Ouchmytoe.com

Agreed my Grandmother only did her 4th Grade, but she was an intelligent lady. She worked for Indian International Group (IIG) – then India`s largest insurance group. She worked in the capacity of a stenographer (also known as stenos).

In the days before the bosses started liking their secretaries, the stenos were their favorites. So my Grandma had no problems at the office. I don`t want to reveal more info on my Grandma and upset my Grandpa, who is very net savvy (being a fisherman himself).

As I was saying, she was stationed in a very rowdy area in Jamshedpur (where I was born, and from where I take my first name ‘Jamshed`).

The vice-President of IIG was from Texas – the place where all the cowboys in the World come from, including US President George Bush. When all employees blamed the anti-social elements for not being able to make it to office on time and everyday, the V-P got a brilliant idea.

“Here, shoot whoever stops you from coming to office. And be here in time.” He said handing each employee a country-made revolver.

My Grandma was very kicked about getting a revolver. Her husband had been a Head constable before he turned a fisherman and yet he had only been given a long stick to scare the thieves away.

That evening when she got to the parking lot, she saw four men sitting in her car – an old white Premier Padmini. And even after seeing her, the four men did not budge…they kept on talking. This really put off my Grandma.

In a fit of anger (she had her anger waiting on her nose), she pulled out her newly attained country-made revolver and pointed at the four men.

“Get off the car, you bunch of anti-socials!” She shouted.

The men were surprised, but evacuated and ran for cover. After my Grandma fired a shot in the air, and they all ran helter-skelter and vanished.

After ensuring that it was safe to get into the car my grandma kept all the files in the backseat and took out her keys. She tried inserting the ignition key, but it would not go into the slot at all.

She got out of the car; looked around and spotted another white Premier Padmini parked a few meters away. She walked up to THAT car and tried her key, and it worked. The contended old lady drove to her house.

After four hours, a police inspector and four ashen-faced men rang the bell of my Grandma`s house. When my Grandma opened the door, all the four men pointed at my Grandma and said in unison: “This is the lady who tried to kill us and take away our Padmini Premier today evening!”

My Grandma never went to jail. Promise.

Requested by The devil @ 07:39 pm | Dec 2nd 2004
Topic Suggested: Imagine u r Rekha, n blog abt Jammy!
Mail id: None
Blog: None
(Would ‘The Devil’ want to own up?)

Where do I start? All of sudden, a day seems to have 34 hours. After-effects of marriage. Perhaps.

My day begins at 5.30 a.m. with a cup of tea for the mangled mass of body that has been lying beside me all night.

His Bedroom Orchestra (read snoring) coupled with the flinging-and-flaying of his limbs after every five seconds has ensured that I am sleepy in the morning, but then I have certain responsibilities towards God – I will take care of the less endowed and this is what I am doing at 5.30 a.m. in the morning with a cup of tea in my hand.

He doesn`t brush his teeth before having tea. I am glad we don`t eat dogs in the mornings because they have a very good sense of smell and I am sure they would have gotten upset and bit my husband in his mouth.

After tea, the man slips into coma for half an hour. When questioned he insists he plans for the day`s activity. But I don`t believe the liar.

By six thirty it is time for a visit to the loo, with a newspaper in his left hand. Mind you, he would not even know if I gave him the previous day`s newspaper. He doesn`t care for the Putins and Seers, just that he tries to copy his father-in-law…and that`s my father. What Rajan doesn`t know is, my father takes the newspaper to the loo because in my house in Kerala, we don`t have a door.

By 7.30 he rushes in to the bath with a towel so stiff that it would crack if dropped. Legend has it that he has been using it for the last ten years but I don`t think he has used it to its full potential, for you can also –

1) Commit murder by slitting people`s throats using the sharp edges of this towel.
2) Take a Bank to ransom by showing the guy at the Cash Counter this towel.
3) Carry this towel whenever he travels and show it to the conductor whenever he asks for tickets.
4) Carry it to theatres screening newly released movies so that the crowd at the ticket-counter thins down on seeing him.

When he comes out of the bath, he is all dripping. Reminds me of one of those dirty roadside fountains maintained by the PWD. But I don`t care, for I would see him only for another 30 minutes before I dispatch him to the office.

The time spent on the dining table is torturous. For me.

He cannot butter his toast (but he can butter his bosses at work), neither can he spot the difference between corn flakes and pop-corn. So much so, I once caught him having masala popcorn with milk and sugar and some dry fruits and complaining of the bad corn flakes I had bought.

It is ceasefire for me after 8.30 a.m.

After a good 10 hours at my office, I am back to the normal grind. I hate the wet penguin look he gives me after taking a shot of whiskey from an old bottle that his father gifted him ten months back. I wonder if the bottle will ever get empty. Or does he keep filing it?

I have once asked him about the secret of this never-finishing whiskey bottle.

“Why doesn`t this whiskey bottle get over?”

“Unlike your father, I am a slow drinker.” He replies with a hint of victory in his eyes. But I don`t let him win…

“I have a feeling, you fill it up with whiskey every time the level comes down.”

He tries to show his anger, but I can see a wee bit of fear in his eyes that comes when he is about to be exposed. So I leave a drunk Rajan to ponder over his life and go to bed.

After five minutes of staring in the dark, a wobbly figure walks into the bedroom and snuggles beside me. I know he is my husband, for he feels unnecessarily warm. The warmth reminds me of Travolta, my Labrador retriever. I miss him.

Requested By
Kumar @ 02:51 pm | Nov 29th 2004
I need your blogs on Male-Male relationship and feelings. Thanx.

Sorry guys. Though I have nothing against gays, this post is not about them. This is about ‘male bonding`, which has been dying a natural death. And this post meanders like Narmada…that is…its on no specific topic…so if you are a focused guy/gal in life…stop reading. Other Neanderthals like me, can read on …

In the days of my father, a man had many other men as friends. And one among them would be his bosom pal. He would be the guy with whom everything would be shared – sometimes even that blue, cotton undies my father bought each time he visited the city.

But then those were the days. Yesterday, I was speaking to a class one student and he says he has a girl friend. I would not want to mention their names for want of privacy, but I am telling the truth.

“But you are a boy, why is your best friend a girl.” I ask the five-year-old.

“What will others think if I hang around with the boys? And anyways, a man is only half complete without a girl friend.”

Guess, he was inspired by the Raymond advertisement in which every male model comes with a lady in his arms, and the punch line goes: Raymond…For the Complete Man.

The innocent male bonding that we would indulge in as youngsters is no longer available. And the art of learning the different uses of beer, cigarette, manikchand and playing cards has forever been lost. Today, young men team up with young women and form a bonding.

You might wonder if I am being jealous here…for I am married and struck with one woman all my life. But believe me, I am not at all jealous looking at those long-legged, heavy busted, blondes that go around with handsome men like me.

I spoke to one dude nicknamed Romeo. Legend has it that he has never spent a rupee on any man, but has lost a fortune buying things for ladies and impressing them.

“Why not a man for a friend?” I ask.

“What would I get out of a man? I would get some advice, some A-jokes and some body odor. But this lady here hugs me and consoles me whenever I am sad…and I am sad most of the time.” He winks.

Looked like the Romeo was having a ball of a time. I pulled his lady-friend across and ask her: “So, how is it having a man-friend instead of a lady-friend?”

“Most of time he talks of bikes and cars. And when he is not talking of them, he talks of himself. But it is fine till he accompanies me for shopping and drops me back home.” She knew her man-management.

Amidst the storm, my father is the calm. He still believes a man needs another man for company.

“But papa, why do you think so?” I ask him.

“Coz, a lady needs balls to be a man.” He replied. Cricket balls or tennis balls, I forgot to ask him.

Once you are married, your transportation costs are bound to increase. When a bachelor, you would have come home after work and just stayed put. But a wife at home ensures that you go visit your friends and better your network.

She might not agree, but she also likes the times when you are away. She could catch up with her ex-boy friends, gossip with the neighbors or read a Cook Book to pass on a recipe as her own later in the day.

There is nothing to worry if your transportation costs are going up, but the moment your wife`s costs are on the up swing…you are doomed.

The first step to avoiding this is marrying somebody who has and knows to ride/drive a vehicle. When you tell the broker, or advertise in the newspaper insist that you are looking for a lady who has a vehicle, who knows to drive/ride it and has a valid license.

Don`t fall for a girl with just a vehicle, like I did. Rekha has a TVS Scooty, but for the life in her she cannot ride. We intend to keep it safely till TVS stops producing the Scootys and then we can auction it on the net for a very high price. Will help us meet our daughter`s wedding expenses, says Rekha.

Like I was saying, girls like to live life king size. The problem is, they want to live so in their husband`s money. When we were newly got married (We got married on Sep 8 and here are the pictures), she wanted me to drop her at her office. I did not want another responsibility and hence asked her to take an auto. The Rs 110 she was spending daily for auto was fine as long as I had peace of mind. As for Rekha, she was happy too.

The cribbing started last week.

“Sweetie pie, have you ever been in an auto at 8.30 a.m. on Mount Road,” Rekha asks.

“No yaar. Never. Why do you ask?”

“It is pathetic. It is hot and dusty and all the smoke gets into the auto. And you sweat like hell.” She said seeking sympathy.

I being a veteran in such warfare, knew when to hold back. “But Rekha, it is the most convenient thing….I mean you get into the auto near our door, and get down at your office. Remember there were days when you would travel by bus?”

Rekha being the master strategist, swerved to the right, avoided me…and continued, “True. But I am now your wife…how can I go by bus.”

“So what do you suggest?” I ask.

“How would it be if we buy a Santro. Priya in my office has bought one. It is Emerald Green and I thought we could also go with the same color.” An excited Rekha is an awesome sight. I cannot stand it.

“What about the money? Who will sponsor the car? Shall we ask your father?”

Rekha jumps up at that and says: “We could cut corners and save some money. I have already decided what I will do to save for the monthly car installment.”

“What?” I ask.

“Once we get a car, I would travel by keeping the window up…so I wont have to use shampoo every day, and I don`t need to visit beauty saloons every week for facials because we will use dark windows. Since I would be traveling in AC, I can wear my clothes for two days…so we save on washing costs too.”

By the way, did I tell you sometimes Rekha could be real funny. Just that she does not know.

Here are some things Rekha wants me to keep in mind this week-end i.e., when she is not here. I wonder if her absence is actually worth the fun.

The list she handed over to me is being re-created verbatim –

1) Pick up the milk from the door, boil it and after it gets cold keep it in the fridge.
2) Pick up the newspaper from the door-mat and bring it inside. It is a un-claimed newspaper that is often the trigger for burglars.
3) Welcome the maid with a smile and help her while she is cleaning the house. Make sure you give her something to eat after she finishes the work. (Wonder if my maid will like a cheese sandwich).
4) Clean the washbasins in both the bathrooms.
5) Clean the Computer table. She believes it is the dust around the comp, that results in virus attacks.
6) Buy vegetables from Foodworld and arrange them in the refrigerator. Have a look inside the fridge and decide what needs to be bought and what does not. And then go ahead and get them.
7) In the evening switch-on all the lights for 30 minutes before switching off the ones that are not required.
8) In the evening, light a diya for God, and make sure it doesn`t extinguish by itself.
9) Before you go to bed, take in all the clothes drying outside.
10) Before going to bed, switch off all the lights and check if all the doors are closed.
11) After you are in bed, think of me…and realize how easy your Sunday would have been had I been with you.

If it is dinner time and you are married, be careful. I repeat, Be Careful. Most men are vulnerable when it is dark. And the women know that.

Some old hag who knew little about the mind of a woman had once said: “The way to a man heart, is through his stomach.” How true, yet…how false. He was right about the stomach part…but he is wrong about the heart coz today`s girls do not want to reach out to the heart.

If your wife/girl friend is treating you nice at dinner…my tip is, have as much fun as possible. Coz it won`t last. Your girl will change as soon as her agenda is over.

Try and have a peg of whiskey. I am sure she will agree, coz she has a bigger one coming after the dinner. Place a request for a smoke in the balcony. She might be a asthma patient, but don`t worry…only good can happen by that smoke. She can only find it difficult to breathe and …

This time around, if you drop a morsel of food on the table she would not mind. She wouldn`t care if you spill some water or if you drop the soup bowl on the concrete floor. For, she is scheming to get you when you are off guard.

It is a WAR. I can assure you she is tense. But she wont let you know. So relax.

This is the time when they generally ask, “So how is the food?”

Pretend as if you never heard it. Coz if you did, you will have to tell her that the soup was bland, the rice is half-cooked, the sambar lacks salt and the subzi is raw. And she would not believe you and there would be a fight.

Just keep on eating. She would ask again: “I asked you something?”

“What?”

“Hows the food?”

“Hooo…it is good.” I finally give up for fear of being starved to death.

“Thanks.” She would say and blush. You can tell by the blood that rushes into her cheeks that she is pretending.

And just when you thought the Tiger Hill (of Kargil war?) has been saved, she comes closer and whispers in your ears: “Honey want a nice massage after dinner?”

If I were you, I would say no. But your wife is not Rekha either, so I am forced to say: “Sure, why not. I am still tired from lifting your stupid father`s banana-stuffed suitcases.”

I always remember to bad-mouth my father-in-law when she needs a favor. That way, I can pull him down and rub his nose in the mud and yet not get beaten.

The dinner ends, and the massage begins. She just wants to rush through it. But I don`t let her do that, after all I cannot say no to her request, which I know is coming soon after the massage.

“There…yeah…yeah…right there …the lower back.” I give her instructions. I know she is grinding her teeth and wants the massage to get over soon. But no. I am the master…

“Honey, My friends and I are going to Munnar this weekend. Only for two days…Saturday and Sunday.” She throws in the towel.

“Hey sure, I can join. Anyways, I am not doing much at office.” I would always love a vacation with her friends…a nice opportunity to show off.

“Actually, its just the girls.” She says. She is sure I will say yes…but she wants to make me feel important…so that I take care of the maid, the milk packets and the newspaper.

“Yeah fine. You go ahead. We can always go to Munnar together later.” She is relieved and so am I. That very moment, I decide to booze away the weekend with my bachelor friends.

Warning: Not all dinner-time request are a blessing in disguise. Sample some of the other ones that I had to face –

– I want to have a baby
– I want to go to the beach tom (it`s the rainy season).
– I want to buy that Levis jean we saw at the Trade Center fair three months back. Can you help me find it?
– My parents are coming tomorrow
– Have you booked tickets for your parent`s trip back home?