Categories
Uncategorized

Hard work and what not

I generally don`t work hard. I was even known as the hardly working journalist when I was with The New Indian Express. Now don`t ask me what is so new about that newspaper. Haven`t you heard of that joke wherein somebody said: “It took an illiterate man to build the Rs 99000-crore business empire called Reliance and it took an MBA from the Wharton and another from Harvard to divide it.”

Same was the case with the Indian Express family. On second thoughts…I think we should have never named the Leander-Bhupathi duo, Indian Express….they also parted ways. The difference is – Mahesh Bhupathi doesn`t call himself The New Leander Paes.

Not funny? You got to excuse me because I am not used to hard work. And today I have worked hard. Well, at least I walked around gripping a few sheets of white paper, my two arms hanging by my side like the two peels of banana skin that hangs on the side while you nibble at the fruit.

My hair is all disheveled. I also make it a point to not comb the hair on my ears. My grandfather once said it was lucky to have hair on your ears. I tried to argue that he was consoling me…but he stuck to his views. Till the day he died, he maintained that hair on the ears was a lucky thing. I still don`t believe him because he never left me anything in his will. Guess it is not lucky after all.

Anybody who saw me today would have known that I worked. I even made it a point to pour ink on my shirt. Since I don`t use ink…I had to ask the office boy to buy ink from a nearby shop.

Guess, it is the hard work showing. Or is it the jogging that I went for in the morning?

While on hard work…how about two very good quotes on the concept…

Hard work never killed anybody, but why take a chance?
– Edgar Bergen

When a man tells you that he got rich through hard work, ask him: ‘Whose?’
– Don Marquis

Categories
Uncategorized

Computers can be quite an addiction

And I am sure. Who said cocaine was addictive? And who said smokers find it difficult to quit?

Given a choice between Rekha and my computer, I think would choose the latter. Wonder if she knows it. Just in case you did not know, Rekha is my wife.

My computer has kind of given up on me. It refuses to boot. But I am also adamant; I am not going to give it the boot yet.

This post is from a computer center, where they are playing Tamil songs…the kind that you can hear in tea-shops. Perhaps, that is the reason I was not surprised when the café owner came up to my desk and asked if I preferred coffee or tea. He must have owned a tea-shop earlier. Shows the extent to which computers have penetrated India.

The next ‘good` post will be up when my computer is ready…and that in all probability would be on Monday.

Just the excuse Rekha was looking for to play havoc with my life. Knowing that I am restless, she has asked me to take her to Mayajaal (an entertainment center, where a friend of mine once went with his family and since sold all his family jewels and mortgaged his house). It seems she wants to watch – Mumbai Express.

If only I did not know it was a Kamal movie, a surprised me would have taken her to the railway station…we could have also watched Tamil Nadu Express, Jammu-Tawi Express, Howrah Express …not to mention other trains like Mangalore Mail, and Vizah Mail….

Don`t get upset yet…these are just withdrawal symptoms and I shall get over as soon as I get my computer back.

Categories
Uncategorized

Vishu visit – post interval story

(If you have not read the earlier post please do so before proceeding any further)

The thing about characters is that they remain characters – and spice up my visit to Kannur. Mind you, ‘spice up` is not always used in the positive connotation.

Since the movie ‘Vishu Visit` is yet to release, I will only relate some memorable instances.

I will start with my father-in-law – my favorite relative. This man thought (actually still thinks) that I am an ardent devotee of God. Initially, there was no problem. I was son of God (my father thinks he is God), and there was no problem in visiting temples and doing pujas. But it becomes an issue that can take major proportions, when you are asked to stop playing cricket, take a bath and visit the temple at 3 p.m. in searing heat because somebody called Kunhikannan Kutty is playing the nadaswaram. If only I had not been alert, the next day, he would have dispatched me to the temple because Muraleedharan Menon was playing hide-and-seek.

This issue did take major proportions – Major Karunakaran came to know of it and was upset. Upset that I did not have the courtesy to chug along an 85 year old Army Major, at 3 p.m., along a 2-kilometer dry stretch of un-metalled road to listen Kunhikannan Kutty play the nadaswaram. General-ly I would have ignored such people…he was after all only a Major.

Rekha`s father finished his diploma from ITI way back in 1965 and was immediately absorbed in its Engineering services by the Kerala Government. I wonder if the Kerala Govt knows this because from the way my father-in-law squints when he says this…I have a feeling he is lying.

If the Major was obnoxious with his stories of the Indian Army under British rule…this Engineer is abhorrent, abominable, annoying, awful, beastly, big mouth, bitchy, blue, creep, crumb, cussed, detestable, disagreeable, disgusting, dislikable, displeasing, foul, funky, gross, hateful, horrid, insufferable, invidious, loathsome, mean, nasty, nauseating, objectionable, odious, off-color, ornery, pesky, pestiferous, repellent, reprehensible, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, rotten, sickening, stinking and unpleasant.

Major Karunakaran was not that bad a man, after all. He gave me Rs 100/- on Vishu day. They call it Vishu kanni (It is a gift from the elders in the family on Vishu Day). I call it pittance. I mean…how long can these guys keep giving Rs 100/- notes? Don`t they know Rs 500/- notes are readily available?

The Major, like all Army officers also lives in the past. He wanted me to prove that I was a capable youngster and that Rekha had not committed any blunder by marrying me. Here are a few things he wanted me to do to prove myself –

1) Give him his Rs 100/- back
2) Take him to the temple when another dude called Balan Nambiar came to play the Chenda
3) Climb a mango tree they had in the backyard. The things I had to carry along were four bricks, a Kinley water bottle, three Parle-G biscuit packets, the plastic gun that I had bought Achu from the fair and the ten bullets that came with it.
4) Catch a squirrel that had made a cozy house in his easy chair, and thus tickling his back whenever he sat on it.

Since I could not achieve any of the above mentioned, I was declared unfit for duty and dismissed from the forces. Just that Rekha would not allow me to leave. I have to mention here that Major Karunakaran is an expert is fart-attacks.

With my father-in-law upset with me because I did not share his passion for music and the Major having deserted me…I had to rest content with a six inch monster (called Achu). No, I am kidding he is taller than that.

I lost five games of chess to him and in the end had to shell out Rs 150 for a cricket bat. I knew he was a District champion, but what I did not know was, he was left handed. Not wanting to lose, I had asked him to play with his left hand…but as luck would have it…he turned out to be left handed…and kept on winning. Lot of time was spent on the cricket field (that`s the small area Rekha`s father hadn`t planted a tree on). Wonder why Pinky, who was standing as the wicket-keeper always laughed when I got out. Achu was not a great bowler…but I would always get bowled….sometimes the stumps would be found among the coconut trees. Once, we also found them floating inside the well. For those in Chennai, a well is something that you can draw water from…hope you know water…the colorless, odorless, formless liquid?

The smart dude that I am, I realized I was being cheated by these two wonder kids (I call them so because their teachers wonder if they will ever pass the final exam). But pity, I could not scold them or beat them…for every time I raised my voice I would see Chandrashekaran Nair, standing there analyzing my every move. I would just bend over, and pat the kids on the back and say: “Nice cheating. This one is better than the earlier trick. Keep it up,” and go on to fetch the ball from among the tapioca shrub.

In the last scene of the movie …I am walking into the sunset looking for a ball hit by Achu for a six.

Foot Note: Like I said, the five days were full of fun-filled activities…that I would not resort to again. Rekha is actually looking out for July 3rd – that`s her father`s 60th birthday. Wonder, what all I will have to endure during that visit. The silver lining is…the tang tin is over, the mangoes season would be over, I won`t have to buy a cricket bat (it would still be around), I know Achu is left handed, Major Karunakaran`s farts would have driven away the squirrels from his easy chair and Pinky would have finished her finals so no questions on peptide bonds and amino acids.

Categories
Uncategorized

Double Income No Kids (DINK)

A friend of mine who heads the Features Desk, The New Indian Express, Bangalore has written an article on the DINK issue. It is quite an entertaining piece by R Krishnakumar – himself quite an interesting personality. To give an example, we once unearthed an Old Monk quarter bottle from his office draw.

And now the surprise – On reading the article you will know why Rekha and I don`t have kids yet. 😉

There is no other reason. Promise.

Click Here to read Dinky Little Issue

Categories
Uncategorized

A Gentleman’s guide to your wife’s sari

OK, I accept I iron her clothes. Who doesn`t? Just because I don`t have the courage to take her head-on and fight for my rights, you can`t call me a coward. I am quite a brave guy. The other day, I even helped a cat come down a tree. Not to mention, the Red and White Bravery award I got when I was all of ten years old. It is another thing that I refused to climb the Elephant on which I was to be paraded during the Republic Day parade. Guess, I was scared.

Talking of ladies clothes, I can safely (and unashamedly) say that I am now an expert. I might not have the intricate knowledge required to be become a Ritu Beri (and to top it, she is a lady) but I sure can hold my own in a world of hen-pecked husbands. Wonder why we men are known as hen-pecked. I have never seen a hen peck her husband.

The aim of this guide is to help other fellow husbands like me tackle the issue safely. BTW, I am planning on turning ‘Agony Husband` and offer solutions to men suffering from the after-effects of marriage. Simply put, I am planning to help men suffering from a sudden bout of identity crisis.

In this post we will discuss only the Sari.

A very sexy attire. Traditionally Indian. Very laborious to wear (According to a AC Nielsen survey done on 10,000 Indian males, more husbands help their wives in wearing a sari, than removing it. I think, I was the 9,675th husband).

Saris are six meters of pure fun (sometimes cotton, sometimes silk). The material doesn`t matter because whatever tips you read now …you are going to forget it…and one fine day feel a Kancheepuram silk between your right thumb and index finger and say: “Nice cotton…it is so good that it doesn`t even feel like cotton.”

If your wife has decided to wear a sari to office…you better be ready to buy a car. Rekha and I have never been serious about buying a car (it is another thing that we never had money serious enough to buy a car). But in the last six months we must have decided to buy a car, the next day, at least four times. That`s the number of times she has worn a sari to office.

“We need to buy a car,” she would tell me early in the morning.

“Yes Rekha, as you say.” I would meekly surrender even as I keep my face in the newspaper.

“Santro or Zen or anything that is small enough for the two of us,” she says. (More recently it has been Getz)

“Yes Rekha.”

I know it is coming. It is only a matter of time before she breaks the news.

“You know what?” an excited Rekha asks.

“What?”

“Today I am wearing that green sari,” she breaks the biggest news of the day.

She has some 15+ saris and I don`t remember the color of any. I pretend to remember the sari and burst out: “Yeah…that`s a neat one. Last time you wore it…you looked like a Goddess.”

“I did?” A blushing Rekha questions me. She is pretty modest. But I can also notice a spark in her eye that means “Dare to say no!”

I have mentioned here that she has 15+ saris. Wonder if that is a good thing…for I believe the more the number of saris a lady has…the more she is respected in the society. What will all her friends think of her now? Only 15 saris? That is…she would be repeating her saris after every two years and four months? Shame…shame…puppy shame.

Once your wife decides to wear a sari…there are certain things that are understood. You are not getting a decent breakfast…neither is she going to pack lunch for you. She doesn`t want you to drop her…instead will be taking an auto rickshaw. You don`t have to pick her up in the evening because she can`t sit on your stupid two-wheeler (this is the same girl who would have loved your Yamaha, while dating because it provided so much intimacy).

Once decided, she will take an early bath (and that is 6 a.m.) and start the process…matching of the blouse takes half an hour because there is always the other blouse (the one that is the color of the sari`s border) that goes better.

When she starts wearing the sari, a helper/assistant is required. This is when, there is a call “Hello! Anybody home? Can somebody come and help me please?”

I know she is referring to me because there is nobody else in the house…for the next 30 minutes I help her decide the angle, the straight lines, the curves, the folds…blah blah…

She is dressed up like a Barbie by 8.30 a.m. and decides to leave. Just because her sari would crumble…I don`t even get that hug that has been my consolation for the last six weeks. Sob…Sob…I hope Rekha reads this…and gives me a good hug. (God…I should have been in Sales).

Categories
Uncategorized

Narendra Modi – India’s statue of Liberty?

If you don`t know who Narendra Modi is, you might want to visit his site here. And if you know him, I would suggest you stay away.

The whole of last week, this democratically elected representative of India (they want us to believe that) has been in the news because he was denied Visa by US of A. Surprisingly, the whole of India has rallied behind this epitome of religious tolerance. I did not expect so much support for this man – maybe because I am a Hindu religious fanatic. You can never believe men wearing glasses.

Here is a conversation between Narendra Modi and his wife. I don`t know if he is married…or he is staying in with somebody…but he did have this conversation. No, I did not have the luxury of a Video Camera, like India TV had while shooting Shakti Kapoor`s antics.

Scene: Modi`s lawn.
Time: 5.30 p.m.
Act: Tea-time conversation

Modi: Not bad huh?
Lady: Not bad at all. The whole country rallied against the US of A – the world`s only superpower, for somebody like you.
Modi: Are you hinting that it was not worth the effort?
Lady: No. But it sure was foolish.
Modi: Actually, I myself was surprised. The Indian Government ate from my hands.
Lady: By the way, did you see that cartoon in Hindu? It depicts you as the Statue of Liberty of India.
Modi: I wouldn`t blame the cartoonist. Maybe he remembered me torching that train in Godhra…and got inspired.
Lady: So, with all this support do we get to visit America? Your son Surendra wanted to buy those Blackberry to gift on his cousin`s birthday. It seems they are cheap in US.
Modi: We could always try getting a visa a second time. I also need to send a Thank You mail to Manmohan.
Lady: Poor guy. You played the ‘Indian` card and the BJP took over from there. And Manmohan Singh Government could not go against what was labeled as ‘Nationalism` and started supporting you.
Modi: Damn right. I need to do something in return.
Lady: Maybe we could get him a BlackBerry?
Modi: Nah…he is well above all that. We will have to get him a book written by Adam Smith if we want to impress him.
Lady: Now where would you buy all those expensive designer clothes?
Modi: Guess…we could look at all those Exports Garments shops that have sprung up in Ahmedabad.
Lady: The only problem is, most of these shops are in Muslim dominated areas.
Modi: I would rather stay away then.
Lady: I have a feeling US will now try and send spies to Gujarat and disintegrate you. BBC, a British site, has already put up a profile on you that says you have some connections with a poor lady from a Muslim area near Ahmedabad. They claim you married her.
Modi: They do? Don`t they know that I am an old RSS hand and have to maintain celibacy?
Lady: Maybe, you should put it up on your website. Makes for good reading.
Modi: The good thing is BJP is not in power now.
Lady: Why?
Modi: Last time such an insult happened to a democratically elected representative of the Indian Govt…the affected party was George Fernandez…remember he was frisked at the Kennedy Airport and not a soul said anything.
Lady: Anyways…I am only interested to know if we will ever be able to make it to the US. Coz, if we can`t..I might as well visit US with LK Advani. It seems he is flying to New York next Sunday.
Modi: He is? And has he got the visa?
Lady: I heard he has…
Modi: Funny….for I thought more people died as a result of Ram Mandir than those in Godhra.
Lady: I agree with you. US need to standardize its process.
Modi: Ok. I am going to the US Consulate…to apply for visa…you want to come?

Categories
Uncategorized

On why I hate chicken

I am a vegetarian. Don`t ask me why. I don`t want to go through the turmoil all over again. On second thoughts, I might as well tell you. At least…you won`t be addicted to chicken….and in the process lose your life.

This happened well before my marriage, so you won`t find Rekha`s name mentioned in this story. Some break, for me too.

Think I was 25 years old…and I was in love with chicken. No, I did not tell my parents. They would have scolded me….not that they were vegetarians…but they did not like chicken. There was opposition at home. But, I held steadfast…I was in love with chicken…and I would have my way.

When I got up in the morning, I would be thinking of chicken…and when I went to bed, the same thoughts would be on my mind. So much so, I started spending my time looking at it from my study window. I would spend the whole day at the window.

I never had the guts to tell my parents. They would have called me a chicken…but to tell you frankly…I loved chicken. And I wanted to get married to it.

Somehow, on my 26th birthday (that is exactly one year after falling in love with the chicken my mother was rearing in our backyard) I gathered the courage to tell my parents. Initially, they thought I was joking.

After a few days of desperate convincing they agreed to our marriage. Yes…me and a chicken. I know, you probably think how a man can fall in love with a chicken…keep wondering…like I care.

Initially, I hated the chicken. But, because I would be studying in the backyard in the evenings, we met often. I would look away whenever she looked at me…over a period of time, I gathered the courage to look into her eyes. One day, I realized…she was yearning for love. Perhaps, I was her Prince Charming.

I would give her some grains, and she would peck on my hands…those were sweet moments. On some days – like when I had exams – I won`t have time for her and she would start pecking at my sandals….showing her anger…till I gave her some attention.

This went on till, one fine day I decided that I could not live without her. I proposed to her. Surprisingly, she continued pecking at the grains…and then it stuck me…how could a chicken tell me that she was ready for marriage. Chickens don`t talk…or do they?

Once my bewildered parents (one cannot expect to make the whole World happy about one`s choice) were ready for the marriage, I went to her pen (a hen`s house is called a pen).

  • Want to look like Sachin Tendulkar?
  • New Bollywood releases…
  • I was shocked…my chicken had just given birth to an elephant. Yes, an elephant. I am sure, you are as shocked reading this as I was seeing that small elephant crawling out of an egg.

    As if her adventures with the father-elephant were not enough…there was an angry cock (her second boy-friend) ….trying to strangle her. The chicken I once loved, stood there struggling…but I did not go for her help.

    My castles came tumbling down…the she had been three-timing, all the while pretending that she loved me. Ever since, I have hated chicken. After one funeral (yes, I murdered her) and a wedding (with Rekha) I am still a vegetarian.

    This has been written to help you overcome your chicken-eating habit. If you turn vegetarian, you can avoid three things (remember the chicken was three-timing) – unhealthy body, animal-killing and falling in love with chicken!

    Note: The picture that you see on top is the last frame of my relationship with my first love.

    Categories
    Uncategorized

    One for the road

    I have realized that we can drastically improve the transport system of the World…we only need radical thinkers like me and a load of money.

    Instead of some 10,000 bikes and cars burning fuel (and rubber) on the road to move ahead…how would it be if the vehicles stay put and the road moved? Our scientist President could devise a methodology to move the road like an escalator. He can`t always spend time with the children…he needs to work too.

    To start with, only the arterial (or simply put…the main) roads will have this escalator like facility.

    When I start from home, I will use the regular tar roads to reach the escalator-roads and then put my Yamaha on the stand, and sit on it. The other bikers will follow suit. The cars and other vehicles will get onto the road and switch off their vehicles. Imagine the amount of petrol/diesel we would save.

    All this while, the escalator-roads will keep moving forward…at its own speed. If the speed limit on that road is 40 kms/hour it is enough if the operator of the escalator-road follows the rule. We guys just wait for the next stop where we get off the escalator-road and move on to the tar-road.

    This way…besides the fuel costs, we can also cut down on the huge salaries (read Rs 5,000…why do you think they are corrupt?) traffic policemen get. We won`t need the Highway Patrol because nobody would be speeding and hence nobody to chase. The accidents will also be less…so less of Doctors and Nurses…we can save on their salaries too.

    With less of accidents, the Insurance companies won`t have to shell out insurance money to every 10th person. They will definitely stand to gain…and thus would want to sponsor more such roads. It would not occur to them then that if all the roads in the World are safe, why would anybody insure at all? And big insurance companies will start investing in escalator-roads.

    Now, the journey from my house to office takes 45 minutes and I spend so much of my energy trying to avoid hitting other vehicles and trying to chase pretty girls on Kinetic Hondas. All this energy could be better used…probably to write love letters, which I could handover to the girls sitting on Kinetic Hondas, waiting for the escalator-road to reach their office.

    Soon, there would be tea-shops and/or smoke-shops where you can recharge yourself while you are traveling. These shops will do brisk business because the travelers won`t have anything else to do. Eventually, demand for white shirts will come down. Don`t get the connection…it is easy. After all, the escalator-roads would be moving when the people try and have a tea/coffee…and who likes a coffee-stained white shirt?

    The good thing is…there would be no traffic-jams and no man-holes. I would miss them. In fact…all will miss them. It is difficult to be suddenly pulled apart from something you have lived with for 30 years.

    There will be no traffic lights too. The existing ones will be pulled apart by the street urchins and sold to the kabadi wala. The remaining will be termed historic monuments by the Archaeological Society of India. Soon we would have functions where the President of India and the Prime Minister come and lay wreaths at the traffic lights in memory of all those that lost their lives in the days of the tar-roads.

    The escalator-roads would become popular with the users and soon the tar-roads will become extinct. Remember, the Insurance companies are investing in escalator-roads?
    All the roads would now travel, and people will bring their bikes and cars and wait for the roads to reach their destination…after which they would roll out in their cars/bikes and reach home.

    This would continue for more than 50 years …and one day some radical thinker like me would write an article on why the people don`t need cars and bikes (and other vehicles) to travel by road. If they have to just sit, why do they need cars…won`t wooden chairs do?