Monday, November 13, 2017

My first time (part 1)...

        For those who know me well, they'd say I'm a happy go lucky chap, always up for pranks....And indeed I liked it that way. Happily nestled at Bangalore, earning my spurs by designing aircraft and burning midnight oil to watch Chelsea play on those amazing Champions league nights, life was great. But as some wise man had stated, all good things must come to an end for the next one to begin. Well, one fine morning (1pm to be precise) when I woke up rather grumpy...because Chelsea had just been knocked out of the Champion's league by none other than Jose's Inter the last night, my dad called me up. After the initial pleasantries, I was shaken out of my slumber by what he said next- ' are 27. Is there some girl about whom you'd want us to know? be free, you know how frank we are with you". As flabbergasted I was, I was pleasantly surprised. Why not...After all  I get to meet some girls and maybe...just may be...start being in a relationship.  After regaining my composure, I replied "com'on dad...You know I'm single...and happy".  Thankfully, it ended there...for the time being.

       The very next day, It was my mom. I guess they were paying one of those 2 on 1 handicap wrestling matches (WWE) that I used to so enjoy watching through my childhood. Here I was consistently outmanoeuvred to submission and I was helpless but to listen to them. I always knew my dad is tech savvy. Thanks to this, my parents had made a wonderful li'l profile of their dear "sarva gunnnn sampanna" son on one of those modern day matrimony website. With nowhere to go, I reluctantly agreed to go thru the profile of a girl who had apparently expressed her interest in my profile. Trying not to be overly enthusiastic about this development, I asked them how do I check it if I don't have a login and a password? To my dismay, my parents, they had all the bases covered. They simply passed me on the required credentials and a deadline for me to revert to them with my view. This left me with no choice literally. After the call, I duly obliged. Though I was not toooooo impressed, I thought...just like you try mock interviews before u shoot aim for the dream job, I thought let me give it a shot.

       As my luck would have it, I had to travel to search of my soul mate. I had spent a couple of weeks in Chennai earlier, on official assignments. And no offence to the city, but I felt like a fish out of water during my brief stay in Chennai. So I dreaded at the prospect of having to travel to the same place, this time for meeting a ‘prospective life partner’. I thought, the ramifications for this visit could be fateful. But then, can any ‘good son’ win against his parent’s emotional attack?? Most certainly NO. And subsequently, just like all ‘good sons’ do, I was convinced by my parents to meet this ‘susheeeeeeel girl’ and her family in Chennai.
After initial hesitations, I buckled up. After all how bad can it be? For I was travelling to Chennai to meet this girl (whose profile I had looked up and admired on a matrimony site). She could be fun to be with. And it was just a day trip. I will be back to namma Bengalooru by nightfall, the next day. So I boarded the night train that would reach Chennai central by early next morning.


       My friends would vouch that I am terrible at waking up early. But the train had reached its destination at 6am. And I lazily picked my back pack and lumbered off the train to the platform. I thought “it would be a good Idea to make myself presentable to ‘my prospective in laws’ when I meet them, rather than turn up in my ‘messed up 6am’ looks”. So I trudged off to the washroom, cleaned myself up in front of the mirror that had a diagonal crack running across it. I realised…I was a mirror cracking material indeed. Then I came out of the washroom but realised that my breath stinks. I suddenly remembered that I had not brushed my teeth. Not a problem though. I promptly took out toilet kit and made my way to a series of taps that were lined up. Done with brushing my teeth, to get rid of the last bit of laze, I started to splash water on my face vigorously. It was then that I realised that a few ladies were shouting at each other. From my feeble understanding of Tamil, I realised that they were actually cursing someone. Well Oblivious to the happening, I continued my ‘clean up’ and then just when I turned back, I realised that those ladies were actually not quarrelling among them, but their ire was directed towards none other than myself. I wondered, what did I do? Then I realised, I was using the tap that was near the ladies wash room. Anyways, I ignored them, moved on…Outside the station, I booked an uber to the address that was provided. All good till now, barring a few minor hiccups.

       Once in the cab, though a wee bit sleepy, the enormity of the situation gravitated upon me. I was going to meet a girl…who could potentially spend the rest her life with me. OH SHITTTTTT…..why did I sign up for this….Can I turn back now? Oh no…what would my parents think? Also If I turn back now, it will be like chickening out of the situation….That girl would think of me as a coward. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. With no way out of it, I decided to take on the situation head on. ‘How brave of me’. I did my hair once again, checked myself up on the car mirror…boy handsome. That gave me courage. The cab driver thankfully could speak English. That helped easing my nerves. After about an hour’s drive, I was there….To meet a girl and her family…for the first time… with the objective of spending the rest of my dear life with her…Oh No…God Help me. Why me…?? Pleasseeeee…..ok…..Calm down…u can always reject her…Hell, she can reject u…oh no…that would be embarrassing…Grrrrrrrrr…it’s a mess…what do I do now?

(To be continued.....)

What the Fish!! (My first time:Part 2)

       I had already informed my ‘prospective’ in laws about my arrival after I had touched down. It was around 9am, I was welcomed at the gate of their apartment building. After the initial pleasantries, we moved in. This being the ‘first time’, I was still a bundle of nerves. The girl’s parents enquired about my journey and did their best to make me feel comfortable. Theirs was a small family of 3 and they had shifted to Chennai a few years before the girl was born. By now, it was time for breakfast. Being a first timer, I was very careful to be at my courteous best. And the moment for which I had been waiting for had finally arrived. The girl joined us for breakfast. For all my excitement, I was actually unsure of what would be appropriate for me to do…Hence I decided, let me concentrate on food…for I was hungry after all my travails last night.

       Once done with the breakfast, the parents ‘left us’ to talk in private. I am sure, they must have been snooping at us from a safe distance. By now, I believed, I had developed a decent image of myself to them….. At least I thought so. After an awkward silence, I asked the girl about what she does and if it would be OK for her to relocate to Bangalore in the future. The entire conversation lasted for about 7 minutes and spanned no more than 12 sentences (give or take). It was about 10:30 am now and frankly, I was getting bored. So much for meeting a girl….sigh. My return tickets were booked for the 4pm and I somehow had to kill time but I was stuck……like a fly in spider net. Just when such thoughts were clouding my thinking, her father enthusiastically offered to take me around the place. I agreed for I wanted some fresh air. Little did I know that ‘my first time experience’ is only just getting started.

       Once outside, her father took me around in his bike. By looking at him, I could make out that he was out for his grocery shopping. Nevertheless I was glad to just make it out of the house. Then something happened that left me flabbergasted. He told me that they get amazing fishes in Chennai and took me straight to a fish market. YES …FISH MARKET. I was dumbfounded. This indeed left me speechless. While I am not averse to fishes or visiting the fish market, I found myself in a hilarious position. I was moving from one fish stall to another, wearing my best dress, among fishes, dead and alive. If that was not enough, I felt that I was attending a lecture on fishes. I quickly realised that this man has profound knowledge about fishes, how they taste and how they should be cooked. From one stall to another, I felt like I was a fish, not just out of water but stuck in a fish market. At long last, I could see light at the end of the tunnel. Our man has screened all the shops in the market, but have not been able to net his dream fish. Relieved, I thought, we will head back.
Little did I know that there was another fish market near by. God why do bongs eat fish? Hell why do men eat fish? They look good only in aquariums and ponds. Why can’t men just leave them alone…

       We boarded the bike again…only to stop at the next fish market. We repeated the same drill…The lecturer went through all the stall, repeated the same drill once again. It felt like déjà vu. Same fishes, same story…only a different market. I was left wondering…what this man was trying to achieve by taking me to various fish markets. Was he trying to impress me about how he,being out of Bengal for so long was still a fish eating bong at heart? Or was he trying to show off his considerable knowledge about fishes? Whatever it was, he was successful in generating an intense but temporary dislike for fishes in me. After another few minutes, he was left exasperated that he could not find the fish that his heart desired in two of Chennai’s biggest and most thriving fish markets. I nodded in concurrence. Dejected, we headed home. On the way, he stopped right next to a roadside fish vendor. He seemed visibly delighted. He had his eureka moment. He had finally found the fish his heart craved for, that too at a reasonable price. I must admit that I silently appreciated his zeal and endeavour. Finally, we headed home. Our man had a triumphant air about him by now. He boasted to his wife, how he had taken me around the neighbourhood while he also bought his fish.

        It was well past noon by now. It was time for me to bid farewell to the family and head back to the bus station which I did with utmost pleasure. Once I boarded the bus back to Bangalore, my enthusiastic parents who had kept a lid on their curiosity all thru the day finally called up. Poor parents. They became my punching bag. While I narrated the story of the bygone 12 hours, about how my meeting with the “susheeeeeeeel girl” lasted no more than 7 minutes and no longer than 12 precious sentences. How I am now an expert about anything that is fishy…read fish, and that I could put a fisherman to shame by my in depth knowledge about fishes and my adventurous excursion to not one but two of Chennai’s biggest fish markets. While I was narrating all this, I could hear my parents laughing so loudly that it only infuriated me all the more. I cut the call, snoozed off for a while, dreaming of mermaids…err fishes. When I woke up, it was with a smile on my face….for I realised, had I not made this journey, I could never have had so much fun (in hindsight). I called up my parents once again…This time, we laughed about the whole trip. And finally I reached my humble abode at Bangalore. Still single, ready to mingle…But more experienced than ever.

PS. : My first time truly was memorable…This was a trip that I remember every time I buy fish, even to this date. When I narrated this tale to my wife, she insisted that I write about this particular one in my blog….and hence this blog. Hope you like it.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

The FARRRTTT journey

      We were returning from our long awaited honeymoon. And it was worth it. Manali's beauty had my wifey and myself spellbound. We were travelling back to Delhi in a semi occupied Volvo. It was a comfortable ride and we were enjoying the last glimses of those snow clad mountains of Kullu and Manali. The serene tranquil atmosphere of the bus was suddenly interrupted by a biological weapon that is universally called FARRRTTTT. can happen sometimes. We tried to ignore the 'sweet strawberry flavoured air freshener' and went back to admiring our surroundings. We even complimented ourselves for how nicely the entire tour was planned.... BaAaNnnNnGG!!!... No it did not sound like a hydrogen bomb...but it sure smelt like a poisonous mixture of 2moles hydrogen sulfide and 3moles of concentrated nitric acid. Wonder what had this gentlefartman had for his lunch that he was producing enough biological weapon of mass destruction to wipe the small town of manali.

   In the seat behind us was a couple who had fully wrapped up. So much so that they had covered their head and ear with scarves and the rest of their face and the the the extent that only exposed portion and of their anatomy were their eyes. I joked to my wife saying that they must be from down south and that they were struggling with the cold of Manali even inside the air-conditioned bus. Just then did we realise the  motive behind it. They were protecting themselves from this deadly biological warfare that was being inflicted upon us, the poor and helpless this unknown, undercover merchant of FART. We immediately followed suit and covered up in the hope that it would help. ...... Alas...not to be. We realised it was a futile attempt. Suiting up only heated up the already vitiated air inside the coach. We were left to fend for ourselves... Poor souls.... We two.

   Divine intervention..... The bus stopped for us to disembark and have our dinner. Not only we ran out of it for some much needed fresh air(minus the H2S smell) but with the hope that our beloved fartman will eat a stomach full to give his biogas plant a much needed 'maintainence break' and stop farting for the rest of the night. I also desperately needed to take a leak..... My bladders were bursting. As a result, without noticing the sign on the door of the scantly lit washroom, I barged inside and relieved myself with a relieved smile on my face..listening to my wifey laugh out loud outside with some other lady. It was then that I realised, I have just relieved myself in the ladies washroom. I thanked God for the washroom was empty when I barged in and bolted the door. For had it been otherwise ...err...let's not go there.

    We had a decent dinner while watching India play at the T20 world cup. Clicked a few pictures on the beautiful full moon lit holo night. As the bus honked calling us back in for the night, we reluctantly hopped in, only to find that with the AC being off, while,l our man has turned the coach into a Nazi inspired concentration camp thanks to his muli ki sabzi and hingoli laden food that our man probably had before he decided to screw our night journey. As the bus twisted and turned thru the curvy and mountainous roads, we slumped in our cushioned seats hit the snooze button. By god, my wife looks all the more prettier while she's asleep. A fact that often leads me to click her while she's sleeping. Just when i was admiring her innocent face, our man decided to let one go....BAMMM...poor girl, my wifey woke up with a cringed face with the blanket covering her nose. I was at my wit's end...trying to figure out, just how much and for how long can a a man continue to fart???!!

     If that was not all, our bus strolled into Mandi bus stop where a couple of guys in their early 20s, one of them sporting a salmanesque bracelet boarded the bus. The same hotshot sat next to us. Took out his shining phone, set up his earphones and started listening to his music. I was impressed. For what I had seen during my train journeys, my experience with people listening to music from their phones had been particularly loud and unpleasant. Just when I was slipping back to my sweet dreams, our salman from Mandi started to sing aloud...yesss...our man was singing a hit Kumar sanu number from the late 90s aloud in the bus at 2300hours...beat that! I reluctantly tapped his shoulders and gestured him to keep it low..he kid...I told ya.

     No sooner had he stopped his 'bu(th)sroom' singing, our man called up his friend (a girl probably). And probably to impress people around him more than the girl, he started to blurt out angrezi in desi me it was hilarious..."y u not accept my fraaanship request on aaefbee?"..."tum mere fotus ko like and comment will make me feel good about u" quote a few. I could make out from his side of conversation that the other person was uninterested...poor guy.. Reluctantly he hung up and then went back to his music...this time humming them and vigorously shaking his head... He was probably listening to Linkin Park now... Good for his English...
      Slowly thereafter as the night grew, our in-house fartman and smart guy reduced their favouritr activities and I slumped in my seat to my good night's sleep...only to wake up and admire my beautiful biwi's pretty innocent face before I slept was a happy journey afterall...and these memories...they'll last a lifetime.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Good morniiiiiiiiiing Meeee!!!!

7:30 : Beep beep....beep beep....SNOOOOOZZZZEE...10 more minutes.

7:40 : Beep beep....beep beep..aaagghhhh!!! Snooozzze...5 more minutes. Com’on. Why does the mobile phone has to work with the precision of a Rolex when it comes to the morning alarm!! It’s just a phone afterall. OK....juuuuuust one more snooze and then I am up.

BANGGG!!! 8:10 : Goodness gracious me....How can I sleep for so long....OMG...I had snoozed the alarm for just 5 more minutes...This mobile is of no use. It can’t even do the basic function of waking me up on time. Now I will have to race against time to catch my bus to work.

8:15 : I am finally up and running. I admire my sleepy looks in the mirror and walk out to pick up the toothbrush and the toothpaste. On my way though, I find the newspaper, neatly folded with a full page photograph of Monica Bellucci on the front page. I wonder how the bombshell can make the front page news, when they were supposed to be page 3 attractions. Keeping one eye on the clock, I reluctantly pick up the paper. Of course I could not help but admire this Italian beauty in the advertisement. Now I know how this paper has the maximum circulation. When such beautiful goddesses make up the front page of the newspaper, they are hard to miss, even if you don’t really intend to read them in a hurry. Still keeping one eye on the clock, I skimmed through the headlines of all the pages and finally reached the end of it. OH SHITTTT!!!..The clock now read 8:25. Com’on dude...u have to get ready NOW. Else you have to take the BMTC Volvo and stand in the heavy crowd through the journey in the morning rush that Prachi and Chitrangada on the cover page of the supplement? Of course it was them, sporting polka dots short skirts. Now how can you miss them even if you are late? Also it would not be politically right to admire the Italian diva and give these Indian divas a miss. I take another 4 minutes to refresh my eye and mind in the morning, after such a tough day yesterday.

8:35 : With great difficulty, I throw the newspaper away and I’m off to the washroom. The moment I start brushing my teeth, “WHAT THE HELL...” the toothpaste tastes like soap! I realise that I had picked up the wrong tube and conveniently replaced my toothpaste with my shaving cream while admiring those bombshells in the newspaper.

8:40 : The office bus is to arrive in 15 minutes. I still have a fighting chance to escape wrestling with the crowd....that is if I can finish up all my early morning tasks before 8:55.

8:45 : The geyser is on but there’s no hot water. WHY GOD?? WHY?? WHY ALWAYS ME & WHY TODAY OF ALL DAYS??? Not that today was anything special, but I used these phrases together, even if they don’t really convey anything meaningful at most times. I resigned to my fate and took a cold shower bath (if you can call it a bath...I most certainly DO). OH NO...NOT AGAIN...Towel...where are youuuu?? I had not brought my towel to wipe off after the bath. By now, I was used to it though...I have a habit of forgetting my towel before I take bath....Blame this bad habit on my mom. In fact you can blame all my bad habits on her – She’s a sweetheart and she won’t mind. I make do with my tee that I was wearing at night...anyway that tee needed a wash. Nice got what it deserves...the tee I mean.

The small clock on my bathroom shelf read 8:55. That’s all right, I thought. It was ahead of its time by 5 minutes to compensate for my sense of punctuality (or rather lack of it) in the morning.

8:50 : Wow...that was quick..The shower. Now I feel fresh like a flower. I glance at the newspaper once again. But this time I restrain myself – “CHILL DUDE....u have the entire evening to spend with her, after you return from work”. I spend another another minute in front of the same mirror – dress up – apply deo spray lavishly (for obvious reasons-refer to the deo spray commercials please), do my shoes, pick up my bag, put my shades on and one final glance at the mirror before I rush out – BOY, you are handsome.

8:54 : Why of all the time in the day, the lift has to go up instead if coming down, when I am supposed to use it to rush out?? Aaahhh!!!...JUST MY LUCK. I jump 3 steps at a time and rush out of the gate.

8:56 : I am almost there....I can see a colleague of mine waiting for bus on the other side of the road. WOW...YOU DID IT SON!

All I need to do is to cross the road and reach my bus stop..butttt...the traffic. How insensitive of the people behind the wheels...can’t they see a guy desperately trying to cross the road. Can’t they see the desperation in my eyes? With great courage (call it courage, valour or call it risk or stupidity), I reach the median of the road...half the battle won. I plunge into the onrushing traffic and cross the other half of the road to reach my destination. Here I am, after braving so many obstacles, right from the attractive women to freezing cold water bath, I have reached the destination beating the clock. I felt triumphant.
*                *               *                *
9:05 : It’s still the two of us waiting for the office bus. Normally the bus is more punctual than the official time keeper of F1 races.

9:10 : Well, like most days, I had missed my bus. That KAMEEEEEENA bus driver could not wait for 1 more minute for poor me. Now I have to wrestle with the rush hour crowd and stand in the crowded bus for an hour to reach work. The newspaper is to be blamed. Why do they serve the newspaper in the mornings? No...It’s not the newspaper...It’s the combined trio of Monica, Prachi and Chitrangada to be blamed. If only God had not made them so pretty, I would not have missed the bus today as well (the third time in this week). So it’s GOD (and not those pretty ladies) who is to be blamed for me missing the bus. I felt relieved...that I was not at fault. I thanked god, took the next Volvo ...stood for an hour before I got a place to sit...reached office just in time and what I do at work??....I do ROCKET SCIENCEJ.


Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Growing UP

Hello everyone,

Remember me? The 'once in a while' blogger. An outsider down south....rings a bell??? Yeah right....I am back after a break to put into words about a brief period of my life which I lived in the recent past.

            Life was great (at least I thought so by painting it colourful). I had just finished my graduation from a premier engineering college (I claim it to be a premier one). I studied Mechanical Engineering and the class had 43 guys (‘khulle saand’) and a solitary gal (‘Mech Rani’). By the time I completed the 4 years of grind, I did manage to land a couple of decent jobs. My parents were over the moon for their li’l kid has grown up. I do not subscribe to that grown up part though (never will, for I believe – “There’s a li’l kid in all of us. The day that kid grows up, you lose the charm of life”). I started to prepare myself to leave the comforts of home and to face the hostile world outside. Movies, video-games, hanging out with pals and of course, most important of them all – ZzZZzzzz!! – They all formed my short preparation for the long battle up ahead (which I am still fighting and winning, or shall I say surviving).


                          *          *           *           *                       

             On a chilly October morning, I landed in Bangalore (Not by flight, but by keeping awake while travelling on the last row of a rusty and rickety bus- back bencher habit dies hard). Upon taking the next bus to my destination in the city, the conductor asked for a cool Rs.120 for 2 tickets – I reconfirmed the amount – not once but twice (probably thrice!) before handing it over to him. I could not quite comprehend, how a city bus can charge so high for a journey that would not allow me to enjoy the A/C for no more than 45 minutes (I had never travelled in a Volvo bus within the city before this incident). That was my first “real life shock” in the new city. I was going to live in one of the most happening cities of the world – BANGALORE. The IT capital of India (and probably the world – at least I thought so, for I had not seen the world). So much so, that this city would give sleepless nights to the likes of the American law makers about the outsourcing issue. WoooHooooo!!!

           Once into the job, it felt like I was on top of the world. I was supposed to design aircrafts. Yeah. You heard me right – DESIGN AIRCRAFTS. Though my knowledge was limited to the vague description of the stress - strain relationship of a mild steel bar under tension ( my engineer friends would know that this is the most basic thing that you are taught in college and a definite question in any job interview), I felt quietly confident. My daily routine changed from “Food-Movies-Games-Food-Movies-Games-Sleep” (before work started) to “Games-Food-Gossip-Games-Gossip-Food-Sleep”. In between though, I underwent a few trainings which were aimed at making me ‘fit’ for the job that I was supposed to perform. If only I could keep my eyes open while attending them.


            Though I must confess that the weekdays were fairly routine affair, it was the weekends that kept me going. Not only was I allowed to sleep and drool till the sun was directly above me, the after dark hours were irresistible. It seemed like I was attending the 9th semester of college with friends who were around me. All these things made me feel, “WOW, Life’s Good”. Other then weekends, everyone loved Fridays. You HAD to attend office on Fridays for its on Fridays that you get to see ‘colours’ in an otherwise ‘black and white’ world. It was one such Friday, we were told that the upcoming weekend would be a working one and that our slog through the week was deemed insufficient and that the slog had to be continued on Saturday as well. Though I was not averse to working on an odd weekend, what worried me was the huge dump of dirty linen that was overflowing out of my laundry bag and painting a very dirty picture of my otherwise well (un)kept room. Wearing the undies inside out was a good gag only in campus day gossips. That definitely could not be done in reality (or could they??) Well I know of men who have been there done that but I won’t reveal them (unless your offer is really unputdownable). Washing clothes was a thing that we all dreaded and it had to be done on every lazy Saturday afternoons...with a working weekend, WHAT NOW??

      I was getting used to life away from the comforts of home. Probably I was growing up....Was I?? Should I??



Friday, May 4, 2012

Travelling ‘cattle class’

              It was a long day....logged in for work at 7am. Had to finish the mandatory 3.5 hrs in office to get my attendance marked. Then I had to rush to B’lore from Mysore to catch the 7pm train from Yeshwanthpur. The prodigal son was returning home after a gap of 6 months....battle scarred yet victorious. I managed to catch the train...just in the nick of time....and finally settled in my comfy side lower berth of the A2 coach. Though a li'l tired, I was high on spirits...for I was going HOME....After an early dinner, I drowsed off. Just when my dream girl was approaching (in my dream of course), a commotion woke me up, a weird cacophony of a male, female and kids voice, all speaking at the same time. I glanced at my read 12:05 am.

          As my friends would testify, nothing can actually disturb my sleep...and so given that reputation of mine, I just ignored it all and turned over after pulling the curtains again. Just when I was about to get back to what I do best (sleep that is), a dead weight...probably close to a ton fall on my legs....and it would not move. That woke me up....and I was grumpy. I saw a 40-somthing lady making herself comfortable on my seat, at the cost of my precious sleep. When I peeped out of the curtain, I realised a family of 5 had just boarded the train with waitlisted tickets.

          The men started with area domination, as the armed forces do after reclaiming the land from naxalites. The females did their part by sanitizing the area by sprinkling ‘ganga jal’ (water from the river Ganges-supposed to purify anything and everything). A few drops did fell on me, which I chose to ignore. But hey, I can’t complain....I was being purified. All the single berth holders were cajoled off to other coaches, even if they had done their part of area domination before the melee started at the stroke of midnight. Once the dust settled, came a pot bellied man wearing a dark but dirty coat. You guessed it right. He was the TTE. From the corner of my eyes I caught him make a fellow waitlisted passengers cough off Rs.200 each in lieu of berths.

          Finally the chaos settled and once the lights were switched off. I thanked God for that for I could go back to sleep. I was proved wrong though. I strange pattern of weird noise disturbed me....and it would reach its crescendo every 2minand then get back to normal. It was the lady next door (berth) snoring her way to glory. The gentleman, not to be left behind in this ‘Indian-railway-idol’ show, promptly started to showcase his DJ skills on loudspeaker of his god forbidden Chinese made cell phone. If that was not enough for the night, the song that played was a popular ‘nasal’ number. I was in the middle of a nasal cacophony – snoring and singing all at once.

         The next morning, I woke up to the nuggets of wisdom from the Alpha male of the bunch, explaining how to be roman when in Rome. His analogy was stupendous. He said, because they use coconut oil down south to cook, he would carry with him home made food supplies for the entire duration of his tour. Roman indeed....need I say any more. Suddenly our man took out his cam coder from his bag. Its price tag was still intact though it looked fairly old. He started recording with his pricey but old cam coder, with running commentary. Though it was a bit awkward being in front of the lens, I acted normal. Once the train reached Vishakhapatnam, the compulsive commentator announced to the camcorder and us in general “we are now reaching Vishakhapatnam. This is the capital of Andhra Pradesh” For a moment I could not believe my ears. I could not help myself and told him that Hyderabad and not vizag is AP’s capital. Bang!!!! Came the reply with an air of superlative sanguinity, “u don’t know dear, its Vishakhapatnam now”. WOW....that was it...What could I say....geography re-recorded.

        For GOD SAKE....I was travelling in a train on a valid ticket, in an upper class coach. I was wondering, if u have deaf and dumb as co passengers while travelling by air, this must be the ‘great Indian cattle class’, the term now made famous by a very well respected former minister.

          I thanked God for that was the last leg of the most irritable train journey I had till date. But on the hindsight, it was fun. I still LMAO about it. For if it had not happened, ‘this’ would never had come up. And I sincerely hope Mr. ‘Know it all’ DJ get his facts right next time he is trying to shoot and comment on something.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Kitna badal gaya INSAAN    

     Kitna badal gaya insaan…..I remember hearing this tune on TV….Never once did I realize that it would be applicable to me as well. It struck me while I was working at the Devil’s workshop (read…when I was Idle). 

       As is the case often these days, once I’m done with my office….I browse the net or I become the slave of the Idiot Box. On one such mundane evening, it was the later entertaining me. While flipping through the channels, suddenly I saw ‘THE ROCK’ in one of the channels…..immediately I stopped flipping the channels. The much adored WWE (the then WWF) was on air and the long gone yet not forgotten ‘Rock’  was back…albeit for a guest appearance. WWF used to be such a fad during my school days that I could remember the vital stats of most of the wrestlers ….at times, at the cost of the formula of Benzene/ methyl  alcohol. I used to pick up fight with anyone who dared to say a word about the much revered kings of the ring. I don’t know what Mr. Dwayne Johnson was doing at the WWE, but his antiques certainly brought a smile to my face….it made me ponder how much I have changed, for now I laugh at the theatrics that’s on display on the same show.

        This was not the only instance. There was a time I would not miss a single episode of ‘THE ROADIES’. As much I detested those swearing participants for the amount of filth they poured on TV, I adored the program still. Now that THE ROADIES has grown bigger and probably better, yet I find myself no longer a follower of the program. Though I must admit, I learnt most of those expletives from the show. Wry…isn’t it?


         Further down the memory lane, on Friday & Saturday nights, those so called ‘super hit - fillum’ which were aired on DD, just could not be missed. It looks like yesterday, when I pestered Dad about what’s there to listen so much in the news? And what’s the difference between NDTV and NDTV profit? After all, both were news channels. Now, News is the only thing other than sports, which I see on TV. Guess mai  bhi buddha ho raha hoon.

          Birthday parties during school days were fun. You could be dressed in your best, cut the cake, share it with your buddies who in turn would gift you with so many wonderful b’day presents. Probably this is why, I celebrated my birthday every year, and immediately after all the guests were gone, I would rush to the room where all the gifts were kept to open them up and see my latest possessions. It was so much fun. Well these days, it’s a fun of different kind. At times outright painful and messy. On birthdays, you have to treat all your friends, who in turn would smear you with cake, toothpaste, boot polish and other god forsaken things. And not to forget those birthday bumps on the stroke of midnight, when you can’t even scream at those full blooded kicks to your rear, lest your landlord ousts you the next day on the pretext of being noisy neighbour. Zamana badal gaya mere yaar.

      When I stayed with my parents, I lived in a home. Life was easy….everything I wanted was made available to me on a platter. Yet I was not independent. I would wake up early every day, be it a school day or a holiday. I would have breakfast daily. Read books, play games almost every day and develop myself, in one way or other. I would yearn to be an adult some day and stand on my own feet. Now I am an adult. I can take care of myself and hence, I no longer live in a home. Sadly I stay in a house. Though I am independent and can take my own decision, very often I skip my breakfasts and at times even my lunch. I no longer care to read often and development has taken a back seat. I read only when I have to and I prefer sleeping to playing games. Sochta hoon ki as a kid, kya mai yahi chahta tha?

        Speaking of change, it reminds me of a forwarded message that I received some time back…..It’s so true to the core and thought provoking. Here it goes-
I want to go back in time

When GETTING HIGH meant on a swing,
Not promotions.

When DRINKING Meant Rasna Orange,
Not beer or whiskey.

When Dad was the only HERO,
Not Depp or Tom.

When LOVE was Mom’s hug,
Not the girl / boy-friend’s kiss.

When dad’s shoulder was the HIGHEST PLACE on Earth,
Not your designation.

When your WORST ENEMIES were your siblings,
Not your manager.

When the only thing that could HURT were bleeding knees,
Not the TEARS falling down your cheeks.

When the only thing BROKEN were toys,
Not your little heart.

And when GOOD-BYES meant till tomorrow,
Not for years and years.


       Zamana badal gaya pyaare, purani baat nahi chalti; Change with time or perish, for change is the only thing that is constant. I just hope and wish that these changes are for the betterment of us all and don’t come at the cost of our values and morality. As they say….change is good….and so be it….AMEN.