Jammy, as Jamshed V Rajan is affectionately called, is a wannabe stand up comedian. He has a funny take on most things but documents only some of them. If you are interested in chatting up with him, do drop him an email at jv.rajan@gmail.com or message him at +919650080255.
Even as IPL got to a rousing start at ChinnaSwamy stadium in Bangalore, an old friend of mine called me and asked what team I was supporting. Being a south Indian, I opted for Bangalore Royal Challengers.
After Brendon Barrie McCullum of Kolkata Knight Riders scored 158 off just 73 balls, and the team from Kolkata finished at 222 in their allotted 20 overs….I was upset.
As luck would have it, Bangalore Royal Challengers ended up being Royal losers. It was then that I sent my friend this SMS: “If I am feeling so upset, wonder what Vijay Mallya would be feeling.”
Prompt came his response: “He must be feeling the cheer leaders!!”
If you remember, sometime back I had said that I was aiming for a Shah Rukh Khan like six-pack. Well, the girl colleague for whom I was working out quit her job a month back and got married last week. I came to know of her marriage after a fortnight of working out…and ever since have lost all interest in a six-pack.
Last week, after being called ‘a portly bastard` by a software engineer in my office, I decided to join a gym. One day later, I took a Health Club subscription at PowerHouse, a gym in Sector 56 of Gurgaon (if you come there too, and if you aren`t well built…buzz me…would like to meet up).
Jane Fonda in Spandex
The first thing that stuck me is the fact that a gymnasium is very much like a bar. Till one is out of the bar, one doesn`t know how drunken one is…and when it comes to the gymnasium…till one doesn`t come out one doesn`t know how tired he/she is. Perhaps, that`s why on my first day at the gym, the bouncers had to carry me home because I couldn`t walk after two hours on the treadmill. Reminded me of the day I had my first beer – a bunch of friends had to carry me home.
Cross Trainer (The lady doesn’t come along)
If you have never been to a gym before, let me tell you that all those Bollywood / Tollywood songs choreographed inside gyms, where the heroine wears Jane Fonda-like spandex and works out on the cross trainer (see pic) isn`t true. For example, in my gym I have only seen four women train and I suspect their weights to be 78 kgs, 81 kgs, 73 kgs & 92 kgs respectively. I will tell you more about the only pretty girl (vital stats: 32-25-34) who visits the gym, in a separate post.
On my first day, I was embarrassed with my physique. A dark complexioned, 165 cms tall mass of body which was 34 cms wide in the middle…didn`t look good standing next to six feet tall, well built men wearing tight Reebok-sponsored uniforms. Thanks to my gym buddy (who, unfortunately happens to be a guy thus stealing the shine out of a sauna / steam bath) I came to know that these guys were the gym employees. With great difficulty (I always find it difficult to speak to people I am envious of) I tried to strike a conversation with a person who could have easily been a GladRags Mega Model: “Hi, I am Rajan. And I know nothing of gyming….can you help me get a six pack?”
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“Me…Santosh.” [Name changed because he is huge and can hurt me]
“Great Santosh! So what should I do first?”
“Treadmill. Cross Trainers. Weight Training. We get six pack.” Santosh seemed to be crisp in his replies.
Wow…so handsome people talk less. I made a mental note to talk less and in the process look like a model. Two days later when I walked up to him and asked: “So, which machine do I use if I have to burn the fat around my waist first?” he responded: “Difficult question. You know Hindi?”
Thinking ever since – would pretty girls prefer a tall, well built mannequin or go for dark, 165 cms tall, 34-inches around the waist type?
Shopping in the malls isn`t as easy as it used to be, say…five years back. And I say this after spending my weekend hours of the last six months, in shopping malls.
If like me you are also married and spend a lot of your free time in the malls, you would probably agree that shopping carts are a nuisance. So much so, I get dreams of people riding the roads (and highways) on shopping carts. And since I saw this dream in the early morning hours, I fear it could soon be a reality. After all, no license is required for handling a shopping cart.
If you don`t take me seriously and organize a candle light vigil outside Dr Manmohan Singh`s residence….YOU might soon be putting down your car window and shouting: “Mind your shopping cart, you bastard!” I prefer to use ‘a$$hole`.
Since there is no license even if you are mentally unstable, you can get behind a shopping cart and hurtle down the road. While on the subject, what if your poetry teacher asks you to write a poem describing a shopping cart in the hands of a lunatic?
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Simple. Here goes –
A dangerous tool,
In the hands of a fool.
I was in Reliance Super, recently and almost got run over by a seven year old pushing a shopping cart. It is another thing that sometimes shopping carts move by themselves (down the slopes) and injure you…but when a gum-chewing, 14-year-old with his red velvet underwear showing above his jeans pushes a shopping cart into you….it is time to do a reality check. Life inside a shopping mall is no easier than on the MG Road outside it (have you wondered why every city has a MG Road?).
But before I got run over by this 14-year-old, I had my bit of struggle getting the shopping cart from their line-up at the entrance. After a lot of pushing and shoving – in which I hurt my fingers twice and my leg once – I managed to get one shopping cart for myself. I made my daughter sit in the place provided for her. A tired husband, who just can`t hold on to the baby while the mother is trying on the different shades of L` Oreal lipsticks, must have invented the baby seat in the cart. Hats off, sir!
The shopping carts in India don`t come with safety belts and ABS (Anti-Braking System)…and thus I had to trust God Almighty and start pushing my shopping cart. The good thing about shopping in pairs is that one can hunt down the items, while the other can push the cart and keep the baby entertained.
By the time we had finished, I had opened up a Maggi Rice Noodles pack, used Teflon`s Microwave Friendly Bowl, started an on-display Samsung M183DN Microwave (the one with 20 Liters capacity and six power levels – the salesman said so), and cooked noodles….and then spread them on my head so my daughter could laugh.
To cut the long story short, shopping carts are dangerous. Besides, on not finding a Bar Code on my daughter, the boy at the billing counter gave her to another agent and asked him to fetch a similar piece BUT with the bar code!
In early November 2007, I had traveled in an Air Deccan flight from Chennai to Delhi. As always happens with me (and compulsively so!) I wrote a funny piece of my experiences on the flight – and my fantasies with Air Deccan Air Hostess Poornima and Kavita – titled My Flight Back to Gurgaon, alone. As part of the article, I also wrote about First Officer Brinder Singh of Air Deccan.
Brinder, in case you want to know how I look
The article was a good hit and a lot of discussion happened around it.
Now, five months after the post was written and forgotten…the First Officer himself stumbled upon the blog post, courtesy Google. Not only that…he also left a long yet sportive comment.
To read the article I had written, Click Here
To read the comment First Officer Brinder Singh wrote today at 9.12 p.m., Click Here
Brinder, thanks for turning out to be a sport. My blog is a funny take on my life and more often than not I am (or my family is) the butt end of my jokes. Sometimes…and only sometimes…others end up being a part of the joke. But this is the first time that somebody came, read the post written on them, left a comment and then conquered my heart. But why should you bother….I am no pretty girl in red. 😉
*And yes, Poornima did return my money. The line in the article was supposed to be a joke.
Giving bath to a baby isn`t as easy as it is made out to be. More so, when two pair of watchful eyes are prying over your shoulder. Yesterday, Rekha and I ran into each other at home and the final verdict was that I wasn`t contributing much to our baby daughter`s upkeep.
Arguing that all the clothes she wore came from my money, didn`t hold water. Apparently, in a relationship providing money alone isn`t enough. One also needs to give time and I wasn`t giving that. Maybe, that`s why when it was time to bathe our baby daughter, the over-enthusiastic me blurted out: “Do you mind if I bathe her today?”
An ear-to-ear grin was accompanied by a “Sure, why not?” The promptness with which the approval came made me wonder if I had just walked into a trap. Only because we Rajans aren`t used to backing out did I stay put and decided to go ahead with the plan.
The only time when I smiled
As we all do these days, I did a quick Google search on ‘How to bath a baby` and didn`t find much. There were articles on BabyCentre.com etc, but how much can text convey? A search for ‘How to bath a baby` in Youtube.com (for videos of course) yielded 8260 results….but not a single baby taking bath was an Indian, so I didn`t gather much there as well.
Swallowing my pride, I asked Rekha: “Where is the instructional manual that came with the baby?”
“Do you remember half of our relatives telling us that Rhea looks like a Chinese doll?”
“Yes, I remember. What about that?” I was a tad irritated.
“Then, you probably also remember that Chinese versions don`t come with instructional manuals. They are imitations.”
With nothing to follow, I decided to take the plunge. After removing Rhea`s clothes, I gently rubbed Johnson & Johnson Baby Oil on her Nandita Das like skin (now don`t ask me how I know how Nandita`s skin feels).
In a way, babies are also like machines….a well oiled baby works well. As soon as the oiling was done, Rhea pissed and soiled my t-shirt and shorts. Since I was anyway going to take bath after bathing my daughter, the higher authorities in my house decided to let me stay with a urea-drenched T-shirt and shorts.
After about ten minutes, I eased the baby into a small bath tub filled with really hot water. She splashed around for a while…but when she realized that the person bathing her was a novice, she started crying. The yellow duck in the small tub didn`t help. Neither did a promise of a visit to the zoo – perhaps, because she is just one year old and doesn`t understand a zoo.
Rhea looks up to see it isn’t the mom this time
The problem with bathing a kid is that, they keep on moving. It is like competing in a best handwriting contest when your pen is tied to the leg of a hen. I tried my best, but couldn`t save the soap water from entering her eyes – after which Rhea cried as if it were my fault. She definitely gets her anger from the mother.
Midway through, I was about to give up.
“Can you take over please? I am finding it difficult.” I pleaded.
“Would you find it as difficult if she wasn`t your daughter and she was at least 25 years older?” Rekha asked.
I just gave her a wry smile and continued to bathe my daughter.
The whole exercise took ten minutes….and only for about 30 seconds was Rhea at peace. Considering the slight temperature increase in the water, I suspect she was reliving herself at that point of time.
Anyway, I emerged out of the biggest challenge fatherhood could throw at me – besides, removing soiled diapers, washing soiled baby undies, and cleaning the beanbag after the baby pukes – victorious.
If you have a baby and plan to bathe him/her…or are pregnant and might end up bathing a baby soon enough, here is a video that could be useful. 🙂
When my daughter Rhea was born on March 29, 2007…one of my nephews was waiting in the corridor with me. He wasn`t moving up and down the corridor as I was…but was staring at the sky looking for the stork to bring in the baby.
As soon as the nurse brought Rhea wrapped in a clean, white cloth, my nephew asked: “I didn`t see any stork coming…how did the baby come?”
My mother in law who I am told was brought up on a high dosage of super heroes said: “She came from another planet…some place called Krypton. You know Superman also came from there.”
My daughter might end up wearing these clothes!
Back then, I thought my mother in law was only trying to answer a curious 9-year-old. But considering the developments in the last few months, I have a feeling that my daughter probably is a superhero.
Our suspicion was triggered when we realized she enjoyed spending time in the balcony – isn`t that the favourite spot of all our super heroes? Have you ever seen a super hero use the door to leave or enter the house? They always use the balcony!
As if that wasn`t enough, she has got amazing eyesight. She is capable of spotting even the smallest of dirt – something that average people like you and me wouldn`t even spot on the floor. I have a feeling, she is honing this skill of hers…because everyday we are forced to remove at least 5-6 small items that she puts in her mouth.
Rhea can also crawl into any space – even the six inch space between our treadmill and the wall – and come out unscathed. When I tried to do the same, I got stuck and we had to call the fire fighters.
Now that she is learning to stand by herself, she spends a lot of time standing against walls…trying to feel the surface. She probably wants to scale them….and is feeling the texture of the wall. She is also seen licking the surface…guess that`s how the superheroes decide on which trick to use to scale a wall.
When we try and play with her, she keeps waving her hands up and down…and then looks at her palm…as if something that was to come out of her palms…wasn`t coming. A web, perhaps. When she isn`t looking at her palms, she enjoys making strands of her saliva and playing with them.
After seeing all these activities, we have confirmed that she is indeed a superhero in the making….and now are debating which superhero she would grow up to be. We couldn`t arrive at a decision till late last night….and that`s when we spotted a spider biting her on her exposed thighs.
Now, it is confirmed…she is going to be Spiderwoman!
Not many in the same family are talented. God has his way of distributing talent, and for proof one just needs to look around one`s own family. But then, there are certain exceptions to the rule. Like my friend Shivkumar Parthasarathy, who works for a competitor BigAdda, while I work for ibibo. One boring afternoon, he spent three hours with his son and discovered that his son was a talented actor. End Result: A good video on Youtube.
The talent was spotted a little too late for his son to participate in ibibo MTV iSuperstar contest but great going anyway.
Year 1997 was a watershed in my life. I was adjudged Tamil Nadu`s second best Naval NCC Cadet (don`t ask me why I wasn`t the first – even my father didn`t dare ask), I spent seven days in UK and three months in Canada. We will leave my Canadian sojourn for now and focus only on my British experiences, in this blog post.
Even when I was a kid my father taught me my first history lesson. He said that the ‘sun never set on the English Empire`. My father turned out to be a big liar. In the seven days I was in London, the sun didn`t even come out. My shirt, trousers and the umbrella were always drenched.
No wonder wherever I went, natives asked: “Nice weather eh?” So much so, I thought British TV channels should stop having the weather report – why make such a big fuss over the weather when we know it is going to rain.
Those of you who have never had the privilege of taking an Air India flight to Canada that developed a technical snag and had to be grounded for a week in UK….let me tell you that it`s a very damp country.
I think it was the first day of our stay and we decided to visit the Piccadilly Circus. Since my childhood days, I have had a thing for the Russian girl acrobats, and thus loved trips to the circus. Some of the popular ones I remember are the Royal Circus, The Russian Circus & The Jumbo Circus. If you have been to many such circuses you have probably noticed that the poor circuses employ Malayali girls with shaven legs.
Anyway, as I was saying…Piccadilly Circus was a total rip-off. There were no Russian acrobats and no wild animals and no clowns. That day I decided not to trust the British. Anyway, who would want to trust a country that was once run by a Prime Minister who carried his Army Rank behind his name – John Major!
While people like you and me dress down for dinner (that`s getting into our pyjamas and lungis)…the British dress up for dinner. Imagine, shouting back, “Momma, I am ironing my suit,” when she called you for dinner?
During my stay there, I also went to Stratford-on-Avon – the place where Shakespeare was born. You wouldn`t believe it…but there was no place to break coconuts, no place to do an aarti, and no place buy garlands. How was I to show my respects to the man? Literary alright…but what kind of a pilgrimage would that be?
This brings us to the question that begs to be answered, “which country would take its ‘plays` so seriously?”
I also happened to pass over the London Bridge. It was amazing sight. I was reminded of the childhood days when we would sing: ‘London Bridge is falling down`. Later, I would come to know that the rhyme was written as a tribute to the number of times the bridge had fallen only to be put back in shape again. By those standards, we should have had nursery rhymes for our cricket team:
Our cricketing standards are falling down,
falling down, falling down,
Our cricketing standards are falling down.
My fair lady.
Build it up with Dhoni & Sachin,
Dhoni & Sachin, Dhoni & Sachin,
Build it up with Dhoni & Sachin,
My fair lady.
Dhoni & Sachin will retire away,
Retire away, Retire away,
Dhoni & Sachin will retire away,
My fair lady.
(The rhyme is actually a 12 stanza piece, that`s difficult to memorize)
By the time the technical snag in our airplane was set right, I had realized one thing…London is a boring place. Especially because living there was like living in Punjab still ruled by the Britishers!
