , she does three things , in a loop. Get in bed , be in bed , get out of bed. Repeat loop. And at the alarming rate she goes around kissing , I wonder why haven’t her lips fallen off by now. So when I saw this photograph , for me , it was like I had spotted a snake in my soup. Mallika in a saree. I was like “Man. Someone needs to record the exact time .This is a historic moment. I saw Mallika covered up”.

They say she represents the “maadern-bold-indian woman” , who is unafraid of expressing herself and flaunts the “in-your-face” attitude. They say she is unafraid of being bold. Bold ? What does she do , wrestle with crocodiles or chase criminals or something ? To my underdeveloped greycells , she is someone who uses her body to achieve what is meant to be obtained through more decent means.

Girls are like “ Whoa ! Those Shiv Sainiks ask us not to wear short skirts ! What is this , the stone age ?” I mean , women liberation is not in women being like “See , I am taking off my clothes now. And you can't stop me.Got that ? See , I am taking off my clothes. I am the liberated woman. I have the power to do what I want.”

I feel women are made by god to be much more sensitive and mature and complete than men. And that’s their beauty.They are elegant and caring and have this delicate sense about them. And their liberation lies in being able to do what they wish , but not in disregarding the modesty and elegance which is the essence of feminism. I mean , if a girl thinks her freedom is in wearing minimal clothes in public , she needs to see the thousands of ordinary girls all over India , who wear cotton salwaar suits and may be termed “behenjis” or “orthodox” , but have an inner confidence to go out and work as teachers and nurses , instead of being a Mallika .

I must explain my position. My exams ended a few hours back and its almost 4 in the morning and I am real low on sleep and I feel like a log of wood right now. So in case you are wondering why I am typing what I am , even I do not know.

But to think that Mallika is just all over , from the cover page of cosmopolitan to the movie with Jackie Chan to interviews on CNN. That makes me feel strange. I don’t hate many people.I don’t even hate the spammer guys who leave comments about their health insurance sites and bike repair sites and ceiling fans sites on blogs. But I don’t like Mallika Jee.

I hate post titles

Ok.Now , I am not so bad usually.But I was at home and I did not have a computer there.I know that makes it look like I stay at some remote village in Bostwana..But that is why I did not complete the earlier post.I know , its not like the issue of my incomplete post was covered on NDTV or something , but just for the handful of people who asked , I would complete it right after I handle my exams now.Thats it.I am not so bad usually.

Me , grandpa and girls

I am going home.Wait.I am "flying" home.Aeroplane.I am so kiddish and stupid.
I would be there for some eight days.And thanks for the wishes.You people just add to my belief - Life is good.People are good.World is good.

Now for the post.It really happened to me , once.

********

Scene 1.

"Shall we meet ?" - The words appear on the screen.

My eyes shoot out straight.My tongue falls out.I do three and half somersaults in my chair. And then the golden words of my grandfather resound in my ears - " Munnu beta , ladki ko jyada bhaav nahee dena !.I remember my grandpa , calm myself , then type back "Umm..im not sure..ok , ill try..".She types back -" Ok , if you are not free , we can meet up later".I wish my granddad was with me , because I really want to tell him "Sir , your theory sucks like a vaccum cleaner".I hit the damage control button.I type back - "Ah..not really..I think I can make it. Sorry , grandpa".

****

Man Man Man , I am meeting up with a girl I met on internet !This is it.This is "When Harry met Sally" happening.Uee ma , I am Sally , she is Harry..err..I mean the other way round.You see , I am so excited , I hardly know what I am saying.I am just so excited and flushing..err..blushing.

****
Ok.she wants me to turn up at Music World at 1 pm.That is romantic.Grandpa used to say " Munnu beta , a girl has a very unstable mind.She would always keep changing things".Grand dad ,what do you know.Now she wants us to meet at 2 pm.It is still great.Of course , grandpa can be right sometimes.Now she wants me to turn up at a Metro Station.It is fine.I really love the idea of waiting for her sitting at some metro station , surrounded by sweaty office goers , paanwallahs and urchins in striped chaddis.It is so close to real India.It is all right.I am feeling ok.And grandpa can be right sometimes.

*********
Scene 2.

The Metro Station

I stand leaning against a big pillor.I knew I should have been a little less eager.I reached the station 45 minutes before the appointed time.And after half an hour of waiting amongst screeching metros , rushing people and a stupid TV which is belting out stupid bengali songs which would put a bus full of hyperactive three year olds to sleep , I am feeling not-exactly-euphoric.But just 15 minutes more , and a cool breeze will come breezing into the station , white clouds will waft in and float around my ankles magically , rose petals will fall from above , four well fed violinists will jump out of a metro and start playing "My heart will go on" and then she would walk in , with the breeze playing with her hair and a shy smile on her lips.Suddenly , my grand dad crops up in my imagination.He is wearing a white kurta pajama and has a dull brown shawl wrapped around his shoulders.He is sitting on a rocking chair.He looks at me with a deadpan face and says "This kinda stuff happens only in movies".

No way grandpa.What do you know about girls.Ten minutes to go for the violins and clouds.

*********
Scene 3.

It is time.She should be here any moment.I stand up straight , check if my clothes look ok , if my shoes look ok , if I look ok.Nothing looks ok.My tee shirt is crumpled after I had to sit between those gorilla clones in the metro on my way to here.My shoes have got so dirty , it looks like I am just back from playing soccer , and scoring two goals too , in some african mudland , and I dont look ok due to natural and biological reasons.I look around for a beauty parlour and a plastic surgeon in this metro station.Grandpa zooms back in my imaginations.His back is towards me as he waters the plants in some garden.Then he looks back and says "You look like god's mistake ,munnu".

Grandpa , you just dont know .Girls dont fall for looks.They dig inner beauty.I am a Miss.Universe , internally.My intestines and kidneys are beautiful.

*********

Would munnu find love again at this station ? Is this the start of yet another love saga ? Can munnu prove his granddad wrong ?

( To be continued )........Am I watching too many of those "to be continued" soaps now ?

I am dumb.Real dumb.

The distance between the moon and earth is pretty long.And the distance I have to go , before I can be called a "responsible member of the society" , is longer than that. But still ,one thing which is pumping in some kind of meaning in my life these days , is some work I am doing for the Indian Institute Of Cerebral Palsy (IICP) , an NGO here. It's noticeably better than downloading data about the textile market of Indonesia from the internet , and putting it together to make some report and submit many such reports and getting an MBA degree at the end.

Yesterday , while returning to the campus from IICP , I stopped by at Cafe Coffee Day.And sitting there and chomping on a vegetable sandwich , I looked around at all the "couples" who sat around me.Holding hands.Shy smiles.Loud giggles.People in "love" maybe.

Love. As in , the "boy-girl" love.Ok.ladies first.As in the "girl-boy" love .

If you shifted to earth very recently , its another matter.But if you have been around on this planet for anything more than 15 minutes , you would have heard this word.

Love.It is as overused a word as a public toilet in a dysenteric locality.For a bollywood director , "love" must be the greatest invention ever , right next to fire and wheel.To spot a UFO while on your way to office tomorrow is easier than spotting a movie which does not involve the deadly trio - boy , girl , love.A typical bollywood director can do without his underwear under his pants , but not without "love" in his movie.And if you missed the love component in movies , its usage is quite abundant in real life ,as is the usage of guns in Iraq.

My friend says he is in "love" with the girl who works at the second floor of his office.I am told the punjabi girl in my class is in "love" with the hairy south indian guy in the next class.The other day , I saw the boy who hands out the food in our hostel mess , with the girl who does the dishes.Maybe , they are in "love" too.Even the cyber world is bustling with desperate flirts who hope to find "love".

And then this boyfriend-girlfriend thing.Its like a toothbrush.You got to have one.

" Hi , I have brain cancer."

Thats ok , we all gotta die anyways.

"Hello , I got limphoosirkoma of the intestine."

Chill , Rajesh Khanna in "anand" had it too.

"Namaste , my house burned down last night."

Arre tension nahi yaar , these things happen.

"Hey , I dont have a girlfriend."

What ! Why did not you tell me about this ? Oh poor boy , everything will be fine.God can be real cruel sometimes...

So love is like the neighbourhood gossip .Everybody knows about love.Talks about love.

And the way this "love" word is used with the abandon of a drunk monkey , leaves me feeling strange.

I feel there are two different aspects.To love someone.And to be loved.It is said "to be loved" is a natural need.And for me , its a need and not love.As long as you want this person or need this person , you dont love her , you love yourself and want "to be loved".Love is not meant to be a selfish thing.Love is much harder and selfless than that.To love is not to wish for someone to be with oneself , but to give up oneself for that someone.Love is not in sharing coconut water on some beach, but in staying thirsty if it helps her.Love is not in her coming to you , but to care for her when you know she would not come to you.

For me , true love is not about the scene with your lady , where white clouds float around your ankles , and a cool breeze flows across the screen , well fed european guys play violins in the background , and you do a salsa with her and kiss her.For me , love's beauty is in being so consumed with it , that you forget your pains and smile , just because she smiled somewhere , aware of your existence no longer.

Love is not about wanting her , but wanting her happiness , with you or without you.

I wonder if the word "love" is used as a sweet cover for selfish desires , needs and wants.Its like dressing up osama in a monk's robe.Its like putting up a "St.Mary's charitable clinic" board outside a tantrik's camp.

I am no authority.I am no love guru with the sagacious face and the halo around my head.I am no headmaster of the "Institute of Love Matters" ( ILM.doesnt sound bad ).Infact I am more like someone who flunked thrice , was demoted for two years and then thrown out of ILM.But the way love is seen as some "coochie-coochie-valentines-gift-holding hands" concept leaves me feeling funny.Love is hard.Love is not a punishment which leaves you restless.But it is something which makes you feel a bliss in a punishment , just because she is happy.

I am not looking at any roses placed between yellowed pages.And I do not wish to insult anyone's feelings.Just that I feel, that to love someone is supposed to be something very deep and heartfelt, that when you say "I love you" to a girl , realise the responsibility and commitment it stands for. Its not about you anymore.Its about her.And I am not trying to preach anything here , please.Just that I felt something ,and wrote it.And if I dont make sense , and you wonder what's the problem with me - see the title to the post.

Dream Neighbour

I could blog about how I actually dreamt of Mallika Sherawat playing the role of Mother Teresa in her next movie, which is a soul disturbing thing to even dream of. I could blog about how I found ‘Aashiq banaya aapne’ , which could well have had the audience sending asking the director – ‘Yeh kya banaya aapne ?’.I could blog about how I have been listening to the song ‘Humsafar’ by Silk Route so many times in a day which must be making my winamp beg for a bullet by now.

But I did not blog over the last week.

I wish I could have said “You see , managing three highly violent and Mithun “hoye saala” Chakraborty influenced kids is just so difficult and time consuming , it just does not allow me to blog”. But due to lack of appropriate people and opportunity , I have no kids.So I just have to blame Robin for my failure to blog over the last week.

Remember Robin ? The “gareebo ka maseeha” outlaw.His merry band. The Sherwood forest.The sheriff of Nottingham.The ballads.The pretty Queen Elanor.Ok , now do not yell “mujhe sab yaad aa gaya !”.Because I am not talking about Robin Hood .

Instead I am talking about a certain Robin Sharma , who wrote a certain “The monk who sold his Ferrari” , which is about a certain monk selling a certain Ferrari .He also wrote another book “Who will die when you cry?”..err…its “Who will cry when you die ?” I picked up this book and spent the last week reading it and thinking over it.Now , I am not the intellectual and liberated youth who sports a little goatee , wears ‘kurtas’ over faded jeans , has ideas on poverty elimination and capital punishment and can spend light years arguing social topics over coffee with more people of his kind.I hardly read anything which is not a comic strip.It was just that the last time I was at the airport waiting for the flight to home , a 'no-lack' of free time and a lack of headphones, combined to create acute boredom for me , almost a mild form of depression infact.So I walked into a book store at the airport , eyed the glossy health magazines with young and slim ladies smiling on their covers , contemplated if those were silicon implants , and then bought the “Who will cry when you die” thing , primarily because of its low cost.

So a major part of the last week was spent reading it , writing things for the various B school contests happening around , watching movies , listening to music and attending classes for a change.Now , this book , in its chapter 17 , suggests the reader to make a little list of people one wish would live next door to him/her.Robin jee says , that this would help one get clearer about the attributes he / she likes and then be aware of the need to inculcate them within oneself.Now , I found this interesting.To think of people I would want to stay in my neighbourhood.Let me try.



1. Aishwarya Rai

My university results are out.I flunk in three subjects.There were three subjects in all.Dad shouts at me.Mom looks away.Slamming doors.I feel suffocated and angry and walk out into the street. And just then , aishwarya jogs past in a pink track suit . She slows as she passes me , flashes a smile and cheerfully says “ Hi !”.I if I do manage to say anything , I would just mouth “Aishwarya jee , I just flunked my exams ,all of them , that too by a huge margin. But trust me , I never felt better than I feel right now.”

2. Jim Carrey

I am out of sugar .Wife is too lazy to move her little finger . I go over to Jim’s door to borrow some sugar. He invites me in and … before you think we go into his bedroom , stop thinking. He gives me the sugar and asks me to stay for a quick coffee .And over coffee , even if he does ten percent of something like his ‘Dumb and Dumber” act , I would be laughing my diaphragm out.I really want to see this guy living around me. He is the funniest guy I have seen.And I would pray we run out of sugar.

3. Mike Tyson

I understand this imposes a considerable threat to my “izzat” and the “izzat” of the colony’s “bahu and betiyan”. But this guy is entirely for security purposes.With a “tyson’s” house in the locality , any thief needs to be suicidal to even think of doing his business in our colony.And I may just get to be friendly with Tyson , with pleasing advantages. Boss shouts at me. Tyson beats boss. “Sabjiwallah” charges me higher for tomatoes.Tyson beats “sabjiwallah”.Wife shouts at me.Well , that’s normal.

Ps – My original choice for the brawny neigbour was Salmaan Khan , but with his kind of driving skills and feelings for Aishwarya , he had to be disqualified.

4.Sri Sri Ravi Shanker.(Is there one more 'sri' ?)

Now this guy is important.Whenever I fail in life , spirituality comes in handy. I make fifty thousand bucks in stocks and I go to posh hotel and land up in a sauna bath and I feel fine.I lose fifty thousand bucks in stocks and I go to guru jee’s house and he says ‘ money is an illusion’ and I feel fine.


5. Beep

No , the name is not an expletive.But it is of one of the bloggers , whom I find kind of interesting .I do not know if I would want a permenant residence of this character in my neighbourhood , but at least a rented accommodation is desired .

The list would run longer than Shilpa Shetty’s legs , if I keep going on.So this is it for now. Between , who is your dream neighbour ( s ) ?

A little bit of ourselves

Ok.This is not a post.I mean , it is not a dinosuar either , but it is not a "regular" post.This is more like a link to a couple of other posts.

Sunshine http://sunshinenjoy.blogspot.com/2005/09/letter-to-ronty.html

Sayesha http://sayesha.blogspot.com/2005/09/mera-kuchh-saamaan.html

Last night , everything was fine , the phone lines were clear , water was coming out of the taps , the internet was working , the flushes in the hostel washroom were broken as expected , the food in the mess was a mess as it is everyday , and I was feeling just as lazy as I always do.

Then my dad called and we had nice little telephonic quarrel over my continued failure to score anything over a "C" in my subjects.I said I do not care.My dad threatened to cut off my finances.I said I do care , will study hard and I am sorry.But my dad can not stand my lazy ways any more.My dad has cut off my finances.He has blocked my ATM card.He sent three well fed men to my hostel and they took away my little piggy bank.One of them took away my watch , cellphone and comics collection too.I am sure dad did not ask him to do that.I will complain about him to dad.

Later that night , I stole a pack of Apple Juice from the departmental store , as I could not buy it without money, and then went out for a walk.I moved around the campus , and then settled down besides the lake.The moon hung in the sky , a couple of stray dogs barked somewhere nearby , and I sipped the apple juice and pondered how to manage without dad's financial favors.

It was like dad was asking - "Aaj mere paas ghar hai , paisa hai , degree hai , bank accounts hai , car hai , cellphone hai , TV hai , vaccum cleaner hai .Tere paas kya hai ? "

And then this idea hit me.And I sucked the last drops of the apple juice , tossed the pack aside and growled - "dad , mere paas mera blog hai !".

So I have started this "blog advertising service" where people pay me and I post links to their blogs.Sayesha and sunshine paid me first.But sunshine , I wont accept cheques from the next time.It better be cash.

Ok.I have this problem.I cant say a thing straight.But now I will.

This blogging thing is no longer only about expressing myself .It is about admiring how different and varied people are.And yet in this diversity , there is something within each of us which strikes a chord with someone else.I go about reading blogs and finding pieces of my life in other's lives.Its like , most of us are not very different.At a very basic level , we are all similar.I found my own childhood , though probably a lot more violent and mischevious than hers , in sayesha's post.And Sunshine's post brought back the same emotions I felt when "someone" died an untimely death.

Blogging for me , is not about writing in impeccable english or gaining 40 comments to a post now.I anyways never achieve either of these.But for me , blogging is about finding a little bit of ourselves in each other.

I think I should regularly share links to nice posts from now on.There are many beautiful writings around.I just found two.I liked these two posts , and to go on without mentioning them seemed very selfish to me.

And nah , they did not pay me anything.Dad is ok.ATM cards are working.

I want a baby !

"Gooo..umm.nanana...mm...gaa..maa..eesh"
( translation - If I am not cute , you are Gulshan Grover)

For 95 minutes , a two year old pink bundle with hair as scarce as Bruce Willis' , teeth as few as my granddad's , and a brain as immature as mine ,kept saying the line above ,and me , a 23 year old management student , with all my sinew and rugged looks , kept chuckling like mickey mouse was tickling me on my bottoms.Watching "Baby's Day Out" just brought out the "mamta ka saagar" part of my personality again.

I really love babies.Every Homo sapien does.If you do not love babies , ding dong ! Abhinav Travel Services got a one way ticket to Pluto for you , at very reasonable rates now ! Please contact us , grab the ticket and go off to pluto to never come back , because someone who doesnt love babies doesnt deserve to be on earth.ding dong !.

You need to have a heart made out of melted iron pipes , to not love a little baby.The best thing about little babies is that everything is so little.Little fingers , little lips , little eyes , little toes , little feet , little ears.And they are not really thinking ahead.I really think that babysitters have the most pleasing job , right up there with that of Emraan Hashmi.In both cases , you get paid to play with semi naked and soft people.

My dad must have been born with a camera around his neck and a couple of kodak reels stuffed in his diapers.And the first words he said must have been "Say Cheese!".He just loved clicking pictures of us when me and my sister were babies.Back at home , we have photo albums which would outweight the prime customer of your local weight reduction clinic.So I still get out one of those albums and spend hours poring over those baby photographs and wondering what comet hit this little cute cuddly baby in the picture to grow up into something like me.And once when my family was at the Delhi zoo , this seemingly european couple came upto mom and asked to get a picture of a three year old me with their white kid , who was around the same age at that time.My sister says they did that to get a perfect color contrast in the snap.To highlight the 'kaala , bhookha ,nanga" aspect of India.I still have that photograph in a little album.Have you ever seen a dove and a crow side by side ? If you want to , see that photograph.And you need to be brain damaged to ask which one is the crow out of me and the european kid.

But now that I have grown up , its like a "girly" thing to talk about babies.For the sake of protecting my claims to any kind of masculanity , I generally avoid talk about babies.Because when I dont avoid it , something like this follows :

Me ( excited voice ): Hey I love little babies , they are so cute !

Rahul ( 5'10" , unshaved , deep voice ) - Dude , you need to drink some buckets of testosterone soon.

Aman ( 5 ' 7" , bulging biceps , deepest voice ) - Abhinav , you remind me of my grandmother .

Vikram ( 6' 1" , long hair , deeper voice ) - I think you love wearing pink frocks and read "cyndrilla" and sing "ring-a-ring-a-roses" too ?

Me ( low , subdued voice ) : I ..just like babies yaar..I am normal.

I know you would smirk and think - "He has just wiggled the little noses and tickled the little toes of babies belonging to aunts.Wait till some baby shits on his favorite blue courdroy trousers and pisses on his starched white shirt and wails like a puppy just when he has to watch a soccer game on the television".But with all due respect to babies of the world ,I claim that I can calm down any baby and make it smile before you can spell 'Hi'.And I dont even need cartoon network or stuffed toys for that. Handsome ( with just a little plastic surgery to do ) , educated , baby calming capability , intelligent ( serious allegations against this one )..what more can anyone desire in a man ?

And there are only two things that make me even think of marriage.First ,a rich father-in-law.Second , the thought of watching a little baby grow up.

Last month , I was vehemantly arguing with mom and claiming that marriages got popular because gas chambers went out of fashion.

Me ( to ma ) - Marriage !! A monkey has to come out of my ear before I even think of marriage.

* I walk upto the television , watch "amazing baby videos" on discovery , get all senti senti over little babies and hence marriage and walk back to mom.*

Me ( to ma ) - Ma , have you seen a big brown monkey with a pink face and a fuzzy tail around this place ? Let me know if you spot it.It ran off right after It came out of my ear."

Maar Daala

D E A T H.

Bad word , hai na ? Ma says its a bad word.Papa says dont say it.Its a bad word.Death , nah , dont talk about it , chup paagal.Even in the movies , the heroine places her finger on the hero's lips before he can complete the sentence and whispers "Kabhi marne kee baat matt karna.Aisa nahee kehte".

But, its coming yaar.Death.It will happen.To me.To you.Acchha yaar , now stop yelling "manhoos" , chup chaap baat sun.What if I were to die after half an hour.I shall never be able to feel ma's palm on my forehead again.I shall never hear my sister call me a gadha again.I shall never be able to tell dad that even though I always try to act smart , he is the greatest guy I have ever known.I shall never be able to tell the departmental store guy that I stole 3 eggs from his shop yesterday.Ok , dont dial 100 , the eggs wala part is not true.How could you imagine that yaar , me and stealing eggs ? I am a vegetarian.I steal carrots and dhania.

But seriously , death scares me.It scares me to be away from my loved ones.It scares me to die without doing all the things I want to do.It scares me that I may die.But death is real.And I may die after a year.I may die tomorrow after attending the class , If I do attend one.I may die before I complete this post.( But now that I have published it , I did not die before completing it,right ? Soch ke dekh ).

Now you may smirk and say "arre yaar , aise thode hee koee mar jaata hai".But I have seen lives shattering in the blink of an eye.A second's delay in hitting the brakes , a leaking gas cylinder , a desperate and armed domestic help in enough to change your life in a radical way , before you can say "maar daala".And not like Madhuri said it in Devdaas.

But the point is not to be scared of dying.

The point is to be scared of dying without really living.

I see around me.I see people I care for.Sometimes I see them sad .I see them clinging to bad memories , things which they cannot change , things which still hurt them , things which make tears flow down their cheeks.I know they are hurt and have reasons to feel sad.But life is not forever.Life is nothing but a limited number of moments gifted to us by god.And each moment is slipping by.Right now , a moment just passed by me , and took me closer to death , leaving me with lesser time to smile ,to crack some poor joke , to see my ma laugh , to see a friend find the happiness she deserves , to be a good person ,to make someone smile , to live.And the very thought of letting such a precious moment drown in a tear leaves me restless.Why do we people hurt each other , when this life may not be long enough to love each other ?

Maybe you need to know that you may never get a chance to be the good man you could have been.Maybe you need to know that the moment you have been waiting for to tell her how much you love her may never arrive.Maybe you need to know that you may never have the time to wipe off the tears you are causing today.Maybe you need to know that death is a surprisingly unexpected reality.Maybe you need to start living the life you should.

I know I know , I am saying nothing new.But life and the things it does to people and the things people do to it continue to amuse me.In short , ek baat bolta hun , all
of us should respect and enjoy the ride , because hamari life kee taxi mein petrol kabhi bhi khatm ho sakta hain. Sorry , ho sakta hai its diesel in your life kee taxi.And marne ke baad , you cant even fight with the cab driver.So smile , khush raho , muskurao , jeeyo ,and make people smile , kyunki ..kal ho na ho.Wait a minute ..kal ho na ho..yaar ye phrase kuch suna hua nahee lagta ?

Dawood's mobile number ? Landline ?

"All this hair.They cover your ears.They trap dust and pollens.They hold sweat.They keep the air from getting to the scalp.All this can cause a lot of medical complications leading to anything from amputation of a couple of ears , to your scalp going flourescent yellow and glowing in the dark."

And when all this is said in a cold , technical , documentary-sque voice , and that too by a guy who has punched injections in your bottom when you were a kid and still controls the ATM cards you use merrily to buy anything from chewing gum to rum , you have no choice but to appreciate how important a haircut is.So when dad "asked" me to get a haircut , I got a haircut.The barber was gut wrenchingly intersted in the india-zimbabwe match on the television as he swiped scissors around my head.And the fact that the Indians were batting like a bunch of grandmothers wasnt helping his mood.I was particularly scared when he mouthed " Saalo kee gardan kaat deni chahiye" and picked up the razor to work on me.

It is such close shaves with death which help one appreciate how precious life is.When it ended , I ran back to home and hugged my mom.

The week at home was chatting with ma while I sat on the kitchen floor ,telling dad I do have future plans but I do not know what they are , playing ludo and carrom with sister , hot delhi , airconditioned rooms , ESPN ,bread rolls , and a lot more of normal homely stuff.But if I put in all the experiences of the week at home in a Philips juicer cum mixer and mix them hard for 15 minutes , what will come out is a slip with this written on it - "munnu beta , what are your wedding plans ? ".( Munnu beta , shaaadeee wadeeee ka kya socha hai ?)

To be honest , my only responsibility till now has been to study , wash the car on sundays , and get two polypacks of double toned milk from the mother dairy in the mornings.And since I am at the hostel now ,even the last two have gone missing.But "life mein twist" may just come soon enough.

My MBA ends next march , which effectively is the end of my formal education.And I will start working.I mean , some company will think I am capable enough of doing something for which they are willing to pay me.The thought in itself is dripping with responsibility.But even though I have a washed car and a couple of milk polypacks as my past experience , I think I will manage as long as I try to enjoy my work.So work is not what bugs me.

If responsibility is bollywood , marriage is the Amitabh Bacchan of responsibilities.If responsibilty is spin bowling , marriage is the Shane Warne of responsibilities.If responsilbity is terrorism , marriage is the Osama Bin Laden of responsibilities.

To my underdeveloped brain, marriage is a state of the art , cutting edge , ultimate responsibility.

And even though I am just almost 24, the M word was mouthed around 178 times by my parents during my week at home.As per reliable sources , a couple of aunts have been bringing in some wedding proposals for me.I read in the newspaper about Dawood being a diploma holder in kidnappings.I searched "how to contact Dawood Ibrahim for getting a few aunts kidnapped" on google.Not much information so far.

If and when I do marry , its like a responsibility of keeping someone happy for life.If some girl leaves her home , parents , family , neighbours , pet dogs and boyfriends to marry me and come to my home , it automatically becomes my responsibility to keep her happy.I have seen hindi movies.I have seen that the elders leave the boy and the girl "alone" for some time so that "wo ek doosre ko jaaan le , pehchaaan le , samajh le".I will try my best to warn her about how stupid I can be , and I will tell her about neha too.But asking me to understand a girl in such a short time makes giving a bath to a crocodile look easy , including soaping its back.And like I do not expect to know her completely , she wont know me.

And at a later stage , she may find that I am not serious even at her aunt's condolence meeting , that I like to watch govinda movies , and insist that she watches it too , that I hate attending her dad's brother's daughter's classmate's engagement , , that I look at the ceiling fan when her uncle asks me about my views on the future of Indian Automobile Industry , that I watch Tom and Jerry with my kids when I should be making them study , that I am perfectly incapable of holding any intellectually stimulating discussions with her , and all this may leave her feeling cheated for life.

And even if I ever need someone , I need someone who thinks its perfectly human to make funny faces at the waiter at an upmarket restruant.Someone who appreciates my hooting and whistling at a movie at a multiplex , and may even like to send out a shrill whistle herself.Someone who thinks bliss is a silly little evening with me and a few chirpy kids.Someone who is not irritated if I narrate poor sardaar jokes to her 35 times in a day.Someone who doesnt run away if I want to show her the latest dance moves I picked up from the last hindi flick I watched.Someone who doesnt act like some comet hit our home when our son flunks maths for consecutive years.

In short , I need a girl as stupid and dumb as me , and likes stupid and dumb people.

And considering how incompletely a boy knows a girl when the marriage happens, I do not want to go ahead with a responsibility I am not sure I can fulfill.I do not want some girl to marry me and then discover she needed someome more civilised and refined and serious.I do not want the girl to feel that she is the unluckiest wife on this planet , along with Rabri Devi maybe .If you think Rabri Devi is not so unlucky , try managing something like Bihar all day and going home to nine kids and a hairy eared ,"eager for a tenth" laloo .So I really need google to throw up something useful.And if you do manage to get Dawood's contact number , mail me.You can save a girl's life.