Temporary Suspension Of Disbelief !

Namesake - The Ali of Aluva

2008-01-24T10:25:00.001+05:30

Q: Among a group of randomly chosen Mallus, how do you quickly find out which are the ones who have not been born and brought up in Kerala?

Ans: It is quite easy !! Just shout the word “PARTY “ !!!!

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Confused? Ok, here is how it works.

If you are a Mallu but already visualizing a place with music, booze and women …gotcha ! you are a BABU-OK (ie: Born And Brought Up Outside Kerala) , the ubiquitous Non resident Keralite , a species which is soon going to out number the Resident Keralite species given the rates of migration.

But on the other hand; like me, if what you thought of; was a sea of Red Flags, a multitude of white mundu clad leaders moving as a block of people behind a red banner, shouting “Inquilab Zindabad” blocking all the traffic- then well, its elementary – my Dear Watson mone – you are a "Pakka Mallu Born And Brought Up In The Heart Of God’s Own Country!!!! (PM BABU IT HOGOC– Ok ,guess I'm not the best of acronym makers )
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I’m picking up a long lost tag to write about my hometown.

But then, it’s not all that easy for me to write a chronicle of my town. Maybe it is because nothing too interesting probably ever happened there. I guess I could call it a sleepy town but then Mom would say I was the one who was sleepy most of the time. Much like that proverbial story of the 6 blind men feeling an elephant (or should I say Visually Challenged persons analyzing a Pachyderm to be politically correct); well, the point is that - it’s basically about perspective. You could grow up in the same town as another guy, even in the same neighborhood and around the same time, but you might have absolutely different memories of how the place used to be. And Mom thinks I never got out of the house enough to tell stories of anyone who lived in the neighborhood. So I’d tell a few stories where I was personally involved and not really try to record how the town used to be.

Here is the first one of the series…

My town was called Alwaye - “was” because somewhere down the line, the name is changed to “Aluva” in a wave of “Malayalamization of every town” but somehow that neither did amazing things to the place’s economy or particularly put the place in the world map. Guess it was all a conspiracy of the paint companies who made a fortune changing the sign boards everywhere. Guess, Aluva was too short to make money –I believe they made maximum when they changed from “Trivandrum” to “Thiru vanantha…(huff puff) puram”.

Growing up in a small town in Kerala has its disadvantages. First of all, you never realize that all the land around you is supposed to be beautiful or any such big deal. That happens only when you become an NRI and then desparately need something to be nostalgic about. That’s when you rue about all those erstwhile paddy fields – now converted to a block of flats; the river which flows by where you used to swim during your summer vacations- currently endorsed by Dermatologists due to the level of pollution & even your dad’s Bajaj scooter with a maximum capacity of 5 – all trigger off wave upon wave of nostalgia. But at that time we probably felt it was not so happening, as the city. And the city meant Cochin 20 km away and that’s where my happening cousins stayed.

Alwaye was rather cosmopolitan and multicultural – now don’t expect that it mean Albanians, Mexicans, Ugandans and Eskimos living side by side in adjacent houses. It just means that all the 3 representative religions co-existing just as they said in the “India- Unity in Diversity” chapter of the Social Studies textbook. That meant we got the Mutton Curry and Pathiri at Id from the neighbors though we'd soon ge have to reciprocate with Mum giving away a portion of my favorite Appam, Stew and Cutlets to the same neighbors at X’mas.

And it meant that like good Mallus, we all faithfully celebrated Onam in its spirit – sitting cross-legged in a yogic pose on the floor for the sumptuous pure Vegetarian Onam lunch on a Banana leaf.

Anyway, this story probably happened when I was 5 or 6, well, I happened to hear of this boxer named “Muhammad Ali”. . Well, I say “boxer” now because now I know him to be a three-time-World Heavy Weight Champion previously named Cassius Clay who used to “Float like a Butterfly and Sting like a Bee”. But back then I guess I just knew he was an “Idikkaran” –( “idi” – a blow with a closed fist, “kkaran”- a person who does the above).

From what I remember, it all happened as follows. Schoolboy conversations would usually revolve around who would be knock out who, if Tarzan fought Mammooty, Phantom fought Nazeer or if Bruce Lee fought Amitabh Bacchhan. (Yeah if you notice, one could easily transcend the fictional-non-fictional divide at that age)

But then this kid talked confidently of someone named Mohammed Ali who can knock down any of the above…even if all attacked him at the same time !!

We were all in awe though I was still sure the Phantom could knock this new guy down too! He’ll leave a Death head mark on his chin too like everyone else got. But I was curious. I didn’t have any clue how this Mohammed Ali looked like, but this kid’s uncle had apparently seen him in Dubai. He was as big as a building and wore gloves that contained granite stones in them, so that the unlucky bugger, who got hit, really stayed hit!

Hadn’t seen any picture of him but somewhere down the line, someone convinced me that he was the same guy in the boxing page of the Olympics themed calendar which some relative had got from abroad. Couldn’t judge how big he was but did look menacing enough; and yeah he had “gloves” on .

And then one day, I heard the big news – you wont believe it

“ Muhammed Ali was fighting someone named Subramanian Potti" !!!

That too, right there in Alwaye !!! That was curious. I'd never seen any movie of this guy Subramanian Potti and neither did he appear in any comics. The only Indian sounding guy in comics was an Orange Kurta clad Bahadur of Indrajal comics.

I was already imagining a boxing ring , Ali landing a 300 kilo punch right on a hapless Subrahmanian Potti's nose. Maybe we could buy tickets and go for this one ..hmm.

But then things got more confusing..

I got to know that they were going to fight in something called the ”election” !!! Now I didn’t know what exactly this election thingy was. I knew that Mom and Dad go for something called “voting” and returns with a “ink mark” on the index finger. Something, which we replicate with a fountain pen to impress the classmates the next day. (Well you mightve noticed that the coolness factor is also politically influenced if you live in such a politically aware state )

Also I knew there were something called “Congressukaar” and the “Communistukaar”. .For a long while I tried to ascertain who are the good guys and who are the baddies. Mom told me Congress was good and the Communist was bad, what with too many weapons right on their flag. And it was in Red – too violent! She knew it right from the church sermons that anyone who voted Communist are headed for eternal damnation. (hehe , guess she was right about that considering the state of affairs nowadays) However, my best friend in school was of the opposite opinion. This “Palm of a hand” (kaipatthi) was not too impressive, on the other “hand” if someone tried to attack you, you could use the Hammer or the Sickle till they saw stars.. Now that; was logical. When you are talking comic book graphics you usually make sense.

But all said and done, how exactly this entire thing connect to the fight between Mohammed Ali and Subramanian Potti?? Such an extremely confusing situation!

The campaign was in full force. Lit up jeeps crisscrossed across the town , and all walls were covered with either Mohammed Ali's or Mr. Potti's name.And then one day I heard it from the loud speakers attached to the jeep covered with election posters.

“Muhammed Ali” was actually coming right to the junction right next to my house. A dream come true! My mind was filled with questions. Will he be wearing that granite stone filled gloves? Will he knock down someone with a fluent “Disshhyooom”? Maybe if he is as big as a building maybe he will need to sit on top of the Car Workshop at the junction. It might just crumble under his weight and smash all the cars below! And what if the glass from all the cars pricks this Mohammed Ali in his behind? The entire situation had several exciting possibilities.

I begged someone to take me for the meeting . Finally Dad agreed. He was a bit rather confused about my undue enthusiasm for the Congress candidate.

The junction was full of people. I couldn’t see what was happening but something interesting was definitely going on. I pestered him to lift me up so I could see the stage. Finally, he lifted me on his shoulders… I couldn’t contain my excitement.I hadnt seen Phantom or Tarzan yet, but I was going to see Mohammed ali in flesh and blood!!

But however hard I looked; I could only see a sea of thick moustached guys in white shirts and mundus. There was some mistake. He wouldn’t be too difficult to spot if he was as tall as a building. But then, on that dais there was none who remotely looked like the guy in the calendar.

Then someone put a heavy garland on one random guy’s neck and everyone else applauded. The air was filled with “Mohammedaali keee jaaiii”. slogans.

“Well and good, but where is Mohammedali????!!” I asked my dad.

“Right there in the middle, look he’s the one waving! “ he replied...

“Him????!!!!”

I’d never been so disappointed in my life. My friend was a liar! Probably he'd lied even when he confided in me that he himself was the guy who played James Bond after having a medicine that made him grow.( He had clarified that there was a kissing scene but it was a camera trick and he never got close to any woman, coz he didnt want to be outcasted because of that )

Because, this guy Muhammedali was no big deal. He was not even wearing those granite gloves. Just as big as everyone else and wearing a white mundu and shirt with a thick moustache as everyone else.He could even sit in a normal chair ! So much for all those high hopes..Bah !

And I was sure of just one thing. Phantom could DEFINITELY whip him with ease !!!!

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Epilogue: (like they do in the end of “Based on True story” Hollywood movies)

1. Alwaye has actually once significantly figured in history. When Tipu Sultan was camping near the Alwaye River during his Travancore invasion and had his horses and men washed away in the sudden floods effectively ending his campaign. If that hadn’t happened, probably the history of Kerala would’ve been much different.

2. Mohammedali the Congress candidate has won from Alwaye seat several times. Guess he is still in the political scene. Alwaye is generally a Congress bastion.

3. Muhammad Ali the boxer retired around 1981, maybe my story would have taken place a couple of yrs around that time.

4. The friend I mentioned is an aspiring actor now I hear. He starred in a Malayalam movie last year - we’re not in touch though

Losto in Translationo- From Kathakali to Katakana

2007-07-03T19:18:00.000+05:30

"We have to do a Gap Analysis on the previously done Requirement gathering and ....................."

The boss froze.. "Earthquake???"

"Is it, I didn’t feel anything!!" I asked and also stopped unconsciously tapping my foot against his chair.
“I’m sure I felt something !!” He insisted….

We both listened for a minute and he concluded it had stopped quaking.... Of course, I didnt move my foot again either :-)
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Another day in Sushi land, and I have hardly felt those famed earthquakes yet, a couple of times I was sure there were tremors but others felt it was just a strong wind or too much alcohol in the bloodstream.

But well, this post is not about earthquakes, but it is about the greatest threat to life in Japan for any foreigner......... ie: the Japanese Language !! The squiggly figures of Japanese language and their implications are the greatest mysteries to anyone who lands here. Whereas you can survive here even without knowing a single word of Japanese, there are often moments of immense frustration where you desparately construct Japanese words adding "o" or "u" to the English, Hindi or even the Malayalam words i know. There are guys who used soap powder instead of salt in the curry , or aji-no-motto instead of sugar as the shopkeeper didnt exactly understand the requirement.

Me too used to be a part of the clan till recently , but then wait, its been 6 months here in Tokyo for me; and "Times,they're a-changing.....!!!" Here I'd like to say that the days of elaborate dumbcharades (Kathakali as Mallus would put it) to explain even something simple like "I didnt order this weird dish with strange things floating in it, and can I have a sandwich instead mebbe " – are slowly getting over.

The reason?? Japanese lessons.Yes, I'm beginning to be enlightened!! The cheapest way to learn Japanese in Tokyo is to join one of the classes offered by the City Ward offices. And of course that’s what I did. At just 7000 yen (Rs 2500 odd) you get 20 odd sessions @ 2hrs a class and 2 days a week.

Each class of Learning Japanese is like an episode of "Mind your Language" what with students from varied nationalities. There is a shavenheaded Turkish artist who looks like Bollywood villain Bob Cristo, a trio of un-smiling Myanmarian family with rhyming double first names like Myint Myint, Rin Tin etc , a Norwegian photojournalist who has traveled 55 countries, an English pantomime artist who might strike a pose mid-class, a Serbian Babysitter, a dreadlocked Brit DJ who is a fan of Amritanandamayi, a few Filipino beauties, An English teacher from NY, an Iraqi Telecommunication engineer who never learnt any Japanese despite being here for 15 years , and the usual Indian software guys slogging here for their Japanese bosses.

And together we do to the Japanese language what the Japanese do to English :-)

Absolute Mayhem !

For example last day someone exclaimed "Kono air-con wa warai desu" (that airconditioner is laughing!!!) (ok cant blame him ,"Warui"- would have meant That a/c is bad"). And " Watashi wa kyo terebi sutte to omoimasu" I think I will smoke a TV today....

Everyday I'm learning new words. Just last day I learned that Jiten-sha was not just a Gujju name, it means " bicycle" hereabouts. Also "Sumimasen" though it sounds like Srinivasan's brother ,is the essential "Excuse me". And kuruma does not need a prefix "veg" and instead could use Toyota, as it means car!!!

You might have noticed already; these guys are pretty convinced on having hardcore Japanese names for just about anything. But then; you ain’t seen anything yet. Can you guess what a plasma TV is called in Japanese? A “ Kabekake-ekisho-terebi”!! Even when you have got enough money to buy a Plasma TV, you have to actually say it to buy one. And a dishwasher is a shoki-jido-senjoki. Would you rather wash dishes by hand or learn that up?

Writing the language is another story. It is a mix of 3 sets of alphabets which makes the task real complicated. At the current speed, a page of a Japanese newspaper could provide me enough reading material for a month!!! I mean the 30% of that which I can read.

Well, the funny thing is Japanese could have been entirely written with the series of alphabets called Hiragana - but then they weren’t content with that. They devised another set of words called Katakana to write all the words derived from English and other foreign languages. Now that makes a total of 110 odd alphabets which is still conquerable with a bit of effort. Well ahem, It took me just 2-3 weeks to master the same. Though I struggle with writing a bit, I guess I manage reading pretty fast. Alas, the story is not over....

Displaying an incredible propensity for masochism they use an elaborate Chinese derived series of pictorial symbols called Kanji numbering around 5000!! Although they say only 1000 odd are in common use, learning even these is a really tough task. It works this way- when kids start learning they write everything in Hiragana and as they learn more kanji, they substitute the Hiragana with Kanji and become sophisticated. It is supposed to make things easier, by pictorially representing some alphabets but then again sometimes I see there is a entire long word which is substituted by a couple of Kanjis, but then there are other times when a wee little word is written via 2 or 3 of these complicated heiroglyphics making you wonder what is the point of the entire exercise. To add to the conundrum each of these Kanjis has two or three sounds associated with it as well as 2 or 3 meanings. And so, if you ask me, for all the atrocities Japan has done in China; this seems to be root cause !!!

Apart from the communication part, the biggest concern of an Indian techie coming to Japan is the prevailing notion of incredibly long working hours. The image of an average Japanese salary man is one who is in office by 8 am and leaves only by 11 pm!! The Indian techies working for their Japanese bosses also often have to follow the same timings. Once I met a very Japanese looking guy in a lift who suddenly smiled and asked "Hi, Kahan se ho?" !! Turned out he was a techie from Delhi but as he hadn’t left office for 2 days ☺ his eyes looked quite Japanese,. This part usually depends and as far as I’ve seen, the conditions in MNCs are usually better….

Talking of busy people I have seen only group of people who are absolutely relaxed in Japan. That would be the local police. I guess if they ever made a police series in Japan in the lines of NYPD blues or COPS it is going to be the most insomnia-curing series ever telecast. There seems to be hardly any crime around and probably a NY Cop sees as much action in one hour as a Tokyo cop would do in his entire career. I’ve hardly seen a police car here and an average Japanese cop is a slight bespectacled guy on a bicycle who may not hurt any one even in a video game. Even the people in Wanted posters look so gentle like well , everyone else.....

And this brings me to that eternal question which I’m fed up of being asked by friends back in India; and I suspect, is asked to whoever going to China, Japan, Korea and so on. And that of course is “ How do you tell the people there apart? Everyone looks exactly the same!!” And so the last time I answered “Precisely!!! Here’s how they solved it in Japan being so technologically advanced. Everyone has a barcode assigned to himself/ herself and has it tattooed on their arms. Everyone carries a bar code reader too. So in case you don’t recognize someone, you hold the barcode reader against the other person’s arm and beep all his details appear on your reader”

Honestly, people!!!!!! ;-))

Leaving you now with a clip from the movie “Lost in Translation” (after which my travelogue posts are named) which shows the “What the hell was it…??” sort of feeling experienced by an American actor (Bill Murray) who has come to Japan for shooting a Whisky ad. This clipping is one of the most hilarious moments from the movie....

Losto in Translationo - Part 4 - Must have accessory spotted

2007-06-10T08:57:00.000+05:30

Paris Hilton wannabes take note! Here is the ultimate fashion accessory to enhance your reputation of being in tune with the edgiest of fashion. I spotted this at an exotic accessories shop in a High fashion mall in Yokohama.

Curious....last time i saw something like this was in the hands of a Tam Pappadam seller in my hometown..

Losto in Translationo - Part 3 - Spotted in Sushi land

2007-06-02T16:24:00.000+05:30

Been quite some time since I posted anything here.

Well, have been travelling around in the weekends a lot. And, roaming around in Japan armed with a cam (sometimes mobile cam) allows you to get some hilarious samples of Japanese English..or as the locals say "Engirisu". These are everywhere- on the tshirts, on menus and just everywhere. There is actually a website dedicated to these outrageous samples of English in Japan (www.engrish.com). Here are my contributions which could qualify for the same. More later...

(Thought I'll put up some snaps and keep the blog alive till i find something to write about :-))

Sign on the bathroom door of an inn in Nikko. Guess there is an option to sing :-)) a la Hera Pheri/ RamjiRao Speaking :-))

Well, the chef is a rather arrogant guy if you ask me .

Thats would be about 4'o clock Beijing time I guess

My ad-Venture

2007-03-09T21:12:00.000+05:30

Not about any adventures in sushi-land this time but this is a plug for my other blog adMad- a site for International Ads and Brand Trivia.

Had once thought I'll be doing some groundbreaking work in advertising but doesnt look like its ever gonna happen ever. :-( So thought at least will feature and discuss some groundbreaking work already in the the adworld.

My pal Jithu has been running this site for some time now and so we've already got a great archive of excellent Print Ads sorted brandwise. I've joined this now and we have turned this into an ads-cum-brand trivia site. And another attraction is that will be carrying video ads too. We also post a Brand Trivia question daily on the brand whose ad we're gonna put up the next day. Might be useful for your Brand Equity Quiz preparation too , so do try answer it at the comments section and we will be putting up your name (and ur blog link if u have one) on the site if you get it right. You can expect the best of international ad campaigns here .So do take a look and hope you do add it your favorites..

The URL is as follows

www.creativeads.blogspot.com

This is also linked on the top left of this blog. Lemme know what you think of it at 2creativeads@gmail.com. Suggestions are definitely welcome too :-)))

Losto in translationo Part 2 - A day in the life of ....

2007-02-27T17:26:00.000+05:30

It couldn’t be my alarm clock already !!!!

I'd hardly shut my eyes.. The persistent weird tune woke me from my dreamfilled stupor !!
Reluctantly, I pressed the pause button on the dream i was seeing and semi-opened my eyes. The clock was showing 3am.. After a few seconds of absolute incomprehension i figured it must be the phone. Now who could be calling me at this time? I hunt for the phone from the 6-7 similar shaped devices on the table lying on the table …TV remote, AC remote, bar of soap, Beer Can….and then I remember phone had a cradle. I pick it up.

" Hello??"

The caller " something in Rapid Japanese"

I said "Sorry wrong number" and kept the phone.

I lay down again on my bed and pressed, "Play" on the dream sequence. Too good to last. The phone rings again. Muttering under my breath I cut the call, remove it off the cradle and go back to bed. Almost immediately it rang again.

Lesson Learned - No point removing a cordless phone off its cradle!!!!

"Hello??" i ask politely while gritting my teeth. The caller " Something in even more Rapid Japanese" but i catch something like Sandeepo san, plocesso and something called OC-aah.

It slowly dawns on me- the guy is looking for someone in Tech Support for some OCR process. Having been in Investment Banking Ops earlier I understood the predicament of someone looking for Tech Support guy in the face of a huge crisis. This could be important. This might cause a major crisis in the Stock Markets tomorrow. A company might go bankrupt. People might lose jobs. All because some payment did not go thru and this couldn’t be prevented because the Tech Support guy couldn’t be reached at the given number. I could not live with such guilt for the rest of my life!! But what can a Business Consultant do for Tech Support? The person he was looking for would have been staying in my apt earlier and they had the number in the emergency contact list.

Ok, I figured out so much, but how do I convey this? I remembered the Japanese word for Phone number was Bango. So i tried the best Japanese I could manage "Wrongo bango. Sandeepo san doesnt stay here any moro."

The caller " something in bewildered Rapid Japanese ???"

Me "This is a Hoter-o ( I hope that would mean a hotel) . I stay hereo . My roomo. Sandeepo sano no stayo. Manassilayodo?- that last part in my mothertongue ;-)

I slammed the phone this time. Didnt care about any company going bankrupt. My sleepo is more importanto .

But I dont get sleep for another hour now. The phone rings a couple of times more but I dont pick the phone. My sleep is really screwed up. But at 7am, the merciless alarmclock wakes me up. I'm as groggy as a punchdrunk boxer after 9 rounds of fighting, but somehow drag myself to get out of bed and go to office.

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It's a five minutes walk to the Osaki station. Then catch the Rinkai line. The rush hour is at 8-8:30 am range - and though its not exactly Virar fast (Mumbaiites can relate to this) the rush is pretty bad. I go at 8:45 to strategically avoid the rush. People do queue up at times to board a train and allow people to get out first (Mumbaiites cannot relate to this ;-) ). Tennozu Isle (Tennnnn -Oh- zoooo Airu -as per the announcements) wher my office is at, is on area reclaimed from the sea. I'm sleepy thru out the day...
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I was determined to find a solution to the “Tech Support Issue”. I met my "Japanese language expert" friend at the cafeteria. Asked him how to “politely” say "You have a wrong number" in Japanese. "Thats simple" He responded. You say "..................................................................................."He completed a sentence that took around two and a half minutes to complete. I gave up. I'd rather learn Tech Support than learn that by heart. "Ok, how do i say that without being particularly polite??" - politeness be damned!

“Hmm, you can say Chi-gao denwa bango” he said.

Good, short and sweet! That I can remember!
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Getting out of the office happens only around 8pm. My walk to Shinagawa station passes thru 2 bridges across the canal providing a picturesque view of the skyscrapers around. Shinagawa station is really huge, something like Grand Central NY according to my NY returned friend. Aa huge structure with several platforms, shops and restaurants. There’s even a Nepali run Indian restaurant at the station called Sitar. Of course, with my amazing cooking skills I don’t need to rely on any Nepali for an evening meal. So I walk on.

My journey back from office takes exactly 35 minutes. I reach home. Dear readers; this abode of mine, is a sterling example of space optimization. I’ll tell you how this works. Take an average sized PVC pipe. Divide its interior into a “Barbie doll accessories set-size” Kitchen, Bedroom, Shower and Loo.. Install a TV, DVD player, Microwave, fax machine, Washing Machine and dryer in the remaining space – and voila! You have my apartment. Space becomes a issue if you are trying to cook. Storage space is premium and flat surfaces tend to attract stuff. So, what if the pickles jar is on the Fax machine and the Rice cooker on the Washing machine? What if the cornflakes packets line the outside of the Shower room wall? This is a pretty comfortable home for me now.

I switch on the TV and surf the channels. The govt channels are some 11 in number, predictably only Japanese. In fact, even with Cable TV there are only a few in English. However, there are 4 channels, which show English movies, sometimes Japanese dubbed but not always. However, trailers are always in Japanase. In the last month, I’ve seen several Horrywuddu movies such as Dai Hardo, Joorasic Parko and Waaaird Waaaird Westo. Also there’s CNN and BBC to quote the latest tally from Iraq. MTV seems to have 99% Japanese content with some hiphop thrown in at some time. As the soulful Love songs in Japanese pregnant with feelings and emotions are lost on me, I go check out the Sports channels. Baseball, Basketball, Golf and American Football. Got to work out something by the time World Cup starts in March. Here is a country totally Americanized sports wise.

Well, but then you have the Internet for entertainment. A lightning fast connection is something you appreciate if you have waited hours for a download via a BSNL line. The advantage? Streaming content – without much buffering. Youtube has most of the KBC 3 episodes uploaded so managed to catch up on those. Also most Indian Hindi channels are streamed online so that no Software engineer’s wife would miss her daily dose of the Saas bahu capers.. Also, the news channels such as CNN-IBN, NDTV, and Times Now have streamed content so that you can track what is the latest on Abhishek and Aishwarya.

I fix up my dinner- Japanese salmon fried in specially imported Kerala Fish Masala . Awesome!! I salute my own cooking skills, then call wife to report on the success of the same (I ‘ve to keep this on for another month before she joins me here). I check my blog; comment on a few others and go to bed.

2:30 am…..Dejavu! The phone rings. It is the one for Sandeepo san. I almost forget my lines. “Chiii-……….errrr???? “gooo” What was it??"

I manage to remember in the nick of time

“CHI - GAVO DENWA BANGO!!!” I shout it into the phone triumphantly.

”Oh, I hav the wlong number??” he replies…. in English.

I slam the phone….

PS: Sandeepo san, whoever you are - if you are reading this- please update your contact number at your company

PPS: If any of you know any Sandeep or anyone who might call himself Sandeepo when in Tokyo, (u never know) ask him to do the above urgently.

PPPS: This was just a weekday. Await more travelogues on my weekend trips

West Side Story- Misadventures of a Desi Software Casanova in Yankeeland

2007-02-09T18:05:00.000+05:30

(While the next report from Tokyo is shaping up, enjoy this anecdote from a friend..of course the masala and special effects are by flaashgordon)

This did not happen to me. Neither did it happen to someone I know. And I heard it from someone I had no business of hearing it from................

Ok enough of crap, just know that this is just an anecdote out of the anecdotal Pandora’s box which opens when there are a couple of old friends meeting up, are a couple of drinks down and are swapping stories…

Anyway…here’s the story.......

“There was this Software guy who went onsite to the US“ … Can hear your collective groans “Aww, not another one”. Are Software guy jokes are more common than the Sardar jokes in Bangalore nowadays? Ok, anyway I can’t help it if he went onsite. .

Anyway, this man was different. He was not the usual who vows to live onsite on just one dollar a day, have only Puliogre or Thairsadam everyday and save the rest. This one, for starters was a stud mallu Casanova who used to make the hearts of every babe in office go flutter (Disclaimer 1: This was probably his own opinion ...Disclaimer 2: The definition of a babe in a Software company is “ anyone who fills “F” in the gender column of the Application form”)…. ….

Well, our man had watched enough movies to get a fairly accurate picture of America as a place where women generally dress in Baywatch gear and guys could pick’em up at any bar/pub just by saying……… “Bond, James Bond”.

And so, he had his task cut out…. He wasn’t going to miss any “opportunity” when it presented itself, and was on the lookout right from the time he boarded the plane. Unfortunately for the man though, most of the intricacies of the Queen’s language were still a mystery to him

The AI flight out of Bangalore was eventless, the Airhostess too old and his neighbor was another software guy. Our man hence concentrated on the next best thing about International flights ie: Free Booze… By the time he reached NY, he had done reasonable justice to Kerala’s "highest per-capita consumption of Alcohol" statistic...But well man doesn't live by whisky alone...

He hoped for better luck in the transit flight from NY. Our man entered the aircraft and found his seat. The next seat was empty. A “gorgeous blonde” entered the plane. Our man held his breath. She paused near his seat. The man fervently prayed to all the gods he knew. She smiled, checked her ticket and sat down beside him. Our man’s heartbeats quickened. He pretended to stare out of the window while strategizing furiously. Scenarios, Alternate Scenarios, Counter Scenarios. The conversation Opener, follow-up, clincher. He didn’t even realize it when the flight took off…

“Sir........” he turned. The Airhostess was offering a glass of Orange Juice. His neighbor helped the Airhostess by taking the glass from her and offered it to him. Maybe it was the unexpectednerss of that, his nervousness, or the alcohol in the blood stream, the man tried to take the glass and awkwardly dropped it. The juice got all spilt in his lap. “ Sorry” She exclaimed ; took a tissue and proceeded wipe it off in his lap. Our man was in a dream. Something had to happen now. Various movie scenarios flashed thru his mind in fastforward . The situation begged to be taken advantage of ....

"No proublam maadamm, ” he said. She smiled. He was encouraged

He decided to start a conversation. “Wh-where you going ?” He asked

“I’m goin to Seattle” She answered

“ I goingg Seattle too. I am SOFTWARE engineer - Microsoft Project, you know Microsoft- Bill Gates???” He was sure that’d impress her.
“ Oh, that’s great”. She smiled again
………………
………………
……………..
Our man was eager to continue the conversation. He wasn’t going to let go of such a golden opportunity. He told her about the “Dotnet” project and how he was chosen out of many for the assignment.

She kept smiling and listening. Our man decided to take it to the next level…..
“ So why YOU going Seattle? ” He asked

And then came the answer, which broke his heart into a thousand pieces; made him stay off blondes in his lifetime….and prematurely ends this story.

She answered, “ I’m going to visit my grandchildren!!!!!!”

(Do you think this initial setback caused our man to abandon hope and focus on coding alone? No way, here’s part 2)

A few days passed; our man started on the Client Project. Lack of Linguistic abilities never tampered with his supreme coding skills and he was doing well in his job. However, this did prevent him getting anywhere close to a Yankee “All-American” woman and so the romantic life he dreamed off never took off.

Days passed and our man was getting desperate. No action, no satisfaction. ...But then one day fate smiled on him. He was working late one day when someone spoke behind him “Excusa Senor“ . He turned, and Lightning bolt struck him . He could hear Violins were playing in the background.. It was the Hispanic maid who was cleaning the office. Almost Salma Hayek, though probably 15 kg heavier and probably, around so many years older. The opportunity he was looking for had come to him with a Vacuum Cleaner.

Both shared a common advantage of not knowing too much English. And soon, our man was more than friends with her. Don’t ask how they communicated but he soon got himself invited to her house for dinner on Friday.

D-Day came. The dinner went great though the conversation was difficult. After the food, they went to the living room. Our man could sense the atmosphere was electric. The night held a lot of promise. He wanted to say something romantic to set the mood. He looked out of the window .... He opened the door and stepped out. He felt chilly so he put on his coat. The lady looked bemused, he hadnt spoken anything after the dinner and was now putting on his coat.

It was a beautiful night, slightly chilly but there was a clear sky where one could see the stars. The moonlight bathed the foliage around. It was breathtaking. The night was so beautiful . He took it all in but unfortunately, his severely limited vocabulary did not allow him to express all that..The only adjective he could think of, was "good". And so he said……………
“Good night!!!”

(It was a long walk back; he never realized why the Latina went inside and slammed the door.)

PS: Do leave a comment and do share a similar story in the comments section if u have one :-)))

Check out my latest post on my Tokyo life here

Losto in translationo (Part 1)

2007-02-06T07:47:00.000+05:30

(Am onsite in Tokyo for some time..Here are some reflections from the first few days of being here. Typing this down from my PVC pipe sized Apt)

Even if I was twice as good as Sherlock Holmes himself who figured out the "Mystery of the Dancing figures" in a jiffy ; it is going to take me at least a decade in deciphering these weird little wiggly figures which they call "Japanese". Ok, I’m talking about the language here and not the people. Everyone seems to confuse the two. Like a friend who was asked "Did you try to pick up any Japanese?" He answered, "No way, I'm happily married” And added indignantly " btw neither did I try to pick up any Indians here!"

Well, it’s not just the humans; even the machines talk only Japanese here. The washing machine, the Microwave, TV, DVD Player, the Vending Machine and the recorded voice in the telephone line. A couple of times I managed to horrify people on my lack of manners by slamming shut the elevator doors on their noses coz I pushed the shut button instead of open. The squiggly figures for "Open" and "Shut" looked similar anyway.

Good news is you can make some Japanese words by adding an "u/o" sound after a familiar Engish word. Hence spoon becomes spoonu, glass is garassu, passport becomes passporto, and Bangalore becomes Bengalooru... (ok, the last one is not a particularly good example for Japanese translation)

Unfazed, I'm building my Japanese vocabulary here though some words are outright weird. For eg: can you imagine a language where you call your mom “Haha”? Just remember any sentimental Hindi movie scene and replace "Maa" with "Haha" then you might see the problem! You’ll be clutching your tummy and laughing! And for Dad? Its Chichi !!(ouch! Reminds me of yellow pants, multicolored shirt and awful David Dhawan movies) But I was somehow comforted by the word for 100,000 - it is something like "Jomon (Jumen)" and it sounded familiar enough to my mallu ears ;-)

The ubiquitous Indian techie is now in every city in the world and Tokyo is no exception. In the floor where I work, the Indians actually outnumber the Japanese 4 to 1. Even in the Serviced Apt Bldg where I stay, half the occupants are Indian techies. In fact in office the more serious language problem I face here is with Kannada rather than Japanese. The vegetarians amongst us have one mantra taught by those who came before them. Any place where it involves food say “ Sakana nashi, niku nashi” (no fish, no meat) even if you are ordering ice cream!! At the office cafeteria, now I find it difficult to order anything with fish or meat coz they automatically assume that a person with an Indian face can’t have any Sakana however much he begs and pleads for it.

People here work long. And long is an understatement. Some of them return from work only the next day. They even have a term “Karoshi” to describe death due to overwork. (Thank God we don’t have such problems in Kerala as any remote chances of these are countered using a local custom called "Hartals". Dunno the Japanese equivalent of that anyway. nobody seems to know :-)) And maybe because they do not know when they return from office , all seem to carry toothbrushes wherever they go. To the extent that, at 10:30 pm at night in an upscale lounge pub I saw a guy brushing his teeth!

People are generally helpful if you ask them for directions and will try their best with the limited English. Also it is a safe country with an extremely low crime rate. You see technology in action anywhere. The Electronic gadget supermarkets at Akihabara have shelves and shelves of ingenious gadgets. A USB vacuum cleaner for your Laptop? They have it. And quality is taken for granted so much that, even if you are buying an expensive gadget –say a laptop or camera – all you have to do is point at it and they just pack it. I hear that they get so insulted if you actually insist on testing something before buying that they may commit harakiri.

And then there are the local customs. Long ago when I was a kid I had taken a resolution that I wont bow to anyone’s pressure and would stand up to the right thing. But here I had to discard that resolution because bowing itself is the right thing!! The normal custom of bowing involves the pectoral muscles, and can be considered exercise equivalent to one-ab-crunch at the gym. So if you meet about 20 people a day, you will be reasonably fit. The hands posture taken while bowing is sometimes rather similar to that a defender takes while a free kick is being taken, but your head position should be like Zidane about to butt Materazzi.

People are friendly here but you should not over-estimate it. Like the time we were in a train, and at a station an old couple got in and sat on the opposite seat….They smiled and bowed deep. Touched by their friendliness towards such a ragtag group of Indians, I bowed too! They bowed again and I bowed even deeper. After the third bow, my friend nudged me and pointed to the platform behind me. There was another old couple bowing deep too. Unfortunately, they were bowing to the couple in the train and I just had been in the way!

I have gone back to my resolution of not bowing to anyone.

Check out this sample of Japanese TV fare -( not what the kids watch) and you may appreciate the Saas Bahu Serials a bit more . If you are in office better keep the volume low ;-)

(await more stories from here..this was just the tip of the iceberg.

Check out my latest post on my Tokyo life here

Mon Amie !!!!

2006-11-20T18:06:00.000+05:30

Mallu bloggers have often posted on the beauty and variety of Mallu names. Of course, there is no other community who has got creative with names over the years.

If you studied in Kerala, Biju, Baiju, Saju, Soju, Fiju, Lijo, Jijo, Jojo, Mojo wouldve been half your classmates. And if you are non-Keralite -you'd still have met us nice guys from God's own Country - In all probablity the tech guy in the next cubicle with a thick moustache and a thicker accent would be called Jomon.

If you've known enough Keralites, you realize that Minimol has not been named such because of a particular small mole somewhere on her ; and Beenamol is not a statement on the previous career of a KGB infiltrator. Yes, Mol simply means daughter and Mon is son . So when a mother calls out to her son " Mone..." there is no reason she's invoking an French Impressionist painter with a first name Claude..

There's an unwritten code that you have to make sure the name has enough similar rhyming names ; or the non-rhyming one feels cut-off from the family tree. You cannot call the first one Bejoy; the second one Rejoy but the third one Avaraachan. Avaraachan would then be victim of apartheid within his family and the mental scars it leaves would make him do something tragic in life such as say, become a teetotaller or worse; go to work on a Hartal day !!

Parents faced with the creative task of naming their first born have to be really careful as if not; naming the second and third kid would be a nightmare- I know siblings by the names - Saajan, Maajan, Laajan and Vyaajan (ok, i didnt really catch the last one's name). And you might have a dyed-in-red-Communist Dad naming kids as Stalinmon, Leninmon and Mao Tse Tungmon (whew). And there have been cases in the 60's where a Mallu dad with a serious literary bend would call out to his fighting kids " Maupassant-mone (ok, thats pronounced as Mo-ppasang-mon) stop fighting with Kafkamon"

Ok, Why am I so masochistic?- i guess we Mallus are not alone in naming kids on a particular logic. Heard the one about the Sardarji in the army who decided to name his kids with Military titles?? Accordingly the first-born was Captain Singh, the second Colonel Singh but then..horrors ; the third was a girl !! He racked his brains till he could name her appropriately and then he knew what to do. Hospital records later showed that an "Armoured Kaur" was born there!!

All Mallu names are pretty harmless under most circumstances, but then let me come to the focal point of this entire post. ...You have to realize that sometimes there are quite unforeseen circumstances too where a name can be quite a problem!!

Having had to shuttle between 3 cities in the recent past- I store names in my mobile using a short place code. Hence Rohit in Gurgaon is stored as " Rohit Ggn" ; a friend Siddharth in London would be "Sid Ldn" and my wife in Bangalore would be stored as...well " Wife" ;-))

This works perfectly but then recently I was going thru my mobile phonebook when I froze!!!!

I furtively looked for any of the CCTV cameras which are said to monitor every move of Londoners and proceeded to Delete names on my phone.

Afterall, I commute here with a Haversack on my back and as as I'm often late ; i walk pretty fast. Now, that itself should be a reason enough for being shot by the London Cops but imagine a Cop shows restraint and decides to confirm my terrorist links by checking my mobile - maybe just to ensure that it is not some remote detonation device. He'll just take a cursory look at the names in the phonebook and confirm his suspicions about my Al-Queda links

I had an MBA batchmate named " Bini" who's now in London ; and accordingly i'd stored her name in my mobile as " Bini Ldn" !!!!

“ Brit – Cultural Learnings from the UK for Unsuspecting Software Engineers in Bangalore”

2006-11-09T20:48:00.000+05:30

It was all a blur to me. I could just about see the shrouded figure in front of me and through the corner of my eye; I saw the Pakistani approaching; weapon in hand. I saw the glint of metal; disintegrating into thousands of reflections, right in front of me. ..

“Hill mat!!!” He commanded in his raspy voice; probably seeing me trying to turn my head. I did not dare…Probably I brought it upon myself, I kind of knew; I wasn’t going to look the same when he was through…
…………………………………………………………………………………………..

(This was of course my first Haircut in London; at the affordable shop at Brick Lane (Yeah, that’s the one made famous by Monica Ali’s book). And yeah, by the way it’s always a problem that once I take off my glasses I hardly can see my own outline, or what the barber is doing to my hair!)
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The first thing that a per-diem empowered IT guy does on landing in the UK is learn the multiplication tables of eighty. This essentially is necessitated by the realization that Indian Rupees are not all that valuable, once out of the country. And that one little innocuous British pound coin which looks like a 5 rupee coin is actually worth more than Eighty Indian Rupees…

If not pre-warned, you sense the power of exchange rate on the very first day while paying the cab fare from the airport Heathrow to your accommodation. “Eighty Five pounds!!!? That’s above Seven thousand rupees!! Back home one can pay a driver a salary, bonus and medical allowance for a couple of months with that sort of money” The Vovlo chasing Madivala autowallah who charges 30 bucks for 1.5 km in the morning doesn’t sound all that cut-throat suddenly.

Next day, you step out for lunch at the “cheap” Mc Donald’s. Now a Mc Donald’s value meal deceptively says £ 5.99 and looks cheap too till you apply the tables. “Five Hundred rupees for a damn burger???You can almost buy a 5 star buffet lunch at Leela Palace with that. Or one week of lunches at Shanti Sagar or a life time of lunches at the office cafeteria!!!

“But wait, there’s another meal for £2.75 and WOW YOU EVEN GET A FUN TOY along with it!!!! Maybe I’ll go for that.”

“Boss, that says Mc Donald’s Kids Meal. Maybe they don’t give it to you unless you are a kid, or have a kid”. ;-)

“Oh ok. I’m on a fast today!!”

And here’s more…Forty rupees for an SMS home, Six hundred rupees on train fare to a place thirty minutes away, Three times the price of a shirt if you prefer to get it ironed and guess how much for the haircut?

Any upmarket Central London hair salon would charge a guy at least £12 (nearly 1000 rupees) !!And if you are a non-metrosexual who hasn’t paid anything above forty bucks on a zimble haircut; that is sacrilege. (Ok, I’m talking to the guys here, not the weaker sex who’ll blow up a few hundreds on a haircut regardless of currency). That’s when you ask around and find places like the Pakistani Ali’s “Grace Hair Cut Saloon” in Brick lane with the same familiar shady look as a salon back home, with pictures of Sanjay Dutt, John Abraham and Hritik Roshan at the window.. There’s usually a line of hippie software engineers waiting there, whatever time you go. Well, the done thing among software guys coming here on projects is to come from India with the hairstyle of an Army cadet and don’t take a haircut here till you look like a member of a rock band. So when you sit in the line of people waiting, and look in the mirrors you get an idea how you would look being a part of a rock band. The barber skips the obvious while chatting you up – I mean the “Are you from India question” and directly goes to …"so you from Chennai?, no Bangalore?” You are overjoyed and pay £5 without grumbling; not bothering to remember that it’s still more than Four Hundred rupees!

Now on the entertainment options - (Warning : not all options are covered here, this being a family blog and more so because my wife reads my blog)

If you don’t get a place with Sky TV (i.e.: cable TV) you are stuck with 5 free channels on TV. The first one is BBC which exists solely for discussing whether the British Army should be in Iraq. This is what I call consistency- Three years ago when I was here; they were earnestly discussing the very same thing. Other channels are marginally better at times. However, sometimes things can get so boring if you don’t have Cable TV that once; for lack of choice; I spent an entire hour watching a pgm on the homing skills of pigeons!! Things are different if you have Sky. I actually moved to an apt with a friend mainly because they had Cable TV. And next day I was woken by the dreaded “Jhalak Dikhlaaajaaa” on B4U. Ah ! Am home! You also get Star Plus with the Saas Bahu Serials, Sony with its SMS-IN shows and so on! And that’s not all. There are millions of channels. You name it they have a channel for that – One for Wine, one for Teachers, one for Manchester United and what not ;-) Quite a lot music channels- good old Classic rock in VH1 Classic! And all those Comedies which you receive back home too. But…..guess what; there’s no trace of Cricket anywhere – I keep wondering how this place can call itself the birthplace of cricket. Champions Trophy was a “blink-and-you-miss-it” column in the papers. You have to pay about what the match-fixers pay the players just to get Sky Sports. There was a “Who wants to be a Millionaire” contestant who was asked for £ 64,000; “Which sport does Marcus Trescothick play?” He preferred to end the quiz there and walk away!!!

Movies cost a bomb to watch in Rupees terms; say quite a bit more than a PVR Gold class if you want to compare. Minus the complimentary popcorn and Pepsi. However, Bollywood is big here; the Dhoom2 poster covered half a wall outside the hall where I went to watch this new movie everyone’s talking about “Borat – Cultural Learnings from America to make benefit Glorious nation of Kazakhstan” (Don’t think it’ll be released in India without quite a few cuts- its an outrageous and often gross comedy which offends just about everyone!)

And now, a word about what you’re supposed to wear over here….

In the Investment Banking district of Central London, on the streets it’s a sea of black coats and jackets, you feel as though in the sets of Matrix. And inside office, the only right thing to wear is a dull white shirt with blue/ black trousers. Ok, even this is not the “Rin ki safedi “wallah white which gets people jobs and wives hugged. This is quite a dull variety of white which the guy in the ad would wear before the Rin magic worked. The more fashionable folks wear white shirts with light blue stripes or checks along with grey trousers. Once during my last trip I thought I’ll introduce London to Allen Solly’s Friday dressing and accordingly wore my bright orange shirt and beige trousers to office. Have to say I got the elevator pretty much to myself and an insight into how a Christmas tree feels like when all lit up! So, remember; if you are coming to the UK. Pack your bag with the dullest white shirts you ever had! And if ever you go clubbing – never go in the usual t-shirts and sneakers- They may not let you in- the right uniform is an un-inserted shirt, jeans and your most formal black shoes!!

And don’t think you can shop a lot for the entire village whilst you are here. Unlike the Yankee counterparts who load their check-in baggage with stuff from Wal-Mart, you don’t have too many cheap options here. Clothes are outrageously expensive in most of the swanky Shopping areas – except in one “oasis of low prices” which goes by the name Primark- where stuff is available for £6 - £7 which sounds friendly enough for the Exchange rate wizards. It’s easy to spot on a Saturday afternoon. You’ll just have to look out for a queue of Desi Software Engineers outside.

There are also Sunday markets which are quite fun – But not sure about the quality of products there. Last time I’d got a watch from one of these markets and presented it to Dad with a lot of fanfare. But within 3 months it went Kaput! Dad took it to an HMT showroom and they put in an HMT machine ; it still works – proving the adage” Phir bhi dil hai Hindustani!!!!” If you are not at Primark on a weekend, there is quite a lot to see here in London. Here's one truly cosmopolitan city with people who speak around 300 different languages trying to speak English in 500 different accents! And if you are in a train; you might notice that each face in the opposite row has a different hue. History, Culture, Art – Museums, Palaces, Art Galleries... This is the place for all these and a quizzer’s delight with many place names actually having contributed to the English Language. (I could write reams on this but I wonder if you’ll be interested ;-)) Entry is free in several museums but don’t think of buying the souvenirs if you love your wallet. It won’t look too good with a burnt hole in it. I swear on my per-diem !

(Ever had a funny experience coping with life onsite? Do write in the comments section...)

Harry and the Magic Broom

2006-09-26T02:03:00.000+05:30

Often it happens that me, aspiring Business Consultant in Bangalore turns into a very bumbling baby-sitter once I reach home in Cochin. My sister’s kids ensure that I keep myself fit chasing them and retrieve the myriad toys which lie around the house. A wailing two-something once forced me to hunt for the yellow tennis-ball in the space below the staircase…
I didn’t find the tennis ball ……………but instead there it sat; like Zidane after the World cup Finals match; the erstwhile star of the household. Our old Eureka Forbes vacuum cleaner

I still remember the day when it came home one day 15 odd years ago....
The door opened revealing the Eureka Forbes Man. White shirt, blue trousers and ..."A striped TIE"!! I hadn’t seen anyone in a tie except in movies!!!! And there was a snazzy motorbike parked behind him in the yard
I’m "Harry" ! he said; (Wow! "Not Hari, nor Harish; but Harry! Pure Hollywood!!!) And he would be demonstrating to us "the vacuum cleaner" a new wonder gizmo deemed to render housemaids obsolete.
He unzipped his black bag and revealed the long white-and-red contraption with a crumpled looking tube. Also out came a couple more of other futuristic looking tubes with weird shaped nozzles and brushes in the end. The entire family stood open-mouth in rapt-attention. With steely determination, the man began assembling the entire device as confidently as Rambo assembling his bazooka.
"Where can I plug this in" he asked.. Reverentially we showed him the plug point.
Rambo was ready now. He lifted a socks clad foot to switch on the machine… A deft click and a helicopter-like-whirring sound filled the room. Our man got to work. He ran the brush at the end of the tube on the mosaic floor; on the walls; the window-sill, behind the curtains and carefully shaved the chin of the Kathakali figure on the wall. We stayed quiet; and even my chatterbox-sister didn’t dare to breathe lest it disturbed his concentration. Then, at the end of around 5 minutes he once again lifted his sock-clad foot.. Another deft click and the whirring stopped.
We were all looking at him expectantly…..
Our man seemed satisfied by the effort and asked us to gather around. And we did. He clicked another button and head-section open and the top section of the contraption sprang open.
He held the now opened device by the sides and lifted it as if it was the Holy Grail itself. He invited us to take a look inside it. Each of us looked in and …GASPED!! Never had I seen such a repository of filth in the world. A strategically placed paper bag inside the device held a hell lot of dust, cobwebs, bangle pieces and even a 50 paise coin which had rolled under the book shelf months back.
Jeez ! Were we living in the midst of such dirt and never even knew about it? Dad remarked that we were paying the maid for nothing and Mom couldn’t agree more. (I pocketed the coin in between the confusion).
Harry now launched into a soliloquy. He talked of how we home-dwellers were ignorant of the dirt that pervaded the house. Entire "Hum Aap Ke Hain Kaun" size joint families of germs and bacteria were staying at our home and we did not even realize it!
Suddenly he turned to my little sis and asked "Don’t you often get attacks of cold and have sniffling all the time?"
"No!!!" She answered looking bewildered.
"NO??????????, don’t lie, I heard you sniffle a couple of times; don’t you often catch a cold??? Tell me the truth!! He demanded"
My sis wilted under the pressure. "Yes, sometimes; I catch a cold!"
"See??" He exclaimed once again triumphantly. "The kids are getting diseases because of the dust and dirt in the house. Bacteria, Viruses, Amoebas!! And look at that book-shelf there. Its got termites and …"Silver Fish"
"Silverfish??" Now that sounded cool. I always wanted a Goldfish ; but I never realized we already had Silverfish at home. "Silverfish??" I asked expectantly. Dad mentioned the Malayalam equivalent of the name and it didn’t sound so glamorous anymore....
(Disclaimer Silverfish is not related to Silverine in any way).
He continued" These pasts and micro-organisms really affect everything; it even affects the brain cells of little boys. …
For example…"
He turned to me "What was the rank you got in the last School Onam Examination?" Now, that was below the belt.
I kept my head low.."I was 17th…. I think"
"Aaha!! There you have it" he exclaimed turning to Mom. If the house is kept free of bacteria you can expect him to be at least First every time.
That was the clincher!!! Mom would now lobby with Dad to buy the Vacuum Cleaner. Her colleagues were somehow all uniformly blessed with extremely bright and gifted progeny. This awesome set of child prodigies invariably scored obscenely high marks in everything especially Math... And their mothers apparently had no lunch time topic but the awe-inspiring academic adventures of these enfant terribles. Obviously my Mom had an embarrassing time. But now, she had the answer. It was those miserable set of micro-organisms inhabiting the household which was playing havoc with my Maths marks!
Which parents would like to toy with the future of their kids? What is mere 4,000 bucks compared to that? Luckily Harry had a voucher we could sign and he casually mentioned that vacuum cleaner prices were going up after the budget. It was now or never. Dad signed the voucher and wrote a cheque. Harry promised to deliver the Vacuum cleaner in a couple of days
Harry’s entire performance had been magical, years before his magical namesake.
"How much do you get paid?" Dad asked him in jest. "Would like to send him (he nodded at me) to your company for a job". That moment I would have been more than glad. Wear a tie, zip around on a motorbike…Man, I’d love that!! (Unlike most boys of my age, my ambitions were decidedly Yuppy-ish; I was never inclined to be a pilot nor fire-fighter! )
.
They delivered the machine as promised. By virtue of the divine authority bestowed on him on being the Head of the Family" ; Dad was the unanimous choice for operating it. Under our watchful eyes, he assembled the device almost as confidently just as Harry did and plugged it in.
We held our breath as he switched it on. This was the moment of truth! And then….…the whirring started! Dad looked relieved. He vacuumed the Living Room and as was to become the ritual; we all gathered around to open the cover and look at the paper bag inside………And it never disappointed. There was the expected collection of dirt and dust; to which we said "uggghhhh" in unision.
I caught the "Vacuuming Bug" soon. From Disappear-from-home-at-the-mention-of-housework-boy; I metamorphosed into a Enthusiastic-Vacuumizer boy. I vacuumed my room with devotion. The shelf, under the bed and dirty sneakers. I even used the nozzle to give a nose job to the Michael Jackson poster (we didn’t have too many idolize-able icons those days, you see). I fought with my sis to vacuum the dining room. We’d gleefully scoop up broken bits of glass with the nozzle and sometimes even oops, knock down a glass so that we could suck it up with a vacuum cleaner!
"Hasta-la-vista baby" I 'd tell a spider scurrying from his erstwhile "webite" before it got sucked into the vacuum cleaner nozzle.
This device was just too awesome! We were debating whether to give the pink slip to the maid-servant but Mom was sensible enough to retain her and just alter her Job Description to cooking. Afterall; the vacuum cleaner could do almost anything but cook! We even once used its blower function and paint to create abstract paintings. We cut those up and sent them to people as Christmas cards
Despite all those ways in which the vacuum cleaner revolutionized our household, somewhere down the line; things changed. I noticed that my sister didn’t fight with me anymore to vacuum the dining room. She was becoming increasingly magnanimous in that aspect (which was quite unlike her). The lack of competition made the task of vacuuming rather unchallenging.
Sensing the shortage and lack of enthusiasm of volunteers, Mom now devised a routine where one of us vacuums the room and the maid wipes the floor later. Giving the maid the Vacuum cleaner for operation would have been unthinkable earlier; but later for want of volunteers- she was entrusted the device with detailed instructions for use. Well, she had however not been convinced about the benefits of technology as she had missed Harry’s spiel. Hence she still preferred her trustworthy broom (a Nimbus 2000 if I remember right; or was it a Firebolt? ;-) ) and used to leave the vacuum cleaner in the corridor.
After a couple of incidents where people tripped over the vacuum cleaner in the corridor ; mom took the contraption; zipped it up in the bag it came in & put it in the space below the stairs to be used only once a month.This became once in a couple of months soon and later - once in half an year.And there it sits -dusty dirty and forgotten.Guess it still works though. But you have to dust it with a broom first before touching it :-)

"Weight"er Rants

2006-05-01T18:24:00.000+05:30

Time stands still………every moment that I am with you !
Time stands still …………when I look into your dark brown eyes !
……….And time definitely stands still ......when I’m on the damn treadmill trying to shed those extra pounds !!!
The indicator shows that I’ve been running for 2 min 45 secs before i look away ; after an eternity of huffing and puffing I look at it again .....and still it only shows 2 min 49 secs! Would you believe it ?
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I’ve been at this for a few days now ! Ok, there’s a wedding* around the corner ;-) and I’m supposed to look my best ; which unfortunately spells THIN !!
So every morning; at the break of dawn (ok make it the break of dawn in….say Europe ;-)) coz its usually 9:00 am by the time I wake ) I haul myself to the gym and try the torturous work-out routine. (It helps that I’ve an afternoon shift at work)
The first day I went, I discovered that the gym was on the second floor. I climbed up all the way (huff-puff) ; and decided that it was enough for the day and went home!!!After about a month; once again ego been hurt from the weight barbs I went for my second day of gymming. Been trying to be regular since that……………
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I get down from the tread mill and decide to do a few ab crunches…I think to myself that that I’ve to do at least 100 crunches a day to regain those flat abs "slightly" rounded off by beer through all these years..
So I start at it gritting my teeth .. Nnnggggggffffhhh. up ; hold! whooooosh; huffff Slam down! Again nggggggffffhhh up!! Schwarznegger stares down condescendingly at me from the wall … (This guy's poster is a part of standard statutory equipment for all gyms in the world) "Well boss" I mentally tell him " I don’t mean competition here; I don’t exactly want to be the Governor Of California ; but maybe just slim enough to avoid the jubilant declaration of the relatives as they see me" Hey, see how much weight he has put on??"
Terminator is flanked by Stallone and he reminds me of the steely determination of Rocky and the way he goes about his training .Steely determination!!!!Thats what I’d need..
I suddenly think nothing could be as inspiring as listening to "Eye of The Tiger" (Rocky Theme) right away. I could picturize myself as Rocky Balboa sprinting up the hills and throwing 500 kg punches at the punching bag; if only I could just listen to it
But what do I have here?
Ladka badaa anjaana hai, (the speakers blare at frequency 91 FM)
I go nggggggffffhhh. up….
Sapna hai sach hai fasaana hai,
whooooosh; huffff slam down
A haa yeh pagla
Nggggggffffhhh. up….
Bilkul naa badlaa
Whooooosh; huffff , slam down and I decide that I cant get up anymore !!
From that relaxed position I decide to observe the folks around me….you can be discreet watching people if you have a wall mirror which reflects everyone around. At 10 am in the morning; the gym is not too crowded and it’s the usual suspects forming the motley group.
Well, as expected there’s that dude who works out for 5 minutes and spends the next half an hour flexing his non-existent muscles; making faces at the mirror and simultaneously parting his hair different ways. And there’s the regular bored-housewives-club of 3 who all lie down on the exercise mats grabbing that frame thingies used for situps and then mostly gossip about their mother-in-laws. (They’re also my sworn enemies who do not tolerate any change of music from the Bollywood soft romantic ones which suit their exercise routine but not mine…) And the rather horizontally challenged aunty who hogs the treadmill but does not look like she’ll be losing a milligram to show for her efforts. Not even if she’s at it for a 100 years. I've to learn determination from her! And there’s the bespectacled software guy who only does one exercise- lifts at the Lift machine; no particular reason for the affinity for it apart from the fact that it is the best spot to watch TV from.
And of course, like in every gym in the world there are the couple of gym rats (as in mall rats) ; the real musclebound studs who think they own the gym, who take turns admiring their own and then their buddies’ biceps and then walk around as if they’ve got tennis balls under their armpits!
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I do a few more crunches and then collapse again in agony. I start my thinking process again. If they can call handicapped people "Differently able" cant they call "not-so-well-built" people as "Differently muscled" ??
(That’s a comforting thought; but how do I propagate this wonderful idea?)
I decide to do a few pull ups..I stand on the platform to grab the horizontal bar 9ft from ground and kick away the stool like a desperado about to hang himself. I manage 15 pull ups at one go; not bad at all- enough for the day.Took one more look at the medieval torture instruments around which pass as gym gear.
Must be getting there; I think as I step on the weighing machine. I mentally command the needle to stay in the 70s. (Note: Set low targets to avoid disappointment)
Thought of a good retort to my friend who exclaims every time he meets me
"Man !!!! you’ve put on weight!!"
"Yeah boss" I’d say "Didn’t you know??In my next movie I’m supposed to play a slightly overweight stressed out executive. I ‘m working towards looking the part"
Or as my cousin replies to the same question "You know ; you’ve to build up mass to build up muscle.i’ve almost completed building up mass. Once thru’ I’ll start building up muscle"
Not bad, eh??
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Note: * Wedding- Yeah its mine and its next month :-))! Read all about how it happened, in my my next post "Bloggi Vedi Vici". I know its been lots of time since I’ve blogged. Lots of developments have happened since my last post which i guess was quite a long time ago. One, which led to the wedding mentioned above ;-) Also won a Ford Ikon in the Brand Equity Quiz and became a mini celebrity. And last but not the least; i am moving to a new job . Quite eventful time, you could say..
Hope to post more frequently! Keep visiting and do leave ur comments

"Phoney" Tales

2005-12-21T14:07:00.000+05:30

I was absolutely aghast !!

From 800 odd I was way down to 55 ! The sales guy at the counter had the countenance of a Buddha which countered my rising Blood Pressure.“I’m very sorry sir , but your phonebook cannot be retrieved”The elation at owning a Sleek Black Motorazr V3 evaporated at that very moment. I had lost all the phone numbers in my mobile and without backup. Now that feels like a Van Damme kick in the solar plexus. Last time I remember a similar feeling when after I had built castles in the air about buying a car/ flat/ (no harm in dreaming,eh?) with the bonus due in a few weeks;; but when I counted the zeros in the slip I realized that it might just about pay the Electricity billTransferring phone numbers from an old phone to a new one is an easy enough procedure.

(Ok this sounds like that puzzle with 2 jars of 7 litre & 9 litre capacity which has to be filled using a bucket of 1 litre capacity)

Take an old phone with 800 odd numbers capacity ; and a new one of similar capacity; but what you use is a SIM Card of 150 phone numbers capacity.

Step 1. Copy as much data in the old phone onto the SIM card.
Step 2: Copy verything on the SIM onto the new phone.
Step 3: Erase the SIM card of all data to accommodate more numbers rom the old phone.
Step 4: Insert the empty SIM once again into the old phone and all the remaining phone numbers are copied.
Step 5: Repeat as any times depending on the popularity of the phone owner (ahem) which translates itself to the number of contact numbers in the phone.
Step 6: All numbers are now in the new phone- Fully loaded and ready to flaunt

What could possible go wrong?EVERYTHING!!! As per Murphy’s Law.It happened after stage 5 when all the numbers had been moved to the new phone and those in the old phone were deleted to keep track………………The new phone simply did not switch on!!The Sales guy tried charging the mobile but as we know artificial respiration does not always work in certain cases."Sorry sir, the chip is corrupted. The data is all gone !!" I think I have a ray of hope” Thank God I have all the numbers in the SIM …”Quite callously he pricked that hope balloon too “Sorry sir,your SIM has just some 55 numbers ; Your old phone had some 800.Sorry, but I’ve deleted all those from it, hehehe”

“Hehehe???“, i was goin grrrr........ rather

I was given a new handset which switched on and the SIM was inserted. I scrolled thru the phonebook and tried to find who was missing. Family, friends? None of the names came up …Once I had lost my Office Identity card and had faced a severe identity crisis. But this was worse.Suddenly felt so cut-off from the world. And didn’t really know who were the few who were there. Sometimes you have too generic first names like Rajesh, Arun, Praveen, Anju, Manju etc and do not recall who exactly it is in a phonebook unless you add some specification. (apologies to all Rajeshs, Aruns, Praveens, Anjus & Manjus I know)

I tried to think logically…(well that’s something like Sehwag trying to play defensive) Who were these 800 odd people I knew? Or was it something like 200 people with 3 numbers each? Still doesn’t add up!The judgemental side of my personality was laughing at my predicament all the time “Serves you right for having all phone numbers on the mobile and not taking a backup. So many times you had the chance to write it all down ; but did you??? Lazy %#$%# !!! You thought you could always scroll and call, scroll n call….Dont remember even the numbers you call everyday, do you? And after everything that has happened to your friends who rely on the scroll mechanism, you still didn't learn, did you? I remembered what he was referring to ...“
I remembered the lazy Saturday morning long ago in Mumbai when my pal V dialed the nearby Udupi hotel Landmark. (Yeah in Mumbai you can dial and home deliver anything- even Breakfast!! )And of course as it happened in such stories he dialed “Landlord “ instead of Landmark .

The conversation went such …Landlord: “HelloMy pal V: “Haan, Do Masala dosa, ek Onion Uthappam; ek Vada aur ek Chikkoo Milkshake”Landlord: “Hello, Yeh kaun baat kar rahe hai?”My pal V: “Haa likh le , 43, Sindhuvadi , Ghatkoper (West) se baat kar rahaa hoon ,Kyaa pin code bhi chahiye kyaa??? Last time jaise late kiya to paisa nahi degaa !!”As the landlord stayed in the first floor of the same building V’s ; he also happened to have the same address !!Landlord: (Angry n irritated ) Haa yeh MERA address hai, aap kaun ???My pal V (also irritated): Kaun matlab?? aap order likhaa ki nahin??After a very pregnant pause ; realization struck like the thunderbolt on Harry Potter’s forehead !!!

“Chal jaane de, mein apne aap khaana banaa letaa hoon!! “ He stammered and hung up………

Guess the landlord might have figured out the culprit; he had been having suspicions about V for some time. When another pal N opened the door and walked into the house after a haircut; V exclaimed loudly“Arre !!! baal kaat ke bahut sexy ho ke aa rahe ho?“and at the same time saw the landlord’s wife behind just climbing the stairs returning from the beauty parlour and giving him quite a glare..Well,at least he was still better off than another pal Amit who was hosting an extended home party. The booze ran out even when the revellers were just getting into the groove. Amit claimed to have the situation under control. “I’ll home deliver some more booze” (once again does it happen anywhere else but in Mumbai.that you can homedeliver booze at 11pm)

He dialled Balaji Wines ……………..

Wineshop owner: “ Haan Amit ?Amit (After a few drinks he didn’t realize the impossibility of the

Wineshopwallah knowing his name) : Half bottle RC, one Kingfisher Strong, one Fosters ….

Wineshop owner:: Yeah Amit, seems like you are having a good time. But this is BALAJI !!! Good night and have a nice weekend ..(Hangs up the phone)

Our man was appalled at the lack of customer service ; but was rather surprised at the excellent English spoken by the Wineshop owner. He checked the number once again...and froze as all the effects of booze drained out of his system !!!

He had reached his very teetotaller BOSS "Balaji Venketachalam" on his mobile (with caller id of course)!!!He had the number stored as “Balaji” and the Wine shop was “Balaji Wines“

Of course Amit did nt stick around in the same company till the next appraisal cycle and always ensured he worked for bosses who did not sound like Wineshops !!Guess i've digressed too much from the topic. Well update is that i've mailed all the friends and those relatives of mine who have heard of email. I have rebuilt most of my phonebook from scratch. I'm determined to have a phonebook backup this time; mebbe will get one of those pen drivesLike my US returned cousin confesses to me ; "I just feel like sueing someone but don’t know who!!!!"Can I sue Motorola for the phone which effectively shredded my phonebook? Can I sue the sales guy who did the transfer exercise? Should I sue Garuda Mall for housing the shop?Or should i sue myself for not having a phonebook backup?Let me know at flaashgordon@gmail.com. Also incase you know me and you are wondering why i'm not calling you ; please do mail at the above id..

Now here is something i always hoped i will be able to say one day and that is “And a Merry Christmas to All my Readers“ !!

(Update : Have copied all the numbers in my phone to my PC. Feeling so tech-savvy now. Thank God for technology!!Hope my PC doesnt crash and i lose my phone at the same time!)

Blue-n-white-Dynamite !!

2005-10-24T23:06:00.000+05:30

After procrastinating for almost an year, one Saturday morning I woke up and got around to folding and rearranging the scattered bundles of clothes in my wardrobe shelf. There they were… Old faded t-shirts, Shirts with frayed collars, jeans from the college days that don’t fit anymore but waiting in a futile hope that someday I ‘ll be able to get into them again (and be able to get out too ;-)) I philosophized that rummaging through old clothes can be quite akin to looking thru an old photo album. A faded B-School t-shirt, triggered the avalanche of the B-School memories. I couldn’t give it away to the kacchrawallah coz it might dilute the brand equity of my institute. (Once in B-school someone had donated a similar T-shirt to the vada pav guy outside the college and he used to wear it proudly and regularly. I hear that many potential juniors were scared away by the placement prospects of the institute seeing an "alumni" gainfully employed in the Hospitality industry. I also heard that they all then went and joined IIPM where he was probably from ;-))))

As I rummaged further I found a single widowed black glove; a remnant of my first UK trip. And I remembered using it to hold a chilled beer can in chillier weather . I could’ve donated it to Michael Jackson if it was white heheh!! Was smiling to myself at the thought when I saw something else ….And froze!

There it was. Blue with Checks. My dreaded unlucky shirt!

Fla(a)shback!

Mumbai, May 2001 Fresh out of B school with dreams of setting the corporate world on fire I’d just joined my first job. And had instead found out that it’s just “a part" of me which was perpetually on fire and that any attempted arson of the corporate world would have to wait a few years…

Most of my Management training was now utilized in doing a Cost-Benefit Analysis on various means of reaching office For example I could take a rick all the way which would work quite expensive on a daily basis, bus-rick-bus routine was cheaper but took a longer time, else could take bus-bus which would be the cheapest option but it was such a pain and take an eternity!

And so reluctantly I thought of resurrecting my partially camouflaged mo’bike (camouflage was due to the dust cover which helped it blend into the surroundings). Were it Cochin my bike would have been the primary logical option for going from point A to B. But not so in in Mumbai…at least not for me.The bike was often the last option to be resorted to unless its for the short distances. Cops were at every turn and my KL registered bike somehow acted like a magnet for them. But that day I thought I’ll risk it.

And that was the first time I put on my Shoppers Stop-fresh new blue check shirt……….

The rain gods were probably waiting for me to get out that they could have me in their crosshairs. I was ambushed by the unseasonal rain which had me drenched in a matter of few seconds. In a few moments the road was left slushy and slippery. Couldn’t see anything thru my glasses anymore and I was debating speeding up to reach office sooner or do the un-macho thing of taking shelter at a shop. A truck in front stopped suddenly so I braked too just avoiding a pothole..

Skidddddddddd…My bike went sliding ! Without any explanation whatsoever! My face hit the divider and my legs got pinned under the bike. I slowly got up dazed and tried to assess the damage. A cut in the side of my mouth and a few painful bruises on my knees and elbows. I counted my teeth and found to my satisfaction that the numbers matched prior data. The bike had its neck turned and was looking at me accusingly at a ghastly angle. And on the blue checks pattern of my shirt there appeared a red streak of blood….

There was a Clinic right there on the side of the road and an attendant was right there to help…He led me into the clinic where I wondered whether they had planted the pothole there as a strategy for Business Development...

A few stitches on my face (a large strip of bandage prompting queries such as………."Hey wot happened to your face? Lovebite eh?Heheheh" and spending a fortune on repairing the bike later I was back at work in a couple of days. It was some time before I got back my shirt tho’…

Mumbai, June 2001: I wore my shirt to office the day it came back from the drycleaners. That was an unforgettable day in my fledging career. The day when the hitherto cordial rapport with my manager soured beyond repair. A mistake in one of the manual processes snowballed into a major issue which kept on getting escalated. And as I learnt; a B-School fresh executive is always a convenient scapegoat. So the Manager blamed it on me . Well, they do say Geminians can’t ever take the blame for anything. And I pointed out the inherent deficiencies of the entire process. Wrong strategy! And I thought that the corporate world wouldn’t be resistant to amazing path-breaking new ideas. Maybe I suggested them at an inopportune moment. When I came out of the conference room discussing the issue I could foresee that my appraisal form was not to be a very pleasant to look at. Of course unlike in the medieval times where differences are sort out by a duel of swords; in the corporate world it is in the confines of conference rooms during the appraisal season.

Soon I saw a scary trend emerging. Something nasty would happen whenever I wore the shirt. Something used to go wrong. This could be no coincidence. My rational mind could never accept a link between those curious incidents and the shirt but fact remained that it was a common factor.

Cochin, December 2001: It was supposed to be a reunion we were all waiting for. Meeting of my once inseparable college gang. "The Archies" (maybe I’ll write more about the characters in another post) Well I hated the name"The Archies"as all the better characters were already taken and I was the not- so- glamorous Dilton. It didn’t help that I sported black-rimmed glasses in those days!

I was on leave for a few days in Cochin. Hadn’t taken my entire wardrobe home and as someone had recently said that the shirt looked good on me I just had to be seen in it.

Somehow this didn’t work out as planned. Big Ethel had relatives along, Betty had not turned up, Jughead contacted Archie and did not exactly give the right information about the meeting place. Only Reggie was mobile-enabled and I was the only Management Graduate with enough professional training to manage the scenario. But one management grad did not suffice. A miscommunication resulted in one of us waiting at a spot for an hour and stormed off after the same. The much awaited re-union turned into a major fiasco……

Delhi, April 2004: The US Embassy! The hallowed portals where an approval stamp would make or break a life. And that’s where I was on the 12^th of the month. Technically it was the first day of my new job in India’s Silicon Valley. But the project involving a Process Migration, I was to go to New York and I was there at the Delhi US Embassy for the same.

That morning in Bangalore I had been in a dilemma. Half my stuff had not arrived from my hitherto abode Mumbai and I was to travel by the morning to Delhi for the Visa. I couldn’t find a clean/ironed shirt to wear except for.. u guessed it …a bit faded but still looking good. Mr. Blue-and-White checks.

Now none from my organization ever had an issue with the US Visa. The brand name was considered good enough. I debated wearing a crumpled Tshirt or my unlucky shirt. My rational side took over. ….I buttoned on my blue-n-white..

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The Visa officer looked grave

"So you are going to New York for training. How long have you been with this company?"

"Well, uhhh I joined on 12 April "

"That is today !!!! You joined today?? How can you try for a visa when you haven’t worked with this company for even 4 hours?"

Before my shocked eyes he stamped my passport. "Rejected"

" But..uhhhh excuse me, we are to be trained in NY "

"Sorry, I’m not here to negotiate…next please"

Went back and mailed the friends in Yankee land that all plans for the reunion at Miami Beach will have to be shelved for the time being. And for one last time the shirt was laundered, neatly ironed and permanently confined to the dark recesses of my wardrobe……..It never saw the light of day again

Epilogue: I finished restacking the clothes-shelf. Had packed a few shirts and t-shirts still in good condition in a separate polythene cover. Presented it to the guy who washes all the cars in the neighborhood. He looked especially pleased about a certain-blue-checks-shirt among them which looked to be good condition. ….

Wot happened to him? Well as far as I know his business is booming as he does a good job. Nothing particularly seems to bother him

Superstitious? who me? …noway !!

Pot-Boiler

2005-08-29T14:49:00.000+05:30

And so I stood there inspecting the carnage ; the knife in my hand was conspicuously dripping red. I could see my fingerprints all over the handle........
It was too late now!! Not that I had wanted to do it , but the deed had to be done. There were noises from the next room; howls of pain, of horror and absolute disgust...I called out but there was no reply…. Perhaps my feeble voice was drowned out by sources more powerful!! I could not just let it be. Had to do something about it. And so I went over there; knife in hand…
I saw him down there. He half turned around; as I came up behind him.He saw the knife in my hand. Tears streamed down his face as he looked up at me.…………………………………………………!!

And so I asked my roomie " Bugger, I’m done cutting the tomatoes; have u done the onions???
" Yeah, just through" he handed over the plate of cut onions. He then took another swig of the beer and offered it to me.
" Doesn’t look like Arsenal will win this one; can you believe Henry missed so many clear chances........."
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Well, people- sorry for the anti-climax ; this was a Sunday evening scene 3 years after had I started working and moved out of the hostel. It had been a long journey till then…. And since then too..
In the hostel (read about it in my previous post http://o3.indiatimes.com/jonagil/archive/2005/04/22/102554.aspx ) there was no need to cook or rather it was like no opportunity to light a fire- let it be for food, cigarettes or arson-it was a grave crime leading to expulsion. Stoves were banned and though they say you can fry an egg using the back of an electric iron ; I didn’t want to try that and later walk around wearing clothes that smelled like scrambled eggs. Especially in a Gujju college ! Anyway all good things come to an end; my MBA got over and I had to move out of the hostel and look for alternate accommodation..
Took a flat in Kandivli with a first set of roomies who were not too proficient in cooking. One had his fiancée staying nearby and hence would return every night only after dinner. The other was an "incomplete evolution" Neanderthal who did not believe in cooking particularly. He would have happily have uncooked bacon or raw eggs straight out of the refrigerator. Some mornings when he actually decided to try toasting bread I used to wake up dreaming that I was a Jew in Auschwitz and just got herded into the gas chamber.
Later on, I moved to another flat where I had a roomie who was a Hotel Management graduate. The best thing about him was that if persuaded with Scotch and some Pink Floyd he would even make excellent gourmet Chicken-au-gratin. Anyway once a lucky girl hooked this cook (don’t know whether he cooks still) ; he moved out and I was robbed of both a roommate and cook….
And so I moved to another flat in Borivli this time with a mallu pal. And so Mumbai being the melting pot of cultures I decided to get a melting pot (or rather a frying pan) myself. And a gas stove, with the necessary utensils…
I wanted to try rice-my staple food; so got a cooker; after the first few attempts where either I had to have teeth-challenging go-natural semi-cooked rice and some other times when the maid had to scrape the burnt remnants of what was rice off the cooker- I learnt to make rice which looked smelled and tasted edible.
That was just the beginning. Soon I could make everything. Well let me clarify I could make anything with tomatoes n onions. For me it was simple- Take any of eggs, fish, prawns, (mom used to send by courier these 2 in pickled format) or even cauliflower (well I liked cauliflower but I had to first butcher it into pieces. The sheer cruelty of it made me stay non-veg :-))). Put it into the pan with with tomatoes n onions. Add some chill powder n go easy on salt because if you add too much you cant do anything about it but the reverse is compensate-able. If the resultant concoction becomes too spicy, just add ketchup; if its bland, have another drink to numb your senses! I tried it on myself and my roomie too. You would be wondering what happened to him. He survived it !!! And lives to this day with most faculties intact. And guess what? He even blogs!
Armed with this confidence of being able to cook I went to London on a project. Where I found cooking an entirely different ball game…. For starters there was this wierd microwave oven, which I couldn’t quite comprehend. And the damn contraption did not come with a manual. A friend once put a raw egg inside the microwave expecting a boiled egg in 2 minutes. Accordingly; she took out the egg after 5 min and was admiring it in her hand when BANG! It exploded!!!! All over her face! Absolutely inexplicably! I gave theories like maybe the supermarket had stocked dinosaur eggs from Jurassic times or maybe Harry Potter had pointed a wand and charmed it with an "Ovum Explodum" egg-exploding hex on it. Her friends told her that it improved her complexion considerably; (now all of you female readers please don’t try this at home) she was reported to be completely off anything involving eggs for a few months after this….
Wary of microwaves I decided to try some cooking on the cooking range which had a heating element instead of fire.. After some investigation I figured out which was on and which was off. And once it turned red it meant you could heat food on it. So one evening I put something on the stove and went over to the living room with a beer in hand contemplating on the wide variety of TV shows we were deprived of back home.. And then an eerie noise filled the apartment- something which sounded like a hovering flying saucer or like Godzilla in pain. In a few seconds I heard a knock on the door amidst the din. I opened the door slowly expecting to find a little green martian. Instead there stood the apartment caretaker who informed me not too kindly that my smoke detector (which was not quite calibrated to account for Indian Cooking) had triggered off the fire alarm and woke up the apartment complex. Thank god it was not nowadays. I would have instead stared into a team of London Police Squad who would have proceeded to shoot me rightaway without further ado for being a suspected bomber. Anyway after this unfortunate incident , when anyone of us started cooking it was mandatory to have someone tall, cupping the smoke detector through out the process.and to have all the windows open even if all were freezing inside.
Thankfully in Bangalore life is much simpler; God’s own cuisine from God’s own country is so widely available that my cooking exploits are not many or too frequent…Maybe the neighbors are destined to be lucky or maybe I was just a flaash in the pan!
Bon Appetit!
(Hope you liked this one. Am still managing just one post a month..Trying to do better than that. Anyway do leave a comment and mail in if you'd like any of my recipes at flaashgordon@gmail.com . Also put in a note if u'd like me to notify you when i have a new post
btw Was inspired by Silverine's post “ “ Teaching a guy to cook...

Rukavat ke Liye khed hai !! - Soda kiskkaa hai and other Hindi horror stories ...

2005-07-27T11:23:00.000+05:30

The Summer Projects season was an eagerly awaited time during our engineering course. This was the time for us all to travel Northwards from Gods Own Country to hitherto unexplored lands for 2 months of Industrial Training
And after 2 hot summer months of various (mis) adventures, July was the time to get together and swap all those stories. Tall tales of lands so hot in summer that comparatively boiler rooms seems air-conditioned; places where rum is cheaper than water and places without either water or rum!! (Ok , its just Chennai, Goa and Bhavnagar (in Gujarat) if you are curious)
And there we used to swap stories of faux pas with one particular foreign language- Hindi! A language of such complexity that many could not master it even 7 years of learning it in School and College. Well, ok as many will admit; learning is one thing; speaking was quite a different ballgame altogether. Only when you actually try do you realize the gaps in your Rashtrabhaasha Adhhyaapan. Coz I'm not talking about any semi-educated country bumpkins here.On the other hand these are guys who would derive a 4 page long engineering equations in seconds; and were acknowleged best of brains studying at a highly sought after engg college.But still there were enough issues with Hindi that you could write a Harry-Potter-size-Best-Seller on " What they did not teach you at Harvard Primary School".
Anyway, narrating a few of those Hindi Horror stories with all apologies to the Original Protagonists…………
The first one happens on a rainy morning where three of our heroes are doing their project in an Andheri office. One of them " Satish" walks in when the other 2 guy stop behind at the Pan / bidi shop for a smoke.
The cute receptionist smiles at him as he comes in dripping wet with a wet folded umbrella and asks "Hi ! Baarish hai kyaa?"
Our man thinks there is a major identity crisis here!! . So he states proudly " Nahi, nahi mein Satish hoon !!!"
The cute receptionist stifles a cute giggle and clarifies " Meine poocha ki BAAHAR Baarish hai kya???"
Some long forgotten chapter of a Standard 5 Hindi text book flashes in the guy’s head and remembers that baahar means outside. " Oh, ok ok baahar… Baahar Anish aur Harish hai…Smoking Cigarette !!!!!"
Well, the poor guy became the butt of many jokes later that even if a faux pas happened to anyone else; it used to get published on his name. Like the one about the time when he was at a New Mumbai station waiting for the train. Neither him nor his pal had a watch and the platform clock was not working either . A rather plumpish lady was the only person nearby and they noticed she had a watch.
"Go ask her the time" The friend tells our man. " In Hindi??" Our man is understandably a bit scared. "Yeah , its simple. Just ask Kitne baje huvey" .The friend is confident though he doesn’t volunteer himself. The lady is now warily looking at the two "dangerous looking" guys as she saw them pointing at her and whispering something. She clutches her handbag instinctively.
Our man approaches; points at her watch (or well, say somewhere around where her watch is at that moment) and asks "Excuse me; Kitne Bacchhey huvey??? !!!!"
Well, there are conflicting reports about what happened afterwards so I cant tell for sure. Am not sure about injuries or casualties but one thing I know is that both the guys had a quantum leap in their vocabulary of Hindi swear words overnight!……
Much of the essential Hindi conversation was necessitated at various shops when buying those bare essentials for your stay in the foreign land. I do not really recall where the following incident took place or even IF it took place; but if you are not a stickler for such trivia, just read on…..
Two weary souls were returning back to the hostel on a hot summer day in this North Indian town (For us, North India means any place north of Calicut anyway). Anyway there was this juice/ milkshake shop that looked inviting. They decided to have a Banana Milk Shake each from the menu displayed. This is how the conversation went…
Our Hero : " Bhaisaab, Do Banana"
Shopkeeper : " Kyaa banaana?"
Our Hero repeats : "I mean bhaisaab, do banana"
Shopkeeper : " Wohi bhai, Kyaa banaaoon aapke liye?" (He looks at him as if he has gone bananas himself)
The two heroes look at each other in utter confusion. It dawns that banana does mean something else in Hindi but the knowledge as such is not enough for resolving the situation. Also neither knows if there is a Hindi word for Banana. No Hindi teacher in school had prepared them for such a situation in Hindi-land. The hassled shopkeeper does not look like one to mess with. Finally our hero decided to take no more chances " Bhaisaab, Do Banana banana !!!"
Another guy once went for food at a little Udupi restaurant. He wanted to ask the waiter for some warm water as he had a heavy cold. Only, he kind of mixed up the temperature settings assigned by the inventors of Hindi to various words. So he asked" Boss, thanda paani denaa". He realized the faux pas when the waiter placed a glass of sub zero chilled water. Though he racked his brains for the Hindi word for "warm" at that desperate moment ; those little gray cells did not throw up any answers. Only option was to leverage his knowledge of thermodynamics " Boss, Paani Room Temperature mein laana" !!!!
There is another story titled "Soda Kiskaa hai? Coz that is what another hero asked a shopkeeper. No problems with that , except that he was the one (the only one) who just had a soda when everyone else had softdrinks "Aap ne hi tho piya thaa" said the shopkeeper. Ok ok but "Soda Kiskaa hai?" he persisted. The friends reminded him again that it was he who had the soda. He clarified indignantly "I was asking the price, Soda kiskaa hai?"!!!
From that time on "Soda Kiskaa hai?" became his officially designated signature line.
And also classic status has been attained by the transcript of his conversation with a policeman at the Karwar checkpost (Goa-Karnataka border) where he was caught with 3 litres of wine in his bag. Well, I was in the bus too this time J
Police: Yeh , teen litre kaa wine hai
Our man: Nahi, nahi.. yeh teen litre kaa wine hai !!!
Policeman is dumbfounded by the logic …but persists
Police: Yeh 3 litre kaa wine hai. Iskaa duty denaa padegaa
Our man: Hum Students hai, duty nahi karte hain (!!)
Police: Woh nahi , iska tax..maane payment - duty denaa padegaa
Our man: Hum Goa gaye. Dukanom se poocha!! Dukan ne kahaa wine ka no duty hai (they have speaking shops thereabouts?)
Police: Aap 3 litre le ke aarahe hai. Sab milake Rs...(He quotes a figure) as duty
Our man: Hum students hai. Students gareeeeeeb hai. Students ko Concession milnaa chahiye ! Well, meanwhile I was praying that my own bags does not get checked too much and hence I didn’t stick around to hear the entire story. However as the story became famous he acquired the nickname "Gareeeeeeebu" and when anyone in college went bankrupt; he used to be called Gareeeb!
And there was one who went to buy a rope for tying a clothesline at a multi purpose store and asks. " Ek Rassi milegaa?". The shopkeeper replies. "Lassi nahi hain, Chhaas chalegaa?" Our man assumes it is some rope-substitute and okays it. After two minutes the guy comes from inside with a chilled glass of Buttermilk and offers it. Our man understands it as a nice North Indian Complimentary Welcome Drink Custom and glugs it down in a jiffy. He notices that the shopkeeper now regains his position at the counter and does not make any effort to look for any rope. He asked again and accompanied it with frantic actions of tying a clothesline; starting with hammering nails on a wall. The shopkeeper looks like he understands. " Acchaa, keela bhi chahiye aapko?? To cut a long story short; it is said that when the satisfied customer returned home it was with one packet of nails, a hammer and of course a bellyful of not-complimentary-chhaas !!
To drift a bit from the topic ; and to even things out a bit..here's the story of a Northie down South and a canteen waiter in a Trichur College. Ok don’t be shocked or offended; well the canteen menu had beef. ( Unfortunately its quite a common food item around those parts. Veggies, Please don’t hold it against me). Anyway there was this Northie student who was served this weird looking item along with regular meals. Well, FYI Keralites don’t generally acknowledge that there exists are a species called vegetarians. The student suspiciously asked the waiter what was on the side plate. The waiter replied all so indulgently "Beef!! And to his absolute shock, he added "Its compulsory here!!!" The student stormed out of the canteen and filed a complaint with the dean of the institute against the canteen. There was an enquiry and the culprit was questioned. The poor man confessed. " I only meant that he did not have to pay extra for it" Someone got it finally "You should’ve said complimentary, not compulsory !!"
Neway let me get back to the topic at hand.I’ll be accused of being politically incorrect if I don’t include some stories of those from the distaff side. Well, there weren’t too many girls in our course. But the few who were there did contribute generously to the kitty of Hindi horror stories. Like the one who went shopping at Fashion street, Mumbai and bargained hard. "Yeh top kitne kaa hain?" She asked " Dhedh sau rupaye (Rs150/-)" says the shop keeper. "Bahut costly hain! Two hundred hain tho mein letaa hoon". What a win-win situation for both the parties!! Quite understandably the shopkeeper agreed to the bargain rather quickly. It was only when she triumphantly described to people about how she got a 250 bucks top for 200 was the entire story revealed…and obviously caused a booming industry of such stories with her as the protagonist.
Like the time she warned a roadside bag seller when no amount of bargaining could get him to lower the prices." Hum, Panjim jaa kar another bag bechenge !!!I don’t know if threat of competition was something the bagseller accounted for, coz he gave in finally !! Anyway, the best story about her is an unconfirmed story of an Auto Driver who dared to overcharge her. He had asked for 40 bucks for the short trip to the hostel from the railway station. And she had never paid more than 30 before. So she bargained hard " Thees se kam, hum kabhi nahin dete !!!"The confused Auto driver gave the balance accordingly and was reparing to drive off. And she informed the onlookers dramatically " Main loot gayi….. Is ne mujhe loot diya !!!" (Well, the driver still claims to be innocent of such a malicious charge)

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(Disclaimer: All people in these stories are still living somewhere in this world and all resemblance to any particular real life individuals or incidents is purely intentional.A couple of times i have relied on my creative instincts to embellish the “faded in memory parts” of a couple of stories)****************************************************************************************
Plz do leave a line on the comments column if u liked this piece or maybe even an anecdote if u have one to narrate yourself .on language fiascos..

Just another revolution around the sun- Its my Birthday Blog

2005-06-12T20:47:00.000+05:30

June 9 is supposed to be a special day for me
Astronomically speaking, I complete another revolution around the sun. Demographically speaking, it’s another year after I added myself to the 1 billion odd population of the country. Philosophically speaking, it’s been another year of my existence; with me still trying to figure out the meaning of it all.

Yes; it’s my Birthday today.

Just that my Birthdays are no more happy, joyful occasions to look forward to. Instead, they are painful annual reminders of my still having done nothing worthwhile. Of having done nothing significant for the posterity to remember me by.Of having done nothing that will even merit a trivia question in my honor.

I remember long ago I desperately wanted to enter the “Youngest person to…” list of something. ...

I started thinking in terms of amazing feats ....At the age of 13; I learned that a 12 year old had become the youngest person to swim the English Channel.He mercilessly pushed the record out of my reach even before I perceived the English Channel as a swimmable one. Not that I had a chance; to this day I have not swum more than 50 metres at a single stretch (huff puff). But still; it sounds like quite a record to have.

I lowered my sights and thought I’l'll pine for the something in the “Youngest Indian to……” list. At least all those Slovenians, Zulus and Albanians could not compete with me here. As for the English Channel, a 13 yr old Indian kid had already swum it pushing that record out of my reach too. So I kissed the English Channel dreams goodbye and decided to focus on some other more achievable nearby records.

Ruled out all sporting records as all “Youngest” sports debuts/records have been by teenage kids. I watched Raphael Nadal win the French Open last Sunday. Both of us play left handed and are June born. But alas !!!There ends the similarity. Almost 9 years younger he has already made his mark in this world. I had never thought I'll see a day when all the Grand Slam champs are younger to me and half the Indian Cricket team were not born when I started going to school! Even worse is gymnastics where Chinese &Russian kids just out of their diapers perform those masochistic contortions. So no chance there either ...

I briefly considered becoming the youngest to climb the Everest but right away reasoned that some Sherpa kid would have got bored of the view from his window and strayed up to the top of Everest on a bored Sunday afternoon quite unknowingly pushing the “Youngest ever to climb Everest” record out of my reach.

I decided to forget records, as endurance has never been my strong point. I thought about being something less phyiscally demanding as becoming the Youngest Millionaire. But then Guinness Book told me that Shirley Temple had become millionairess before the age of 10. Ever an optimist; I thought of becoming the Youngest Billionaire but learned that Michael Dell was worth a couple of billion dollars (that he earned himself, not his Papa's handouts !!) by his mid twenties. And that time my bank account had never really crossed a 4-figure mark even in rupee terms!

Guess I’m just cribbing without considering my gifts. Guess I’m just on the way to becoming a grumpy old man. Maybe I’m destined to be in the “Oldest Person to …” lists. Maybe I should be a bit more patient. Maybe I’ve to wait just some 75 years. Maybe i'll find my own niche. And be able to stop wallowing in my mediocrity. And someday I'll start look forward to birthdays like I used to long ago....

After all I’m still just in my late twenties..

Btw I share birthday with Johnny Depp, Michael J Fox, Robert Mc Namara ( World Bank President and the first guy to score a perfect 800/800 score in GMAT) and the most famous of all Donald Duck (one of the few cartoon characters actually to have an official Birthday) !!! That figures, eh??. Anyway as a dear blogger friend wisecracked; I’m in august company though my birthday is in June. .

I’ll wake up tomorrow with that miserable feeling that “Damn!!! I’ m older” .(cough cough..) Maybe this will be my last bachelor birthday. Having regretted all I have done and regretting even more all I have not done. I will be just lying there thinking about it all. And then there will be wishes from parents, maybe a few messages and calls from friends who have not forgotten (not too many remember such things these days). And there will be my little nephew and niece lisping a “ Happy Birthday” song over the phone. Should make my day considerably better....

After all; as they say; growing older is not so bad when you consider the alternatives ;-))

Final Episode of Motorcycle Diaries: Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal (Whew!!)

2005-06-12T20:29:00.000+05:30

The second bike was still left unsold. All our attempts to sell it were failing miserably despite using all Philip Kotler fundas….

Then we did something a bit out of the box. We had befriended a salesman at the showroom. Jinx asked him if he could divert a buyer at the Showroom to buy our bike at a discount. We dangled a carrot of Rs 2000 out of the deal for him. He was our only hope now.

Days became weeks and there was no update from him. He was not answering his mobile & when we called him at the showroom they regularly gave the message that he was on leave.

Then one evening I met him on a Dadar station platform............

I let him have it! How he could be so irresponsible? Why had he not contacted us for long? He listened impassively to my tirade for a few minutes and then informed me ” I lost my job…Thanks to you!!!” He spat out the last part with a lot of venom....

I was the one on the defensive now “What??? I’m sorry man. What happened?”

It turned out that he had tried to do as we told. He tried to divert a buyer to our bike and the company found it out. They sacked him! Because of us. And our bikes.I was mumbling an apology when his train came. “I was getting Rs 4,000 per month. Now I don’t have any income to support my family” he let me know to add to my misery before he pushed through the sea of humanity and got a foothold on the train.

I stood there on the platform stunned as the train sped away. Another jobless man to add to the millions in Mumbai was no big news. But this one was jobless because of us in a really twisted way. The win was a dream for us. It had turned into someone else’s nightmare.I called up Jinx. He too was feeling real guilty…

This was the last straw. All this was already taking a toll on our work. Frequent visits to the showroom were becoming a pain and our rapport with our bosses was beginning to strain. We were now frustrated to the extent that we were asking every well-built guy we met whether he would like to buy a Bullet.

We decided to get it over with. So we called up a guy named Hamid who had called us earlier after our first ad and quoted a price that was about 25,000 less than actual. We had laughed at him then but now had no option. We told him that we are ready to deal at the price he quoted.He seemed to understand our predicament and very shrewdly quoted a price, which was even ridiculously lesser. A brand new Enfield at Rs 42,000 was virtually a steal for him. We still agreed meekly, not having an option.

Jinx was a married man and stayed with his parents. He was busy with stuff at home that weekend. I was handling this deal alone..

I met Hamid as decided at his shop in Jogeshwari. From his rather polished English on the phone I had expected a rather well to do businessman in a luxury goods store. But when after half an hour of search I located him, ther he was……………an unimpressive, slightly funny-looking man in a grimy checked shirt in a little cubicle sized sanitary ware shop.

Earlier he had claimed to be a Bullet aficionado and had told us how he wanted to add the bike to his collection. But as it turned out now he was not buying this for himself. He had another client and he was just the middleman.

He arrived in sometime. A 6’4” giant Sardarji on an ancient Bajaj scooter which seemed to disappear under him. I pitied the scooter the way you feel sympathy towards a old skinny horse carrying a giant knight in full body armor.

Introductions were through. The Sardarji owned Timber mill in Kurla. Looking at the scooter I felt that I was doing some public service by selling him the bike.

Hamid told us to proceed to the showroom. “On that thing??” I asked incredulously? Did not have an option. So I gingerly perched myself on the couple of inches gap left on the scooter-seat behind the Sardarji and so we carried on like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on the same horse.

On the way the Sardarji asked me about the deal. He asked me how much I was getting for the bike. Quite honestly I said “ Rs 42,000”. He revealed that he was paying Rs 48,000!! I was outraged. Hamid was taking a cool Rs 6,000 without even lifting a finger. This was more of a rip-off than we had thought.Once at the showroom I called up Jinx. We decided that this was not an acceptable deal. Sardarji now came up with a counter-offer not involving Hamid. We really did not want to deal with Hamid’s client directly either as it wouldn’t look good. No deal was done in all the confusion.

Hamid called up now and I informed him that we would like to re-think and that we should get atleast Rs 44,000.

Jinx had got some other buyer in the meanwhile and we were getting a much better deal there. The new guy went and saw the bike at the showroom. We hoped this deal might work out.

The next day was a Monday; a busy afternoon at office, I received a call on my office number. It was Hamid. He had somehow found out about the new client. For the next 10 minutes he screamed and ranted over the telephone. He was a far cry from the polished businessman image he presented earlier. He threatened us with dire consequences if he did not sell him the bike. He told me that he would ensure that the bike would not ever get sold to anyone else. It was not about the deal but his honor. I held fort. Asked him to call up later and that we would settle only for a better deal. Being in office I was conscious of my surroundings and I had thought spoke at a low voice. But at the end of the call colleagues came over and asked me what the ruckus was about!!

The next morning another beautiful dream was prematurely paused when I was woken by a call from George, the mallu Bullet showroom manager. He seemed quite disturbed. Right away he asked me to sell the bike to Hamid and even think of looking for any other buyer. I was intrigued and asked him what was troubling him. And George told me the behind the scenes story...

Hamid was much bigger than we thought. He was just a funny looking man in a cubicle-sized shop…… but one with enough links with the Mumbai underworld!!!!! And he had managed to call up someone who talked to George’s bosses in the company who in turn told George in no uncertain terms that the bike had to be sold to Hamid.

Simple! Straight off a Ram Gopal Verma gangster flick.

And we were no heroes. Not Sunny Deol & Anil Kapoor taking on the might of the unknown nether world which till now existed in movies. Neither of us wanted to think about the possibility of ending up as a bullet riddled body a la Satya. And all that for winning 2 Bikes in a Quiz.I was contemplating the newspaper headline the next day “An eye for an eye; Bullets for a Bullet”; “Bullet riddled bodies found at Bullet Showroom” or how about ”Bullet owners Bullet Riddled”. Or even “Hot shot executives shot dead”

Rather unpleasant thought, eh???

So when Hamid called up again; we simply said yes to whatever he asked for. Sardarji came on his rickety scooter once again. We went over to the showroom and the deal was signed. We shook hands while George looked on with some relief. Afterwards we went to Hamid’s shop who now heartily welcomed us and offered us soft drinks & snacks. The Sardarji handed us the money in his presence. All of us were smiling- We, the Sardarji, Hamid and Gandhiji (from the Rs 500 notes). Perfect Kodak Moment.

During the conversation Hamid asked us again how exactly we had won the bikes. “We won at the Business Quiz” I said. “Business Quiz???He asked...................Par aap logon ko tho Business ke bare mein kuch aate hi nahin!!!” He laughed loudly at his own joke.

That is how we left him. A funny looking man in a grimy shirt in a cubicle-sized shop….

Epilogue: We split the money and Jinx’s ordeal was over. I still had to sell my Pinnacle Saporiti furniture set. Could not think of keeping it in my bachelor pad. Would look like a BMW parked in a Dharavi slum, right?. And I couldn’t accept my roomie’s plan of converting our flat into a lounge bar and pub ;-))

After another month’s struggles; another newspaper ad; a lot of talking to architects, engineers, interior decorators, furniture shop owners , calling up friends and rich relatives, just anyone who could afford the set. Even followed a lead about a colleague’s ex-girlfriend’s dad who he said was primarily into gold smuggling and stayed in a duplex Sea facing Bandra Apt!!! (who says crime doesnt pay?)

Anyway the final buyer was quite a nice guy. A newly married automobile showroom manager who handed me the money without any hassle and dropped me home in his Pajero. The money was just about 50% of the actual prize of the set but I was willing for even less then. Of the entire prize value of nearly 1.5 lakhs; I finally raised just more than half the amount.

What did I do with the money? Well, apart from Rs 15,000 which I kept for myself, I sent the rest home to parents. My sis’ wedding was happening the next month and they could use it for expenses.

Quizzes…they happen every year…… ;-))

Motorcycle Diaries: Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal (Episode II)

2005-06-12T20:11:00.000+05:30

Please read my last post “Motorcycle Diaries: Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal (Episode I) “ before continuing further........................

The bikes were to be picked up from the showroom in Thane (a Mumbai suburb) .We could get them agree to keep those for some time ; then sell them to whomever and they could pick it up from there.....

Going to the bike showroom took half a day and cost 150 bucks both ways. 2 Local Trains, 1 AutoRide to the back of the beyond & repeat for return!! Obviously we did not want to visit there too many times. So we embarked on the Bike Disposal Venture with even heighted remarkable enthusiasm

Jinx and I were both Marketing grads. So we thought we ‘ll use some of those Mktg skills for this venture. We started with Positioning & Segmentation.....

First question ..Who can be our customer??

Profile of a Bullet rider :About 6 Ft tall ; macho (At least thinks he's macho) , totally crazy about bikes; actually loves maintaining the bike, (not like me who pushes the bike to the mechanic to have the spark plug cleaned and )

Age: Does not matter (not above 75 maybe)

Economic Status: Well, no clue. Maybe right from a local Dharavi daada to some rich stud Bandra boy

When i thought 6 footer; the first one who came to my mind was my cousin in the Naval Base in Lonavla! Bingo. Sub Lt. P. 6 Foot and Bike crazy.. Possible bakra.

Called him up ; He was all excited on the news of my winning the bike ; but he already had a relic Enfield handed over generations and could not think of disposing with it should the wrath of his ancestors fall upon him. It gave him unmeasurable pleasure to take it apart and put it back again. He had developed his muscles pushing the contraption down through the streets of Cochin and up the valleys of Lonavla!!

Then I thought further. There will be more like him where he is from. Yeah the Naval Base. I can always find a buyer there of the same profile!!

Also something i saw previous January 26th told me that there are not enough bikes with the Defense forces (check below link).
http://pib.nic.in/archieve/phtgalry/pgyr2002/pg012002/pg26jan2002/26012002i.html

Next day my cousin put a note in the Base Officers Mess Notice board on two Motorbikes for Sale. He assured me that these bikes will go in just 2 days and the Navy officers will be fighting between themselves to buy these.

I was happily imagining 2 smart “ White Attired; medals n all” Navy officers riding off to the sunset on our bikes;with me and Jinx standing on the side in a smart salute (with our pocket full of cash)

Days passed and then a week; Jinx started getting jittery…"Yaar yeh cousin tera call kuch kiyaa kya??" " He said he’ll call yaar" I said. After a long while ; my cousin called and told me there’s a slight problem "The Navy Cadets who weregetting promoted to officers will be getting their allowances after 3 months only. Lot of them will be picking up bikes (its a sort of a coming of age ritual for them; but all these .........only after 3 months. Alas !!

Enough of Patriotism. Let us get practical.. We decided to put an ad in Times of India. Spent some money on it. My coffers were near empty nowadays. Technically I was a Lakhpati with a total worth 1.5 lakhs about, not yet Bill Gates but getting there in a few light years). But somehow my bank account always displayed a four digit number. All I had was 2 envelopes; one telling me that Enfield is supposed to give me a bike; and the other telling me that Pinnacle Saporiti was to give me a Designer Furniture set !!

After some deliberation , me and Jinx decided to give both our cell numbers in the TOI ad.

I had worked till 3 am the day before the ad came on TOI. At about 6:45 in the morning I was in the middle of some dream where a girl who had taken my autograph after the quiz had turned into that pretty girl in HR. She had taken my phone no: And she was calling me…My mobile was ringing , ringing……………..I picked the phone and said hello in my most deep romantic sexy voice………………

A most harsh Gujju sounding male voice jolted me out of my reverie "Baaas, Aaj Times of India mein ek Bullet bechne ke liye ad dekhaa thaa. Uske bare mein poonchne kaa tha!!!"

Everything came back to me slowly "Huh, kaun??"

"Mein Hites bhai". He replied

I proceeded to tell him all about the Bullet and how were giving it for 8,000 less than the MRP. (This 8,000 figure we had reached upon after a lot of debate and after referring to Philip Kotler’s ideas on the 4 P’s of Marketing!!Bata pricing) remember paying 39.99 for a Bata Chappal) We kept the price at 59,000. Not quite 60,000 but amost there. Sounds like a good bargain to the buyer).

He asked where I had got the bike from so I proudly told him how I had won it in a quiz.

" Quijjj??, Yeh quijjj kya hota hai bhai?". He asked

"Boss, jaise yeh Kaun Banega Crorepati aata thaa na TV pe?? Vaisa hai quiz jeeta ek" I explained very patiently

A whole new respect came into his voice "Arre waah , aap CROREPATI jeet gaye?

"Nahi Boss, KBC nahi thaa. Waisa ek doosra quiz" I try explain

"Tho aap Bacchan saab se mile?? Kya bole woh??" He was still excited. He was talking to a crorepati who had actually shook hands with Mr Bachhan

I was fighting not to lose my cool " Nahin boss; KBC nahin thaa; Bacchan saab bhi nahin thaa. Bolaa naa yaar yeh Doosra Quiz thaa"

Our man was extremely disappointed by this turn of events." Aaap pehle bolte hai ki Crorepati jeeta ; phir bolta hai Bacchan saab se nahin milaa; yeh kyaa baat hui??"

I think we hung up by mutual consent…

This was just a tip of the iceberg. I had just managed to start off my dream from where I had stopped (alas there’s no pause button for dreams)) when the next call came. Calls just started pouring in thereafter; My roomie took his pillow n bed and wandered off into the other room.. I had to ignore his uncharitable comments on my family tree..

By the 17th caller i had been fielding various enquiries. I had flicked a Bullet brochure from the Showroom and was using it to talk about the Bhp and other features very knowledgebly ...

" I’m Saldhana" The caller was definitely in the sweet 60s ;"I’m an old bugger, heheheheh"
“Heheheh“ I replied in like just to get the rapport going……….
"I read about the bikes…." At last an English speaker

I repeated the same spiel on the bikes, price negotiable etc.That triggered a long story on his own bike.Then i said we won it in a Quiz. That triggered a long story about how his nephew Stanley used to be a champion in Quizzing. I listened patiently.He asked where I was from. When i mentioned Cochin that triggered a long story about his own Kerala trip. Somewhere after 25 minutes I gingerly asked him if he would like to come and see the bike at the showroom...

"The Bikes??, aaww no! as I said I’m an old bugger, I cant ride any bikes anymore. I had just called when I read about the bikes as I like Bullets. Good bikes, arent they?"………….

I silently cursed Jinx for answering that last question in the quiz. The 3rd prize had been a TV . We could be happily surfing channels sitting on our comfy couches this time

We figured that it was going to take us some time to sell the bikes. We had to buy time. So we went to the Bullet Showroom to negotiate. I pushed Jinx in front to speak to the Manager in Marathi; like everywhere else in Mumbai.But as we entered the room I saw that the manager with a thick bushy moustache who ushered us into his cabin was speaking on the phone in a rather familiar lingua franca. You gessed it right ; jezzt zimble yeveryday Malayalam!!!

“Leave this to me Jinx” I winked. I conducted the entire ensuing conversation in our dear old native tongue while Jinx sat like he was watching a ping-pong match with Chinese subtitles. Just after I had managed to locate a distant aundee of his who was a classmate of an ungle of mine in the gelf; I quickly changed the topic and asked for some time to sell the bikes as we had not found a buyer. He agreed reluctantly to keep the bikes in the showroom itself when I assured him that it would not be longer than 3 weeks

We put a second ad in the TOI with the prices slashed a further Rs. 5,000 !!

Around 25 calls on the first day. Around 10 on the second ; a couple of calls on the third and none on the fourth day.

From the 5th day Jinx and me started the reverse process of calling up everyone who had called us up for an enquiry. After every couple of hours we used to compare notes and reported responses such as

“I want to buy the bike; but my wife wants to buy a new Washing Machine instead”

“I want to buy the bike; but my daughter wants to buy a new TV instead”

" I want to buy the bike; but I want to get married first”

(Alas , It’s a vicious cycle..)

Slowly we were losing hope of ever being able to sell the bikes when one morning I got a call from someone who introduced himself to be a Sindhi Businessman based in Hong Kong. He said that he was interested in buying a bike and can pay the money down payment.

I was overjoyed and fixed a time of visiting the showroom that weekend. Once in office I rushed to see Jinx and with evident elation reported that my bike is sold. Jinx sported a similar grin on his face as he said that he also had found a buyer. Both bikes getting sold the same day !!!!!!We did a more enthusiastic high-five than when we had won the quiz !!

Then Jinx asked me who the buyer was

“ Some Sindhi Businessman from HONG KONG; I said proudly.

“Hey cool, man even my buyer is a Sindhi businessman from HONG KONG!! ” says Jinx

Buzzzzz....." Wait a sec “ It was our quizzer instincts that had buzzed this time.

“What was his name??” Jinx asked

“Some name like “Manmani” or something yaar” I said.

“Manmani”??? ……………or was it “Pamnani” ; Jinx asked with a slight decrease in enthusiasm & a marked increase in concern

“Yeah Pamnani”………I knew it.

It was the same guy who called both of us... It was not both the bikes but just one bike, which will be sold. Still one buyer is better than none

But the question now is whose bike as he had called both of us!! Like good quizzer buddies we made the pact right then…we’ll sell each bike and split the booty each time

On the fixed day I reached Thane after receiving thorough body massage in the Mumbai Local Trains. Met Jinx at Thane station and then we went over to the showroom.

We waited for the Businessman from Hong Kong to arrive……I had brought my camera along and we clicked snaps of each of us sitting on the Royal Enfield Thunderbird at the showroom. Had brought my dark sunglasses along and I felt I looked like Arnold in Terminator 2; though Jinx did not agree.

“Hasta la Vista Baby” I said in a real Austrian accent and Jinx thought maybe I had a point. Mebbe he did not want me to repeat to reinforce the point..

Well as things went later ; the more appropriate Arnold line was “I’ll be Back” (again and again and again)

The businessman arrived finally. An Esteem braked in front of the showroom and out stepped 2 guys. I was expecting a 6 ‘ 2’’ well built businessman with gold chains around his neck and gold watch on his wrist. But our buyer turned out to be hardly 5 ft tall businessman with gold chains around his neck and gold watch on his wrist. Even Jinx and me were towering above him…

There were no problems with the deal but for the fact that he wanted to buy a Thunderbird instead of an Electra and pay the difference. Though there was a minor confusion; after it all cleared the company allowed him that.

Our man wanted a test drive now and I was getting concerned.

Afterall, when this guy looked like a mahout on an elephant when he sat on the bike. The very existence of the second guy seemed for feeding our buyer’s ego. Our man sat on the bike; posed hero-like.

The chamcha was appreciative “ Waah!! Saab aap tho hero lag rahe hai” The guy beamed with pleasure. Jinx and me also agreed he looked like a filmstar. We did not specify which one coz we feared that the deal might be off if we did...

The chamcha was feeding us stories about how the saab can drive any motorbike and how he sets the streets ablaze with his Harley Davidson in Hongkong. We did look suitably impressed and resisted comments like whether the bike had 2 extra side wheels coz his feet would not reach the ground.

The man came back from his test drive and was happy with the bike. The deal was signed and everyone were all smiles. Now was the moment of truth. Our man whispered something to the chamcha and he went to the car and came back with paper packet. Out came some bundles of 500 rupee notes. Hadn’t seen so many of those for quite some time so I toyed with the idea of Xeroxing one for nostalgia sake.

He handed over the money to us and I did a quick check if it were all really Indian currency notes. Gandhiji smiled reassuringly on each of the notes told us that all was fine. We bid good bye to the duo as they sped away on their car. They were taking delivery later on a more auspicious day. We did not care; we had the money!!

We went over to the nearby restaurant and had Paav Bhaji with extra paav to celebrate!

(A minor success but a major boost to our efforts. Was it the end of our travails or was it just the beginning?? Dont go anywhere!!..the final episode is on its way.)

(Episode 1) Motorcycle Diaries: Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal

2005-06-12T19:49:00.000+05:30

Oct 24, 2002

Six Questions to go and we were still at the sixth place….......

The Corporate Quiz was an annual event held at this North Indian City. A Basketball stadium full of people! Unheard of for a quiz. Either they market it well or this is the only entertainment in the city. 3 B-School teams and 3 Corporates fighting it out in the final after 4 rounds. Started with 165 teams and finally . Big prizes at stake...

Last Buzzer Round!! Jinx (my quiz partner) did not even keep his fingers on the buzzer. In fact he was not even talking to me after a Dumb C round setback (yeah, the quiz had other rounds too) that cost us heavy. “Yeh quiz tho gaya, How could you screw up that Philips punchline ?“He was livid We were a big name team from Mumbai; but now losing to some not so famous teams; save two. Dreaded going to office the next day.....Same old cubicle, same boss, and absolutely nothing to look forward to.

The last round questions were on the buzzer…10 for a right ; negative 10 for a wrong one. Brand Related Questions. But not “strictly” as we found out soon

"Who has a house in Bangalore by the name Arzoo?" Arzoo-as-in-Arzoo.com??? I buzz." Sabeer Bhatia! . We score. " Next one- If u see a person named Sherry in a cricket dressing room…." (Easy Full toss! There’s only one Sherry I know.......Our own Shakespeare Sidhu" " I buzz again –"Navjyot Singh Sidhu." ..Got it!! Slightly better now; we are at fifth now. TOI team were the current leaders by miles. They had scored heavily on the gimmick rounds. IIM L were at number two playing safe in the last round like most others. I took advantage of this and answered the next two

All eyes in the packed Basketball Stadium the venue were now just on us. Just 2 more questions to go and we the team who were lying sixth had answered all the past 4 on the buzzer.. We are fourth now. Talk about high-drama.

I’m like a man possessed now…adrenalin pumping. ..Its like you are swinging at everything in the slog overs of a match and somehow everything is connecting in the middle of the bat !!

Then the quizmaster starts this weird question " Bengal Indore Jaipur; Orissa, Oudh Rajasthan.... What "brand" name do you get from this?? "

My little grey cells tingle Poirot-like -----A jingle, a product marketed in those areas? No! Oudh it cant be; and half the names are states and others cities. Seems it is a deliberate attempt to get some acronym right; ..Acronym??!! Yes, that’s it.. (All this data processing was in about 3 seconds I guess ;-))

I grabbed the pen and scribbled B-I-J-O-… and buzzed.Audience hasn’t quite figured what the question was about. They looked stunned when I buzzed. Jinx is staring at me as if I’ve gone nuts. I take the microphone and say " Bijoor- That’s your name, sir!"

Harish Bijoor the quiz master looked especially happy. (Heights, some plug .Quiz master's name as a brand !!! ) Audience gave us a thunderous applause! We were third now ; just 5 points behind IIM L who were at second now and looking like Ganguly facing a Glenn McGrath Delivery

C'mon man, I try get Jinxx pumped up too..Last Question- Fingers on the buzzer "The new Videocon Logo has 2 E’s which signifies something, what??". Jinxx springs into action this time ..Buzzzzz "Energy to Electronics" ! We get it !!! 6 out of 6 last qs on the buzzer with all other teams looking on. Unbelievable ! We do High Fives !!

We don’t win but end up Runners Up pipping the IIM team; quite a comeback

"We get the Bikes right??" Suddenly that thought hits Jinxx. Yeah!!!!!!. We win an Enfield Electra Bullet each!! Cool !! The winners get a laptop each…

There is then a lone wolf round where each guy in the top 2 teams (total 4) undergoes a Mastermind Style Rapid fire round. I beat Jinx & the TOI guysto top this and win the Brand Mahaguru title & a Furniture Set from Pinnacle Saporiti worth Rs 80,000 !!

Not bad earnings for an evening's work, eh??? Smug thought!

Prize distribution was elaborate. Hell lot of prizes. Big Red Turbans tied on our heads and we were carried around the stadium around the stadium in a Camel Cart.

Some Girls, Mgmt Students asked for my autograph!!! A few wanted to stand with me and pose for a photo (Mom/Dad what a pity you weren’t here).

My first brush with celebrityhood !! Page 3 , here i come !! (Actually Page 3 of a local Hindi paper had my snap the next day; trophy aloft; and looking like a contradiction of cultures- Red turban & black Rockband TShirt!!Bina mooch ke sardar )

Reality struck after we were back in the Hotel- We have the bikes but can we use them???

Jinx had never graduated beyond his tricycle in his childhood and though he knows even the year in which Harley Davidson set up shop in Milwaukee; cannot for his life actually ride even a TVS moped!!

My line of thought was different. My KB 125 which often ran out of Petrol (well, a bike does not start by optimism alone) had to be pushed to the nearest Petrol pump with my own bare hands. But pushing an Enfield?? Alas, I’ll have to first spend some money on a Bull worker and the Autobiography of Arnold Schwarznegger first!

We made the decision !! We had to sell both our bikes …. The officials told us that we could not exchange it for money. Sponsors wont like it…

And thus started the Saga of the unsold Bullets - Alternatively titled Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal

( Did Flaash and Jinxx manage to sell off the Bullets?? Did they regret ever winning these prizes? Wot are the characters they met & negotiated with in this effort? To get answers to these please Dont Miss my next post “Motorcycle Diaries- Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal (Episode 2)“)

WAIT WITH BATED BREATH....

(Hope to have this episode 2 up by this weekend, all depends on BESCOM)

.........btw my replies to all ur comments on B'lore roads blog is put up in the comments section..Plz check it out

Cheers

One for the Road - Driving and Surviving in Bangalore

2005-06-12T19:21:00.000+05:30

Driving in Bangalore is like working on a Six Sigma process. There are a million opportunities for a defect; in this case a process defect being defined as “getting a dent in your car”. A day with less than 3.4 scratches, dents or bent bumpers means that your driving for the day is Six Sigma qualified.

Every time you brake; you brace for impact from behind, invariably there is a car, auto or a bike just a few millimeters behind the rear bumper ready to crash into you. I pity those cars with “body color bumpers” ; they will have to be repainted after every hit. Mine has a “Scratch” color bumper so that it absorbs as many scratches as it likes. I tried to get a Scratch Color car but they don’t sell them here. So I had to do with a scratch color bumper

Every car owner blames any dent on the ubiquitious “Other Driver”. The “Other driver” is one who brakes too early or never brake on time. He either makes a turn without an indicator or tries zipping past cheekily on a bike through your left when you have your left indicator on and slowly turning left- just begging to be knocked down.

According to “been-here-for-a-long-time” Bangaloreans everything can be blamed on the Software engineers. Nothing was the same again afterwards..…After the Software Revolution almost overnight the population doubled; quadrupled and had the city bursting at the seams. All Software Engineers went on onsite trips and bought cars & flats with the money they saved. They had survived on just Puliyogre rice in US/UK/Canada for an year to save money for the entire duration of their onsite trip.

However the government was not in a mood to let them drive happily ever after in their new flashy cars. They called emergency meetings and made the decision to dig up all the roads…Also they decided to build “Semi-fly-overs” thru out the city. These were specially designed to narrow down the existing roads and make them so congested that not even a “fly can go over” to the other side. People initially thought these are like fly-overs in other cities ;but later on came to know these are meant to be “Semi-fly-overs” which is supposed to be like a speed breaker (speeding is if you go above 20 kmph) and never will be like those on which vehicles actually ply on..

Talking about flies; how can you forget mosquitoes; another remarkable phenomenon hereabouts…. Around the time Infosys was thinking of ESOPs; Mosquitoes learned that Bangalore was a good place for a “byte”. And the rest is history. According to stats, currently there are around 2767 mosquitoes per software engineer in Bangalore. Mosquitoes have a gala time with these “soft” targets

Meanwhile holes in ozone layer induced global warming and the air conditioned city now had air conditioning only in the offices of software co: s. The honchos of the software companies had met and hatched a conspiracy. They wrote a program to increase the atmospheric temperatures in the city so that the offices became pleasant havens for software engineers who now preferred working 15 hrs instead of 9. And dreading their hot n sweaty mosquito infested homes and the rush hours to get there….

Btw let me tell you; as such we Bangaloreans are not different species from anyone else. But well there is one distinguishing factor.

For eg: Mumbaiites work hard during the week; and in the weekend; go around town sporting T-shirts of brands such as Adidas, Nike, Reebok etc. ….

Bangaloreans too work hard during the week, but go out on weekends sporting t-shirts, jackets, caps, socks, bags & underwear (mebbe) of brands such as Infosys, Wipro or whichever software company we work for................

Back to the topic of driving… Well not so long ago I was one of the “overtake-only-thru-the left” bikers I mentioned earlier but then I managed to become a car owner. In my own foreign trips, though I did not survive on Puliyodiri rice I saved a lot of money by having just one Beer a day and in the end of my sojourn I had saved enough to own just one li’l not-so-new Santro. Still I look at my car and I wistfully remember all those drinks I did not have.

Back in Bangalore I did a Cost-Benefit analysis of using the car vis-à-vis the bike. Well btw my KB 125 bike is unique. Unlike other bikes where the mileage is calculated in Km per liter; this gr8 breakthrough’ of motorcycling; the mileage is calculated in liters to go one Km!!! This can probably be attributed to the fact that my knowledge of Zen and that of Motorcycle Maintenance are quite comparable. Anyway in the final tally, mileage-wise the car won hands-down. So due to economical reasons I chose the car

Another important reason I choose the car for my daily commute is the Bangalore Bus Drivers..

Well, their mundane existence of just driving passengers back n forth bored these guys to no extent. Then one of them saw Tiger Woods on TV and devised a game called BMTC-Golf . The rules are similar to ordinary Golf . However in this case each Bus Driver uses his bus instead of a Golf Club. All he has to do is to aim right, swing (the steering) and whack !!Knock a two-wheeler driver to a convenient pot-hole of a suitable size. Jumping a red light and knocking down a 2 wheeler carries extra points and brings down your handicap.As playing BMTC-Golf with a car is as difficult as a “hole in one” i feel a wee bit more comfortable in a car.

Btw the golf courses for this extremely popular sport are designated by the very creative names they have been given. For eg: There’s an 80-feet road; where 80 feet is the average radius of a pothole & similarly there are some 100 feet roads. Each driver compares his tally for the day with the others and the winner buys booze for everyone before everyone starts work the next day...

BPO Qualis drivers have seen the immense entertainment potential for this sport and are fast catching up. They have their own mini versions of the same game which they’re perfecting. They even flaunt their talent on the back of their vehicles like Golf players “How is my driving, call 988XXXXX”. I reckon not too many are talented in other Golf shots like “Putting”, “Teeing” or “Chipping” because I’ve never seen any BPO Qualis driver ask “How is my Putting?” on their back windows

With such varied species around; Bangalore roads are a reflection of life itself. Like in life there are no road signs when u require it and you have to guess by the number of vehicles going into a particular road or open your inner eye and see whether it will lead you to MG road. And in this One-way city if miss a turn, you have to orbit the city like a dogged satellite to get near the same point.

None has to keep reminding you “ There are no Second Chances in Life”

(Mail me at flaashgordon@indiatimes.com)

Living With those wierdos II

2005-06-12T19:14:00.000+05:30

It was a struggle to get into the College hostel…..but the bigger struggle was to actually live there. The first part was because many were lured by the cheapest accommodation possible & the dreaded Mumbai local trains need not be a part of your routine. Moreover this was just across the street from the institute that in an emergency your schedule can be

8:45 am : Wake up; Already (f#$^ its 8: frigging 45; daaamnn!!) .

8:50 am : Brush teeth ; Hope against hope there’s water at the wash basin. The sadistic authorities had a real fetish for saving water and shut out taps by that time

8:55 am : Hope one of the 2 functional loos for 16 people are empty but the one drum of water (again for bathing, brushing, washing for 16 people) is not empty.

8:57 am: If nothing worked some opted for the “washbasin bath” (also called Dumbo bath after one of the main exponents of this style) where u plaster your hair with water and carefully comb it backwards – classmates would assume u’ve had ur bath.

9:00 am: Change and rush to class. The %#ing lecture has started; will have breakfast during the break (mebbe at 10:30) .

9:05 am: Just a wee bit late, but looking fresh n smart n glowing despite the few days old stubble; the wannabe corporate warrior walks into the class ; ready to take business world by storm

Each room had 4 occupants each. Each room had a fair bit of superstition associated with it. My bong friend B had got a hostel room in the first year itself and had booked Room 308 for the second year. The lure was that all 4 previous occupants of this room (our seniors in MBA) had got placed in the first day itself. And so I moved into the lucky Room 308; with B ; SSS the financial wizkid from Chennai & R-a Puneite Tam who seldom used to be in the room.

Our hostel was a common one for us MBA guys, Engg Collge guys, Degree students & students of Buddhist studies. Occasionally after an extended daaru session involving vodka, u reach the hostel & see the apparition of a shaven headed monk in purple robes right in front of u; it didnt mean that u had a drink too much…it meant that u have reached the right hostel!

U say Mumbai, u say Men's hostel ; one would automatically associate it with wild fun, booze, dope & cigarettes. But alas!! this one was different. The quirkiest thing here was a 9 PM prayer where a crony of the warden recites some indecipherable Sanskrit phrases which the rest repeats . This understandably not being the most exciting of activities vis-a-vis the diversions Mumbai could offer at the same time; was made compulsory by the warden Worse was a 11pm deadline; the grill was closed at that time. when u consider that this was the city which never slept; was an absolutely atrocious rule. But rules are rules & hence meant to be broken or worked around. Will come to that later... .

Our room was Self sufficient: We had a Music System, a bike (my faithful steed KB125 ) and the best of all- a Mobile Phone !! Remember this was a couple of years before Ambani told everyone to "Kar lo Duniya mutti mein" (he meant his own mutti prob but i guess it worked) and everyone right from the Vadapav wallah to the Auto driver started brandishing better models with Saathiyaa ring tones

The ownership of the mobile was contentious. My friend Bong bought it with the money his rich uncle had sent him from Sweden. We shared and bought the SIM but it was in my name as Bong never had a valid ID Proof which ws required for the purchase. The official users were 3 of us- Bong, me and SSS. Official here, means "billpaying". I'm talking of a time when mobile calls outgoing were 4 bucks and so were incoming. There were at least 15 in the floor who had given this no: as the c/o no: to their parents. And thus Bong acquired call center skills much before the BPO revolution; speaking to various parents n friends of the hostellers in various mother tongues …..

And so it was a major occasion when the Itemized Mobile Bill came. Out came the calculators and each of us had to identify the numbers in the list and own up for those. Home numbers of us 3 official users were easy -3 Cs for our Mobile Bills-Chennai, Calcutta, Cochin. But trouble was with the neutral ones….

Remember that oft repeated Court scene in a Hindi movie where the lawyer asks the defendent " 14 OCTOBER KI RAAT 9 BAJE TUM KAHAN THHEY??"

Similar questions used to come very handy in settling disputes on who was responsible for a particular long duration call with an obscene amount against it. Each of us used to display amazing memories of each other’s schedules in this matter. For eg: "That day; after we returned from Cost Acc class your cousin from Andheri had called and you talked for half an hour? That number on the bill starts with 63 ; ie Andheri number; we have cost accounting class on Wednesdays; see the date ; its Wednesday…so (triumphantly) it's ur call !! After all the calls were owned up for & accounted for ; we had to share the burden for calls for which we couldn’t figure out the perpetrator and each person’s share was calculated. The finance whiz (ICWAI Qualified) then added tax on the bill as per the latest budget (i could never figure out this part) and voila the bill is ready..

The right to keep the mobile generally was not a contentious issue unless we were at the interval of a movie and had stepped out to the foyer. At such an occasion the right to brandish the mobile was the divine right of Bong. He would stand under the spotlight (or whatever available light) lovingly flick it open (he had insisted on a Samsung flick open model after he saw Tom Cruise flick one open in MI2) ; pretend to check (non-existent) missed calls & messages (again non-existent) ; make an imaginary call making sure he’s the cynosure of all eyes.

All our hostel room doors had a rectangular glass window. This was for the warden to peek in to every room and see if the occupants are up to well... some mischief. As people did not particularly enjoy satisfying the voyeuristic instincts of the warden or others on the floor; all these were covered by an equally rectangular piece of newspaper. Though we were fined Rs 100/- each after a surprise inspection on the room doors, we thought it was a small price to pay for privacy.

(Of course, the comparison is with the celebrities such as the Beckhams who have to install high walls with electronic cameras, burglar alarms, disguises, alternate hairdos, decoys and alternate identities to maintain their privacy.)

(To be continued)

Living With those wierdos

2005-02-23T13:32:00.000+05:30

The day comes sooner or later for most small town guys and even some big city guys; when you leave home; the hitherto taken for granted comforts such as an own room; mom’s cooking & dad paying for everything become history. And in my case Mumbai meant bright lights, hep girls & an underworld ready to pounce on you as you step down on the platform from the the Cochin-Kurla train…And the lure of a career away from troubled world of engines which i couldnt comprehend; to the world of MBA- with white collars, A/c offices & revolving chairs.

First day of college was amazing; 120 aspiring managers from all parts of India. First conversations were always about accomodation "Have you found a place yet?Am looking for room mates n so on". I met an old Quizzing days acquaintance who spoke my language !! We decided to bunk together and recruit 3 more for sharing the flat. So the main task on first day was trying to locate kindred souls trying to find acco. After seeing a couple of places & interviewing potential roomies from the batch of 2001 of the Bschool we finalized on a flat & inmates.

A-204 Premjyot Complex A-204 Premjyot Complex was situated in the classy locale of Govandi (obviously Italian like Vivendi, Fendi) over seeing a lake….

Well, jokes apart ; u Mumbaiites will be thinking wtf.. yeah actually it was a Godforsaken waste dump suburb of Mumbai & our flat overlooked a sewage canal (looked like River Thames at night if you have a cold & you could not feel the stench.

The final line up of roomies included the following... K my friend was a Palakkad Iyer ; born n brought up in Calcutta. A brilliant engineer, very vegetarian, no drinks type & could do arithmetic calculations with the speed of lightning in his head. Unfortunately the calculations went like “I paid Rs 4 for the bus tkts so well your share comes to 1 Rupee 35 paise”. But me and K later formed a pretty strong Quiz team winning many a Biz quiz in Mumbai; a fact ( for which we were known among peers & even to the later batches)

G was K’s engg college classmate; well this is one guy whom you’d remember even if you forget everyone else in class. He used to work with a famous Indian Paint co; a fact he never let anyone forget. An average conversation involving G ended either when the victim found an excuse to run or G found another victim. First time I met him he left me with a deep inferiority complex when he told me how joined MBA he was losing his “competitive edge” at his previous job & how he planned to “leverage” his quantitative skills and head a “profit center” asap. (Duhh,I’d joined MBA basically because I hated engg; but i did use G's lines in an interview after 2 years when they asked me why I decided on an MBA ;-)))

R was from Orissa but studied all his life in Bihar or mebbe it was viceversa. A very decent guy, much older than the rest of us ; he wanted me to speak to him in English to improve his English whereas I wanted him to speak to me in Hindi for the same purpose.

There was S; a Sardar from Delhi who was supposed to join us but did not turn up ever tho’ he paid the deposit. He either was found in the class or in the library reading the newspaper. Don’t know anything more about him.

SSS ; the finance whiz from Chennai moved in slightly later to complete the line-up. He taught most of the class more Fin/ Cost Accounting than all of the Profs combined; and I am indebted to him for getting me pass all those dreaded papers. Come exam time he was often seen selflessly teaching all and sundry (even the Punjab daa puttars who wouldn’t have anything to do wth anyone south of the Vindhyas otherwise) these subjects before the exam; anyway he needed no preparation as he proved by the whopping marks he used to get. Due to all this I guess we can overlook his tendency to listen to Alaipayuthe and Kandukondein Kandukondein over n over again; his tendency to complain about anything under the sun & the obsession with washing clothes!

The most important room in the entire flat was the middle one (after the loo; depending on the time of the day) of co; supposed to be the kitchen for a normal household. Ours being anything but a normal household; the room behaved like a boggart in Harry Potterian terms (for the uninitiated: this room changed shape frequently till another one of us came n converted it to something else as if by magic)1 ;was a Puja Room in the mornings, the “read-newspaper-while-u-wait-for-the-loo-to-be-free” room slightly later, and music room playing FM at the same time. Late evenings it hosted discussions on topics ranging from “Branding strategy of Hindustan Lever” to which girl in class might be interested if one try-marofied. Later at night its the dining room for those who decided to take a parcel (Mumbaiya for take-away) & most importantly it morphed itself to bar on weekends & certain " i'm-so-screwed-up-i-need-a-drink" kind of weekdays.

More on that ; but i 'm really dying to write about my hostel which was my next abode...

The Suitable Bride BPO

2005-01-25T17:07:00.001+05:30

By all means marry; if you get a good wife, you'll be happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher

Socrates (469 BC - 399 )

Got to say that Cupid, he never got it right. He struck me quite often, but doing half a job usually worse than doing nothing at all. Coz he conveniently bypassed whoever i wanted him to strike on my behalf. And whenever there was that spark of interest from the other side; he never really intervened to keep it on & build it into a roaring fire... Guess his profile was meant to be just of a Business Development Manager ; his job description did not include a Relationship Manager role . Well i can understand if it's that, but got to say he is not a remarkable success in the first profile either !!!

And time flew by; and I was often still in the list of those dreading Valentine's Day, New Years Eve & any other "I-should-be with-my-Girl friend" sort of times.

They say Something's gotta give; and lo behold; it happened for me too. i met someone really wonderful at my office. Thank god for Diversity Policy of the company !! She was gorgeous, intelligent, had an amazing sense of humor (& more importantly thought the same about me) in short just great, soon we started talking.. & then couldnt stop.

We used to be with each other all the time. Sometimes a jog in the mornings; maybe meet up for lunch; chat on office messenger between work and again talk an hour every night after she got home. Every moment so scintillating we couldn't really bear to be apart from each other for too long.The times we went out on weekends; have to say i did enjoy the envious stares of those nerdy "girlfriend-less" types;-)

And thus we decided to get married ............................................... Well, as per plan ; she's now married; though i'm yet to :-((

And so where i've mentioned earlier "We decided to get married"; well :-((( it was not really to each other. She decided to get married to that long term fiance & i decided to get married to whoever destiny had intended for me. As Dil to Pagal Hai would have me believe "There's someone in the world meant just for you". Oh yeah; Just like Liz Taylor had Nicky Hilton, Micheal Wilding, Mike Todd, Eddie Fisher, John Warner & Larry Fortensky all meant for her !!! (Quizzing expects you remember all 7 husbands of Liz Taylor; maybe she doesnt remember all herself)

I had nightmares of becoming a male version of Bridget Jones in about 7 odd years !! Still single & updating my diary on the alcohol units consumed & calories added on. But this being Swades you usually have parents waiting patiently for u to be of marriageable age. Also in my case 2 married sisters, 18 pairs of Uncles n Aunts,about 45 first cousins, 100s of second cousins & millions of myriad relatives all over the world !!

So one day my dad informed me that they 're launching the The Suitable Bride project.

Project objective: Just get N MARRIED asap

Expected date of project completion: Latest End 2005

Scope : Use all the available resources at hand* to find a suitable bride

(Available Resources: 2 married sisters, 18 pairs of Uncles n Aunts,about 45 first cousins, 100s of second cousins & millions of myriad relatives all over the world !! )

Divine Intervention: Might be Essential, Special Novenas , offerings etc to ensure same The first Project Discussion meeting went on like this

Me: Ok, I will get married for sure , but you know wot, I intend to find "The One" myself ; there's no need of anyone else doing it....

Dad: Fine; but of course u dont really have the time for all that; being busy at work n all, do u ? Look at all the resources at OUR disposal??Can you beat that??We will just help you in your search; shortlist candidates for your approval

Me: Well...am not really convinced this will work...

Dad: Consider this like your BPO thingie; u dont have time;we have plenty, so just imagine u have outsourced this task to us !!!

Aaha!!! Now it made sense to me !!!! Like a 3rd party BPO; a company outsourcing non-core activities to an outside vendor which having better resources to perform the task can do it better. I had not thought of it this way..Well, though i'd not really like to admit that finding a girl is not my core competency, I'd to admit there was some logic in outsourcing)

As i couldnt give up so easily I decided to set this condition Me: " The Quality Control lies entirely with the entity which is outsourcing so I will be the final word" !! That was not really a concern for Dad and thus was launched "The Suitable Bride BPO“

Project Update : As we speak now the biggest (wo)man hunt in History is on....Newspaper ads, Shaadi Websites , (click n mortar model??)Personal references.. The entire armada of relatives have been roped in to this task...News comes thick n fast ..There's this girl: Someone's cousin's neighbour's classmate; that nice girl we saw in church(might expect a god fearing guy ;-)))... Wedding videos are scanned for perennial bridesmaids who are potential brides.. Occupants of the photo albums of matrimonial agencies smile at me (believe me these offer more choices than Jenson n Nicholson Paints catalogues)

Even little cousins are reporting nice class teachers (doesnt beat us, doesnt get angry even if i dont do homework) ...

The tsunami of profiles has begun to hit me..

A dentist??: Out of Question.. Will i have to discuss the inclination of canines and fillings to be used in molars all day??

A Vet Doctor: No way; The only animals i deal with will be on my dining table.

A Software engg: Maybe; cant escape them. They're just everywhere in Bangalore. But will i have to ask "which platform do u work on?" as a conversation opener? (I once asked a shoe polish guy at Bandra station the same question ;-))And tho' i speak English, Hindi, Malayalam, French (some German & Tamil too) wot if she can speak no language but C, C++, JAVA??Duhh!!

A fashion designer: Funky, but wot if she doesnt consider me a cool accessory for too long? Will i have to wait till i am back in vogue as retro?.

An MBA: More or less what i have in mind. But still single? Most girls who join MBA do find their life partners there (or by then). How come she didnt??And no way i'll go ahead if she is from a higher ranked Institute than mine. I'll have to go into hiding every time Business Today/ Outlook/ Business World publishes their annual Bschool rankings...

Obviously I havent found "The One" yet....I'm hopeful though ; You know what; maybe there is really someone out there......... (not talkin abt aliens here)

This story is not over yet .....So watch this space

You want your Backside- Square or Graduation ???

2005-01-24T10:41:00.000+05:30

Having stayed in 5 cities, 3 in Swades & 2 in England & travelled around quite a bit, i've heard versions of Queen's English as different as Masaladosas r from Fish n Chips

In the God's own Country where i hail from ; the way we say "Pop Music" would remind u more of Vatican rather than Micheal Jackson & "Coke" would remind you of a male Chicken (among other things ;-))) than Aamir Khan's Thanda Matlab........".
Ingleesh becomes the official language after the "occasional" drink ( quite so many of them) with friends & relatives. The subsequent ground shaking discussions on the political, socio-religious & economic equations of Kerala, India, Gelf & Amerikka which needs to be altered, redrawn & utopianized (new word for English??) are conducted essentially in a version of the Queen's language which might first induce her to go to her grave & then turn in it !!!Also when my friend said about a new movie "Yellow Sea" which is playing in Cochin i had in mind mebbe an Akira Kurasowa sort of art movie, till i realized he was talking about LOC with half of Bollywood in it.

Life took me to Mumbai for my MBA & from the first day i was so conscious of my so-called mallu accent. Years of methodically & deliberately stifling & mutilating this accent has worked to some extent. At least in short doses it is rather neutral but have a longer conversation & it pops out (damn..lola kutty). Another pbm was that I was at the same time learning to speak casually in Hindi at the same time. In Mumbai, Hindi n English (Actually Mumbaiyaa versions of both) are as unseparable as Siamese twins. So u've to go like this " Bai aayaa thaa, & and i told her u have to be more regular, aur woh b&#^%$ bol rahaa hai ki I've to pay 200 more, what the f... !!" .. (Well i did spent some time in my std 5 learning the difference betwn "aa rahaa; aa rahi; jaa rahaa; jaa rahi " But Mumbai taught me dont bother , be bindaas , Hindi can be gender blind too!!..hence bai aayaa thaa, gaadi aayaa thaa, train aaya that, ladki aaya thaa ) Moreover, hindi expletives at regular intervals not only makes you so sound more macho but also that u r really comfy wth the language .I noticed that second word of any Punjab-daa-puttar's casual conversation sentence is either of the two fave twin Hindi gaalis (yeah next time listen...)

Work took me abroad to the home of English & I realized that much of what i thought was good English; the Englishmen themselves havent heard of it !!! For eg: One of my friends asked our trainer "May i know your good name plz??" He responded "Well, its Pete, ..uh; dont know if its good or bad"..Later i figured that probably it was a very Indian Shubh naam which became Good name quite innovatively so. And when another of our group mentioned someone's dad expired, quite unexpected this guy burst out laughing; while I was contemplating whether this guy was a remnant of British raaj; (laughing like Bob Cristo over the death of a native in aBollywood movie) he told us that for them it is usually loans n mortgages that expires which is a rather happy occasion !!!

And in the same UK trip once there was this friend of mine who suddenly screamed "Right Here" to the London cabbie and Screeeechhh....... he slammed the brakes right there. She said "no ,not here" and the cab started again & once again she screams "Right here" ...So he braked right there ..Both were confused & this "Right here" & "Screeecchh" went on a couple of times till someone else sort of explained that "Please take a right turn" is what she had in mind !!!

Back in India after Bangaloring a few jobs from the UK ; i heard a totally different tongue; a very Bangalorean English; which went like "Dont put-tu your slipper-u in the mud-du"or an exasperated" What-and-all do i have to do, aayo amma" ; a very curious" What it seems, what it seems???" ; or a questioning "I've to do it-aaa or u'will do it aaaa???"

But nothing could beat the barber who was giving me a haircut & asked me how the hair should be cut..(A round cut or a sloping cut ) "Sir, you want your backside square or graduation " ???!!!!

God save the queen !!Serves her right for spreading the language so indiscriminately

Football with the Fanatics :- Eng Vs France match June 14 2004

2005-01-19T21:16:00.000+05:30

Tottenham, Central London :-
Euro Cup 2004 was on and I was in London. A process Migration Project from my company. Being in the homeland of Football when their team is participating in such an important tournament was an umatchable experience. Like being in Mumbai when India is playing in the World Cup. So much josh; absolute fanatism!!!England flags on every car, England merchandise in all shops..

We had thot we'll watch the much awaited Eng-France match at an English pub ....Just for the 100% experience. We were desperate to find one as the match had already started.........only sounds in the the deserted Oxford street was from the occasional pub which was all full with England shirts singing , cheering....
Finally slightly off the road found a pub with a spare table and the sign outside "Yeah, we show the footie in our telly"
Was the same ambience as everywhere but I noticed it was not a very young crowd ; some oldies in England shirts, another group all in England shirts and weird lookin big England hats ..After we took our places at the table noticed 3 more guys..One a thin skinhead like youngster with tattoos all over ...but (Somehow girls found him cute than menacing as the ones we'd heard stories of) .., and 2 blacks; one quite lookin like Laurence Fishburne; sitting at the bar ..
"Daat izzz a dangerous color to wear today " Mr Fishburne told my friend who was wearing a dark blue tshirt ...He pointed to his own tshirt which had a Union Jack...and winked .His accent gave it away..He was French !! And so was the skinhead n the other guy...three Frenchmen in the midst a very patriotic English crowd
Match goes on..Ooohs and aahs ..England attacks......Beckham curves in one ;Lampard scores.......... Gooooooaaaalll !! The pub exploded..Red and white all over ...People started singing ........"Born eeeeeeeeeeeen Eng-Land" theme song for the team this year ..More beer for everyone.
Skinhead is really disappointed ........"Sheeeeeeiiittt"

French tries to attack but are not even testing James the English keeper...........
Half time !!! Pub started playing the current rage ;England football songs..The Englishmen sing along...A surge in Patriotism.

I'd always wondered if they had a Brit equivalent for those Rok Sake to Rok Lo sort of songs which become a hit in India when World Cup Cricket is on. Not quite so but there was this one.....
"Three Lions on your shirt,
Jules Rimet still gleaming ,
30 years of hurt,
couldnt stop u dreaming.... "

They're referring to the 1966 controversial World Cup win for England ( they say there were 14 Englishmen on the field; 11 Players, referree & linesmen) still much like we keep nostalgically talking about 1983 in cricketing terms.Well at least we won on our own; not with the umpires' help.
A couple of 'em taunts Skinhead; one puts an arm around his shoulder n says "Too bad Frenchie Boy " ..pats him on the back mockingly and singing along the English songs in his face ...

"Peeeessss Offf" ...........Frenchie boy shows the Middle finger ............

Fishburne is in a mood to talk to us....may be coz we 're the only non English looking and comparitively sober group around.. "Barthezzz ..getting old, Anelka wazzz goood..Zidaane old now....U know Thierry Henry ??"he asks..He's my Frriend "I know heeem very welll" .....

But he's given up on his team.."No use today ..England will win"

Match starts again..France keeps attacking..But then Wayne Rooney takes the ball and goes into the French penalty area..he gets crudely hacked down by Mikael Silvestre, who was fortunate to receive only a caution, and England are duly awarded a penalty....Our 3 French Musketeers cant bear to watch..Beckham takes the kick , Barthez dives right .................. Penalty Saved !!!! Englishmen cant believe this ...................."

"Yeahhhhh " ..Skinhead raises his arms more in relief than truimph ........ But match is nearing finish....The singing starts again .. Frenchie boy cant sit down anymore..starts walkin around with hands on his head.."Non non non"............Singing becomes louder
Just a minute odd of injury time to go..France gets a freekick..Zidane takes it and curls aorund Goal keeper James............. "Gooooaaallll" Skinhead starts jumpin about........Fishburne also pumps his fist and does a High five with the Skinhead...
Englishmen bang their fists on the table "Dammmmmmmmmmn!" But its not over yet ...a minute later James brings down Henry and France is given a penalty..Englishmen are dumbfounded now..
Zidaane come fwd to take the kick .."He cant miss it , he cant miss it" Fishburne is muttering.. Now Zidane doesn't miss such opportunities..not like Beckham (with haircuts and Posh Spice to distract him) ..........he kicks it in to the right of the Goalkeeper who dives the wrong way...

"Gooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllll " Its 2-1 France

Pub goes all silent but for the Skinhead and the other 2 Frenchmen who are now dancing embracing each other...Even the reserved Mr Fishburne cannot hide his delight...
Skinhead now launched into a new dance routine...which basically involved Middle fingers extended in both hands and raising above his head and jumping around..
And he started a different song "Aaaallez .....................allez allez ohh aaaahh, Aaaaaalllezzz" .................. Fishburne and the other French men join in ..."Aaaaaaalllez ...."
"Y'all better learn some French now !!!" Fishburne shouts at all ..."Bonjour , Comment allez vous.." And then he joined in with the other two "Aaaaallez, allez allez Ohh aaaaaaaaaaaahhh" ................

Three years in the making; here it is ...THE BLOGGGG !!!

2005-01-17T15:24:00.000+05:30

"With the possible exception of the equator, everything begins somewhere"

It 's my New Year resolution to start a blog !!

I 'm consistent..I had the same resolution in 2002 & 2003. I forgot about it in 2004. But remembered again in 2005

Problem is the Blogger's Block (manifests itself just like the writer's block) ..It means that I get this incredibly creative idea when i'm on my bike negotiating the nearly nbon-existent Bangalore roads (they exist in patches between the potholes) or when i' m takin a shower in the morning or desperately working out trying to lose weight at the gym(thats another New Year resolution) ...but whn i come back to the comp and think of keying in something..all just evaporates, no mood no time & so no blog

Being in an American company; with American Holidays today i'm havin an off.I'm supposed to celebrate Martin Luther King's Birthday today. No problemo !! I can celebrate the B'day of Britney Spears if you want. If i'm given a holiday on a Monday

Imagine waking up at say 8:30 in the morning ..Stretch ...yaaawwwnn..And then ..damn its monday .....but wait a sec !!! Today it's Martin Luther King's Happy B'day..u can sleep another 2 hours. So i pull the covers over my head & go back to the world of outrageous dreams.

Well I just remembered, Dr. King was the one with the original "I have a Dream" Speech. Well hope someday i'll be able to dream a dream which can actually mentioned to a group & will be applauded for it.....

As for the current dreams...well; let me put it this way only thing i can do with them is to sell the movie rights to... say Zalman King ;-))

So much for that. Feeling good that i've created a blog & maybe i'l actually get some readers for the same & maybe someday there'll be readers who will wait for the next blog.....

All this when i've not really decided what this blog will be all about..Mebbe some of those lazy ruminations of mine & anecdotes from my not so eventful life...Thank God its not some situation where this blog is my only source of livelyhood with some corporate tycoon deciding to pay me according to the number of hits on the site.

Welcome to my blog; do visit again