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Reporting from inside Laloo Prasad’s property

Continuing the tradition of live commentary – in ‘as is, where is’ condition – Ouchmytoe brings you life inside a 3rd AC compartment at 10.30 in the night.

Before the commentary begins, let me tell you that working on a laptop in a train has been my life long ambition for the last two years. It all began when a young software professional, whom I considered to be dumber than myself, booted a laptop in Pandyan Express when I was going to Madurai for Diwali. I wouldn’t really have cared, but the sarcastic look he gave me got me. Ever since I have been wanting to buy a laptop. Now that I have been given one by my office I have started coming to the Egmore station in Chennai every evening at 9.30 p.m. to see if the software engineer in question is boarding the Pandyan Express to Madurai.

Cutting to the present, I tried hard to boot my laptop when the others were awake….but couldn’t. Being the gentleman I couldn’t flaunt my laptop in front of the have nots’. Now that everybody is asleep and I have booted my laptop…let me tell you how the insides of a train is at 10.30 p.m…..it is dark.

One would never know. The TTE casually strolls in at 10.30 p.m. – a full half hour after everybody has got into the bedsheets washed on the ghats of a river polluted by the massive steel plant. For the uninitiated TTE doesn’t stand for Totally Tasteless Existence instead means Traveling Ticket Examiner. He wakes everybody up and asks for their tickets. Some fumble and others mumble. I ask the TTE to hold my laptop while I take out ticket out of my pocket. My berth number is 12 and Rekha’s is 9. The Laloo Prssad Yadav’s way of saying man is superior to woman?

As I follow the TTE’s shoes out of our cabin, I see a single Bata shoe under the seating. Where is the other half I wonder? I wake up the owner of the pair who is just getting back to dreamland after swearing at the TTE…he assures me both his shoes are very much there.

“Sir, one of your shoes has been stolen.” I insist.

“I know it hasn’t been. Now, if you let me sleep in peace, please.” I am only guessing that ‘please’ was the last word of his statement coz by then he was inside the bedsheet again.

“No sir, you are highly mistaken. I can only see one of your shoes.

Gentleman, I would appreciate if you don’t disturb me. Here is why you see only one shore of mine – I don’t leave both my shores under the same seat…makes a thief’s job easier. I leave one shoe under each berth.

With the shoe puzzle over, I tried focusing on my laptop but realized the AC was not cold enough. I walked up to the AC person and asked him to increase the chill factor manually.

“Are you a literate or an illiterate? Didn’t you know that AC means Automatic Control and there is nothing manual about it?”

This was my second defeat within half an hour. With nothing to do, I decided to switch on the fan but they didn’t work. I remember, back in those days when the fans didn’t work and we would be sweating it out in the steam engine pulled second class compartments, my father would take out his comb and give the fan blades a push.

I decided to do the same and woke up the gentleman sleeping in the upper berth. He seemed quite a sound sleeper for he had covered his whole head….

“Excuse me sir, can I borrow your comb. I need to rotate the fan blades.”

I got his answer the moment he removed his blanket from his head. He was all bald.

Eventually, I realized my time wasn’t good and went to sleep.

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The Kingfisher Class – Part 2

Since The Kingfisher Class – Part 1 was first written, I have traveled by Kingfisher Airlines twice. On all the three occasions, I had fun. Come be a part of the Kingfisher experience.

Other frequent fliers like me would know that after checking-in the bags and getting the boarding pass, one has to go for the security clearance. I did the same. When the policeman there asked me to empty my pockets and felt me throughout, I asked me: “What are you checking for?”

“Sir, our mandate is simple. Check for bombs.”

I smiled.

“The flight you are traveling by is allowed to carry only 4-5 bombs.”

“What?”

“Don`t panic. I was only referring to the air hostess,” the policemen showed his pan stained teeth as he smiled.

Everything done, it was now time to enter the Boeing. I stood outside for a while and wondered…was I looking good today? Would the air hostesses smile at me?

My guess was right…I am good looking…for two really pretty girls, clad in a red top and an almost-mini skirt smiled at me and said: “Welcome aboard Kingfisher Airlines, Sir.”

“Thanks, and you can call me Jammy.” I responded in my Gregory Peck voice. They didn`t respond. Eccentric behavior.

As I was entering, I noticed a gentleman indulging in brisk business. He had a table and chair placed near the ladder and had a board which said: “Exchange Window for Aisle. Rs 1000/- only.”

My seat was 20D – an aisle seat. After reading the comments left for the earlier piece (read them here), I had realized the importance of aisle seats on such miss-adventures and specifically asked for it.

As soon as I took my seat, the person sitting to my right whispered into my ears: “I am kind of old, can I sit in the aisle seat?”

I remembered hearing such statements earlier. It took me a few seconds to realize that`s what one would get to hear in trains, “Can you sleep in my upper berth please…I can sleep in your lower berth…I am kind of old and my bones are breaking.” I remember once asking the old man: “You sure, you asking me for this berth exchange has got nothing to do with the pretty girl sleeping in the next lower berth?” He had just winked.

I refused to give him my aisle seat. When the negotiations broke down, he was ready to offer Rs 4500/ -for my seat.

Just before the plane was to take off, the captain asked us to wear our seat belts. Maybe, I was too busy watching the air hostess, for I had forgotten to wear the seat belt. The prettiest of them all walked up to me and kept staring at me. I looked at her and said “What?”

“Sir, what did the captain say?”

“How am I to know?”

She looked down at me as she would look at a Pig but it didn`t put me off. After all, I have always believed that PIG when expanded becomes Pretty Indian Guy.

“Sir, please wear your seat belt. We are concerned about your safety.”

My thoughts went racing. Priya – she had her name pinned on her red top – cared about me. Did she love me? Should I propose right away and suggest a marriage in Mumbai. Wasn`t proposal a guy`s job? Was the hair she had tied in a bun behind her head real? So many questions and so few answers….

“I love you. Will you marry me? Please.”

“Sir, this flight has 210 passengers inside and I can assure you that barring the 8 women we have here…all the other passengers are in love with me.”

I didn`t say a word. Didn`t the Greatest of them all, Muhammad Ali once say: Silence is Golden when you can’t think of a good answer.

“Sir, every time we walk down the aisle…we know 200 heads turn. Please don`t do this to us…we are only trying to make a living.”

I couldn`t say a word. She stared at me, I looked away. In such circumstances, it is best to remain quite, look confident and accept defeat. Especially in Kingfisher Airlines where aisle seat or no aisle seat…you will always end up losing your heart to the pretty girls.

Perhaps it was what the Kingfisher air hostess had told me… I didn`t ask for an aisle seat while returning from Mumbai in a Jet Airways flight. The fact that Jet Airways air hostesses aren`t anything great helped in decision making!

Other Must Reads

How beetroot became red
Optimist vs Pessimist
The concept of Birth
Music and I are distant cousins who hate each other

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The Kingfisher Class – Part 1

I never knew red could be such a pretty color. I realized the beauty of the color after seeing the pretty Kingfisher air hostesses clad in red mini skirts with calf muscles like those of Carl Lewis.

As the taxi driver entered the Kamraj Domestic airport in Chennai, I said: “Drop me near the Kingfisher counter.”

He looked at me in the centrally mounted rear view mirror and smiled.

“What?” I asked. Trying to unravel the mystery.

“Sir, you are lucky. You are traveling by Kingfisher Airlines. Is it the first time for you?”

“Yes.”

The driver gave me an I-know-it-all smile and asked: “How long did I take you to save the money?”

“What do you mean?” I had to use up as much time as possible. I was at least 4 hours early – one of the disadvantages of too much onsite travel. In dreams, that is.

“Sir, I once dropped a Kingfisher air hostess in the airport and she looked like an angel. When I inquired around, my fellow taxi-walas said the Kingfisher flights are full of such angels.”

“OK and…”

“So, without my suspecting wife`s knowledge I saved twenty rupees everyday and within a year`s time I had enough money to fly the Kingfisher class. I saw six angels and enjoyed my trip.”

“Am glad you liked the Kingfisher experience.” I wondered what all pleasures the taxi driver had to forego to save all the money.

“Sir, you didn`t answer me yet. How long have you been saving for this trip?”

I found it below my dignity to answer this question. Without as much as glancing at him, I picked up my bags and started walking towards the airport.

After the screening of my bag, I met the first angel. She was at the check-in counter.

“Good morning angel!” I sent in my love-filled wishes.

“Good morning sir.”

“Here is my e-ticket. My boarding pass please?”

“Can I have your photo identity card?”

This always happens with me – more often than not girls give in to the temptation and ask for my photograph.

I took out my passport which had a color photograph of mine and handed it to her. I could see love in her eyes as she stared at my photograph for a long time.

“You can keep it if you want,” the magnanimous Jammy said. It didn`t matter that I would have to file an FIR in a police station saying I had lost my passport and get a duplicate issued. It was trouble worth undergoing for the angel sitting in front of me.

“Sir, this is your passport. You will need it more that us. Anyway, it was only for identification. Any bag you want to check-in?”

“Check in?” I wasn`t sure what she meant.

“Any baggage you want us to carry for you?” She re-phrased her question. Her properly trimmed eye-brows excited me. Her red lipstick seemed to be in place only to arouse me. The blushes on her cheeks intensified when she spoke to me.

“I usually don`t carry baggage….but for you I can make an exception. When would you want to jump into my arms?”

“Excuse me?”

I was about to come up with a smart reply when I saw two huge Kingfisher Male stewards walking towards me and asking in a programmed for trouble makers voice: “Problem here, sir?”

I didn`t utter a word. They stared at me, I looked away. In such circumstances, it is best to remain quite, look confident and accept defeat. Especially in India, where totally unrelated-to-the-incident people wait with fingers crossed to beat up an unsuspecting romantic.

With the two bouncers from Kingfisher Airlines waiting close by, the angel checked in my luggage and gave me the boarding pass.

Part Two will be uploaded shortly and will dwell on what happened inside the Kingfisher Airlines` flight

While you are at it, why don’t you check out this amazing cartoon on airport security. Click Here

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Women – somebody TELL ME what they want

This article was written six years back when I used to work for Indian Express as a sports journalist. Found it in one of my old CDs and thought it was good enough for an Ouchmytoe read (after a bit of editing). Mind you, the names have been changed to avoid lawsuits.

I was new, and was just getting used to the school building & authorities. Before enrolling me in school, my father had extolled its merits. I was in grade ten – a big boy.

Just because he wasn`t great in studies he wanted me to excel (aren`t all pops like that?). What high ambitions, he had.

On my second day at school, a girl walked up to me and said, “I think I love you. Do you love me?” Her name was Babita Krishnamurthy and she was my classmate.

I didn`t remember seeing her in class. I said so. She gave me two days time to think and was gone.

I spoke to a few of my new friends and when she wasn`t looking pointed at her – exactly like Judas at the Last Supper. They convinced me that it would be a good idea to agree.

“But I do not like her. And I do not even know her name,” I protested. “Who cares man,” they shouted in unison.

“Think of all those greeting cards you will get at regular intervals,” Arun said.


“The tasty lunch she would bring from her house,” Rajah exclaimed.

“Those pastries she would buy you from Sundaram Iyengar bakery, Bhoopathy remarked.

“She could also draw paramecium for you on your biology practicals,” Sundaresan chipped in. Sundaresan had a thing for the Biology madam and was always hell bent on impressing her.

The deal was tempting, and when Babita emerged from behind the shadows two days later, I said, “I do”. She was ecstatic.

Seeing her excited, I was a little worried. Probably she expected something from me – if cards, tasty lunches, pastries & paramecium were on my agenda, I was sure she had hers.

“What do you expect from me?” I asked.

“Just be there for me.” She replied.

I did not a sleep that night. Probably she was a canny lady, waiting to pounce on me with her demands when I least expected them. The demands never came.

We started coming to school a little earlier and spent time together. In the evenings, we would go home together. She had a red BSA SLR (a popular model in the early nineties). I had to cross her house to reach mine, but was careful never to go too close to her house. She had said it could be a little dangerous, for her mother was protective. The last boy she had seen her daughter with had lost three of his milk teeth.

We lost count of days and weeks and later months in our blinded love for each other. I got to admit that the more time I spent with her the more in love I was.

Everything was hunky-dory till we went to a movie together. To tell you the truth, there were two other boys accompanying us. I was taking her out, and since she would not come alone, I had to arrange for two more friends to join us. They were happy to help me. I have a feeling it had something to do with the fact that I was paying for their tickets and would get them the customary popcorn too.

We were an hour into the movie and one of the boys whispered into my ears: “Did you hold her hand?”

“What?”

“Did you touch her?” he rephrased his question for my convenience.

An indignant me asked, “No. Why?”

“Act like a man. Touch her. If you do not hold her hand, she would never come out with you again,” he said confidently.

I lost track of the movie from then on. The next one-hour was spent in darkness…not knowing what to do. Being a man quite chaste, I did not hold her hand. I wanted to hold her hand and walk on the green…but only after our marriage.

Eventually, the hormones won. The moment I placed my hand over hers on the armrest, she left the theatre in a huff, and refused to see me. I had to rush behind her. What doesn`t need a mention here is the fact that I had to check with my friends on how the movie ended.

Two days after the movie I got a letter from Babita in which said she could no longer be my girl friend. I was shattered. But as it is in such cases, I could not do anything.

Since then, I have always been confused as to what a woman wants. Even Mel Gibson`s movie failed to register. Guess this is why at 25 I am still a virgin. Well, almost.

*Present: I have been married for 25 months, and still don`t know what women want. Yesterday, Rekha`s friend Pavithra came home and I had clear instructions: “Be good to her. Smile at her. Talk to her.” I did all that…but after Pavithra left, Rekha said: “High time you stopped flirting with my friends.”

Other Stupid Reads

Much married, much harried
Do all married men need mistresses?
Why are married women fatter than the unmarried ones?
When I was in a Pakistani prison…

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Why you shouldn’t work late

On Friday, I reached office at 10 a.m. and left at 3 a.m. the next day. In a single day, I transitioned from a hardly working, to a hard working employee.

Earlier in the day, my boss had asked me to work late and I remember putting up stiff resistance.

I entered a conference room, and closed the glass door.

Wanted: Somebody to work for Ouchmytoe!
Work: Promote Ouchmytoe. How? Will tell you. 2-3 hours of work daily.
Location: Preferably in Chennai.
Remuneration: Good pocket money. More details in person.
Right candidate: A college student who understands the internet.
Contact: jv [DOT] rajan [@] gmail.com

I then pushed the conference table against the wall and piled up all the chairs over it. When my boss tried to reach me on the speaker phone, I cut the cable with my mouth and stood staring at her. As a last resort she started displaying cards with messages for me. Here are some of the display cards she showed me through the glass walls of the conference room – “Give up!” “There is no place to hide” “We have surrounded you on all sides”. I didn`t see the other messages because I closed my eyes after a while.

I guess it was the wrong thing to do, for when I wasn`t looking she roped in the security guys in the office who then entered through the only window in the conference room and pinned me down. Eventually, I was forced to accept the task.

If you have never stayed in office beyond the actual hours, you will probably not know that they wear a deserted look after 6.30 p.m. 

In my case, the whole office was empty by seven. I was all alone. I played music to ease my fear. My speakers started blaring –

Little ghost, little ghost
One I’m scared of the most
Can you scare me up a little bit of love?
I’m the only one that sees you,
And I can’t do much to please you
And it’s not yet time to meet the lord above

I looked at the Winamp and the song playing was titled “Little Ghost” from an album called “Get Behind Me Satan”. I muted the speakers immediately.

Even as I was contemplating what to do next, the security guy who had earlier pinned me down started switching off all the lights.

“Can you leave the lights on please?” I pleaded.

“Sorry sir, my instructions. I have been asked to switch off all lights except the one right above you head.”

“Do you accept bribes? I promise, I don`t have a hidden camera,” I said. I didn`t tell him that I am scared of the dark. Neither did I tell him that when I went to watch the Hindi movie “Bhoot” in Satyam theatre in Chennai, I insisted they keep the lights on.

“Lights will have to go. I am sorry, Sir. By the way, if you are staying late you will have to enter your details in this register.”

He handed me a register. The register had columns for Name, Employee ID, Project, Address & Contact number in came of emergency.

“Why do you need a contact number for emergencies?” I was getting nervous.

“I am not to reveal this, Sir, but some weak employees have died while over working. The contact numbers help us get in touch with the relatives.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes sir. But you needn`t worry. The office doesn`t charge for the cab that delivers the body home.”

After the lights were all switched off the AC was also unplugged. My breathlessness increased. What if all the carbon monoxide I had rejected and exhaled took revenge by poisoning me?

At 3 a.m. on Saturday I finished and sent the ‘work completed` mail. Since I was too tired, I spread some newspapers in the conference room where I was pinned down and went to sleep.

At seven in the morning, I got up to the sounds of a vacuum cleaner sucking at the carpet. Sometimes, work can be like a vacuum cleaner.

Of Ghosts & Offices

Ghosts can`t be seen in the mirror
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead
Buffet dinner with ex-colleagues
Conversation: Osama vs Batman

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Wasn’t cricket supposed to be a man’s game?

Did you know that Ouchmytoe has gone live with a Cricket Blog? If you knew it… great, but if you didn`t know it…don`t even bother….it is just a bunch of links put together for AdSense revenue. 

——X——-X——

Today, I missed the Australian innings of the India vs Australia Champions Trophy match. As usual, Rekha was the culprit. It just isn`t cricket when your wife latches on to the cricket fever and talks all cricket. Whoever said, cricket was a gentleman`s game!

After the Indians had scored 249, the Aussies were just taking the field when Rekha walked into our drawing room. I still wonder why it is called a drawing room – is it because this is the room where all the rich and famous hang their drawings? Anyway, Rekha walked into the room and demanded for the remote.

“Why do you need it? I am watching cricket.” I replied with my eyes still glued to the television. Perhaps because looking at a just-out-of-bed wife isn`t a great sight.

“There is a Mammootty interview on Surya TV and I need to watch it.” For those who don`t know, Mammootty is a movie star in Kerala – the State Rekha belongs. And Surya TV is the one of their popular TV channels.

“Rekha, you know that I love cricket.”

“Rajan, you also know that I love the movie star Mammootty.”

“Since you love me too, why don`t you watch me watch cricket?” When I am angry, I can be nasty.

The problem with wives of two years is that they get nastier when angry. “Since when have you become interested in play?” she smirked even as she completed her question.

Wives can give their husbands a tough time by asking questions which can be interpreted in many ways. Like the proverbial wife question, “Am I fat?”

Anyway, I didn`t answer because I didn`t know which play she was referring to – Cricket? Drama? Or the third type of play which I am sure my wife won`t let me write here. Mind you, the third type of play is not replay.

“Why don`t you answer me?” She was being adamant.

I gathered courage and said: “I don`t reply to silly points.” Wonder why, but I think I had started to show off my cricketing supremacy.

Rekha seemed to take the hint and answered with another cricketing term. She said: “Now you are driving for cover.”

I took my eyes of my wife…I am sure all husbands out there agree that it is hard to think with one`s eyes on one`s wife….and thought about my options. I could bowl the maiden over (that would be my wife) and watch cricket now or I could declare now and be a night watchman and watch the highlights.

“Sorry Rekha, I need to watch this match. I would look like a fool when my boss discusses this in office tomorrow.”

“You are testing my patience. I appeal to you to give me the remote.” This argument was turning out to be like Antakshari. As soon as one had finished, the other had to begin.

“Aren`t you also crossing the boundary?” I demanded to know.

“I have a feeling you are pulling me into a fight.” It was Rekha`s time to demand a clarification.

“If you can just sweep and keep yourself engaged for a good length of time, I wouldn`t pull you into a fight.” I purposefully spoke like an MCP, so that Rekha knows that I am not always cheese but can be chalk too.

“As a last resort you turn into an MCP – huh? Just because I caught you sitting like a duck in front of the TV?”

While I claim to be a stand up comedian in the making, I get upset when somebody makes fun of me. More so if the joker (shouldn`t the person who cracks the joke be called a joker?) calls me a Duck, a Kangaroo or a Kiwi.

“Rekha, duck talk is a strict no. Keep the remote, but don`t call me a duck.”

As always, I had lost this time too. Even as I walked away, I turned and said: “Bye.” Through the corner of my eye, I saw the Indians giving away a leg-bye four to the Australians.

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Seva Cafe – Hats off

Like me, my father has also been a story teller. When young, he told me a story about how one day, somebody told him about a restaurant where one could just eat and get out without paying. Apparently, the restaurant owner would take down your name and address and get the bill amount from your grandson, even if it means waiting for years. Hard of cash, my father visited restaurant, had a full meal and got up to leave. At the exit, a gentleman thrust a bill for Rs 200/- into his face. When an indignant father questioned the authorities, they said: “The least you could do is, pay for your grandfather`s bill!”
Today, the situation isn`t that bad. Seva Café in Ahmedabad is a true and successful experiment where the customer doesn`t pay for himself but for the customer who is going to walk in next. More here  

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Why say “funny jokes”? Aren’t they supposed to be funny?

Yesterday, I got a message from Rakesh Bhandari, a regular Ouchmytoe reader. Ouchmytoe now share it with the junta to generate more smiles per joke.

The Funny Joke

Man: If I want to have a really long life, what do I do?
Doc: Get married.
Man: But how will that help?
Doc: The thought of long life will never come to your mind.

If you have anything funny you want to share, please message me at 0988391221 or mail me at jammy [@] ouchmytoe [dot] com. If you want me to attempt a funny article on any particular topic, leave the topic in the comments. And no…my comments box is not a dust bin!