loud thinking

Four is a crowd.

2012-01-09T03:33:00.000-08:00

Luther and I were rappelling down Bob’s sweaty, hairy ,broad back after a hearty meal of cholesterol enriched blood. Oh…before youstart to wonder what that means, allow me to clarify: we are two adult male bed bugsliving on and off our host/friend/house Bob. I don’t think his real name isBob. Well..we bugs don’t really need aname for the body that feeds us. But it is convenient when you have todifferentiate between two hosts. Luther was of the opinion that H1 and H2 werequite confusing. I still don’t get it. We never had a permanent H2. I mean asecond host/friend/house. Until now.

Living on the stinky mattress in Bob’s house had its perilsbut that is an occupational hazard we got used to. Bugs all over the world may havesimilar stories to tell, if they lived long enough to do so. A bug is alwaysone bite away from sudden death. I have seen all the other members of our tinycommunity meeting bloody instant endings. Some times treated to hot molten wax. Sometimes picked up by nimble fingersand squashed against the floor or wall. Helen, that lovely girl with whom I hadplanned a family still lives on our wall in the form of a comet shaped darkstain. I remember good ol’ Jonathan who went through 5 agonizing minutes afterhe was sprayed with some horrible stuff, something Bob’s friend gave him. Itcurdled my blood watching him die slowly.(Well..technically, not my blood. Itwas Bob’s) The autopsy report said something else. It said he died inhaling acolumn of stale air that was trapped for the last 30 years somewhere on Bob’s body.Jonathan was an adventurous bug. May be it was true.

Finally, it came to just two of us. We knew that our family tree would end with us. Two adult male bugs. We both overcame our traumatic inseminationinstincts long back and have survived until now. But matters worsened.Since last Sunday, to be precise.

Bob was an ideal host. He was slow, single and sweet. We knew whereto bite and where to avoid. We knew him like the palm of our mandibles. Andthen, without warning, he started to change. First he started to change his bedsheets. Then he started washing his clothes. Bathing times were longer and hesmelled weird to us with all that scented soap and deos he bought from somecheap grocery store. He even painted over my Helen’s memory on the wall. Thebiggest shock came when he brought in the first female version of a human toour abode. Insanity!

May be it was pure jealousy. Luther and I had just us toourselves. Bob was in some way a part of our life. Another lone male in thisstrange triangle of love, blood and brotherhood. Three lonely men in the same bed withthe warmth of their bodies comforting each other is not your typical scene oflove but we lived it every day and night. We were inseparable in spite of Bob’sfrantic scratching and turning. And there walks in a girl. Bob’s girl. Tragedy!

It has been a week since she came into his life. It has beenseven long days since we had a good meal. We could never venture out fearlessly like before. That girl had big eyes and a matching eye sight. She would spot us from far.But tonight we just couldn't suffer the pangs. The hunger burned through. We went up to Bob's bed.

And there we looked death in its face. It was supposed to be a quick drink but we bit the wrong thigh.I remember Luther mumbling something about “where has all the hair gone!”. Toolate! Bob’s girl’s scream pierced the night and she shot up from the bedscratching her naked thigh. Bob was not where he was supposed to be. Heappeared to look down from some where above that girl. He got up as we rappelled down his sweatyback as fast as we could and down into our hide out. We knewthat within a few seconds, Bob would become a monster. He would pick up thatspray and we would join Jonathan in his heavenly abode. Scared to death, Lutherand I hid under the bed and listened to the deadly hiss of poison fromthat steel can, above us. We heard Bob’s girl screaming; “Bugs!” Luther’s eyes met mine. As if he read my thoughts, Luther countered in a whisper; “Women!”

Facebook knight

2011-12-04T10:16:00.001-08:00

0700 hrs.

I crawled over to the study table. Checking mail isn’tsomething I do because it must be done. It is more of an incognizant act donepurely out of habit. Like scratching your cojones. So did that. I mean the mailchecking routine. Simultaneously I logged in to facebook. My mouse finger had a tingling feeling.

I would have beendisappointed if there had been no new friend requests. There was one from “EdenCherry”. One of my friends is a common friend. That will do. My friend circleis 2719 and counting.

My status update every 25 minutes has managed to harness andhold the attention of a huge fan club. I do not know half the jerks in the circlebut that is irrelevant. At least a dozen click “like” when I post somethingeven I don’t understand. Last Saturday’s “my boner is empty” got a whopping 32likes. There was a typo that slipped in as I performed a fast update with a singleblackened finger on my blackberry when I found that the Xerox machine was outof ink. Who cares! Even if I belch on facebook my darling Teena would click “like”.She is dumb and pretty. God bless her.

After a quick glance at the video uploads by my friends, Irealized that I am not doing my part, enough. I promised myself that I will bemore diligent and proceeded to share a few with the rest of the world. Butrealized a little late that the “Hot nun at Canterbury” was an inappropriate onefor my good ol’ convent school teacher who recently got in touch with me. Butit was all her fault. Would she ever realize that facebook font is too smallfor her age and eyesight? She shouldn’t be here at all.

There seems to be a lot of buzz about a dam these days. Igoogled it and came up with this much: “a masonry gravity dam”. I didn't understand shite.Who cares! I copied it on to my status line and got an instant “like” fromTeena babe, four “shares” in 3 seconds and a “wow” from Willy, the bartender atthe local joint. They must be thinkin I went to the “Harold” or something! Oris it the “Harvard?”

Holy splooge! The last time I updated a profile pic was yesterday!In a flash my handsome face was replaced by a better one. Teena once again camein like a flash and said “cute”. I love this girl. My high school friends whoused to call me a “Kermit” should see this. But the “Celeb look alike” app onfacebook keeps telling me I look like Iggy Pop. I hate that app.

Suresh is screaming in CAPS that some guy called MarkWahlberg will shut down facebook for ever. Doucheberg! How could he? I sharedthis vital info with everyone and now that butt-wipe Suresh who said it in the firstplace seems to have deleted his post. Am I feeling like an idiot or is it somethingI ate?

Enough if this nonsense. I’ve got that email to be forwardedto a 100 people. For every 100 persons, Bangbros (weird name!) will donate apenis to some guys in Saudi Aarabia who looked at female goats and sang a song.Save our world, you people. It is all ending one pretzel at a time.

Well….I know you will google THAT for sure.

Mirror, mirror......

2011-11-09T04:02:00.000-08:00

If your bathroom mirror always looks clean, it means thatthere are no women staying with you. Those who doubt the credibility of thisfact are recommended to check before you say nay. However I must also considera few nit-picky house keepers who would not let the mirrors stay like that. Forsuch households, an inspection of a hair brush (especially the cylindrical ones)would reveal it all. A few such revelations were on the bed, belly up and staringback at me that day, as I looked down in disbelief.

I was losing hair, I had dandruff and my comb was being usedby the two ladies at home; a daughter who had straight hair and her mother whohad wavy hair. In spite of the assortment of hair brushes and combs that werestrewn all around the house, these two ladies had some sort of devilish planwherein they would always use MY comb. Afterwards the comb was discarded withall that long/wavy/straight hair entangled around it like a grizzly puzzle.

That day, I spent more than 15minutes trying to get thatcomb looking like what it was supposed to. It was at the end of thatdistasteful job that I discovered the aforementioned facts. Soon, I wasconvinced that the hair loss was due to the dandruff which of course came fromthe women who used my comb. Trying to convince them not to use my comb was noteven a thought. I knew by then that you can’t keep a comb away from a woman fortoo long. That was against the laws of nature. I had to find another way.

The coward in me who hated confrontations with hair-brush-wieldingwomen found a peaceful way to tackle the dandruff problem. The salvation wasalways an obvious choice right across the street. The saloon was open tillmidnight. I walked in. One of the barbers looked at me and smiled like avampire who spotted a teen-some virgin.

After finding out how much it would cost to get rid of my problem, I was seated on one of those familiar steel chairs. Thecoiffeur nudged the chair with his knee and it swung towards the mirror and I foundmyself looking at myself. I noticed that the mirror didn’t look very clean. Butthat didn’t really matter. It wasn’t my mirror.

The coiffeur inspected my scalp and reacted like a guy whostepped on poop. He made a face and I felt insulted. I agreed to undergo a 30minute special treatment. The first part included a shampoo wash. Afterwards heproceeded to massage in huge amounts of smelly oil. Then came approximately 2 poundsof hair cream. After the first cream, came a second coat of cream. It made myhead look small and my over-sized ears look bigger in the mirror. I thought I heardthe guy on the next chair smirk. I looked at me again. I looked like a big icecream cone with eyes. And then, it started to itch. I grabbed the arms of the chairand clawed the steel.

The coiffeur disappeared and soon came back pushingsomething that looked like a plastic helmet on a stick. Then he propped it upwith the helmet sitting a few inches above my head. The next 10 minutes were spent steamingmy scalp which had the world’s largest itch ravaging through it. I grit myteeth and clawed more steel.

What he brought out next filled my heart with happiness. Itlooked like a giant hair-brush fixed on a machine. Those rubbery spikes weremeant to massage my scalp and clean it off all the dead tissue. The merethought of that send goose bumps through me! I got ready for the ultimate headmassage! He plugged it in, flipped the switch and the whole building fell intodarkness.

There was complete silence for a few seconds. Then the hailstormof abuses started. All of them were from Kerala and no one can beat us when itcomes to belting it out.

I heard someone asking my coiffeur whether he had ever goneto a school. The reason was revealed to me slowly. The machine was faulty andthere was a note left on it warning the users. My beloved barber had either notseen it or chose to ignore it. The circuit breaker had tripped, I still had 2pounds of cream on my head and the itch had returned with its cousins. Plus, Icould feel the condensed steam slowly flowing down under my collar, onto myback and proceeding further down.

After 5 minutes of darkness, dampness and desperation, thelights came back. But the machine was not going to be used. There was no sparemachine as well.

My beloved barber found a small round plastic comb andstarted to massage my scalp. He looked irritated. His hands were sapped of allenergy. The massage was far away from what I had hoped it to be. Once he was done with it, a lot earlier than I thought, I felt the water that had flowed under my collar had hit a flat surface and had started movinghorizontally. The itch had relocated.

When I walked back home, I covered the big damp patch on myposterior with an old newspaper.

My bathroom mirror is dirty as usual. The comb is still fullof long/straight/wavy hair. The dandruff is back. It can stay.

Love & thy neighbor

2011-10-10T05:51:00.000-07:00

A wall separates my bedroom from my neighbor’s bed room. Athin wall. Thin enough to carry conversation through it. This fact was revealedto me one day; at 2 in the morning.

Like some of you, the early hours of the morning has me sleepinglike a log. I would be laying on my back, straight, unlike the rest of myfamily who would be a tangled mass of legs, arms and hair. Sometimes I get upstartled because getting elbowed in your ribs even during the deepest sleep,puts your body into a defense mode. I suddenly sit up, stare into the darkness, collect mywhereabouts and feel the pain in my ribs. Slowly, my eyes will get accustomedto the form lying on the bed next to me and the left elbow that gave me therude wake up call. Muzzling the anger that wells up, I try to get back tosleep. I won’t get that deep sleep again, I know. However….

That is when, I think it happened. The mild “thud” rightbehind me, on the wall. And another one. And many more. In a sequence and rhythmically. Ittook only a few seconds for me to associate the thuds with the faint humansounds that accompanied it in the back ground. I was listening to my neighbors,right in the middle of their early morning carnal congress. At 2 am in themorning? Yes. I did look at the clock, shortly afterwards.

I was amused because I had never listened to somebody else’ssession, live. I was quite because I thought they would hear me breathing. Iwas jealous because of obvious reasons. The passion was raw and genuine. Thenight seemed to be watching both parties at both sides of the wall. Then the thuds progressed to a crescendo....

The perverted angel sitting on my left shoulder looked at meand winked. I tried to look away. But it was not going to give up so easily. Itglanced meaningfully at the empty water glass on the bed side table. Withtrembling hands I took the water glass and placed it against the wall. Then Ipressed my right ear against its mouth. (Yeah..Pervert)

I listened to them until my ears pained from being pressedagainst the glass’s edge. I sat back, impressed. It still went for another 30minutes or so. Is it possible? I wondered, considering various possibilities.May be they are playing the recorded tape again; just to fool the fool on the otherside of the wall! Or maybe my neighbor is the legendary stud who goes thedistance; sundown to sun rise. Or may be a ludicrous lady was listening to heripod and tapping the wall.

That was one day among many other days. I was the silentaudience on the other side of the wall many a time at 2 in the morning. Untilthe day when my partner got up in the middle of the night and saw me with a waterglass stuck in my ear.

It has been months. The water glass has been permanently replacedby a pet bottle. I got new neighbors. An old couple. Deep inside I know; some where in this city, some body has a glass stuck to his ears at 2 in the morning.

Below the belt

2011-09-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

If you are fat, you would not be amused by what is writtenbelow. You would be offended. If you are skinny, well....not any different. And that‘s not the purpose behind this piece.Just sayin.....

Scene: A mall in Abu Dhabi. A gent’s apparel show room.Evening.

A fat guy in a tee and big bermuda shorts was looking at thejeans displayed on hangers. His fingers travelled up slowly along a pair ofdenims like a villain stroking a vamps’ thigh in a Bollywood movie. Then theytravelled down, even slower. The guy then pulled the fabric closer and smelledit. I got curious. I crept closer.

He must have been 16 something. A plump face with not muchfacial hair. Two eyes peering hard from a pudding-like face. Those eyes neverleft the jean; one of those latest designs that would expose yourbutt-crack, no matter how you sit down. I had students who wore them tocollege. Some of the guys would also expose a wisp of arse-hair during theprocess. The skinny ones took it to a whole new level. They would fix it aroundtheir waist as low as possible that it defeated logic and physics. I think thetrick was in walking with your legs slightly apart so that it kept the jean in the peripheryof your waist.

In Abu Dhabi I had seen some trousers with waists stretchingup to a phenomenal 44 inches. Sometimes I have taken one of those heavy creations, opened,looked inside and felt I was looking into outer space. I found it difficult tobelieve that a human’s derrière could burgeon up to fill so much of emptiness.Oh, let me get back to the one in front of me, folks...

So, here he was. May be wondering if he could somehow get into one of those pairs. The fat boy leaned forward to take the largestpair he thought was in front of him. He ended up pushing the cloth stand withhis gargantuan belly and it scuttled away on its casters. He looked back andcaught me looking at him. I looked away. The boy went back to work. But thecloth hanger seemed to have a mind of its own. I wanted to see him chasing thatmetal stand on wheels but looked away thinking he would notice me. As I was turningaway, I heard a crash and a “plop”.

The boy was on the floor entangled among a few more clothstands. One seemed to be sticking out from under him at a very odd angle. Icringed. I could not see his face. It was under more cloths.

I wanted to help him but I knew that I was not built for thejob. A brief visual of me trying to rescue a beached whale, all alone, flashedinside and I froze. An employee of the shop appeared, took in the scene, lookedat me and smiled. He was also of my same build. I could see what he wasthinking. The new guy seemed amused and confused. Our fat guy was still on thefloor and the poor fellow was panting. His sharp exhales sent the clothesaround his face fluttering every alternate second; like a whale breaching. Itall looked surreal.

Another employee came looking. A girl. She looked at theheap on the floor, at the male employee and then at me. She then looked at me,a second time. May be she thought I was related to my big cousin who was still clawing thefloor. I shook my head before her thoughts found matching words. I turned awaychecking out the printed skirts on another hanger.

There was another crash behind me. I turned and saw morehangers and more people on the floor. This time the arrangement was different. Thegirl and the guy seemed to be trapped under the 16-something giant. There weremore clothes on the giant’s face and very less around his waist. The Bermuda hadslipped down exposing the biggest male butt I had ever seen in my life. (Ohno..I haven’t seen a lot of them. NO)

He has this pinkundies with yellow “tweety” prints all over it. I could not take my eyes away. It wasdefinitely the most grotesque sight I could remember since Jurassic park but Iseemed to be transfixed by it. Like a horrible accident that leaves you frozen with your eyes wide open.

Soon one more lady appeared on the scene. From her size and herconcern I guessed that she was related to the boy on the floor. She spoke aloudin a language I did not understand. She shouted at me and at the shop staff. Shewas huge. Her black abaya floated around her and reminded me of the Caribbeanand the black pearl. She stretched a beefy hand and effortlessly yanked the boyto his feet. He stood up and the bermuda shorts fell. I couldn’t take itanymore. I turned away for the third time and started walking.

I had taken a few steps. There was more shouting frombehind. I looked back again. The lady had grabbed the shop guy’s puny handand continued to scream. That guy looked at me with pleading eyes. “Nottoday, brother”, I said quietly, turned and started on a small trot towards thecash counters.

Momma

2011-09-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

Wind played with the dust and dried leaves and took them for a short spiraling journey. Itwas afternoon and I was back at home on the verandah, on an easy chair. Thissummer vacation was mostly spent indoors as the unpredictable rain playedoutside. At times, the sun would beat down mercilessly and dry up whatever wasleft behind of the rain. Today, it was dry and sunny outside. I felt lazy.

I was not always the only lazy one on the verandah. Acat who had befriended my mother recently was often there. She would be under the same recliner I was on. She had three hyperactive kittens that never left the vicinity of their momma. The only otherplace they would go was to our back yardwhere they would share what my mother used to give them, at least twice a day.While I was watching the wind and dust, the kittens jumped in, chasing the dryleaves. There were only two of them. One was missing.

Cats, they say, are not really fond of theirhuman friends but love the pampering. I have often noticed that it took someeffort to dislodge the momma cat that was so comfortably splayed on the easychair. A cat is a lazy creature. And it was missing from the scene. I lookedaround. There were only two kittens.

I had a vague recollection of my mothertelling me about the rogue cat who used to visit the back yard, mostly atnight. He was the rejected lover of momma cat and displayed no affection to herkittens. The jealous lover was also guilty of stealing food from the kitchenand attacking momma cat's kittens. I suspected this villain's involvement inthe disappearance of the kitten and their mom.

The wind had died down and the kittens hadreturned to their afternoon siesta. I moved indoors and it seemed like the rainwas making a return any moment. There were noisy crows announcing the change inthe weather and were flying home. I thought I heard the momma cat's cry in thedistance.

Morning came, wet and gloomy. Sun was stillbehind grey clouds. The whole world seemed to yawn as the faintly lit sky satbrooding above. The kittens were back on the chair and so was their momma. Ithad wounds on its face and a deep cut on its hind leg. It took turns lickingits wounds and its kittens. One small fellow was still missing. I assumed thatmomma got in to a fight with the villain. Did her kitten pay the price forbeing there when it happened?

Few details emerged as the days went past. The villain wasseen one day limping around with scars on his face but seemed to havedisappeared from the scene. Momma cat was back on the chair with her twokittens. Her wounds were slowly healing.

And that is when I noticed the newvisitor near the verandah. He was younger and bigger than the villain who had disappeared. His face was already battle-scarred and beady little eyes watchedmomma cat and her kittens intently. Momma didn't seem to be perturbed. She gotoff the chair and placed herself between the kittens and the visitor. Shelooked back at him and growled with that steely resolve only a mother canmanage.

LOL

2011-09-07T06:01:00.000-07:00

Cave man (CM): (Edgy, shy) Who are you, you good lookingstranger?

Facebook diva(FD): (Face palm) Oh…finally I get to meet someonewho doesn’t know me! Btw, I’m Teena.

CM: What do you mean by “btw”? I am Steve.

FD: (eyes wide open) It means “by the way”. Is this yourfirst day on chat? LOL

CM: (eyes downcast) No, I have been around for a while but Inever spend much time in here. And I didn’t know that I was looking at some onevery famous!

FD: You are not really looking at ME now. That is my profilepic, my avatar. But everyone on facebook knows me! LOL

CM: (disappointed) so you don’t look like this beautifulwoman in the picture?

FD: well, I am not that ………….tall.

CM: All I can see is a face. Who is talking about beingtall!

FD: Err..what I meant is I am shorter, I look a lil differentand my hair color is not that. Oh wait; Why am I even telling you all this! LOL

CM: (smiles)

FD: But people say I have the same eyes! LOL

CM: I am sure you do! They must be blue as well! My window opensto the beach and it’s blue everywhere. The sea lies outside like an open blue book.I believe if you look real deep into any one’s eyes, you can read them like an openbook.

FD: Is it so? What have you read recently? (looks coy)

CM: I am reading “Cocktail hour under the tree of forgetfulness”,by Alexandra Fuller. Being where I am right now, I don’t get to read many eyes.(chuckles)

FD: Ohh…. Was it about a few guys who get drunk and forgetwhere they are? I think I saw the movie…was late night. Can’t remember thename! LOL

CM: (smiles) No madam, this is about Fuller’s mother livingin Africa. Not a movie. What was the last book you read?

FD: (embarrassed smile) well..I don’t really get any time toread books. I have this big book shelf all full of books. But I find it moreconvenient to read e-books. I am a netizen, you see! LOL

CM: What else do you do netizen?

FD: I do everything, buddy! Ha ha! I am a busy body on thenet and off the net. Please don’t ask me to explain..! LOL

CM: To be busy all the time is a blessing.

FD: (embarrassed smile) Okaayyyy…so on which planet are youon to be away from eyes and people?

CM: I am on Easter island.

FD: Sorry, never heard of it! But it must be beautifulthere! But how come you sound so lonely? What do you do for a living? Are you adiving instructor or something? LOL

CM: We get very few visitors. I am a fisherman.

FD: Oh ho…

CM: (smiles)

FD: Anyway…was nice talking to you Steve! I wish you all thebest.

CM: Why are you leaving so soon, madam?

FD: Like I said, I am quite busy even when I am on the net.I am talking to another dozen people right now. Didn’t you notice the number ofcommunities I manage on facebook?

CM: Then how come you are alone having a frappuccino?

FD: What??? How the hell do you know that?

CM: I am not on Easter island. I am here in the same café lookingat you.You are nothing likeyour profile pic. You have no book shelf. You are not Teena. You are Teresa.Yourgirl friend is Danielle. She is nice and I am dating her. I and Danielle are goingfishing. I am not Steve. I am the good looking stranger across your table. It was fun talkingto you, Teresa. I wish you all the best. Btw, I paid for your coffee.

FD: (face palm)

Xanadu

2011-07-12T01:22:00.000-07:00

Some time in 1991.

0800 hrs. Monday.

I am late. I woke up late. The quick trip back home over the weekend and the late train back didn't help. Sleepy and bleary-eyed I amble across to the bathroom. I open the tap. There is no water coming out. Instead it screams like a banshee; an inwardly wound whoosh of air into the pipe pregnant with a big vacuum somewhere in its entrails. I put my finger into the snout. It gets stuck there. The scream stops. I wonder how am I going to get some water! Class starts at 8.30.

Water authority in Trivandrum city was still served by pipes that survived the colonial period. The age of those buried aqueducts becomes vocalized between 7 am and 7 pm. That’s when you could feed the taps with anything and it will devour it all. They reminded me of scary science fiction movies where alien trunks from UFOs hovering above the city sucked people into its bellies. My mind quickly went back to the Instructor who would be giving the morning class. I suddenly realized that aliens would never scare me. Once the worse had already happened, you are not afraid anymore.

1600 hrs. Friday.

It is almost dark, thanks to the monsoon. The clouds have invaded and the rain that lashed the ground has formed puddles everywhere. Five of us lived in a 2-house-combo within a single wall approximately 500 feet above sea level, on top of a small hill. (Another reason why water had to fight a failing battle with gravity and age to reach us, our house) There was no proper road that took us to the house. It was more of a crude path drawn into the rocks that polka dotted the way up the hill. It took some skill for you to execute the journey since most of the rocks were boulders smoothened through years and required the traveler to walk, hop, jump and grab when ever required. Friday evenings saw some of our friends indulging in such rock-jumping to reach our house which always welcomed visitors. Watching those guys from our vantage point on the compound wall was like watching a video game. We named our abode "Xanadu" after Mandrake the magician's inaccessible fortress.

0800 hrs. Saturday.

One of our guys was a martial arts student who had occasional delusions about his super human strength. This idea often prompted him to get up on a Saturday/Sunday morning and do flips and splits on the terrace while the rest of us were still sound asleep. There were other houses near by and the closest house also had an ethnic sky-view bath outside close to the boundary wall. It was such a Saturday. Mr Bruce Lee had climbed the stairs for his morning exercise. There was a muffled scream that penetrated our sleep and we woke up wondering if our friend had broken his freakin' neck or something. Later we came to know that it was our next-door-girl who had screamed. She did it when she was in the sky-view bath sans clothes and noticed a guy leaping into the air from the near by terrace. Bruce lee had in fact jumped off the roof and had sprained his ankle. His face reflected mixed emotions: pain and perverse pleasure.

1000 hrs. Sunday.

An unwelcome visitor to our house was calling out to us from somewhere on the rocky road to Xanadu. We went to inspect. This guy was frozen in his tracks half way across the path. In front of him stood a skinny mongrel who bared his fangs and it looked like it was smiling. Stray dogs were many and they were territorial. They assumed that the whole area was their ancestral property and it was true. The only way to escape was to pick up a rock quickly and pretend to throw it at the smiling mongrel. You should not run at any cost. But if you got the timing all wrong, then you have to try scaling the smooth boulders to escape the canines; which was very difficult but a lot of fun to watch from our vantage point. That Sunday belonged to the mongrel. The creature sent our "friend" galloping over the rocks, back to where he came from.

August. 2011.

Some of us are going back to our college for an alumni reunion. Xanadu is also on the agenda. We hope to conquer the rocks one more time. The house , we hope is still there. There are a lot of memories strewn along that rocky path. I heard that the monsoon is already there and waiting for us.

Valentine thoughts: part deux

2011-06-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

My dear Son

Do you know that today is "fathers' day"? More importantly, do you know that I am writing this letter to you from an old-age home crammed with similar souls?

My memory is still sharp enough to remember that I was dumped here because of my alleged escapades on internet and a frivolous complaint over telephone from a pizzeria waitress. Without even giving the benefit of doubt to a deserving old man, I had to pack my bags and surround myself with more old age. This mail is to just let you know that I had saved enough money to buy an ipad and my usb modem was safely tucked into my "Cobra" boxers before I got into your car.

Life has a different flavor being in the company of many like me here. The collective angst of old men is a force to be reckoned with as you would soon realize. Our brains scamper in all directions but come back with ideas that will make young studs like you cringe. I must thank you for giving me this opportunity in self-discovery. The pizzeria was a mere sign of the times to come. My son, I am at home. Finally.

Rachel, who lost her husband and has four kids in US of A, is a sprightly thing with money in the bank and time to kill. Conversations with her can't be categorized as an intellectual discourse but more filling than the 3 course lunch I get. How can you ignore a girl who thinks a "belt" is a thing that comes off a guy!

My latest profile on facebook is a bit intriguing with a new name in "Musli- prowess" and a profile picture of Robert Downey Jnr. Finally I have an image that appeals to the 18 to 80 year old. ;-)

The pizzeria girl is not even in my thoughts now. I order Thai food from the near by restaurant and they have these short haired staff who like the way I move! On an average, a call to place an order for sauteed prawns take around 15 minutes. No one needs to teach those kids about the benefits of repeat patronage.

My buddies convey their regards to you. They say that you put me here and added color to their life. We even formed a band called "Vintage warheads". Our covers of the Beatles throw our girls into a trance! Your wife's emotional operas pale in comparison.

Today is Fathers' day, Son. Hope your kids are fine. I am writing this with a finger on the ipad, a hand around a plump waist and a song on my lips. My wine glass looks lovely in the candle light. I think I miss you. But again, I could be wrong. Old age can often mess with your thinking, eh?

Snakes

2011-06-12T10:16:00.000-07:00

Susamma was in a dilemma.

The neighbor's wife was older but slimmer. Never seemed to care about silk sarees and seemed to be in possession of just one; "ONE" mobile phone! And she never wore any gold. Which chromosome is she missing?

That first day, early morning when Susamma arrived into this world screaming, legs kicking, her beaming granny gathered her up in her frail but gold-bangled arms and marveled: "Oh she is a chunk of gold!". That sort of did it. Lil Susamma latched on to the first word she heard and decided to dedicate her entire life worshiping the precious metal. The rest is history...still in the making.

So back to the neighbor's wife who didn't seem to care a rat's ass about wearing the precious metal. On the other hand, Susamma carried a minimum weight of 400 gms of the yellow stuff at any point in time including the occassional funerals of a relative. She took pride in carrying the scars on different locations of her pleasantly plump body; all caused through abrasions caused by her gold ornaments. Well...one exception was the dark snake like mark around her waist caused by a tight, heavy waist chain. But no one ever saw it except for Thomachayan, who never seemed to be bothered about it at all especially when the sighting was may be once in six months. While Susamma went through a lot to carry gold and the scars, her neighbor's wife had none on her silly slender body and still men seemed to be interested in her. Susamma scratched her head with a hand that jingled with four gold bangles; each weighing 16 grams each.

Susamma's despair was tripled by an incident that had concluded 2 days back; Thomachayan's friend's daughter's marriage. The horde of gold bearing women at the venue resembled a splotchy sea of yellow and in the midst of it all stood her neighbour's wife Nancy, in all her gold-less glory; wearing just one platinum chain. In her plain and simple raw silk saree, she was graceful as a swan among pudgy ducks with bad make up. Even Thomachayan was found silently adoring that woman. Susamma died a thousand deaths that day and wished a thousand more to her neighbor's wife. Contrary to her habit, Susamma left the party early before the roly-poly women folk dispersed.

Back home, she gathered all her gold from her box, body and book shelves. After meticulous calculations, she put them all back. That night Thomachayan saw the snake around Susamma's waist and a jubilant Susamma sold all her gold the next day for a few pieces carved in platinum. The next day was a beautiful sun drenched Sunday. She wore her shocking red silk saree, wore the platinum, and walked ahead of Thomachayan to the lift. Her timing was perfect. There she was.

The slender neighbor in her lilac cotton churidar. Around her slender neck was a string with a pendant that had all the colors in the world captured inside. Susamma's jaw dropped. Unintentionally, she mumbled, "what is that?". Nancy smiled and said; "Abalon". Susamma, confused, looked back at Thomachayan whose adoring eyes had left the abalon and had wandered over to Nancy's abalon abs.

Susamma's hand absentmindedly went to her waist, barren without the waist chain. She almost heard the snake hissing.

Despicable me

2011-04-10T09:19:00.000-07:00

The forwarded mail was inflamed with just anger and indignation. The one who sent it and the ones who saw it before me had entered their names. The signature drive was on. The youth, the old, the wise and the ignorant; my whole country was waking up from their sleeper-cell-slumber in response to a frail man's war-cry. His name was Anna Hazare.

I resisted my temptation to ask my colleague: Who is this guy? Oh don't! Better sense prevailed. What if he thinks that I am such an ignoranamus! Silently I googled and found what I needed to know. Thank God for internet. No one knows what you do not know, what you pretend to know.

For a moment I wondered what would have happened if the Lokpal bill had been a reality a few years back. I shuddered at the mere thought. I had paid the Panchayat, the Sales tax department and many more to get my pet project on the road. Any aspiring business man would have done the same thing. There is a time when principles swell up your throat and you push it down just to ease up matters. I am not the only one. I was just following the norm.

But this mail was in my face. Shimmering in the white virtual glow on my computer waiting to be dealt with. I had to join the millions who would add their names to the ever growing list. Together this would shake the foundations of the servers around the world choking internet bandwidth. A few netizens would rub their hands in glee while raking in thousands in exchange for mail id's they sell to an online viagra seller.

I signed it. Forwarded it to a dozen Indian friends of mine. They were all in their early 40's. Viagra might help. Just thinking about it, I felt aroused.

2011-02-26T10:05:00.000-08:00

Remember the guy with the red baseball cap who sat opposite to you while you enjoyed your favorite bbq chicken pizza? I don't think so. Some men aren't conspicuous in a girl's life even if they wear red caps and yellow Tees. When it is a 70 year old one wearing glasses as thick as your arm and a few white wispy stuff adorning his head, it certainly isn't much to look at. But I was looking at you, hard. It took a full minute for me to focus and conclude that you were indeed a girl and you were hot.The short gray hair on the back of my shriveled neck stood up when I saw your ruby red lips as you bit into the medium pan pizza. If an old man is to be judged by what goes on in his mind, I should have been given an electric chair.

As usual, this February also I thought of walking past your house to get a glimpse of you. But my decades old prudence held me back. Some memories are still afresh in the gray matter. Some memories are hard to erase; especially when they involve you. Even if you are pushing 70.

Social networking had been a boon to the super senior lover boys like me in more ways than one. I remember befriending you last February posing as an amateur male underwear model. My facade fell down when my fellow pensioner friend tagged me on our reunion group photograph. Since his eye sight was a notch lower than mine, he tagged the wrong guy. Yet the damage was done. When you removed me from your friends list, I slept broken hearted and forgot to put my dentures in the glass. I woke up with an aching heart, knees, jaw etc and a dry drool measuring approximately 15 cms on the pillow.

Today is February 14th. The day cupid plays tricks with every one who is still in love or searching for love. Baby, I am still love stricken. But I am also stricken by diabetics, blood pressure and a certain illness that makes me change my bed sheets first thing in the morning. But I can't slight that pudgy lil angel who flies around with a bow and arrow. I can't deny the fact the sight of pearly white sinking into a piece of pizza makes me think sinful thoughts. How ever I will never ever bother you again. I will never be an unwanted profile presence even in your virtual world. I am taking my cold heart some where else.

To an old age home, to be precise. It wasn't my choice though. My wife told my son that I have been mis-using the internet connection he provided to see me from his house in California. He saw my profile on facebook and decided that enough was enough. Darling, all my bags are packed and I am ready to go.I am joining my brothers who share a similar fate. I hope to find a fresh meaning in life. I hope to find a pizza parlor there as well. I hope they get customers with pearly teeth ( a full set).And then, one day, I will wear my red cap again.

P.S. Do you know why I am jealous of pizzas? They are held with both hands before those teeth sink in.

Queen's English

2011-02-26T10:01:00.000-08:00

That kid was old enough to run around and play. His young mother was with him, doing her surveillance with motherly attention and love. She was talking to him, encouraging him. In their own special language, or that's what I thought; until I was in earshot.

She was talking to him in English. The kid was responding in his own language, like any other kid of his age; a dialect you would understand only if you have spent time with them. However the mother spoke a different one. It was the Queen's English. Perfect in grammar, composition, in that easily place-able Indian accent.

It took only a few seconds of casual observation for me to understand that she was a malayalee. The rubber band in her curly oil stained hair, the soiled salwar,the cheap sandals on her feet and the long, heavy gold chain that adorned a slim neck. It was almost 8 in the morning and the street was already busy. On this by-lane, the mother and son had come to out to play? It didn't look like the perfect time.

The mother was asking the kid to leave his toy car and come back. She kept telling him that they would come later to play. Too young to understand his mother's banter, he went on. The mother didn't really seem to mind. She was more concerned about demonstrating her English language skills. Her furtive glances around seemed to seek the approval of any one who was nearby. She wanted the entire neighborhood to know that she could converse with her lil kid in English. Wasn't it admirable?

I continued walking. Meanwhile the "English speaking" mom had scooped up her kid and had started walking back to their house. I could still hear her talking loud. "Son, we will come back later and play, do not worry". The kid was responding in his mother tongue this time. I felt relieved. You can't mess with some instincts when they are young.

There are many nationalities living nearby with their families. None of the parents speak to their kids in English, even if they all are studying in Anglican schools. Only Indians are more "English" when it comes to casual conversation with even kids. I don't think it was something the British left behind. It is just us Indians pretending to be something we should never be.

We should learn a thing or two from that lil kid. I should have written this piece in Malayalam, to start with.

Mirror mirror...

2011-02-07T04:21:00.000-08:00

If I claim that for the average narcissist, Facebook "offers a gateway for hundreds of shallow relationships and emotionally detached communication", a few would even bethink removing me from their "friends list". Such reaction is likely to happen in spite of all my hypocritical glory, I am aware that social networking in general allows me great control over how am I presented to and perceived by other users.

In a survey conducted by a psychologist, young people with narcissistic personality traits were found to parade facebook activity that was distinctly more self-promotional.There was this "pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration and an exaggerated sense of self-importance."

The survey's results showed "significant positive correlations between narcissism and self-promotional content in the following areas: Main Photo, View Photos, Status Updates and Notes."

Male narcissists were more self-promotional in their "About Me" descriptions, using this section as an opportunity to highlight their intelligence and wit.

Female users with narcissistic tendencies tended to use images in their self-promotion, uploading content that "included revealing, flashy and adorned photos of their physical appearance."

I couldn't help remembering how a few people I had known but not really "known", had been ostentatious and loud on networking sites but timid and shy in real life. Their insecurity grew wings and flapped wildly, perched on a facebook flagpole.

On facebook, even the trivial takes such gargantuan proportions. Why should the rest of the world be vexed with Jane revealing that she is "Out having a coffee with out cream"? Tarzan says he is "swingin again". It is all your fault, girl.

By the way, I have to go now.

"Out driving a tank".

The monkey who sold his ferrari

2010-09-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

Heeee....yaaahhhhh!

I leap from branch to branch. If a branch snaps, it isn't my problem. The branch should have known better. After all, the Almighty created branches to support me.

I take a fruit from here; some from there. I may taste two, eat one, throw the rest. The fruit serves its purpose in life by serving my hunger. The seeds that get caught in between my teeth; well they shouldn't be there at all. They made a mistake. They wouldn't make it again.

I enjoy early mornings, moody mid days and lazy afternoons; picking lice, scratching where it itches and grooming my tail. If I don't do it, who else would do ? If you don't have a tail, don't blame me. Some are born with it; some wish they had one.

Some things work. Some don't. Like the ones who tried teaching me alphabets at the zoo. Hey humans; you guys have way too many alphabets! Why complicate life when you have simpler options? Peel the banana, throw the peel, eat the banana. Or when confused, throw the banana, eat the peel. If it tastes like crap; bite your hand. Grimace. Grab another banana. Repeat.

Some things move. Some do not. I wish the tree would move when ever I wanted so that I don't have to move my ass at all.Trees are born dumb. All they do is stay at one place and sway.And the ripe fruits are always at the farthest branch.Humbug!

I have a personality. But I don't know why is it so amusing for the kids. They look at me and laugh. I can't stand what I saw once in the mirror but my consultant told me that it was the mirror's fault. I hate mirrors. Oh wait!..I hate kids more.

I hope one day the fruits will present themselves in a platter to me. I hope the trees will move at my command. I hope bananas will peel themselves. I hope they ban mirrors.I hope I will live for ever.

I am a monkey. I love being one. And I read Dale Carnegie. It is cool.

Face/Off

2010-04-15T04:01:00.000-07:00

In Athens, in the 4th Century BC, the great orator Demosthenes ridiculed his rival Aeschines, who was once a well known actor. He called Demosthenes a hypokrites; a technical term for an actor. The latter's skill in acting was considered as undesirable for some one who was taking up politics. An actor who could imitate another person was considered untrustworthy for the public office. All this as it is obvious, happened a long time before the times of Ronald Reagen, Arnold or Jesse Ventura.

I am least bit concerned about what a politician was doing before he became what he is now. But what he would do after could be a matter of concern. However being a "hypokrites" is the common factor between me, Demosthenes and Arnie. But modified versions of course. Interestingly, here the roles of an actor and being a hypocrite, means often the same thing.

The actor and hypocrite in me emerges mostly after the flight touches down in my home state during the summer. Until the rubber skids off the tarmac, I am 100% Indian. Once I step out of the craft, I suddenly turn into a purebred expatriate.

I realize that the trees, the rain and the mud I missed back where I worked, didn't look all that romantic as it were when I explained it to my "firang" friends over some beer and roasted nuts. I suddenly could list a dozen reasons why "my country" would "never prosper" and how "organised" is the way things are "back there".

The familiar stench of human feces at the railway station was unbearable this summer. Must have been the protein rich food that is making the present plump generation plumper.

The apparent disdain to hygiene by street vendors, cab drivers and the pan-chewing men folk was overly disgusting. I wanted to take them by their collar and tell them that they were wrong.

The ride back home in an old ambi illustrated how the public works department employees had been getting rich at the cost of the taxpayer. I wondered aloud why they make cars these days with out air-conditioning. I asked my driver why the public transport buses looked dirty and dangerous.

While my tirade went on, my father looked at the driver and smiled. The driver smiled back. He must have heard this every time he brought back an expatriate to his town.

Back at home I had more complaining to do before the religious procession blocked traffic for half a day, during the intermittent load shedding and after the telephone line died in the middle of a conversation.

I also didn't forget to ridicule my aunty over her silly confusion in choosing which saree to wear for our old family friend's memorial ceremony in the evening. I scoffed at all the gold the women wore and poked fun at the pot bellied men who competed in the same category along with their women.

At the pre-dinner cocktail session I explained to the men about the differences between whiskey, brandy, vodka and other beverages while they got more impatient as I offered them my wisdom.

A month later, during the ride back to the airport in the air conditioned comfort of a chevorlet, I found the stench of uncleared garbage a lil less disturbing. I saw the rain clouds in the horizon and wondered if the flight would face turbulence. The greenery whistled past the car and the hypocrite in the chevorlet felt sad...and a bit ashamed.

To Bee or not to Bee

2009-11-01T03:30:00.000-08:00

A tiny bee came in through the open window with a buzz and a grain of sunny yellow pollen on its back. The morning breeze had it landing awfully on to the dining table next to the window. Dazed, it shook its wings, folded them carelessly with one one wing still sticking out at an odd angle. It waddled through the spilled coffee on the table, stepped on to a paper napkin and left a small wet trail on it. I watched it carefully as I nudged my breakfast croissant away from the dazed invader on the napkin. Right next to the golden brown croissant, its black and yellow form was like a chef's quircky idea of a garnish. Its avionics doused with caffeine, wing-hinges out of order, it stopped right next to the lump of bread and did a funny lets-get-the-hell-outta-here dance. But the wings buzzed unsynchronised and sent it spiralling upside down from the napkin to the wooden table top. There it met with an ant who got all curious about this sudden commotion in the morning. The ant had to check what caused all that ruckus. But it didn't seem to have good intentions when it tried to tug a wing tip while the hapless bee was still lying belly up. After a brief tussle, the ant was sent packing to no-where land with a flip of a leg and the bee was back on its feet. And then suddenly, all challenges dealt with, it just took off from the table, circled my head, and went crashing head first into the window pane. In a moment, it was back on the table. Motionless. I suddenly felt like this rich nation watching two smaller countries fighting against each other. I got up. My eyes panned the floor and found another ant who was busy going no where. I picked it up and placed it next to the bee. In no time, the ant got to work. There he was, dragging an object 20 times larger and heavier than its body, over the table. It walked back wards with agility and purpose and in a few seconds it was straining to drag the bee over my croissant. When it almost half way through, I snapped my forefinger, sending the dragged and the dragger flying into the air.

Not on my fukin food.

I truly felt like a big nation now. Invitations are welcome from artists to design a flag for my nation. It should portray the following: "Power, animosity, dominance and dead bees".

Blackberried

2009-10-12T05:32:00.001-07:00

I own a Blackberry.

A typical Blackberry day of mine starts at 4 in the morning.There wouldn't be any text messages I haven't read or haven't replied to because I always respond asap no matter what time it hits my device. But I will check it just one more time, just to be sure. At 12 midnight, 2 in the morning, while I am taking an afternoon power nap, I would get up and diligently answer everyone except the frequent adverts on free credit cards and the discount sales at the Armani Exchange. No body is ignored. I try to go back to sleep; but I am awake, looking up at the ceiling, bleary eyed.

I used to meet friends, have a beer, talk about family, work, women. But now conversation is different if the guy I am talking to owns a blackberry. We end up talking Blackberry. We share wicked jokes on the "storm" and the "curve". We exchange insane ring tones and sleazy mms all the time glancing at the others in the pub, wondering if they would all die one day missing all the Blackberry fun. We feel proud that we "have" and they "havent". We feel sorry for them and order another beer.

The story isn't any different in the restaurant. I never order pasta because it would mean using two hands to coax that food down your throat; which means that until I am done eating, my Blackberry would be out of the warmth of my palm,left alone, cold in the air conditioned solitude of the dining room.I would rather suck pasta till I am red in my face.

Official meetings can be slow death if you have a Blackberry on silent mode. Every vibration quickens your pulse rate and pulls you agonizingly through the blackberry-withdrawal-symptoms. My fingers twitch to check those life-saving text messages. My heart yearns to answer that call from a bored friend waiting for a taxi.And once the meeting is over, I pull out my Blackberry and Richard Marx sings "right here waiting for you" right into my soul.

I have recently noticed that my right thumb looks a wee bit larger than the left thumb. There are some parts of my right palm that feel slightly different than before. I feel an occasional fake vibration in my right trouser pocket even when the Black berry isn't there.

I facebook at funerals. I text while making love. I browse when I work, not at work, at home, not at home, when i am breathing.

I do not own a Blackberry. Blackberry owns me.

Weight gains

2009-10-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

As a kid I dreamt of becoming a crime fighter one day. To be a daring cop When I grew up. The dreaming part was done in all its intensity but I screwed up the growing up part. When I was in my 9th grade, my younger sister was atleast 2 inches taller than me. I over took her only 2 years later. But the growth spurt stopped right there.What ever it took to grow further, I had a short supply of it, by default. I hung from tree branches, drank horlicks, did stretching exercises, dreamt a lot more; but.....the scale froze at 5'6".

The tragedy did't stop there. Soon I found out that my 5' something frame was incapable of putting on weight, no matter how much I ate. I could run my fingers over the mirror reflection of my ribs and still count them accurately.I was a nutritionist's nightmare.

There was no chance of me becoming a cop. They will never have a khaki uniform that will fit me. I might even become the first cop to die of a gun shot recoil.

My best friend Thomas was a big guy for his age. T-shirts always looked good on him while I looked like a coat hanger holding it up while wearing one. I decided to find out what did it take to be like him.

Thomas was aiming a stone carefully at a bunch of ripe mangoes in our neighbour's yard when I presented my first question."Thomas, do I look skinny?"

He took his squinting eyes off the mangoes, looked at me without changing that expression, gave me a look-over and snorted; "You don't look skinny. You ARE skinny".

That answer was not going to help me at all. So I continued in a sterner voice; "Thomas,I want to be fat...like you".

Thomas threw the stone at the mangoes, missed, grunted, looked back at me and said; " I am not fat you lizard, but you are a skeleton and you screwed up my shot!".

I was convinced that Thomas just grew up with out having any clue as to why he is fat and how he could be of some help to someone who was an aspiring fatso. I ate one mango more than Thomas just to irritae him. I ate less for dinner that night.

It was a few more years later that I decided to study karate. I had two objectives behind this venture; 1) gain some respect from the bullies in the high school 2) try and see if I could gain some weight during the process.

The first objective was partially successful; the second was never a possibility; which lead to me to join a gym. I sweated buckets in both the places but never gained a kilo. But soon I found that I had a great effect on people when ever I talked to them, in the Gym.

I couldn't go near the muscled hunks in the Gym. They always pretended that they couldn't see me. One of them would just walk past me, bang his big shoulder into my bony chest, send me flying to a weight rack, look back at me and say "sorry" and would continue to do the same thing th very next day.I hated them.

Then there were the skinny guys just like me and most of the time, slightly better of than me. I saw a smile on their faces and empathy in their eyes. That was the last thing I needed; two skinnies trying to console eachother. There was no positivity in that relationship. I hated them.

Then there the real biggies. The buckets of lard who wore XXL T shirts and formed sweat pools on the Gym floor. I watched them with fascination as they panted, howled, heaved, straining under their own weight. When they took breaks in between, I watched them from the corner of my eyes, like a school kid looking at a beached whale.

I would never forget the day when I talked to one of those guys. He was comepletely gassed out and looked like he could do with some encouragement. I put my hand on his shoulder and said this much; "Look, I was once like you.Just keep going buddy! You can do it. Here, let me show you how to work those glutes".

He was my first fan. I soon started loving going to the Gym because I knew that there would be this group of extra-large extra attentive guys who would listen to every word I uttered and did what I told them to do. Skinny does it at times!

The girl in a car

2009-10-07T04:28:00.000-07:00

I was half way across the road when I saw her in a car, passing by, so close. I crossed the otherhalf a lot more slower. Slow enough for One guy to stop his car and give me that universal finger sign. I just smiled, holding my bi cycle, one handed....

Sitting in my class, I stared at the lecturer and noticed that she too had dimples like the girl I saw in the car. I didn't hear a single word said that day but I heard the faint whistle of air as it rushed past an open window, carrying in the smell of the first rain....

Against my habit, next day morning I gave my rusty bicycle a hurried wash and waited at the road side, hoping to catch another glimpse of the girl in a car. It was drizzling. After an hour and a half, I left feeling quite stupid,wet but still hoping...

Badminton with the guys in the evening didn't feel all that nice and I just wanted it to be morning again. I slept late and dreamt of a car that had crept into my porch at night...and woke up in a sweat...It was still raining.

Days passed by and then one day I saw her in my college on the stairs. I coudlnt believe my eyes. My knees wobbled, my heart missed a beat and I suddenly wished if I had my favourite shirt on...

It took months, patience, luck, perseverance, fate, planning, cunning, drama, suspense...and a thriller..but not exactly in the same sequence before we could sit and have a coffee together. Coffee had never tasted sweet like that before...

Time put on spurrs and took flight before I knew that a year had come to its end. It was my last year in college. The last few days...

The stairs were empty and we were alone with each other. There weren't any words but just the dreadful feeling of losing it all soon....and then she leaned over and kissed....

That night i reached home, ran up the door, opened the stairs, said my pajamas and put on my prayers - turned off my bed, tumbled into my light.....God! that first kiss on the stairs!....

I never saw her again. It hurt for a long time. Years later somebody stole my bicycle. Few more years later somebody else stole my heart.. again. And many years later, it happened again..and again...I think I got used to it.

I was half way across the road yestarday when I saw her in a car. But it can't be her. She was driving. She didn't have dimples. She looked old. She looked bored. She looked familiar though. But it can't be her.

I crossed the rest of the road faster and almost walked into a car. The driver honked his horn. I gave him that universal finger sign. He smiled....I didn't.

target practice

2009-09-16T04:22:00.000-07:00

I still do not have a driving license in this country. This gives me that unwanted opportunity of waiting for taxis, some times under a scorching 50 degrees. Under the sun, there is very little thinking you can do...very often the only thing I end up doing is an oath I undertake which goes like.." I am getting that license next week"...It has been 3 three years now.

Under comparatively better conditions for living things to venture out; I have waited for taxis. During those sessions, I stop repeating my oath and look around at the drama that is being played all around.

Everyone does one thing first after they arrive; to check for signs that tell you who arrived first. It could be that guy who is almost in the centre of the road planning to stop the next taxi with his chest. Or it could be that mother with four children who looks daggers at any one who joins the queue. But the one who gets the ride is often somebody else. You could categorize them as the shameless, the arrogant, the fast or some times the lucky.

But if you choose to stand back and watch what happens during those moments when the taxi is still a thought on a every one's mind; theres is plenty for the eye.

The 30 something male in tight T-shirt and denims with cigarettes, mobile/s in hand looks like he was paid by some covert governmental agency to measure every female's arse with that invisible tape he had been provided with. Two school kids play target practice with a pepsi can and the waste bin fixed on the sign board. Every miss spills a few drops on to those who are waiting.
The construction worker who is used to talking over the din of concrete mixers at work; talk loudly to his friend about how the "item" at the dance bar gave him "looks" last night. The father with his teenage daughter looks on wishing he could kill people by merely thinking about them.
The asian couple displays some affection in public and the kids find the target practice sort of uninteresting any more. The beauty queen born with the mobile phone, plugs in the hands free because the device is burning her ears.
The Executive in a suit looks at his fake Rolex for the umpteenth time.

Finally a taxi arrives. The man controlling traffic in the middle of the road jumps on to the pavement to save his life. The kids throw the pepsi can on the road and in a flash grab the door handle. The woman and her kids gets in their way. She shouts, grabs one of the kids' cap and throws it away. While that kid retreats to get his cap, the mother herds her kids into the car.

The beauty queen starts her next life-saving call and the 30-something moves a bit closer to her. There is another guy in the middle of the road ready to risk every thing he has. More mothers with more children are arriving. I take another oath..

Estranged

2009-09-15T03:15:00.000-07:00

There came that time in my life when the pen needed more than words to go...a place where some of you have been to; the crash site of elusive, ephemeral moments. And I asked myself; what happened? How did I get here? What was it about?

Some times something can pick you by the short hairs and fling you around. Some thing called ...I do not know what...

Or maybe I got it all wrong.

You carry around beliefs about yourself that make you feel special, desirable, precious and innately good. After the initial phase where you take care of all those parts of your essential being; you put it down on a shelf for safe keeping. You assume that they have done their duties; a rest is fine.

But others do not rest. After all you were always under their eternal surveillance. They put those sticky yellow post-its on your back. All unawares. You carry them around. Slowly, you become the tag you carry.

Confused,you look around. You see someone else with a similar tag. You smile and then warily sit down for a coffee at a table.

What took you there? Deprivation? Angst? Boredom?

This is the real potent part of it all.

To sit down with your back towards the rest; the post-its on your back saying it aloud; but you go on to sing a song....over a coffee.

You carved out this time from your life for a song or a coffee? Or was it for something you can't explain? What is that dumb excuse?

I know just this much..It isn't mine to command it....let the flow wash me ashore...

When I find out all the reasons
Maybe I'll find another way
Find another day
With all the changing seasons of my life
Maybe I'll get it right next time....(GNR - Estranged)

A bed time story

2009-04-08T00:18:00.000-07:00

I must warn you right away that the title can be misleading. My intention is not to give some tips on how to deal with your sleeping problems, if you have any. Such articles are plenty in magazines and on the internet, very often copied from each other. After all, our world is right now so busy copy/pasting like crazy!
So, back to “sleeping disorders”. The issue I have in mind is related to a few people who came visiting me when my family was back in my home country. These “people” weren’t total strangers. They were friends of my uncle. There were five of them. Plus my uncle. Six big men. Six too many...

Human beings can hide a lot of stuff inside themselves. Some of it is actually better left inside always. One good example is what they do when they do not know what they are doing, when they are sleeping. Snoring. Friends, I am not talking about that irritating sound made by a man while he is sleeping. I am talking of a massive onslaught on your eardrums caused by five after-dinner drunk obese men at 12 in the night. Words are woefully inadequate to describe that experience. You can probably talk about it later, if you survive.
That night was the longest night of my life. It was like trying to sleep on top of a spluttering genset; infact 6 gensets on a spluttering world championship. I think at some point in time, my ears were bleeding or I might have been hallucinating. It is just the Almighty's grace that I was not turned into a serial killer of snoring people.

I did some reading once I survived. I had to. You never know, they could come again, right? You must also keep in mind that such a night can be a life changing experience. At least I was happy to remind myself that I was not a woman and one of their wives. So I did this reading to protect myself just incase such a calamity finds its way to my house a second time.

According to health expert and author Mr. James A Penn, “snoring is caused by something that blocks the air passages causing the tissues to vibrate. The back of the mouth is collapsible and the tongue, upper throat, and soft palate, and uvula come together here. During snoring, these 4 parts strike against each other to produce the vibration that we know as snoring”. This information was not helpful. I wanted to know how people can “roar” in their sleep.

That is when I found this information: “The mechanics of snoring are produced in the throat. As air travels down through it, you end up getting vibrations that create the sounds of snoring. What a lot of people don't seem to realize is that their jaw's position will actually lead to the expansion and contraction of the throat. The more room you have for air, the less likely you're going to experience vibration. When people snore, they have their jaw open or at least loose. That causes the constriction. All you have to do close your jaw and snoring will stop”.

That is it! All I need to do is makesure that their jaws are closed. Cut out their air supply. I may have something at home to get this job done. For those of you out there who ever had to go through what I went through and are thinking what I am thinking, here you go….I am willing to share this life-saving gadget with you. Check out the picture above! As I always say; Information saved is a life saved!

Tattoos, sand, stuff

2009-03-23T00:59:00.000-07:00

If I sit down and start making a list of things I wanted to do; it would definitely be a pretty long list. But if I ever sit down and make a list of things I once started and never completed, that list would be longer. "Keep this blog alive" would be one item I wouldn't want to see in that second list.

Holy cow! It was in December that I scribbled something on this page!

Why didn't I do something about it? Was it the lack of a topic? Lack of time or a reason to write again? Laziness?

How ever in the last three months I had tried quite a few things; a second attempt at a few other things; but never completed or continued any.

The list of the new accomplishments read like this:
- Started going to the gym after 3 years. (I wonder why...I always seem to lose weight when my intention was to gain a few kilos)
- Started working on my life ambition. Write a movie-script (So much talent in this world is lost for the want of a little courage; wouldn't you agree?)
- Went Dune-bashing. Loved it. Would like to do more next winter. (Though I had a tough time washing the sand out of every hole on my body)
- Added half an inch to my waist line. Didn't want it; but came in handy because this country doesn't sell jeans that fits my sexy waist.
- Got a tattoo (I must be the skinniest guy on earth with a tattoo. Thank God they had small designs)

The list of stuff that I started and stopped were:
- Stopped going to the Gym after 1 month. Didnt gain/lose any weight. Lost 2 months fees that I paid in advance. I must accept a fact; I am genetically incapable of putting on weight; I may have to find another motive to visit the Gym (?)
- Stopped working on my movie script after 3 pages: Writer's block (You've heard that before)
- Get that date to get that UAE driving license: two days leave, two attempts. Result was the same. The counter will close by the time I have finished waiting for 6hours. They said they don't have enough staff. Emirates Driving(me-up-the-wall)Company &*#@*holes....May u all be bit by rabid camels...
- Save some money. I save some, I spend some more. It is like building sand castles on the beach. Wave one; zero castle. What is wrong with me, Mr Robert Kiyosaki?

Shall write more soon; that's very likely. I have this tear jerker on my mind. Kind of a personal experience soaked in sobs and cold fury.
Title: "Trying to sleep in the same room with 6 guys who snore"
Keep watching this space....

Sex!

2008-12-01T04:55:00.000-08:00

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?"

Passion!

2008-11-09T05:10:00.000-08:00

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!

The true portrait

2008-10-16T05:35:00.000-07:00

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.

summer, rain...

2008-08-27T05:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Lord, for you!

2008-07-09T04:13:00.000-07:00

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 men...so 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!!

The lookers

2008-07-02T01:10:00.000-07:00

"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 www.onepoll.com, 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!

Comforting the customer

2008-06-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-23T01:48:00.000-07:00

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.

in memory of "aanjili"

2008-06-12T02:02:00.000-07:00

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.

Kick it !

2008-06-04T03:38:00.000-07:00

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?

Getting high; Down under!

2008-06-02T22:53:00.000-07:00

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!

tail lights

2008-05-24T23:16:00.000-07:00

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.

close call

2008-04-08T00:58:00.000-07:00

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.

9 am tales

2008-04-06T22:56:00.000-07:00

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"

dread

2008-02-17T01:23:00.000-08:00

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

FEAR

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.

Or-cute!

2008-01-22T02:21:00.000-08:00

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?

When it rains...

2008-01-13T04:19:00.000-08:00

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...

Mixxed up..

2007-11-05T03:20:00.000-08:00

Some stuff is always best left alone.

Humanbeings who evolved as a result of a million years learned a lot of lessons the hard way. often simple but important things.The first time he touched a live ember, he learned that he shouldn't use his naked fingers to do that. The first experience must have been totally convincing. Soon he also learned that he could kill an ember with water. That mix works. But if you combine fire with oil, you have a different result. That lesson must have taken a bit longer to learn.

The evolution, they say, is complete. But we keep making mistakes with some mixing. It all gets mixed up; badly.

Religion is certainly man-made. It is also a universal fact that what ever was made by man, has its flaws. Some times the nice stuff outnumber the flaws to that extent, one wouldn't have to worry much about it.That is when it is wise to quote the first sentence of this blog, again: "Some stuff is best left alone"

Politics, another man made phenomenon, is a universal mixer. It mixes with any thing easily. For eg: it combines with good & bad people with out discrimination. It is no surprise that it mixes so well with politics. The news from my home state Kerala reinstates this fact.(Pardon me, I am too sick & tired to explain it here)

The church in the past has never been shy of politics. In fact it has been everything the politics is now, at one time. More over, the common man who has his own religious ideology is also a part of a secular society. This dual association itself is complicated. The chaos is intensified when the clergy interferes in politics with the same intensity they would show in practising their faith.

How much practical discerning is possible when we try to understand the overlapping realms of religion and politics? Where do we draw the lines?

How justified are our religious leaders who campaign for or against political parties?

Complexities; ambiguities. But if we put people first & the rest second in line; would that put somebody's beliefs in jeopardy? How logical is it to have a combined edition of a holy book and a constitution?

Atleast to me, the relative unimportance of politics in religion is the same as it is in the case of religiousising politics. They both serve humanity. But why should we mix it? This mixed serving is dangerous. Are the servers listening?

E-how!

2007-09-27T00:57:00.000-07:00

It was a friend's remark adorned with a few emoticons during a casual chat that made me think of this topic. He thinks that in the begining there was nothing and then came technology. Technology is the big fat mother of all creations. Big bang was nothing but a tracheal irritation in comparison.

It is mostly the IT professionals I have met (not all of them) who seemed to go ga ga over tech-stuff, especially about their own spheres of work. Technology is the supreme being and every one is supposed to pay obeisance to it. Even the slightest disregard including an ignorant facial expression would be held against you if you dont.Or worse, thou shall be ignored.

If you do not own a PC, you are a savage
No i-pod? not i-ntelligent
No mobile phone? no body will even attend your funeral
If you do not chat, you are chaff
No credit card? not worth anything
No email? which planet are you on?

I may worship God,logic and reason.But technology is sort of a by-product. Just a tool. I don't worship people espousing how to live or think, based on how they feel or interpret events for eg:. reading palms. Neither do I worship technology just because it has a purpose, unlike organized religion and/or generic spirituality.

I am against the veneration of technology - mostly when it takes a higher priority than a human being.Technology affects my life in a profound way. It puts food on my table and stimulates my grey cells. But it doesn't own my head, unlike the ones who claim that they are wedded to it.

If he can't understand how the hand that held a steel knife had the power to gift or steal a life, his e-vision was blurred. It isn't the sugar that makes the coffee sweet; it is the stirring. May the Tech-gods e-help him!

The ship of Theseus

2007-09-05T23:05:00.000-07:00

What do you carry forward from yesterdays?

"You are still the same person, dear!" This compliment sounds nice at times but lacks conviction; and why?

Priorities have changed and thus planning. Friends have changed and thus preferences. Outlook has changed and thus opinions. Even the way you look has changed over these years.

Ever since I was born I lost many things perioidically; starting with the shedding my skin, my hair, my teeth...my innocence..to name a few.In return I aquired many. Habits, dislikes, passions, vices,lover, love, loathing, lice..though not in the same sequence.

The face I see daily in the mirror has changed a lot but the familiarity with the routine has probably made the gradual but certain changes inconspicuous.

I am no more of what I was before. My friend made the mistake of misinterpreting a fleeting glimpse of an old big toothed grin of mine and concluded that I am my former self. I am prone to such mistakes too.

Change, in all its manifestations has to be the essence of life. In my shoe size, in my career, in the seasons, in growth and deacy....it is unsettling.

I even changed my house 4 times in 7 months. It wasn't amusing. But there were not too many choices. Hail Heraclitus!

Or on a more philosophical note: I must have been hiding inside my shell and it is wearing off gradually. If I am not already exposed now, one day I would be. The strip tease is on, though it is't getting much attention from others..!

Or like the fabled onion, I shall become "no more" in the process and leave only the sting, a tear or two but nothing else.

I am the ship of Theseus.Heck, we all are...

rooms

2007-08-20T00:17:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I spend a lot of time on yahoo chat.The rooms were like brothels. People come, do what they want & leave. And anyone who took them seriously left with lil scars.
But inspite of all the nonsense, it was a study in human behaviour. Down right silly but amusing. There was a subculture that evolved in rooms.

Virtual rooms where a pansy took on opponents he thought who were tougher than him;and filled the screen with his 32 point crimson font war cries;

The 60 something lover called herself "pink lady" and talked dirty to 14 something teens;

The 14 something called himself "death-wish", finished his biology homework and talked about 12 ways of killing nymphets; while munching a kit-kat;

The cyber cafe guy who kept wondering aloud why flights are always so late these days & secretly worried whether all this stuff his friend wrote for him was grammatically correct;

The timid 40 something husband became "d-rebel-kid", walked tall in his own world and lived out his dreams;

All of them went in there, trusted no one including themselves, left feeling good, bad, disappointed, spent...what ever

The rooms were like toilet walls and everyone had a marker

Rooms were we all wore masks, smile was an emoticon and cussin was cool

Rooms were hugs never intruded personal space

Rooms were friends were just nicks

Friends that never were

30 plus

2007-08-09T05:45:00.000-07:00

There are surveys held on such ridiculous things and they get printed before they are even spell checked!

"The average life span of an Indian male is 60 years"

This time, a multitude of thoughts crossed my average Indian male mind.

-I am over thirty and that means Iam half way through..
-Average Indian male doesnt do much anyways, so what the heck! Sooner the better..
-Shit, I still have a lot of stuff pending; I gotta go..
-All averages are wrong, so screw the survey..
-I may beat the average and become an exception..
-How good are exceptions when u are only good at warming chairs..!
I pulled the reins on my thought process and realised that I was actually getting older, on a daily basis. So is every one else.

15 years back, days were longer; Iam certain. The perception of time is so different when you have seen lesser winters; measure less around your waist or when you still haven't earned your first salary.

Life is playing itself out at a furious space; and at times it seems overwhelming, so unlike the days of childhood, and to a similar degree to those of my 20s. Those days lasted forever.

But now I'm starting to understand.

At 30 plus, my body no longer wishes to sleep until the early afternoon -- it wants up at 5 am. Even more startling, I actually enjoy the mornings. This is the one time in the day when I have all my energy, I feel mentally alert, and the world outside is calm. Come to think of it, I actually made a lot of good decisions looking out through the window, with a cup of coffee in my hand while the a lazy sun was still some where behind the horizon!

What is growing old then? I randomly listed out a few dry facts...

When you are getting older..

You have more time to worry or when you have more time, you start sit and think/worry/ponder; with or with out your coffee.
You KNOW it when you are appealing to some one from the fairer sex and hence you dont try too hard with a few.
You KNOW you should not do it, but you do it because tomorrow could be worse.
You prefer the company of younger guys but once you are with them, you KNOW that you are in the wrong league.
You won't dance but you are a good critic of the art.
You have a pretty good opinion about everything but no one asks you for yours, bcos u are still not old enough(!!)

Hmm, you are getting old and thus you cant even write this stuff in a slightly more organised fashion....

This isnt doing me any good! I am sure there are better ways to look at the situation..What is the word Iam searcing for?

Yes...thats it. "Aging gracefully" Thats what is happening to my knees these days. But what a shame, the doctor wouldnt agree..

no common man

2007-08-09T04:48:00.000-07:00

In common man there is this burning desire for simple, stimulating, comforting faith. How ever dogmatic are the religious practices, they loosen up in the comfort of their faith. It must be a good feeling. A feeling that I could never indulge in...

My emotion over ruled religious exaltations. Rationale overpowered faith. Stories were dissected. Examples were analyzed.Doubts prevailed.questions arose...

The essence of an earthly existence is fascinating. The differnce is that I was always trying to see it from the-wide-eyed-science-fiction-reading-kid's view point. The night sky never made me think of the power that held it all together. I was wondering who else was lying beyond that, on a bed and thinking the same thoughts.

"A special form of communion with God is prayer". At prayers, how hard I tried I felt guilty; guilty because of doing something that I could never believe in, something that was supposed to comfort me, but never did anyways.

Two months back I joined my friend in prayer in his church. Christian Science teaches that prayer is a spiritualization of thought or an understanding of God and of the nature of the underlying spiritual creation. One believes that this can result in healing, by bringing spiritual reality (the "Kingdom of Heaven" in Biblical terms) into clearer focus in the human scene. The world as it appears to the senses is regarded as a distorted version of the world of spiritual ideas: the latter is the only true reality. Prayer can heal the distortion.

The prayer lasted for more than 2 hours. My knees ached. May be I am no common man; the healing of my aching knees took 2 days. I know, I can never directly petition to God. My wavering mind seeks to run away from prayers.

I meditated hoping to learn the art of concentration. I ended up listening to the sound of a film song played from a far away house.

I am a doubting believer. Is there such a phrase? I just cant seem to find a better way to describe it.

Excuse me!

2007-08-05T01:21:00.000-07:00

"Iam sorry sir; I swallowed my pen & I couldnt complete that write up u asked me to do"

I would love to write a book on excuses; and then I would name it "1001 excuses". May be I will come up with different versions intended for different market segments. for eg: "The ultimate excuse collection for the employee" or "Excuses for dummies"

I am dreaming of making a lot of money, yes Iam! What do u think? A book like that should be a hot pick!

Iam actually counting on my experience as a student and later as a teacher to provide me with content for this book. These 2 roles gave me the right perspective to approach excuses. Right,left,wrong...Iam not sure. But it was interesting. The following is a sneak peak into this literary marvel in the making..

Excuses are life-savers. U just have to ake sure that they are made available all the time; just like all life-savers. The most common types u may need are the following:

No time: If you dread saying "Oh I dont think I have the time for that", you could use a stylish alternative like: "It is amazing how you managed to do that within your tight schedule. Could I borrow your watch?"

Dont know: If you do not like to say "I do not know", rephrase it. How about, "I used to do it before. But as I learned more important skills, I can't remember much of these things these days. But I know that u are different, so......" (let it hang in there..!)

No money: This one is easy. "Oops, has anyone seen my wallet? cos i haven't!"

Disclaimer: Most of the excuses never really worked for me. But that shouldn't stop u from trying out a few or from, yeah!, buying my book! After all life is about trying out different things! Some of them will work for sure. Keep faith..

may i shake your hand?

2007-07-09T04:13:00.000-07:00

I am employed; but that doesn't mean that I am working hard. Save the frown buddy, I know that u also do that sometimes. Anyways, one such day i started browsing aimlessly and stumbled upon "handshakes". It got me thinking...regretting...plotting...wondering..

Your hand shake provides clues to your personality; well..we've heard that before. You know that aggressive people have firm handshakes. I remember times when i could hear the bones in my palm cracking. Why?..because the other guy also had read about it & apparently wanted to let me know who was the boss. So puny lil me invented my come-back-thing; I stamp him on his feet & say something silly like, "hey u got big shoes man!!" (never tried this so far & u Know y )

"People with low self esteem often have a limp handshake. Politicians typically shake your hand with their other hand covering the shake or holding your elbow. Domineering men often squeeze the hand of women during a greeting"
Are't we missing something here?
My hand shake had been limp sometimes due to the following reasons:
-because I didnt want to shake a hand in the first place. why again? because it depends what "the hand" had been doing until then.If u r still in doubt about what am I saying, observe taxi drivers in abu dhabi.I'm not being discriminative here, just stating a fact. i would shake their hand only if Im wearing disposable gloves.
-my hand shake could be limp because i read about the lady who sued this guy for sexual harassment. why? because he "pressed" her too hard..

well domineering men often squeeze your hand..right?
I do not know, may be a lady can answer that better. But is it always "dominance" that they portray when they do that? Haven't u seen men who can't seem to let go a lady's hand after the shake is over? The "your-hand-is-mine" type. The dominating one's pale in comparison with these schmucks in the irritant-factor.

"The clever woman moves her index and little finger in toward her palm preventing a crushing handshake"
If she is clever, she should just let the guy know. What do u think?

Another interesting read was the masonic hand shakes. If you need to complicate a simple hand shake, guys, give it up for the freemasons! They do a lot f stuff with their hands..(no pun intended)Google it for more info..!

And then I came across the terminology: The wet one(we are talking of sweat here,boy), the softy(kinda girlish, yeah), the tipsy(poor in quality), the sqeezy(self explanatory)& the homey(i didn't get the spelling wrong here: this one is a tricky hand shake; what ever that means)

And finally folks, here is my contribution to the world of handshakes: if it was necessary..

How to deal with hand shakes that r funny, uncomfortable, painful. LET THEM KNOW. ask them whether they do it like that all the time. It should get the message across.

Here are a few other types of handshakes that I think is worth mentioning..
The glue: refer the paragraph on the guys who "never-gonna-let-u-go"
The crafty: You never really would understand what happened unless you do it "slowly" a second time.for eg: after the shake, ur ring is missing..
The bolt: The guy lifts his entire hand high above his shoulder and whacks it down on ur unsuspecting palm & it smarts for the next 8 hours
The enigma: U r pretty sure that there was something in that hand that u shook & u keep smelling your hand till you find a wash basin.
The pulse: The guy presses your palm & then lets go & then does it again every alternate second till its over.
The nest: HE just covers your palm with both his (huge) hands and protects it from light, wind, other guests etc for a minute.A fatherly smile is optional.
The orphan: The strangest of all. You are shaking "his" hand but he is talking to some body else, smiling at some one else etc. He still hasnt spotted u because he is important, he is busy & sure he would see u. Till then u are supposed to take care of his precious palm.

Did u ever come across a different one? pls let me know. information shared is a life saved.

customer's care

2007-06-27T02:39:00.000-07:00

Making some one cry is so easy; isnt it? On the other hand, to make people laugh isnt all that easy. At Toastmasters International, being one of the new members, I tried my hand at a couple of competetions & managed to scrape through the humorous speech & table topics. The latter one was my favourite, the reasons being a few like: u have to speak for only 3 minutes, the topic is given on the spot. The nervousness i had was my adrenaline. At the area level, i goofed up royally & was out of table topics. Still there was the "humorous" through which i managed to stay in the competetion.The task was daunting. I had to make people laugh. I used the same speech at club level & area level. My "humour" wouldnt sound funny a third time, i was warned. I could always take a hint...
My first speech was about me & my phenomenal absentmindedness. Getting people to laugh at oneself wasnt anyways too difficult.This was my lead and i decided to do it a third time. .I was competing at the division level.I needed a different topic. The different topic again was me, but me on a different day...

It was back in 94, when my career started, the way i didnt want it to start. How is it for a below average looking, skinny Indian male to be in the shoes of a guest relations officer? A position usually adorned by pretty young things with long legs & eye lashes. There was I, in the lobby, like a fly in the custard...& they treated me like one too..
I put on my best(?)big toothed grin & mumbled "gud morning sir" to everyone. Some looked backed and mumbled something. Some looked at me like I was a social disease. THe worst part was when someone looked back & didnt seem to notice me. Guys, the biggest male ego buster in the world is this: ie. when people ignore u completely; as if u dont exist at all...
When life was indeed miserable, my GM offered a breather one day: "Could u please relieve ur friend Jaison? He is on medical leave today" All I had to do was, be present in the restaurant during dinner. Any thing to get away from that lobby! I said yes.
I should have checked my horoscope before I said that...
I read this somewhere; "when everything is going on fine, those few moments are called "panic""
Walking through the busy restaurant, I didnt notice him first; that loner in the corner. But it took only a few seconds to realise that I had found my nemesis for the night. A 300 pounder with hands like sledgehammers, blood shot eyes, munching masala peanuts. He was drunk like a fish..
The steward's first concern was the bill, which I got signed from him, risking my life. But our guest soon gave us our next set of concerns.
When u r drunk, u may go thru strange feelings & illusions. For eg: u may feel that u r the most popular human being on earth & others r just dying to meet u. Our man was going thru atleast 1 such illusion. He started to visit all the privileged guests we had for the night; shaking hands with everyone. He was also generous to offer some masala peanuts to a few women!
Illusion number 2:U r world's best dancer. He went up to the live band & "performed" Our guests werent really amused by his talent.
Hallucination number 3 got every steward running. Our man was overflowing with love all of a sudden & promptly started a hugging/kissing session with all stewards. This time one of the stewards came forward & told me that it was my call & I had to do something about it. "Please stop him, sir" What did he want me to do? Go stand in front of that drunk walrus & get steamrolled?
And then it happened. He spotted me. I was standing behind one steward who was bigger than me.It didnt work. The next thing i knew was that I was in a bear hug & "splotch"...he landed a big wet kiss on my cheek...I heard the muffled laughter from the stewards standing behind me.
How many of u have been kissed by drunk men who smelled of whiskey, peanuts & bad breath?
Thank god, there werent any mobile cameras in '94; other wise I would have been an internet sensation on youtube the nxt day itself!
Our guest had now seated.But other guests had got up from their seats & were complaining. I had to get this creature out of the house. By now I had concluded on one thing; it cant get any worse than this.So I decided to approach him inspite of his "love" for me. Once the worst has happened to u, u r no more afraid.
I went up to him & told him (from a safe distance) that our GM wanted to meet him & he was waiting with another guest in his room.I think he was too drunk to verify my lie. But still,he couldnt get up from his chair. I decided to help & gripped his hand. Have u ever seen anyone trying to save a beached whale all by himself? I guess my stewards saw it that night; & I heard that muffled laughter once again.

Finally that man was in his room. I went back to my lobby. The night was over.
I narrated this incident at the toastmasters & a few laughed. It must have been funny. But hey,it must have been funnier for those stewards..!

a girl, a guy & a coffee

2007-04-01T00:58:00.000-07:00

One friday evening at Le bouveret during my short stay there, closer to the room heater, trying to keep my bones from freezing. It was colder than usual, snow was expected any day. I had just come in and my ears were still red from the cold wind outside, and aching.

A big mug of hot coffee; sinfully strong and a cigarette. I knew; it was going to be another long, lonely weekend. I just wanted to get back to the desert. I had more friends there.

Through the foggy window I saw the couples walking into the pub downstairs. One couple was still fighting. The girl wanted to go in. Ofcourse she wanted to, it was warm and cosy in there! The guy seemed to have other plans. He had a few friends waiting for him around the corner; he kept glancing back . I went back to my coffee, and a funny lil thought crossed my mind..

One of those funny things, yes, just one of those funny things about men is that they really want to get close , real close to some one who would give them their space!

Hmmm, close enough to some one who would leave them free, leave them alone when ever thay want. The opposite sexes can't be anymore opposite. They are so far away from each other but just cant keep away from each other. Just can't stop complaining but just can't get enough of eachother. Just dont get along, just can't stop thinking of each other...

This is the perfect dilemma in the world that makes it go round. Should we just leave it like that? Could u change it if u wanted to ?..as if we could just get up and do something like you would change a channel, flip a switch..?! wish it was so easy.

Or may be it's supposed to be like this..in all its vague ambience, amidst all the chaos & confusion..

But...here's something some one said...

Relationships, of all kinds, are like sand held in your hand. Held loosely, with an open hand, the sand remains where it is. The minute you close your hand and squeeze tightly to hold on, the sand trickles through your fingers. You may hold on to some of it, but most will be spilled. A relationship is like that. Held loosely, with respect and freedom for the other person, it is likely to remain intact. But hold too tightly, too possessively, and the relationship slips away and is lost.

I looked down again,. The girl had let go of his shirt sleeves. His friends weren't around. The street was almost empty. The guy was smiling. And now, they were about to kiss. I couldn't look away.

Alright, I have my coffee anyways..

snow flakes

2007-03-27T23:12:00.000-07:00

Frozen crystals of all shapes and sizes float down and accumulate. The white fields resemble diamonds glittering in the sun. Wilson ‘Snowflake’ Bentley took over 6,000 photographs of individual flakes between the early 1880’s and his death in 1931. No two were alike.

No two snowflakes follow the same path of creation.

No two snowflakes fall to earth by the same course. No two snowflakes are alike.

Over the course of its life, a snowflake may go through many different stages of growth, experience a host of different influences, as the wind dances it from cloud to cloud, from drier to moister or warmer or cooler environs, all of them leaving their marks on the final flake.

A snowflake is a dance between destiny and contingency. A snowflake is a rendevous of physical law and chance. Each snowflake is individuality in crystal shape. Each snowflake is a marvel of uniqueness. Each snowflake has a distinctive beauty.

Each snow flake is like a human being,. Each one so different from the other. And they all travel through the same air they breathe. They tumble, dance and fall. Some meet , some dont. Some meet and become one. Some retain their shape, some dont. And somewhere, they all end their journeys.

But look above ! There is a fresh journey that has begun. And they are all beautiful too!

just another day..

2007-03-26T00:34:00.000-07:00

The morning wind, too warm, is wafting in from the corniche. It comes in rudely to lift the heavy curtains as they fall down against the window in a lazy thud. The sun shouldnt be this bright at this time of the day at all..

The banket that gave me this warm-but-still-cool feeling wouldn't do any good any more. The birds that live atop the ledge, right across my window fly like darts to and fro. May be I am the only one who still is pondering; "Is it still too early to get up?"

Yesterdays newspaper still unread over the fridge, some clothes in a careless pile at the foot of the bed, a stained tea cup on the study table. Well, thank God, I am still myself on a saturday morning.

The keeper guy has started cleaning the courtyard and wasting water as usual. Doesn't he know that it is a matter of minutes before the dust invades again? And today, once again, he has forgotten to get the newspaper which is still on the ground, where it fell when the newspaper guy threw it in. He hasnt seen it as yet. The water on the floor has almost reached it. Another wet paper for the fridge top.

A toyota land cruiser comes around the corner and glints the sunlight off its glass, blinding me for a few seconds. A lone rooster jumps off the waste bin and runs for shelter. I can hear the drone of engines from the flying club.The incessant flying would start in no time. I decided against the usual morning tea. Something cold would do. Even the wardrobe has heated up from the slanting sun rays that comes in. Before I pull the curtains across, I span the area once again. I cringe my eyes. The birds are still darting. No one on the road. THe dust that arose with the arrival of the 4 x 4 has settled. The rooster is back on top of the waste bin and his wife is giving him company. My sleepiness has suddenly disappeared. Outside, the desert was a hundred degrees.

What's ina worm!

2007-03-25T01:09:00.000-07:00

It was a student f mine who asked me this question: "How does the tequila worm taste like?"

Having no clue at that, I wanted an answer. since I consider myself as a meat eater who eats more or less anything, I still was a virgin when it came to experiencing worms!

I remember seeing that gross lil thing in a bottle brought home by a friend of mine. In that fiery liquid, the worm looked more like an freaky accident than a creative garnish. Who would want a worm in his drink?

Jacobo Lozano Paez wanted! This Mexico City entreprenuer had seen some of these worms get cooked up along with the brew that was used to make mescal (mescal is a generic term meaning any distillate of the many species of agave (or maguey) plant, tequila included) The agave worm, which is actually a butterfly larva, bores into the agave plant's pineapplelike heart. All those unfortunate critters who remain there during harvest, get cooked! So in 1950, this man realised that the worm was an essential component of the liquor's flavor and color.

He may also have figured out that mescal is about as tasty as varnish and you have to be senseless to pour this down your own throat. So why not add some drama to the whole thing, even if the actor looks like acritter!? There was also another non contested popular hear say that the worms had aphrodisiacal properties. Most men would eat/drink anything if it could do wonderful things down under, rt!?At any rate, the ploy worked and the worm in the bottle is now a firmly established tradition, though not in every bottle.(thanku for small mercies, amigo!)

The actual agave worm is a bright coral color, which fades to pink in the bottle. Some bottlers substitute a species of white worm that lives on the leaves of the agave plant. Connoisseurs complain that the white worm isn't as tasty as the red one(!!) which is like complaining that your chicken's got the wrong kind of flu!. I have had a few tequilas and my doubt is this: This drink can knock you out with a mule's kick; why would u need a worm in between!?

A scene from a mall

2007-03-24T03:25:00.003-07:00

A mall is not just a big setting where you shop. It is a zoo. A big stage where one can watch human behaviour in all its splendour and with all its misgivings. Last week i witnessed it, the low side of it.

A rich couple with four children having food & fun at one of the outlets in the food court. In a corner was an asian guy who was busy cleaning the floor. Aged around 40. Time was around 10 pm. In my home town, most children, like the ones who were there at that moment, would have been asleep by now. But i guess in metros, things are different. I have seen toddlers awake and having fun in fast food oulets along with parents as late as 1 am.

One of the kids, must be around 5 years old; was looking at the cleaner guy for a long time. He then started to tear some paper into small pieces. Finaly he had a hand full of that stuff. By that time, the guy who was cleaning, had almost finished his job. The kid ran up to him and threw the bits of paper right on to his face. The parents watching this from their dining table couldn't help laughing. Th cleaner guy wasn't laughing anyways. He stood frozen for a few seconds,looking back and forth between the kid and his parents. He shook off the bits of paper from his body and started to clean, again. The guy still looked calm. May be it wasn't the first time he had seen this happen to him. But Iam sure, he wasn't prepared for what happened next. The small kid this time came back with a pepsi can and hurled it right at him. The aim wasn't bad. This time, the kid's mother intervened and dragged the kid back.

The cleaner guy was still calm. There was even a faint smile on his lips. He was wiping the liquid from his face. I took a step forward from my table and offered him some paper napkins. He took them, thanked me and went back to his work. Only then I noticed the tears in his eyes.

The kid's father was still laughing. I wished HIS parents had never met...

Water of life...

2007-02-20T01:29:00.000-08:00

Living and working in a desert surprisingly does not cost any head ache about getting water, contrary to what one would think. On the other hand, I can still remember cursing with all my sincerity when I was staying in a place blessed with over 700 big and small rivers. Why? ..beacuse all that came out of the tap was a whistling sound!

You do not realise how precious it is when you have too much of it. And one fine day, you dont have it at all. Those who do not have any; knows its value.

Haven't men killed for it? How many wars have been fought for it?

I was surprised by what has been happening in UAE, where rain makes a guest appearance once or twice a year. Technology and need combined, has come out with a winner in this arid landscape.

Saudi Arabia's desalination plant forms approximately 25 % of world's total capacity and its Jubail desalination plant produces 300 million cubic meters of water per annum.

That's about desalination, for those who can afford it. What else could be done for countries who are yet to understand that they are in for rude surprises from nature? Countries who seem to do less because they seem to care less?

Recycling: Such water is most commonly used for nonpotable (not for drinking) purposes, such as agriculture, landscape, public parks, golf courses etc. It is also used for cooling water for power plants and oil refineries, industrial process water for paper mills and carpet dyers, toilet flushing, dust control, construction activities, concrete mixing, and artificial lakes.

There is also technology available to recycle water for potable purposes as well. Some projects recharge ground water aquifers and augment surface water reservoirs with recycled water. In ground water recharge projects, recycled water can be introduced into ground water aquifers to augment ground water supplies, and to prevent salt water intrusion in coastal areas. For eg:, since 1976, the Water Factory 21 Direct Injection Project, located in Orange County, California, has been injecting highly treated recycled water into the aquifer to prevent salt water intrusion, while augmenting the potable ground water supply.

Eco systems are designed by nature to filter water and augment under ground water reserviors. But the advancement of urban life has thrown the precious balance out of place.Pollution, deforestation and a burgeoning population is on a one way trip to hell.

Sustainabilty, energy conservation & habitat conservation should go hand in hand. Sustainability is possible when we do not use more than what could be replaced. Conservation has to start with agriculture where world's 70 % of water consumption is concentrated. As human beings search for more space to settle down, forests, wet lands, marshes and agricultural land disappear. How do we reclaim what is lost?

Social & technological solutions are plenty. What is missing is a genuine concern to start at our own home!

What if !

2007-02-19T22:48:00.000-08:00

The possibilities of altering the process, course , end of an event: a thought that is fascinating and at times scary. It isnt a humanly possible thing, most of the time. But being a dreamer by design, I end up doing it all the time. What if it had happened!? You think about for a while, see it in your mind's eye, and smile! I say, thats the most genuine smile u could ever produce. LIke some one said, when you smile when you are alone, it is genuine!

So, what if it could happen? The "IT" in this context could be anything. I would have carried on this basically meaning less conscious dreaming, had I not come across an article on "lucid dreaming". That got me sitting up and thinking.

Some would explain lucid dreaming as "waking up in your dream & gaining control of it". personally, I like that word "lucid". It even sounds so smooth & easy! What if I could get into a dream mode, see something nice, wake up in my dream, and yet am capable to see what i have been seeing!

Lucid dreaming isn't just a staged indulgence played by your next door psychic: it is a scientifically verified phenomenon. Some studies have revealed that lucid dreaming can help people who constantly suffer from night mares.

Even though it has attracted a lot of attention these days, it isnt really new age science. It was in the fifth century that there was one of the earliest written examples of a lucid dream, in a letter written by St. Augustine of Hippo in 415. ( Check out wikipedia for more information on this)

Dreams as we know is the most inexpensive way to take a round-the world-tour! You can also become anyone in your dreams not having to worry about what some body would think of you. But beyond all this, it is a deep well of resources from where you can draw what you want!

Artists, writers, poets: all have used lucid dreaming. Once you have mastered the technique, board the dream wagon: and get down at a scenic spot! Dream away, to come back fresh with ideas, a dozen of them!

Those who engage in competetive sports benefit enormously from lucid dreaming. They visualise them in the competetion and try out what they learned. In the end, they finish by raising their arms in victory! The applications and possibilities of lucid dreaming are end less!

Go ahead! Dream! You would certainly feel better!