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.

sending abhinav.exe to home.bmp.

Ladies and gentlemen.......Ladies and gentlemen ? This sounds like I am going to announce some business plan on how to increase condom sales in the state of Xanadu.

Hey buddies !

1.I am going home.

2.My dad thinks I am so lazy and irresponsible and non serious.

These two points combine.And I am subjected to a number of instructions which is slightly higher than the number of instuction a three year old kid needs to perform an open heart surgery.

My dad's battery of advices and instructions ,is unleashed in all its pristine glory just before I have to travel home.Some specimens of our phone conversations during these tantalising times of pre-travel preperation.

Dad : Munnu , remember to lock your room when you leave for the airport.

Me : Yes dad.

Dad : And for god's sake , dont leave the keys lying in the room after you do that.

Me : It is tough not to do that.But come what may , I will not leave the keys in my room after I lock it.Trust me.

Dad : Munnu , what are you wearing right now ?

Me : Huh ? Dad , I am wearing a bright red bikini with yellow stripes.Pure Cotton.

Dad : When will you learn to act like a human ? Tell me , its important.

Me : I am wearing a tee shirt and pair of shorts.

Dad : Remember to change into trousers before you leave for the airport.

Me : Dad , it is real good you told me.I was planning to leave with only cactus leaves covering me.

Dad : Did you keep the ATM card in your bag ?

Me : I am sorry.I just donated it to the Mumbai Dance Bar girls relief fund.They have given me a couple of passes to the "Blue Moon" dance bar.You free this saturday , dad?

Dad : Some things need to be taken seriously.Keep the ATM card in the bag.And do not announce that you have it.

Me ( yelling ) : Hey people , I got an ATM card in my bag , right pocket , inside the black case .Rob me ! No guns needed.No knives needed.Just ask.Lets make robberies with a smile , a reality.

There are lot more.I love to act whacky when my daddy dearest is trying to act serious.:)But I have to pack my bags now.So I will be going off the cyberworld now.For some time to come.I may meet the sweetest air hostess , propose to her when she brings me the candies , marry her on flight , hijack the plane and take it to switzerland , build a little cottage over there , and stay happily ever after with my airhostess wife to never come back.Or I may meet the same old air hostesses who dont respect my love-filled plans and land at home and stay there and come back all right.

But before abhinav.exe emails itself to home.bmp , I would copy paste an "travel advice" offliner my didi , who is in a different city from my family's , left on my messenger.And even though she thought I would travel by a train , with a didi like this , can anything go wrong with her chotu brother ?

"Travel safe.Donot talk to strangers - donot accepts chips/toffees/5stars/etc etc from strangers- count your belongings before you get into an auto/cab and after getting down the auto/cab - check it again all the night - handover to someone when you go to the loo but carry your importane stuff like wallet/cellphone/cards with you - don't oversleep - remind TT to wake you up at your station - donot try to get down at other stations - donot board or get down a running train - once again count your belongings after you get down from the cab/auto at your home - hug..oops.....bend, touch their feet and take blessings from your parents - donot tease your younger sister - donot entertain brides as yet - and do not give lifts to unknown girls on your bicycle - and be a good kid when you are at home - help your mom in the kitchen - donot overeat (indigestion) - and check your ticket both for the date and the time and the train number and board only that train - arrive at station a well hour ahead of the scheduled departure - check your ticket before you board the train - do not hand over your return ticket to the TT after you get down at delhi/gurgaon - keep your return ticket seperately and check a couple of days before your scheduled return ........ , chill out with your family ,mere hisse ka bhi khaa le (don't want to put on weight, am on diet you know ) , and tease choti sister as much as you can ,and convey my regards to all at home.CYA.Love, your sweetest didi"

Fillum Faarmooolas

Do you see a Steven Speilberg in me ? A Sanjay Geela Bhansaali ? Abe dhyaaan se dekh ! Accha I will come a little down , do you see a Mahesh Bhatt in me ? I think you do not.No one does.Not my mom , not my dad , not my dentist , not my professors , not my friends.No one.But when I see in the mirror , I see a couple of oscars sticking out of my ears and six filmfare awards resting on the top of my head.I reallly think I can be a biggy director some day.And this desire of mine has nothing to do with the casting couch.And I have been working hard to be a director too.I have watched a mega number of hindi movies , belonging to the "churidaars-tight pants-eastmancolor" 1960s , the "bell bottoms-angry young man-smugglers" 1970s , the "disco-trying to be western-more disco" 1980s and the "overacting-shahrukh-chocolate-underworld" 1990s .And dad says , everything teaches you something.

I have been writing down some "this-surely-works" formulae which have been adopted universally across the hindi fillum industry.Now I hate to share some of these "faaarmulaaas" unearthed after "Barson kee mehnat" of watching movies.But then I guess you anyways do not have a steven speilberg in you to make any use of these.

-- >>The hero falls off a balcony , or slips in the bathroom , or is beaten by some goons and has to be hospitalised.The little red bulb over the "operation theatre" sign flips on.The heroine and the hero's parents are waiting outside with the looks of constipated camels.The little red bulb goes off , a tired looking doctor comes out , slips the stethoscope off his ears .Then , according to formula no.49 , the doctor should say " Hum ne unhe to bacha liya.But unkee yaddashht jaa chuki hai ." Common cold may be common in real life , but "yaddasht khona" is the commonest in reel life.

-- >>The extra goons are shot at by the hero , they die instantly as instant coffee.Not a sound.Just a little yell and they drop to the floor.One of the good guys is shot at.Then according to formula no.8 , he falls to the floor.Then someone rushes upto the dying person.He takes the dying person's head in his lap and shouts at the top of his voice "Main tumhe marne naheeeee dunga ! Main tumhe haaaspital le jaungaaa!".The dying guy asks him to shut up and then croons a proper three minute farewell speech where he asks the other dude to take care of his sister , girlfriend and dogs.And then the good guy dies.But take note , he would never die with closed eyes.His eyes would remain open.This allows the other guy to close the dead guy's eyes gently and break down with some heartrending music in the background.

-- >>The heroine's pink "dupatta" is caught in a gust of breeze and blows away smoothly.Now technically , this dupatta may get caught in the electricity cables above or land in a pile of cowdung or land in a public toilet or land on gulshan grover , but rule no.15 says , that it will keep flying poetically till it descends magically and wraps itself around the hero. Some real aviation fundaas at work there.

-- >>The hero has been hospitalised.The doctor has mouthed the customary "Inhe dawa naheee , duaa kee zarurat hai".Now the formula number 62 kicks in.The hero would have a Sardaar buddy , a muslim buddy , a christian buddy and a white saree clad mom.The sardaar would run off to his gurdwara , the muslim to masjid , the christian to church and the mommy to a temple , preferably Mata ka mandir.The mommy will yell something like "Tum mera beta mujhse naheen cheen sakti" and proceed to slam her forehead against the temple's main bell repeatedly.And amongst shots of a praying sardaar , muslim , christian and a ketchup-on-my-forehead moomy ,our sonny hero would sleepily open his eyes and whisper "Ma".I think this formula needs more research.It holds mind blowing potential for medical science.

-- >> The hero meets with an "accident" , and his body goes missing , or maybe you find a body which is charred beyond recognition.But a watch is found on the body which makes his mother identify the body as that of her son and then faint. According to rule no 81 , after a few years , the hero will appear with a beard , right on the day when the heroine is going to be married to another guy.So the heroine should promise to marry a second guy , but she would not have to , because the missing hero is going to appear in tattered clothes , on that very day anyways.So the moral of the story - if the body aint found , or maybe found as burnt as a burnt sandwich , he is not dead.

-- >> The hero is a little kid still.His dad is a school teacher , named something like Master Deenanath.Everything can go on smoothly .The hero can grow up and his dad can be go on to be the school principal.But formula no.25 says otherwise.The very fact that dad is a "Imaandaar" school teacher makes it imperative that the dad would die.He would most probably stand up against some big builders who want to raze down the school and build a five star hotel there.And then the goons come home and murder mr.daddy and mrs.mommy while our little hero hides behind the flower pots and makes a mental note of the killer's faces.He has to ,after all , grow up and avenge his folk's killings .But that will happen right at the climax.

Well , there are some 838273 more of these in my "filllum faaaarmoola notebook".But I cant type in more.Got to go and sign up Shahrukh for my first movie.And sacchi bata yaar , dont you see a director in me ? Dhyan se dekh na !

Miss Sis

Help ! My crush wants to tie a rakhi on my wrist !
(By the way , this emotional picture was sent to me by anu chachi , my aunt staying in Jhumri Talaiyya)

******

"Are you really Abhinav's sister ?"
" Yes , didi."
"I mean , Abhinav , the one standing there , the one with the green water bottle and the wierd hair , his sister ?"
"Yes , didi."
"Real sister ???"
"Yes , didi."

That was 1988.The place was the playground of my school.The interrogator asking all those questions was Sagarika , class V - E ,The Air Force School.I studied in class V-E , The Air Force School.The one saying those little timid "Yes Didi" was my little sister , Aradhana , class II - B.

Sagarika could not believe that Aradhana was my little sister.But that was nothing new.So could not my school bus conductor , my school peon , my class teacher , Aradhana's class teacher , my drawing teacher and the maid servant at our home.

We were as similar as Uma Bharti as Catherine Zeta Jones.If somebody calls me fair skinned , that man needs help crossing the road.And my sister was fair skinned .And she was green eyed.In short , she was the angelic baby of our house , while I was the dark boy who could be easily mistaken for a domestic help , even by a polite guest.

Whenever we went to functions as little kids , my sister was the apple of all eyes , while I was more like the 'worm-infested apple' of all eyes.Young aunties lightly pulled her cheeks while I stood around with a "Somebody please pull my cheeks" signboard around my neck.Old women with incredibly dark dyed hair commented how pretty she was , while I considered plastic surgery for myself.Of course , mom loved us the same way.But the moment we went out of our home , it was like she just needed to breathe to be noticed , while nobody would notice if I was being electrocuted.

And any elder sibling would appreciate how trying it can be to be an elder sibling.She used to hit me real hard.She used to hit me on the head .With her biggest doll.Oh, she is your little sister , munnu , dad would say.She is just teasing you , munnu , dad would say.He would even smile at her when she hit me with her biggest doll.Sometimes , she would hit me and laugh , and dad would laugh with her.And even if I slapped her lightly on the head , she threw down her doll , open her mouth large enough to scare away a dozen hippopotamus and let out a super sonic wail.Dad would come running to her , mom would come running to her .They would check her head to see if there is any bleeding.They would tell me that I am very violent.They even named things like Brain Damage and Memory Loss which can be caused by hitting on the head too hard. My pushing her was like pushing her off a cliff and her driving a truck over me was cute.

And my "violent-dark-elder" brother disadvantage continues to this day,with rather added features.She has grown to be almost my height.At functions,where she wears heels, her friends look at me and mentally think "ohh , Aradhana's brother is shorter than her " while I try to put on a "small-is-beautiful" smile with disastrous consequences .A couple of years ago , I almost cut off the heels on her sandals with an electric saw.

But in spite of all this , I think I do not hate my sister.Umm...ok...I think I like my sister.Ohk , now I have to admit it , even though she once tore my favorite comic into some 51 bits , even though she caused permenant handicap to my He-Man toy by brutally pulling off his right arm , and even though she has to always watch Star movies when I have to watch ESPN , I love my little sister.

And to Sow didi , Shipra didi , Teju and Nidhi.I know just words dont make anyone a good brother.But I hope to prove myself a good brother some day.I am so sorry about this "low-on-cash-below-poverty-line" boy being unable to send all of you gifts this time.I am so broke. I am collecting rain water to drink.I am so sorry.:(. But by next rakhi , I shall be drawing a salary.Tell me what color of mercedes you prefer.

And every brother loves his sister.But I guess sometimes brothers tend to chide sisters a tad too much to really let them know that .So lets be good and polite to our sisters for a day.It would be like Saddam Hussein taking white daisies to the US armed forces.

And in response to a comment to my previous post , which hinted at me being a girl-chaser , as reflected by the "girl-infested" sidebar on my blog, i would love to have all of those ladies as my sisters.Including the person who put that comment.:)

And a very joyful Rakshabandhan to all of you.Sisters are great , even if they hit brothers on the head.With their biggest dolls.

***

Added later :

The courier guys decided to take their time.I still have not recieved the rakhi my real sister sent me.And then , right on rakshabandhan , the courier guy delivers a rakhi and a gift , sent by my didi whom I have never met , but know only in cyberspace.Thank you didi. A rakhi is tied to my wrist now.Thanks to you.

****

Added much much muchhhh later :

Ok , mummy always says I speak too much.And aaj , after all these years I agree ! Abe 8 cars ranging from mercedes to Indica have already been booked by a battery of sisters.In view of the important fact that my second name is not gates or Bacchan , the offer to hand out cars stands suspended now !

No more gaddi shaddi bookings ! Ek ek chawanni bacha bacha kar jeeena padta hai yaaar ! :P

My santa deserves a proper cap

I am beginning to mess around too much with sleep patterns.The way things are going , I will soon grow big round eyes and a little beak and become a perfect owl in a week.Right now I am feeling like a baby monkey who has been air dropped in a chemistry lab.So I have no idea what this baby monkey is going to do.So , I have no idea what I am going to write.

But at 3.45 in the morning , i am too useless to do anything but write.So let me think.

Its said that when most guys think , 80% of the times , they think about girls.I think that is wrong.When most guys think , they think about girls.From the Anna Kournikova wallpaper on the desktop , to the coochie coochie late night talk with the third girlfriend in the last four months , there are more girls than grey cells in a guy's head.And I do not understand it.And I do not get why a guy needs to go gaga over girls.I hate only two things.One.Kareena Kapoor.Two.Guys who change colours before a girl.And I see these guys all the time.

In class 4th , I had this boy, Anoop , in my class.I used to think he is one of my good friends.I used to share my lunch with him.Even when I got bread rolls for lunch.I saw Sholay.I saw the "Yeh Dosti Hum Nahi Todenge" song with Amitabh and Dharmendra on their bike.I used to think I am Dharmendra and he is Amitabh and our friendship is like theirs in the movie.One day , during the drawing class , I asked him for the red crayon from his new crayon box.He gave me the red crayon.And then the little girl , Radhika ( I still remember her name !) asked him for the Red Crayon.He took it from me and gave it to her.And smiled at her.I was coloring Santa Claus's Cap at that time.The half filled sheet lay before me as he snatched the crayon from me and passed it to Radhika.It broke my heart.The psychological scarring it caused me leads me to hate every squirming guy dying to impress girls.

And there are a lot of Anoops around still.

Me : Heyyy Rahul , yaar please explain me the 17th chapter in economics.The exam is tomorrow , and right now I understand the chapter as much as our college security guards do.

Rahul : My dad just had an accident.My mom just had a heart attack.My sister just attempted suicide.I am sad.Leave me alone.

Deepika : Heyyyy Rahul , I hope we are meeting for coffee at the canteen in the evening.And please explain economics chapter 17 to me over the coffee.....pleaaaaaasse

Rahul : Oh sure , I am willing to stick carrots in my ears and paint myself orange and come riding on a donkey to teach you economics , Deepu ( whatever happened to the name Deepika).

Me : Heyyyy Ajay , you seem to be going to the hostel , I guess I can get a lift on your bike.

Ajay : Man my bike suspension is real shaky these days.And the pen in your shirtpocket looks real heavy.Sorry.
Priyanka : Heyyy Ajay , I was wondering if you could give me a lift till the academic block.....

Ajay :Oh priya ( say the complete name dumbass ) , I can carry you on my shoulders ( priyanka weighs 84 kg , by the way ) and run all the way to afganistan .What are friends for yaaaaaaaar ( notice the extended pronunciation)

Me : Heyyy Gaurav , I am broke buddy.I need 200 bucks yaar.I will repay you by evening.

Gaurav : My dad's name is not Dawood Ibrahim or Bill Gates man.I am real low on cash too. ( no extended pronunciation)
Richa : Ohhhh Gaurav , my dad is beginning to scold me for spending too much these days.

Gaurav (pulls out his ATM card and stuffs it in Richa's mouth) : All yours Richaaaa.

Ok.Things are a little exaggerated here.No guy is so desperate.But guys go extra soft around girls , and I do not know what for.Even here in the blogworld.A girl starts a blog and there are "sweet blogggg , cute bloggg , cool bloggg" comments before she clicks the "post it" button.So any guy who goes extra soft around girls is Anoop.I like good people who teach economics , give rides and lend cash. But be good to all.Good people should be good to all.Bloody , my Santa Claus still sports a half filled red cap.

Murder at the washbasin

Warning : Absolute No brainer.Its not even funny.But to be frank , I do not care.I enjoyed putting it down.And that what I wanted.And I am not drunk.I am plain crazy.

Beep.Beep.Nothing happens.Beep Beep.My left eyelid sleepily pulls up like the shutter of a shop being pulled up.Beep Beep.Beep.Beep.Yaaaaawn.I sit up on the bed groggily and reach out to switch off the alarm in my cellphone.I try to feel the cool breeze on my face , try to smell the flowers , try to feel lucky to be alive and try to think something on the lines of " Wow.This is a beautiful day!".But nothing of this sort is felt and I look back at my pillow and imagine myself sleeping open mouthed.My imagination changes channels and I see my professor waving a big pink coloured "F" wrapped in yellow ribbons.The threat of getting the F grade makes me decide i have to get to class.I fish out my toothbrush and toothpaste. ( commercial sidenote :Close up gel toothpaste.Kill bad breath.Grab the close up confidence ! Now a 200 ml tube in just 12 rupees ! ding dong.) I walk upto the bathroom on my floor.I get to the washbasin.I stare at the mirror.I think I resemble Shahrukh Khan in a way.I lean in closer to the mirror.Look at those eyes.I am cute , I whisper to myself with a smirk.

"Never heard a girl say that to you though."

Huh ? Who said that.I turn around.Nobody.I know I should not have watched back to back movies last night.It does strange things to my hearing.

"And now don't brush too hard , lazybum....and dont look around like you have woken up on Jupiter , I am here , right here in your hand.Soft hands though , I must say."

I look at my right hand.I have my fingers curled around my toothbrush.Ok.I have never seen Michael Jackson reciting the Hanuman Chalisa.I have never seen George Bush singing "Roop tera mastaana" on CNN.And I will never see a toothbrush talking to me.These things are impossible.

"Now dont look like you have just seen Laloo Prasad Yadav in a Bikini.Its me,your toothbrush."

Me : Gosh.I feel like I have seen a Laloo Prasad Yadav without a bikini.How are you able to talk ?

Toothbrush : Just shut up .Lets talk about the Book meme you have been tagged with.

Me ( "caught-while-stealing-eggs" expression ) : Err...ahem....what book meme ?

Toothbrush : Now do you want me to jump and stick my bottom in your nose ? Its the stuff where you have to write/talk about the books you have read and all.And you have already been tagged by Deepti , Priya and Vidhi.

Me : Shit.was your daddy brush used by the CBI director ?

Toothbrush : Interpol chief.Now for the book meme.

Me : See.You can expect tendulkar to play for the Indian Kabaddi Team.But you can not expect me to talk about reading.I mean , I have minimal reading habits.Even my illitrate grand mother would have read more than I have.

Toothbrush: Shut up.Lets get started.Total number of books do you own ?

Me:Man,this is gonna take some counting.Lemme count.One.Two..Two...yeah...Three...umm...Three...Threee..Threeeeee

Toothbrush :Man , you are pathetic.I hate that I have to enter the mouth of someone as ill read as you are.

Me ( looking at my feet ) :Yeah...I know..actually I got my comics on rent , never bought them , you see and...

Toothbrush : Cut the crap.Last book you bought ?

Me : Ah , I know that."101 ways to eat a talking toothbrush."

Toothbrush ( suddenly looking up):Wha... Wow, that was scary.My bristles are trembling.Last book you read ?

Me ( with a wicked smile by now ) : I read the same one.

Toothbrush ( in a slow and cautious voice ) : You mean "11 ways to eat a talking toothbrush?".

Me ( with a "gulshan grover" lecherous expression ) : 101 ways to eat a talking toothbrush.You missed 90 ways.

Toothbrush ( voice a with a shade of trembling ) :"Huh...Bah ! ....I ...I once bashed up a shaving brush.And killed a shaving razor that threatened to shave me....he ...he he....Dont you think I am scared......Five books that mean a lot to you ?"

Me ( eyes fixed on the brush , smacking my lips , deliberate voice) : I wish I had some ketchup right now.About the 5 books..My experiments with toothbrushes , To kill a mocking toothbrush , The monk who ate his toothbrush , Harry Potter and the Half eaten Toothbrush and....

Toothbrush ( Eyes as wide as a toothpaste tube's cap , voice as choked as the paste in six year old toothpaste tube) : ...and ?

Me ( husshed voice ) : 101 ways to eat a talking toothbrush....

Toothbrush suddenly clutches its plastic chest , lets out a little cry , sheds off its bristles , and collapses in my hand.It is dead.Of a heart attack.

Me ( looking up at my image in the mirror ) :Man , I knew this book meme tagging thing would end up ugly.

*****

There is a young woman in Singapore.Her husband has been taken away frm her and forcibly detained in Cambodia by his own family.I read this here -- www.darlinglife.blogspot.com

I do not know how you can help her.But atleast pray for her.If god exists , he may just answer it.Its very painful to be away from a loved one.No one should undergo this.

Musically Handicapped

My head bobs lightly to the strings of "O sanam" sung in the chocolate voice of Lucky Ali.This guy's voice is so chocolaty , listening to him for too long can get you cavities in your teeth.But this is a blissful time.Past midnight.A hot cup of coffee.No one planning to beat me up.A chocolate bar lying on my table.And my name managed to crop up in the Times Of India supplement a couple of days ago .And even though the playlist has started with "who let the dogs out" after kicking out "O Sanam" , life is fine right now.

The media player on my computer must be ready to file an over exploitation petition by now.I study , and it plays.I sleep , and it plays.I am in the bathroom , and it plays.I go the class , and it plays.If media player had fingers , all ten of them must be pointing towards the cross on the right hand top corner of its face by now.

But to be honest , if lack of knowledge of music is a handicap , I am paralysed with both my arms and both my legs missing.You need to understand my upbringing.No cable connection at home , till June 2004.My parents, who are both doctors , are the type of people who would wonder if K.L.Saigal, which sounds a familiar name , is the name of one of their patients.And if asked on a bad day , they may even identify Elvis as being the president of cuba.In short , they are as interested in music , as a fish would be in "how to swim" lessons.In shorter terms , they are not interested in music.

So all I had even remotely related to music was 6 audio cassettes of Jagjeet singh ( Dad's music "collection") , chitrahaar and Rangoli and some other Countdown shows on doordarshan , and a radio -cum-cassette player which , with its perfectly rectangular face and the plastic handle on its top , looked like a little suitcase.Of course , dad used to sing in the Bathroom , that too only on Sundays , but lets not count that.

So i grew up with minimal exposure to music.The early years were fine.Little kids anyways sing only "Jack and Jill" and something like 'Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses" , If I remember right.But by the time I stepped into the teens , Cable TV had entered most Indians home , with our home being a silent exception.And my classmates had begun to watch MTV and such things.Suddenly , humming to the tune of "Sardee Khansee na Malaria hua , Lovaria hua " from "Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman" was no longer "cool".When I was in class 11th , a girl in my class asked me if I listened to Bryan Adams.I told her I listen to mom only.During our school farewell , a bunch of boys got terribly excited.They formed a little huddle and shouted "Alice.Alice.Who the f**k is Alice ?"And i looked at the guy standing next to me and said "Do you know her ?".It was learnt later , that these were the lyrics of some "angreji" song.

Now in my engineering college , I got a computer.The old radio-cum-casette player was given a proper burial and the gleaming new HP pavilion was unveiled to me in a dramatic fashion.The two speakers standing on either side of the screen seemed to blaring to me "La la ...of your ignorance this is the end , listen to moojik my friend..la ra ra".

It sure ushered in a little music revolution in my life.But I was like getting on a bicycle when most others were driving a car .So now when others are flying around in planes , I am driving the car.I am still very much "Desi" in my musical habits.Lucky Ali.Silk Route.Junoon.Bollywood songs.Remixes.Not Anu Malik ( "Do me a favourrrrr, lets plaaay Holeeee" , now that was too much for me too).So I am not really a part of the so called "cool" gang which understand that Pink Floyd is not a shade of pink but a music band.I still have to focus real hard to get the lyrics of an english song right.I have made quite a few attempts to like english music.But trying to make out what the guy is saying amidst all the falling utensils leaves me pretty exhausted by the time it ends.So while music is meant to relax me , trying to decipher english music makes me feel like I am writing the IIT JEE chemistry paper in a pair of jeans 4 inches too tight for my waist , and all this while a stove is burning beneath me.

So I keep reverting back to Hindi Music.While the room to my left blares 'Shaggy' and the room to my right drools 'Aerosmith' , its a ingorant and confused Hrithik Roshan asking questions about love and then crooning "Na tum jaano na hum" from the movie "Kaho Na Pyar Hai" in my part of the world.And its all right this way.But if someome asks me "Hey , how do you find Linkin Park ? " ( Its another music band ... I think) , you may just hear me saying "Cant say ..never been to this park ..where is it ?".And I am still confused if its Led Zeppelin or Zed Leppelin.