Monday, December 1, 2008


I was reading an article on psychology of sex (?) and I found something interesting. Now, sex is always of interest to all, in written form and in writhing form. This was an interesting read on "arousal". There were these people who co-studied the subject "arousal in women".

The people who featured in this article (in a journal called Psychological Science)were Northwestern Psychology department chairman J. Michael Bailey, Lisa Diamond: Assistant Professor of Psychology at the University of Utah, Psychologist Roy F. Baumeister, Sex therapist Wendy Maltz,Florida-based sex therapist Miriam Davis, and Annie Sprinkle, a porn star turned sexual performance artist(?)

I never thought this may find its way to my blog some day. That was when an old college mate brought up the topic; and here it is....

A study revealed through this article, questions a lot of pre-set notions about arousal.

Desire can be often erratic,impulsive. Just like what happened to this girl Gerie, a college student from New Jersie. She kissed her girl friend during a party. A full mouth to mouth kiss. She is a heterosexual and she had her boy friend besides her but she says she didnt feel bad about. She had a few drinks during the party.She had sort of reasoned it out like this: "Guys are programmed to f**k, but girls aren't like that. Girls are more sensual, and the mood has to be right. It doesn't matter who's doing it, it just has to be right." May be the mood was right that night!

The study I was talking of states that men have eagerly embodied their reputation as the sexually enthusiastic half of the population, but women, deep down, are really thirsting for more. How they concluded was by letting men, women and transexuals watch erotic or pornographic videos with sensors attached to their genitals to measure responses. While men and transexuals responded to what they usually like, women seemed to respond equally to gay and lesbian sex just like they responded to straight sex.

Women are probably a bit disconnected from this genital thing, says micheal Bailey. "They are perhaps fully aroused more by circumstance, such as an emotional bond or a sexy scenario, as something that engages their brains and emotions". When men get an erection, Bailey says, "it makes men motivated to have sex with whatever's causing the genital arousal. I don't think women have the same connection."

Lisa Diamond says that some women unconsciously dissect what defines their sexual interests, and find that they may want different things from different sexes. "You have a lot of cases of totally heterosexual women who may not be aroused by women, but their deepest emotional bond is with other women," she says. "They feel they fall in love with other women, without the sex." Curious, isn't it!

Lisa likens arousal to a pathway: "For most men, their interests start with a sexual attraction, and then lead to an emotional attachment". But for women, she said, "the interest can go through the pathway in the opposite direction, with a deep emotional bond spawning a sudden sexual interest".
As I vaguely remember I think from a Woody Allen movie; the man moves his reading glasses in a girl's palm suggestively prompting her to ask him to stop doing it because it was turning her on.

How ever Bailey counters saying that this could be an evolutionary trait, because women didn't have to develop a sexual orientation, when men, as the historically dominant species, were the ones always seeking out mates. They are genetiaclly programmed to seek and f**k a female! Well, most of them.

Another point. How many advertisements have you seen with a nude or partially nude male body? Even when you get to see one, it is a clean hairless torso and a nice six-pack. But the six-incher is always a big NO. No penis please. Thus the average mind is used to seeing the female anatomy every where and thus associates the essence of sex with the female form. I am not complaining here ; just stating a fact.Visual imagery of sex is thus the nude girl.

So what is the connection? Even girls may like such an image. But do men get turned on by a nude male torso. No, unless they are gay.

Porn star Sprinkle says that her transexual co stars were so cuddly and loving until they started taking testosterone. Then they left all the cuddling and became just f**king machines. Its all in the hormones!

Thus it seems that the machines need to take a bit more time to study and adopt different strategies if they need to succesfully get into the girl's pants.Period.

For the inherently sapiosexual woman,her sexuality is so close to her heart and brain. Which could be the reason why the time taken for a male erection beats light in speed but the woman may take up to 45 minutes before she is ripe and ready.
I don't know what works for all. But it could be a mild perfume, or ruffling the hair, cooking break fast, or just a look. It could be a conversation of mutual interest, the proximity, or just golden silence. And as I always believe, there is no better foreplay than humor!

Count Dracula to girl: "What turns you on, babe? Would a bite help?"

Sunday, November 9, 2008


We took our students to this beautiful hotel in Dubai. The staff and management were very warm and welcoming. After coffee and snacks, we were given a tour of the property. The tour took some time; it was a big hotel. Back in the conference room, the HR Manager did a presentation.

He proudly told us that last year they made a profit of 25 million dirhams. I saw the awe on our students' faces. The presidential suite costs 45000 dirhams a night!

Later, the topic changed to internship. The HR manager went on to explain the unique advantages of their internship program and the students were truely impressed. And thats when one of the less intelligent/more blunt ones popped the question: "Sir, how much would you pay us during internship?"

There was a silence in the air. 40 pairs of ears waited eagerly. The HR guy cleared his throat and gave a weak smile. "We give 650 dirhams per month". Suddenly I felt sorry for him.

There is something that every hotel employee does while on their job: If you are still line staff; supervisory level staff; you keep complaining about how the company makes a lot of money and how you don't. But when you finally become a manager; you sing a different tune. Then it's all about PASSION!

It is a worn out usage; hotel job is all about "passion", yeah! This job may not pay you well, because you compensate for all that with your passion. Let us see the many ways you could use your passion...

When your company makes 25 million in profits and your salary increases only by 5%, remember; your passion has increased another 100% ! Otherwise you would have left that place a long time back!

When the rent sky rockets in Dubai, living costs shoot through the roof; remember; cling on to your passion! Who cares about money?

When hospitals and schooling for your kids rip your pocket; remember; your passion will save you!

Is it because of a passion-free workplace that the guy at that gas station or that girl at the grocery store gets paid more than you?

Could it be true that "passion" is a hotelier's monopoly that other industries do not have the option of using that to pay their staff less?

Hospitality, poised to become world's largest industry (been listening to this for the last 20 years) will not pay much because once the salaries are respectable, passion takes a back seat?

Note: The other day, I didnt have enough change to pay the cab driver. When I informed the driver about it, he did give me "passion" in return.

Let us hope that some day, passion could be used as an alternative for hard currency! Till then, cling on!

Thursday, October 16, 2008

The true portrait

What would you do if you have been invited to your friend's place and find out that he/she isn't there? How would you feel if you were served a grand meal but by their servant and your friend was present only through a portrait hanging on the wall?

UAE boasts of the presence of all major hotel chains. Some hotels have more than 60 nationalities working under the same roof. That is like a slice of the whole planet placed under one roof.

Most hotel advertisements talk of unadulterated "Arab hospitality" served under great ambience. I wonder.....

Whether you are in Thailand, Swaziland or Newzealand, when you arrive at a hotel, any where else in the world you are welcomed by some one from the same country. Atleast the one who opens the door for you is from there. In UAE; if you meet a national at the door, it is because he/she is checking out from the hotel. There are no nationals from this country who work in hotels.

The famed Arab hospitality is served by Indians, Srilankans, Filipinos, Lebanese, Russian, European, American etc etc.

The food isn't cooked by them. The rooms aren't maintained by them. The guests aren't looked after by them. The hospitality you experience in these hotels isn't Arab hospitality. It is Indian, Filipino, Lebanese hospitality that you enjoy.

I would like to receive my guests in person when I welcome them to my place. When would some one receive the famed true Arab hospitality in this beautiful country? When will a local Arab replace those portraits hanging on the wall? I hope it happens soon.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

summer, rain...

This summer vacation spent in kerala was a study in human frailty. Rains came and went with out notice. Powercut was the only other event that beat rains when it came to uncertainty. Throw in a few harthals, couple of road accidents and some real pain-in-the-back political processions; you've got a vacation you would rather refuse.Plus if a few of your family members fall sick, thats all you need to regret it even more sincerely.

Now I must sound like a pretentious non resident who looks down on my home town, where it was all a part of my life till i left. May be yes. But once you sort of get away from it all, once the withdrawal symptoms have died down, you just don't miss it a lot.

The first 2 weeks, I found the roads too bumpy, cities so unclean and people too smelly. The second half of the vacation took me some where else.

I met the guy who used to come to our house to climb the coconut trees. He had grown old but still looked healthy. His son is now a taxi driver and had recently made him a grand father of 3 grandchildren. All of them are studying in the private school opposite to my house. They walk it down from their house, almost a kilometer away, every morning. That morning, glancing through the newspaper that had nothing new, I saw them entering the school and remembered my younger days.

Every first week of June, when schools reopened after summer, the rains come.I always had to walk to school with my new school uniform sticking to my body from the rain water. But inside the humid and warm class rooms without fans, it dried up fast.

I remembered playing in the muddy water on the school play ground. I remembered the perpetually bruised knees. I could even taste the packed lunch prepared by my mother.I remembered my friends; the maths teacher who pinched me with no mercy when I made mistakes; the school day; the sports day.. . I remembered coming back from the school holding my younger sister's hand.

I remembered all this sitting in the porch, looking at those 3 kids. The rain was in my eyes.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Lord, for you!

India is set to overtake China as the world's most populous nation by 2050, while some countries will shrink by nearly 40%, according to new research: says BBC.

Wikipedia mentions that India's population of approximately 1.13 billion people (estimate for March 10, 2008) comprises approximately one-sixth of the world's population. India has more than two thousand ethnic groups, and every major religion is represented.

We also have a big economy measured in USD exchange-rate terms, the twelfth largest in the world, with a GDP of around $1 trillion (2008).It is the second fastest big emerging economy, after China, in the world.

But because of our per capita income of $4,542, the World Bank classifies India as a low-income economy. We already knew that, didn't we?

We have a huge country, no doubt. Our problems are also humungous; too many people, religions, languages, political parties, beaurocrats, rats...and less and less of food, water, toilets, buses, good clean on and so forth..

With more people, problems link themselves to each other. Worldwide, industrial growth can, and is taking place with virtually no increase in the demand for labor. More and more children from the slums have to find some job as their parents find it impossible to feed their families. Wages are pushed down. Self respect goes for a six. Dignity of labour was anyways alien to us.

We hollered at Bush when he said we are about to eat up every thing at the buffet with our Chinese brothers. But look at the figures: In the three-year periods of 1979-1981 and 1991-1993, world-wide food production per head moved up by 3 percent, whereas per capita food production jumped 23 percent in India!

Dr Ramana Kumar who is currently working in the World Health Organization (IARC), Lyon, France says that "there is currently tremendous pressure from mostly Western Monetary Institutions to wind up India's PDS (Public Distribution System). There are also many un-rectified inefficiencies in the acquisition and storage of grain. It is estimated that as much as one-fourth of the grains managed by the Food Corporation of India are wasted due to spoilage, disease, or transportation losses.
Given the magnitude of the problem, any Indian government ought to be fully justified in enforcing the one-child norm in the entire country, irrespective of caste, creed or religion".

We are many people in here; and we eat big. Bush cant tell us to diet. True. But that guy ought to be scared. But no one should be as scared as we themselves. But are we? Seems not...

The just-concluded Kerala Catholic Bishop Council (KCBC), the powerful body of 29 dioceses, has called upon its followers to make more babies. “We are planning to develop a pro-life ministry in a big way. We want to promote and encourage more life. Our family commission has submitted many proposals to check the dwindling numbers of the believers,” said Father Stephen Alathara, KCBC deputy secretary. The Christian concept of sexuality blends love and procreation on an equal footing. Thou shalt procreate more...

In such a holy scenario, how do people like Dr Ramana Kumar stand? Right in their way.

According to the guidelines issued by the council, all hospitals of Church will provide reverse sterilization surgery in subsidised rate, and no pregnancy termination surgeries or sterilisation surgeries would be done in hospitals of Church.Parents who produce more than two children would be honored in public functions.

Picture this: Mrs & Mr XXX (no pun intended) coyly accepting a plaque which says "For fruits of labor" after a sunday morning prayer and the rest of the parish with slightly embarressed smiles, nodding in approval? Kids looking at all the big bellies of women around and wondering why the church has become so small these days? Newly wed couples watching Mrs & Mr XXX on stage, looks at each other, clasp their hands together and takes a mental vow to DO IT more often and be up there one day?

I think the council has forgotten one thing in all this confusion. How about the catholic priests chipping in with a lil help? Atleast a few had proven that procreation isn't such a foreign subject to them, after all!

God, save me from your followers!!

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

The lookers

"Men ogle at women for almost one year of their life time"

"Thats it?", some would ask. Women mostly. "You mean they do some thing else for the rest of the years?", few would go on. Alright, go ahead. Say it again.

The article I read says that a man ogles at 11 women on a day, each one a different woman, and none includes his wife. Each woman gets approximately 2 minutes of his undivided/divided attention. Do a simple maths and you will know how this translates into that "1 year".

So? Women have no interest in this activity? O yeah! They do! but they are more selective it seems. And they ogle at 2 men a day, 90 seconds each, which means they save almost 10 months from their lives to do more "useful" stuff? Useful? Well, that I guess depends....

John Sewell, of the global market research firm, that carried out the poll, told Daily Express that this is why men have to ensure that they impress women in a relatively short time of 90 seconds! So my male readers; now that I have your attention, allow me to share some valuable tips. Dear ladies; if you do not agree, you are still right. All generalisations are false; aren't they!

I say; my brothers; first of all, part of what makes a woman tick, isn't really in your hands. And partly, yes it is. This is why...
The poll says that 50% of women found that they were attracted first by the eyes of the man, then they had a peek at his back side and later, checked out his perfume. I think that explains why the average Indian man fails miserably when competing with men from the other parts of the globe.

First of all, he thinks mentally undressing a woman right in front of her own eyes is sexy. See, all women do not behave like the ones we see in Basic Instinct. Leave the de-robing for the indoors; once you reach there ofcourse.
Secondly, your back side. Check it out yourself in the mirror. Caution, dont let your wifey catch you at it. She may quickly make a connection with the extended hours you have been spending with the boys at the club! Anyway, check your butt. Do you see any of the following?

The waist measures more than your chest and thus your posterior looks big enough to block Sir Ivan from the Cayman island?
The trouser is from Carrefour promotional bin and it has pleats in the wrong place that makes you look like "post-Ivan-Cayman island"?
Your bottom still carries a vivid impression of the white paint from the wall to which you have been leaning while you were waiting for the cab/ogling again?
Your hand runs like scared mice all around your waist adjusting, pulling, pushing, scratching-where-its-itching?
Or probably worse, you habe no butt at all?

Hmm, if the answer is yes to any of the above questions, the woman in the question would thankfully reduce those "90" seconds to 0.9 and check out another butt in the vicinity. Plus, the rest of this blog wouldn't be of much interest to you.

That brings us to our 3rd point. Do you smell? Most men can never answer this question correctly. Most Indians, yes, have no idea. Why? I smell, you smell, your friend smells, our dad smells, the whole bloomin town smells. Who ever worried? None of us ever told our brothers that they need to smell good! After all, the wives who bore our children never told us that we smell even during our most intimate encounters with them!

But guys, you are not checking out your wife now! And,this woman is checking you out now. If you smell; she knows. Knows to keep away.

Another interesting find from the poll was that 50% of the men were caught ogling by women while only 30% of women were found checking out men! Now say, who is smarter at it?

The comforting find was this: The majority of the women found an approving gaze enjoyable. Only 30% found it disturbing. 80% of men found that a woman's stare did wonders to their self esteem. Now, those percentages are very close, aren't they?!

Keep looking; but guys; check out your butt first!

Monday, June 23, 2008

Comforting the customer

I should have been more careful. I didnot check properly. It was only when I opened the big pack at home I realised that the comforter I bought from the Co-op was for a single cot. I need one for my queen sized bed. Fortunately, you get to exchange the product within 48 hours of purchase and if you still have the bill. That sounded alright.

When I entered the shop again there were many hours to go before it would be "48". One thing I was told by others was that Co-op isn't really known for customer care. I was going to find out.

The man behind the counter was huge. I smiled. Didn't register. I smiled again. No reaction. Then he mumbled some thing. Mr mumbles probably understood that I was there to make life miserable for him. It was a simple equation for him; Product to be returned = productive time wasted. I explained my problem as clearly as I could and before I could finish, came the question."Where is the bill?" I was holding it all the while. I extended my hand. He looked at suspiciously as if I had it tainted with some unknown virus. This time I returned the look. He took the bill.

Most people would inspect an invoice by reading it first from the top. He checked all sides, its blank posterior, its sides, underneath it; I didn't know that a flat piece of paper had so many sides. The comforter in the polythene pack was the next item to undergo the scrutiny. The bill's treatment paled in comparison with this one.

He checked the item with such contempt that he would convince you not to return any more items to any shop any where in the world. He shook his tiny head; tiny for such a huge guy; and said, "This cover is too large for this item". Well, I didnt make the cover, I thought to myself. "Yes the cover is large but the comforter is small and thats why I am returning it". He looked at me and shook his head again. I was starting to relate his speech with the size of the head, unintentionally. Finally he told me that he cannot accept the comforter because of 2 reasons. The cover is too large for the item which could mean that I didn't return the original cover. Second reason being the pack didn't carry a piece of paper which says what is the size of the item; whether it is single/double etc. I clarified that I made a mistake in picking up the wrong size because that stupid paper was not there in the first place. I was getting furious. It has been well over 20 minutes since I came in.

There was a kid standing next to him while this conversation was going on. A 12 year old. He looked very amused. In between he would kindly offer his comments about why the product could not be exchanged. I wasn't amused. I told him impolitely to shut up. Mr mumbles suddenly intervened and reminded that I need not talk to the kid like that. Must have been the Manager's kid. My instinct told me that I should solve this matter because the real Manager turned up. I did not want to meet his dad.

Though that was what I had in my mind, this is what I blurted out; "I want to talk to your Manager". But that made Mr Mumbles remember some thing. Suddenly he looked a little wary of me. The nonchalance was gone.

I planted myself next to his counter with my back towards him; arms crossed. 10 minutes passed. Then he called another employee. This guy came and checked the product. Then another guy came. The comforter was inspected as if they were determining its sex. Finally after 40 minutes, they concluded that I could exchange it. I took another piece. But it wasn't a good exchange. Mr Mumbles took atleast a year out of my life expectancy.

The cobbler

It was unusual to see this man next to my house. He was sitting huddled in a corner with his little collection of tools that he uses to mend footwear. It was unusual. In UAE you throw what isn't working any more and buy a new one. Footwear was one of those things. There is no re using/recycling. The shops have promotional offers all the time. There is a lot of waste land for you to dump refuse. Reasons are plenty.

Secondly, no ones sells any service sitting on the road side or under a shade. I have seen men selling telephone recharge coupons on the road. This man was the first one I saw sitting down in a corner in a shade waiting for customers.

Usually I see him when I am coming back from work. He will always have a smile for any one who passes by. First he smiles and then he looks at your shoes. After all he is a cobbler. But different. Even that smile.

I had never given him business. But I always got that smile. A smile that held all the sadness that eyes could hold. It told a million stories. There was angst, love, longing, and yet a faint radiance. It came with out expecting anything (though he might have looked at my shoes with longing!) Some times when I go out to the shop across the street with my daughter, she also gets one of those smiles. A smile that pulls your heart strings. The smile that would make you put your arm around him and say that "it will be alright".

Later I learned that he was from Afghanistan. He has lost his papers a long time back. No passport, visa, nothing. He just sat there with his crude tools and waited for customers who would rather buy a new shoe than wait in front of him. And then late in the night he would take his stuff and leave.

In winter he was there with a blanket wrapped around him. Now it is summer. I haven't seen that meloncholy smile for weeks. I miss him.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

in memory of "aanjili"

There is no spelling error there, friend. I am not talking of Anjali; who ever she is. It is aanjili, or the wild jack tree not really well known by the scientific name Artocarpus hirsutus Lam.

I take a trip down memory lane here...

In our back yard there were these towering trees that were easily taller than a 4 or 5 storeyed building. The base was atleast a metre thick. During summer, they bore apple-sized fruits we called "anjilikkai".

The fruits were sweet and had a flavor unlike any other fruit. They has this thin spiky outer skin; and small fruits inside; very much a small version of the jack fruit.

Getting them was the toughest part. The tree is really tall. Plus, they are always covered by weaver ants that could discourage any ambitious tree climber with their biting and formic acid sprays.

How ever there were some teenage guys around who would dare anything to get at the fruit. They would climb half-way and use a long stick with a hook & sack combo to gather the fruits. We children would wait impatiently below with our necks aching from looking up, for the goods to come down. A few would come down the way they shouldn't because the ripe fruit has a slender stalk. But once the aanjilikkai hits the floor; nothing much remains of the small fruit to be salvaged. The climbers were greeted with wild cheering when tey came down after the harvest! Then we shared the fruits. The tiny seeds could be sun dried and fried. Were a tasty snack!

There is now a single aanjili tree left in the back yard. She is also tall and bears fruit every year. No one goes harvesting these years. There are no more tree-climbing teens around. The others; no aptitude.

Last summer I saw the dried remains of the fruits lying all over. Very soon there would be no more such trees. It is very much in demand as a cheaper alternative for Teak wood. Soon the only way to see an anjilikaai would be to refer an encyclopedia. Or may be not at all. Even wikipedia didn't have a picture of it.

Aanjilikkai represented those years when we could climb trees, fall and climb again. Those times when we could splash around in the muddy water in the temporary ponds created by the monsoon in some of the low-lying areas around our house. We chased squirells, loved lost puppies, collected match-box labels and did a lot of silly meaning less stuff. Those days are gone. So would aanjili.

My daughter would be lucky to see one. There is still one left at home. But for many others, that wouldnt be the case. A tree that commanded respect from us kids, is soon to be extinct. So would its aanjilikkai.

I have decided to do one thing during my summer holidays back at home. Plant an aanjili. May be afew. For old times sake.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Kick it !

Ever felt like kicking your own butt? Some may smile and agree. Others may vigorously shake their heads and say NO. Those who say yes are the ones who think they need some help in getting some stuff right. A whack on a strategically important spot may awaken some grey cells into thinking or even into submission, in spite of the fact that the impact zone and the thinking zone lie in different poles. The ones who say NO may have more than one reason. “I have others to do it” is often the most common of them. How ever if you fall in the first category, continue smiling. For its comin your way…!

Mr. Joe W. Armstrong holds the United States patent on a device that will do exactly what you are thinking. Its gonna kick your butt! Mr. Armstrong holds United States patent 6293874 for a, "User-Operated Amusement Apparatus for Kicking the User's Buttocks." Check out the very detailed diagram. Isnt that posture actually appealing!

Essentially, a simple hand pedal is connected underground to what looks like a windmill with a boot attached to each blade. When a user is in the mood for "fun," or is just feeling like a fool, they simply lean over, turn the pedal mechanism and voila: they can kick their own butt to their heart's content! But mind you; if you look at the diagram carefully, you would see that there are some perils involved. It is very obvious that your butt has to be positioned accurately before you commence the kicking process. The boot is pointed and may modify the “kick-your-butt” option to a “kick-your-balls” option; which can be quite effective in convincing that if you paid for this contraption, you probably deserve it.
If you still prefer watching "others using machines", this isn’t for you. But if you some times get this feeling of mild self-loathing; there is a 30 day-trial-money back offer to test fly this bird!
P.S My sleuth squad informs me that an enterprising Jamaican has applied for the patent for an updated “Butt-kicker” meant for “larger” surfaces. What happened to the “one size-fits all” movement? What is this world coming to?

Monday, June 2, 2008

Getting high; Down under!

Here is something that will throw all your notions about getting that lovely dizzy feeling out thru the window..! Creativity, necessity, desperation and technology has joined arms in finding out a new, radical way f getting pinked! read on...

The following is what I found...not exactly my words..

A rather odd drink administration technique is the practice of soaking tampons in vodka and inserting them vaginally;for girls who drink ofcourse. The practice is typically employed by teenage girls in the hope of getting high while avoiding detection by parents. Less commonly teenage boys and girls may insert vodka soaked tampons rectally!!(previous experience may help, say some real bad people). Some of the attraction of the practice is undoubtedly related to teenage sexuality, although there are no studies that address this. Its chief attractions are likely to be the transportability of the dosage form, and the abusing teen's perceived ability to deceive authority – parents, others. The use of vodka soaked tampons is not particularly new and has never really had a large following. There are good reasons that this practice has not become more prevalent. However, DPIC (Drug & poison information centre, University of British Columbia) has received several recent calls about this alcohol abuse technique. It is possible that this novel form of alcohol abuse may be increasing!
Having said that, it would be wise to know the rest also; as I understand it..

Plus side: No stomach upsets usually associated with heavy drinking; reduced smell of alcohol (a little of it still comes out thru ur breath, folks!)
Flip side: Considerable burning sensation in "you know where"; Cannot beat breath-analyzers (inlcuding talented wives); possibilty of leakage from tampons(difficult to explain if u r caught with a damp patch & especially if u r a guy); prolonged discomfort and potential for bleeding(here teenage girls have an advantage by default cos guys have no clue what this means)

Personally I feel that an orifice should be used for the purpose it was intended for by the Creator. So, explorers shall seek at their own risk...Amen!

Saturday, May 24, 2008

tail lights

It takes about an hour & a half to reach Dubai from Abu Dhabi. So if I had started at 10.30 am, I should be in Dubai at 12 noon. In fact that is what happened on 22nd May.
Four of us had booked tickets to go to Bahrain for the Toastmasters Intl District 79 Annual conference. We found that Jazeera airlines offered cheap tickets from Dubai. Infact we were in Dubai at 1.45 pm. The lunch was more than what we had expected at our friend's place. Flight was at 6.45 pm. We were ready by 4 pm. It should not take us more than 15 minutes to reach the air port. All looked good.

Those few moments when you think every thing is fine, is what you should call "panic".

And if everything is coming your way, may be you are on the wrong track.

Suddenly our friend realised that he had mistakenly given his credit card to his son. The next 45 minutes were spend trying to retrieve the card. Time was 15 minutes short of 5.

Taxis simply refused to stop for another 10 minutes. That is when HE appeared; the guy who offered us his services for a fair price. He had a van & he would take us to the airport.

The next 10 minutes were spend walking to the place where he had parked his van. I thought we had already walked half the distance to the destination. Once we saw the van, I knew that my premonitions were about to get real....

The van was full of impatient sweating men. There were 4 of us & there were only 3 seats. Any ways the van took off...

Took off?.....what am I saying here?

The next 90 minutes were spend trying to reach the airport which I am sure I saw twice when we passed by some adjacent roads. Our driver had a SMALL doubt regarding which exit to take to reach terminal 2.Our friend simply made another call to confirm the terminal number and this time there was a change. We should be at terminal 1. This time it was our driver's turn to curse. But cursing unfortunately doesnt stop the clock. It went faster than our van in the circular race.

Before 6.30 pm we reached the airport. Check in counters had closed 45 minutes ago.

Once again we purchased tickets for Bahrain. This time on Gulf Air. Twice the amount. We remembered that we had come all the way to Dubai to board a budget airline. Gulf air had flights from Abu Dhabi also.

Our next flight was at 11 pm. I am not exaggerating here: all outbound flights from Dubai were on time; except ours. The one that was supposed to start at 11.45 also took off. We looked at its tails lights with mixed emotions.

Finally we boarded our plane after 12 midnight.It was lovely; the last one to leave an airport gets to switch off the lights.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

close call

A story that didnt make it to my blog so far..

It was 11 March; a tuesday. I have been travelling to Dubai since sunday for my intermediate haccp certification. The trainer was Dr Pandiyan. He was a nice guy. Actually! Every sentence he uttered began & ended with "actually". My boss named him "Actual Pandiyan". If I take that as a clue, I should have named my boss "Regardless Naser"

Back to 11th of March. It has been unusually foggy here in the morning for the last few days. Today was exceptional.

We started by around 7 am. But on 11th, my boss was 10 minutes late. I cant complain. He does the driving and the conversation. Keeps him awake. Not me.

On the way we always stop at an adnoc station for gas, coffee. That day we didn't see the place. It was too foggy to even spot the gas station. Little later we realised that we had missed both the gas stations en route to Dubai. We were already late. The fog didnt help.

The traffic suddenly slowed. Unusual because there are no traffic lights on the highway until you reach Dubai. Suddenly there was this guy on the road waving and screaming in Arabic. The traffic came to a stand still. We suspected an accident. We were right. But totally wrong about the enormity of the incident. This is what happened...

"...a terrible crash involving more than 200 cars occurred in the 25km stretch of Abu Dhabi-Dubai highway near Ghantoot. The massive car pile-up was due to heavy fog lingering in the air. There were up to 25 cars in arson, leaving a death toll at least 6 persons so far and hundreds injured in what is known to be the country’s biggest vehicle crash in history..."

After the trafffic jams & diversions we were in Dubai 6 hours later. We came back in the evening and saw the debris still being cleaned away. It was BAD. We were glad we were back back in one piece. We were glad that we were late.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

9 am tales

9 am, sunday morning. Bad. First day of the week. Thats how it is here in UAE.We start on a sunday, heck.

It isn't summer yet but the sun is already scorching the window. I have my coffee, PC is on. Just like every one else I start by checking my email. I do it everyday, religiously. As if my freakin life depended on it.

12 mails today. One about insurance.They say if I dont make a move now,I would regret later. Cant say anything pleasant to a guy who doesnt have much to look forward to anyways? Then the usual info on viagra, homeloans & holidays in hawaii. If you are a guy close to 40, thats a tough choice to make; I mean which one to read first. Now; you just made a wild guess about my age, didnt ya? Thats where I would surprise you; I deleted all 3 mails.

There were another 6 mails from people I know. From those who think I can benefit from forwarded information. It was interesting. One was the picture of a few young Indian cricketers sneakin a peek on some female fan's underwear that peeked out at them. Come on guys; they are still guys!

8 more mails to go.One warned me that I would just roll over and die if I didnt forward some shit to another 12 unsuspecting victims. Then some 2 dozen photos from great locales around the world including Cochin. Got my aging PC wheezing under the load. But I got even with that guy. I send it back to him. Do unto others' PC what you want done for yours. (I know that sentence is wrong,..some where..)

The other mails were jokes,then some story about a guy who couldn't pee straight went on to become a Hollywood movie star, an invite from a certain "Kate" who saw my profile in some dating club & concluded that I looked hot. Geee....

One last mail from an old friend of mine inquiring if I was alive.I sent a mail back to him aying that it was an auto-generated response from my PC & he doesn't have to respond.

It is 9.45 am. I have a class at 10 am. I have to talk to my students about "Time management".

Next week I will talk about "How to nail spaghetti to the ceiling"

Sunday, February 17, 2008


You can tell your friends that they mean the world to you & laugh inside.
You can buy a diamond for your wife and rape Monica bellucci in your mind at the same time.
You can pray and pretend that it is God you are thinking of.
You can say " I love" & plot murder.
You can gift & curse simultaneously because you know you wont get anything in return.
You can pretend that you are not reading this right now.
You can fake every emotion..except one


You cant pretend; you dont have to; you dont want to...

Man, animal, anything in between; knows it.

It hasnt changed the way it has been expressed; though the mediums are many.

Sophocles said; "To whom who is in fear, everything rustles"

Hitchcock said; "There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it"

I am afraid I cant find more words. There is so much to fear; if you allow it.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008


Orkut helped me relish that great feeling once again; to say hello to some people with whom I had lost touch completely. I also got introduced to a few new friends. Incidentally, there were a few other things I noticed about Orkut.

I could be in my early teens, doing my math home work at home, drinking pepsi & wondering when would those nasty braces leave my mouth. But to the world of orkuters, I am "Balding Beelzebub-farting sulphur". Those testimonials submitted by the ones who adore me, describe me as the hottest thing next to lava. I still wet my bed at night but my "about me" is steamy stuff & my hobbies/passions include walking with the dead & playing poker with them. My display pic will curdle your screams.

It would be a criminal waste of time for me to read newspapers but my "book list" has Alisdair McIntyre,GJ Warnock and a few other names that I dont understand. I am the member of 969 communities including "Baby-maker for hire", moderator for a few dozen and hey; I am just getting started !

The last time I ever contributed to any community was when I responded to some guy who explained in detail about what he would do to my wife if I continued saying "sup dude!" for no apparent reason. I stopped with my first response. My other friend sounded serious enough to be noticed, respected.

I scrap like ducks crap & forward stuff to others as if my bloomin life depended on it. When my dad cut my net connection for 1 week for absconding from math tuition, I informed the rest of the world that "Im away neutering dragons". When I got my PC back I let the world know so that they may sleep again.

I host intellectually stimulating polls that draw orkuters by truck loads. My "Barsoap-moist or slippery?" scored a record million hits! (and still counting!)

Next week I will be "Hellbent-not straight". The week after I shall be "Copperhead casanova". I have it all written down. I love Orkut. It's so cool dude! What say u?

Sunday, January 13, 2008

When it rains...

It rained here. Yes, it rained here. So? Folks back at home would yawn and say so much as a "So?". Alright, I am in uAE & here its NEWS. It sure did a few things anyways today morning.

When I reached my office, there was no power. I suddenly remembered that the signal lights just before our street were not working. Traffic cops were out & exercising their limbs. Come to think of it; they were such a stark contrast to our guys back at home. It seemed like these guys were enjoying it. To be the boss of the lights one day.

The cafeteria was a mess. There was rain water every where. When you build a house in the desert, storm water drainage is the last thing you think of.

One floor was out of power because rain water got into the electrical circuits and shorted out some where. The entire computer lab was down. Right outside the lobby, there was a mini pool. A group of pigeons were looking down from the roof, all confused. Even my boss was confused. But he beat them pegions convincingly in getting "the expression" correct. There were a 1000 leaks in the building.

A dozen accidents, flooded streets, road blocks, crawling traffic & to top it all, Mr Bush. Airport road was blocked all the way from the airport to the hotel.

Who knows?,may be some guy at the top of the rung thought it would be a cool idea to sprinkle some ammonium nitrate to make the day memorable. (just kidding)

He should have swallowed it....the idea I mean...

Red, Yellow and Stinky