Looking around while blowing bubbles in a coke

My dad lands here this evening and I have my convocation tomorrow . You know , I thought I shall write something with a 'puraani jeans aur guitar' ,'nostalgia ho raha hai mamu' theme just before I leave this campus , but I really do not want to dwell on that right now.

Recently , due to some unexplained celestial movements and a friend with no regard for punctuality , I found myself in a pizza hut with nothing to do over the next half an hour . I settled down at a corner table , plugged in my headphones , ordered a little something and casually looked around . Being an MBA , I have to develop this inborn tendency to analyse a sneeze , so I used that half an hour to categorise the type of crowd that visits Pizza hut.

1.The loud and happy "hum saath saath hain" family

With ekta kapoor and her silk pallu - scorpion bindi-saas murdering brigade of women , this breed is soon going to be listed with the "Akhil Bhartiya endangered species protection board" , just below the zimbabwean gold faced owl . Everybody looks happy here . Daddy jee jokes with the kids and makes funny faces at them . Mummy jee is satisfied as pappa jee just convinced her the lipstick marks she found on his shirt was mosquito blood . Kids are happy because they know that in spite of their dad making stupid and outrageous faces at them , he is going to order ice cream after pizzaz and garlic bread . The kids are allowed to push their fingers in their noses and run off to show what they pulled out to the couple seated at the next table . The eating is ruthless and this is one of the more noisy tables of the hut . In case it is a joint family , frequent peals of laughter accompanied by table slapping is evident . In case it is a sardaar joint family , frequent peals of roaring laughter accompanied by table upturning slapping is evident.

2. The coochie coochie "Kuch Kuch hota hain" couple

Now this is the karan johar sponsored couple which is usually a boyfriend-girlfriend combo pack. Just married couple who are yet to fall in the where-is-my-shirt-you-pick-kids-from-school' trap of married life may also qualify.

They prefer to sit in remote corners of the hut , well hidden by flowerpots or pillars , leading to problems for waiters who have trouble finding them . They sit as close as siamese twins , may eat from the same plate ( rather unhygeinic) and the only time their hands are not holding each other's body parts is when they are holding spoons or forks . They don't laugh the typical 'balwant-singh-chappar-faad-ke' brand of loaring laughter. It is more like twittering accompanied by whispering into ears . In short , both of them are in complete bliss . For the girl , bliss ends when daddy finds out his daughter has been visiting pizza hut instead of the maths tutions . For the guy , bliss ends much earlier , when the waiter brings the bill.

3. The "shehar ki ladki" tribe

The table which challenges every sound barrier with its shrieking and excited occupants . High school girls maybe . Even college girls , if they are slightly low on maturity . Usually , there is an occasion , which usually , is the birthday of one of those ladies . Shrill and sharp pizza-toppling cries of 'wowwwwwwwwwwwwww' , 'Howww chweeeeeeeeeeeet', 'Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww' escape from this gang . A lot of ribbons , gifts and greeting cards may also be passed around , leading to delight of the birthday girl and a certain archies gallery owner. Noise levels , boy's interest in pizza hut and daddy's credit card expenses rise dramatically due to this set of young women.

4. The "kya kool hai hum" boys.

This is the symmetrical opposite of category 3 above . But boys being boys , the sounds they emit are much less shrill and much more unrestrained in terms of their colorful vocabulary . 'Abbe ****** , pizza kaunsa mangwaye?' , 'Ganguly to G**** hain' , '**** ***' , 'Check her out' , 'Pooja se baat karun kya?' are some examples suitable for an under 18 audience . Their table manners are in urgent need of upgradation and cleaning these tables is the kind of work responsible for salary hike demands by Pizza Hut Waiters Union . Any delay in getting the food on table may lead to heated reactions by these boys , unless there is enough of category 3 around to keep their minds off food . The payment is the most tense and crucial moment , when frequent references to previous 'saale-tujhe-mere-200-dene-hai-pehle-ke' lendings are made.

5. The "na tum bolo na hum" couple

I am really confused about this variety.I mean , if a man and a woman don't want to talk , what kinda gunpoint threat got them together at pizza hut ? But I have always noticed the table as silent as a graveyard occupied by a couple who look as close as kabul and barbados. These people avoid eye contact with each other , smile with the comfort of a nun in a nightclub and keep looking out of the nearest window with the classical philosphical expression . The most elaborate conversations they strike up are about the temperature of the soup , which last for about thirteen seconds , including the sighs and coughs.

6. The 'tanha tanha yahan pe jeena' organism

Primarily , these are people in wait for their friends/girlfriends/boyfriends/blind dates/dates who can see . The waiters eye them suspiciously , clearly distressed by the person's sipping a single coke over the last forty minutes . The fellow passes his time by sipping the drink with the hurry of a super slow motion vision stump camera , blows bubbles in the glass , spends time by memorising every name in the menu card , or just looking at other people.

Yeah , there are other species too , but right now , I need to catch the India-England match and then I need to pack my bags and I need to burn all the movies and music and pictures on CDs . I fly off to home soon , and this is probably my last post from this untidy , unkempt room at New Hostel , IIM Calcutta .I am gonna miss some people , and they know who they are. But then , every end is a beginning of something new , and nothing lasts , which is one of the fundamental truths of life . I may leave this place and the friends I made here , but the memories shall remain . And I know I have to talk about these people and these experiences , but in my current state of mind , my immediate thoughts are about the CD of 'Tom n Jerry' I need to copy from Nishant .Hata saawan ki ghata and chill maar yaar . Life is good.

Pachycephalous ka naam Pachycephalous kyun hain ?

Yeh hai IIM C ka Dramatics Cell . I am the guy with the yellow arrow near his chin . I was the light boy ( I called myself Illumination manager ) for English play and played the role of a tomato plant in the Hindi play. Ok , majjaking , I played the role of a normal homo sapien in the hindi play . Completely unrelated bakwaas ahead.

~~~~~~~~

Since the day I got placed , I have been going around Calcutta with the desperation of a postman . That's pretty natural when I have access to time ( MBA over hai pappa !) and money ( job lag gayi na pappa !) . So I thought it would be another day involving hot pizzaz , ice tea , smiling at Pizza Hut girls , metro rides , garlic bread , a movie maybe , a lot of joking and careless talk when I met up with a friend as a part of my "Main-delhi-ja-raha-hun-mil-le" process.

"Abbe oye , let us go to Pizza Hut."

"Nah , we are going to Science City."

Science City ? I had sudden flashes of NCERT books , water cycle diagrams , beakers , a resounding zero in a particular class 7 physics test , and the reproductive system diagrams we used to look at with interest and confusion as young boys . Science City ? I confirmed , half hoping it would be 'signs' city atleast , something more removed from water cycles . Nopey dopey , Science City it was . Mild protests from my side , including a sigh longer than Shoaib Akhtar's run up and a self immolation threat were conveniently ignored and we hopped into a cab to head for Science City .

Now , just the look of the place is enough to send one into bouts of serious introspection over the utility of your being alive if you are not a scientist . A planeterium with a shape so complex an average guy would spend a major part of the year searching for its entrance . Trollies move across hanging from high cables . One of the buildings is in the shape of a Huge Dinosaur where people enter through its mouth and exit from the , well , umm , the opening meant to emit stools I guess ( not the stool you sit on ) , given my rather limited knowledge of dinosaurs and their shitting process .

One of the first things we hit was the mirror maze . It is this hall where we enter a maze made of mirror walls . If I have to compare it to a very filmy concept , its like the proverbial "Jurm ka daldal" , jahan log aate to apne marzi se hain , but wapis nahi jaa paate ( add the wicked laugh yourself ) . We spent quite some time trying to get out of there , but kept running into deadends and walking into mirrors . What with so many mirrors around me , I was surrounded by atleast four specimens of myself at any time , which is real terrible and un-photogenic company to be with . After a lot of yelling "abbe left le yahan se !" , "Uee ma , yeh to wahin aa gaye" , "Bhai sahab , bahar kaunsi sadak jayegi ?" , we managed to find our way out . I have never been so glad to not see me .

Then she took me to the Space Theatre . I took the tickets from the counter and the counter guy said "4 baje ka show hain". I half wanted to ask him "Heroine kaun hai dada ? " followed by a sly wink , but considering the name "space theatre" did not exactly smell of a traditional bollywood movie with its share of skin and blood , I dropped the idea . I don't know what happens to you , but my intestines twisted in a desperate sigh when the big screen burnt bright with a huge "Dr.James Kuch-to-tha presents - SEASONS. " For the next thirty minutes , Dr.James Jo-tha-woh-kyun-tha showered us with gyan on why seasons change and why winter comes after autumn and why polar bears have a lot of fur . Thankfully , my 'science-is-fun' friend tore open a pack of chocolate covered cashews , which was blissfully munched upon by me while extremely disturbingly close pics of grasshoppers and their mating habits were explained in detail by Dr.James Jo-bhi-tha-accha-hua-ab-nahi-hai .

We came out and I was determined to do something more human and routine this time around . I suggested we buy ice creams and enjoy them sitting on one of the benches lining the lawn. "Arre nahi munnu , time nahi hain , 3D show shuru hone wala hain !". Before I could run away and seek solace in the ice cream wallah's arms , I found myself sitting in a dark hall with a blank screen before me . A guy who had the "kya-re-tu-bhee-ban-gaya-murga" smirk came in and handed us big plastic glasses which were supposed to create 3D images out of a flat screen . In five minutes , the hall resembled a blind school classroom , though my personal opinion remains I looked more like a 1970-ish-Rajesh Khanna and Raamdulari did not look like a 1970-ish Dimple Kapadia in those oversized plastic goggles . A lot of skulls and snakes and rats jumped out at us from the screen and the kid sitting a couple of seats to my left screamed every time that happened . Now I really like kids . So much that in spite of my latest plan to never get married , I intend to adopt a boy or maybe go in for a test tube baby where my kid will be born in a laboratory amongst a lot of beakers and apparatus with scientists shouting "eureka" instead of the boring "ladka hua hain". So as the crowd filed out , the chacha Nehru in my woke up and I patted the little kid on his head , raised my eyebrows till they touched the back of my neck and said in the most round mouthed bengali I could imagine "Majo aabo ?" ( My imagined bengali for "Had fun ?") . The kid gave me a look reserved for a guy in immediate need of a plastic surgery and a 15-day bengali speaking course and walked away . I tried to salvage some pride by smuggling out the plastic goggles but even that was thwarted by the alert bengali public.

We also had a ride in a toy train where we had to wave down the train and get on it . We went into that dinosaur shaped building through its mouth lined by yellowed sharp teeth which suggested Mommy Dinosaur did not know of Pepsodent at all . Inside the entire evolution thing was depicted by way of dinosaur models which moved , growled , burped and if that was not a speaker placed at the wrong place , farted . My friend explained why Pachycephalous was called that , which effortlessly lapped up the best 'oh-yeah-yawn-im-listening-yawn' moment of the day' award . Towards the later part of the day , we even walked around the Fish house where we saw a lot of fish. One of the fish was called Tiger Fish . My friend told me it was a cross between a tiger and a fish . The next tank contained Horse Fish and the one next to it had crocodile fish . I extended the "tiger fish=cross between tiger and fish" logic to all of these and gasped at the extent of fish community's loose character suggested by it .

But to be honest , all in all , I look back at the day with a lot of fondness and warmth. I have been to Pizza Hut , Inox , Tangerine , Teej and a lot of other bustling places over the last week , but to have a day at the science city with a close buddy had an unassuming beauty of its own . Even if such places look a little nerdy , I walked away with a feeling of comfort and warmth no multiplex or mall evokes in me . Maybe it's just because when I was a kid , Dad used to take me to the Nehru Planetorium in Delhi and we used to sit in the theatre and he used to point out milky way and the constellations to me while me and my sister fought over less celestial things such as popcorn.Even if there are no bowling alleys and no dolby sound four screen theatres around , sipping a simple ice tea while sitting on a bench on a breezy evening seems a lot more relaxing to me .Even if there were not many eyeliner-gloss-lipstick types girls around , I did learn why Pachycephalous is called that.

Heartfelt thanks.

There are some moments when you move on from one page to the next one in your life book . Like when I was a baby who had to crawl under tables and skirts to move around , I was on the page titled 'My life as a crawling person ' , however creepy that may sound . Then one day my parents had this Maneka Gandhi-ian brainwave and they took me to the delhi zoo .They took me to the various enclosures .They decided to take a break in the lawn right outside the camel's enclosure .So my ma spread out a sheet on the grass and put me down as she took out the stuff she had cooked for lunch.While she looked around in the bag , I checked out the camel , had a surge of some real wild baby hormone , and took my first steps ever .My ma let out a chuckle in surprise and let go of my hand .My dad clicked this .So the page titled 'My life as a person who can walk' starts with a photograph of me with the 'Doctor ! Main chal sakta hun !' expression on my face staggering towards a camel who has the perfect 'I don't care about your walking , kid . I am real constipated' expression on its face .

In the same way , yesterday I switched over from the page titled 'My life as an unemployed youth with a huge affinity to the ATM card provided by Dad and considering an alternate career in terrorism' to the page with the topic 'My life as an employed youth with zero formal dressing sense and still a rather strong affinity to the ATM card provided by Dad'.

You know , this is the problem with guys like me.

I need to go to the toilet but I don't say 'Excuse me' and go away . Instead I start with a story about the time when a two year old me pissed in my aunt's lap so hard she almost suffered from multiple thigh fractures .Then I continue to talk about my aunt and her husband who worked in NASA and somehow the entire talk ends in stuff like 'Is there life outside earth' and I completely forget that I need to go to the toilet . So I will rephrase all that I have so stupidly said - I got a job at ITC Limited . I think I got into one of the bigger and better companies with a strong marketing involvement , which is in line with my goals .



A real thanks to all the people who left the good luck messages on this blog , or dropped offliners or mailed me for the same .I really wish I could compress some kinda treat into a zip file and mail it to all of you and you could download it and double click on it to find it's a virus actually. Nah , sacchi , more than the job , this post is about being grateful to all those people who had the wonderfully nice hearts to wish me luck .There have been some very special people who kept me going - and these people know how much it means to me .

Anyways , so what faces me are last 12 days at IIM C with not much to do except burn all the pictures and movies and music on CDs and burn all the books in the hot and actual sense . Since the ITC headquarters are at Calcutta , I shall be coming back to this city again .

I would really like to thank you guys for listening to stuff as weird as Lux chocolate variant over the stay I have had at IIM -C . Infact that reminds me , someone actually mailed me saying that I have always been spelling 'weird' as 'wierd' on this blog .I actually thought it was 'wierd' , which reflects on my spelling skills in a rather weird light .

I have been typing all this stuff over the last 20 minutes or so while sitting on my bed and I haven't got out of it since waking up this morning .So now I need to get out and brush my teeth.Between , it makes me remember the time I was on a train and I had no toothpaste and had to borrow it from this lovely girl and how we got talking about Toothpastes and dental structures and how she thought Kashmiris have better teeth due to all the apples they eat how that led us to the Kashmir Issue and Pakistan's role in it ....Uee ma , here I go again with my random thoughts .

I need to brush my teeth .I just need to shut up.

Of sanskrit teachers , a great game , and selling CDs

Well , there are some things that remind you of some people . There was this sanskrit teacher who slapped me real hard in class VII . And it wasn't a slap in the traditional sense . She actually rained slaps like she wanted to slap my face into a chapati .Left.Right.Left.Right.So whenever I think 'slap' , I think 'Sanskrit teacher and a packed class watching me in pity'.

And I just discovered this. I am shaken to see so many ladies recount what they went through . I find myself thinking of my sister , female friends , cousions , and I am sickened by the thought that they may have their stories too. It must be so tough being a girl . Living a normal day as a girl . When just walking down a street is a fight to protect oneself .A simple trip in a public bus is fraught with violations .When simply being a woman is an invitation .And the worst part is that I don't see how anything can change .

In more real and terrific news , to the utter wonder of almost everyone except my parents , teachers and other people aware of my intellectual capabilities , I am still unemployed . At the end of the first day of placements , a TV channel van came over to the campus . Those guys filmed the students with perfectly formed teeth and high grades and glorious job offers in London and Hong Kong and telecast it to homes around the nation , including my aunt's in Indore and another aunt's in Patiala . So aunts and uncles who talked to me sometime when Jesus Christ was still a kid are calling me up and deeply regretting the fact that I am jobless in spite of being at IIM Calcutta . To keep their wonder meters going , I tell them I still have chances at a firm which is into painting traffic signs.

Infact I have applied to 40 companies . 34 of them are yet to visit the campus. Hopefully , the curious calls will subside the moment I get placed in one of them . Some folks understand that the entire placement thing is a process which lasts longer than a pulse polio advertisement . But the moment some people see the words IIM and placements together in a newspaper , they imagine me in a sleek and black business suit attending boardroom meetings in a glass building at New York and playing snooker over rounds of martini after office . But that's all right. In a land where some fifty year old man with fat enough to inspire 500 kilometers of jogging tracks , can yell "Gadhe ko khelna nahi ata !" at a shot played by Sachin on TV , any other misconception is almost negligble . But this entire placements process is something which is much beyond the screaming headlines read by people over cups of coffee . Some other time.

And if you thought the first day first show audience of Neal and Nikki was the unluckiest bunch of homo sapiens ever , change that to the bowlers community of Australia and South Africa.The most unbelievable game which could have made a lamp post scream out in excitement .

Have got the entire game highlights on my disk.If I don't land a job soon , am gonna burn the game on CDs and sell them at Palika Bazar in Delhi .That should earn me enough to send my kids to a decent english medium school with no sanskrit teachers around. Much better than painting 'Slow down , school ahead' road signs for a living .

Cold and beautiful

Personally , I don't like dark things , except Nandita das maybe . I know people have problems , but reading about them leaves me depressed and suicidal .So I don't really like poems about heartbreaks and music videos like "Accha Sila Diya" and movies where people have some type of cancer .I like funny stuff like watching Ganguly bat or reading my college gradesheets.However , sometimes I come across stuff which is dark , but in a consuming way . Something which is about death , yet very alive in its intensity. Something which is so brutally cold , that it just grips you.


When I was a kid , I went to a toy store with my dad and when he asked what I wanted , I pointed at the ugly guy who was a helper at the shop.So my tastes actually suck.But whatever , I loved this article :

Dark-page-from-her-diary

Also , I hope I find a job soon . I am not really in an emotionally relaxed and free state these days . I haven't watched a movie over the last four days and haven't even replied to the nice people with a lot of time to waste who left comments on the last post .My career is at an amusingly crucial stage and my mental state , though relatively cool , compares well with a father of seven who has just been fired from his job , robbed on his way back , and informed of his wife's next pregnancy on getting home . I hope to get back with some good news soon.

Fat kid in the mirror

Speaking in officially cold terms , I attended the last class of my academic life recently . Of course , I hear Gandhi-ian phrases about learning continuing till the last breath . But the classroom thrill of watching the brown haired pretty girl sitting on the first bench and then noticing the dark mallu guy sitting dangerously close to you is unique . And the feeling of learning without a pot bellied professor as my personal sleep inducer shall not be the same.

After the last class ,we guys celebrated by doing some emotional stuff for the camera . Me and Himanshu felt it would be a complete insult to pass out of college without being involved in the filmy 'couple-in-the-lawn' situation . We searched for a quick girlfriend but with that not happening over the last 24 years, we had to do this ourselves for the camera . Damn the shiv sena members .

I am the guy lying down . The guy over me is himanshu. We were just grinning at each other behind the International marketing book and yelling to nishant 'jaldi photo kheench ,sacchi mein koi paap na ho jaye'.

Also , a couple of evenings ago , I attended the farewell party the juniors put up for the Dramatics cell . It was a nice evening . The girls pleasantly ignored me. When people got bored of looking at each other and saying "Party is nice na" and "Ice cream is nice na" , they asked me to do a little stand up thing . I did the telebrands thing . The thing where tall , blonde and well muscled guys dress up in underwears and say stuff like 'pehle mera wazan bahut jyada tha.Fir mere dost Tony ne mujhe iss machine ke baare mein bataya.Kamaal ki machine hai' to sell exercise equipment on TV. People say I can mimic that thing well , without being tall , blonde , well muscled and wearing more than an underwear . People laughed when I did that telebrands thing . So I think I could enact that , unlessthey were laughing because my fly was unzipped all the while.

In other news , due to some wonderfully terrible luck , I was inside a clothes store twice over the last week . My ma will have a eighty feel tall exclamation mark springing from her head if she gets to know this . She knows I hate shopping . And as if a gas chamber wasnt fun enough , I was in a gas chamber with a suicide bomber . In more direct terms , I was in the shopping thing with a lady . You give a thirsty woman dying in a desert a choice between a chilled coke and 40% discount sale on raamdulaari saaris , and she will take the latter gladly . So the only way I survived it was to plop on a cushioned seat and pretend I was brain dead while she went around the shop with the confidenceof a stoned Shahid Afridi.

Clothes stores are amazingly bad places for me to be in . First , my interest in clothes compares well with Sunny Deol's interest in the telecom industry of Jakarta . Not that I belong to mallika's say-no-to-clothes school of thought , I just don't like shopping for them . Secondly , I am very scared of that little cubicle in the corner called the 'Try room' where people get naked and try clothes without having to pay for it . Along with maths test results , Try rooms remain the worst memories of my childhood.

For the cause behind this psycological scarring by try rooms , I need to admit something . I was a short and fat kid .I am still short ( Four months ago , I went to a clothes showroom , and the polite sales girl told me the kids section was upstairs ) . But being a kid , I was shorter andbeing a very hungry kid , I was fat.

I used to hate the trips to clothes stores then . I dreaded the moment when my dad held out a little pair of trousers to me , pointed to the try room and growled 'try these trousers' . My dad can inspire a dozen nervous breakdowns by the sheer steel in his glares . It is said he once he strangulated one of his patients with his stethoscope because the guy asked if he should seek a second opinion . So I dragged myself to the try room when he told me to . My self confidence was blown into bacteria sized particles the moment I turned in there . Roof to floor mirrors surrounded me on all sides . To make sure I dint miss anything fat layers , lights bright enough to hold a one day match in the tropical forests shone on every part of my bloated body . For a fat kid to look at himself without trousers under bright lights is one of the most effective ways to develop an amazing inferiority complex . Somehow I huffed and puffed my way into the trousers which were loose enough to fit in an ethopian athlete . I defied all physics and textile engineering lessons to button up the trousers around my tummy . At the end of it all , I was left wincing wearing a trousers with atleast 5 inches of length sticking outside my feet like dolphin fins . I would open the door slightly and try to gesture to dad and call him to check out the agonising fit . To make sure no traces of self esteem remained , he gestured back to me . Which meant I had to walk all the way from the try room to my dad . So in a store where every kid was slim and smart and looked like Vandana Luthra's illicit child , a fat and short me flopped my way to my dad , who then touched me all over and declared I needed to try a size slightly larger . A large part of my low sense of self worth can be attributed to the time I spent without trousers in a little room.

Anyways , all that is history now. I am trying to build my life anew , changing clothes in dark and mirror free rooms.

And I am loving this song . I found this lovely track called 'Aankhon ke sagar' by Fuzon . The voice , the words , the music come together to create a dreamy and almost trance like state . If you have ever liked a two eyed girl for reasons other than her rich dad , this song may evoke some memories . And they would be a lot better than those stirred up by Try rooms .

Wo dundhli see tasveer...

Chalo Baccho , Photo Photo time ! Yeh hai mere hostel wing - 'azad pankh' ke kabootar . Can you guess main kaun hun inme se ?

My bed . Kaun kambaqth kehta hai ki I sleep alone ?

Yeh dekho mujhe JAM se cheque mila ! Abb main babu ji ke liye kurta pajama , ma ke liye saari , and behan ke liye dahej ka jugaad kar sakta hoon.

Jumman miyan , yeh hai hamara kampooter. Yehi hai saari musibat ki root. Pichle 6 saal se hamare saath hain.Sochte hai 2-3 saal aur rakh lete hain , uske baad museum wale khareed hee lenge yeh bharat ki darohar.

Single bells

I think I got fever.My parents gave me medicines and capsules enough to cure Somalia but forgot the thermometer.Also , I am in the process of reducing clutter from life these days.It's been like three days since I have watched a movie and am beginning to forget how Angelina Jolie looks.Instead , I am reading books.I am the guy who grew up reading phantom , mandrake , chacha chaudhary , mahabali shaaka , super commando dhruv and till last year thought Sidney Sheldon was a lady writer who lives in Sydney.So me reading books is like Manmohan Singh being an MTV VJ.But I am liking it .And I found 35 mb of more than 3000 dilbert strips.A guy ten minutes away from a suicide can laugh his diaphragms out reading that stuff.And here is the stuff I typed for Jam.Looks like I am getting into a huge despo single guy stereotype here.

http://www.jammag.com/valentine/art13_desperate_single_guy.php

I feel like typing more.But I want to sleep.I feel feverish.I think I will type more tonight.And I did not meet that crossword lady on the 14th.The desperate single guy thing moves on.Aapki bahu betiyan abhi bhee safe nahi hain.

Of orange shorts , pav bhaaji and V day plans

I am starting this post because I don't feel sleepy . I will just type out stuff about my evening. I hope to fall asleep on the keyboard doing it . I hope you too fall asleep reading it . Make sure you don't drool in your sleep . The saliva may screw up your keyboard.

This evening , N came to my room . He had to go shopping for some clothes . He asked me to accompany him . I think he asked me because I am short . It's a simple relative theory . A guy is
alone . He looks ok . A guy is with a short guy . He looks tall . I refused N and told him I had to work on an assignment of top priority. He promised to pay for my pizza if I went with him . It took me seven seconds to get ready.

So we went to crossword . It's a nice bright bookstore with a lot of books . Middle aged women in khadi kurtas sit around on low stools and pore over books discussing ways to rekindle the fire in married lives . Little kids noisily run around book racks and their mothers threaten to burn their toys if they don't shut up . Young girls are around the fiction racks . I think most people found in a bookstore are fat . Maybe it's because they spend a lot of time sitting and reading books on weight reduction . I picked up 'Tuesdays with Morrie' and went to the billing counter .

The billing girl at the counter looked at the big flaming red ferrari logo on the front of my black sweatshirt and gave me a smile . I think she liked my sober taste in clothes . And as I went away , she again smiled at me . I could feel it . It wasn't the 'please visit again' smile every customer gets . I think she liked me in a cute way . If you work at Crossword next to INOX kolkata and met that short cute guy in the black sweatshirt with a red ferrari logo , just know that I still think about you.

We got out and we went into a reebok store . N kept checking out the price tags of all the stuff there . He made a peculiar whooshing sound with his breath every time he did that . I think it translates into 'Why dont I have a rich dad who is into smuggling ?' . I did not have to buy anything . So I was pretty relaxed and tried on all the caps while he went around looking for something which had the price of a matchbox . He bought a pair of orange shorts finally . Reebok people don't have the right marketing guys . It is a blunder to have that dark bengali guy at the billing counter . I felt a strange creepy chill the way he smiled at me . I know short cute guys are the prime targets for these kinda men. I will never go to that store again.

Then we went to food court to eat something . Never trust anyone . Just do not . People promise to pay for your pizza and back out then . And you can't do a thing because they have already bought the obscenely orange shorts and got your company while doing it . It is a hard world . And then you realise you it is harder . I was not even carrying much money and had to settle for pav bhaji . I wanted to empty the ketchup sachet in N's nose . But a short cute guy can't just fill someone's nostrils with ketchup and not be beaten thereafter . I controlled my anger.

On our way back in the cab , N's girlfriend called up . I screamed 'Don't touch me N !' followed by 'Leave me N !' in the most girly voice I can put on . He spent the rest of the call explaining to his girlfriend there was no girl around him . You don't give me a pizza . I tear apart your love life .Fair and simple.

It's past five in the morning now . But I still dont feel sleepy. I think I will start reading 'Tuesdays with Morrie' now . The book reminds me of the billing counter girl . I think I should visit crossword on the 14th .

Lily , be thoda sa silly

Hello. The time is 5.36 am . I am just done with Bluffmaster and I feel as sleepy as my three year old cousion who never sleeps . And I am thinking how much I like silly things . There is this messaging utility called 'ip messenger' on all the systems at IIM C . It is like a chat system using which we can broadcast messages all over the computers at the hostels as well as send one to one messages to each other . So around ten minutes back , there was a broadcast by a girl , called ABC for privacy . Liberated woman ka zamana hai , kahin usse objection ho gayi to poora girls hostel escort karega meri 'around the campus on a donkey' yatra ko .

All the messages mentioned below were broadcast to all the students.

ABC : Anybody awake in the campus ?
Guy 1 : Me one
Guy 2 : Me two

( So champak laal , aise ho gayi jaagi aatmao ki counting start)
.
.
.
.
Guy X : Me X.
GG : Oye poore 18 log jaag rahe hain.
Tayal : GG kitna vella hain , count kar raha hain , isko max vella award .
Me : Subah 5 baje GG jaage hue organisms ki counting kar raha hain , and tayal award baant raha hain. Dono hee export quality ke velle hain .

GG : Hum to fir bhee export quality velle hain , tu to seconds ka maal hain . Discount Sale lagakar hum tujhe flood affected logo ko bechenge

Me : Abe wo log flood se jitne peedit hue hain , usse triple peedit ho jayenge mujhe pakar.
Tayal : Accha hum tujhe free mein de denge .
Me : Oye main kya pocket calendar kun ki atlas cycle ke saath free de diya . Kabhi to mujhpar bhee price tag chikpao .
Chirag : Chikpao ? oye yeh abb chinese japanese bhee bolne laga .

This is like a classical case of stupid boys blabber . I really think we guys should have our pictures pasted under the definition of 'silly' in the dictionary . IIM C has produced a lot of big guys . Some of us are going to pass out and go on to be CEOs and presidents and Managing Directors of companies as big as big whales . And we guys were talking like our cellphones got more grey cells than our skulls . But it is moments like these when I realise that how many exams we may crack , how many jobs we may get and how many companies we may bring down , every person has a child within himself , and this child is free and silly . And when we allow this child to come out and act , we cease to care about the logic we have been taught since the time we used to carry water bottles and pencil boxes to school . We forget about the expectations of our parents and neighbours . We forget to be 24 year olds who are about to get working for big companies with firang bosses and air conditioned offices and free coffee and perfumed washrooms. We just be silly .

And yeah , there is this blog written by phoenix . I have never interacted with phoenix and know
her as much as Saddam Hussein knows your doodhwala . I visit her blog regularly , but I suffer from the "khao piyo khisko" mentality . I read her blogs , and enjoy reading them and then think "Yaar comment likhne se India world cup thode hee jeet jayegi". So I usually go away without putting down a comment . Yesterday , I read her post , which ended like this -

"Coffee to anybody who understands one word. Bravery award if you have reached so far."

So I was automatically switching into my "Khao piyo khisko" mode and going away without commenting when I thought "yaar har cheez India ko world cup jitaane ke liye thode hee karnee
chahiye" . So I shifted over to "Khao piyo and comment karo" mode and wrote this comment -

"A very honest and hitting post. And I cant really come over to collect the paramveer chakra. Just scan it and email."

I wrote this comment and then logged out and spent the day in perfect uselessness as I do on my busy days . Now the next day I get up . Log onto the institute online board to see that my professor wanted to buy a gas chamber and push everyone in it . But gas chambers are very costly and rare commodities these days . So he had used a cheaper alternative and announced a quiz in the class starting in half an hour . Then as I was drinking water , the bottle slipped and spilled over the keyboard . Thankfully the keyboard did not explode in my face . Though I don't think an explosion can make my face any worse than it is . Life turned more rosy. One of my friends called me up and informed me that she thinks I am a pig because I did not wish her on her birthday yesterday . I apologised to her and yelled a cheery 'Happy birthday' . She called me a pig again . So I was ten minutes away from a suicide when I logged in to yahoomail . And I had got this mail from phoenix :

A person I hardly know had mailed me a bravery award . For a moment , I was so delighted I could have chuckled at being diagnosed with lung cancer. Sometimes , silly-panti is good.

Billy kee jaan khatre mein hain

The next time Bill gates is addressing a press conference , a guy wrapped in a smelly old brown shawl may just spring up from the crowd , run up , jump over the stage while the security personnel run in , and plunge a gleaming knife in Mr.Gates’s heart followed by a cry of ‘Microsoft Word murdabaad’. Of course , then the security guys are going to capture me and mommy can see me on CNN and Punjab kesri . Infact , till last week , my class 8 history teacher topped my '50 people to kill before I am 40' list , closely followed by Kareena Kapoor. And I thought Bill Gates was a good guy . But after I spent a good part of my weekend creating my CV on Microsoft word , Mr.Gates has climbed to the third spot and is sniffing the back of Kareena’s neck . Page setup. Margins. Headers . Footers . Indents . Tabs . Yaar yeh line lambi kaise ho gayi ? Ohteri , yeh extra currics wale section ki bullets kahan gayi ? Hey raam , why dint I save itbefore the computer crashed ? I swear on your left leg , it was pure torture working on MS Word .

But on the better side of life , I caught some great movies over the last few days – 15 Park Avenue , 'main meri patni aur woh' and ' Sookhi nadi mein behti laash'. You need to be a miss india to fall for the last one . And Mrs .Rashmi Bansal was kind enough to publish something I wrote for Jam . But as the placements come nearer , I realize I am gonna make the leap from a sweatshirt –ketchup stain – uncombed –dad’s atm card guy to an ironed shirt – surf safedi – combed – 'beta kamaata hai' guy so soon , it makes me scared and excited at the same time .

It’s like a chapter of my life is coming to an end . The chapter which started when my ma walked away from me on my first day of school while I checked out the little girls sitting in the class . School . Ahluwalia maam whose name still reminds me of potatoes . The terrible school choir which justified the invention of ear plugs . The weirdly strict Clive maam , who used to slap me so much , she almost made a fingerprint album of my cheek . The Board exams which were great till the results came out . My computer engineering which made me realise how much I hate it . My bike which was my first true love . The beautiful microprocessors teacher who was again my first true love . The makkhan marofying to the lab assistants . The entire student thing is going to end in less than two months from now . People look at me and say ‘Munna mere laal , the day you report to work , this ‘tension kya hain yaar’ smirk you got on your face is gonna vanish like Anil ‘Hairy’ Kapoor in Mr.India . Add to that the fact I am not even applying to the plush investment banks and consults where employees drive eight feet long cars and own sweater clad french poodles . I did my summers in financial consulting at Ernst & Young , and the only thing I enjoyed there were the lunch breaks. So after introspecting on what I want , I am aiming for a marketing job which though considered almost as glamorous as the hair on Laloo’s ears , is my kind of hair.

All in all , I look back at my student life as a time well lived , having its share of achievements , disasters , fun , tears , cheating , determination , laziness and laughs. The work life calls out to me , but the echoes of this life I am leaving behind shall remain.

When I was a kid , I wanted to grow up so that I don't have to write exams . But now , when just a couple of exams seperate me from getting the last degree of my life and then going out to work
and steal mouse pads and permanent markers at some office , I pause , and think , and realise that I should not think but just quote Aamir in rang de basanti -

“College ke andar hum zindagi ko nachaate hain , aur college ke bahar zindagi hum ko nachaati hai … tim-lak-a-lak-tim-tim-lak-a-lak!”

Dance or no dance , only time can tell . But Bill gates shall pay for his sins . Someone get me a smelly old brown shawl.

Suno jee , mujhse shaadi karogi ?

I feel like an Adnan Sami forced to pack myself in Priyanka Chopra's jeans. I feel like a Julia Roberts forced to watch 'Main prem ki deewani hoon' from the front row of Ashok Cinema hall. Kitne examples sunega bhai , samajh ja na ki I feel uncomfortable . I have been tagged by Sanyukta and Binu who want me to put down eight things I desire in my life partner. I seriously think the hindustaani sarkaar is goofing up by not awarding a paramveer chakra to my mother whohas managed to tolerate me for 24 years , so expecting someone to be with me for life scores a perfect ten on the optimism meter. But Mungeri Laal doesn't hold the exclusive copyright to dream. So here goes .

1. The sharmeeli salwaar suit girl

'Bholi si soorat , aankhon mein masti , duur khadi sharmaye'

I first heard these lines from 'Dil to pagal hai' on my school bus. Since then , whenever I imagine my dream girl , these lines start playing in the background of my bheja . Plain face. Minimum make up. Ek choti se bindiya . naazuk . Hair tied a choti. Pink salwaar suit. A few kaanch ki green bangles . Quiet girl . Elegant . Shy. Soft laughter. Hai main marr jaawa butter naan kha ke .The multiplex chaap girl who wears a three year old's bathing suit to parties , drinks , smokes , uses foul words and calls herself independent is a wonderful thing to happen to the cosmetic and tobacco industry , but for me , the bhartiya simple ladki remains incredibly cute . But oye sohniye , not too much shy .

Me ( Back from office ) - Knock . Knock . Oye laajwanti , darwaza khol yar , I am back .
She ( softly ) - Suno jee , mujhe aapke saamne aate hue shy shy feel hota hain jee .
Me ( Trying to keep my voice low while the neighbours look at me curiously ) - Ahem . haha. Arre darwaza khol sweetie , it's been 13 years since our marriage now. Abb kya sharmana .
She ( softly giggling now ) - umm..nahi jee , mujhse nahi kiya jayega . Aapke saamne aate hi sharma jati hu main.
Me ( hitting the briefcase against the door ) - Teri ma ki..

I mean , I love shyness , but I don't want to use my briefcase to enter my home everyday.

2. What's common between ego and dinosaurs ?

Both are dead now. That's right , her ego should be as dead as a thief in Mike tyson's home . I don't like people who have big blue whale sized egos . She should be like "You remember the time I burped loudly when we were having dinner with your boss's family ? HaHa. I am such a goof!". Maybe that's why I have never been attracted to any IIM girl , many of whom can't laugh at themselves . Oye kake , cat clear karrke IIM C ayi hain hema malini , to ego ekdum eiffel tower size ka ho jata hai kaafi ladkiyon ka .

3 . Kuch to log kahenge , logon ka kaam hai kehna .Tu bheje ka kofta mat bana .

Now that she would be married and assumingly exposed to a healthy dose of fat padosans and frustrated colleagues like most Indian women , a lot of junta soundbytes like 'How do you stay with this half crazed nut ?' and 'I know a pretty good divorce lawyer.You deserve a better life' and 'What ?? He comes back late these days ? You should talk to 'Husband-secretary-pol khol detective agency'. I don't want her to kill these padosans and colleagues and dump their bodies under our bed , but she should have a mind of her own to prioritise people and what they say. What most people think about me doesn't move a fingernail on me , and I hope she is kinda chilled too.

4. Tunnu munnu ke papa , chalo aaj 'Haseena maan jayegi' dekhte hain

Kasam Madhubala's smile ki , the girl who actually laughs at Govinda or Akshay Kumar's brand of exaggerated comedy is my kudi , because it shows she actually enjoys brain-less , 'bheja-bhool-ja' variety of antics , which gives her a clean ten extra points in my 'Kaun Banegi Meri patni' contest . Infact , I intend to ask her about this during the 'ladka ladki ek doosre ko jaan le , samajh le' stage .

Me - Hi . Have you seen 'Haseena maan jayegi' ?
She - Oh I love that one !
Me - Oh yeah . How about 'Jodi no.1' ?
She - Uee ma . Seen that 14 times.
Me - That's so touching . Mujhse Shaadi karogi ?
She - Wow , Akshay kumar was so funny in that one .
Me - Oye Basanti , not the movie , this is a real life question. Mujhse Shaadi karogi ?

5. Oh , bhaago Judge sahiba ayi !

I write nonsense . I am not asking you , I am telling you a fact I know . But I write whatever I want to write , rather than what you want me to write . Now a girl reads the stuff at this blog , thinks 'What an idiot he is' , leaves a 'This is crap . And now you are in trouble' comment , reports me to blogger for being a burden on the cyber dharti and calls up her connection in Dubai to get me killed by some Truck during my morning walk. I will marry a lamp post rather than this girl . I mean , the girl should not consider herself the 'I am perfect' , 'I will clean the system' , 'How dare someone be silly' headmistress type character . Chill maar yaar . I am having my fun the way I want to , just leave me to my stupid life , sweetheart .

6. Thoda hain , thode ki zaroorat hain

Her life ka basic funda of happiness should match with mine . I too enjoy my work , but I need to keep the big picture in place . If the purpose of her life is to be on the cover of a business magazine , I am cool. If she is willing to neglect her ( and hopefully , mine too ) kids for that , I am boiling . My priorities - my family , my kids , a happy environment at home. Money is a pen I need to script happiness and comfort for my family. If she loves the pen more than the script , she better marry some 'aag-in-the-belly' , high flying , busy business man whose kids have trouble remembering his face , mere pyare pyare gol mol baccho ko baksh de mrs CEO.

I have to put down two more points about the girl who shall marry me and get to say 'See that guy with the stupid face over there ? He is my husband' . But I don't really think I want pouty red lips or a rich dad in law or 'jheel see aankhein' , because life is not a movie where I can happily drown in her eyes and feel happy forever . Zindagi mein things have to be worked out and when I need her to understand and share my life , pouty lips or pink cheeks won't exactly be a very useful thing . So abhi bass itna hee mangta hoon hanuman ji. If you think you have it in you to be the first ever Miss.Hitler's soul , pick up your cellphone and sms D-I-V-O-R-C-E to 123 rightnow. Sms karne se kya hoga ? Kuch nahi . Aise hee paise waste karwa raha hun yaar.

Aye saala

Gabbar : Arro oh Samba ! Wo bijli ka khamba Amitabh kabb ayega is saale ko bachane ? Mujhe shooting ke alawa aur bhi kaam hain .Saala , teen ghante se pose banaye khada hun .


Samba : Sardaar , suna hai Amitabh uss hands-free thakur aur Basanti ke saath PVR Ramgarh mein Rang De Basanti dekh raha hain .


Dharam praaji : Kutte ! Kameene ! Main uss Amitabh ka khooon pee jaunga !

Hey champak , winamp ka volume low karr and ekdum phull concentration se sunn. Hum dus bande kal Rang De Basanti dekh kar aye hain. And It's heard Aamir was at the same multiplex just till a few hours before we got there . Anyway , abb main tujhe climax batata hun . Accha accha , gusse ki missile matt launch karr rambo , nahi bata raha yaar .

But watch Rang De Basanti .Even if you are the Hollywood ka paseena , angrezo ka choota hua samaan types person who goes "Hind-ee movies ? Eeeks . So stupeed nooo ? All that dancing around trees and bushes and heavy sareees and threee hour long .I nayver waatch hind-eee movies .Hindi moviess are roobish."

Watch Rang De Basanti . Even if you have no paisa in teri pocket . Girlfriend se maang , Dad ke fake sign karr , dost ki bike dhokar kamaa , kidney bhech de , intestines bhech de , pancreas bhech de , saale eyes ke alaawa sab kuch bhech de .Eyes matt bhech diyo. Nahi to saari movie mein yehi poochta rahega saath wale se - "Bhai saab , Aamir ki entry ho gayi kya movie mein ?"

Watch Rang De Basanti .Even if tujhe Hindi itni hee samajh mein ati hain jitni Tom Hanks ko bhojpuri . Saath mein Hindi - Tamil dictionary leja , kisi hindi speaking uncle ko saath le ja , na mile to hall mein saath wale se poochta rahiyo "Umm.Excuse me Da .I can see Aamir . But what is he saying Da ?". Abbe teri , but agar tujhe hindi hee nahi ati , to tu yeh jo main type karr raha hun yeh bhee to nahi palle pad raha hoga charlie chaplin ! Kisi aas paas wale ko yeh pada and pooch main kya bol raha hoon .

Watch Rang De Basanti . Even if you think I am out of my mind . Main jaanta hu main bakwaas likh raha hun but I don't care .Yaar main kya karu , mujhe ek problem hain , mein jyada sochta nahin kuch likhne se pehle . Main abhi aadhe ghante pehle apni angelic neend se jaaga and class miss karr dee so mujhe koi kaam nahi hain . Main hindi mein likh raha hoon kyunki main basically Hindi mein sochta hun .Mere parents toffee ko toffee kehte hain , candy nahi . My mom still looks at me watching Star Movies and says 'hai munnu , tujhe samajh aa jata hain yeh angrez itni tez tez kya bolte hain ?' . So mere bheje ka primary channel hindi mein hee chalta hain . Abbe main off track kyun ja raha hun . Aye saala , tu Rang De Basanti dekh .

Too mooch trouble

With all due respect to Saurav Ganguly fans , exploited software engineers and other troubled souls of the nation , I am living a content life these days . Infact , I have always enjoyed my circumstances . But things are easy these days . The classes have the frequency of commercial breaks in a repeat telecast of a Kuchipudi dance program on doordarshan . Except the company pre placement talks I attend and a some time I devote to studying , I am as busy as a sales manager at the Antarctica Branch of Carrier Air conditioners . And tickets to Rang De Basanti’s first show have been procured .

And to make things better , N’s parents visited him at the hostel with a lot of of Gajar ka Halwa . It was like kissing your beloved after spending 51 years locked in a Tibetan monastery with a transistor and Rabri Devi for company . Gulping all that halwa was as pleasant as watching Kareena Kapoor retire from movies . After eating what must have taken three acres of carrot fields to make , I plopped down on N’s bed and flashed a content smile at the rickety ceiling fan , sending up a burpy thanks to N’s parents and carrot farmers for the halwa.

Now being true IIM tigers about to hit the corporate jungle soon , me and N tried to strike up a leisurely post-halwa discussion on the rising gold prices and its effect on the jute underwear industry of Indonesia . We tried to move ahead for around three minutes and then unanimously shifted to 'moustaches' as the topic of further discussion .

Moustache . Or ‘mooch’ in hindi . Not the unshaven Abhishek bacchan stubble type thing , but the proper Anil Kapoor type thing . The stuff which is found stuffed in the space between the lips and the nose of some guys , and some girls who were fed some extra testesterone samosas by mothers worried about eve teasing .

I was subjected to the great Chinese moustache torture early in my life . Not that my ma used the wrong oil on me and I grew one at the age of three months , but my dad has one mooch since the time I wiggled open my little eyes . Now my Dad expressed love by saving on expensive lollipops and chocolates and planting free kisses instead . On my cheek . Nothing to do with Michael Jackson or his variety of affection for kids .

So when I was a kid , dad picked me up , smiled , said ‘Mera pyaara beta’ ( My lovely sonny boy ) and kissed me while the hair of his moustache dug into my baby skin . If you have ever been kissed by a mooch-ed object , you will know the weird feeling it produces . While the lips plant a soft kiss on the cheek , the mooch scrapes the skin over the kiss point and the feeling is rather tingly and unwanted . I always followed up this mentally damaging experience by snatching away my cheek from dad and yelling “ Uee ma , aapki mooch ke baal chubhte hain” ( Uee ma , your moustache hairs prick me ). Dad said “Hatt natkhat , Dad ki mooch ke baal baccho ko nahi chubte” .( Hatt naughty boy , Daddy’s moustache never pricks the kid ) . Fearing another kiss , I stayed quiet . When I could bear it no longer , I crept upto my sleeping Dad with his shaving razor in my hand . He woke up just as I grazed his moustache with the razor . At my next birthday party , he made all my moustached uncles and aunties kiss me as a punishment .

Thankfully , I grew up and the threat from Dad’s kissing subsided with his moustache hair softening with his increasing age and his love for me decreasing with my plunging school grades .

Infact I still cannot understand why any self respecting man will carry a toothbrush of hair under his nose . I have scientific evidence it blocks the free flow of air into the nostrils . It’s like holding a mini sugarcane field to your nose while the air struggles and huffs to move past this field of hair to enter the nostril caves . I have heard about cases of moustaches causing suffocation , more so at higher altitudes and in gas chambers . Then managing a moustache requires a lot of time and energy which can be judiciously spent by me going out with girls who enjoy going out with an ugly but 'clean-slate-above-lips' guy. Salman Khan could have wooed , thrashed and re-wooed Aishwarya nineteen times over in the time my Dad spent on trimming and shaping his moustache each day. And a girl needs to have the IQ of a masala dosa to actually prefer a guy with moustaches over a guy without one .

Imagine DDLJ with Raj ( Shahrukh ‘Bath Tub’ Khan ) sporting a hairy bushy Mangal Pandey category mooch dashing through a yellow field singing “Tujhe dekha to yeh jaana sanam” while a scared Simran yells in her cellphone “Hello ! Papa ! Bachao , something hairy is coming towards me !!! Papa !” . Raj Kapoor had a pencil mooch , but then his whole USP thing was in looking stupid . Yeah , Anil Kapoor sports one , but that’s because he has a three inch wide fluorescent yellow mole under his nose he needs to cover up . Infact , the fact that most south Indian heroes sport a mooch befuddles me like the IIT JEE question paper did .

And I had no choice when my dad kissed me . But today’s empowered , liberated and muscular woman may rise in a revolt when a boyfriend/husband approaches her 'dove washed- beautician maintained-lakme moisturised' skin with a sharp and smelly pile of hair just over his pouted lips . The consequences may range from a lost kissing opportunity to divorce . So me and N concluded that a mooch is a facial liability which obstructs respiratory process , eats up valuable time , serves to bring down the beauty quotient of our ugly faces and may prove to be detrimental to any kissing attempts we may undertake in the future , forced or otherwise .

Just then P walked into the room . P is a sikh guy , a sardaar . He has a moustache.

And a beard.

Our eyes checked out his moustache , mentally calculating the number of hours wasted and the number of potential girlfriends missed by P due to his mooch. I even had a sudden vision of P choking in a dinky dark room murmuring "Cough Cough..help..help..can't breathe...my mooch is killing me...oxygen..". Me and N exchanged knowing looks , nodded and smiled in the warm satisfaction of a meaningful discusion completed . Then our eyes slid down to his beard in unison , quietly starting to analyze a beard’s utility . We had zoomed down on the topic for our next leisurely post-halwa discussion. I am not even starting on that .

Touching memories

Blogging is like making an STD call . Both the things are easier to do at night. While lower calling rates bag it for the STD calls , a more silent and peaceful boys hostel makes blogging better at night.

Anyways , I am back from watching a show of "Zinda" at the INOX . If there are two things good for my heart , they are saffola cooking oil and hindi movies . These movies don't trouble my heart with unsuspected twists and unexpected endings. The rape scenes are invariably interrupted by the hero who comes crashing in through some expensive glass door. Honest school teachers are usually killed by the bad guy while the teacher's kid hides behind a flower pot and takes a colored mental photograph of the killer for future revenge . The good guy grabs decent airtime between being shot and being dead , which he utilises well by stopping people from calling the ambulance and telling everyone around to take care of each other after he is dead .

Of course , I have seen some movies challenge the norms , a notable example being "Saiyan Magan Pahelwani Mein" ( My guy is busy wrestling ) , which is in fact a bhojpuri movie , which I was made to watch on gunpoint by masked men who remain unidentified till date. So when I saw Lara Dutta as a Cab Driver in the flick "Zinda" , it was another 'awe and wonder' kodak moment for me . The rest of the movie was kinda drab , with Sunjay Dutt looking like in urgent need of a barber , clean bath and fresh collection of santa banta jokes to change his 'depressed-cant smile-wont comb my hair' mood in the movie . But a slim and pretty Lara Dutta as a cab driver was something unexpected for me , which made me view my hairy and creepy cab driver on the way back with a deep sense of dissatisfaction.

Speaking of the taxi ride , we were six IIM students and one non IIM driver stuffed in a cab , and as is the rule within Indian jurisdiction , I was making around 93% of the noise . 3% is attributed to a running car engine and occasional honking . 4% was coming from guys threatening me with touching statements like and "Do you always giggle without reason?" and "Move away man , give me some space."

In an twist of fate completely unrelated to the unfounded allegations about cramped space leading to inappropriate touching , our topic of conversation veered onto gays . Ok , confession time. Unintentionally , I drove the conversation right into it . In most situations , one of my primary aims is to have harmless , export quality fun . The guy sitting next to me in the cab was a bengali lad who is more interested in the stock market than a fire extinguisher even when his pants are on fire , keeps steel and sugar prices pasted on his desktop , and rebukes me with a nice little 'dhatt' when I ask him about girls . Smirking gleefully at his being trapped in a running car with me , I grabbed his shoulder , squeezed it softly and asked in a delicious throaty voice "Hey buddy , have you ever seen a gay , before me that is... " and squeezed his shoulder again followed with a crooked smirk. I expected him to shriek and lunge towards the nearest car window . And it was like I had found a beady eyed frog floating in my steaming bowl of tomato soup when he looked at me , lowered his eyes and utterred 'yeah , once'. He went on to tell us about some gay guy who had made a pass to him on a late night in bangalore. Which sent me sliding back to the flashback when I met a gay man.

I was in my engineering college then and was walking down a street after getting off a bus . A 40 something man , riding a green scooter passed me , slowed down and asked if I wanted a lift . Feeling glad that such people still exist in the northern hemisphere , I happily nodded and jumped onto the pillion. I had heard about hitchhikers being robbed or molested , but that stuff happened in cars with tinted glasses . I dint really see him robbing a college bag with a battered notebook and a leaking pen inside , and dint really see that happening on a green old scooter which had no windows , tinted or otherwise .

He started off with some sweet talk , asking me about my college and engineering , which made me a little uncomfortable as I feared he may ask about my marks next , which were so low that I needed a submarine too find them . But my "How uncomfortable are you?" measurement device blew up when he actually took a hand off the handle and placed it on my thigh in such a way , I knew this was "When Harry met Harry" happening with me . I immediately asked him to stop and got off . The freak threw a 'please come again' smirk at me as I hurried away.

If you think I am making it up for some reason, it's fine , I don't think a certificate saying anything like "It is hereby certified that Mr.Abhinav has been molested according to prescribed techniques by Mr.Freak on a green scooter" , will add much value to my CV.

Coming back to the safer cab ride , for next half an hour , it was a soulful confession class for six IIM guys who went about telling about the gay men some of them had come upon . It was discovered that three of us had actually felt a gay thing being done to us . One of us used it to claim that he was actually a cute guy and hence considered suitable enough for this noble attempt by some creep . Defying my penchant for stupidity , I was not the one to claim this . Fearing he may feel left out and hike up the fare meter in anger , I almost asked the driver if he wanted to share any victimised memories about gay guys , but my pals had this sudden flash of an angry driver thrashing me on a crowded calcutta street and suggested otherwise .

Anyways , it's almost six in the morning now and I got classes in six hours from now , so I need to hit the scooter..err , sack now . I don't wake up in a cold sweat yelling "stop the scooter" and I don't turn into a "green scooter owner" killer at 2 am every night , but it did scare me . And it makes me feel how tough it must be for girls with eve teasers as common as stray dogs . I really feel I should have kicked that scooter guy that day , instead of sneaking away . But I hope to find him someday. So if you got a green scooter , you better paint it some other color.

Kabhi hum apne fone ko , kabhi uss ad ko dekhte hain

Waise to noone is chillaying "abhi , kahan gayab ho gaya tu !! Maloom tere bin roti nahi khayi jaatee thee mujhse !! " , but main ultra deluxe besharmo jaise bata deta hun , I had been busy with the dramatics club play we staged last night . Anyway , forget that , abhi tu apna bajaj scooter utha , go to the nearest magazine stall , buy the new year edition of 'Business today'. Turn around the cover page .You will see my color fotu with my right arm around Priyanka Chopra and left arm around Esha Deol and Mallika Sherawat holding up a table fan to my face and Lara dutta dangling Black Grapes over my head and Amisha Patel standing some feet away with a "Swami jee , mujhe bhee apni seva karnne dijiye na please" expression on her tiny face . Hai allah , me and my rangeen dreams.

Anyway ,if you turn the page , You will come upon an advertisement for a cellphone.

I mean , bhaiyya , the ad says that it is a cellphone . Though it looks like a 4 inch mercedes. I thought the "uee ma , main gayab ho gaya !" wala gadget Anil Kapoor found in Mr.India would be the most complex gadget to be invented. Now I do not. The cellphone in the advertisement has these features - Direct to TV output 2 mega pixel flash camera , 262K color QVGA TFT-LCD , expandable memory slot ,Dual speaker 3D sound , music player ( MP3 , AAC ,AAC+), camcorder and video messaging ( mpeg , h.263 ), piscel document viewer , bluetooth wireless , pictbridge printing and GPRS quadband. Hey raam , yeh fone hai ya mini satellite. Thinking of phones , mujhe flashback yaad aa raha hai bott zoro se.

When I was a little kid , I thought my dad was a photographer. When my nursery teacher asked the kids to name their dad's occupation , I said "mere pappa camera chalate hain". It was only when he pumped a 3 feet lamba vaccine into my mulayam kiddy bottoms that I surely knew that he was a doctor. But to my little brain , he remained a photographer because of his amar prem for photography. Vaccine stabbings and bright red capsules and savlon dabbings happened occasionally. What happened regularly was my dad cropping up with his japanese camera and clicking me and my sister .

My dad has clicked a three year old me splashing happily in a little orange plastic bathtub where I have this "I am nanga !! But who cares !!" expression on my face. He has clicked my two year old sister clutching an empty plastic bag and going 'shopping' on a five year old horse ( me ) , where she has this "jaldi karr ! Chintu sarees pe 50% sale lagee huee hain !" expression on her face. He has clicked a six year old me holding the receiver of our phone to my left ear with a "hey sonali , what are you doing this evening ? Let us meet over a couple of lollipops" expression on my stupid face. I remember the phone in our home at that time. It was black. It had that coiled wire connecting a big banana like receiver to a base heavy enough to outweight Riya Sen .It rang sometimes , with a simple 'Trrring Trrring'. Mostly , it was my mausi who used to chat with ma about Indore wali aunty's new jewellery set or some recipe for a 'never-seen-before' variety of halwa. In spite of these culinary disaster plots , those were telephonically peaceful times.


I got my first cellphone in the second year of my engineering. I still remember that kaali amaavas ki raat , when my dad called me to his room and opened the corner wali puraani almirah to bring it out. I saw it and yelled "uee ma!!" and ran away to hide behind the curtains. It was as big as a extra juicy bumper sized hotdog. The antennae on its top could have been used for pole vaulting over the college gate. When I sat down in the classroom ,with the cellphone in my trouser's pocket , the antennae found its way towards the front part and stuck out. When they noticed that , the boys whispered "idiot. Put that Delhi Police type walkie talkie on the table. The thing is sticking out ". When the girls saw that , they turned red and started turning the pages of their books in disgust . I hated that cellphone. In the final year,I got a new cellphone. This was much smaller and had no antennae. But the damage had already been done by the previous one . Some of the girls in my class still believe it was not the antennae.

*CoMmerciaL BreAk*

I have been looking for the track "Welcome to wherever you are - Bon Jovi". So if you could mail it to me at abhi844@yahoo.com , I shall gift you a colorful mobile cover and a lot of other useless goodies ! Hurry ! Mauka Nikal na jaye !. Sacchi , I want that number badly.

*Back to the damn stupid post*

Since then , a lot of contaminated paani has flown under the bridge. Kai Mausam guzar gaye , kai sardiyan guzar gayi , kai garmiyan guzar gayi, kai patjhad guzar gayi , kai spring guzar gaye , meri colony ke mr.taneja guzar gaye , and mere jeevan se kai cellphone guzar gaye . But I still got a very normal cellphone with no inbuilt megapixel cameras or inbuilt juicer-cum-mixers or inbuilt water dispensers or inbuilt flat screen televisions or inbuilt AK 47s. I dont even recall what is the model number of my handset for sure. For the 'features' part in my masoom gareeb cellphone , it has got a phone book , sms facility ( jispe airtel guys tell me that i can be the next indian idol or have lunch with shahrukh khan by sending L U N C H to 123 ) , and FM radio . I plug in the headphones when I feel the professor is too boring or when I want to look a "subhan allah , what a music diggin cool dude ! Yo maaan ! " types guy. And the phone can make and receive calls too.

I look at it and then at this advertisement before me. It seems I am some stone age animal , born in some stony cave with dinosaurs roaming around in the backyard , and me wearing deer skins as chaddis in routine and tiger skins as party wear chaddis , and using a normal cellphone when the world is moving onto this bhayankar gadget which they call a cellphone. But I think I will survive with this one. Atleast , When I sit down with it in my trouser pockets , it has no 'Bijli ka Khamba' sized antennae to visit awkward places .

Zooming into 2006 . With the FOMH.

Date - Dec 31 , 2005 .

Scene 1 - My room
Time - Around 6 pm.

The Fly over my head ( FOMH ) - *sniff sniff* What's this smell ?

Me - Call it fragrance , idiot. Smell is this ! *forcing my smelly socks on FOMH face*

FOMH - Whatever ! your so called 'fragrance' seems like that of a dead dog pizza cooked in some armpit sweat ! yucks !

Me - You won't understand. It's Axe . I am going out with my pals . The Axe affect is supposed to attract girls . Some pretty big eyed bengali lass is gonna sniff my deo and yell 'marry me' tonight .

FOMH - I have been seeing that deo spray in your room for a month now . But I have never seen you with anything resembling a girl .

Me - Ahem..Sorry . I can't hear you .

Scene 2 - A taxi
Time - Around 7 pm

FOMH - Why did you just yell !! Is the driver next to you trying to touch your thighs while changing gears ? I know that happens. You can tell me .We can get you justice !

Me - Damn you fly ! We are singing ! We guys are in a fun mood . So we are singing along "Deedaar De" playing on the cab radio .

FOMH - Damn you human ! This sounds like the howling of itchy stray dogs who are being carried away in the municipal dog control van .

Me ( yelling at the top of my voice ) - aa saamne aur tham le teri aamanat yaar main deedar de deedar de deedar de deedar le * sticking out my tongue at FOMH *

Scene 3 - INOX multiplex , Kolkata
Time - Around 9 pm

FOMH - Man , this place is good . Look at the crowd ! I wish I was a human.

Me *smirk* - You are not .So you gotta hang out with some tentacled little hairy housefly.HaHa.

FOMH - Looks like distilled water was in that AXE spray of yours. The girls aint exactly falling in your arms , eh ?

Me - You see that curly haired girl in yellow standing there ? She just talked to me.

FMOH - She asked you the time .

Me - So ? That is a start .

Scene 4 - Food Court , INOX multiplex, Kolkata
Time - Around 9.30 pm

FMOH - Hey loser , order a veg pizza for me .A coke maybe. That will be all. Make it fast.

Me - Oh Oh Oh , you see that orange trashbin near the pillar ? It's got the goodies for you .Go treat yourself over the leftovers ! Haha.

FMOH *gasps* - What is that thing next to you ??

Do I look hungry ?

Me - Well , ahem...thats my friend , Manish.He eats at the mess , new boys hostel , IIM C .So he may look a little excited about getting worm-less and hair-less and tasty food. *nudging manish* Abbe stop panting , act like a human . Stop panting over the food and eat it. We need to get back to campus before the party begins .


Scene 5 - Old Hostel compound , IIM C
Time - Around 1 am

FMOH - Eeeeeks !! Someone help this little guy under me !! Quick !

Me - *drenched in sweat* Huh ? What ? I am fine !

FMOH - But you are shaking violently ! NO NO NO , just lie down ! I will get help ! Don't worry ! I won't leave you here ! I will be back honey ! You are not gonna die !

Me - Bah ! Are you the miss.idiot of your fly-land ? I am just dancing ! Rock it !! Don't you listen to the blaring music here .Feel the angrezi music take you over , kid !

FOMH - Angrezi music ? But if your physical movements are to be classified under a dance form , it will be some violent version of bhangra .

Me - Who cares ! Oye Hoye ! Harrippaa !! * charges towards a fellow dancer , accompanied by radically dangerous pelvic movements *

Scene 6 - Old Hostel compound , IIM C
Time - Around 3 am

FMOH - Come on , enough of your stupidity . Now stop dancing vulgarly with your pals here and get back to the room . Be a good boy. Let's go back now. I need some sleep. Am going on a date with 'Joe-the-moth' , my new boyfriend tommorrow. I am so glad I found Joe after that 'son of a butterfly' Jimmy dumped me .

Me * rolling eyes* - Man ! Now that some desi punjabi tracks are coming on , you want to go back because of some 2 inch moth . That is why I hate this girlfriend-boyfriend thing !

scene 7 - My room.
Time - Now . Jan 1 , 2006 .

I feel as tired as a mother of seven hyperactive kids after all that dancing.( yeah that was dancing , FMOH is just too stupid to appreciate good moves). So I think I will sleep now . The food and the party was a great way to start my year. Hope you have a real classy 2006. FMOH is asleep now. Must be dreaming of her date with Joe tomorrow. Women !

Khiladi number (N)one

The campus placement season is coming towards me like a drunk and unbathed Gulshan Grover staggering towards a cowering and trembling girl who took refuge from the rain in one of his luxurious bedrooms. In the movies , the girl generally pulls out a seven inch knife from the apple basket lying on the side table , positions it right over her tummy and yells "Kutte , ek kadam bhee aage badaya to main khud ko khatm karr dungi". But I do not feel any amount of artillery positioned over any part of my anatomy can halt the oncoming placements . So I better gear up unless I want to go jobless and then end up as an anti social element , stealing eggs and bread to feed my kids and wife and girlfriends.


As a part of this "naukri pakdo" preparation , I sat down to work on my resume yesterday. I looked at a blank word document and typed down each and every achievement of mine , including being a class monitor in the fifth standard . But even after that , page space enough to fit in the entire voters list of Gurgaon remained. I felt so small at my extra minimised set of achievemnts and suddenly had a very 'sharminda karne wali' realisation - I do not have even a bacteria -sized achievement to show in the world of sports. Not even a third prize in one of those junior school frog races where they give Pencilboxes and Crayons as prizes .


When I was born , I was a baby with baby fat enough to make butter naans for half the colony. And that is all right , I guess babies are like pay cheques - they look good when they are fat. But hanuman jee kee leela dekho , I was born into a family with a grandmom who fed grains to sparrows in the morning and oily food to her grandson for the rest of the day. So at a tender age , when I had no nails or teeth to scratch and bite in self defence and could just murmer "nana..mamama...umm" ( No I am not hungry ) , she made me eat and eat to make sure I retained a major part of my precious baby fat even when I entered school .


So that made me as much "suitable-for-sports" as Nana Patekar is for the role of Leo Caprio in Titanic. Like any 'deshbhakt' little fat indian kid , cricket was my first love , with Sridevi coming a close second ( yeah , those were the 80s , when sridevi pranced around in frilly tops and danced violently ).

And cricket was fun , as long as I was watching it on TV. When I went out to play , tall and lean boys gave me that "Go play Ludo" look . My cricketing memories are majorly composed of standing near the little green row of plants which served as the boundary of our park-cum-field. Sacchi bolta hoon , batting and bowling ka to naam-o-nishaan nahi . I just had to retrieve the ball when it crossed the boundary . I felt like a golden retreiver without a tail . I was always the curly haired little kid who was pleading- "Ayye bunty , bat de na , mujhe batting karne de na" , "Ayye rahul , ball de na , mujhe spin balling aati hai acchi wali " , "Ayye Vikky , mere andar ke cricketer ka gala matt ghott. mujh par taras khaa zaalim. Mujhe batting open karrne de ".


But no bunty or Rahul or Vikky ever ate any taras on the budding and well hidden cricketer in me . So one day I decided ki bhaiyya , bott ho gaya public mein humiliation , boundary ke side mein fielding karte karte budaapa aa jayega .And I hung my bat and walked away into the sunset , never to return to cricket again .


Since then , I have had myself humiliated , laughed at , beaten and thrown away out of a lot of sporting careers. Kasam Michael Jackson ki , there seems to be something which makes me a loser at every sport I have played . I have run miles zigzagging the field without getting to place the fraction of a foot on the football . On the tennis court , my opponent's serves were always far enough from me , enough to drive a yellow sardarji driven school bus through the space between me and the tennis ball . The only hockey swipe I have taken led to the stick flying off my hands and hitting the instructor in his groin , almost ending his family plans and definitely ending my hockey plans .

Ok , it is six in the morning and I think I will go for a little jog around the campus now. No no no , do not get me wrong , athletics is not my next sporting passion .

Before I go , a very very Happy New year to you buddy .You be the good person you have always wanted to be , and if you see a little fat kid pleading before big and lean guys and saying "Mujhe batting karne do please" , walk over , slap the big kids unke respective kaan ke neeche and hand over the bat to the little fat kid with a smile , and lastly , maintain peace in the new year .

Maybe my son will grow up to be some star soccer player who is signed up by a fancy cclub and makes girls scream at super sonic levels when he steps out of his red sports car , or some champion boxer who chomps on ears and strips topless and beats dark and bald muscular men on TV. But you wont see me on ESPN or any sports channel in this lifetime of mine , unless I am picked up by some channel to dress into a noodle straps blouse and replace Mandira Bedi , which , I somehow feel , is slightly improbable .Have Fun.

Boyfriend /Girlfriend = Faltoo tension ?

A popular and slick and busy eating joint .Well lit. Big flat screen television playing in a corner. Round little shining tables with nice angular chairs around it . A guy and a girl seated around a table.

The guy reaches into a paper bag and pulls out a box of chocolates.

Scenario 1 -

Guy ( handing over the box to the girl ) – Hey , I got this for you , I guess you like chocolates.

Girl – Oh, Thank you ! I love them.

*Girl thinks – Ueee ma , it would be fun eating all of these chocolates .Ek ek ko chaba daalungi.Calorie consciousness gayi tel lene*

Scenario 2 -

Guy ( handing over the box to the girl ) – Hey , I got this for you , I guess you like chocolates.

Girl – Oh, Thank you ! I love them.

*Girl thinks – Ueee ma , I am again accepting gifts from him , but over the last three weeks , he has been a little cold . Since the time that new girl with the colored hair has joined our classes , he has not been his normal self .See , even the chocolates he has gifted are Cadburys , why could not he gift me those Swiss ones….maybe he hates me now that I have put on weight . Hell , I am so scared and anxious now , these chocolates look as tasty as a Dettol soap to me.*

And it makes me appreciate how much more delightful a simple guy-gal friendship , rather than a “coochie coochie –more than friendship-ishq vishq” , is .

I mean , kasam Bhawani ki , the “expectations/possession” ka funda that creeps when a girl is your girlfriend and not just a friend is one wierd issue , atleast with a ‘tension-nahi’ types insaan like me. I mean , I gifted her chocolates because she is a friend , and I wanted her to have fun gobbling them up , and that is that. And this kind of relation is so simple , natural and free of muddled feelings and assumed expectations.

But the moment a ‘proposal and acceptance’ takes place between a guy and a girl , things are transformed. Suddenly the girl, who was a friend till yesterday is a girlfriend . Till last Sunday , Rahul and Shruti were classmates in college . Rahul called Shruti his friend. Then Rahul proposed and Shruti accepted. Now Rahul calls Shruti “My girl”. I mean , yeh “My girl” kya hota hai Rahul Kaka , yeh koi cycle hai , ki “my cycle” ?

Then if Shruti decides goes out on a lunch with her ‘barso ka dost’ vineet , Rahul narrows his eyes and asks her “Tera koi chakkar hai kya uske saath?” and promises to throw export quality acid on her if the answer is in the affirmative.

If Rahul does not send Shruti a bunch of fresh roses on the anniversary of the day they first met in the physics lab , Shruti calls him up in the evening , says Hello , then coughs , sobs and breaks into a long wail which ends in “You are not the same , Rahul” or something to that effect followed by a violent slamming down of the phone.

And Hanuman Jee na kare , if Shruti goes out to shop and spots Rahul riding his bike with a pretty girl on the backseat , she will throw dangerously heavy things at Rahul till he shows her the birth certificate of that girl to prove that it was his sister he was going to drop at her maths tution classes.

I mean , dekho jee , I have minimal experience of having a girlfriend , and considering my state of existence , I don’t think I will have too much experience in this and the next few lifetimes. But to my underdeveloped dimaag , a simple friendship is a very direct , expressed and delightful relationship to have . Maybe all these complications between Rahul and Shruti would not happen , and they will trust each other come what may , and that is very comforting and kaleje ko thanda karne wali thought . But I guess it is cool to let feelings grow naturally without the thing of “having to do it” because he/she is your girlfriend/boyfriend. A true feeling needs no promise , and no promise can make an untrue feeling survive , so why promise and build expectations and lead to unfulfilled ones ?

You can yell “sour grapes , sour grapes” for me now. Infact , I am such a girlfriend-less guy , that even a forest of sour grapes may seem to be the reason behind my thinking . Maybe I am just too immature to handle all the responsibility and promises a commitment demands . But in my opinion , one can be more easy , be a lot more frank , and a lot more natural with a girl who is just happy to see a box of chocolates instead of worried over some new girl with the colored hair.