Just to ensure, they didn’t feel any pressure I said: “I want you to understand that we want you to branch out and grow because ibibo cares for you, and not that we don’t need you anymore.”

“Yeah, we understand.” They said in unison.

“You trust me, right?” I asked.

While the handsome intern remained silent, the pretty ones let out the killer statement: “Jammy, we aren’t worried. You are like a father figure to us!”

Their statement hit me like a lead bullet…penetrated me, and left from my back leaving a wide wound. But I didn’t let my guard down…after all I was a true-blue professional.

Back home, I asked my wife: “Do I look old?”

“Not very,” was her response.

I looked into the mirror. I wasn’t balding. At least, not yet. My hair wasn’t graying. But I had dark circles around my eyes, thanks to long hours in front of my laptop. Wrinkles had only started camping at the corners of my eyes – but the dark skin was helping camouflage it. I smiled at myself, just to be sure that my smile didn’t betray a few wrinkles – they didn’t.

What could be wrong? I asked myself…why was I being considered a father figure…and why not a buddy?

We Rajans believe in cross checking everything. A practice, my father ingrained in us…while trying to investigate the crimes me and my two sisters committed as kids.

“Are you sure you saw Sumathy (the younger sister) use crayons on the white-washed walls?” he would ask us. If one of us answered in the negative, Sumathy wouldn’t have to wash her own clothes that day. Though we made sure, she always did.

“All girls in the right age group consider me to be a father figure. Why? Why me?” I asked Mohak Gambhir (no relation to Gautam Gambhir), a male colleague in office.

“Hmm…tough question. But I can keep a watch on you and get back with answers.” Mohak is a man with solutions…so I decided to wait for his answer.

Two days later, he got back with his analysis. He had a flow chart ready…which looked like this:

I have been pretty upset since Mohak submitted this document. Now, can you give me solutions to revive my flagging flirtatious career?

Other Fatherly Reads

# Father vs Mother - what will the child choose?
# Entering a new house in Gurgaon
# Every photograph has a story to tell
# To be a father or not to be
# Different types of fathers in law

Of course, ladies with not so straight tendencies can also use this tip.

During my flight from Chennai to Delhi, I was allotted seat number ‘1D’. For those of you who don’t know where 1D falls…here, take a look at this graphic below -

*AH= Air Hostess

Now that you know where exactly I was sitting in Air Deccan’s Chennai to Delhi flight number 639, please continue reading.

Thanks to the flirt-friendly seating, I got a chance to observe two air hostesses from close proximity – as close as 3 feet. So much so, when one of the air hostesses was telling me about the emergency exists, and life jackets and all that lovey-dovey stuff…I could smell her perfume. I remember watching a movie in which Dharmendra buys all the tickets in a theatre and views Hema Malini’s performance sitting all alone….for a moment, I thought I had bought all the tickets in the airplane and she was reeling out the instructions for me.

As a mere mortal, you can’t even imagine how lucky I would have felt staring at two pretty girls from that close a distance for 150 minutes. Wondering why I say 150 minutes and not two and half hours…hmm…let me give you a hint – I am 165 cms tall!

Let me describe the two girls for you – Poornima and Kavita, who were in Air Deccan’s flight number 639 from Chennai to Delhi. If you know them, please let them know that my heart beats for them. If you don’t know them, but know some air hostesses…please forward this link to them…so that someday (and that’s before they get old), the link reaches them and they mail me at jv [.] rajan [@] gmail [.] com.

Now, my only concern is…what do I do if both of them propose to me at the same time? To tell you the truth, I love them both.

When the plane was taking off and the girls were belted to their seats and couldn’t move…I didn’t even look at them. I could I have just unbuckled my seat belt and kissed them both! But by not staring at them, I gave them a chance to stare at me.

When Kavita handed me the complimentary Kingfisher Mineral water, I even said “Thank You, Kavita.”

When Poornima handed me a bag of peanuts and said, “Sir, this can be yours for just Rs 10,” I gave her Rs 500 and said: “Why don’t you buy some bangles for those nice, delicate wrists of yours?”

She didn’t reply…but she didn’t return Rs 490 as well. Wonder what kind of bangles she would buy.

Thanks to my seating and the view blocker which allowed for a sneak preview…I could even see the air hostesses change clothes – what if they were just removing their jacket and wearing the apron? A change is a change…not to mention, welcome.

Now, let me reveal a secret…when the girls changed into their apron they left their jackets near the food storage area (just behind the opaque view blocker) and I managed to smuggle my visiting card into their jacket pockets.

Now, the question is…who will get ME first! People, wish the girls luck!

Note: I can’t read his name properly but it says Brinder Singh, First Officer, Air Deccan…and I think he is flirting with my girls. Why isn’t he flying the plane? Is it on auto pilot? I am so angry with him, that if ever I can…I will ask him to pilot an Auto…for that would also be called ‘Auto Pilot’!

Other Worthy Articles

Humor in everyday life – a sample
Buying a pram for my daughter
Mother in law vs daughter in law
Pre-marital sex: to be embraced or not?
Kissing – how it all began

Rhea, Rekha and I left Gurgaon on Wednesday morning and reached Madurai in the evening – all for 3-4 days of Diwali celebration with friends & relatives. Since Air Deccan doesn’t ask its patrons to buy tickets for infants we took along our 8 month old baby daughter.

By the time we had checked in, my daughter had given me enough indications about her career path – she was smiling at every Tom, Beep & Harry – like a true blue air hostess. For a moment, I did accept that as a career option for my 8-month-old daughter but when I realized that she would be exposed to 32-year-old, sex-starved men, shamelessly staring at her even with their wives in tow…I started having second thoughts. Even as I type this, I am thinking of a good career option for my daughter. The good old middle class dream – a District Collector maybe?

Carrying a baby isn’t all that bad, for an Air Deccan ground staff (why do girls look so pretty in red? BTW, if you didn’t know…after Kingfisher tied-up with Air Deccan…both the airlines share the same uniforms, facilities and principles) asked us to wait for a personal shuttle to drop us near the airplane. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as personal as one would have thought for when we boarded the shuttle, there were three women above 60 and one man above 65 waiting for us – and we aren’t talking of their weights in Kgs.

While boarding the plane, I caught one airhostess named ‘Deepti’ eyeing my broad shoulders and perhaps saying to herself: “How good would it be to just place my head on them and feel safe and secure?”

We wouldn’t proceed further on the issue because I caught this air-hostess eyeing another handsome man soon after. Note to self: Check if ‘misleading’ is a synonym for ‘Beauty’.

As we settled down, the two airhostesses and one lonely male cabin crew member gave away the emergency instructions. I wonder if these instructions are really useful…I remember hearing them patiently during my first 2-3 tips…but have given up on them now. I have two concerns on these instructions:

After sitting through the emergency instructions session which seemed longer than a Liciano Pavarotti opera, a pretty air hostess walked up to me. Even if I had my eyes closed, I would have told you that she was 36-28-36 (whatever that means!) by the micro seconds it took between two heel digs on the floor.

As I closed my eyes in prayer, this girl said: “Sir, is she your daughter?”

“I said yes.” It felt sad to be breaking her bubble, but I didn’t like the thought of she kissing me in front of my wife.

“Would you be carrying her while the flight takes off?”

“I said yes.” I wish, I could have said, “Hey, I am just kidding…she isn’t my daughter…I am just holding my co-passenger’s daughter” - and point towards Rekha.

What I heard next, was a message from heaven. She said: “Sir, to avoid discomfort during flight takeoff and landing I suggest breast feeding.”

I looked at Rekha, and she was busy thumbing through the shopping options in the in-flight magazine.

I turned towards the air hostess, gave her my hundred dollar smile and said: “Great, so where do we meet as soon as the lights are switched off for the take off? Do you really want to do it at the time of landing as well?”

After 13 minutes:

Wonder why…when I asked for cotton for my baby’s ears (when she started crying during the take off) the same air hostess refused to acknowledge my existence!

Other Flighty Reads

# Difference between a train & an aeroplane - a guide for the first time flyer
# The Kingfisher Class – Part 1
# The Kingfisher Class – Part 2
# Traveling by Kingfisher Airlines
# Inside the Jet Airways flight
# Reporting straight from the Bangalore Airport
# Cheap airlines and cheap thrills

But what if she doesn’t have a mobile phone? You definitely can’t call her landline because it is most likely that the retired father of hers is sitting next to the landline leafing through a Times of India. What options does this give us? Look for another girl perhaps? And this is where life gets tough.

Way back in the 1995s – when today’s 32-year-olds like me were picking up conversations with girls, it used to be different. Back then, if one had a red Maruti 800 with “Heart Break Kid” written on the rear window…one had too many girls showing interest. “If only Maruti 800 was a bigger car,” I remember a rich friend of mine confessing.

Those with a bike got the not-so- pretty girls. People like me, who finished their college driving a second-hand TVS Champ…got the not-so-pretty girls too. Just that unlike the guys with bikes, we had to pay for every outing.

Once I had no money for petrol (though my TVS Champ gave me 80 kilometers per litre – which back then cost Rs 20 only) and was forced to go to college in a bus. It was then that I realized the possibilities of striking a conversation with a girl in the bus stop was higher.

If you are a bachelor and are looking out for a good girl (with loads of patience), strike a conversation with the girl who waits with you at the bus stop.

“So, which bus are you waiting for?” I inquired one warm morning.

“The bus with six wheels.” She responded.

By her reply itself, I knew she was from the Lady Doak College – a girl’s exclusive. For those that don’t know, in Madurai (Tamil Nadu) Lady Doak College is also known as LDC. ‘Love Developing Center’, some argue.

“Six wheels including the spare tyre?” I tried to continue the conversation.

The girl never spoke to me again. Even when I told her that the ‘six wheel bus had arrived.’

I learnt the best lesson that day – have intelligent opening lines if you have to strike a conversation with a girl. If you are a bachelor and are looking out…please rehearse some the opening lines given below:

1) “I think US should vacate Iraq at the earliest. What do you say?”

2) “Do you really think Rahul Gandhi is the Yuvraj Singh of the Congress?”

3) “With Twenty20 cricket matches gaining popularity, do you think the 50-overs matches will soon become extinct?”

Remember, the above questions will help you strike a conversation with only 80% of the girls. If you end up with the other 20%, try and make an honorable exit.

You could always try sites like ibibo Café, Facebook or Orkut. Besides, there are the personal advertisement sections (the ones in newspapers & Magazines)…where God-knows-why nobody is average looking. Everybody is tall, handsome and intelligent!

Other Must Reads

# Sending off a girl to Mumbai
# Encounters of the third kind
# Entering a new house the traditional way
# Saving your skin in North India
# Looking for a house in Gurgaon

Jan 3, 6.30 p.m. - Rajan: I am going to Bangalore tonight

Jan 3, 6.33 p.m. - Rekha: Why?

Jan 3, 6.35 p.m. - Rajan: I need to be there for something important

Jan 3, 6.37 p.m. - Rekha: Official?

Jan 3, 6.38 p.m. - Rajan: No…family stuff.

Jan 3, 6.44 p.m. - Rekha: What family stuff? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?

Jan 3, 6.49 p.m. - Rajan: Was a sudden decision. There is Puja in Bangalore

Jan 3, 7.01 p.m. - Rekha: What is this Puja about?

Jan 3, 7.09 p.m. - Rajan: Can’t talk about Puja. I am not supposed to. Might not work out.

Jan 3, 7.29 p.m. - Rekha: OK fine. Go ahead. Happy Journey.

———-X———-X———-

Jan 4, 4.30 p.m. - Rekha: Why are you not calling me?

Jan 4, 4.45 p.m. - Rajan: Been busy. Had to buy stuff for Puja

Jan 4, 4.46 p.m. - Rekha: What stuff?

Jan 4, 4.56 p.m. - Rajan: All kinds of trinklets. Costly stuff.

Jan 4, 4.58 p.m. - Rekha: Can I call you? Feel like talking

Jan 4, 5.10 p.m. - Rajan: Can’t talk now. Am waiting for Puja to begin

Jan 4, 5.13 p.m. - Rekha: Will you call me afterwards?

Jan 4, 5.30 p.m. - Rajan: Will do love

———-X———-X———-

Jan 4, 9.30 p.m. - Rajan: Puja is done with me. Can I call?

The message I sent at 9.30 p.m. on January 4 – soon after I dropped Puja at her place – was my undoing.

Amongst my girl friends (78% of whom have at some point or the other been my fiancées) there are two camps – one that is happy that women adorn all the billboards and the other that is upset over it. I can’t really decide my favorite camp because 39% of my ex-fiancées belong to each.

It is not just the billboards. Even corporate websites use women to sell – take Airtel’s website for example.

I feel pathetic about the advertisers using women on billboards, websites and magazine covers. What about the men? What is it that women have and we don’t? Now…don’t answer that one!

Don’t we look handsome? Are there no men who can cause highway accidents?

Some companies – and they are very few - do believe in the power of men and place photographs of good looking men on their billboards, websites & magazines. Take this company called Ouchmytoe Inc – they have a nice looking guy on their website.

I had plans of writing the second part of the art of farting but read an article a few minutes back which made me swerve like a lady driver and write on this topic.

According to the article, a pub in Halifax, Canada offended the ladies when it carried a billboard saying “Our waitress uniforms were designed way back when ‘harass’ was two words”. I wonder if you got the pun on ‘harass’ …if you didn’t why don’t you jump into a glass of water?

I wonder why the Halifax women found it offending..…was it because no woman was shown on the billboard?

Just for the heck of it, have added some of the funniest billboards featuring women in this post. They are not my photographs

I was smitten by her the moment I saw her – probably because I had spent six years in Chennai and was longing for somebody fair. If you are a Chennai woman you will have to excuse me…I am only echoing what fair, tall North Indian males think of south Indian women. I wish they get to meet all the fair Iyer and Iyengar girls we have in Chennai.

This lady was clad in a pink shirt and a black trouser. Sharp to look at and quick in her walk – what more does a married man need in a woman to fall in love with?

Even as I was staring at her, she looked at me and smiled. I looked behind – it always happens with me - and there was nobody!

Was she smiling at me? Oh my God! Gurgaon was the only city in India where I didn’t have a love interest and will she be able to fill in the blanks, I wondered.

“Excuse me, do they have an ATM here?” She asked.

My world came crashing down (and like Bush I couldn’t blame the Al Qaeda). So this girl wasn’t coming to propose to me. Gurgaon…is definitely strange.

I don’t know if you have noticed, but girls here have a way of getting their work done – they smile. The more dangerous of them use the word “Bhaiya” before asking for a favor from a man…that’s only if the guy isn’t handsome.

Thankfully when this girl asked me for the ATM, she didn’t use the word “Bhaiya”. Proof that I was handsome?

Even as I was nodding my head she jerked her head back, looked at me again and asked: “Hey! Are you Jammy?”

“Yeah, I am. Why?”

“Are you Jamshed…some Velayuda Rajan?” She was brushing aside my middle name but that was fine by me.

“Yes, I am.”

“The guy that blogs at www.ouchmytoe.com?” She sounded excited…and before I could say yes, she gave me a hug.

“Oh my God…I have been waiting to meet you for such a long time…and I never knew I would meet you like this…in front of a mall!” She definitely was excited and before I knew she was pulling me into a restaurant.

I did try to tell her that I was waiting for a guy friend of mine…but before the words escaped my lips…I had messaged my friend that I was caught up in office and couldn’t make it.

There are times in life when one has to take tough decisions…so it was between Pizza and Chinese. Since Pizza was easier to eat and didn’t require chop sticks…I told her that I loved Pizzas.

The next two hours were spent at the Pizza Hut and we even played a bit of footsie. I with the waiter and she with the handsome man across the table – she sure had long legs!

We struck a rapport which was hard to ignore – when she forked a bite of Pizza, I would end up opening my mouth.

We finished the pizza in an hour (how long does it take to eat a regular sized Pizza when you are dropping every second slice into your laptop bag? I was trying to save some breakfast money).

She wouldn’t let me go…when we ran out of topics…she invented more. And then, there was the usual: “Aur kaho?” (Which roughly translated to English means, ‘So, what else?’)

Soon enough it was time for me to ask, “Where next?” and she asked me to stay on for another 15 minutes.

Being a man who falls in love like a bowling pin falls in the valley…I readily agreed.

“Are you waiting for somebody?,” I asked.

“Yes, Vijay said he would be here any moment…I can’t see him though.” There was anticipation in her eyes.

“Who Vijay?” Who ever said men couldn’t be jealous was defiantly wrong.

She didn’t respond…she was looking at the car park. I stood still…wondering if I should have gone with my friend instead. Two minutes later a tall, handsome man walked in and shook hands with her. She then turned towards me and said: “Meet Vijay – our parents have met and agreed on our marriage and now we have to decide if we like each other or not.”

The pretty girl could have pierced a knife thro’ my stomach – and pulled out all the Pizza.

I couldn’t see my girl walk away with another man…so called for my cab. As I was walking away…I wiped a tear.

Lesson Learnt: If you have had the spicy Mexican Fireball …don’t take your fingers near your eyes.

Other Good Reads

Poem - The Sexy Mafia
Rekha and I visit Mocha, Chennai
Valentine’s Day is over. Phew!
Why should you marry the girl you love?
Ten reasons why you need a girl friend…

Today one of my girl colleagues left for Mumbai on an assignment. She would be away from office for close to a fortnight and we are all going to miss her.

You might doubt our intentions because she is pretty and had joined our company only a day earlier…but we are definitely going to miss her.

Being the most enterprising, during a casual coffee break I suggested that we give the girl – for convenience sake let us name her Harini - a quick farewell. The fact that the girl was pretty (and had a sexy voice!) had nothing to do with my suggestion.

Somehow, the other girls in the group weren’t very keen. “She will be back in a fortnight,” they frowned in unison. I wasn’t surprised because these were the same set of girls who only minutes earlier had said: ‘Sushmita Sen isn’t sexy!”

The other guys in the gang were willing to host the farewell – and I think her beauty & seductress-like voice had to do something with that. But when they learnt that they had to shell out Rs 300 each for the farewell, all backed out.

Being the gentleman that am, I couldn’t go back on my words…and told Harini that a farewell party had been arranged and she had to be at the Pizza Hut in Metropolitan mall by 7.30 p.m.. When I told her about the farewell party she was surprised by our magnanimity and team spirit…and like a train under Lalu’s rule, was on time.

Needless to say, nobody else turned up.

After waiting for half an hour (which I knew was waste of time) we decided to order. The true gentleman that I am, I ordered vegetarian – she was a vegetarian.

“So, where did you work before this Ibibo.com?” she asked me.

I began talking about my earlier company and finished when the waiter turned up to clear the soup bowls.

That’s when she made the mistake of asking: “Your first time in North India?”

When I finished answering the question, the waiter was waiting to clear our plates.

Being a smart girl, she didn’t ask any more questions.

I had kept staring at her even as I spoke. At this juncture, I would like to introduce what an astrologer friend of mine called Kennedi once told me: “Keep looking at a girl for more than an hour and she wouldn’t seem as pretty as you thought she was.”

Believe me guys…Kennedi is wrong. I kept staring at Harini and by the time the bill arrived I was in love with her. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t even look at the bill when it arrived. Being the angel she is…the 27-year-old beautiful girl footed the bill.

Wonder why…when we left the Pizza Corner, Harini gave me a warm hug. I would have held on…but she pulled herself apart and walked away towards her car without saying a bye.

Note: I have lost my wallet and if you find it please get in touch with me. We can meet at the Pizza Hut – the place where I lost it.

Other Flirty Reads

# Running away from noodles
# When the toe mattered…
# I think I am a Casanova
# A married man’s guide to safe and sound staring
# St. Valentine, I am looking for ya!

My first bet in life was when my close friend and 7th standard classmate MN Devarajan (if you are MND, I have been looking for you for 15 years!) and I fought over who was Indira Gandhi’s father.

I was saying she was Mahatma Gandhi’s daughter while he stuck to Jawahar Lal Nehru. Like it always happens in a bet, there were indications that it will be a hands down win for me…after all why would Indira’s second name be Gandhi if she was Nehru’s daughter?

Today, people settle their bets in two seconds flat (that’s the time Google takes to throw up the results). Back then we didn’t have Google…so bets took a while to be settled. We went around asking our seniors in school. While they didn’t know the right answer, they started taking sides…soon enough everybody in the school was involved in the bet – each individual was siding with either Nehru or Gandhi.

With everybody in the school looking up to us to decide on who won, we were under tremendous pressure. With nothing else to do, MN Devarajan and I went to our History teacher and asked him: “Sir, who is Indira Gandhi’s father – Nehru or Mahatma Gandhi?”

“You came to the wrong place sons…you might want to ask her mother.”

After a week of questioning people, a man whom both of us thought was a CBI detective posing as a begger in front of our school told us that Indira was Nehru’s daughter. Apparently, Feroze Gandhy (Indira’s husband) changed his surname to ‘Gandhi’ …probably to align himself closer to the Mahatma…just before his marriage.

Many years have passed by since my first bet. Just to recollect some of my statements which forced me to enter into a bet and lose –

• Viagra was invented & subsequently named by a guy who was traveling ‘via Agra’
• The Indian book with maximum number of pages is titled ‘List of things I can’t afford’ and was written by Mukesh Ambani
• If you want to lose weight, always drink a ‘diet coke’ with your chicken burger with extra cheese and large fries.

With years…experience has taught me that while agreeing on a bet, if it looks like you are going to win…chances are you are going to lose.

If you are a good actor like me, you can use the ‘art of betting’ in office to turn things in your favor. I have many a times walked up to my boss and said: “I know for sure, this wouldn’t work.”

Obviously, it would work…and then I would walk up to him/her and say: “You were right…that was awesome foresight. How did you manage that? No wonder you are where you are!”

The boss will obviously go “blah blah blah” which you can ignore and once he gives you two seconds to sneak in a question, ask: “So, where do you want me to take you?”

Thus you get to spend some quality time with your boss, and impress him you’re your knowledge of the French wine.

With girls, the art of betting takes a totally different turn. I had a friend called Rohit Delhiwala who once got into a bet with a girl.

They had been going out for six months and had started spending hours on the phone – sometimes up to 5 a.m. in the morning. While I thought this was outrageous…my friend wouldn’t agree. He said, he enjoyed it and wouldn’t mind doing it each day.

One day, with nothing else to do…my friend and his girl friend decided on a bet. One Saturday, the two were not to speak to each other from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.. The partner who called up the other first would lose the bet. The loser was to buy a gift of the winner’s choice the next weekend.

My friend called in at 10.45 p.m. and lost the bet. Today, they are a lot closer than you and I can imagine. My friend had lost the ‘bettle’ but won the war!

You don’t want to miss these as well

# Places you visit before and after marriage
# Do platonic relationships really exist?
# Written in a train: Train-ed Romance
# The second Himani Sahni special

At about 9.15 a.m. on June 25, the pilot of the 6.15 a.m. Kingfisher Airlines from Chennai announced: “We will be reaching Delhi in the next ten minutes. The climatic temperature in the Indian capital is 30 degree Celsius at the moment, and the political temperature is close to 100 degree Celsius.”

I stayed in my seat …the passengers who had to get down at Delhi started getting ready. One of them changed from his lungi into a three-piece suit, while the other removed the saree-cradle she had tied from the roof of the airplane for her baby.

Since I wasn’t getting down in Delhi, I didn’t even wear my shoes. Whenever on a plane, I make it a point of removing my shoes and showing my socks to the fellow passengers. This way, nobody blames me for the foul smell which unfortunately follows me all around.

Just to be sure I dug into my experience of traveling in buses and nudged my co-passenger (who was checking morphed Madhuri Dixit’s pictures in his Blackberry) and asked: ‘This airplane would go to Gurgaon, right? Is that the last stop?”

“I am sorry. This is a Chennai-Delhi flight.” Madhuri Dixit’s pictures must have been real good, for the man got back to his Blackberry.

I wanted to argue with the man, but somehow Madhuri Dixit’s morphed pictures caught my eye and I lost track of time. Don’t get me wrong…the Photoshop expert had only morphed Madhuri Dixit as Jhansi Ki Rani. Or was that Shantoshi Ma?

Suddenly somebody shouted: “Did you just fart?” The question was loud and heard all over the airplane. Six of the passengers shouted back in indignation: “It wasn’t me this time!”

Thankfully, we all heard the pilot say to his co-pilot, “Shucks, the mike is still on,” before the line went dead. I say thankfully, because the passengers had started blaming each other and some were even asking for proof of being non-guilty.

Unlike his mouth, the pilot had better control over his hands - it was one of the best landings I had experienced.

All the passengers bound for Delhi stood up….and started walking slowly. I fail to why the inside of an airplane turns into a metropolitan bus as soon as it stops.

Soon enough, everybody got down.

Suddenly I was feeling lonely. I always feel so when I am the last passenger and I have to get down at the terminus. Just that, in a bus the home stretch is spent with the conductor and here I had two pretty kingfisher air hostesses for company.

Luck of all lucks….one of them was now looking at me…and smiling…and walking towards me. Was she going to take advantage of me? Was the second air hostess also going to join in? What will they force me to do? Will they video-tape me and then force me to visit their home whenever they wanted? Will the video be uploaded on Youtube under the title ‘IT professional molested by two air hostesses’? How will the media respond when I call in a press conference to say these girls were tormenting me? Will the judge believe me when I describe how they removed my shirt? Will Rekha trust me from now onwards? The questions were plenty…but there was no time for answers…for she was now very near.

“Sir, you will have to get down. We are in Delhi.” For somebody so besotted by my looks she had tremendous self control. Surprisingly, she was controlling her feelings pretty well.

“But I am going to Gurgaon. That’s where MIH Internet’s office is…and I am joining them as a Sr Product Manager.” I managed an emphasis on the word ‘senior’ to impress her.

“Sir, Gurgaon doesn’t have an airport. You will have to take a cab from here. Can you please get off this plane?”

I didn’t understand why the air hostess was behaving like this. Till only sometime back, she seemed to want to hug me…and now she wanted me off the plane.

The stupid man that I am, I spotted the second air hostess very late. The second girl was now near us and could hear everything the first girl said…and I immediately realized that the prettier of the two wanted to have me for herself. I immediately stood up, and took my bag and started to leave.

I knew the first air hostess will catch up with me and give me her number. While passing the third row of seats…I realized she was much smarter than I had thought she was…she had left a tissue paper with a message for me on the floor. I slowly picked it up – lest the second air hostess saw it. As the girl in love had suggested I took the cab and was on my way to Gurgaon.

Yaaaahoooo! Looks like I made a good decision…for MIH Internet seems to be a company that takes good care of its employees – they have provided me guest house accommodation, a car and a driver for the first 15 days of my stay in Gurgaon.

PS: Don’t know whose phlegm the tissue paper contained.

Other Flighty Reads

# Difference between a train & an aeroplane - a guide for the first time flyer
# The Kingfisher Class – Part 1
# The Kingfisher Class – Part 2
# Traveling by Kingfisher Airlines
# Inside the Jet Airways flight
# Reporting straight from the Bangalore Airport
# Cheap airlines and cheap thrills

I tried to get some Letters To The Editor samples so that I could share with you, but he refused. Said, the senders might not appreciate being published on an average-Joe website like Ouchmytoe.com. I didn’t argue.

As a consolation, I publish below three letters I sent to the editors of two different newspapers when I used to be journalistically-active.

August 20, 1997 (Submitted to: The Hindu)

Dear Editor,
Let me come straight to the point – we need to do something about the internet. Internet they call it, but I would say it is ‘dangernet’. All my friends steal a major portion of the money kept in the house for provisions and go to the browsing center. Now, if you are a regular internet user…you know why they sit in the browsing centers for hours on end. I don’t know if you are addicted to porn or chat with girls…but I am sure you understand my concern.

We need to stop this internet menace, so please publish this letter. I promise you, I won’t spend the honorarium of Rs 200 on internet.

Yours sincerely,
JV Rajan, Calcutta

The above letter to the editor never got published.

Jan 11, 2000 (Submitted to: The Hindu)

Dear Editor,
If you remember I had sent you a letter on 20th August 1997 and for some reason – and I am sure it was a good reason – you didn’t publish my letter. I hold no grudge against you. This letter comes to you because I want to bring to notice the plight of people using the road in front of our house. The 50 feet wide road was recently named by our residents association as Anna Kournikova Road after she reached the No 1 ranking for the first time on Nov 22 1999.

While I had suggested Steffi Graf, our association’s president – a retired Tam Bram friend of mine – overruled it. I am writing this letter to you because I want to bring to your notice the huge pot holes on the Anna Kournikova road. It has caused us deep anguish and hurt and we are looking at a quick solution. The men in the neighborhood find it difficult to go about their daily life with thoughts about the potholes at the back of their minds. Motorists are known to stop their bikes on the side and drop a tear or two. How could a road named after Anna Kournikova – the lady with such unblemished skin – have so many potholes? Please give it a thought.

Yours unblemished,
JV Rajan, Madurai

Wonder why, but this letter also didn’t get published.

Aug 18, 2003 (Submitted to: The New Indian Express)

Dear Editor,
If you have just quit your job at The Hindu and joined The New Indian Express, you probably remember my letters of August 20, 1997 & Jan 11, 2000. If you haven’t changed your job recently please ignore the earlier sentence.

This letter is to bring to your notice that the glamor quotient in your newspaper has been dipping. In the last six months you have carried only three photos with the navel showing (one of which was a man’s) and only five photos with the cleavage showing (two of which weren’t clear because the color had smudged). Please compare it with the statistics of your glamor quotient between Sept 2002 to Feb 2003 – 16 navel shows, 24 cleavages and 6 bikini shots. Don’t you think there has been a dip?

If you publish this letter and send me the honorarium (how much is it now-a-days?) I plan to buy a playboy.

Yours,
JV Rajan, Madurai

This letter also didn’t get published

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is funniest of them all?

# Toilets – how lucky we are to have them
# Andhra farmers get laptops to solve their farming problems
# My medical check-up
# How I averted a flood, an earthquake and a Hindu-Muslim riot
# What if there were no women in the World

In the World of Gynecologists there exists a term called ‘Sympathetic Obesity Syndrome.’ If you are a doctor and know that such a term doesn’t exist…well…it exists now. In fact, now that you have found out, I might as well name - ‘Jammy’s Obesity’.

To cut the fat story short, when a lady is pregnant…she eats a lot. My wife indulged in various items found both inside and outside the refrigerator. Her indulgence was so intense that when the baby arrived the refrigerator was empty. Outside the refrigerator…we were left with out double bed, treadmill, Television, bookshelf, computer, printer and the stack of newspaper. Some clothes of mine went missing, but I doubt if my wife had a hand.

When the lady of the house eats so much it becomes difficult for the man of the house to remain inactive – the competitive animal that he is. In no time, the man in the house also starts putting on weight. Needless to say, I fell prey to this conspiracy of nature and today I am a bulky man. To five you the facts, Rekha put on 11 Kgs during her pregnancy and I put on 17 Kgs.

Now that my wife has delivered, she has lost all the weight and is almost back in shape. When I approached the gynecologist, he refused to induce labor and thus am left with all of my 17 Kgs intact.

Walking into a fitness center

Unable to handle the trauma, I walked into a fitness center five days after our baby was born.

“Hi, I am here lose weight,” I said.

Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone were showing off their muscles on all the walls. For those who didn’t know…Arnie didn’t start his movie career with a porn movie. His first was Hercules in New York. However, Stallone had good fun before he started acting with clothed women (his first movie was Party at Kitty and Stud’s. No, serious).

The lady at the counter looked at me from top to bottom and smiled. Perhaps she found effeminate…but tell you what…she was so much on steroids that it wouldn’t have been appropriate of me to address her as ‘sister’. I probably had to refer to her as ‘that brother at the counter’.

“You have come to the right place”, she said.

“Thanks. So, how much will it cost me to join your fitness center?” Cost would have definitely been a factor. If it was too costly…I had decided to stop using the treadmill at home as a clothes line and use it for jogging.

“We are pretty cheap at Rs 20,000 for six months.”

“If that is what you gain from me, what do I gain?” I heard my voice shaking…for I didn’t want to intimidate the huge lady.

“Down here, you all come to lose…not gain.” She smiled. She was cracking a joke she knew by heart.

“That’s true. So let me re-phrase my question. How much do I stand to lose?” Surprisingly, I was being persistent.

“It depends on your level of involvement. We had a guy walk in yesterday and today he lost 20 Kgs.”

“Wow…that soon? How?” They sure showed quick results.

“Well, this was a unique case. He didn’t know to use the treadmill and ripped his leg off while running on it. But the end result was a body that’s lighter by 20 Kgs.”

Resisting a ‘lady’ brother’s approaches

I stiffed up. What business were these guys into? Fitness center or contract killing where the victim pays for his own death?

“I am sorry. I don’t think I can join you.” I said fearing the worst.

The lady moved from behind the counter, came near me and placed her hands on my shoulder. Believe me, a lady is a lady…even if she looks like a brother…and when she kept her hands on my shoulder, I felt a surge of love.

She softly whispered into my ears: “We will make you feel welcome everyday.”

Surprisingly, I was still resisting. I searched my brain for something convincing to say and finally blurted out what Carol Leifer had once said: “But, my philosophy is different from yours. My philosophy is no pain, no pain.”

I don’t think she heard what I said. Perhaps she had a liking for me…for she ran her hand behind my back and asked me for the second time, “So, how flexible are you?”

I thought for a while before answering: “Mondays and Tuesdays are hectic. I can come on rest of the days.”

I am now a member of the fitness center. I see her everyday but she turns her head away…wonder what she meant when she asked me how flexible I was.

Other Funny, Funnier, Funniest Reads

# Conversation: Optimist vs Pessimist
# Getting a treadmill for the house…
# Treadmill and its implications
# Fitness Tip: Smoking, a virtue
# Looking for smiling joggers

Don’t understand a thing? Don’t get the context? Well…you are reading part three of a series and looks like you haven’t read the first & the second parts. Please read When I was the villain – Part 1 and When I was the villain – Part 2 before you proceed any further.

As soon as I entered his territory, I knew I was going to have a tough time. He had strategically placed evidence of Priya’s love for him - mushy greeting cards on the television and decorative hangings on the walls. Here is a sample to give you an idea of how big a show off he was: Just below a 15-inch-by-20-inch wall hanging with “I love you” embroidered on it, there was a 40-inch-by-60-inch chart paper saying: “Gifted by Priya”.

I hadn’t known that the girl had fallen completely for this bloke’s smooth talk I somehow needed to save her. Now, my job was going to be even more difficult.

“Let us go to the terrace,” my enemy-number-one said.

“Sure,” I said. Though I had said it I wasn’t so sure. What if he had organized for a pretty girl to jump at me as soon as I stepped onto the terrace, and also arranged for photographers from newspapers like The Indian Express, The Hindu, The Statesman, Pioneer, Times of India and many more to catch me in compromising position with the lady and put them on their newspaper’s front pages with headlines like “Top Blogger caught with pants down”, Ouchmytoe’s Chairman chairs a paid sex worker”, “Ouch my f*&^ing toe, says Jammy” and the most dreaded of them all, “Who is THIS girl, asks blogger’s wife”.

Had I known that the duel would be held in a terrace, I would have practiced jumping from a third storied houses without my shoes, or at least I would have learnt wrappling – the art of sliding down ropes.

Just when I was surveying the only exit – a door to the staircase – Rahul asked if I would be terribly upset if he left the house for 10 minutes or so to make a STD call. I said what any Rajan would have said: “Sure.” Those were the days when a single call on your mobile cost no less than Rs 7….and this guy had to make an STD. While on the topic, can STDs be transmitted thro’ STDs?

As soon as he left, I checked under the mattress spread on the terrace for wires and detonators. Once this check was over, I pulled out the ‘poison tester’ which one of my uncles had got me from West Indies and tested the Pepsi he had left for me. It tested negative for Aconite and the other popular poisons. Unlike people, popular poisons are also effective poisons.

After vigorous testing, I looked around for other exits and found a ladder against one of the side walls. I decided to use it in case of emergencies – leaving nothing to chance, I even tried the ladder once. It was a dress rehearsal of sorts because I went down the ladder and came back again. The wooden ladder could well have been a corporate ladder…it was easy to go down but difficult to come up.

I was panting when I heard Rahul climbing the stairs. As he entered, I said “Welcome, dear Rahul.” The way I said it made it clear to all present that I was in command of the situation.

On the way back, he had picked up two beers. The fact that he didn’t ask me if I preferred beer over whiskey or vice-versa didn’t bother me much. After all, we Rajans are known for our adaptability.

As he looked around for the beer opener, I tried to seize the upper hand in conversation by saying: “Maybe you should have asked Tendulkar to come over.” He didn’t get the joke. If you are also an MT, here is the complete explanation: I had asked him to bring along Tendulkar because he was/is an opener.

We chatted for a while, during which he gained the conversational upper hand. That’s when Priya called. How much I wish 9884391229 (number changed to avoid angry, blank calls from Ouchmytoe readers) was my mobile number for then I would have picked up the call and spoken to Priya. Alas, it was his and I was now listening to one side of the conversation. This is how it went –

Rahul: I have a guest with me.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: You have probably seen him.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: A short, round-about guy. Looks like a cross between Nana Patekar and Johnny Lever.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Dances to the name Jammy. Heard of him?

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Ohh…yeah. The same guy we were laughing about the other day.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Yeah…yeah…the cooler guy.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: We are just having a beer. Yeah…he leaves the minute he finishes it. Promise.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Aree…promise yaar. Trust me.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Ok…I will call to confirm. In fact, don’t wait up for this stupid little thing. Will send you an SMS as soon as he leaves.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Some day you have to tell me why you hate him so much.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Sure sweetheart. Love you too.

Priya: blah blah blah

Rahul: Bye…good night.

Priya: blah blah blah

A good trait about the Rajans is that we can smile even in adversity. A trait we develop early. My mother says I developed it as early as two months…when I would shit in my cloth napkin and smile as if nothing happened.

Anyway, as I was saying….I smiled at Rahul once he was done with the call.

He said: “That was Priya. She was having trouble remembering your face.” He had victory written all over his face.

I maintained my smile (though I did wonder if I could salvage some pride by jumping down the terrace). We Rajans love a good love story with a happy ending. I asked him: “So, are you going to marry her?”

“Well, if you insist…I can marry her as a favor to you.” He started smiling even before he finished his sentence.

Phew! That was easy. I didn’t tell Rahul how glad I was. I finished my beer in two minutes flat and left his apartment a contended man for I had succeeded in saving Priya’s dignity and love life.

I still wonder if Rahul sent Priya the SMS, that fateful night.

Other Funny, Funnier, Funniest Reads

# Places you visit before and after marriage
# Making full use of the bath tub
# Conversation: Osama vs Batman
# Inviting friends over
# If only we could hear the mind speak

I will try and include a many words and phrases as possible…and ensure they don’t read like force fits. By suggesting words/phrases, you will be contributing to the story’s end. After all, I can’t use the word ‘funeral’ without killing one of the characters!

Warning: Words like B*&^%%$, F&^&%$#$, I*&^$#, D$#@&, O&^%$% and Q@#%&*&^% can’t be left in the comment box.

Update

PS: Will try and come up with separate article using the words suggested.

Those were the innocent days. Days when you didn’t talk dirty to ladies unless it was on Yahoo chat and the asl was 23, F, US. The talk was dirtier if it was a guy pretending to be sex-starved lady from North Americas.

While we are at it, I might as well tell you why the United States of America isn’t named United Countries & Kingdom….because then the asl of an average lady would be 23, F, UCK. (Didn’t get it? Read again).

Our story begins when I used to chat with no less than eight women at the same time, for hours on end to eventually find that five of them were men desperate for any kind of action. Believe me, it is true. I have been on both sides.

During one such chat session, suddenly the whole room brightened up. A pretty girl – maybe 23-24 years old had walked into the room wearing a white salwar.

I wasn’t the only star-stuck desperate man in the room. I looked at my friend nearby, who was known as the guy who went online with 19 women at the same time, and asked: “Who is she?”

“Don’t even bother. She has been taken.” He dived deep into the Samsung monitor again.

“Do you always give the bad news first?” I insisted.

“Her name is Priya. Is a highly educated girl and won’t fall for you.” He went back to the key-board banging that he was known for.

Back then ‘highly educated’ meant the person was a Management Trainee. That was quite a dampener…for anybody who wasn’t a MT was a class D employee.

“She is really pretty.” I kept staring at her.

“Tell that to her boyfriend. He will be happy to know.”

Back then, I did think that if you told a man that his girl was pretty the man was bound to be happy. Apparently, that isn’t true always. It works when she is your girl friend…but doesn’t when she becomes you wife.

I learnt it on the day of our marriage when one of Rekha’s college mates walked up to the dais, handed his gift to my newly, and lawfully wedded wife Rekha, and turned towards me and said: “Your wife is pretty.”

I pulled the guy to a corner, and whispered in his ears: “You don’t need to tell me. Why do you think I married her?” Even as he sulked and walked away…I couldn’t help shouting, “By the way, GKB Opticals in Adyar is good.”

I notice that I have been drifting quite a bit. Looks like this post is going to be a two-part series.

Within a few minutes I had decided to hunt down Priya’s boy friend and see if he really cared about her. What if he was just fooling around and would end up hurting her? I wouldn’t have liked that and Rajans don’t let such things happen even if it meant laying down one’s life.

Needless to say, her boy friend was a well educated guy (an MT!) and his name was Rahul. I decided to be mean to him…how could he deprive me of my life’s happiness?

I got my chance within two days when I met him near the water cooler. He smiled at me. I didn’t. First mean act.

Next, I saw him in the food line at the cafeteria, standing just behind me. I took my own time helping myself with the palak paneer (though I don’t like it and threw it later) and delayed his lunch by three minutes. Second mean act.

Like men, we met at the smoking joint a week later. He had a cigarette, but didn’t have a light. When he asked me if I had a light…I refused in spite of having a box of matches inside my trouser pocket. Third mean act.

I had decided to make Rahul’s life hell by being mean to him forever but couldn’t. After 36 acts of meanness I realized I had to start talking to him.

That’s when I….

(The abrupt stop in this post has been inspired by the television serials. Hope it helps in keeping the interest levels high)

Part two to be published shortly

Now that you have read Part 1 of the series, why not try When I was the villain – Part 2