Lucy says

I love this room.All this dirt. All these dirty plates still lying here.I love this room.I bet this is the dirtiest place within a radius of 1.42 kilometers , as there is a public toilet at a distance of 1.42 kilometers.My cousion julie stays there.But I stay here , W 204 , Boys hostel , IIM C.Oh , did I intoduce myself ? I am Lucy .A fly .I share the room with Abhinav.If you think I am too insignificant , you have never had a fly entering your nose.

My parents are at Delhi.No siblings.Family planning .That too without condoms.Ever seen a condom for a fly ? My dad and mom are based at the dustbin of a fast food center at Delhi.Pretty posh area.But I am worried .All that fast food is doing a lot of harm to their weights.The last time I flew back to Delhi , mom looked so fat , I thought it was a frog.And to think she was once the most pretty fly around , all the frogs and cockroaches and flies of the area used to stand outside our dustbin to catch a glimpse of mom.Mom says once a dog proposed to her .My dad , unfortunately , cant move.It was a terrible mid air collision with our neighbour Ms.Jenny the honeybee.My dad lost three legs.So he just lies bent at home and writes poetry with his remaining limbs...I really miss my family ,but have to be here at IIM C for my degree in Garbage management.

Abhinav's cellphone is ringing now.This guy sleeps , and a Tata sumo runs over him , and he will sit up , look around with half opened eyes , yawn , and go back to sleep.Oh , thank god , he is moving now.Yeah , got the phone.

"Uhmm..Hullo...yeah....mommy...yeah..had my breakfast..hmm..uh ?...we had ..dosas for breakfast today...yeah..masala...masala dosas...yeah..ye..with the sambar ...yeah mom yeah..the chutney tooo maaa...yeah...........huh ..nah nah im here..ye I had breakfast ma , I had it...ohkkk...yeah i did not ..did not have the breakfast..ok , I will eat something now..yeah...bbye..yeah i WILL eat mummy ..bye".

This guy never learns.He still doesnt know how to balance a balance sheet.and still doesnt know how to lie to his mommy. Now he sees the clock.He looks at the hands of the clock .His sleepy eyes open up and his eyeballs shoot out to a distance of two feets outside his face.He has missed the 'strategic management' class yet again.Imagine you are a british white guy.Your white wife is in undergoing her delivery in the hospital room , while you wait outside , anxiously.After a lot of waiting , the doctor breezes out all excited , and yells "twin boys !".You let out a chuckle and run inside.twin boys.One negro.The other chinese.The expression on the husband's face.Thats the expression on Abhinav's face now.His class attendance records are getting to be so low , they are almost underground.And he is as related to studies as you are to Brad Pitt.I bet his professors will be cutting out big thermocol F's to stick on his grade sheets.

But the poor guy is not to be blamed for this kumbhkaran-sque sleep.After all , he was involved in a brainstorming session till late last night.A couple of his group members had came over.They were supposed to prepare a presentation on sports utility vehicles segment of the Indian Industry.As I perched comfortably on the bookrack and eyed the boys ( now I am a girl too ) , the one in the maroon shorts and flourescent yellow Tee shirt settled at the computer and gawked at the priyanka chopra wallpaper .Now you have not read psychology.But you dont need to.Three guys.1 in the morning.Boys hostel.If you expect them to talk about vehicles instead of girls , you might as well expect ostriches to speak in hindi and Monica Lewinsky to marry Manmohan Singh .So they got into talking about girls.They argued passionately and came to the conclusion that the girls at IIM calcutta were as pretty as 83 year old women , except one , who was chosen to be as pretty as a 76 year old woman with warts.

Now he has dozed off again.Today is friday.He has the "services marketing" class in some time.I hope someone rings his cell and wakes him up.Even an Airtel executive calling him up about the chance to dine with Sachin Tendulkar would be appreciated by me.He needs to wake up now.

But before you think those guys stopped at girls , nah.Its an IIM after all.They did get onto the sports utility vehicles(SUV) project.After some three minutes , they decided the problem with SUVs in india was their high prices.The trio of budding managers decided to suggest changes to bring down the prices of a SUV .Replace the engine with a Bajaj Chetak scooter's.Replace the seats with wooden ones.Make it a pedal driven thing , with the passengers hitting the pedals to drive the vehicle.Take off the roof.Take away the flashy headlights and put two candles on the bonnet to help night driving.

I am sorry , but I can not take this any more.He has to wake up now.No phones , no one knocking.I will have to get into action now.Mom says no one can keep sleeping with a fly in his ear.I am all set to find out if its true.

****

This is for "her".If you read this , just drop a comment.I can't reach you.Just let me know that you are safe in all these floods....Damn. Lucy ! Get out of my ear now!

------

Added later :

Everybody says I am not fine.But why I am feeling fine :

1."She" is fine .

2.My dear sis Angel just left a comment on my blog proclaiming the return of the queen.

3.Lucy is out of my ear.I have promised her to get up on time from now on.

4.I presented the SUV presentation earlier in the day ( yeh , we have classes on sundays).My group has been awarded an A+ , the highest grade anyone can get.Its like a monkey getting to kiss Aishwarya.Obviously , we left out the pedals and candles ideas.

A little bit of sunshine

A recent edition of "The Week" carried an article about MBAs.It said that a 1993 IIM passout commanded an average annual salary of 50 lakhs in 2003.

My sister read this article at her college Library.She gasped , quickly got up from the desk , ran out of the Library , took out her cellphone and dialled mom's number with trembling fingers. "Ma , Munnu is going to get a minimum of 50 lakhs per year in 2016.".The details of the sensational week article were duly passed on to ma.Ma dropped the plate carrying the potatoes she was peeling , dropped the kitchen knife she was peeling the potatoes with and stagerred to the nearest chair.After downing a bottle of Bisleri , or maybe it was Aquafina , she called Dad at the hospital.My dad dropped the scissors in the tummy of the guy he was operating on , did a little jig to the tune of "Dil le gyi" by Jassi , and yelled "my son will be rich" so loudly that the window glasses of buildings within a radius of 4.23 kilometers of the hospital cracked.

I hope that was exciting enough.Now picture the exact opposite of this.It was me who read the article .Later , when I was talking to mom on the phone , I remarked about the sultan-of-brunei-sque sum of 50 lakhs to mom .I am not sure if mom even heard it , because she immediately proceeded to ask about the stuff I had in the evening snacks.I paused , and then said sandwiches.Then she warned me against skipping dinner.This is what really happenned.

My family is a "small dreams" family.And this has been inherited by me.My idea of a perfect day at the age of 50 is taking out my cute little wife and two cute-er and little-er kids to a comedy movie , laugh a lot with them , throw popcorn at people , sing loudly with the songs in the movie , then go to a little cosy restaurent for dinner , spill a lot of food , laugh a lot , drop things in each other's glasses when they aint looking , and then sneak home without paying the bill.I do not know if I will get that "potato-dropping-window -glass-shattering" salary , and to be as honest as a lie detector machine , I do not care.

Being in an IIM assures me that I will attain a minimum standard of financial status , that I would not need to sell my wife's "mangalsootra" and my daughter's barbie collection to buy dinner.So though I have not "earned" a cent in my life yet , though I did steal a pencilbox in class fourth , if we can call that "earning" something , money is no more a motive in my life.I am intent on loving what I do .And money will come by as a by product as fleas come by with a stray dog.

All I want is a nice and simple life.Where nobody cries much , and even if they do , there are always people to offer a nice smelling handkerchief.And it is this simplicity and innocence which the world seems to be losing.Looks like a little dream of an innocent smile is becoming too much to ask for.

A 13 year old girl was raped yesterday in the Salt Lake area of Calcutta.Raped before her parents ,by four men.She was the daughter of a domestic help.She went to school , class VIII.Maybe she would have had dinner a few hours before being raped.Maybe her mother would have prepared her favorite dish as dinner.She would have enjoyed eating it , then maybe she would have studied a little.Studied some english lesson maybe.Then her mother would have finished the household chores and mother and daughter would have chatted.Chatted about her classes at school that day , imitating with glee the strange pronunciation of her south indian Maths teacher , expressing her difficulty with Physics to her illiterate mother , maybe asking her mother to get a new pair of socks the next day.A normal girl , maybe like my sister would have been at 13.Then she would have slept.

And at 4 in the morning , four men drag her out of bed , push her to the floor , and rape her brutally as her gagged and tied mother and father watch helplessly.Watch their little girl undergo something she is too young to understand.They watch all the moments , the moment their daughter took her first step , the moment she stepped into her school for the first time , the moment she made her first "chappati" , the moment she used her pocket money to buy flowers on her mother's birthday , they watch all these moments heartlessly trampled by four men.

Is it foolish to dream and hope in such a world ? I say this to myself and my friends , but is life really beautiful ? All I want is a life bathed in a little bit of sunshine , but is the darkness too much ?

Short Circuit

Clunk.The pebble hits the steely body of the electricity pole.I have hit the pole 2 times out of 5.Adi has hit 3 out of 5 times.Dhania has it none out of 5.Hitting a non-curvy , non-sexy and cold electric pole is all we guys can do waiting for Bus No.764 outside our Engineering college at Dwarka , Delhi.Its been more than 25 minutes and not a single 764 has come this way.The three of us look at a guy zoom past on a red bike and send up a fast prayer wishing a massive puncture hits both its tyres.And just as we see nothing happening and him zooming out of sight , we see this camel cart coming our way.The camel cart is this wooden thing being pulled by a camel , coincidentally. We look at each other and solemnly nod in unison.Right.We are getting on this thing.We thrust out our arms . The rajasthaani turbaned guy who sits behind the constipated looking camel , nods his big head which is an invitation which says - on this auspicious occasion of you three fools not finding a bus to get on and not having bikes to ride on , run along and jump onto my deluxe camel cart.Dhania runs on , throws his bag onto the wooden floor of the cart and effortlessly hauls himself onto the ambling cart.Adi next.On in a flash.I gallop in , throw my bag and Dhania grabs it.Without breaking the momentum , I place my hands on the wood and leap.Uggh.I land back on the road as the wooden floor proves a little too high.No problems.Here I come again.whoooo.Shit.Just a little more and I would have been on our camel coach this time.Adi and dhania are beginning to giggle by now.I am starting to laugh sheepishly by now.I run in , grab adi's outstretched arm and make this gravity defying leap , and collapse laughing onto a laughing Adi and dhania, finally onto the cart.We three laugh , the rajashtani cart wallah laughs , we look at the camel tail swiping flies off its bottom and laugh some more.

This incident from my engineering days is just one of the reminders of a fact which stays with me all through the day.I am a short boy.I am short.( To be read with the intensity and solemnity of "Rahul , I am pregnant" ).

When I walk down the street , old women drop their shopping bags in horror and shriek "eeeks , what happenned to you , you are so short !". Tourists want to get their photographs clicked with me and go back to Bhutan and Sri Lanka and show their wives how they found a strangely short boy in India.Old men stop me and ask if some sort of surgery can help me.

Ok.Relax.The last paragraph is a victim of exaggeration.But I am short.I barely reach 5 ' 4" - 5' 5".Some names are just so readymade for me.People have been calling me "Chotu" , "Bacchu" , "Little Wonder" ,"Pocket transistor", ever since I crawled out in this world.Though my personal favourite is "Short circuit".It has an electric feel to it.

When I was a little kid , or rather a "little-er" kid at school , I used to get angry when anyone used to tease me.I used to plan things like pushing the tall bully off the school roof during the games period.I used to dream of drinking buckets of complan and growing up to be a seven feet giant who can call the rest of the world a world of pocket transistor sized people.But as I grew up , or rather did not grew up much , I knew this world will always be a world of big surround sound theatre systems rather than transistors to me.And I thought , I cant survive like this.Feeling small all through the day , seething with anger at the bullies and meanies who used to tease me.I can not hate myself , I have to spend a lifetime with myself.I had to accept that i am short but not inferior.I am just different.And I learnt the most important art which still makes my life blissful - I learnt to laugh at myself.Not the lack of self esteem , but a meeting with the reality and getting rid of any false egos.I learnt to laugh at myself.And I realised that most of times when we fuel our egos to lose our peace of mind .

And everytime the giant aussies put their hands together to applaud as a sweat soaked 5'4" Sachin runs in to complete his century , I wink to myself. When a tiny Rajpaal Yadav draws cheers from the audience in a packed cinema hall , I wink to myself. And when the IIM C bunch popularly voted me as the "Johnny Lever of IIM C" at the diwali night function last year, I winked to myself.I lost on height.Maybe no girl will want to marry me.Maybe all my life I will be teased.Maybe I will have trouble jumping onto a camel cart.

But all my life , I know I will never take myself seriously and all my life , I will laugh at myself and at this amusingly ego infested world .I can laugh at myself , and that minimises my ego and reminds me of how amusing this life is.What seemed like a forced compromise has turned out to be an entirely different viewpoint .What seemed a physical lacking , has turned out to be an education in attitude.

And its not that bad.My parents needed just one shopping spree to buy me clothes for a couple of years as I drank complan and yelled happily "look ma , I am not growing ! The pants we bought last year still fit perfectly".My little bed saves the forests by needing less wood.I can slip behind the tables and doze well concealed during the classes .I need less time to bend down and tie my shoe laces.The top of my head is farther from the sun than most guys and that keeps me so cool during summers.Yeah I can only watch in awe as the rest of the guys play basketball , but then jesus never said one needs to play basketball to die happily.

Oooh la la ! Its AB baby.

If I would have been a girl , I would have had this huge-as-a-dinosaur crush on Abhishek Bacchan right now.Maybe this statement is a temporary side effect of just having finished watching "Sarkaar".Brooding eyes.The dark looks.The unshaved half beard.I am not gay.I am not gay.I am not gay.

The night canteen guy still hasnt delivered the maggi I ordered some two hours ago.I am feeling so hungry.Another fifteen minutes and I will eat this keyboard and the mouse pad.And while I am at it , I will eat the guy in the room opposite to mine.The punk has put on some real loud music.He should revise his civic sense lessons which taught how disturbing playing loud rock at 2.30 in the morning can be.I like to keep it real soft at night.With the lights switched off and the room bolted from inside , listening to Jagjeet Singh is as blissful as downing a two litre bottle of chilled coke after staying buried for three days in the sands of Sahara Desert.

The day started with a little 9/11 level shock.Nidhi decides to close down her blog ,screamed the headlines on NDTV ....can't you guys handle a little exaggeration ? I saw this offliner from her telling me that.Now hers was one place which was really as clean as a 5 start hotel's washbasin,as innocent as a four month old baby and dripping with good thoughts.I understand why Nidhi , who is like a sister to me , did that.

And i chatted with "her" after a long time.Not Nidhi , but the "mysterious girl" who keeps cropping up in my posts with the regularity of commercial breaks in a TV serial. After all the turmoil both of us have been through , it was good to come across as two normal 'friends' again.I did not feel any mental knots in there.I just wish she stays happy and gets what she want.If given a choice , I would do my best to compensate for the few big tears i gave her , by giving her a million little smiles , even if only as a friend. I have learnt how painful it is to cause someone tears .Though I did not touch her , the emotional chaos was too much for both of us.God , please let this be the first and last time I hurt someone.And please let her be the happiest girl in her district.Or atleast colony.

"Anyone with The legend of Bhagat Singh - Ajay Devgan walee ?". This message flashes on the institute message broadcasting system running on my computer.Almost three in the morning and guys asking for a months old movie starring a dark ugly guy as the hero.IIM education can tamper with a lot of sensibilities.

Anyways , I am feeling sleepy .But trying to get into bed implies another 7-8 minutes of physical activity as my bed seems like three hurricanes have tore through it.Maybe four.A table fan , a lot of dirty clothes , a lot of books and notes lie scattered seducingly across my bed.Hmm.And tomorrow is sunday.A class at 2 and the rest of the day is as free as a toothbrush free with a toothpaste.Maybe I can catch up with another movie tomorrow.Some Abhishek Bacchan movie.I am not gay.I am not gay.I am not gay.

Expectations = 0

Exams over.Now you being very courteous since birth ,will ask "Oh , how did they go ?".And I being not so courteous since birth, will change the topic abruptly and ask about the weather.And my response is expected to be like this when I went to watch a movie at the INOX ,right in the middle of the exam week.We went to watch "DUS".There was this Mega Bomb which if goes off in Canada can frizzle your uncle's hair in Calcutta.The hair all over Uncle's body I mean.

And Abhishek Bacchahan has to prevent a lot of hairs from frizzing by getting rid of this bomb.After a lot of shouting and yelling and crashing cars and zooming airplanes , AB manages to drown the bomb in a lake,which then explodes underwater, harmlessly, saving Uncle's hair.The hair all over Uncle's body , I mean.

And just then my pal sitting to my left wakes up with a start and murmurs"huh..uh..wat was that sound?".I patted the poor lad on his head and leaned in and whispered "Someone must have shot the bloody director of this bloody movie , sonny boy."

Infact the movie was just that,a movie.A thing can not be bad by itself , can it be ? What made we guys call it "Bad" and "faltoo" in unison, and the guy to my left doze off was our "expectation" from it before watching it. Expectations .

I expected her to be happy with me.She cries around 1.6 litres of tears with me around.Where can I find some cheap and effective poison to eat ?

I expected the guy in the next room to use my Windows XP CD with care.He spills coffee on it and then spills some coke on it.where can I find a nuclear bomb to drop on his room ?

I expected the girl who sent me those sweet emoticons on yahoo messenger , to ask for my phone number.She asked if I would attend her wedding next month.Where can I find comfortable rail tracks to lie down on ?

I expected the food at the mess to be delicious.It tastes like the graveyard of 8 dead cockroaches.Where can I find the mess secretary to vomit on ?

I expected another girl who sent me some more sweet emoticons on yahoo messenger , to ask for my phone number.She turned out to be a guy.where can I find a knife to plunge into the guy who invented yahoo messenger ?

I think most of the heartburns of my life were due to my expectations from others and sometimes myself.

I think my life would be more cool if I minimise my expectations from people.I think I should give it a try.It may turn out to a kind of dry and bland existence.Like a 6 day old toast which has been lying in the sun for the last 8 days.But I think it can be worth trying.

Do not expect.Do your best and be happy ,but dont expect anything from anyone .This is expected to be my mantra for some days to come.

Oh , its the media guys again

First of all , the dark clouds have gone to Siberia and I am back to my sunny disposition.But thanx a lot to all you people , for urging me to study.I plan to study right after a little nap.

But can someone ask these journalists to leave me in peace ? I mean , how much fame can i handle at a tender age of 23 ? The Telegraph guys quoted me and this blog in their paper today-
http://www.telegraphindia.com/1050709/asp/weekend/story_4949699.asp

I tell you , its tough being a celebrity. But though I have to wear dark glasses and a monkey cap to avoid being recognised and mobbed , I am thankful to all you people for spending some time reading what I write and then spend more time wondering what was it all about.

Anyways , I have to leave now .Another press conference.Duh.

*******

Amidst all this fooling , i think it was foolish on my part to miss thanking Miss.Nilanjana Roy who actually noticed this fool's blog and found it a place in the paper.Thank you Miss.Roy.

Study!!

I have my mid term exams from monday.I have to study for them.But can anyone tell me how will a better grade help my life ? I am sure I will study now.But how it will help my life ? I can put in my brains in studying for them.but I need this answer to put my heart in it.What drives you to study for an exam ? Cut out the recognition from this world jazz.I stood last , and the world ridiculed me.I stood first , and they were jealous of me.People who loved me before IIM happened still love me and those who hated me still hate me.Cut out the prove it to myself jazz.I have had enough of exams I have struggled through.I know myself.How will a higher grade help my life ? Damn.I will study.Damn.

Empty

When I was a little kid ,I thought adults lead the most cool life.I never saw my dad learning multiplication tables of 2 to 16.I never saw mom have to learn about the Maurya empire and the guys they screwed in wars.Parents could watch TV whenever they want.They could be awake till late night.And being a doctor's son has some lovely downsides to it.We had a ready collection of injections at home.A minor neck sprain was seen as a brain haemmorhage in making.Every little nick on my knee was seen as a tetanus case in making and my shorts pulled down and one of the injections pumped in as I pleaded innocence.So i wished i would grow up fast to stop them from pulling down my shorts whenever they want.

But in spite of shorts pulled down , there is something very cool about being a kid.When you are a kid , life is like an unopened box.You dont know what will come out of it.Maybe chocolates , maybe spiders , maybe rabbits , maybe a little doll ,maybe toilet paper.And that gives a very beautiful sense to a kid - a sense of wonder.It is not the same as worry.The kid is still not old enough to worry about if his future son would smoke marijuana or about his future wife's beauty parlour expenses.So he does not view any situation and runs a little mental calculator and think -"hmm.so this would increase the income tax i pay by 2354 bucks".A kid is just a kid.He has no forlorn memories and no worries of the future.He just views the fun going around him with awe and amazement.A ride on daddy's shaky red scooter amazes him.A fly on the table amazes him. Cigarette butts lying on the street attracts him.Atleast I was attracted by them when I was a kid.

And he aint an mba or doctor or engineer or fashion designer or a gangster or a barber yet.A kid can imagine he would grow up and be anyone.He can imagine becoming a firefighter and rescuing young girls from a girls hostel on fire and then walking off into the sunset will all of them.He can imagine becoming a cricketer and hitting 147 off 93 balls and then grab 5 wickets for 11 runs to help India win the world cup.He can imagine becoming a Bill Gates and wipe his running nose with dollar notes.All that I can imagine now is working my smooth ass off at some airconditioned office , and come home to watch some late night movie on HBO and crashing to the bed.

Im living like im watching a jim carrey movie for the 21st time.Im enjoying it , but I know whats coming next.Or maybe I am not interested in whats coming next.The life box has been opened and I know life is nothing more than an alternation of sweet chocolates and awful medicines.I have had heartbreakingly difficult times.Like the time that itchy brown stray dog on my street chased me along the length of six houses and finally bit me.Ive seen amazingly good times.Like the time our colony maintainance guys grabbed that itchy brown dog and and took him away in a truck .Its like a sagacious attitude has descended upon me like - I know what life can do to me.Its like I feel every victory or defeat is trivial.Because life is just a prime time slot given between birth and death.whatever we achieve here aint so important , is it ?

All the boyish things which seemed fun to me some time ago seem ...well...boyish to me now.All this pretension and jealousy and ego around is making me turn away from some people.I am turning more and more of a private person.I spend hours in my room with music.I was never after material things.I never had any dreams of flat plasma televisions with surround sound or those long black cars which have six doors.All i used to dream was of a happy and close family life.But lately I am starting to see all relations as a source of attatchment and misery in the long run , and thats a scary and empty feeling to have.I love my parents and sister and a few other people.But I feel too much attachment causes pain to all.I care a lot for them but I dont want to possess anyone now.I would give my life for them , I dont want to own their lives.I just want to let go.I just dont want to cling to anything.Maybe I fear losing it.Sometimes I feel I have forgotten to love.Sometimes it seems I have found what true love is only now.People say I am turning away from them.I feel I am turning in to myself.

Some people spend their lives searching for what they want.Some people spend their lives searching that what it is that they want.I just live each day and dont even want to search because I feel I just do not want anything.

Life is peacefully empty.I do not know if I want it to change.Something needs to be different maybe.I am not sure,Maybe I need to shake up the kid in me.The life box needs to throw up something i dont know.I need to redisover the sense of wonder .I think ill start by redeveloping an interest in cigarette butts lying on the street.

Hey girl , lets talk !

Hi Girls ,

Well ,11.56 in the night is not a perfect time to talk to girls but we havent talked much over the last 23 years of my life, have we ?

First Let me make clear what bunch i am talking to.Girls=Girls.Exclude mothers and grandmothers and grand grandmothers and...i think anyone higher would be dead by now.Right.So girls=girls.If you still are confused about what I mean by girls ,its ok.Girls are supposed to be a little dumb.

My earliest memory of your clan- my younger sister pulls my hair.Painful.Digs her nails in my cheek.Painful.And then runs to mummy to complain that I hit her.Not a perfect start.
I went to a defence school.We were small and carried water bottles and small bags and crayon boxes. You girls colored silly color books.You did not shout much.You did not spill food while eating.You played stupid games during the games period where you became a mother and someone became your daughter and someone became your mother.

By class 2nd , I had formed a mental banner which declared in a glowing and blinking neon sign - GIRLS ARE STUPID AND BORING.School progressed.Class 6th.Class 10th.

The font size in the neon sign kept getting bigger and bigger.You people never took any interest in me.And I was equally indifferent and snooty about you people.I was of the back benchers gang.I was not too good in studies.I was a regular at being thrown out of class.I was the guy girls should not talk to.You people stayed with the boys who wore clean clothes , combed their hair,shared their tiffin with you , spoke softly, took notes and did well in studies.

College.First day , seniors pick me out for ragging.They point at a group of fresher girls and tell me to call one of them.I walk upto her and ask her to come.She does not care to reply and looks away.I lean in and growl "Look lady.You may be pretty.Guys may swallow a lizard if u order them to.But I have 0% interest in you and your friends here.You understand how much is 1 - 1.It's 0.Thats the interest I have in girls.Those seniors want you , not me.So just move."

She came along ,I proposed to her and then We sang "Aati kya Khandaala".It lasted for some ten minutes.I swear on your grumpy neighbour , that was the longest interaction I ever had with a girl in my college.Through these four years of engineering, most from your clan saw me and mumbled "MCP" under their breath.One yelled "MCP" at me loudly in the college canteen.MCP stands for My Cute Pal.Ok.It stands for Male Chauvinistic Pig.All the hormonal developments were on track.I was not gay.But I got into another of those all-guys-brats-bunks-bikes types group which was too busy in having fun by themselves and considered girls as a waste of time and energy.We were a sunny bunch of happy-go-lucky chaps at college.

The appereances of girls definitely changed in college.You know what ,please do not on use too much of make up.Then your face looks like you have been sleeping in a paint tumbler and your mouth looks like you have eaten 3 bars of lipsticks.And please think about those long earrings which hang like earthworms from your ears.They look wierd.And make you look wierder.And you do not need to let your hair loose all the time.They cover your ears.If you tie your hair up you can actually hear better.And all that hair keeps falling in the plates around when you eat.Please consider tieing it up.Its hygienic.

Anyways , that was the way it was.Till 'she' breezed into my life.

She had a sense of humor.She had similar thoughts.She was mature.She was responsible.She was silly.She was simple.She was very human.For the first time , I sensed that girls have a "lipsticks-n-eyeliner" free brain.That they think of something beyond that.That they are as good human beings as anyone.Every tear I have caused her has left a streak on my heart.I thank the guy whom she is with now.He did not give her much time to feel hurt and alone.

Thinking more calmly and having more girls as friends has helped realise some of you are mature.Some of you think deeply , think good thoughts and are really sensitive and introspective .Some girls are really good human beings. All in all , you people are not so stupid as I thought.You dont have the IQ of a cheese burger.You people are as mature as any human being and probably a lot more sensitive than guys.

And know what is the best part about being a girl ? You will be a mother some day.However stupid and stubborn and irritating you may be right now , being a mother is being capable of some kind of divine love, of being closer to god.One day you are going to create life and nurture it with such unconditional care which makes you all the more respectable.

But some things about you people still beat me.Firstly , why do you people give so much importance to the way you look ?If you think every guy looks at you when you go down a street , catch the next lift down and come down to earth.Tom Cruise doesnt care about how you look.Hrithik Roshan doesnt care about how you look.Your dad doesnt care about how you look.And any sensible guy wont care about how you look.And if someone is attracted by your looks , he can only desire you , not love you.

Another thing.If I end up talking to you for anything over eight minutes , dont assume I am flirting with you.Being a girl or a guy is not so important.Please behave like a normal homo sapien.I hate being branded a girl chaser.Because I hate to be one.

I have always been an outsider in your world.The brat.Never too close.And after causing hurt to 'her',I intend to stay away from your world for a long long long time to come.After all , I was hurt too.I am plain scared to meddle in your world now.I am plain scared of again causing a lot of tears and hence have resolved to stay at a safe yet friendly distance from your domain.If earlier it was snobbish indifference , now it is a peaceful and quiet lack of interest.

Anyways ,it was good talking to you. I will take your leave and read some Jughead comic.And one last thing.If you drive anything more than a bicycle , please do not.Its sin to kill innocent walking on the street ,people not belonging to the Al-Qaeda.But if you have to drive , atleast keep a First Aid box handy.That was it.

The great Indian wedding

A sad horse.A more sad guy on the horse.Bright lights.Sweaty men dancing explosively to loud filmy songs on the street.Ladies wearing more gold than with the RBI.Smell of cologne in the air.Old women with 'dholak' singing songs which no one understands.Spending forty minutes in the cosmetic store to find the lipstick to perfectly match the color of the saree.Welcome to 'The great Indian wedding'.Its one of the most amusingly extravagant things I see in this funny world.

I dont know how weddings take place in Southern India or some other parts.I guess the weddings there are not very elaborate.I think they just make the groom wear some kind of small cap with some beads and plug some grass behind his ears and sprinkle some basmati rice on him.The bride is also very simply dressed , with not much make up and the thing gets over pretty easy.I went to the wedding of Uncle Menon's daughter.Dont remember much.But it all seemed perfectly human.

But attending a typical north Indian wedding leaves me pretty gasping and shaken.I take a couple of days to feel like eating after attending a wedding.But to go through the experience as a guest makes me wonder about the psychological scarring the people getting married have to go through during the process.

Imagine you have a maths test tomorrow.And all the Mrs.Malhotras and Mrs.Kocchars of the colony will ask your mum about your result when it is declared.And you have diarrohea and a running nose.And your neighbour is celebrating his irritating son's sixth birthday.So they have put up a huge tent in the street and the loudspeakers are playing Daler Mehndi songs right outside your window while you are trying to study differential calculus.You get the feeling.Thats the strange mix of desperation and frustration I feel when I recieve a wedding invitation card .Uncle Mehta's son ,who allegedly failed twice in class X and now runs coaching center for kids is getting married.My first move is to protest.

Me *ready-to-suicide-look*:Ma,papa,I dont wanna go.All that noise.All that lights.All those plastic smiles people.

Parents*ready-to-kill-look*:Munnu,you have to grow up (complan?).And if you dont go,who will care to attend your wedding ?

*Sidenote- Looks like my parents really want a lot of people to attend my wedding ,if it happens.So I will send out cards to all of you.Please turn up.Get along your families , neighbours ,old classmates , school principal,computer vendor,postman , milkman , anyone.Just build a HUGE crowd.*

So I have to go to that Mehta's wedding.I will have to check out if my "wedding uniform" still fits.I call it a uniform because there is mostly one outfit I wear at all weddings.Ouch.A little tight around the shoulders.But if I disguise my emotions well at the wedding, nobody will know how uncomfortable it is.Approved.Munnu does not need new clothes.Old is gold.

The D day dawns.The day when a man and wife would vow to tolerate each other and throw things at each other and spy on each other for the rest of their lives and a day when a few hundred fools ,including me,would cheer this amazing alliance by eating a lot.

The 'baraat' is to assemble near "Lucky Public School" and would proceed towards the "Just Divorced" farmhouse where the bride and her battalion would be waiting.I reach the spot near Lucky public school.Fat ladies with thick lipsticks,jewellery enough to pull down a weak man to the ground , half inch makeup layers,hair tied in super amazing buns.Big fat men.Loud laughs.Ill fitting suits.Hair swept back.Cellphones in hand.Young girls looking like cosmetic showrooms.Now being from the groom's side , I have to be a part of this "Baraat".Now this is the most depressing part.

The groom is made to sit on a horse.In the 21st century ,with people zooming along in swanky cars ,this guy sits on a "count-my-ribs" horse brought on rent.Infact a female horse.A 'ghodi' in hindi.Whats that called in english ? A horsess ? And a huge "Bunty Band" contingent starts beating drums and blowing trumpets.And they are super sonic loud.LOUD.George Bush in the White House would know that the 'Baraat' is starting from Lucky Public School.Real Loud.And the fat aunties and the fat uncles and the pretty girls and the young guys slowly start to slip into the area before the animal carrying the poor guy.They start with shaking sheepishly but before the poor animal knows whats happening , they explode into highly vigorous physical vibrations.All the loud band and the dancing people and the guy on the top of him makes the animal shit twice on his way to the farmhouse.

We reach the farmhouse where the bride is.My parents get busy with all the friends.The dancing party breaks up and promptly attacks the snacks area.I grab a tomato soup and look around.Soon people are pushing and falling over food.Looks like a UN relief camp.Someone introduces me to a girl of my age who is preparing for CAT.

Me *end-to-boredom-relief-expression*: "Hello ,Im Abhinav.How are you?"

She*dollar-dreams-expression*:"Hi.How did you prepare for CAT?"

Me*not-again-expression*:I jumped off a bridge.That really helps.Try it."

She*confused*:"Eh..he he..um..joke?"

Middle aged ladies keep coming to me and ruffling my hair.

Middle aged lady : "Recognise me munna beta?"

Me ( thinking to myself):She looks like Mayawati.

Me ( smiling to her) :"Aishwarya Rai?"

Middle Aged Lady (slapping my arm real hard) :"he he he...you wont change ever."

And all this bumping into people and grabbing ice creams and soups from hassled waiters goes on and on and on till the guy and the girl put garlands around each other necks and go around a burning stove.Finally the girl leaves crying on every shoulder around and it is time for me to go home.

A genuinely stupid and tiring day.We get home,unlock the main gate and I habitually check the mailbox before getting in.Aha,there is something in there.A wedding invitation card.Thapar uncle's son who as a kid,stole eggs from the departmental store and is a cop now , is getting married.Wedding after a week.My esteemed presence on this auspicious occasion is requested.Sigh.Life is B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.