summer, rain...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lord, for you!

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cobbler

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

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

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

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

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

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

in memory of "aanjili"

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

I take a trip down memory lane here...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kick it !

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

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

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

Getting high; Down under!

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

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

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

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

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

tail lights

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

close call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9 am tales

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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