Month: December 2004

Love, full moon, madness and werewolves

Requested by Trioptikos @ 09:20 pm | Dec 6th 2004
Topic Suggested: What about the connection between full-moon, madness, love and werewolves?
Mail Id: None
Blog: http://idiosyncrasy.rediffblogs.com/

A friend of mine once said his girl friend broke up with him because he compared her face to that of the full moon. Incidentally, she happened to be an astronomer`s daughter and knew about the craters on the moon.

I advised the guy to approach her again and speak about the passionate love that he has for her. He was actually madly, truly in love with her. But she being an astronomer`s daughter could see things only through a telescope. And that would mean maintaining a distance…

But after they parted ways, both became restless. The girl would go to her father`s observatory, turn his telescope a little, aim it on her boyfriend and watch his activities. A voyeur, if you know what I mean.

My friend`s love for the girl resulted in he becoming mad. And over a period of time he graduated to being a werewolf. If it were a full moon day, I could guarantee the death of some girl in the vicinity. We weren`t quite sure if he was the guy doing the killing…but he did come home with wet-trousers. We gathered he would gain consciousness as soon as he committed the murder.

He became the butt end of jokes among we friends. But he did not bother. If he were wearing nice clothes, we would call him wear-wolf. And if he were missing, we would ask “Where-wolf?”

Once, we were even introduced to his cousins what-wolves and when-wolves. We loved talking to them and learning about their experiences.

All this happened long time ago when the World believed in the existence of werewolves (actually, a movie called ‘Legend of the Werewolf` had just released and everybody was kicked about the stupid movie).

I hope my friend is still alive and happy with his ladylove. And I also hope, he doesn`t eat garlic…coz if he is…I am sure…his bark would be worse that his bite!

My Grandma didn’t go to Jail

Agreed my Grandmother only did her 4th Grade, but she was an intelligent lady. She worked for Indian International Group (IIG) – then India`s largest insurance group. She worked in the capacity of a stenographer (also known as stenos).

In the days before the bosses started liking their secretaries, the stenos were their favorites. So my Grandma had no problems at the office. I don`t want to reveal more info on my Grandma and upset my Grandpa, who is very net savvy (being a fisherman himself).

As I was saying, she was stationed in a very rowdy area in Jamshedpur (where I was born, and from where I take my first name ‘Jamshed`).

The vice-President of IIG was from Texas – the place where all the cowboys in the World come from, including US President George Bush. When all employees blamed the anti-social elements for not being able to make it to office on time and everyday, the V-P got a brilliant idea.

“Here, shoot whoever stops you from coming to office. And be here in time.” He said handing each employee a country-made revolver.

My Grandma was very kicked about getting a revolver. Her husband had been a Head constable before he turned a fisherman and yet he had only been given a long stick to scare the thieves away.

That evening when she got to the parking lot, she saw four men sitting in her car – an old white Premier Padmini. And even after seeing her, the four men did not budge…they kept on talking. This really put off my Grandma.

In a fit of anger (she had her anger waiting on her nose), she pulled out her newly attained country-made revolver and pointed at the four men.

“Get off the car, you bunch of anti-socials!” She shouted.

The men were surprised, but evacuated and ran for cover. After my Grandma fired a shot in the air, and they all ran helter-skelter and vanished.

After ensuring that it was safe to get into the car my grandma kept all the files in the backseat and took out her keys. She tried inserting the ignition key, but it would not go into the slot at all.

She got out of the car; looked around and spotted another white Premier Padmini parked a few meters away. She walked up to THAT car and tried her key, and it worked. The contended old lady drove to her house.

After four hours, a police inspector and four ashen-faced men rang the bell of my Grandma`s house. When my Grandma opened the door, all the four men pointed at my Grandma and said in unison: “This is the lady who tried to kill us and take away our Padmini Premier today evening!”

My Grandma never went to jail. Promise.

Rekha (on) Rajan

Requested by The devil @ 07:39 pm | Dec 2nd 2004
Topic Suggested: Imagine u r Rekha, n blog abt Jammy!
Mail id: None
Blog: None
(Would ‘The Devil’ want to own up?)

Where do I start? All of sudden, a day seems to have 34 hours. After-effects of marriage. Perhaps.

My day begins at 5.30 a.m. with a cup of tea for the mangled mass of body that has been lying beside me all night.

His Bedroom Orchestra (read snoring) coupled with the flinging-and-flaying of his limbs after every five seconds has ensured that I am sleepy in the morning, but then I have certain responsibilities towards God – I will take care of the less endowed and this is what I am doing at 5.30 a.m. in the morning with a cup of tea in my hand.

He doesn`t brush his teeth before having tea. I am glad we don`t eat dogs in the mornings because they have a very good sense of smell and I am sure they would have gotten upset and bit my husband in his mouth.

After tea, the man slips into coma for half an hour. When questioned he insists he plans for the day`s activity. But I don`t believe the liar.

By six thirty it is time for a visit to the loo, with a newspaper in his left hand. Mind you, he would not even know if I gave him the previous day`s newspaper. He doesn`t care for the Putins and Seers, just that he tries to copy his father-in-law…and that`s my father. What Rajan doesn`t know is, my father takes the newspaper to the loo because in my house in Kerala, we don`t have a door.

By 7.30 he rushes in to the bath with a towel so stiff that it would crack if dropped. Legend has it that he has been using it for the last ten years but I don`t think he has used it to its full potential, for you can also –

1) Commit murder by slitting people`s throats using the sharp edges of this towel.
2) Take a Bank to ransom by showing the guy at the Cash Counter this towel.
3) Carry this towel whenever he travels and show it to the conductor whenever he asks for tickets.
4) Carry it to theatres screening newly released movies so that the crowd at the ticket-counter thins down on seeing him.

When he comes out of the bath, he is all dripping. Reminds me of one of those dirty roadside fountains maintained by the PWD. But I don`t care, for I would see him only for another 30 minutes before I dispatch him to the office.

The time spent on the dining table is torturous. For me.

He cannot butter his toast (but he can butter his bosses at work), neither can he spot the difference between corn flakes and pop-corn. So much so, I once caught him having masala popcorn with milk and sugar and some dry fruits and complaining of the bad corn flakes I had bought.

It is ceasefire for me after 8.30 a.m.

After a good 10 hours at my office, I am back to the normal grind. I hate the wet penguin look he gives me after taking a shot of whiskey from an old bottle that his father gifted him ten months back. I wonder if the bottle will ever get empty. Or does he keep filing it?

I have once asked him about the secret of this never-finishing whiskey bottle.

“Why doesn`t this whiskey bottle get over?”

“Unlike your father, I am a slow drinker.” He replies with a hint of victory in his eyes. But I don`t let him win…

“I have a feeling, you fill it up with whiskey every time the level comes down.”

He tries to show his anger, but I can see a wee bit of fear in his eyes that comes when he is about to be exposed. So I leave a drunk Rajan to ponder over his life and go to bed.

After five minutes of staring in the dark, a wobbly figure walks into the bedroom and snuggles beside me. I know he is my husband, for he feels unnecessarily warm. The warmth reminds me of Travolta, my Labrador retriever. I miss him.

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Roads – down the wild side

Requested by Anbu @ 11:16 am | Dec 1st 2004
Topics Suggested: Boss,Canteen food,Indian cricket,roads
Mail id: manbu@chn.cognizant.com
Blog: http://vanguard2010.blogspot.com

It is now fashionable to use the sewage system to move around the city. It is less polluted and less crowded. And costs only Rs 10.00 – the price of one Rin Shakti.

According to a Tamil movie, a Nair has already set up a tea-shop in the sewage canal that runs along Mount Road, here in Chennai. And he is doing brisk business.

The trend is fast catching up in the Metros where bumper-to-bumper traffic has resulted in many babies being delivered on the matted floor of a car, many jobs being lost, many bridegrooms missing the marriage, many young men with good kidneys pissing in their pants and many losing the battle against cancer while caught up in traffic jams.

While the Radio Jockeys (including Suchitra Ramadurai of Radio Mirchi, who happens to know me) alert the public at regular intervals, it does not quite help.

If you are a truck or bus driver, you are King of the Indian road. But then, if you are a jeep/car driver, you got to be scared of the truckers & the busers (is there a term?). If you happen to be a poor guy, like me, and ride a two-wheeler…you command over the bicyclists and pedestrians. But ensure a safe distance from the heavyweights.

Due to such demanding traffic, the average Indian driver is put under severe stress. If the trend continues, soon drivers will be paid as much as the fighter pilots. In India, drivers think that to smile at others is to accept defeat. Each maneuver on the road is like a dog-fight indulged in by the fighter pilots of World War 1 & 2. You either survive to tell the tale, or you perish while traveling to office..or returning home.

Working under such stressful conditions forces the drivers to take stiff shots of whiskey or vodka to calm their nerves. This is probably the reason why the Government`s campaign of “Drinking & Driving Don’t Mix” is such a failure.

Talking of the Government, the PWD (Public Wrecks Department) also has a hand in the bad roads. Or did you know of this already? Some of the terms that the PWD employees are not aware of are – legal tender, good contractor, quality raw materials, durable roads, deadlines and above all…tar.

God forbid if it rains in India. If you live on non-metallic roads…you are doomed. It is like chocolate slush…and the only thing you cannot do is licking. If you stay on metallic roads…the gravel comes off and you don`t even know…the potholes fill up and you don`t even know (some drivers are known to have lost their lorries in pot-holes)…the dividers submerge and you are not even aware.

The bad roads and heavy traffic don`t just affect mortals like us… even the traffic policemen are seen complaining of occupational hazards. Most of the Chennai’s traffic-men are complaining of stomach & lung cancer. While the stomach cancer can be attributed to the free lunches they have walking into any nearby restaurant …the lung cancer is blamed on the pollution.

I am surprised my wife does not ask me to stop traveling…instead she keeps harping on the benefits of quitting smoking and drinking!