I have spent a significant portion of my growing years in North India – Jamshedpur, Delhi, and Jalandhar to be precise. Just that this time around, I am not under the shadows of my parents. Believe me…life is really different and difficult when your parents are not around to protect you.

Life here in Gurgaon is a lot different from the life I was living in Chennai. For starters, I can’t crack my favorite Sardarji jokes as I so often used to in Chennai.

The other day I started off: “By the way, did you hear that Sardarji joke about ….”

Before I could reach the subject, Dia had pinched me in the forearm, and Sunandini had stamped my toes. I didn’t take the hint.

“Come on guys…have you heard that Sardarji joke or not?” I inquired.

This time I noticed Sashwat making faces – I couldn’t understand what he was trying to convey. But there was a certain amount of urgency….he seemed so much in pain that I asked him again: “What is the matter? Why are you nodding your head so vigorously?”

He didn’t answer…and excused himself. In the next 3 seconds or was it 4…everybody fled from the scene. Just then, a six and a half footer sardarji got up from his cubicle and asked: “So, you were saying?”

I don’t know why…but my trousers felt warm. I stood there for a while…and after the carpet had soaked up the discharge I walked back to my cubicle.

On advice from Uma, I have now re-phrased the first line of my sardarji jokes to: “By the way, have you heard that joke about a Madrasi …”

Aryans vs Dravidians

Whenever my history teacher told me that the North Indians were Aryans and the South Indians Dravidians, I didn’t trust her. Probably because she was a North Indian….but now I trust her completely.

On my first day here, the guest house keeper gave me chapattis and mango pickle. When I asked him if I will get any Sambar, he just looked at me as if I was asking him about Polonium. Not one to take it lying down, I asked the guest house keeper for some variety the next day. So, on day two…it was Chapatti with curd.

I have been here for a week now, and every day in the morning, afternoon and dinner there is chapatti and nothing else.

I think this is the right time to apologize to the ace film-maker Manmohan Desai. I didn’t believe him when his 1977 film titled Dharam Veer started with a scene wherein Daram Singh (Dharmendra) and Veer Singh (Jeetendra) are on their white horses (isn’t white supposed symbolize good?) and their mother throws a freshly made roti at them. The two brothers catch the hot chappati, tear it and stuff it into their respective mouths and then ride away into the jungle. I now completely trust Manmohan Desai’s film making abilities – if the movie had been shot any other way, people wouldn’t have been able to associate with it.

Another thing I have noticed is that, here everybody has “Balle…Balle” songs as caller tunes. When I was back in Chennai, some had carnatic music…some had Hindustani…and some had English songs as their caller tunes…but here everybody has “Balle…Balle” songs. Wonder why.

Don’t trust me? Call 09971996581…and find out. That’s my Gurgaon number!

PS: If you are a North Indian, and want to issue a fatwa against me (Do North Indians issue fatwas?) please spend a week in Chennai before you sign the orders. Please.

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# When I was the villain
# Platonic relationships
# Different types of fathers in law
# Letters to the Editor
# Rekha is no longer my better half!
# Mother in law vs daughter in law