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I generally like to travel by second class. To tell you the truth we travel first class only when Rekha is with me. I know, all this while I have maintained that I preferred the lively atmosphere of the 2nd class to the deafening silence in a 1st class compartment of a train. But that`s not true. Rekha doesn`t give me money for such small luxuries.

Last time I asked her she said: “Why do you spend money on unnecessary things like tickets?”

When I pointed out that the TTE didn`t consider it unnecessary, she stumped me. “Can you please tell me what you did with the ticket to Madurai you bought last time? Isn`t it useless now?”

Even as I begged, she quoted her father. It seems her father would say: “Tickets are like fire extinguishers – a waste of hard earned money….once bought never to be used…till they lose their expiry dates.” Her father`s job required that he travel a lot. She has also told me that for around three months, he had been to Saudi. Perhaps, the TTE had caught him….after all the punishment for ticket-less travel is three months.

As I was saying…and I promise I am saying it from the heart…I love traveling by second class. Today at 6.30 p.m. I will be leaving for Madurai to spend a day with my father….and I will be back with stories on the guy who lost his chappals under the berth, the guy who knocked himself down in the upper berth because he was too tall, the guy who could not sleep on the side-upper berth because he had a huge tummy, the guy who chained his suitcases to the berth… but lost his keys, the guy who bought packed chicken for dinner and spilled it on the berth, and the guy who dropped his mobile in the train loo (that`s me!).

Guys (and gals) brace up for a real second-class article!

To show-off
I know most of you men out there will agree that girl friends are a little difficult to walk with. I am not referring to their slow gait in tight trousers ..but figuratively. Not many of us actually like to walk on a busy road with a girl friend in tow? But we are forced to do that because of peer pressure. As a 24-year-old gentleman I spoke to last night put it: “Ritesh has one, Prakash has one and even that dud Sunil has one. Won`t I be considered a loser if I don`t have a girl friend?”

To increase bank balance
Rekha would agree to this. Had it not been for Rekha, I wouldn`t have had such a nice bank balance (Rs 107.56 paise) when I got married. I agree that once the marriage is fixed girls don`t contribute much …but before that they come quite handy. To pay credit cards when the bankers come chasing, to pay phone bills when the connections are cut, to pay the rent when the landlord threatens….we all need girl friends. But are these girls doing it for us? No way…instead for their own selfish needs. If the credit card is blocked…she won`t be taken to the restaurant, if the phone connection stays pulled…no late night romantic calls…and if there is no house to go back to…what about those private moments?

To feel wanted on birthdays
If I had no Rekha, I might as well have forgotten my birthdays. For the last five years she is the first person to wish me. But she is also the first person to ask for a treat…and to top it…she has even managed to make my birthday treats two-people affairs. When was the last time I had merry on my birthday evening? I don`t remember. We get birthday cards, gifts, mugs…et all. The thumb rule of birthdays spent with a girl friend is: “The total cost of the gifts will always be less than the cost of the evening dinner.” But having been used to women pampering us all our lives…we don`t mind the cost. What we mind is the settling down and having kids and naming him/her….Akaash/Arpita… so that he/she could be first in the attendance register…kind of talk. Especially on happy days like birthdays.

For emergency back-up
The thing about emergencies is…if they start happening too often they cease to be emergencies. Many a times we men need liquid cash for important things like a can of beer or a movie ticket. We need moral support because the girl we approach happened to be the daughter of the local dada. Or we need to be dropped at the railway station because we have given our bike/car for servicing. If you ask me, we men need to credit the ladies for unstinted support they provide us when we are in trouble. Elders say: Don`t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you. But in this case the trouble itself comes forward to help us.

For use as a digital diary
We men don`t have a good memory. Perhaps that is why we invest so much on our mobile phones. And perhaps, that is why we have no hassles investing in a live digital diary -a girl friend. I am sure there have been many occasions when she has alerted you at the right time. Like when you have to go to wake up and get ready for the interview. Or maybe a medical check-up…or maybe catching a train on Friday evening. A woman`s memory is a yet-to-be-tapped resource. Try it and I am sure you won`t be disappointed. Mind you…memory is a good thing only till marriage….after which good memory for the lady means Saturn-hovering-over-the-head for the gent.

Eyecandy: To add glamour to life
Who doesn`t love to have a lady nearby? I do. The formula one guys do. Sania Mirza`s supporters do. This wouldn`t have been a problem if the ladies didn`t know the secret. Now that it is out in the open we can`t do much about it. Knowing our weakness for glamour…the ladies have started presenting themselves as show pieces. So much so… last survey showed that the number of feminists in India was coming down. Ladies have realized they can get the men to do a whole lot more if they are Eyecandy.

To book tickets
Rekha has done this for me. And I am sure your girl friend has also done this for you. Be it movie, train, bus, theatre, or restaurants….they have booked at all places. Perhaps because the people picking up the phones are more accommodative to a lady`s voice. The good thing about getting your girl friend to book tickets for you is…she finds it cheap to ask for the money…hence uses her own. 😉

Everybody needs a gossip machine
Agreed we men are not gossip machines. But it doesn`t hurt to get a dose of this and that once in a while. Especially, if it is about the escapades of our girl`s pretty friend. It gives us an idea of what chance we stand. The one problem with this requirement is…the phones always run with high bills and are without charge.

As the first-level shock absorber
According to the ladies, men don`t have an eye for colours. I guess…we should start wearing more of beige and pink and peach. But then, without these ladies we would have gone out to the World looking stupid. Without them who will tell us that our zip is not up, our face has an extra dash of Cuticura talcum powder, our shirt goes well with the trouser but has a stain on the wrong hand….

The Tenth Reason
I leave this to you. After all Rekha and Rajan are not the only lady and gent in this World. But knowing the men…. I know what this tenth reason would be!

In my 30-year-old stay in India, I have hosted many foreigners. And on all occasions, I have been tempted to tell stories …ones not true but …ones that make interesting listening. Stories like those narrated to the foreigners by the pan-chewing guides at the gates of Taj Mahal. Or closer still…Mahabalipuram.

As with most things spoken about in this Blog…the tourists are also of two types. There are the tourists from US of A and tourists from the other countries. For a not-so-trained eye all would be the same. But for somebody like me…who has spent his life observing people and their backs (in this case back-packs)…there is a major difference between the two.

For the non-US guy…everything Indian is great and is to be appreciated…but for the US tourist everything Indian is to be seen and laughed at from a distance. We might have exceptions on both sides. My apologies if you don`t agree with me.

Here is a bunch of stories I told a very curious and stiff upper lip American tourist I met in Mahabalipuram. I promise I did not start the conversation…

“Hi There! I am Jack Nicklaus.”

“Hi, I am Jamshed Velayuda Rajan.”

“Nice place this Maamalapuram. Back in our country we have stone carvings…but that is on a huge mountain. We call it Mount Rushmore.”

“I have heard of it. But I don`t think Mount Rushmore is a traditional site. It doesn`t have the magnetism attachéd to Mahabalipuram.”

“What do you mean?” asked the US tourist.

“I mean, each of these stone carvings in Mahabalipuram depicts a story. But Mount Rushmore is just a mountain, where the busts of four Presidents have been carved out.”

“Are you serious? I don`t believe it.” The adamant US tourist burst out.

“Yes sire. We in India have a story behind everything we do. Unlike your country where everything is driven by logic…and hence is a boring.”

“If that is so true pray tell me why the ladies sprinkle water in front of the house everyday? I bet there is no story good enough to justify the hard work, so early in the morning.”

I had to think hard. I needed a story that would sound exciting and yet…believable by US standards.

“You won`t believe this, but hundreds of years back Indians were very peace loving people. They won`t take up arms even against their worst enemies. Because of this non-violence, there emerged another way to express displeasure. Whenever Mr X was upset or angry with Mr Y, Mr X would get up late in the night (around 1-2 a.m.) and walk up to Mr Y`s house…and piss in the front courtyard.”

“You mean piss as in urinating?” The US tourist butted in.

“Yes. The idea was to let Mr Y know that there was some displeasure over his actions. And over a period of time…everybody was pissing on everybody`s courtyard.”

“Must have been quite messy?”

“Yes. But it does feel bad to see your courtyard full piss-marks early in the morning. It is an indicator of the number of people who hate you. Eventually, the ladies in the house decided to sprinkle the whole courtyard with water first thing in the morning…more to cover-up the traces that for anything else. Thus saving some respect for the family.”

“Do you guys still go around pissing in each other`s courtyard?”

“Nope we don`t. All that was stopped the moment we took up arms. But the ladies still sprinkle water in front of their houses…early in the morning.”

“Why?”

I wanted to say, “That`s Indian tradition for you,” but could not, even as I walked away into the sunset.

Yesterday was Rekha`s birthday. Phew! Am glad it is over – was on my toes the whole day.

As part of the winding up process, I was forced to have dinner at the Wang`s Kitchen (in Velachery). Chinese has never been my cup of tea, though I have heard they serve the best tea.

An Indian opened the door for me. He was dark and had a huge mustache. He did not look Chinese to me. Since when did the Chinese start wearing tika on their forehead?

“Rekha, are we at the right restaurant?”

“Yeah, I have checked. But why do you ask?”

“Just wanted to be sure before we entered. Coz this guy doesn`t seem like a Chinese to me,” I clarified.

She nodded. In my eight months of marriage I have realized that it means she is in the snob mode.

Once inside, we saw some red danglers hanging from the roof and some red, intricately designed dragon free-falls hanging from the walls. I knew this was Oriental, thanks to my taste for Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies. Besides that, there was nothing else.

“What is so Chinese about this place?” I ask Rekha.

“Didn`t you read the name outside? Didn`t it say ‘Wang`s Kitchen – Delightfully Chinese`.”

I did not say another word and we took our table. The problem with these restaurant guys is, the moment they see Rekha and I enter they think we will want to spend the next two hours coochi-cooing in a corner. And invariably, all the guys give us a two-seater in the corner. They don`t realize that when you come out with your wife…you just want to finish your dinner and get the hell out of there.

The menu arrived. I was a little scared. I did not know Chinese…and I knew Rekha did not either. How were we going to converse? Maybe..we could point at the item on the Menu. And take our thumb to our lips, whenever we wanted water. What about napkins? How would we indicate that we wanted new plates? Spoon? …it was a crucible out there.

“Sir, what will you have?”

I looked at Rekha, “That`s not Chinese!”

Rekha pointed at the front page of the Menu and said: “Check it out here…it says ‘Wang`s Kitchen – Delightfully Chinese`.”

I looked around, and realized all the waiters from either from Kerala or Tamil Nadu. As if somebody had warned the Restaurant Administration and a Kerala-Tamil Nadu couple would be coming in to dine. I knew I was being fooled.

I turned away upset and left Rekha to deal with the impersonator. Shortly, our food arrived. I am quite a foodie, but when the whole World gangs up and tries to fool you …there is little you can eat.

If you thought I turned away some good quality Chinese food…I tell you the food they gave us could have been from any of these countries – Japan, Korea, Hong Kong, Mangolia, Taiwan, Laos, Philipines, Vietnam – but not from China.

BTW, Rekha had a gala time. And that is what mattered to her.

Nurses hold a special place in my heart. Why shouldn`t they? Afterall, 95% of the nurses I have come across are from Kerala …and that is my wife`s place.

I am not sure if it is the same in North India, but down South it is the Keralites who hold sway as Nurses. Wonder why Keralites make great nurses. Perhaps, it has to do with their good physique and their fair complexion that goes well with the sexy white uniform.

Some say Keralites are in the nursing profession in order to serve the needy. Knowing my wife, and my in-laws…I would rather assume that they are in the profession because it is better to be inserting needles, than be receiving it.

During my stay at the hospital (remember to pray for my father`s well-being)…I saw many pretty nurses. In fact, all of them looked pretty to me. Married men will agree.

Many of the Medical Representatives (MRs) waiting to meet the doctors also felt so…I could tell from the way they were gaping at the girls. I even saw a few Medical Representatives (MRs) getting married to pretty nurses as they waited for the doctors to call them in. That is how long these doctors keep the MRs waiting.

Some doctors also get married to these nurses. But that is only after the lady doctor stocks are over. I am not a doctor, but if I had not married Rekha…I think I would have married a Nurse. Ironing a top and a skirt is a lot easier than ironing a churidhaar.

It is quite a challenging profession. Not in many professions do you get exposed to rare and exciting diseases. Not in many professions do you get to murder and yet not be convicted. Not in many professions do you get to see what your client had eaten for breakfast. I for example, cannot even see what my client has in his laptop…leave alone his stomach. The last time I knew what my client had eaten for breakfast was when he had puked on my trousers.

Talking of puke, I wonder how the nurses get back home from 10-hour shift of watching gore…and yet manage to eat. If I were a nurse, I would not have been able to eat…that is unless a doctor had taken me out for dinner.

Also…is it true that nurses make great partners? Or is it just a legend built around the one billion porn movies involving nurses…that are doing the rounds on the Internet?

Jawahar Lal Nehru said in sports participation was more important than winning. I beg to differ. Watching sports is more important than participating. Ask anybody who stays in the CAS-affected Chennai and I am sure you will see many heads nod.

Some of you may place the blame on me being a mere spectator on my height (165 cms), which is slightly more than that of Napoleon Bonaparte. I assure you it is not the case. Some of the world`s best athletes have been short. Take Raj Kiran in the Hindi movie Hip Hip Hurray (also starring Shafi Inamdar, Deepti Naval) or Aamir Khan in Lagaan….both were short.

Neither can you place the blame on my laziness. Some great sportsmen have been the laziest. Anand Vishwanathan, for instance. He doesn`t budge from his seat during matches. Also, Mohammed Ali…who they say moved as slow as a butterfly and could only sting like a bee. He should have donned a pair of boxing gloves and tried to hit instead of trying to sting.

In short, I am not to be blamed for being glued to the Sports channels on TV. Sports is in my blood. My father was always glued to the TV…but he was more into the sport called ‘walking`. Perhaps, that`s why we always caught him watching Fashion TV.

I am a fierce competitor. I know looking at the innocent face displayed atop this page you don`t believe that I am a fierce competitor. But I sure am. For instance, I am all set for the Liverpool vs TNS match scheduled for the 2nd week of July. I am so set that I have already bought the colors of both the teams. After finding out the favorite (by reading the newspapers) I will paint myself in the respective colors. The only problem is, if the other team leads at halftime I won`t have anybody to help me wash my painted face…and apply colors of the second team.

I am also a very physically fit sportsman. While watching a game of soccer, which lasts for 90 minutes…I can gobble up two egg puffs, one black forest pastry, couple of Lays packets and one liter of Coke. Not to mention the cheese cubes I reserve for tense moments from when my team starts losing, and I shift loyalties to the other.

Like I said, I am a true-blue sportsman and spend most of my time watching sports on TV. Just that the referee cries foul saying she wants to watch all those stupid mega serials they start broadcasting at 8 p.m. sharp!

Here are some of the sentences that I can never forget. Some I can never understand. Here I have listed both the type of sentences.

Sentences that I have never understood…

May the Lord rest in peas.
(Why should the Lord rest in peas? Is that his favorite food? If that is true…how come my boss hates peas?)

War and piece.
(Heard it is a classic by Leo Tolstoy. Never read it though…)

Seas the opportunity.
(Opportunity it seems is a well-oiled-stone statue with no clothes, but a tuft of hair on his forehead…. opportunity comes only once…and is difficult to grab. Let us seas the opportunity.)

Ah..men!
(Why does everybody say this after their prayers? Quite biased I would say…I am surprised the Mahila Morcha is yet to raise it up as an issue.)

Sentences that I can never forget…

“I could not sea that was coming.”
(This one was heard during Tsunami)

“I road this letter but did not post it.”
(my blunt-tongued cousin with a newly-written letter in his hand)

“Everybody says I am a boar. But a few say…I can learn to be exciting.”
(my friend Ashiwn after rushing out of a bachelor`s party fully drunk)

“This prayer is damn good. He can score a goal whenever he wants.”
(my soccer crazy 7-year old neighbor)

“I can where any shirt I want. I just need to know wear it is.”
(somebody very close to my heart. No..not Rekha you dimwit)

Mathematics is the queen of the sciences.
– Carl Friedrich Gauss

And I pity the King. Blame it on my not-so-good mathematical experience. To sum it up, I just hate mathematics. So much so, when I last changed my job they asked me, “So how much do you expect?” I said: “I am fine with anything as long as I don`t have to count and spend my money.”

For long I had thought Srinivasa Ramanujam was a vocalist. He somehow had that ring to his name. And I guess, that is why I was pretty disappointed when my father said he was a mathematician. Not that my father was good in math…he still thinks he has two children, when in fact we are three.

My next brush with math was when in class three, one bald 35-year-old man asked me to bring along my parents to school. On enquiry my desk-mate said he was our math teacher. Funny because I had not realized….and I had been attending all his classes. I somehow had this feeling that I had never seen his face. Perhaps, it was because he always faced the blackboard scribbling the problems. But I did recognize his back….as soon as he finished speaking to my parents, and turned…I shouted: “Well, that`s my math teacher.”

My parents had met my math teacher. But that hadn`t helped because…as I told you earlier my father was also weak in math. As for my mother…she thought my father was actually the Issac Newton of mathematics…so you can imagine where my mother stood.

Women are supposed to be good at bargaining…but not my mother. I was standing next to her…and she was having this discussion with the fruit vendor.

“How much will you charge for one dozen mangoes?” my mother asked.

“Rs five per mango madam. One dozen will be sixty rupees madam.” It was the vendor speaking.

“No, that is too much. Here is the deal…I buy 15 mangoes but you will have to give it to me for nothing more than 100 rupees. So deal?”

Without batting an eye, the vendor said: “It is a deal madam. You seem like a hard bargainer.”

I could not calculate the loss to the family early enough to salvage some pride. But I did notice a smirk on the vendor`s face….and we are now his most favored customers.

My sisters weren`t good either. They were so bad that after sometime the teachers stopped calling our parents to school. Instead they started praying. One of them even lighted a candle everyday at the nearby church.

If you are not good in math, and you are a kid…it is alright. But once you grow up and there is s&*^-load of responsibilities on you…it becomes difficult without math.

For example, while discussing with my father-in-law (just before my marriage to Rekha)…he asked me: “So what do you expect in dowry?”

“I am not good in math, so you could give me whatever you feel like.” I replied.

Surprisingly he was not upset that I was asking for dowry. Instead he hugged me and tears rolled down his eyes. He whispered into my ears: “Don`t worry my son, I know what you actually need.”

I still have the Mathematics book (of 856 pages) that my Father-in-law gifted me…because I had told him: “I am not good in math, so you could give me whatever you feel like.”