Author: Jamshed V Rajan

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.

Categories
Growing Up

Tips on how to create your own jokes and make people laugh

How to create your own jokes
Creating jokes to make people laugh is an art. Using joke templates everybody can create jokes.

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Ever wanted to create your own jokes? The best way to begin is to indulge in the simplest form of humor – ‘deviation from the normal`.

For example: You start telling a joke about an elephant. You say: “There was this he-elephant, and he wanted to get married.”

Your audience is already thinking of a she-elephant as the bride

You say: “And then it falls in love with an ant”

Your audience is suddenly interested. A smile erupts on their faces

You say: “So, the he-elephant carries the ant in his palm and they go meet his parents.”

Your audience is keen to know what will happen next. They know it can`t get worse than the parents not agreeing

You say: “As soon as the he-elephant tells his parents about his love for the ant, they agree for their marriage.”

Your audience is now left wondering. At this point they have the highest level of interest in your joke

You say: “The happy he-elephant walks up to his father and gives a high-five!”

The way you said the last line tells your audience that it`s the punch line and they start thinking…and soon realize that the ant is dead and they start laughing

————X————–X—————

To be able to tell a good ‘deviation from the normal` joke one has to have strong ‘lateral thinking` which, obviously will also help at solving work and personal problems.

Here is one question to test your lateral thinking prowess –

One fine day, many good-for-nothings start to play cards on the roadside. The money being betted is large and the game is pretty serious. Suddenly one of the men accuses the dealer of cheating. One being accused in front of everybody the dealer brandishes a knife and kills the man. One of the on-lookers calls the police who promptly interview everybody who was playing the cards at the time. In the end, no man was arrested or charged with murder. Why?

Leave your answer as a comment.

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Categories
Family

Bed-wetting runs in our family like a nice little stream

Kids bed wetting during sleep

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It all started very early one day – 2 am on 18 May 2009, to be precise. Rhea, our three-year-old daughter, who used to sleep between my wife and me sat up on the bed and started crying. If you have a kid, you know how scary these things look when they cry in the dark.

A three-year-old Rhea crying in her sleep at 2 am was definitely scary. The fact that I could feel thick blood on the bed sheet was scarier. Rushes of the movie “Evil Dead” appeared before my eyes. As I peered through the darkness to get a better glimpse of my daughter’s crying face, I noticed that my wife was also trying to do the same.

“Why is she crying? Did you kick her in your sleep?” My wife asked nonchalantly.

Before I could answer, she turned towards my three-year-old daughter and shouted, “Shut up, Rhea!”

“No, I didn’t do anything! I can feel blood on the bed sheet.” I managed to blurt out.

Rekha jumped out of the bed at a speed which only a concerned mother can achieve, switched on the lights (and by mistake switched off the fan, which angered me…but more on that later) and stared at the bed sheet for what seemed like ages. I was still gathering my wits.

If you are a man, you do understand that being the breadwinner isn’t an easy job. I mean, my wife does a lot of work being a home maker. But gossip, politics, backbiting, slandering and meddling in office can also be extremely tiring. It isn’t without reason that corporate firms have five-day weeks and home makers have to work on all seven days.

“This is not blood, it is piss. You almost gave me a heart attack!” My wife shouted back at me.

If there is one thing I hate about my wife, it is the fact that she keeps giving false hopes. “Heart attack, my foot,” I whispered to myself. She was going to be alive a very long time and my dreams of marrying a bewitching, young siren was going to be on my wishlist forever.

“Looks like she wet the bed.” I suggested eagerly.

As a kid I used to be a famed bed-wetter. So much so, my nickname in the neighborhoods was “LAP” – Little Adorable Pisser. Looked like Rhea had inherited this enviable quality from me. I looked down and my shorts was indeed wet at the right place. But I was almost sure it wasn’t me. As a child, wetting the bed is bad but as an adult, wetting a child’s bed and putting the blame on her was worse.

My wife broke my thoughts with her, “Yes, that’s more like it.” Now nothing could change. The jury had spoken. The culprit was indeed Rhea. By now, Rhea had stopped crying and was tugging at her shorts. Nobody likes their shorts to be wet, especially when it is 2 am and your parents are staring you down.

I thanked my stars for not falling for the beautiful salesgirl’s pitch at Home Center and buying the electric blanket. If I had, by now the three of us would have been history – the alkaline piss and the electric blanket would have been a fatal combination.

“Rhea, you are now a big girl. You shouldn’t be wetting the bed,” Rekha said.

“Mom, I am sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“You better not,” Rekha can be very persistent when required.

Being her daughter, Rhea is no less. She asked, “Mom, from tomorrow can I sleep with grandma?” I knew how Rhea’s mind was working. Now the question was, will my wife be able to spot how the little devil’s sharp mind was on overdrive?

Alas! Nobody escapes my wife. My wife replied: “If you think you can pin your piss on grandma, forget about it!” It took me time to gather the courage to say, “That’s alright, Rekha.” I was waiting for Rekha to stare at me with those pointy eyes which can burn a hole in anybody.

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Luckily, that wasn’t the case. Rekha was busy getting Rhea changed into a new set of clothes. After which, she started replacing the bedspread with a fresh set. As I watched her in action, I wondered for how long I will be able to keep my bed wetting a secret. How long can I keep the secret that I used to wet the bed till I was in fifth standard – yes, till I was 11 years old. Maybe not for long, but I was going to give it my best shot.

With time I have realized that bed-wetting is a bit like falling in love. It starts off with a nice dream and in the dream you are in this nice place. Once you start peeing, it is nice, warm and feels good. With time it becomes cold and messy. You want to get out of the mess but can’t because it requires a lot of effort so you just lie there for it to be morning.

Categories
Family

The tonsuring & ear piercing ceremony

Tonsure and ear piercing ceremony
Image: Mohana on Flickr

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Sometime back I had traveled 5000 kilometers and spent Rs 20,000 for a 24-hour visit to Madurai.

Before you start thinking that I have arrived in life (for not every Tom, Beep & Harry can afford to spend Rs 20,000 for 24 hours) let me remind you that I am still not the Shah Rukh Khan of Anjam. For those of you who have forgotten this 1994 movie, let me remind you…in the Hindi movie Anjam SRK chases Madhuri Dixit, an air hostess, and in the process buys airline tickets whenever he feels like. In my case there was no air hostess but the occasion demanded that I be in Madurai. The occasion was my daughter`s tonsure and ear piercing ceremony for which I had applied for leave and got two days. Yes, two days – it had taken me longer to write the leave application!

For all those Americans, Germans, French and Japanese who read this blog, tonsure and ear-piercing ceremonies are a religious crime practiced by every family on every BABY in the family. On the level of criminal-ness, it comes second only to the act of naming a baby when he/she is sleeping. One such victim is yours sincerely, named Jamshed Velayuda Rajan.

If you are a new parent you should wait till your kid is at least five years, consult with him or her and then come up with a name. For your information, I was named ‘Jamshed Velayuda Rajan Will Singh` when I was two months old and sleeping…25 years later I would cut down the ‘Singh` part because of the way people pronounced my name. Well, I hate that Hyderabadi colleague who announced my name and asked me to come on stage …post which I took the mike and said: “Well, I can`t really sing(h)…but if you want me to…I can give it a shot. I am now going to sing(h) a song called ‘Papa Kehte Hain` from Qyamat Se Qyamat Tak.”

For those of us who are slow, here is a hint: Remember, I was christened ‘Jamshed Velayuda Rajan Will Singh.`

Oh…shucks! Weren`t we on the subject of my daughter`s tonsure (also known as mundan ceremony) and ear piercing? Getting back to it, when I reached home by the Air Deccan flight (no, my house doesn`t have an air strip yet!) a maroon colored Qualis was waiting for me at the airport. The Qualis van had some relatives who wanted to save the bus fare to the venue, some who wouldn`t have come if there was no pick up and drop and some who didn`t care but liked a break from the daily routine.

The van carrying 20 of my close relatives reached Alagar Kovil, Madurai (a hill temple full of monkeys) at 10.00 a.m.. Relatives who could afford bus fares of up to Rs 8 came to the venue by themselves, which was a good sight. I say ‘good sight` because most of my relatives take bath when they have to get out of the house.

I don`t know if it happens when your family gets together …but when mine does, there are at least 2 murders and 10 attempts to murder. After 1 hour of discussion, 1 murder and 6 attempts to murder, it was decided to have the tonsure ceremony first and then the ear piercing.

For those who don`t know, tonsure is the act of sacrificing the hair on a new born baby`s head (babies don`t have hair anywhere else), to the Gods. Hair has been sacrificed since ages because it has always grown back again. I am still looking for a man or woman who sacrificed his or her left arm or right thumb to God.

Like every religious act, I am sure this one too grew out of the need to be hygienic. Babies float around in their mother`s amniotic fluid for nine months (unless they are test tube babies, in which case they float around in the piss of angry lab assistants) and thus are exposed to all kinds of dirt. The docs of yesteryears resorted to “Sacrifice for Gods” as an excuse to goad people to be hygienic. And it is said that the a baby should be tonsured only after 7 months or so – my understanding is that`s how long it took the babies of yesteryears to be strong enough to face the crude hair removing tools.

While on the subject of hair removal, let me tell you that the waxing of legs amongst women became popular in the early 20th century because of two reasons –

Reason 1:
The razor companies wanting to double their sales, started tapping a virgin market – women – and asked them to start shaving their legs. Thus they doubled their sales.
Reason 2:
Thanks to the World Wars (esp the first) most of the Nylon being manufactured was used in making parachutes. Thus the women`s clothes got shorter and more legs got exposed…thus crying for shaving (which has today evolved into the fine art called Waxing).

Again…next time…please tell me if I go off topic.

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As I was saying, ear Piercing, is another criminal act which all parents and their new born have to undergo (predominantly in South India) within one year of the child birth. Once the ‘Asari` (a goldsmith) finishes the monster`s job of piercing a baby`s ear…the maternal uncle gifts her earrings.

I just have two questions – why pierce ears at such an early age? Is it because then maternal uncle only has to buy a small earring (approx 1 gram)? Or is it because the girls could reject the earnings for lack of style, if they were older?

Note: After what she went thro` on 21st November, I don`t think I would really
mind if on the day my daughter turns 21, she gets drunk, tattoos herself, gets her navel pierced and comes home.

Categories
Travel

My mother boards an airplane for the first time in her life

When mother travelled by air for first time

I have realized that I am not the only threat my family can offer to pretty air hostesses. My mother is far better at grounding the careers of air hostesses.

Not so long ago, my mother and I traveled from Delhi to Madurai – changing flights at Chennai – and I must tell you that traveling with my mother is a harrowing experience.

“Mommy, we are traveling by the 12 noon Indigo Airlines flight to Chennai and then taking the 2.30 p.m. Indigo Airlines to Madurai,” I remarked in the morning.

“What? Why?” My mom`s tone suggested that she had been betrayed.

“You sound betrayed.” I wasn’t sure if it was to be a question or a statement.

The tough mother that she was, she didn`t respond. She started sulking.

When I was wondering what had gone wrong, my wife Rekha came to my rescue. She told me that my mother had already experienced Jet Airways and Spicejet and had been looking forward to The Kingfisher Experience this time. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the story of good times. Before Vijay Mallaya was grounded.

Let me be honest, we Rajans are not used to air travel. We are one of the many Indian families whose standard of living has been linked to the IT revolution in India – which means the first of us traveled by air for the first time only in 2005.

I remember when we were kids and moving from city to city (my father being a patriotic army man) traveling by a 2nd class train compartment was a luxury. It was so much a luxury that during summer vacations father planned train trips to nearby places, and after getting off at the destination we would change the platforms to catch our train back. While it was a means to a destination for all others, for us the train it self was the destination.

My mother and I were the first to enter the 12 noon Indigo flight to Chennai. After the other passengers had settled in, my mother took me by surprise by getting up and shouting at the nearest air hostess: “You there! Don`t you give wet towels like the Jet Airways?”

The air hostess was shocked but did well to let out a smile. To avoid embarrassment, I immediately got up and left for the washroom.

When I came back, I passed the air hostess who was helping my mother and I heard her say: “Is the passenger sitting next to you, your mother?”

I couldn`t say no, so without looking at my mother, I replied: “I am sorry, I don`t know which passenger you are referring to.”

“The lady that wants three wet towels for her granddaughter at home,” said the pretty damsel. I didn`t look at the air hostess but I was sure she was smiling at me.

The journey was pretty uneventful till my mother wanted to use the washroom. She went in, and came out within two minutes complaining that there was no water in the potty. “What kind of service does Indigo Airlines provide? There is no water in there.”

Before anybody could respond she dug deep into her traveling experience and said: “Way back in the late 70s the long distance, steam-engine driven trains used to have such water problems. But I definitely didn`t expect this from Indigo Airlines.”

By now, my mother had caught the attention of all the passengers. Two of them were even taking photographs (Instagramers, perhaps).

I walked up to my mother and explained that none of the airplane potties had water. And that it operated on vacuum and all one had to do was press the ‘Flush` button.

“Are you saying that when the ‘Flush` button is pressed, all the crap gets sucked and thrown out of the airplane?” Now my mom was being louder than before.

To end the conversation, I said: “Yes! Now will you please get into the washroom again?”

But my mom had other ideas. She turned towards the cabin crew and asked them in a Headmistress like tone: “What if some of the crap falls on somebody`s head? Wouldn`t the guy feel miserable?”

I gently reminded my mom that that`s exactly the way it happened in the trains – her favorite mode of travel. The crap fell out of the train and was always left behind on the gravel (in the case of kids, some stuck on to the bums).

My mom could be demanding in her requirements but she certainly saw reason when there was one for she shrugged her shoulders and went into the washroom a satisfied lady.

Just that when we landed in Madurai, she said: ‘One can`t be too careful when a plane passes by.”

I didn’t say a word.

Seeing her opportunity my mother continued, “I am sure Kingfisher Airlines handles its shit much better.”

I wish I knew back then how wrong my mother was going to be.

Categories
Men and Women

What if there were no women in the World

What if there were no women in the world only men

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What if there were no women in the World is a question difficult to answer but before we try to answer that lets try and figure out how women made it to the World, in the first place.

Some say that Adam got bored and asked God to give him a companion and God responded with a woman. Some say, God wanted Adam to sacrifice his one leg and one hand if he wanted a companion and when Adam asked what he could get for a rib, God sent him a woman. The story goes on to say that the woman was delivered with a note sticking to her forehead “This is the best I can give for a rib! Sorry buddy.”

None of this can be believed, though.

However there is documented proof (and the women will vouch for this) that God first made man and having warmed up he came up with a better creation – the woman. (Did I just hear the ladies clap?)

Anyways, I was just wondering what would have happened if God didn`t bring woman into this World. With no women in this World, all the men would have been left to fend for themselves. I mean, all of us do fend for ourselves from time to time, but imagine mastrubation being the only option?

Without women, how will we become fathers? Without women, who will tell us that we were going to become fathers? Without women, for whom will we sit outside a gynecologist’s and imagine a conspiracy theory being hatched against us? If the world didn’t have women, there would be so many questions which would arise. Unless of course, the men didn’t even realize that there were no women in the World. Considering the attention span attributed to the men by the women, thats a possibility too.

But dear women, please don’t get upset with the men who don’t realize that you aren’t even there. For these are the gentlemen. It is the male chauvinistic pigs who will miss you big time, if women were to vanish from the face of Earth or if women were never there to start with. Who will make their tea in the morning? Without the women, who will wash and iron their clothes? Who will warm their water for their bath? With no woman in this world, who will stand in the doorway and wave a good bye when the man is leaving? In the evening who will make hot piping coffee when the man comes back home?

An MCP or a gentleman, with time all men will start missing the women. With no woman in this World, life wouldn`t be the same. Imagine living with another man in your house. Scary! Without women, all men will be gays. Wonder how the human race will propagate. Perhaps we would have found out a way to make test tube babies, but even then where would be egg come from? Gorillas? Wouldn`t that make the Human race huge and hairy?

On Saturday nights, the pubs and clubs would be full of men trying to woo each other. The only advantage as I see would be that we wouldn`t have to buy mocktails, dinners, ice-cream and pop-corn to get laid. That and the fact that the world will be full of sports, beer and expensive gadgets.

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Like I said earlier, the question what if there were no women in the World is difficult to imagine and answer. So lets all pray that women are here to stay.

Categories
Men and Women

What if there were no clothes to wear in this World

What if there were no clothes to wear in this World

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Thanks to my wife, today I started imagining about a world without any clothes. Wipe that smirk off your face please, for it is not what you are thinking.

It all started with my wife Rekha wanting me to upgrade my wardrobe. Believe me, survival can be difficult if your wife believes in keeping wardrobes clean and organized. Especially, if after you have spent close to four hours setting it up according to your wife`s wishes and she suddenly says: “Honey, why don`t you upgrade your wardrobe?”

In moments like this, man starts hating clothes, and dreams about a world with no clothes tow ear. Can you imagine a world without shirts, trousers, tshirts? I can imagine a World without skirts and sarees but I draw the line at a world without clothes for men!

If only Adam & Eve hadn`t touched the apple, we all would today be roaming about naked – without clothes. But the two did a huge favor for the textile industry, which would not have existed but for the demand for clothes. Without the textile industry, where would all the fashion designers go? What about all those dumb models who showcase the latest in clothes? Without the fashion industry churning out clothes for the World, where would all the gays go?

Without clothes, fashion designers, and models the best buddy of all married men – Fashion TV – will remain a dream. No print or TV advertisements for brands like Allen Solly, Basics, Dockers etc.

If there were no clothes to wear in this World, it will be a blessing in disguise for the men. You, naughty! I meant the shopping. Imagine the number of hours our girlfriends/wives will cut off from their shopping time if clothes were not on the list? There would be no trial rooms in shops, unless you want to try out the new pressure cooker you are buying. In which case the trial rooms also need to have a gas stove, but we will talk about that later.

Needless to say, there will be no formal and informal dressing. Thus, no business suit and no Friday dressing and of course no marriage gowns. How would we identify the bride in the crowd? My guess is that only the bridegroom would know who the bride is. Pretty safe, isn’t it? But then without any clothes in the World, everybody will see what the bridegroom was to see during his first night.

Shorelines will get less exciting because there will be no nude beeches. With everybody roaming around naked, men will resort to eye-rape and thus we will be able to reduce rape incidents in the community. Jack the Rippers will get into cold storage. But if at all somebody goes overboard and indulges in the heinous crime, the police will be in a fix. They will find it difficult to differentiate between the rapist and the victim. Aren`t the victims always identified with their torn clothes?

Even if the police have to rush to the rape spot, where will they keep their pistol? No trouser to tuck it in. And with no trouser, there will be no pockets to keep wallets, mobiles and kerchiefs. They will have to strap them on or hang them from somewhere.

A world without clothes was a scary thought. Rekha snapped me out of my thoughts with a louder question: “What were you thinking about?”

“What if there were no clothes to wear in this World.”

“A World without clothes, you mean? Thats scary!” For the first time after our marriage my wife had agreed with me.

I let out a happy, “Yeah” and re-arranged my clothes.

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Categories
Travel

The six stages of an amazing Indian Railways train journey

Explaining indian train journey

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It isn`t without reason that Railways has a separate budget. No, it isn`t because Indian Railways Ministers have always wanted to have a wallet (or a purse when it was Mamta Banerjee) of their own. It is because Indian Railways is an integral part of the Indian psyche and needs a special treatment.

I have travelled in trains from 1976, when as a chubby one-year old we shifted from Jamshedpur to Jhallandar (father being in the Indian Army), to my recent trip to Kerala which happened like…yesterday.

In the earlier days, we used to travel for four days in steam engines, all the while covered in soot (steam engines used coal to heat the water and generate steam), to reach our destination. We would take bath mid-way through our journey – sometimes a quick bath in the second class waiting rooms & sometimes a shaky bath in the train`s washroom – but the pleasure lasted only a few hours for we would be covered in soot again.

Being a dark South Indian family, this did not affect us much but I shudder to think of the mental anguish the fair North Indian families had to undergo in such trains. Back in those days it was not hard to spot North Indian families with a bit of sense of humor, ask their kids racist questions like: “What? Now, you have become a South Indian?” More often than not, the kid would cry himself to sleep.

Having traveled by trains for 40 years, I am now what one would call an authority on train travel. Don`t believe me? Read on.

Here are the findings of my 40-year old research on train travel. A successful train journey consists of six stages. Let us take a look at each one of them:

Stage 1: Finding your train and getting on it

Finding a needle in a haystack is easier. Especially, since now-a-days hay stacks are smaller and needles bigger (esp if you happen to be my daughter`s doctor). But seriously, have you ever walked into a railway station knowing fully well which platform your train would be on? I have never managed that. You can listen to the announcement being made about your train – but that`s possible only if you have the hearing ability of a dog or Superman. In their attempt to hire an announcer who knows English, Hindi and the local language the Indian Railways ends up hiring bad speakers. To make the matters worse, the speakers (read loud speakers) that blare out the announcements croak like frogs. If you thought the board that displays the train name & platforms is good enough, try craning your neck at 65 degrees for five minutes for your train`s name to appear. The easiest way, I have found is to ask a porter, and that too politely for he can lead you to exactly the opposite platform. Mind you, all men wearing red shirts (or T-Shirts) aren`t porters.

Stage 2: Finding your place in the train

Indian Railways is impartial. You may have a reserved ticket or an unreserved ticket – to find your place in the train will be equally difficult. The search for your seat starts with the need to find your coach, which can be right behind the soot-spewing engine or be the last compartment of the train – depending on if you have been good that year.

Your first objective is drag your bag which besides the 3 Kgs of sweets for your mom, neighbor’s house and sister`s family, also has your dumb bells because you don`t want to miss the workout, to the right compartment. Your second objective is to get inside the compartment. But can you? Can you walk in without confirming your name on the list pasted outside the door? And that`s not possible because either the list has not been pasted yet or if pasted it has been washed out in the rain. If you find the list, rest assured there will be a pan stain exactly where you think your name is. Defying all this, even if you make it inside your coach, you still have to find that seat number 45 (I am talking of second class here).

You will always find somebody else sitting or their luggage on your seat. After a bit of hesitation, you blurt out “Excuse me, thats my seat. Number 45.”

“Is it? Please be seated. I will keep my luggage below.” The innocent looking old man is most likely to say.

Stage 3: Finding a place for your luggage in the train

Now that you have found your seat, you look around for a place to keep your luggage – one Samsung Television set you have bought for your grandma, one bag full of clothes that you need and another suitcase which has your wife`s clothes which she has forced on you. You look under your berth, and you spot an opportunity. There is space enough to squeeze your stuff in. Unfortunately, this is the furthest slot from your seat. You have second thoughts – will I be able to keep an eye on my bags from where I will be sleeping? Does any of the co-passengers looks like he could unzip and pick up some of my old jeans in the middle of the night? You push your bag under the seat, and relax a bit. You keep the Samsung Television set on your seat, for you can`t stuff it below the seat. Now comes the difficult part – you have to spread a newspaper before pushing in your wife`s suitcase. She had specifically instructed you to do so, to keep the suitcase clean. You follow the orders to the Tee but plan to NOT tell your wife that you could only get ‘The Times of India’ and NOT ‘The Hindu’ as she had suggested. Now is the time to chain your bag & your wife`s suitcase to the security hook provided by the Indian Railways. This will ensure you have a peaceful sleep. Well, almost…for you will be sleeping with your legs on the Television set you bought for your grandma.

Stage 4: Getting confident about yourself & your stuff in the train

With your baggage all stuffed away safely, it is time to take out that India Today you bought for the purpose. But before you take it out you look around at what your co-passengers are readying around you. Will India Today make an impression or do you have to take out Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand which you have reserved for train journeys with young girl co-passengers. You do have Chetan Bhagat’s Two States but you don’t want to be judged by people around you so you push it deeper inside your bag. Since everybody is reading vernacular magazines, India Today makes an instant impact. You instantly become the upper middle class who made it to the second class compartment only because the 2-Tier AC & 3-Tier AC tickets were already sold out.

Having become the alpha male (or female) in your bay, you decide to take a second look at your luggage – it is all safe. Now you need a safe place for your wallet, your mobile and that Wrigleys chewing gum you have for that one-in-a-million chance that a pretty girl will sit next to you. You find a safe place for it in the side pouch the Indian Railways started around the early 2000s.

Stage 5: Knowing your fellow passengers

There is no better tool than a spread-out India Today in the front to start gauging your fellow passengers. You lift your eye lids a little above the magazine to measure up the rest of the gang – there is a old couple, there is a young software engineer displaying his provided-by-office IBM, there is that 11-year-old girl slumped over the latest issue of Tinkle and there is the 40-year-old-just-getting-to-know-spirituality guy with a copy of Vivekananda`s speeches bought at the Ramakrishna Math book store at the Railway station.

Quite a motley crowd – in your heart of hearts you chuckle, for this crowd could have passed off as the cast of Good, Bad & Ugly if the movie was re-made in Hindi. The non-availability of a perfect girl of your age dampens your interest in your co-passengers. It does not matter that even if there was a girl, she would have buried herself in her mobile rather than exchange glances with a wannabe with an India Today in hand. After a few hours of I-won`t-talk-first attitude one of you breaks the ice and all others fall in. Soon, everybody is telling impressive lies. Lies they don`t need to remember or justify the next day. The evening goes well. During dinner time, the thought of railway robbers with sedative laced biscuits forces you to say an emphatic “NO” to the family that`s willing to share their poori and aalo subzi with you. You eventually end up buying an egg briyani from the vendor for Rs 75, and eat with your hand. Soon it is sleeping time – which you do indulge in but after re-checking our bags. Just to be sure that nobody steals your wrist watch when you are sleeping you tie your hand kerchief around your wrist.

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Stage 6: Bidding farewell when your destination arrives

Sleep isn`t peaceful because of the TV. Who says TVs have to be switched on to cause sleeplessness. But this has been a blessing in disguise, for you have been able to check your luggage six times in the night. Four times out of six you switched on the lights because you could not see your bags in the dark. As the night ends, you are more cautious because your parents have told you that the best of Railway thieves strike around 4 a.m.. when everybody is in deep slumber. But you are happy to see that it is 5 a.m. and your bags are still there. The train will reach your destination at 5.30 a.m. sharp and people start getting up at 5 a.m. for freshening up. If you are a girl, you have already freshened up at 4 a.m. (when the washroom was dry, and nobody is knocking on the doors) but if you are a man, you definitely will get up at 5.28 a.m. to rinse your face. And if there is time, gargle. Half of your co-passengers are sleeping for their station arrives only at 8 a.m.. “Lucky bastards,” you utter under your breath and walk out of the coach.

As you get out of the railway station, another adventure awaits – bargaining with the autorickshaw driver.

Categories
Growing Up

Story of how Maggi noodles brought happiness in my life

Childhood memories of Maggi & my Love affair with Maggi

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You probably cook Nestle’s Maggi noodles, eat it and forget it. Hardly so in my case. This article is to explain and celebrate the importance of two-minute Maggi noodles in my life (and my sisters’).

I first came to know about Maggi noodles in 1985. Back then I was studying in 4th standard in Seventh Day Adventist school, Kohlapur.

Nestle had introduced Maggi in India in 1983 and by 1985 students with rich parents had started bringing them for lunch. I first tasted it when my best friend brought it for lunch one day. It is a pity I don’t remember the name of this friend who introduced me to Maggi, but then thats where the romance lies. He made me fall in love with Maggi noodles and walked away.

“How do you eat this?” I remember asking.

“Simple. Just hold a strand between your thumb and index finger, keep it high in the air and slide one end inside your mouth.”

We were late for our next class. Lunch had taken up a long while that day – and why not? Each strand had to be separated, held up and slid inside the mouth slowly.

With time, I became an expert at eating noodles. To tell you the truth, when my friend wasn`t looking I would cheat. I would pick up a couple of strands and stuff them into my mouth.

In three months time we had to leave Kholapur in Maharashtra and settle down in Ballygunge Military Camp, Kolkata for the next three years. It was the most harrowing moment for me. I didn`t mind leaving behind my friends, and the four hens I had been rearing in our garden for I knew my father would anyway kill them (and eat them) before we shifted. The four hens, that is.

I was most worried about missing out on Maggi noodles. In Kolkata, will I find a friend who would bring Maggi Noodles for lunch?

Our move to Kolkata coincided with my father buying ECTV – though this TV`s screen was only 15 inches diagonally, the television itself was 40 inches wide. It was so wide that when my cousins visited, we played table tennis` on its top even as the rest of the family watched Doordarshan.

It was on this ECTV that I first saw Nestle`s advertisement for Maggi noodles. When it appeared again, I pulled my mom before the television set and said: “Mom! Look! Maggi Noodles! This is what Vikas Talpade used to bring for lunch.”

OK, there! I remembered his name.

“Ohh…what is it?” my mother asked.

“It is called Maggi noodles and is very tasty. Can we buy it?”

“No baby. That must be costly. We don`t make that much money, yet.” The ‘yet` in her sentence gave me hope.

“But father is always at work. Doesn`t he earn money?”

“Listen, why don’t I make kheer for you? You and your sisters love it, don’t you?” When I close my eyes I can still visualize the expression on my mother’s face at that moment. It was what I today know as please-accept-my-offer-for-I-have-no-other-choice expression. But back then I didn’t understand such expressions.

When I kept staring at her, she continued: “Don’t you think it makes more sense to spend that money on other things? You will anyway end up finishing it in two minutes.”

“But mom, when they say two minutes it is not about eating. It is the cooking time.”

My mom just smiled and went back into the kitchen. I stood there waiting for the advertisement to appear again. I loved the way Maggi’s advertisement was shot – the steam escaping from the yellow bowl in which Maggi noodles was being served made me yearn for it every time I saw it. I swear I even got the aroma each time Maggi’s ad appeared on TV.

First Maggi noddles pack we cooked at home

I must have watched the advertisement at least a hundred thousand times before I bought my first pack of Maggi noodles – sometime in 1994. It was my first scholarship money from school.

With great pride I walked into the house carrying a Maggi Noodles pack. My two sisters, my mother and I spent an hour looking at the Maggi Noodles pack and trying to understand how we should cook it. There were arguments on the approach to be taken, there were agreements on the risks involved. Everybody wanted it to work out fine. After all, it was going to be our first bowl of Maggi made at home.

My father was then posted in Akhnoor, Jammu and wasn’t in the kitchen that day to give his opinion on how the single pack of Maggi noodles should be cooked. Everybody else had a say.

I remember my sister, an athlete at school, saying: “Looks like cooking Maggi noodles is not a marathon but a 100 meters race. If you make a mistake, there is no time to correct it.”

She was right. My mother poured more water than needed and over cooked it. After eating the ten strands that each member got we came to the conclusion that cooking Maggi noodles wasn`t an easy task.

Maggi noodles packs I bought with my first salary

In January 1999, I got my first job – with The New Indian Express. On Feb 5, after withdrawing my first salary and buying a shirt for my father and a saree for my mother, I bought five packs of Maggi Noodles. One each for each family member. After all, it was a day to celebrate.

Once again, we had a conference of sorts where it was decided that this time my elder sister would cook. She did a fairly good job. The Maggi in my bowl wasn’t soggy or too hard – just the right amount of water had been added. My father had retired by now and he also joined us at the dining table. He took a mouthful of Maggi, enjoyed a few seconds of bliss and turned to us and said, “Wow, this Maggi thing tastes good. Why haven’t we had this till now?”

At this my sisters and I looked up at my mother and let out a smile. After all, now we had grown up and understood why she would suggest kheer every time we wanted to buy Maggi. My younger sister came to my mother’s rescue, “I know dad! How did we even miss this?!”

We decided to do this often – a whole family get together with Maggi as the main attraction. For the next few months every time I would walk in with my salary, I would have five packs of Maggi noodles with me.

After a few months of the Maggi ritual, we forgot all about it and got busy with our lives.

Maggi love never dies, it just goes down deeper

Now the innocent yearning for Maggi isn’t there. One doesn’t have the urge to eat Maggi every day. It doesn’t double up as a evening snack any more. But when I see a pack of Maggi, in all its vibrant yellow glory, it starts talking to me. Like a long lost lover you suddenly bump into in the shopping mall.

“Hey, remember the good old days?” the pack of Maggi would ask me.

“Of course, how can I forget the first kiss.”

“You just couldn’t take me off your head,” the pack of Maggi would continue feeling proud.

I would just chuckle, and say “Yes…now when I think about it, it does sounds funny.”

With its pride hurt, the pack of Maggi would reply: “No, it wasn’t funny.

In order to salvage its pride, the pack would continue, “And remember the day you took me home to your mother? I loved it.”

I would smile back. For the memories this conversation has brought back are so strong that I can’t ignore them. I have to feel her warmth yet again, even if for a day. I reach out for the talking Maggi pack and put it in my shopping cart for a one-night stand.

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Nestle started to advertise Maggi 2-minute Noodles during the ‘Hum Log` broadcasts on Doordarshan. Just in case you didn`t know in 1984-85 ‘Hum Log` reached 60 million TV viewers. Nestle`s plan paid off and soon enough the volume of demand for Maggi Noodles increased from none in 1982 to 1,600 tons in 1983. It would go on to become 15,000 tons in 1998. I don`t have the 2008 figures, but I wouldn`t be surprised if it is in the 50,000 tons range. The marketing of Maggi Noodles became a case study on how to market a new product. Taking a cue from Maggi`s success, other companies started thronging Doordarshan for program sponsorship. Thus, advertising rates went up and advertising revenues started pouring in for Doordarshan.