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This happened today morning. Rekha and I got up at 6 a.m. Getting up together is a relatively new habit. There used to be a time when Rekha would get up at 5.30 a.m., take bath, pray and with water dripping from her tied-in-a-turban-on-top-of-her-head hair, she would touch my lotus feet for blessings before bringing me a cup of hot tea.

I would have tea, read newspaper and go for a hot water bath. Meanwhile, Rekha will leave for the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Anyways, these are things we can discuss anytime of the week. Today we are here to discuss the war games we play when the weather is good. I think it was Saturday evening and it had just started drizzling.

“Rekha, how about a ride in the rain. Long time since we did anything like that.”

“Sure, I don`t mind but you might get a cold.”

(What she actually meant was, she could get a cold and she can`t afford it because she has to attend Sheela`s son`s birthday party on Sunday)

“You are right. Before marriage when you were more romantic… I always got a cold after the rain ride.” I get sarcastic.

“Don`t get me started. You were a lot younger then…and healthy.” Rekha retorts.

“Must be the marriage huh?”

“Don`t you get started on my cooking now? I am doing whatever is within my limits to keep you happy. Look at that paunch you have developed since marriage.”

I am a man of honour. I can take blows on my face and yet be standing tall. But I cannot digest anybody pointing out that I have a paunch. I might have one…but I won`t accept it. The last guy who said that had a paunch was admitted in the Emergency ward of Apollo Hospitals. I had bit his tongue. Even today I think that all those who have potbellies should be shot in the head.

“Rekha I have a paunch because of your cooking.”

“See, I told you … I was cooking good food.”

“Before you came into my life…I was having food cooked by my mother and hence did not have a paunch. But since your arrival, I have been eating out in various restaurants…and you know oily stuff these restaurants serve…. gives you a paunch. There you go…”

Rekha gets angry. After all she is entitled to. In fact she is the only one who is entitled to.

Since I cannot get angry in front of her…I take my Yamaha keys, my wallet and my cap and go out in the rain. After a sulking smoke and a sullen ride in the rain…I have cooled down (she did say I will catch a cold). When I go home, Rekha is on the phone speaking to her best friend. She has a filter coffee in one hand…and the TV remote in the other.

Signs of good weather…

Even as I type this, I am getting drunk. So don`t expect any coherence in this post. I know after some time my hands will start shaking…perhaps that is why I want to write about old people. Why? Simple. Don`t their hands also shake?

I am drinking Vodka. Romanov vodka. It is one brand you will get only in Tamil Nadu. No Smirnoff for me. No Absolut for me. Perhaps because they are costly. Perhaps because Romanov Vodka is what you can get easily. I cannot boast that I grew up drinking Romanov, but it does give quite a kick.

Don`t ask me how I got Rekha`s permission to drink. I sent her flowers worth Rs 300 and it made her happy enough to say “Yes” to my question in the message I sent along with the flowers: “Can I please drink tonight?”

Just because the name “Romanov” ends with a “V” we cannot assume that it is a Russian brand. I agree most Russian names either end in “V” or “Y”. Take Tolstoy, Chekov, Gorbachev etc. Neither can we assume that it is a Roman brand because Romans never drank Vodka. They drank wine before dining and whining.

Enough of Romanov, let us get back to the elderly. That`s what I wanted to write about before I started floating about.

I had this paternal grandma of mine who was scared of my mother. Then it seemed odd…but now that I am married I understand why she was scared. This grandma was so scared that she would touch nothing in my house. And one day we all left her alone and went to the temple (No, we are not the Adams` family…we do go to temples). The phone rang….but my grandma was scared to touch it…so without touching it…she said: “OK OK…we know you are calling. Nobody is at home…they have all gone to the temple. How about calling later?”

I guess it is enough of the elderly. Am already floating. Is it the Vodka? Or the fact that Rekha is expected anytime?

Talking of Rekha…I have decided to become a Mangal Pandey. Enough is enough and it is time for The Rising. And anyways Independence Day is round the corner. I have decided to revolt against her reign in my house. Just in case you did not know…she has accepted an offer from Cognizant Technology Solutions and has put down her papers at Sify. Ever since, her atrocities have increased. I am rebelling and am going to push harder. BTW…did you know that Push = Pray Until Something Happens.

Some animals have unique features. Some don`t. A giraffe for example can clean its ears with its twenty-inch long tongue. Give that tongue to a man and he would be cleaning the ears of the lady sitting next to him.

Have you realized that when you shave you don`t save? When you shave you spend so much of your money on the costly twin blades that there is no chance of you saving. And if you decide to save…shaving becomes a impossibility because the local barber charges anywhere between Rs 10 and Rs 50 for a single shave. Of course there are season passes, but that story is for later.

Some people buy helmets for the safety aspect. But most buy helmets because the visor saves them from pollution. I say, go for the visor…but also turn wiser and use your helmets for safety purposes. Visor…wiser..sounds good huh?

Have you realized that the colder the climate is the colder the water from the tap will be? Just when it is hot, and you are aspiring for some chilled water to cool you down…the water is hot. And when it is cold outside and you want to take a hot water bath…the taps give you cold water. Lessons for life 😉

The Indian race is faced with a cruel choice: work or daytime Doordarshan.
– Unknown

I know the above maxim no longer stands true, because there is now Fashion TV, Zee Music and Pogo. But, the message that the maxim conveys – that life is not about choices – stands true even today.

Whoever said, “Life is full of choices,” needs to do a re-think. Let us start from the beginning of the end of our freedom to choose.

I wanted to be born a girl (and wanted to give the guys a run for their money) but was born a boy. And am still being given a run for my money.

Then the naming happened. You don`t understand how bad I feel deep down inside …because you may have some insignificant name like Raju or Ramu or Raja. Try living 30 years of your life with a name like Jamshed Velayuda Rajan. Guess, this explains why the naming ceremony is conducted when the kid is still asleep in the cradle. Had I been awake and been able to walk, I would have walked out that very day. Talk of choices…

I never had a choice of school I would go to. It was Kendriya Vidhyala from the very beginning. If only my father had allowed me, I would have been happy to graduate from the ‘Steady Driving School` (yes, that was the name) across the road.

I have had a thing for automobiles from the beginning. Unfortunately, the closest I reached was a bicycle – a misnomer for an automobile….wonder what was ‘auto` about it. At least I would have been consoled a bit, had he got me a Hero Cycle. My friends would look at the “Hero” written on the front bar and addressed me as “Hero”. As luck would have it my friends called me “Atlas” for the five years that I had the cycle. Those used to calling second names called me “Goldline Super.”

When the hormones started flowing, they didn`t let me sit next to Sonia Kalra – a Punjabi dame who studied with me in 10th standard. Her father would sit with her in every class. He was very protective.

Neither did they give me a good-looking class teacher. I think it was some 55-year-old man drenched in some history and some civics. But civic sense he had none, for whenever we spoke to the girls in the corridor, he would ask us to get into the class.

College was worse. My choices were Armed Forces Medical College, IIT Kharagpur or Jawaharlal Nehru University. All three selected from among the rubble because they were co-ed. And look where I eventually landed…The American College started by Christian Missionaries 100s of years ago…still punishing themselves with celibacy just because Eve ate the apple. Somebody should have explained it to them that not all can be like Newton…an apple falls and instead of eating it you end up calculating the Gravitational Forces.

The very concept of work is against choice. None of us like to work. Of course, here I am ruling out all those men who are regulars to office because they sit next to a pretty girl who has only recently joined and is yet to censure them. Guess what, with changing times…the girls have opened up too. And they are happily coming to office because some stud sits next to them in office. At least that is what this girl called Jyoti Rastogi, who sits next to me in Satyam Computers, feels.

Unless of course you stay in US, marriage comes after work but before children. But this is changing fast in our country. In India, children in dustbins come before marriage.

The older you become the less choices you have. Take me for example; I had no say in my marriage. Once, I fell in love with Rekha…and she decided to marry me…there was little choice I could put into use. I wasn`t even able to see the choices available to me.

That you are left with no choice but to read this stupid Ouchmytoe? That`s bad. You might as well carry a crown of thorns on your head. But then, is that a choice?

If today I am a drunkard, I have to blame my mother. I still remember how as a five year old I would hate drinking that yucky glass of milk before I went to bed. Now, the glass of milk has been taken over by a bottle of beer.

The graduation from milk to a bottle of beer has had its share of ups and downs. As an eight year old, I gave up drinking milk in the night. I think it was because of Ashwath Acharya, my 4th standard classmate. How could I continue drinking milk after he told me if I poured a glass of milk into a bottle housing a money plant in it…I would find ten rupee notes around the bottle in the morning. Unfortunately, I would later come to know that the money plant in my room was the non-giving kind as against the giving-kind in Ashwath`s bedroom. Ashwath was good in money matters.

When ten years old, I was introduced to Boost. Sometimes Bournvita would make it to our kitchen because it played price wars with my mother`s favorite Boost…and as far as my father was concerned… the lesser the price, the better the product. For many days I drank milk with Boost. Until that day when Vikram Sarabhai taught me the art of making Boost-chocolate.

I suggest you try making it. All you do is take a handful of Boost in your palm, drop it in a newspaper, fold it like a chocolate, and hide it in the cupboard for days. With time, moisture and enough humidity, loose Boost particles become a sticky-gluey mix ready to be eaten. More often than not, I would forget where I had placed the 50 gms of Boost tightly wrapped in a newspaper. But I relished the Boost-chocolate whenever I found the newspaper bundles intact.

I think the habit ended when I mistakenly kept a Boost-Chocolate in the making among my mother`s sarees. She noticed the ants (the rainy season was just approaching) among her clothes when she had 15 minutes to dress up and be in a marriage. She didn`t attend the marriages. But she did attend to me.

I grew up to be a handsome man. Now, I considered it beyond my dignity to drink milk at night. Though they did manage to force some down my throat on the day of my marriage. To top up the insult, I had some 6-7 girls watch me drink the milk and giggle their way out of our bedroom. Rekha had arrived.

With Rekha`s arrival my life spiced up. And I am not referring to the extra dash of spice she adds to everything she cooks (even rice). By the way, did you know I have named her ‘Extra Spice`.

Going by the Beero-goras Theorem (remember Pythagoras?) anybody drinking beer needs something spicy. As a corollary, anybody having something spicy needs a beer. Psyche me up baby!

Shakesphere didn`t know Malayalam (remember, he did not write any Malayalam plays). But he sure did believe in what an average Malayali believes – what is in a name?

A few days back Krishna, a very good friend of mine came home. He is the average Malayali cynic you will find in Chennai, Bangalore or Delhi. Noting different from my wife. Over drinks we discussed the nomenclature standards followed by the Malayalis while naming their children.

I am sure all have come across Malayalis named Biju, Soju, Kinju, Pinju, Seejo, Teepee, Potee etc…this article is about such two-syllable names. Before we exchange some of the most interesting names that I have come across…let us analyze why these Keralites resort to such torture.

Not long ago, Keralites had a habit of pre-fixing their name with their villages` name, their mother`s name and their house name. That made for names like: Pilavulakandi Thekkeparambil Usha (that is PT Usha), Kallatu Kothakery Kamini George (luckily she is not famous), and Vallamattam Muvattupuzha Nisha Santosh. I could go on naming them…but I am not able to.

All children born till the late 70s …were forced to carry such long names. The fact that they were all sleeping when the naming ceremony was going on…would have made them feel helpless.

As years rolled by, the children-with-long-names grew up and decided to give really short names to their children. Names like Biji, Saji, Mini, Betsy etc. You could say it was revenge over their parents…but today we are forced to live with such names.

I know this Malayali electrician who has been a family friend for long. He has named his three daughters – Plugy, Tueby, and Bulby. I shudder to think of what a Malayali mechanical engineer would name his daughters – Nutty? Screwy?

One more trend observed among the Malayalis is when they take the first two alphabets from the parents name and coin a name for the kid. Think of the kid whose fathers` and mothers` names were Shangrila and Itmizaz. He would have to live the whole life being called ‘ShIt.` If somebody committed a blunder and said: “Shit!” the boy would have turned and asked: “You called me?”

Or when the parents name is Pushpa and Kedarnath (Name: Puke). Or when the mother is Noor Jahan and the father Serajudaulla (Name: Nose).

This whole naming business gets even more complicated when a Malayali`s wife gives birth to twins or triplets. In the came of twins it becomes Jimi & Piji or Soju and Boju or Rini and Tini.

When it is a triplet…the names become Nancy, Fancy and Tipsy. Or if the triplets are boys…the names are Biji, Siji and Riji. But then, I am not complaining unless I come across Malayali triplets with names like John, Johnny, Janardhan or Satyam, Sivam, Sundaram or Amar, Akbar, Anthony!

Please accept my sincere apologies for being late. Since my last trespass here, I have been to Madurai and back and have also joined Satyam Computers (will be working from their office in Shollinganallur, Chennai).

A second-class compartment is home to many con stories. Some of these stories don`t involve sedative-laced biscuits.

Even as I was in a train on Friday night, eleven young men fell victim to the biscuit gang all over the country. Mind you…these are not Gold biscuits villain Ajit (of the Hindi movies fame) would kill for…but plain Glucon D biscuits. Some of them, Good Day buiscuits.

Not for me these gangs…I am smart. Once inside a train, I introduce myself as Deputy Superintendent of Police, in training. On Friday night also I did the same to the three brothers and one family of four who shared the bay with me. We were all cocooned in the S3 compartment of the Pearl City Express.

The family of four (which involved two children, one illiterate mother and one semi-illiterate father working for the Income Tax dept as a peon) believed me instantly and started addressing me as DSP saab. The father took down my address and phone number so that he could get in touch when in trouble.

I don`t think I managed to con the three brothers who were probably aged 34, 38 and 44 years. Instead, they almost conned me.

Within a few hours of getting on board, the three brothers and I became good friends. They invited me to their ‘Air Conditioners sales & servicing center` in Chennai. They even gave me their visiting card. I had a look at the name of their firm and asked the brothers: “That`s a very unique name you have chosen for your firm.”

“All the three of us discussed and decided on this cute name,” the eldest brother said.

“You all thought over and agreed to it?” I wanted to be sure.

“Yes. The first suggestion was ‘Three Brother`s Airconditioners Service Center.` Later one of us shortened it to ‘Three Brother`s Airconditioners Center.`”

“That would have been a nice name.”

The eldest brother continued: “I know. That is why we did not want to change it when the board painter said it was too long for the board.”

“And then…” I elbowed the brothers further.

“But the painter persisted that we shorten the name. Thanks to him, we changed the name to ‘Brother`s Airconditioners Center.`”

“OK, and why didn`t you stick to that name?” I asked. Now, I was curious.

“Then, the youngest of us suggested we turn hep and name the shop ‘Brother`s Airconditioners.` This was fine till one of our kids doing his MBA suggested that we needed a name short enough for everybody to remember. He was talking of something called Brand recall.”

“So you had to shorten the name further, I suppose?” I was getting impatient.

“Yes. The MBA-studying kid of ours suggested we name our shop AIRCON.”

“That`s as fine a name as you would come across,” a confident me said. I was wishing these brothers would finish their story fast…for I needed to get to the dirty Indian styled toilet at the far end of the compartment.

“Yes, we also agreed it was a fine name till we realized that the name did not suggest we three were doing business together. I mean, not always do the brothers stay together and do good business…so we wanted to project that angle.”

“Cool…and….”

“And we decided to change the name from AIRCON to WECON,” the triumphant eldest brother said.

I did not ask them how their business was, but I am sure they think it is dull because of the winter.