Sleep while you can

For the last four days I have been coming from office at 12 midnight. Thank heavens my wife Rekha is in Kerala. I topped this performance last night (or today morning!) by leaving office at 3.30 a.m.. No surprise considering we launched an application called Chak De Girls, on ibibo.

In the last five days I have realized the sleep is an important part of man`s life. Perhaps that`s why I am home today and its just 10 p.m.. Those that work in the IT sector would understand…the others can start counting the sheep till they get some sleep.

RSS Feed IconRekha is back from Kerala on December 2, and I hope by that time I (and my boss!) is done with the tight schedule. Coz, I don`t want my daughter to grow up and wonder: “Who is that dark skinned man, who visits mom every night?”

Till it started getting tough at ibibo.com, I had made it a habit of sleeping at 10 p.m. because my favorite dream started at 10.30 p.m. sharp. My favorite dream involved me eating a giant, white, creamy cake…and then burping. Well…to be honest with you, that was my favorite dream only till Rekha told me that we overshot the monthly budget because we had to buy 30 pillows last month!

While on the topic of sleeping, I have to tell you what my strict Armyman father did to wake me up early in the morning.

He thought that sleep was Satan`s doing and shouldn`t be indulged in. Perhaps, that`s why he would sit with us (me and my two sisters) and give us dictation till it was 10 p.m.. If only there was Fashion TV in the 80s, me and my sisters would have slept early.

While going to bed, all three would place a soap wrapper (Lyril, in our case) under our pillow because Ikroop Singh – my 5th standard classmate – had made an accidental discovery and wanted all of us to reap the benefits. Apparently, if you kept a soap wrapper (without the soap, of course) under your pillow while going to sleep…one tends to get up early. There is no proof, but it seemed to work. I would get up every day at 5.30 a.m. to see if the wrapper was there and it hadn`t moved from under the pillow.

My mother and my father had different approaches to my sleep habits. Coincidentally, both involved water.

My mother thought that if I drank loads of water in the night, I would get up at 5.30 a.m. to visit the loo and thus get into a habit of getting up early. The arrogant kid that I was, I didn`t go according to my mother`s plan. I pissed in the bed around 2.30-3.00 a.m. and spent sleepless two hours or so because of damp clothes, and then sleep heavy at 5.30 a.m.. When I continued to piss in bed even in the ninth standard (which was exposed to the whole World when we went on a Scouts expedition) my mother gave up her trials.

Click Here to read Ouchmytoe in a Feed ReaderMy father`s rules were simple if one doesn`t obey orders make his/her life miserable. After 5.35 a.m. he would stop giving orders, and instead dip his hand in water and sprinkle it on our face. Believe me, as a child early morning sleep is the best because you are dreaming of chocolates, toys, and cakes…and for it to be dampened by a spray of water is bad. This would be followed by a handful of water and if I still managed to stay in bed, a mug full of water would be on its way.

If you have been woken up like this by your parents, I am sure you still nurture that grudge. Perhaps, you might want to join the SPRAY (Society for Parent`s Real Abuse of You) or STEEP (Society Towards ‘Enema-ing` Erring Parents) to take revenge.

But if you are 45 plus and have a kid who might be joining either SPRAY or STEEP, you might want to ensure your safety by enrolling at SPRINKLE (Society of Parents in India with Naughty Kids, Lambs and Eels).

Now, for some sleep….zzzzz

A business proposal for Ouchmytoe readers

We all know that every air plane in the air has a few people with cotton in their ear. They do this to avoid the air pressure getting to them. Read more about it here

Now, I have a related question…I have heard that in New York, there are buildings with more than 100 floors. Does this mean, that people working on the 100th floor place cotton in their ear before getting into the lift?

If the answer is yes, I have an awesome business model in mind. Why not tie up with all major builders in the US of A, and offer to set up stalls right next to the lifts and sell cotton buds?

The costs can be real low, if the manufacturing of cotton buds is done in India and the items exported. Every pair of cotton bud will cost us only 25 paise (and if we have to emboss ‘Made in US of A` on it, ten paise extra) and even if we sell it for a paltry sum of 10 cents a pair…we will make: 4 Rupees per pair.

Did I just hear you say exporting costs? Well, I don`t mind even if it is as high as Rs 2 per pair…because I still make Rs 2 per pair as pure profit.

Now, let is arrive at how many such cotton buds we can sell.

Like all good business planners, I worked out the monies in an excel sheet. Find the details below. Note: The money involved is big.

Now, that`s a wholesome profit for as small an activity as making cotton buds. Mind you, thats a SINGLE’s DAY’s PROFIT!

If you want to be my business partner, please send in your age and sex, and a studio-clicked, full sized photograph of yours…so that the person with the right talent can be selected. My mail ID: jv DOT rajan AT gmail DOT com

Other Such Reads

# When this blogger met God
# When I was no longer ‘cute` for the women
# Drinking with the wolves
# Do Platonic relationships exist?
# The initial months of pregnancy

Categories
Growing Up

Getting my hair cut under a tree was an adventure in itself

I have immense respect for barbers.

I remember paying Rs 5 and getting my hair cut as a child. I would be provided a plank to sit on and a green cloth (probably stolen from a nearby hospital) would spread around me. Seeing myself in the mirror was a treat – if you were as handsome as I am, you would also feel the same way.

Back then, we had a ten inch by six inch mirror in our house which was nailed six feet high so that my father could shave properly. Six feet was so high for me that, till I was twelve years old and our family bought our first ‘mobile` mirror, I didn`t even know how I looked. Mirrors in our house were such a royalty that my father would say: “Fine…here is the deal…you get 90% marks in fifth and I would lift you in front of the mirror once.”

Being the hard bargainer that I am, I got 91% and made my father lift me to the mirror at least three times.

Anyway, coming back to the present…I have always wanted to have my hair cut under a tree and a few days back, I wore my worst clothes, parked my car some distance and walked towards a barber who had set up shop under a neem tree. Believe me, walking is tough -32-year-olds can start panting.

“Welcome sir.” The barber was forthright.

“Thanks. I need a ….” I stammered. What do I tell this guy? Do I go ahead…will he be hygienic? Will he cut my hair properly? I was confused.

“Sir, my guess is you would like your hair cut…but aren`t so sure of a shave?” The barber was bang on target.

“Hmmm…” I didn`t know what to say.

I looked around. The neem tree shade was breathtaking (the fact that I had walked 300 meters helped!). The last time I had been under a neem tree I was 11 years old and had been trying to climb it. On the neem tree`s trunk, he had nailed a mirror – a 10 inch by 6 inch – but not as high as my father had. In front of the mirror he had a wooden chair, probably bought second hand from a hair stylist who went bankrupt. One leg of the chair was broken, and I could see that he had used long, orange, nylon laces (the ones that were a craze in the early nineties) to tie together the two pieces of the wooden leg. He had a small stone under another leg because the land was uneven.

I looked around to see if anybody was watching me. “Do I sit or walk away as if nothing happened?” I asked myself.

“Sir, do you want to sit or not…I have other customers waiting.” The barber sure meant business.

I can`t recollect what happened in the next five minutes but when I regained senses, I was staring myself in a 10 inch by 6 inch mirror nailed to a neem tree trunk and listening to the barber`s banter.

“Do you know sir…our head has at least 100,000 strands of hair?”

“Yeah?” I expressed surprised. I made a mental note of checking that on the internet as soon as I reached home.

“But blonds have more…don`t ask me why…but they do. They have more than 120,000 strands.”

“Maybe that`s why their brains feel the strain,” I tried to use my humor to ease the tension. But my humor was lost on him.

“Do you know sir…that every person has over 5 million hairs allover his/her body?”

“Yeah?” I was surprised and asked him: “You seem to know a lot about hairs?”

“Yes sir. Also, did you know that hair on your head can only grow up to six inches in a year?” Now he was trying to show off.

“I didn`t know that.” I had resigned by now. It was as if the barber had Google at his service and was reeling out information about hairs.

“And here is another interesting bit about hairs – did you know that for three days after your death your hairs and finger nails will keep growing?” He now came in front of me, shrugged his shoulders, and gave me a naughty smile.

“I didn`t know that either. But I do wish the wives` stop pestering after death.” This joke also went past him.

We continued our conversation for a while during which I would come to know that Bush shouldn`t have attacked Iraq …Michael Jackson wasn`t a pedophile but it was the Music industry that was taking its revenge on him…that Steven Spielberg should stop looking for real life incidents to make movies on…that Leander Paes was a spent force…that Coke should be banned in India…and a lot more.

Once he was done, he asked: “Sir, would you want Old Spice after shave or Gurgaon`s tap water would do?”

“Gurgaon`s tap water?” I was surprised.

“Yes sir, it works just like Old Spice…burns your skin when you apply it…wanna try?”

I declined and started walking to my car parked away. On the way to my car, I spotted my neighbor, an Assistant Vice President in Microsoft, walking towards the barber in his worst clothes. We exchanged smiles.

Gyaan: The less we speak, the better

It has come to my notice – albeit a little late – that the less we speak, the better we are perceived to be. My mom has always been saying it…but since she could never give me an example, I didn`t trust her. Today, I have an example.

I can.

The above sentence is powerful and is loaded with meaning. If I said that to my boss, he is bound to give me a double promotion and an Exceeds Expectations ranking.

I can deliver

The above sentence dilutes the power that I feel when I say “I can.” By adding ‘deliver` I am adding a filter and the listener tends to think that I can only ‘deliver`. Whatever ‘deliver` means.

I can deliver pizza

Now, the power has been further diluted by two filters – ‘deliver` and ‘pizza`. “I can deliver” was definitely more powerful than “I can deliver pizza.”

I can deliver pizza for money


Now I am telling the listener exactly what I want him/her to listen…this is dangerous because I am leaving nothing to his/her imagination. In short, I am not making full use of my listener`s powers of imagination.

Moral of the Story: Speak less, start a blog and write more.

Cartoon: How to Become a Famous Blogger

Via: India Uncut

My flight back to Gurgaon, alone

The Gods have been good to me so far. Today, I made a discovery which I think being a God fearing gentleman, I should share with the rest of the men folk. Tip of the year: While traveling, ask for a first row, aisle seat.

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

When this blogger met God

I have always wanted to meet God. Promise. I am not making this up.

I belong to the generation that grew up watching Arun Govil and Deepika together on Television – as Lord Rama and Sita in Ramanand Sagar`s Ramayana – and thus started to associate them with God. If you are as old as I am, you probably remember that Arun Govil and Deepika were hounded with agarbathis, vermillion and aartis wherever they went….but I didn`t go that far. The 10 year old that I was, I just gave them the God status.

As a kid I had asked for a blue colored BSA SLR from God and when he didn`t oblige, I threatened him: “I know you are not God…you are just Arun Govil…so send it to me now…else I will be forced to expose you.”

I didn`t learn my lesson and after a year or so started considering Nitish Bharadwaj (the guy who played Krishna in TV Serial, Mahabharata) as real God.

When Lord Krishna also spurned my advances and didn`t deliver when it mattered most – the selection trials for my school`s volleyball team – I realized Nitish wasn`t God either. All he could do was watch from Bhopal (he was BJP`s candidate from Bhopal) when I didn`t make it to the volleyball team for lack of height.

I remember, I had argued that Lord Krishna was no taller than I was and yet managed to kill Kaliya Nag but it didn`t cut much ice with my Physical Education teacher.

With time, I stopped looking for God. After I started to work, I met a few people who thought they were God…but none good enough to be placed on a pedestal. Some of these people were way up the corporate ladder and could make a difference in my career…so I stayed in touch with them. As for the rest, who cares for the sages when you have the Gods in your pocket?

To cut the long story short, my search for God ended last evening. I met her. Yes, it is a she….why else do you think the onus of proposing to a girl lies on the man?

I was on the way back from my office in Sector 54, Gurgaon when I saw a lady in pure white, flowing robe standing in the middle of the road. I ground my Silky Silver Swift to halt just inches from her, rolled down my windows and shouted: “Don`t tell me you want to die so young?”

“I have no death young man.” Her voice seemed to have an echo that I hadn`t heard anywhere before.

I looked around…there was nobody on the road. Would it be safe to get out of the car now? Was she a bait out there to tempt me…and were some good, old Haryana muscles waiting for me in the bushes?

I looked at the lady again…she was a bomb. I wasn`t surprised. If I were God and was creating myself, why wouldn`t I make myself another John Abraham?

Through my dusty Silky Silver Swift`s window, I could see that she was as pure and pristine as Bipasha Basu. If there were some musclemen behind the bushes, I didn`t care anymore. I knew some of the famous last sentences have been:

  • “Wow, you look pretty.”
  • “You look like an angel, can you help me fly through my fantasy?`
  • “Hey pretty girl, what you doing alone on this lonely road?”
  • “Can you unbutton this thing please?”
  • I got out of the car and pulled her aside (in spite of just escaping my car, she wasn`t shaken at all) and asked: “Who are you…why you standing in the middle of the road?”

    “I am who I am. You have to figure out if I am a messenger of God…or I am God herself?” She said without blinking.

    The street lamp was forming a halo around her head. Her pure white, flowing robe was pushed against her body as Gurgaon`s dry, evening breeze hit her face.

    “Why don`t you hop into my car…I can drop you,” I said. By now my eyes were moist. How could such a Godly beauty be in the middle of the road? I kept staring at her even as the grain of sand that had made my eyes moist went for a swim around my pupil.

    “So, where are you going?” I insisted.

    “I am in search of my best devotee – one man who will consider me his deity.” Her eyes were glazed, and I had a feeling she wasn`t actually looking at me.

    “Does this man stay at any place. Any place nearby?” If the muscle men were hiding behind the bushes, they would have pounced on me by now…so it was going to be a pleasant evening.

    “Anybody can be this man…he just have to show devotion, which I can appreciate,” she said. And added: “Why, even you can be this man!”

    Now, I was scared. Was I getting myself into a problem? Was the pretty lady mad? In all the Hindi movies I had seen – barring Kamal Hassan & Sri Devi starrer ‘Sadma` – none of the mad people were pretty. So, the pretty lady was definitely not mad. Was she into the flesh business – not the butcher kind but the less gory one?

    “See lady, I am married…else would have taken you home. Is there anybody in Gurgaon who can help you for the night?” I asked. I was losing my patience.

    “No place is too small for me and no place is too big – I can stay wherever I want,” she replied this time gazing at the stars.

    Suddenly, everything fell into place. This is exactly the kind of dialogues Arun Govil and Nitish Bhardwaj would reel out in the two epics on Television. This lady was actually God who had come to the World looking for an ardent devotee.

    Without wasting any time I told her about my problems in life and sought her blessings. She said she would have been of more help if I wasn`t married (I guess she was referring to my problems in marriage).

    Having finally seen God, I thought it my responsibility to take her to her home – the nearby Durga Devi temple. I waited in the car till she vanished into the temple, and then went home a satisfied man…for I had finally seen God.


    Note: Today morning, Gurgaon saw its own version of Gitanjali Nagpal. According to Times of India city edition I am holding in my hand, a pretty ex-model was arrested last evening for creating commotion at the Durga Devi temple in Sector 54, Gurgaon. Apparently, when arrested the model was under the influence of drugs.

    Other Top Blog Posts

    # When my mom boards the airplane…
    # Being a celebrity is tough
    # I lack sense of direction
    # Babies can turn (Worlds upside down)
    # Kid Story: How beetroot became red

    ibibo launches another product!

    ibibo does one better and launches a chic product called OneFamily – a product that intends to bring your family closer.

    Give OneFamily a shot (You will need an ibibo ID)

    While a big team worked on OneFamily off the rails, I am linking only the ones who have blogs – my fav sketcher Soo, Dhimant and Ruban Phukan