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What if I were an egg

Sometimes…I wonder what would have happened if I were born in a poultry. Would I have been a human or a chick? What if I had been a chick…not the ‘pretty-chick` kind of chick…but the egg-laying kind.

Guess, I would have just decorated the wire cage in a chicken stall until it was my time to decorate Sunday`s lunch plate.

But what if I were left to be an egg…perhaps…to decorate a Monday morning breakfast plate. Would my brothers and sisters worry about me when I became an omelet? Maybe. Maybe not.

Here is a visual on what might happen if I were born a chick and left to be an egg….

THE BLOGGERS MEET – PART TWO is being withheld by the censors. To be released shortly.  

The Bloggers Meet – Part 1

I decided. I searched. I found the place. I mingled. I drank the coffee (?!). I left.

This is exactly how I would describe Sunday`s Chennai Bloggers Meet ….in 16 words. If you give me more elbowroom…maybe I can spice it up for you.

[Whatever I say after this line needs to be read with a pinch on salt on one hand and some pepper in the other]

I am not much of a guy for Blog Meets. And it was for the same reason that I didn`t visit the Bangalore Bloggers meet in which some of the urls that stood out were beerdrinker.blogspot.com, freebeer.blogspot.com, pubhopper.rediffblogs.com, beerguzzler.blogdrive.com and blogs.sify.com/vat69.

This weekend, Rekha`s relatives (and mine too) were in Chennai and the Bloggers Meet was a good excuse to leave them behind. I had to talk my way out because my F-in-Law wanted me to escort him to T-Nagar. Here is the conversation –

Father-in-law: So, where are you going?
Me: I am going to a Blogger`s meet.

Father-in-law: Bloggers? What bloggers?
Me: You know like…writers.

Father-in-law: Something like a kavi sammelan?
Me: Most bloggers don`t wear kurtas but yes…something like a kavi sammelan.

Father-in-law: Have you taken your poems?
Me: What poems?

Father-in-law: To recite there. Or would you read your stories?
Me: What stories?

Father-in-law: Arree…you are going to a writers meet…what will you be doing there?
Me: I will chat up with them and we will spend some time…maybe drink coffee.. and then be back.

Father-in-law: So..these are not writers but friends.
Me: No…no…they are not friends …they are bloggers…something like writers.

Father-in-law: OK….so they are writers without jobs…so they meet and spend time.
Me: No…no…they are all working elsewhere and also like to write…like to Blog.

Father-in-law: I don`t understand blogs.
Me: We also don`t understand some blogs.

Father-in-law: Are you trying to pull a fast one on me? You can tell me straight if you don`t want to accompany us to T-Nagar.
Me: Not at all. This is true. Bloggers do exist.

Father-in-law: What bloggers?

[Since we were now a full circle I left him wondering at the doorstep of our palatial mansion, and kick-started my Yamaha]

The security at the Amethyst, venue for the Blog Meet, almost lost me. For those who don`t know… Amethyst is a coffee joint. I didn`t know till the time I met the security guard at the gates.

Even as I parked my Yamaha, he asked: “Sir, have you come to drink coffee?”

“What?” [For a moment I thought I had entered a drive-in coffee-shop]

“I asked because you came on a bike.” He continued.

“What do you mean?”

“Sir…I kind of knew that you didn`t come for a coffee because you look the kind that would go to Saravana Bhavan. Here one coffee costs Rs 35 or more and it is yuck.”

“You are so very right…I did not come for coffee. But if I wanted I could drink 10 coffees right here in front of you. I am serious…I can afford it. I have the money.” Wonder what part of me made him think like that…

“The way you argue…I know you have come for the “Bugle” meet. You will have to go in and turn right. Mr Kirupa is organizing it.”

[I convey my thanks and move towards the ‘bugle` community. That is Blogging, by the way.]

PART TWO – RELEASING SHORTLY AT A BLOG NEAR YOU

Optimist vs Pessimist

[This scene is enacted in Dublin, an up-market pub in Chennai where I have never set my foot]

Optimist: I would say the glass is half full.
Pessimist: If you ask me, it is half empty. But who is going to pay for it?
Optimist: We could go Dutch…you pay for the half full part, I will pay for the half empty part.
Pessimist: OK. So it means only I pay for the drink?
Optimist: You get to pay for me mate…look at the bright side?

[Turning to the sides]

Pessimist: What bright side? The pub is dim lit…you dimwit.
Optimist: Gosh…it was just a phrase. Are you a pessimist.
Pessimist: No way. I come from a very optimistic family. One of my uncles was be-headed by the Taliban in Afghanistan…and he still believed he had a 50-50 chance. The stupid Indian Embassy people put him in a coffin…and he died of asphyxiation.
Optimist: That`s nothing. My uncle would call that pessimism. Two days before he was to be hanged for murder…he joined VLCC Fitness Center.
Pessimist: OK…I lose.

Optimist: Look at me…I even fill the Hindu crosswords in ink.
Pessimist: What? I am surprised you even fill them …I don`t event attempt them.
Optimist: You should try. Give up smoking…and spend that time looking at the crosswords.
Pessimist: I gave up hope.
Optimist: That`s not the same thing mate. By the way, yesterday I saw an advertisement for Polo – a mint with a hole.
Pessimist: Yes. I saw the advertisement too…but I could only see the hole.
Optimist: That was my point. You are a pessimist.
Pessimist: Nope. I am not.

Optimist: OK. What does a light at the end of the tunnel mean to you?
Pessimist: The headlight of a fast approaching train? Correct?
Optimist: You are a born pessimist.
Pessimist: Are you saying that my answer was wrong?
Optimist: Yes.
Pessimist: How about it being a lamppost at the end of the tunnel?
Optimist: Great. A light…that shows you the way.
Pessimist: Precisely. That is if they don`t switch it off due to budgetary constraints.
Optimist: I am dead sure…you are a pessimist.
Pessimist: OK! Fine! I give up! I am a pessimist…but for every aeroplane invented by an optimist…we have invented parachutes…and for every ship invented by an optimist…we have invented lifejackets!

Moral of the Story: The World needs all kinds.

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Con and Constable

[This post is stupid. Proceed at the cost of being laughed at]

Wonder if the ‘con` in both the words – Con & Constable – is intentional.

Perhaps…William Shakespeare (I say this because the British introduced Constabulary) or whoever coined the word ‘Constable` wanted to pass on a message to us.
Something like the Da Vinci code.

Here are a few things that ‘constable` could mean –

A ‘con` who is ‘stable`
A ‘con` who is forced to be ‘stable`
A ‘con` who can be ‘stable` when his seniors are around
A man/woman hired to stabilize ‘cons`
A stable man/woman who has been hired to con (this would be the case with constables in the CBI & CID & RAW)

[I told you so]

Whether weather will be good…

Haven’t seen anything as creative in a while. Makes immense logic…

Just because Chennai didn’t get its dose of cricket today…all are behaving odd. Even I have decided to make some sense. OK…before I start making sense…let me make some non-sense….

Question: What would a weatherman sitting in Chepauk give his grandson who just walked into the stadium?
Answer: A shower of blessings (or he will rain blessings)

Question: What are the two favorite pets of a weatherman?
Answer: Cat & dog – doesn’t it rain cats and dogs?

Question: How does a weatherman predict rain?
Answer: By memorizing “Inky, Pinky, Ponky!”

When paranoia sets in…

I wonder what happens when paranoia sets in. Now, don`t you stare at me…I am not that paranoid yet. But think of all those policemen who guard the streets of Delhi. I bet they are scared.

OK…this article is a little late to be directed at the Delhi blasts …but better late than never. Remember…a bomb late in going up…doesn`t mean it will cause no harm!

A friend called Rahul Razdan, currently cocooned in the comfort of Delhi, has over the last few days over-heard these conversations involving Delhiites.

Conversation 1

Cop 1: I heard you are being promoted?
Cop 2: Yes. For nabbing Pramod Yadav of Gorakhpur, UP.
Cop 1: Cool. So when is the blast?
Cop 2: Who am I to decide all that?
Cop 1: OK…so you need to get your wife`s permission?
Cop 2: My wife? She is no terrorist…if you want to know when the next blast is…check with a terrorist.

Conversation 2

[when a pretty babe passes by]

Cop 1: Saw her?
Cop 2: Yes. Damn pretty huh?
Cop 1: Yeah…she is a bomb.
Cop 2: Are you serious? How do you know?
Cop 1: Can`t you see…she is a 36-24-26 figure….
Cop 2: Yeah. Maybe she is not wearing the belt now.
Cop 1: [sounding confused] Which belt?
Cop 2: The explosives belt yaar….

Conversation 3

[at a Moods Condoms stall during an exhibition]

Cop: Are you sure it works?
Salesman: Yes sir. It does.
Cop: And what gives you the confidence?
Salesman: Sirjee…you.
Cop: Why me?
Salesman: Sirjee…you and I are exactly opposites. Do you agree?
Cop: How?
Salesman: When you fail…there is a bomb blast…and when we fail…there is a condom blast. So…when you fail population decreases…and when we fail it increases.
Cop: Ok…and how are you so sure that it works?
Salesman: Coz, you always fail.

This is in no way aimed at upsetting brothers and sisters (Gosh…I hate calling them sisters… esp the tall, fair Delhi girls) from Delhi. We have our share of bombs too…just that most of those scheduled to go off on Tuesday couldn`t because of rain. Don`t believe me? Even the India vs South Africa ODI got cancelled….serious….

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Madness and Therapy – Part 2

You don`t marry a girl. You marry her relatives.

While some agree that that marriage is the fastest way of transferring funds or bringing in a change of management, I believe that it is the quickest way to insanity.

I recently visited Bangalore for I was invited to a marriage in Rekha`s family. Being a first-hand experience, it was quite a handful. I wouldn`t have gone…had I not watched an episode of ‘Who dares Wins` hosted by Mike Whitney on AXN.

I told Rekha, “Come on…I feel cocky..let us go to the marriage.”

“What do you mean?

“I feel like Mike Whitney of the AXN TV program ‘Who dares Wins`.”

She was quite upset. “You don`t need to feel like an adventurer to come visit my relatives. I never felt like one while visiting your relatives!”

I am censoring the adjectives & adverbs she used to describe my relatives, but I guess you get the drift. Our discussion on the Bangalore trip ended on a sour note…and like in all things that end on a sour note…I lost.

We were to get down at Bangalore city junction and one close relative of hers was to pick us up. We reached Bangalore at 5 a.m. and quickly spotted a man in a white shirt and white trousers with a board that said “Welcome Mrs Rekha”.

I was upset. They hadn`t even mentioned “Mrs Rekha Rajan”. I immediately got into the revenge mode.

“Is your close relative a driver with some hotel?” I asked Rekha.

“Nope.” Her short reply was an indication that she was upset.

It seems the close relative who was to pick us up misplaced his spectacles, and didn`t want to make a spectacle of him by coming to the station, blind.

We were to reach her favorite uncle`s (in Malayalam an uncle is known as ‘ammon`. Wonder why?) house…freshen up…and then visit the marriage hall at 10 a.m..

As luck would have the favorite uncle had participated in the bachelor`s party the previous night and lost the house keys in a fight with one of Rekha`s 14-year old cousin. Don`t ask me how a much-married 45-year-old Indian Navy guy (aren`t all Malayalees in the Navy?) managed to get into the bachelor party and pick up a fight with a 14-year old drunkard in family.

With a car and a driver at hand…and nowhere to go…Rekha called up one of her aunt in Bangalore. The aunt was quite helpful…she gave us the road map to another relative`s house. Just because I couldn`t hide a smirk…I got scolded.

Eventually, the driver in white managed to reach Rekha`s junior aunt`s place. Rekha walked up to the door…and rang the bell.

Her aunt opened a small window next to the main door, and shouted: “we don`t need milk & vegetables today, we are going to a marriage and eating all three times there.”

Rekha looked back at me. She knew I had heard it right…for she noticed a smirk on my face. With few options…she rang the bell again. This time the aunt opened the door and said: “Hey! Rekha it is you.”

“Yes aunt. Can we come in?”

Not able to resist it any longer…her aunt opened the door but stood in the doorway. Under normal circumstances, Rekha would have pushed through the barrier…but she knew I was looking…and she couldn`t bring down her family members.

“Rekha baby, Achutan Nambiar ammon has booked a room for you guys in a hotel in Sheshadripuram. Why don`t you go there?”

As we drove to the hotel …Rekha and I began to hum…

“Where are you going, my pretty maid”?
“I’m going to Bangalore, sir,” she said.

“May I go with you? my pretty maid?”
“You’re kindly welcome, sir,” she said.

“What are your relatives, pretty maid?”
“My relatives are stupid, sir,” she said.

“What is your fortune, my pretty maid?”
“My face is my fortune, sir” she said.

“Then I can’t marry you, my pretty maid.”
“That`s too late, sir,” she said.”

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Madness and therapy – Part 1

I once attended a marriage in Rekha`s family.

Today morning I was thinking about it…and wondered if you would be interested in knowing what some popular men/women have said about ‘madness and therapy`. What I say of ‘madness and therapy,` ie, how the marriage went …will be the next post.

We are all born mad. Some remain so.
– Samuel Beckett

He has turned his life around. Earlier he used to be depressed and miserable. Now, he is miserable and depressed.
– John McClenahan

Roses are red, violets are blue. I am schizophrenic…and so am I!
– Frank Crow

I went to the doctor yesterday and he told me that I am a paranoid schizophrenic. Well, he didn`t actually say it…but we knew what he was thinking.

– Lily Savage

I am not a deranged millionaire. Goddamit…I am a billionaire!
– Howard Hughes

A psychiatrist is a man who asks you a lot of stupid but expensive questions which your wife will ask you for free.

– Harry Hershfield