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 :-)
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
"Weight"er Rants
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 ?
**********************************************************************************************************
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……………
**********************************************************************************************************
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!
**************************************************************************************************************
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??
*********************************************************************************************************
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
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 ?
**********************************************************************************************************
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……………
**********************************************************************************************************
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!
**************************************************************************************************************
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??
*********************************************************************************************************
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
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
"Phoney" Tales
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!)
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!)
Monday, October 24, 2005
Blue-n-white-Dynamite !!
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 12th 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 !!
Monday, August 29, 2005
Pot-Boiler
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........."
******************************************************************************************************************************************
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...
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........."
******************************************************************************************************************************************
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...
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Rukavat ke Liye khed hai !! - Soda kiskkaa hai and other Hindi horror stories ...
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)
****************************************************************************************
(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..
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)
****************************************************************************************
(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..
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Final Episode of Motorcycle Diaries: Zen and the art of Motorcycle Disposal (Whew!!)
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…… ;-))
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…… ;-))
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