Difficult to hold back!

Cheers to those who have to go through the constant trauma of having to think whether what they are thinking is possible. Because it can't be that bad.
Not everyone has an astronomical TQ* score. So not everyone will understand how difficult it is to hold back.

*TQ: Tharakiness Quotient. A measure of how sharp you are at spotting adult innuendos/conotations in innocous looking sentences.

Let me narrate my woes. A friend wished me, "May God always watch your back" and I was like, "Hey Ram! But why mine"? Luckily He took no offence - neither Mr Ram, nor the friend - especially latter, because he was in his sweet nineties then.
["Aye fresher, kehan jaa raha hai! Mota salla, weight kitna hai tera?" - "I am in my sweet nineties" ]
The first time I heard, "Nanhe munhe bachche teri mutthi mein kya hai", I was in Class 9. But I still couldn't help it. Its wicked, but what do I do! I love kids, and am not even remotely paedophilic. But then, my parents sent me to a boys' only hostel. A military school, no less.
I have almost landed into many troubles in classrooms because of a keen eye and a keener ear. Teacher said, "...Those who don't have it, please leave. Those who do, I will tell you what to do..." By the way, she was talking about the textbook, but my smirk spread dirty ideas right through the class. And she took sweet revenge, by making me the outstanding student of the class.
English teacher on spotting my spelling mistake, said, "Watch your r's". I almost asked her if she was afraid it would fall off or go missing if I took my eyes off it! I even considered offering to watch my neighbouring beauty's "r's", but resisted. Her father wore a necklace that looked like it was made of gouged eyeballs! And then she showed us how to write the calligraphic r by writing on the blackboard... "Now watch my r's". Ahem. No comments.
Recently, I spotted the ad of an english teaching school. They have chosen to call themselves, "Yuranus". I grew paranoid, grabbed my back, and fled.
Countless more examples exist.
Sometimes it is funny. Some other times, I worry. Have I grown a pervert?

You find your very good friend's name a piece of high TQ joke but can't share it with anyone for the fear of offending them. Your nose itches, your tongue rolls. But you hold yourself back.
A serious meeting is on, and you cough and excuse yourself because you recently heard the boss say, "but ek hi to hai". You gift him a "moov", he fires you.
You can't direct your friend to Brabourne stadium, so you struggle to find other landmarks nearby. She falls in love with another guy in the meanwhile.

Enough. I rebel.

Likeminded people, let us unite.
Let us not be afraid of laughing. Mind your manners, but don't mind the joke. Let it out.

Hello G.

"Hello G."
or rather
"Hell-lo jee"
That is how I greet my dear sister on phone. She has started living in a hostel now, after having lived 20+ years under the watchful eyes of my parents. So, I am sort of a senior to her. I can give her gyan about how to manage her daily life. To stay away from the disturbing elements. To go straight from home to college and back. To ignore the whistling guy, especially if he is wearing the traffic policeman's dress. To slap when required, to flee when necessary.

I am kinda missing her. Haven't talked to her in many days. I feel sinful when I do that. But then again, I must allow her to settle into her own rhythm. Enjoy the girls' parties, make new friends and live her life her own way, in whatever restricted way it is her own. I don't want her to feel that she is being monitored. But I do grow anxious about her. I worry, which is surprising if you think that she is 3 years elder to me. But I have been living in hostels for 9 years and she, for less than a month.

Sometimes, it is surprising how great an impact a single telephone call can have on you. I call her up and I feel happy. I narrate all the details about all the girls I have met since I last called her, the number of hours I talk to each of them on an average and other such things. She likes to hear such stuff. It makes her feel that her brother has grown up finally. He is no more the guy who would hide behind his mother's palloo at the slightest mention of girls of his age.
So what if he hides his mirror cracking looks behind the great label of IIMA. So what if he sports the IIMA tee to airports, treats and almost every venture outside the campus. At least he's trying.

Talking of momentous calls, I really can't help thinking about two calls. The first one was a call from Sweety. She was mightily angry, and it was clear that our journey was coming to an end. We looked like two travellers who were going their seperate ways, and were bidding the final goodbye. That made the whole atmosphere a little bitter. Both of us had grudges against this weird thing called life.
Unfortunately, it led to a conversation I never thought I would have with any living form ever. But I did. I mostly gave her the silent treatment. But deep inside, every word of hers was piercing me. Hurting me like nothing before had. I wondered why it had be so bitter! It doused all hopes of any salvage or rescue mission.
Swaaha!

The next call I can't forget was Strato's. This was in a little strange setting as well. I had been acting mightily stupid in the last few days. I was sad at all the developments around me. Saying goodbye to a cherished friend isn't the kind of thing you joke about. But the call was momentous.
[Strato, if and when you read this, without belittling the importance of that call, I must thank you. You don't need to acknowledge that I am saying this. ]
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if she hadn't called up. People exchange pleasantries and move on. Life moves on. Time flows by. But some memories stick. Like that weird thing on every alien's forehead in the old DD1 serial Zigma.
The call brought the process of moving on to a halt. I don't think we discussed matters of national importance. But on the scale in which my life lies, that was historical. Once in a long long time, you get this soothing feeling. Like drinking cold ice-cube filled water after a day's vrat. I felt that. The importance of those conversations is magnified by the passage of time. When I realise what was at stake and what would have been lost if my phone had gone dead then.
I don't even think this description makes sense. In a nutshell, the size of Strato's brain, she made that day worthwhile with a simple call.
["How mean of you... you thank me and malign me in the same breath! Hunh" - "But wait, I am not Shankar Mahadevan. I took five full gasps as I said this! Hunh Hunh Hunh" ]
Three messages - "Whats your number", "6063" and "tring tring tring" [No, it was only half a tring. I was waiting to pounce on the receiver!] later, those words flowed. Thanks again.
[You won't ever think I am being extra nice to you for no reason, will you!?]
So what if I insist that she has a brain the size of a peanut. Poke fun at just about everything she says. Disturb her at the oddest hours possible. Call her quirk, scary and other names. Threaten her with dire consequences.

You know na, I am a nice, momma's boy.
I wash my hair with shampoo and put Vatika nariyal tel. And then comb my hair straight. Like I was taught when I was 10. I still enjoy eating ice cubes and ignoring nana's warning. Even the memory of his toothless smile doesn't scare me. I like to end my meals with a couple of teaspoonfuls of undiluted lemon juice. The list of such quirky things that I do can exhaust the blog server's storage capacity.
I won't even try.
Because even though I screw my body clock, I am a good boy. And I want to stay under this illusion.

Sahi bola na jee?

Some Hindi songs I love...

Having a 1000+ playlist on winamp has distinct advantages. I get to listen to some of those old beautiful songs that I wouldn't otherwise have stumbled upon. I also revise at least a part of my I-hate-that-song list.
First the good ones, and these are only a few among my fav list.

1. "Yaadein yaad aati hain..."Sample this part of its lyrics:

"Nagme hain, shikwe hain
Kisse hain, baatein hain
Baatein bhool jaati hain
Yaadein yaad aati hain
Yeh yaadein kisi dil-o-jaanam ke
Chale jaane ke baad aati hain
Yeh yaadein, haan yeh yaadein, yaadein"

2. "Akele hain to kya gham hai..." - quite clearly! Its lyrics are so beautiful, I just cannot get bored listening to it.

3. "Gazab ka hai din" - any fine day, you can croon this song and feel special. Tease your beloved one by this song, or just hum it to yourself. Any which way, you'll love it. If not, don't mention that to me.

4. "Kuch mere dil ne kaha..." - the tale of every teenaged love. The sweet way of narrating your love story!

5. "Woh Pehli Baar..." - recount when you first met your loved one. Live in those memories. Dream about the future. But next time, watch out for sweaty hands.

6. "Pyaar ke pal ..." - very touching and very moving. Can lower any heart's melting point to room temperature.

7. "Ratiya, kaali kaali ratiya..." - when you are alone, and missing your housemaid or your gardener [or anyone else who qualifies as your first/recentmost love] , this is the one song. If you have better than a piglet's brain, you might appreciate its lyrics.

8. "Khamoshiyan gungunane lageein..." - when you want to celebrate the moment, listen.

Ok, now that reminds me, nothing good happens after 2 am,
[ except the idle banter ;) ]

Tatax!

Pappu aur Puppy ki Kehani...

Suno suno suno,
WIMWI gaaon mein kal laddoo aur barfi ki jegah pappu aur puppy baate gaye.
kuch log khush hue, kuch khafa reh gaye.
yeh hai mere ek dost ki kehani.
aur choonki angrez gaye per angrezi chodh gaye, isliye aage ki kehani angrezi mein.

I am happy for Syko. Very happy. She got a pappu [PPO-pre placement offer] from a good company. Frankly I wasn't very surprised. I have worked closely with her for one year, and in as much as I observed, she is a fighter to the core.
Exactly the kind of fighter I love to work with. Not the one who pretends to be working. Rather, a person on whom you can rely. She has a gift of seeing the whole picture and writing very good conclusions. By the time the subsmision deadlines would come, our enthu would wither away. But I remember her waking up early morning to give those finishing touches. The kind of touches that could make Johnny Lever resemble Johnny Depp.

Working together, I think we developed a very good rapport. But it was only recently that I gave her a treat that had been due since Dec last. And it was a treat for both of us. She lent me her ears, clean and eager. I could empty my heart out, without wondering whether I was looking like a nerd, sento or mentally-impaired, emotionally-challenged guy. May be, I did bear resemblance to all of these, but it didn't matter.
We had an interesting bitching session, and I talked about many people I hate. I also talked about the secret I had been fiercely guarding - the closing of the chapter with Sweety. It wasn't easy to talk about, and very difficult to explain. But I guess I did talk a lot. Of my weakness, my fondness, and other doubts. And I felt at ease talking all that.

Quite unlike the discomfort that only-acquaintances' poking questions bring. Sometimes, I have no answer to the stupid question, "Do you have a g/f?". I know that if I say no, they will remind me of some of those things from the past, which I don't want to think about, least of all in their presence. And I definitely do not want to explain to them how and why it happened.
So I stay mum, and let them take the implications the way they want to. Either way it doesn't matter to me.

I have also good friends among the group which got Puppy[PPI - pre placement interview] or nothing. In fact, I already am in the latter group. It isn't really my life-or-death topic.
CoffeeMate didn't get the PPO. He might have been a little upset, but I guess he must have been busy with his work as well. I didn't really talk to him about it, because we have had a conversation before. Moreover, I hate when people serve me sympathy laced in sugar-coated words. I feel like kicking the nuts out of them, but I haven't tried it yet. I have tried giving them the silent-treatment. Pretend that you have swallowed a mouthful of Quickfix, and try to answer everything using nods. If they get the hint, good. Otherwise, try the kicking stunt.

Time to study the next case involving a company embroiled in deep HR issues.

The Conspiratorial Bugaboo.

My day is wasted. I did not discover any more star-rated words that I could key in on that particular model of Casio. Because I missed that lecture.
The 2 hours I spent yesterday reading the case about some firm's financial distress are wasted. Now, I look like I am in distress.

Sometimes, like today, it looks like all the machines are conspiring to ensure that I don't achieve what I want to. This wasn't a lecture I was planning to miss! But the volume of my Creative speakers was unimaginably and mysteriously low. When I woke up at 12, the alarm set to ring at 9 was still humming, at a volume that wouldn't be detected by advanced radars.
Waking up like a maharaja at close to noon has its benefits. I mean, you don't really find curvaceous, meaty dasis at your beck and call but you do feel good. Unless your head is spinning like an electron. Then it is bad. Very bad.
It is worse for people like me, whose passport enquiry took long because they suspected I was an illegal immigrant from Sudan. Miss a few meals here and there and the pants will start dropping. And new holes will need to be punctured in the leather belt. The chain watch will start slipping out and photos will increasingly begin to resemble X-ray shots.

Finally, the impassioned plea of my neighbour melted me. I now have the entire 10GB folder in my WinAmp playlist. Some utterly crappy songs, more suited to hearing in tempos and autos, pop up once in a while and I have to jump to my keyboard with the swiftness of BruceLee. Lest my ear drums be traumatized.
But it gives me a feeling of freshness that only a shower with PearsSoap can.

I will be back!

Casio ka kamaal

In the manner of Ripley's Believe it or Not,
did you know that in the CasioFX991MS calculator, you can key in all these words -
Sexy, Pondy, Kinky.Sex, Faadu and Pe*is !
In a particularly interesting lecture this morning, when I felt terribly out of sync with the general proceedings in the classroom, I chose to try this. And I was mighty pleased with my (balanced?) score card. At least there was something creative I could do in life!
Waise, I am mighty sure I can create human forms when the time comes, but that is not up for discussion here!

So, what is up for discussion?
My general hostility against being recommended a particularly-severely-nasal song crooned by Himesh ReChammiya? TOW he sounds like he needs a liberal dose of vicks vaporub shoved up his nostrils [or other retail outlets when I am particularly irritated!] ?
People try to gibe at me using this song. Gibes are fine, but this song! and Himesh Bhai!? puhleeeeeeeeeez. Not the one with negative IQ, I know what they mean. But I refuse to have any sympathy for their poor judgement about what is funny and what is not.

Strato's reminder of contractual obligations was followed up by the delivery of first consignment of chocos. But I don't think she will make a good manager. She doesn't know how to appropriate/embezzle her rightful [and more] rewards.
She also insists that she doesn't like this name!
Strato Durga Ma, You shall be known by several names, obvious and not so obvious. So don't worry just yet. Wait till the real nasty one comes up!

Having dozed off right after dinner and widely awake now at 2 am, I feel like I had an overdose of slimy, new-born-and-warm larvae for dessert. I have never tried this, but I bet that would still taste better than the green saag they served in mess today. Now I am damn sure our messwalah has a contract with a dairywalah whose cows eat lots of green grass. He supplies the green base for saag on Thursdays.
So much for veggie delight! Toads with a million warts sound more delicious to me.

"...Chota sa yeh aashiyan bahaar ka..."
The song has been running for 2 days now. And still, some of these words, when I take notice, touch me there. In the microcosm of my stoopid dreams, they evoke those intense thoughts and questions. Sort of like Harry Potter reading the magic mantra and awakening the HolyShaitan -
"Aye natkhat, uth na. uth. uth. uth."
I have my own magic mantra and a magic island. I escape to that place whenever I need to convince myself that the world is full of people more stoopid and less blessed than I am. People who eat the saag in mess even after being told about the contract.
The most unfortunate, I believe, are people who should be happy that they have everything, but are sad because they think they have nothing.

Nothing good happens after 2 am.
[Ref: HIMYM]

I return to my cosmos.

Lal Jalebi, Timid Momo and the Natraj Snan

I have ..er... a fetish. May be, its just a habit.
When I like the appearance of a girl, the adjective I think/imagine/coin is often linked to food.
Lal Jalebi is my favorite term.
Just this other day, I saw a female walk past a row of men and women eating as if the sambhar they were consuming would find its way out very soon[one way or the other]. Clad in a red dress, she looked appetizingly similar to a red hot jalebi. The kind you just won't let your neighbour have. And if he picked it up from my thali, I would be booked under the fresh nighty india section 302 [tazi rate hind dafaa teen sau do, in chaste english] for battery and assault leading to slow, painful death.
So there she was, walking in all her splendor. My heart skipped a beat. No, I am not the hannibal you were always scared of. But calling someone Jalebi is like ..umm... "milady, I will sacrifice my life for the permission to hold your hand for a fleeting second".

The other mentionable phrase is "Brown sugar". Now, brown refers to the color of the female's dress, on one particular day when I coined this phrase. Sugar comes from my oh-so-obvious fondness for all things sweet, except dove-eyed sweet 'that type' guys. I was bowled once again. I felt like VenkatPathi Raju must have felt facing Ambrose. [Yes, I used to follow cricket once!]


Turning to Momo... he turned out to be more timid than I thought. Made some arbit excuse and vanished. So, I get a walkover in place of a pushover. I didn't know the thought would frighten him so!


When you are feeling really really weird, and can bet that it can't get worse, try this.
Put a small bandage on your left toe, take a shower and ensure that your bandage doesn't get wet. You'll understand the trauma I have to undergo everyday. I stand like Natraj, my left toe higher than my right knee to prevent the drops of water from trickling down.
And I feel weird.
If I smelt any better than rotten onions after bearing half a day of sultry weather, I wouldn't do it. But I have to. The same way I have to buy Axe deos.
Well, there are more reasons to buy Axe deos - the promise of Axeland and the hope of a sexy, hot, the-lesser-clad-the-better girl leaping onto you the way they do in Axe ads.

But yeah, if its that time of the day, and you wish to confront me, do shout out from a safe distance and confirm the time of my last bath. And if I smell too much of an Axe deo, either I want you to leap on me, or I haven't taken the much needed bath!

Whats the hurry?

Why do I write so often?
Because:
=I am a tuchcha at WIMWI with more time to kill than ways and means
=I am enjoying this new found trick
=I think, analyse and ponder all the time
=I have a very strong memory of my most embarassing moments
=I am not gay, so living alone in a boys' hostel does not provide me with enough entertainment
=I want to make up for not having started this earlier

I bear strong resemblance to the guy who features in the ad for Goldy Gym. So does my friend Momo, except that he wears spects, is a few mm taller and against my backdrop, looks like an ambassador of FairandLovely.
I and he have entered into an agreement. At 7pm on a pre-decided spot, we will meet and see who can do more pushups. Now, I can easily cross the three digit benchmark in less than a minute. But he won't believe that. So, today I will show it to him.

My floor mates have already noticed that the song has been running for more than 3 hours. My new Creative speakers give me a route to their ear drums, and I enjoy thumping those. Sort of like Mahamanav [ref: SuperCommandoDhruv] with his mental hands which could do physical things.

Weird things have happened today. I msg my friends on who are online on gTalk, receive no reply, and a couple of minutes later, I find their status idle. Once, twice, thrice... this has happened >4 times now. gTalk ka khooni badla??? [for keeping his female ancestors awake at unearthly hours ] Plain vanilla coincidence? Mebbe.

I guess I should respond to the "how did you reach IIMA" friend now.. for old times' sake.

Meanwhile, if you want to wish someone a really ugly wish, here's my suggestion:
I wish you get a BHAG gf/bf/wife/husband.
If you are an MBA student who mugs 23.5 hours a day and spends the rest 30 mins worrying about tomorrow, you would know this - BHAG stands for Big Hairy And Gole.
You can also contact me personally in case you want a larger sample to choose from. I guarantee complete satisfaction!

Akele hain to kya gam hai !

Its an ominous sign when I turn the 'repeat single track' option in WinAmp to 'yes'. It is an indication to my neighbours that they can pack their bags and run off to Hawaii. Or buy a pair of ear plugs. Or pray for deafness.

The record I made for playing a single track continously is for 3 days. For all the time when I was awake and in my room, that song was playing. Incidentally, I forgot to switch it off when I was going to sleep, so it was running as the background score even in my dreams. That song was 'Teri Deewani'.
This song "Akele hain to...", I just realised, reflects a lot of my feelings in bits and parts. And brings back some old [but still as vivid as ever] memories.
A clear indication that the previous record might be broken.

Who cares that I have an SFI quiz in 45 minutes from now. I have these memories to entertain.

"Akele hain to kya gam hai" - this was the comment I got from Talisma - the tall smart girl I met at IITK. And if you lack the IQ required to figure this out, I must tell you that she goes by a different name in the real world!
It was the first time I had heard this. I didn't know it was the starting line of a beautiful song. And when I actually heard the song, I was flattered. For I conjured such romantically beautiful thoughts of me and her. [ Yes Talisma, this is a confession I never made! ]

I had emailed her and she hadn't replied. It made me impatient, and I decided to set a deadline. Many coincidences happened. It was one of those once-in-a-year days when IITK sees a power cut. So she saw my email late. And by then, I had already emailed her that I am leaving the campus.
She told me later that she came running to my hostel to find out if I had already left, and our caretaker Bhagwan Singh ji told her that I had left some 5 minutes back! And then she, in her sweet grudging style, emailed me - "Akele hain to kya gam hai".
Only God knows how guilty I felt. More guilty than when I had straggled the neck of a small cute kitten with a long stick.

Talisma went on to become a very close friend. That makes the memories of this song even more beautiful. So what if we dont talk, Talisma. Those memories are still as beautiful.

Much like the older memories of playing in sand and being given a one-tight-slap followed by many more variants of the same. Sometimes I pity my cochlea.
Probably my parents thought it was a nice warm up exercise before the shock-and-awe treatment went to the next stage of sticks and clothe hangers.
I can almost hear them say, "Chal beta, bahut din ho gaye. Aj thoda kaan ki exercise kar le". Chatack! Chatack...

I wouldn't call them cruel, because that was what my friend's mom was. She was very liberal with the use of slippers, broom sticks, TV remote etc. I once got the opportunity to hear the sound of those slipper chatacks, and ever since then, I haven't grudged my own ear treatment.


Sometimes, I resent the fact that life must move on, no matter what. What if I could freeze an instant in time? I wonder which one it would be. Late night strolls at IITK, the last evening I spent with Talisma, one of the innumerable blissful moments with Sweety, a walk to remember, the few I-can't-believe-I-have-done-it moments, the peaceful sleep in mom's lap, the long walk with my brother in Nagpur that saved my day/year/life, the only one occasion when my sister confessed that she was missing me!

When people forget !

Sometimes I wonder why it is that people forget things so easily?
Not to say that I don't ! But sometimes, I just dont like it. And in those moments, I use my imagination to wish them the choicest of blessings - may you choke on a lizard's tail, have your nails plucked off with neanderthal equipments or have a bamboo used on you er... in unconventional ways! [whichever is more desirable and appropriate]

So, right now I am confused about what I should wish for Melody. She is unconventional, and I must imagine for her a new blessing - something like, may she accidentally swallow [and chew to her heart's delight] a dozen houseflies in today's lunch.
{Yeps, it is that irritating at times.}

But seriously, why do people trivialise things that are important to me !?
Melody often forgets to reply to my messages. Or is that a flat refusal to take cognizance of my presence on the same planet as her? Is it the I-have-other-works-as-well game?
She promises to meet me and then forgets. By God's infinite grace, I don't see her often. Rarely, I must say.
"She promised me her heart but forgot to tell me that she was on a pacemaker."

I have had many such delightful experiences. A nurse forgot that she had already punctured my bums with the king-sized needle. Five minutes later, she came and gave me the same injection on the same butt. Maa kasam, my imagination went on an overdrive. Like the throbbing sensation that comes from having double the recommended dose of some-stupid vaccine flowing in your blood. I am not used to sleeping with my bums facing the roof, so I couldn't sleep all night. And the creative juices kept flowing, wreaking havoc on the humanity at large.

Once my date forgot the venue of our rendezvous. Neither of us having a cellphone, there were very few options available, and she chose the easiest one. I was unlucky enough to have remembered both the time and venue, and true to my habit, reached there on time. For the next half an hour, I imagined that she was running to reach on time, but her sandals broke. Next hour or so, I thought she might be busy with some really really urgent work. Since I was seated near the dispensing counter, my view was blocked by obese bums and er... [fget it]. So I sat in utter waste, having spent 2 hours at the prime of my life for a date who forgot [or chose to forget, I don't know!]

Coming back to the main issue, there is very little I can wish for Melody. She has chosen to occupy that corner of my heart which is shielded from all such grudges. I can imagine her sitting well ensconced in my aorta in her usual perched-up style, tidying up her tress every alternate second. And cocking a snook at me, for lacking the gall.
Yes Melody, I can't and won't wish you anything more than this : may your nasal and cochlear hair grow longer than the hair on your head!

I wonder if people around me have a similarly venomous imagination. I guess they don't or else I would have been a ten-eyed four-dicked octopus by now. Forgetting birthdays and names of people comes naturally to me. But what has often made my day special is the tendency to forget little little things. Like returning someone's call. Or messaging someone back.

Time for a breakfast. Its been two days since I had breakfast, but I really can't complain :) Skewed curves at work again!

Anxious moms and curious sisters.

They abound. The doting mothers with dollops of anxiety. I mean, its a little more understandable if a 17-year teenaged girl's mom showed such emotions... but me, a 22 something, frequently-failed-in-love guy ! and my mom!

My sis tells me that mom thinks I will marry a foreigner. She fears it. Almost believes it.

I always had a fascination for travel, and in those toddling days, airplanes were stuff of fantasy. Whenever, once in a long long year, we would hear the roar of a plane, I would run to the roof and wave my hands. I thought that if only the pilot could see me, he would lower a rope that I will cling to and fly away to Lanka. Lanka, by the way, was 'foreign' for me.

All this fascination has driven her to this anxiety. . . "She won't touch my feet in marriage... she won't look after him... she will be too modern for him"... all these and more. Now, granted that no one dislikes a gori ladki, but still... marrying a foreigner is so ...ewww!
My children would be like characters in a black and white movie! And what if it is a blonde... negative IQ kids ??!

Not to say I do things to calm her. Using my sis as a messenger, I keep updating mom on significant developments. Now, mom has been prohibited from eating spicy food. "But she can listen to spicy stuff, na", my sister contends.
And that is it. She takes that as the licence to kill. She kills with a venegeance, any hopes that mom might have, of a traditional, baniya arranged marriage. The infinitely long procession, where the dulha's mother rants all the time, "Arrey, yeh rasm nahi karoge pandit ji"? and the dulha complains, "Yeh rasm bhi!".

I don't like all that. A short and sweet procession would be great. And then, I had this fantasy, born after seeing marriages in Hollywood movies. A fantasy that I will also have those ceremonies in the typical Christian style, my bride clad in the flowing white wedding gown [ and cleaning the floor behind her ].
If I could tell this to mom, she would go into a 5-year coma.

I can almost hear her say,"Beta, shadi to apne samaj mein hi achchi hoti hai" !

What to say of my sis!
Its only recently that she has started getting regular updates on my rocking love life. [Too many rocks, too little love! :O ]
Sometimes, her voice belies a genuine concern.
"Is he really going to marry a Muslim girl from Kashmir" ?
At times, she chooses to laugh away my deliberate pointers. But I love it when she starts behaving like mom.
"See, there's no hurry. We will find you a good girl."
Yeah, say that to an IITian IIMAite whose life was spoilt by girls drooling all over him! Whose years were spent in a hostel where there were more girls than houseflies!

I guess I will live with the feeling/hope that someday, I will indeed get to give mom a shock! She has almost resigned to that.

Business, hints and all that stuff...

On the first day itself, this idea of blogs is turning out to be a good business venture. I have already entered into two deals:

=Strato has allowed me to talk about her innumerable stupidities and asks for suitable royalty. I have no issues promising her two truckloads per mention of her name :P
=SKG, my 'bhai'# at IITK, insists that he will keep 50% of the revenues from any ads that this site might endorse in return for spreading the word about it. Here again, I was eager, even to give him all 100% of revenues { IF any! } with the clarification that hot chicks who are attracted to this website wont count as revenue ;)

#Everyone at IITK has a 'baap'* ... er... [refer to definition of 'baap' ] . people who share a 'baap 'are 'bhai'
*student guide.. the person in your immediate senior batch who introduces you to your faculty counsellor [facC] and accompanies you to the only one meeting you have with ur facC.



In the true spirit of a big-nosed boastful IIMA-ite, I refuse to reply to an old friend. He provokes me so! "Now that you are in IIM-A, why don't you reply to my emails? Why don't you tell me how you reached there?"
That is it! I drank the magical potion they serve in a tent placed opposite Law Garden in Lucknow. The doctor will claim that it will increase your sexual prowess, but don't believe him. His children aren't his own.
Got it? A Lucknow trip will get you to IIM-A.
And I dont' reply to you because I am too busy thinking about how I should spend the rest of my life. Buzz off.
[Sorry, but please do NOT remind me of those beautiful old days. It was so different then, and I wish you could still treat me like you did then!]

And his next email reads:
"Since you are so succesful, it can't be that girls are not following you"
My-My ! I truly wish that were the case. I wish there were some 100 girls pestering to have the pleasure of my company. Stalking me. Aaameeen. But since I am spending time writing this blog, clearly that is not the case. And doesn't look like it will be the case for quite some time in the future. . . [ One never knows, there might be a Hugg Heffner in the making ;) ]



Now, this hint thingie was one of those quirky conversations I had with CM. There was a girl, whom he has begun to admire, for er... being in perfect shape. The first comment I had to make about her dress was that it was very interesting. Like one reads in some restaurants' menu cards - "Tomato soup with a hint of coriander" ... Her dress didn't reveal too much but gave just the right hints! :))

Is everyone's life like that?

Sometimes, I wonder what drives our indifference curves to such skewness!
Especially mine.

Not watching any movies on a PC is infinitely more acceptable than reneging on the words I gave to myself. Who cares that it was a moment when my faculties of reason remporarily lapsed. Does it matter anyway? That I have forgotten what it feels like to sit alone and watch a 3hour epic?

Talking all night about childish misadventures, stupid embarassing moments and dreams is preferable to sleeping.

Come to think of it, it is a very innocous and easy target I can blame for all the faux passes I make! So what if it makes me look like the Indian PM blaming the foreign hand? It saves my skin no less!

And this song that runs in the background drives me crazy.
"KK -Pyar ke pal"
I distinctly remember that day... sometime in April 2005. I was at my usual irritating best and I had irritated my best friend a lot.
This best friend was a short sweet girl who had seen me through the many highs and lows of life at IITK. If only she weren't so much shorter than I was, I might even have likened my stay at IITK to living life in her shadows!
Now that I had irritated Sweety, I was sad. I had another fortnight at IITK and I would have hated it if we had to spend the last few days angry at each other. And then, I listened to this song, typed its lyrics and emailed her. Predictably enough, her anger subsided. The trick worked, but now this song has those memories so deeply engrossed... Every word, every imagery reminds me of Sweety.

in Gujju hinterland?

Its been a happening day! Somethings that don't often happen, happened today.

-Strato was wide awake past 5 [ actually past sunrise as well ! ]. In the series of idle banters, this must have been the most idyllic. I mean, the peacocks and other avian species didn't start their usual mating calls at 5. I was learning to pester people with pointed questions that stung like constipated bees. And I was also able to hold my stinky PJs back... I mean, that IS legendary!

-I missed my breakfast and two successive lectures after that. I had put on the alarm but forgot to switch on the speaker! Reminds me of my frequent nightmare in which I see myself dressed immaculately in the upper half. I actually see myself tying a good knot { for a change } on one of those silk ties I always want to wear. And then it dawns... There's nothing in the name of lowers. Finding myself in a situation more embarassing than dropped pants and more conducive to running, I sprint away...

-For the first time after coming to Gujarat, not knowing Gujarati made me feel like a French in Kerala.
I reach the collectorate office to get some work done. I go straight to the well-meaning pan-chewing guy.
PCGuy: Ibrik Gabrik bank maa jao che.
Me: blank stare
PCGuy: Some harappan sounds with an indication towards his left
Me: kya???????
PCGuy: Ibrik Gabrik bank bola na baba.
Me:

Was it his chewing, my hangover from last night's conv or just plain bad luck?
Ibrik Gabrik bank turned out to be Nutan Nagrik Bank. It wasn't any better there! The receptonist chose to communicate with signboards. The first signboard, in chaste Gujju, almost resembled "Goto Hell". I gawked at him. He brought the board closer to my eyes, probably thinking I had forgotten my spects. I gave up.
Then I decided to confront him.
Me: "Ismein likha kya hai?"
R: "Arrey, gujarati nahi aati kya?"
Me: "Nahi"
R: "Neeche jao" [with a look that instantly executed me on the electric chair!]

Oh, so that was it. Neeche jao. Go downstairs. Why did it appear so devillish in Gujarati? Or was it his gesture of refusing to talk?

Lets name some people first.

Every good blog has its own taxonomy! I should have one too.

Here are some people who I expect will frequently appear in these alleys. So they must be named at the very outset.

There's this guy who is a constant companion, and I think he will figure a lot many times. His is the first number to ring whenever I want to go for a quick coffee, or a brisk walk [under the excuse of a coffee] ! He croons some songs very well, and he refuses to sing some others because he thinks he can't sing them well enough [hats off to the spirit!] He has been a partner in rating the eligible er.... 'bachelorettes' on various serious and juicy parameters. But sigh, the results were disappointing. He is CM [coffee mate] for now.

Then there is girl I would rather call Strato, for her abilities in a particular T-world reach stratospheric heights. An ideal pardner for idle banter and the one to bank on to explain nuances to lesser endowed mortals! Increasingly, this is beginning to look like an orkut testimonial, and that is something I write only when I am going away from people. So, I will conclude by saying, she is strato for now. {However my calling her strato should not blind the reader to her less_TQ more_EQ traits, and it all blends so very well! }

And this is how I start. One day at a time, in various parts.
Hopefully, it will evolve into a better whole.
Amen.

The crazy me.

This is my first blog, in the more popular sense of this word. I tried writing anonymous diary entries talking about black magic and deep conspiracies, but that was foiled. [ By a group called Lethargics International ] I always had this fear that my next door neighbour would figure out that I am the one who killed his pet squirrel, stomped on his doormat and pasted a racy poster on his door ! And once this was established, I wouldn't be able to escape the gallows for they would link me to everything from the stolen mess food to the wandering bitches!

I also tried writing memoirs of olden days, but that attempt wasn't very succesful either. It is still under progress and on-and-off, I do write some stuff. But today I resolve [ like I do every year not to fall in any more crushes ] to try my best to beat the blues out of TeamProcastinators.

Hail thee who helped me re-start this miss-adventure!