After reaching home, I attended a naming ceremony of a nephew and met my best friend that night. It was overwhelming to see him after a couple of years, and we had no words to exchange. The first thing he told me, being a best friend is I haven’t changed much, my complexion has darkened and I looked the same as I left, whereas I was expecting it to be totally opposite.
My jet lag was taken over by the exhaustion of the day and I had a good night sleep until 11am in the morning. It was the first time in life I wasn’t bothered by my mom to get up early. I enjoyed the day doing absolutely nothing and was very happy doing that. The main reason of my trip was my cousin’s wedding. He had admonished me to be present on his wedding in any case. So, with the wedding came all the poojas and vidhis, which I had to attend almost everyday for the next week and half.
It was a Monday and I rode my motorcycle like a fifty-year-old paranoid oldie fearful of death in spite of having a sealed helmet and following each and every traffic rule. The speed never exceeded 40kmph. I could see more young faces driving newly bought without-gear scooters. The excitement reminded me of my college days when I drove my dad’s Bajaj scooter, without a helmet, in the winter fog, at 90kmph, having little or no braking functionality and without a driving license. It was a life gamble in mere excitement and the adrenalin rush of late teens. I self-acclaimed my courage and thanked the deity for keeping me alive.
I reached my mama’s house with loads of chocolates for my entire family. Everyone was pleased to see me return and instead of asking about my well being there were calculations of my changed complexion, weight and body proportion. The conclusion was that I was the same as I went. I was fearful if they’d make a presentation chart and put the exact melanin values in it. But I was happy to hear that my belly fat had reduced pretty much than before.
I opened my bag and randomly distributed the chocolates. I had bought a few wine truffle packs along with normal chocolates. Though all my family is pretty casual, some aunts made weird faces, as if they were about to puke, and asked me what the chocolate was made of. I had previously planned to distribute those wine truffles to all the mamas and the rest to my younger cousins and aunts.
Later, the aunts and sisters interrogated me if I had a white girlfriend. They assumed that it was as easy as gossiping about their new jewelry and sick neighborhood. How would they know that it takes time, patience and investment and I had neither of the three? Somehow I managed to twist the topic and we talked about my education, work and general experience of staying abroad.
While I was struggling to make up with my overwhelmed family, I also had to meet my overexcited friends. I left from my mama’s house to meet my best friends at JM road at some Chinese restaurant. That evening I realized that we’re so dependent on technology. I had no GPS to locate the restaurant, no credit in my mobile phone, in which, I had put my brother’s old SIM card.
To my amazement, the city which had coin-box-phones all over the place from communal toilets, 2’x2’ paan stalls to five start hotels in 2008, didn’t have a single in 2010. This was a cultural shock by the same culture I belonged. To add to the mess, there was a heavy rain spell unlike in the UK, where u can dare it and it won’t soak you wet. I was so drowned in water that my clothes would satisfy 5 African children if they were squashed. I wore a thin jersey, a casual jean and a pair of new leather shoes, the first most expensive of my life, and they were wet from bottom to the tip of their lace. I was neutral, happy to get soaked in warm water after a long time and sad to get my new shoes ruined.
I took a halt under a tree and waited for the rain to stop. I was trapped between two politics enthusiasts talking about the city infrastructure. I tried to squeeze in to avoid maximum rain. I heard those guys boasting themselves about their contacts, one of them rubbing his right hand on his huge belly. The other one was skinny, trying to sustain the heavy rain as if the droplets were heavier than his body weight. Their grumpy nature made them look as if they’ve just had their dinner.
The rain stopped and I found a shop with a coin-box-phone and rang my friends asking the exact address. They asked me to wait and came to pick me up. I was excited to meet everyone after a long time. We all headed to the hotel triple seated. We skipped a signal, took a U-turn past a no entry sign and skipped a policeman trying to stop us. I was so glad to be back to my roads, my world; a sense of extreme freedom thrilled me. We went to the Chinese restaurant and I ate the ‘Indian Chinese’ food, full of spices and devoid of Chinese authenticity.
My brother had acquired my bike so I had no option than the reliable public transport system. It was a cultural shock to use the bus service after so many days. It had been almost 6 years I hadn’t used the bus service after I got a bike to commute to the college.
It was 10 am in the morning, the morning rush hour of Pune. I had to go to my mama’s place for one more pooja and I chose PMT as my mode of transport. It was a pleasant struggle. I went to the bus stop where the busses for Kothrud left. I saw two conductors spitting pan and talking to each other at intervals. I asked one of them where would I get a bus to Kothrud. He was extremely grounded and did his job as always, with arrogance; he deceived my journey plans by confidently providing me the wrong information.
The bus arrives and stands 10 meters away from the bus stop. It looked like a hundred meter sprint. I along with 50 others ran towards the bus and boarded it hoping to get a seat to sit. Unaware of the amended rules, I mistakenly sat in the ladies section. After 15 minutes or so I realized that I’ve caught the wrong seat. I twisted my neck to check if I was alone and realized that I wasn’t.
I was looking at the bright sunny roads and the unlawful crowd. It seemed so much life out there. The humid breeze, the soaring heat, the suffocating pollution and continuous beeping of horns never bothered me. The conductor made the weirdest face when I gave him a hundred-rupee note. The driver seemed as if driving his personal vehicle, drifting and playing road tricks. In the 25-minute journey my knees banged the front seat a million times and my head collided with the backrest a zillion times. There was absolutely no scope for any disabled to enter the bus by any chance, even if accompanied by a healthy person.
The bus was so speedy that it stopped at least 5 meters away from every bus stop. Some bus stops seemed to have trained people to catch a running bus. The driver managed to slow down the bus to exactly the required speed for the expert climbers to take a stance and catch the bus. I think he knew stops with elders and students, so he managed the bus speed accordingly.
The most amazing part of the bus journey, I’ve always admired, is the stability of the conductor. Whatever the speed maybe, he’d never fall or his leg won’t move even an inch by the turbulence. In all this mess he’s absolutely sharp and right in his calculations. Each note in his moneybag has a touch of his saliva while being calculated, like a post employee stamps all the posts. Most of the times it seems like his intelligence limits when you offer him a five hundred-rupee note. He either asks you for the change or you should be the person who is getting off at the last stop to get the change from him.
The stop where I was supposed to get down came and I almost jumped from the running bus. I walked down to my mama’s place memorizing the series of events surrounding me in the last half an hour of my bus trip. It certainly seemed full of life.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Friday, December 10, 2010
2 years, 3 months later... (part 1)
Fifteen were the minutes to land and my heart was already pumping hard. I could smell the scent of Mumbai, an odour of slums, dirt and pollution. I breathed freedom in it. It felt an extensive relief to be back. I was feeling like a Bollywood star, coming from abroad after higher studies. It wasn’t until an agent asked me if I wanted to avoid the custom's check for 20 pounds, I was grounded and my Bollywood dreams were shattered. I was now feeling like a terrorist, smuggler and a thief. I arrived at the immigration. I saw a person talking in English, given the least importance. I decided to talk in Marathi. I was welcomed with a smile. While walking down the corridor of the international airport, I saw Mumbai Police, in their well-pressed khaki uniform, carrying pistols and rifles. I wasn't proud of them, thanks to the media, but was sick and tired of the polite London Metropolitan Police.
I was heading through the departures gate, and suddenly was too shy to go out. Hundreds of people stranded outside the departures gate. The scenario seemed like the Chief Minister of Maharashtra, me had just arrived. The security personnel, including the assistants were waiting outside holding flowers to welcome the CM, me. Babus wearing safari suits and leather purses, smiled, revealing their vermillion red, pan-full mouths. A million thoughts bounced in my mind for why all the people outside were waving and air-kissing me. I saw my friends and brother standing in a corner. I tucked my neck down, staring at the floor, shy as hell, headed straight to them. They too were waving. I realised it wasn't me. Then to my enlightenment, my brother elaborated how Sameera Reddy came out just before me, describing how different she looked in reality. Again, the thought that I was a star was in pieces.
It was overwhelming to see my friends and brother after two years. I wasn’t in tears as one would expect, but did have a heavy heart. I embraced them and we shared a satisfactory smile and a laugh. I never told my brother and friends my journey of agony from the customs to the departures gate, and we headed straight to Pune.
I was feeling a mental chill in the scorching heat of Mumbai. Breathing in the polluted air, dirt, and humid heat waves, I kept the car window open, absorbing the sun into my body as if starved of sunlight for decades. This wasn't for long as my excitement deceased and I started getting a burning sensation, which urged me to shut the window completely.
I could feel the jet lag. It was just 6.30 am for my body, whereas 12pm in Mumbai. I was hungry and we stopped at a small roadside restaurant for lunch. I was recalling the breakfast offered by the lovely airhostess, declined by me to avoid poisoning the atmosphere. I develop huge amount of gasses on a plane journey, which eventually become sufferings for the person beside me.
While at the restaurant, I stared at the glass of water, served by the waiter. I was forcing myself to avoid being a typical ‘foreign return’ and get used to drinking the local water and eat the local food without grieving for Bisleries. But, as I looked through the mighty half-washed glass of muddy water, I felt, "how beautiful it would be to get those tiny, rattling, visible germs into my stomach and waste the 2 weeks with diarrhea?" adding to it, I could also see finger prints of the previous customers, and my mind hovered through the countless crime investigation serials I’ve watched since childhood. Without me uttering a word, my friend saw the distress in my eyes, which made him order a couple of packed water bottles. He had a gentle smile, exactly similar to a person just about to ask your daily routine on a foreign land. We had a long chat while, having lunch, in the car, and eventually heard them snoring.
While I was trying to sleep at the front seat, the driver was having some fun conversation on his mobile with his relatives, I realised from his conversation. It was a bit panicky to see him drive by one hand on the expressway. I was looking at him at intervals, to let him know that I am frustrated by his emotional, fruitless, conversation with his loved ones, and I needed sleep. Later, his call ended depriving me of my sleep.
I was now happy to be close to my home. After finishing the expressway, I was feeling exhausted, with a headache, body ache and a bloated stomach. I was observing vehicles on the road overtaking each other without indication. I was telling my friends about how strict the traffic rules are in the UK. I looked back after narrating the ‘London traffic tales’ to see three smirks on the faces of my friends and the driver. The attitude clearly demonstrated, “this is India dude” in their eyes. London tales also included the frequent visibility of Ferraris, Maybachs, Porsches and Rolls-Royces. This time I didn’t bother to sustain anymore ‘mother India’ attitude and hence avoided looking back.
We entered into the city and I felt amazing to be back on the same roads. I think, only because it was after a couple of years. Was it before going abroad, I’d have been bored as hell to drive though them. I recalled the extensively used life quote, a grief I’d say, “you never understand the value of anything until you go far from it”, my tired mind skipped the ending, stating, “in life”, as I was already irritated by people agonising others, crying over ‘life’.
My eyes wandered around like Chinese tourists I see everyday at Covent Garden in London. They never stop looking around and take at least a million photos per hour. I took a million glimpses per hour, of the buildings, people and roads, outside, some old some new.
I reached home and my mom opened the door. My parents were pretty cool as they rarely show their emotions. They did the same when they saw me.
I ring the bell, my mom opens the door, I enter inside, my mom cracks a family joke, I keep my bags and I hug my mom and dad, as if they were the only reason of my survival. I see slightly watery eyes, but they never reveal their feelings. I was inhaling the freshness of life and love. I was overwhelmed by their patient and sacrificing attitude.
TBC…
I was heading through the departures gate, and suddenly was too shy to go out. Hundreds of people stranded outside the departures gate. The scenario seemed like the Chief Minister of Maharashtra, me had just arrived. The security personnel, including the assistants were waiting outside holding flowers to welcome the CM, me. Babus wearing safari suits and leather purses, smiled, revealing their vermillion red, pan-full mouths. A million thoughts bounced in my mind for why all the people outside were waving and air-kissing me. I saw my friends and brother standing in a corner. I tucked my neck down, staring at the floor, shy as hell, headed straight to them. They too were waving. I realised it wasn't me. Then to my enlightenment, my brother elaborated how Sameera Reddy came out just before me, describing how different she looked in reality. Again, the thought that I was a star was in pieces.
It was overwhelming to see my friends and brother after two years. I wasn’t in tears as one would expect, but did have a heavy heart. I embraced them and we shared a satisfactory smile and a laugh. I never told my brother and friends my journey of agony from the customs to the departures gate, and we headed straight to Pune.
I was feeling a mental chill in the scorching heat of Mumbai. Breathing in the polluted air, dirt, and humid heat waves, I kept the car window open, absorbing the sun into my body as if starved of sunlight for decades. This wasn't for long as my excitement deceased and I started getting a burning sensation, which urged me to shut the window completely.
I could feel the jet lag. It was just 6.30 am for my body, whereas 12pm in Mumbai. I was hungry and we stopped at a small roadside restaurant for lunch. I was recalling the breakfast offered by the lovely airhostess, declined by me to avoid poisoning the atmosphere. I develop huge amount of gasses on a plane journey, which eventually become sufferings for the person beside me.
While at the restaurant, I stared at the glass of water, served by the waiter. I was forcing myself to avoid being a typical ‘foreign return’ and get used to drinking the local water and eat the local food without grieving for Bisleries. But, as I looked through the mighty half-washed glass of muddy water, I felt, "how beautiful it would be to get those tiny, rattling, visible germs into my stomach and waste the 2 weeks with diarrhea?" adding to it, I could also see finger prints of the previous customers, and my mind hovered through the countless crime investigation serials I’ve watched since childhood. Without me uttering a word, my friend saw the distress in my eyes, which made him order a couple of packed water bottles. He had a gentle smile, exactly similar to a person just about to ask your daily routine on a foreign land. We had a long chat while, having lunch, in the car, and eventually heard them snoring.
While I was trying to sleep at the front seat, the driver was having some fun conversation on his mobile with his relatives, I realised from his conversation. It was a bit panicky to see him drive by one hand on the expressway. I was looking at him at intervals, to let him know that I am frustrated by his emotional, fruitless, conversation with his loved ones, and I needed sleep. Later, his call ended depriving me of my sleep.
I was now happy to be close to my home. After finishing the expressway, I was feeling exhausted, with a headache, body ache and a bloated stomach. I was observing vehicles on the road overtaking each other without indication. I was telling my friends about how strict the traffic rules are in the UK. I looked back after narrating the ‘London traffic tales’ to see three smirks on the faces of my friends and the driver. The attitude clearly demonstrated, “this is India dude” in their eyes. London tales also included the frequent visibility of Ferraris, Maybachs, Porsches and Rolls-Royces. This time I didn’t bother to sustain anymore ‘mother India’ attitude and hence avoided looking back.
We entered into the city and I felt amazing to be back on the same roads. I think, only because it was after a couple of years. Was it before going abroad, I’d have been bored as hell to drive though them. I recalled the extensively used life quote, a grief I’d say, “you never understand the value of anything until you go far from it”, my tired mind skipped the ending, stating, “in life”, as I was already irritated by people agonising others, crying over ‘life’.
My eyes wandered around like Chinese tourists I see everyday at Covent Garden in London. They never stop looking around and take at least a million photos per hour. I took a million glimpses per hour, of the buildings, people and roads, outside, some old some new.
I reached home and my mom opened the door. My parents were pretty cool as they rarely show their emotions. They did the same when they saw me.
I ring the bell, my mom opens the door, I enter inside, my mom cracks a family joke, I keep my bags and I hug my mom and dad, as if they were the only reason of my survival. I see slightly watery eyes, but they never reveal their feelings. I was inhaling the freshness of life and love. I was overwhelmed by their patient and sacrificing attitude.
TBC…
Sunday, November 28, 2010
A Wedding...
I had been to my cousin's wedding today, attending one after 2.5yrs. I simply loved the amount of people, chaos of volunteers and chirping of kids. It was an exci-exhausting experience.
I personally feel that marriages are not made in heaven by god, but he made them for video shooting. Right from the groom's entry till the crying ceremony of the bride, camera follows you everywhere. The bride and the bride groom is the star cast of the wedding movie. It's like a mini Big Brother(UK/US) Big Boss(India). A million people are in a queue waiting to greet and wish the couple. It's the only place I've seen where people follow a queue system in India. The couple, later on, suffers from facial muscle tears due to continuous smiling for 2 days at a stretch. The groom seems to be preparing for a fashion show changing attires at intervals while the rituals performed by the priests are expressionless, extremely similar to the stubborn government employees we see these days.
There's ample of scope for singles to meet their opposites at weddings. This time, after attending a few marriages, I could see some nice girls on the bride's side. Going for a family wedding and not seeing any good girls around is like heavy rain on a sunny tourist spot. It's more heartbreaking than an actual break-up. But apart from that, approaching those nice girls is a tremendous skill in itself.
The worst part of a wedding I experienced is meeting relatives, you meet extremely long distant, martial, relatives who tend to ask each and every detail of you, sometimes extending to your height, weight and marital status. Me going back home after a couple of years and meeting so many people had made me actually think of having my professional and personal details tattooed on my forehead. Apart from that, it was a long feet-touching exercise.
Along with the main rituals there's an add-on for the young generation to perform. It's the shoe stealing ritual. This time instead of the bride's side stealing the shoes there was a deal. They asked us to steal them and share the amount in half. Everything worked according to the deal apart from the money. Thanks to my younger brother who believed in the other side and handed over the shoes without taking hold of the money. This reliance emerged as to put an impression on the young girls in the opposite team.
One noticeable thing: the crowd increases as the lunch hour nears and vice-versa. I've seen hundreds of families stranded at the dining area during the peak lunch hour and a very handful of them for the actual wedding rituals. In some weddings I've seen people standing behind the diner, sometimes in a queue.
In all this mess the most tensed person was the girl's father, making sure everything was working fine and the aunties around were making sure to point out the flaws and corrections in the wedding preparations. A few old uncles were asking me to sit beside to consult them the scope of education abroad. The old aunties on the other hand were confirming if I had any white girlfriend. The younger cousins on the other hand thought being abroad meant to have a Porche with ease. Though many of my distant relatives are or have been abroad, I am the only one abroad in our close ones and I sometimes feel I'd have been grounded if I wasn't there.
Late in the evening, the food wasn't yet started to digest and the crying ceremony started. I was full of gasses and the girl's side with tears. The flowered car was resting at the door, waiting for the couple to arrive. Everything seemed fine until the girl was about to open the door and she exploded with tears, landing on her mother's shoulder. Dads usually don't tend to cry and even if they do they hide it. Sometimes they fake it rolling a hanky over their eyes. I suppose that's just for socialising. I did make a sad face to look amongst the crowd but that wasn't for the girl, it was for the explosive material gathering inside my stomach. Finally it was over, the car moved and me too.
In the loo, I thought of the entire day, got relaxed, and emptied my mind. It's the only place where you get the most innovating thoughts and relaxed feelings. I got the idea to write this blog there and I did.
I personally feel that marriages are not made in heaven by god, but he made them for video shooting. Right from the groom's entry till the crying ceremony of the bride, camera follows you everywhere. The bride and the bride groom is the star cast of the wedding movie. It's like a mini Big Brother(UK/US) Big Boss(India). A million people are in a queue waiting to greet and wish the couple. It's the only place I've seen where people follow a queue system in India. The couple, later on, suffers from facial muscle tears due to continuous smiling for 2 days at a stretch. The groom seems to be preparing for a fashion show changing attires at intervals while the rituals performed by the priests are expressionless, extremely similar to the stubborn government employees we see these days.
There's ample of scope for singles to meet their opposites at weddings. This time, after attending a few marriages, I could see some nice girls on the bride's side. Going for a family wedding and not seeing any good girls around is like heavy rain on a sunny tourist spot. It's more heartbreaking than an actual break-up. But apart from that, approaching those nice girls is a tremendous skill in itself.
The worst part of a wedding I experienced is meeting relatives, you meet extremely long distant, martial, relatives who tend to ask each and every detail of you, sometimes extending to your height, weight and marital status. Me going back home after a couple of years and meeting so many people had made me actually think of having my professional and personal details tattooed on my forehead. Apart from that, it was a long feet-touching exercise.
Along with the main rituals there's an add-on for the young generation to perform. It's the shoe stealing ritual. This time instead of the bride's side stealing the shoes there was a deal. They asked us to steal them and share the amount in half. Everything worked according to the deal apart from the money. Thanks to my younger brother who believed in the other side and handed over the shoes without taking hold of the money. This reliance emerged as to put an impression on the young girls in the opposite team.
One noticeable thing: the crowd increases as the lunch hour nears and vice-versa. I've seen hundreds of families stranded at the dining area during the peak lunch hour and a very handful of them for the actual wedding rituals. In some weddings I've seen people standing behind the diner, sometimes in a queue.
In all this mess the most tensed person was the girl's father, making sure everything was working fine and the aunties around were making sure to point out the flaws and corrections in the wedding preparations. A few old uncles were asking me to sit beside to consult them the scope of education abroad. The old aunties on the other hand were confirming if I had any white girlfriend. The younger cousins on the other hand thought being abroad meant to have a Porche with ease. Though many of my distant relatives are or have been abroad, I am the only one abroad in our close ones and I sometimes feel I'd have been grounded if I wasn't there.
Late in the evening, the food wasn't yet started to digest and the crying ceremony started. I was full of gasses and the girl's side with tears. The flowered car was resting at the door, waiting for the couple to arrive. Everything seemed fine until the girl was about to open the door and she exploded with tears, landing on her mother's shoulder. Dads usually don't tend to cry and even if they do they hide it. Sometimes they fake it rolling a hanky over their eyes. I suppose that's just for socialising. I did make a sad face to look amongst the crowd but that wasn't for the girl, it was for the explosive material gathering inside my stomach. Finally it was over, the car moved and me too.
In the loo, I thought of the entire day, got relaxed, and emptied my mind. It's the only place where you get the most innovating thoughts and relaxed feelings. I got the idea to write this blog there and I did.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Coincidences
A lot of coincidences happen in our lives, I have them every-time, everyday, or even whenever I think about coincidences. To take an example, I was listening to a song and I burped. The burp, came with such a timing, that I felt it was a part of the composition, and hence, I imagined burps throughout the song after every 4 beats.
Another example is when I had been to eat at a place near my office. I was busy eating and listening to my favourite music. I was the lone brown and everyone else were Brits. I don't know how, but the song, "Sarfaroshi ki tamanna" from the movie "Legend of Bhagat Singh" started from the shuffled list. I couldn't resist a smile.
This isn't it with my musical coincidences. It was just today, when I was sitting calmly in my train to office, when, at one stop a mob of kiddies entered the train with chaotic chirps. I could see the changed expressions of a few old ladies. But then, "Kho naa jaye ye Taare zameen par" from "Taare Zameen Par" started playing on my ipod and I started laughing irresistibly. It was such an involuntary reaction, that a few ladies standing beside me checked their makeup and dressing out of self-consciousness.
Other horrible coincidences I usually experience are: crashing of a software while client is on the verge of withdrawing the contract for not sticking to his specified deadline; death of my mobile battery when I am about to call a friend for the address where I'd meet my friends; spilling of food on a white/off-white/light blue shirt; and last but not the least is when toilets are miles away when I have an extreme urge of peeing. But this is eased sometimes as even if you don't find a toilet, you'd certainly find a McD which is a public toilet for me. The only healthy thing it can offer.
Coincidences are truly memorable sometimes, so please share any extraordinary coincidences if you have in the comments section.
Another example is when I had been to eat at a place near my office. I was busy eating and listening to my favourite music. I was the lone brown and everyone else were Brits. I don't know how, but the song, "Sarfaroshi ki tamanna" from the movie "Legend of Bhagat Singh" started from the shuffled list. I couldn't resist a smile.
This isn't it with my musical coincidences. It was just today, when I was sitting calmly in my train to office, when, at one stop a mob of kiddies entered the train with chaotic chirps. I could see the changed expressions of a few old ladies. But then, "Kho naa jaye ye Taare zameen par" from "Taare Zameen Par" started playing on my ipod and I started laughing irresistibly. It was such an involuntary reaction, that a few ladies standing beside me checked their makeup and dressing out of self-consciousness.
Other horrible coincidences I usually experience are: crashing of a software while client is on the verge of withdrawing the contract for not sticking to his specified deadline; death of my mobile battery when I am about to call a friend for the address where I'd meet my friends; spilling of food on a white/off-white/light blue shirt; and last but not the least is when toilets are miles away when I have an extreme urge of peeing. But this is eased sometimes as even if you don't find a toilet, you'd certainly find a McD which is a public toilet for me. The only healthy thing it can offer.
Coincidences are truly memorable sometimes, so please share any extraordinary coincidences if you have in the comments section.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Bloody Monday!
Mondays are always bloody, even if its one's birthday. Mine wasn't a birthday, but it was the worst traveling day of my recent life. If ethics and morality didn't exist, I would have killed a dozen people today.
The chronology of incidents begins at 8.45 am. Happy Ketan, running behind bus No.210, excited to get it on time. He gets in and to his surprise, rather frustration, bus does not move. Later a few bus drivers from around the bus station come in and try to figure out something. Three of them climb up the second floor of the double-decker. One's carrying some tools, one of them is a screw driver. Watching that, I felt like "Screwing the bus driver". The scene resembled of three three year olds running up and down the bus playing with their toy screw-drivers. I heard them gossiping about the problem in spite of me having the earphones on. The problem was that, the destination board was not rolling to the desired number and destination.
Fifteen minutes pass and there's no progress. Taking advantage of the delay, a fat man tried to sleep on a seat behind the rear door, resting on the glass pane to his front. His obesity gave me a new puzzle to nozzle the rising frustration. Is he resting on the glass wall in front of him or on his tummy? His belly fat was partially flattened resting on the front glass pane. His neck was submerged deep into his fats, so much that if a doctor was to reach his spine, he'd have to dive in to get a hold. His tummy fat was resting on his thighs and the length reached his knees. I wondered how he seated.
The bus finally started and I reached Brent Cross station in 7 minutes. I ran up the station, wondering about the sign outside the station stating, "Underground", as the station was a floor above. I reached the platform and the train doors closed. That was such a coincidence of consecutive bad events. The next "Morden via Bank" was in 14 minutes, i.e 14 minutes late to office, one exclusively repeated question to answer, "Why late today?" This question is often asked with forehead wrinkles, partial smile showing envy, by the higher authorities. This is one thing why I don't like to work as an employee. There was no option other than waiting for the next train.
The train arrived in 14 minutes and I felt relieved to find a seat to relax. But it wasn't for long, as at the next station a small group of school kids came in to ruin my peace. They were accompanied by their school teacher, who was having a fake smile and eying my seat. I was trying to avoid any eye contact but being a young, healthy and fit I took a stand to offer the teacher my seat. She showed a staged smile until she sat and then didn't even bother to look back and later I got down the train wishing to have superpowers to turn mine and bosses watch 30 min back.
Reached office tensed, thinking about reasons for being late and then thought about writing it as an experience in my blog.
The chronology of incidents begins at 8.45 am. Happy Ketan, running behind bus No.210, excited to get it on time. He gets in and to his surprise, rather frustration, bus does not move. Later a few bus drivers from around the bus station come in and try to figure out something. Three of them climb up the second floor of the double-decker. One's carrying some tools, one of them is a screw driver. Watching that, I felt like "Screwing the bus driver". The scene resembled of three three year olds running up and down the bus playing with their toy screw-drivers. I heard them gossiping about the problem in spite of me having the earphones on. The problem was that, the destination board was not rolling to the desired number and destination.
Fifteen minutes pass and there's no progress. Taking advantage of the delay, a fat man tried to sleep on a seat behind the rear door, resting on the glass pane to his front. His obesity gave me a new puzzle to nozzle the rising frustration. Is he resting on the glass wall in front of him or on his tummy? His belly fat was partially flattened resting on the front glass pane. His neck was submerged deep into his fats, so much that if a doctor was to reach his spine, he'd have to dive in to get a hold. His tummy fat was resting on his thighs and the length reached his knees. I wondered how he seated.
The bus finally started and I reached Brent Cross station in 7 minutes. I ran up the station, wondering about the sign outside the station stating, "Underground", as the station was a floor above. I reached the platform and the train doors closed. That was such a coincidence of consecutive bad events. The next "Morden via Bank" was in 14 minutes, i.e 14 minutes late to office, one exclusively repeated question to answer, "Why late today?" This question is often asked with forehead wrinkles, partial smile showing envy, by the higher authorities. This is one thing why I don't like to work as an employee. There was no option other than waiting for the next train.
The train arrived in 14 minutes and I felt relieved to find a seat to relax. But it wasn't for long, as at the next station a small group of school kids came in to ruin my peace. They were accompanied by their school teacher, who was having a fake smile and eying my seat. I was trying to avoid any eye contact but being a young, healthy and fit I took a stand to offer the teacher my seat. She showed a staged smile until she sat and then didn't even bother to look back and later I got down the train wishing to have superpowers to turn mine and bosses watch 30 min back.
Reached office tensed, thinking about reasons for being late and then thought about writing it as an experience in my blog.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Feminization...
Don't get mesmerised by the title, I am neither deploying female hormones in anyone, nor is it an experiment, or some scientific hypocrisy! It's my experience about women in general, some weird, some loveable.
One thing, which might have been proven, women are born to talk, gossip and murmur. Most of these siddhis, of understanding women, were gained by me while I was in a serious relationship with my ex for an honourable 3.5 years. I was sentenced in a relationship on 29th February 2005. Because it was a leap year, with the help of my lawyers, my friends, and the judge, my girlfriend, the date was shifted to 1st of March 2005 and I was given the statement at 6.15pm at Balgandharva Rang Mandir(BRM), Pune. I know, you were expecting some romantic place, but unfortunately it was BRM. I was sentenced to indefinite relationship, until the possibility of marriage, when I said those three lovely words. I wish those were "Mera Bharat Mahan".
The years weren't as bad as I made them sound. They had quarrels and fights, love and caressing, jokes and laughter, ethics and manners as well. Talking about ethics, I remember that girls are very particular about how their boyfriend present's himself in public. I was always poked or pinched while, eating without worldly concerns, driving too fast or too slow, talking nonsense to anyone in front of her, doing nothing, having dressed too dull or too glittery. I still remember a big quarrel of ours on my eating habits, which resulted in 3 days of mental agony. We were eating "paani puri" together, and she ordered a last dish for herself, through me, which never went to her. I gulped the entire dish, in my own dreams, not realising the world, as if I've been starving for a decade. Then I realised the quantity of my mistake and the quality of quarrel to come.
A lot of girls I've befriended possess extreme characteristics. A couple of them are career oriented, bold and stern in their decisions, which usually are hard to impress. One of my friend is comfortable in not crossing her comfort zone. One job for life time, no intention of change or shift, same road to office, same vehicle, same people around, same daily routine for years. How is it possible for one to be so sternly dumb, highly boring, working in a creative environment? (being a classmate, she was a graphic designer too). I am attracted to girls who are bold, decisive and career oriented. My ex was the same, hence I felt for her. I have another friend of mine, who's bold, decisive and, instead of career, she's boyfriend oriented. She likes to change boys like, disposable nappies.
I used to be a flirt in my college days, playing pranks with my girl friends. Some girls knew it was just a prank but sometimes it used to get serious. A few girls revealed their feelings for me, a few didn't talk after that, and a few were on the verge of slapping me, until I told them that it was just a prank. Neither was I a hunk of the college, nor was I rich. I came to college on a grey coloured Bajaj's scooter, of my dad. So, only if it was a time in 70s I would have been a hip, girls running behind my scooter. Many of my girl friends never liked sitting on pillion's end. They reasoned it as being uncomfortable, but I knew, they'd certainly occupy the seat if it was a lavish motorbike. So, the verse, "girls like cash and bikes more than the person" is absolutely true. The ones who'd deny this might be in true love or something. Later on I bought a new motorbike, and each of my girl friends wanted a ride on it. Although I felt revengeful, I fulfilled theirs wishes. For one, most memorable event in my relationship, I still respect my ex. That was, while buying a new bike, I faked her that I'd be buying an ordinary bike, showing budgetary concerns. She had a simple answer and she said it without a single thought, that, I was more important to her than any materialistic thing.
A few things I've understood about women are: They expect a lot from guys. They never let out their expectations, and we have to understand those. They want a guy to be understanding, caring, supportive and entertaining at times. Most girls, like aggressive guys, even if the guy resembles a blade of grass. "Girls like shopping", is not true with me as I haven't had a deadly experience of it, even my ex wasn't shopping savvy. And, last but not the least thing I'd say is important dates. Guys who tend to forget these dates are vulnerable to a heart break.
One thing, which might have been proven, women are born to talk, gossip and murmur. Most of these siddhis, of understanding women, were gained by me while I was in a serious relationship with my ex for an honourable 3.5 years. I was sentenced in a relationship on 29th February 2005. Because it was a leap year, with the help of my lawyers, my friends, and the judge, my girlfriend, the date was shifted to 1st of March 2005 and I was given the statement at 6.15pm at Balgandharva Rang Mandir(BRM), Pune. I know, you were expecting some romantic place, but unfortunately it was BRM. I was sentenced to indefinite relationship, until the possibility of marriage, when I said those three lovely words. I wish those were "Mera Bharat Mahan".
The years weren't as bad as I made them sound. They had quarrels and fights, love and caressing, jokes and laughter, ethics and manners as well. Talking about ethics, I remember that girls are very particular about how their boyfriend present's himself in public. I was always poked or pinched while, eating without worldly concerns, driving too fast or too slow, talking nonsense to anyone in front of her, doing nothing, having dressed too dull or too glittery. I still remember a big quarrel of ours on my eating habits, which resulted in 3 days of mental agony. We were eating "paani puri" together, and she ordered a last dish for herself, through me, which never went to her. I gulped the entire dish, in my own dreams, not realising the world, as if I've been starving for a decade. Then I realised the quantity of my mistake and the quality of quarrel to come.
A lot of girls I've befriended possess extreme characteristics. A couple of them are career oriented, bold and stern in their decisions, which usually are hard to impress. One of my friend is comfortable in not crossing her comfort zone. One job for life time, no intention of change or shift, same road to office, same vehicle, same people around, same daily routine for years. How is it possible for one to be so sternly dumb, highly boring, working in a creative environment? (being a classmate, she was a graphic designer too). I am attracted to girls who are bold, decisive and career oriented. My ex was the same, hence I felt for her. I have another friend of mine, who's bold, decisive and, instead of career, she's boyfriend oriented. She likes to change boys like, disposable nappies.
I used to be a flirt in my college days, playing pranks with my girl friends. Some girls knew it was just a prank but sometimes it used to get serious. A few girls revealed their feelings for me, a few didn't talk after that, and a few were on the verge of slapping me, until I told them that it was just a prank. Neither was I a hunk of the college, nor was I rich. I came to college on a grey coloured Bajaj's scooter, of my dad. So, only if it was a time in 70s I would have been a hip, girls running behind my scooter. Many of my girl friends never liked sitting on pillion's end. They reasoned it as being uncomfortable, but I knew, they'd certainly occupy the seat if it was a lavish motorbike. So, the verse, "girls like cash and bikes more than the person" is absolutely true. The ones who'd deny this might be in true love or something. Later on I bought a new motorbike, and each of my girl friends wanted a ride on it. Although I felt revengeful, I fulfilled theirs wishes. For one, most memorable event in my relationship, I still respect my ex. That was, while buying a new bike, I faked her that I'd be buying an ordinary bike, showing budgetary concerns. She had a simple answer and she said it without a single thought, that, I was more important to her than any materialistic thing.
A few things I've understood about women are: They expect a lot from guys. They never let out their expectations, and we have to understand those. They want a guy to be understanding, caring, supportive and entertaining at times. Most girls, like aggressive guys, even if the guy resembles a blade of grass. "Girls like shopping", is not true with me as I haven't had a deadly experience of it, even my ex wasn't shopping savvy. And, last but not the least thing I'd say is important dates. Guys who tend to forget these dates are vulnerable to a heart break.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Life in London
28th Sept, 2009. Nawathe kaka came to pick me up at kings cross station. While his struggle for parking, Vikram was inside the station, waiting to guide me to the car, I was struggling to carry two big suitcases and a guitar. Finally, we made it to the car. I was cheesy, being happy more than thankful, to have saved 50 quid on taxi home.
Life's been cheerful since I've moved at 14, Layfield road. I exercise, jog and work regularly. I've been roaming around London on weekends. I also met old friends, who had been in London for a while. Laughter and Jokes are "one of 5 a day" routine. Nonsense, makes sense and illogical ideas stroke unstoppable laughter, times in a day.
To take an instance, we watched the movie, Sholay, which was 16th time for me, and just thought, what if "Gabbar singh" and "Thakur" were gays? So the movie would have a prologue, Gabbar and Thakur had a break-up before the train action sequence resulting in hatred, consequently expanding into a 3.5 hrs long movie of conspiracies and drama. Another thing was - if Thakur was never taught horse riding he'd never go at Gabbar's place to get his hands chopped off for nothing. Basically, he'd never be able to catch Gabbar, and Gabbar would never exterminate his family in revenge.
Life is seriously casual these days. We are used to laughing in the midnight and one fine day, actually yesterday, our right side neighbour came and told Nawathe kaka that kaka's nephew, who just arrived a couple of days back, laughs loudly in the midnight and she could hear it. We had another reason to laugh at this.
I moved to London for opportunities, and I learnt a lot of things. Those are, making flour, cooking chapatis, usage of different masalas, creating gravy, chicken curry, architecture of Brent cross shopping centre, London tube travel, buses home after midnight drinks, etc.
Life's been cheerful since I've moved at 14, Layfield road. I exercise, jog and work regularly. I've been roaming around London on weekends. I also met old friends, who had been in London for a while. Laughter and Jokes are "one of 5 a day" routine. Nonsense, makes sense and illogical ideas stroke unstoppable laughter, times in a day.
To take an instance, we watched the movie, Sholay, which was 16th time for me, and just thought, what if "Gabbar singh" and "Thakur" were gays? So the movie would have a prologue, Gabbar and Thakur had a break-up before the train action sequence resulting in hatred, consequently expanding into a 3.5 hrs long movie of conspiracies and drama. Another thing was - if Thakur was never taught horse riding he'd never go at Gabbar's place to get his hands chopped off for nothing. Basically, he'd never be able to catch Gabbar, and Gabbar would never exterminate his family in revenge.
Life is seriously casual these days. We are used to laughing in the midnight and one fine day, actually yesterday, our right side neighbour came and told Nawathe kaka that kaka's nephew, who just arrived a couple of days back, laughs loudly in the midnight and she could hear it. We had another reason to laugh at this.
I moved to London for opportunities, and I learnt a lot of things. Those are, making flour, cooking chapatis, usage of different masalas, creating gravy, chicken curry, architecture of Brent cross shopping centre, London tube travel, buses home after midnight drinks, etc.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
"पापी पेट" - the stomach and the evolution of humans
Since the earth evolved, every living being is striving for food. The time after the evolution of humans and apparently science, the concept of biological balance was evolved, which stated the difference between carnivorous and herbivorous animals. Herbivorous eat herbs and carnivorous eat the poor herbivores, to maintain the so called biological cycle. So, its this hunger, which all the living beings have, forces us to do kill and eat meat, fish and other food.
I am glad, that we've not actually started eating the crispy currency notes instead of food. They would be categorised as 'moneyvorous'. Just imagine how the diet of the rich and poor would be. The rich would eat only, 500 or 1000 Rupees notes and the poor would extend their living on coins. The middle class would chew the fivers, tens, fifties and hundreds. India would have more to eat than the US or UK due to the currency difference. Foreigners would come to india just to convert their dollars or pounds into more money and satisfy their hunger.
Recently, man has evolved into 'junkivorous', which is a new phenomenal evolvement of humans. This was discovered when people were striving for money and comforts, than just food. The evolvement of 'junkivorous' mammals can be stated when the human race discovered delicious pizzas and burgers. Increment of cheese and deep fried food in these made the evolution much easier.
These junkivores have a different physique than the normal humans. They are in a perfect, round shape. They're also called as obese people. Their aim is to consume as much fat foods as they can and store the energy in their body, in spite of the physical concerns which arise during the course of evolution. The reason for this is to use this energy when we finish with all the natural resources mother earth has given us.
Just imagine the yellow fat inside the obese people, would be excreted from their body to be used as fuel in our cars. The more bulkier the person, the more value he'd have. The loose fat, of some, would be converted into engine oil, healthy fat into cooking oil. And fat would also be converted into electricity.
These people have work as their primary concern than food, so just for the sake of "पापी पेट" they eat junk to make themselves feel full and satisfied. At the later stages of evolution, it becomes hard for the person to walk, climb or even work his routine. This is the stage when the fat extent is the highest, the person would be ready for fat-into-energy conversion.
"पापी पेट" is also the main reason for all the diseases as stated in Aayurveda. What we feel and look like is the result of what we eat. So, junkivores are round in shape, which is the same as a round pizza and a bulkily breaded burger.
These junkivores, would further in the future, sacrifice their partners as their shape would disrupt their partner's public image. And, some sad fat junkivores would eat more when depressed. So that would add more kilos in their already-extra weight. In some thousand years, maybe all the organs and even bones would be just fats! Everything would be fat and people would look like heavy air balloons.
I am glad, that we've not actually started eating the crispy currency notes instead of food. They would be categorised as 'moneyvorous'. Just imagine how the diet of the rich and poor would be. The rich would eat only, 500 or 1000 Rupees notes and the poor would extend their living on coins. The middle class would chew the fivers, tens, fifties and hundreds. India would have more to eat than the US or UK due to the currency difference. Foreigners would come to india just to convert their dollars or pounds into more money and satisfy their hunger.
Recently, man has evolved into 'junkivorous', which is a new phenomenal evolvement of humans. This was discovered when people were striving for money and comforts, than just food. The evolvement of 'junkivorous' mammals can be stated when the human race discovered delicious pizzas and burgers. Increment of cheese and deep fried food in these made the evolution much easier.
These junkivores have a different physique than the normal humans. They are in a perfect, round shape. They're also called as obese people. Their aim is to consume as much fat foods as they can and store the energy in their body, in spite of the physical concerns which arise during the course of evolution. The reason for this is to use this energy when we finish with all the natural resources mother earth has given us.
Just imagine the yellow fat inside the obese people, would be excreted from their body to be used as fuel in our cars. The more bulkier the person, the more value he'd have. The loose fat, of some, would be converted into engine oil, healthy fat into cooking oil. And fat would also be converted into electricity.
These people have work as their primary concern than food, so just for the sake of "पापी पेट" they eat junk to make themselves feel full and satisfied. At the later stages of evolution, it becomes hard for the person to walk, climb or even work his routine. This is the stage when the fat extent is the highest, the person would be ready for fat-into-energy conversion.
"पापी पेट" is also the main reason for all the diseases as stated in Aayurveda. What we feel and look like is the result of what we eat. So, junkivores are round in shape, which is the same as a round pizza and a bulkily breaded burger.
These junkivores, would further in the future, sacrifice their partners as their shape would disrupt their partner's public image. And, some sad fat junkivores would eat more when depressed. So that would add more kilos in their already-extra weight. In some thousand years, maybe all the organs and even bones would be just fats! Everything would be fat and people would look like heavy air balloons.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
A wordy caricature
It was a fine sunny morning, when me and one of my friend planned to establish a design studio. We went to apply for the registration certificate. Here we met this hilarious personality. Some people struck a chord in your lives and you don't forget them for life. This person didn't struck any chord but did cut our pockets full of enthusiasm and money. To start with such an experience, on an auspicious occasion, made us like a 50 year old, half-bald with a huge belly and ass, saying, 'bhai humne duniya dekhi hai' with a dirty look and fake pride. This experience was as hideous as the character I am about to explain.
Age, mid 30s; sex, male; Complexion, dark. This sounds more like a 'someone missing' advertisement. I used to see these on Doordarshan every Saturday in the evening, while awaiting for the Marathi cinema at 4.00 pm. So, to proceed, his profession: he's an agent for helping to get the shop act license for starting a business without much pain in the ass. He's highly responsible for the development of our country, by helping people start their businesses without much hassle.
He runs it as his family business. I encountered it when I saw his mother handling all the cash, sitting under a luxurious umbrella on the footpath outside the license office. He is also pretty professional in his job profile, to explain: he had an ochre suitcase with papers of all his clients neatly piled up, supposedly, alphabetically.
Describing his looks, clothing and lifestyle, he was a dirty money eating caterpillar, striving on the cash of innocent leaves like us. He was half bald and on his upper head, there were some hair approximately 2 cm distant from each other. The sides of his head were abundant with hair. Half of his hectic work life went outside the registration office, in the sun, and a part of it under the table of the officers inside the registration office. Due to this and the other personal tensions, his upper head was scarcely haired. In those remaining hair, the soaring heat created tiny droplets of sweat, forming a glossy texture.
He was a proud customer of 'Manikchand gutkha'. His teeth had a complete red colour, not even pink(the mixture of white, his teeth and the red of 'gutkha') carrying the brand identity and unique style of the 'gutkha' product. His office surroundings were all drenched in those lively red squashes, which poured from his mouth like a fully flowing tap.
He was a silent and patient person and would not speak unless needed. But, as he used to open his mouth to ask for more documents, his glittery red teeth and the lovely smell of 'gutkha' used to make our eyes red. Thanks for those who invented handkerchiefs, or else we wouldn't have survived chatting with him.
His voice was comparable to the double lowest note of C, on a keyboard(piano), if existed. We could feel the vibrations of the sound his vocal cords made. It would have been a science lesson to study how sound vibrations work, if we were science students. Hearing his tone, I always felt itchy in my throat. I felt like pouring a litre of the liquid 'Vicks' forcefully in his mouth and end the dryness of his voice for ever.
His posture and dressing style was pretty formal. Clothes used to be neat and ironed. In those 5-6 time we met him during our work, he wore the same pant and maybe 2-3 different shirts. He was always wet with sweat. If his sweat was stored and desalinated, it would at-least quench the thirst of an entire lane.
He had a mobile phone, which, I suppose, had a facility to answer only if a person is trying for the third time. Whenever I called him for asking the progress of our work, he had a long pause before answering, as if he's giving a speech like our Respectable Former Prime Minister Vajpayeeji. If I repeated the question, he would go impatient and blurb out the answer, like squashing the red 'gutkha' out of his mouth.
One of his legs had a ligament problem, I suppose, as he didn't walk normally. That might be a result of slipping off the red pond of saliva surrounding his office space.
His mother was 10 times fat than him. I suspect, she ate food and he ate 'manikchand gutkha'. 2 packets for breakfast, 4 for lunch and 3 for dinner, with a glass of water.
This, Mr. Agent is unforgettable in my memories because of his slummy character, poor attitude, corrupt mind, and greedy approach. But is he the one responsible for it? Or is it the situation he faced and saw his entire life made him like this? That's a hard question to answer!
Age, mid 30s; sex, male; Complexion, dark. This sounds more like a 'someone missing' advertisement. I used to see these on Doordarshan every Saturday in the evening, while awaiting for the Marathi cinema at 4.00 pm. So, to proceed, his profession: he's an agent for helping to get the shop act license for starting a business without much pain in the ass. He's highly responsible for the development of our country, by helping people start their businesses without much hassle.
He runs it as his family business. I encountered it when I saw his mother handling all the cash, sitting under a luxurious umbrella on the footpath outside the license office. He is also pretty professional in his job profile, to explain: he had an ochre suitcase with papers of all his clients neatly piled up, supposedly, alphabetically.
Describing his looks, clothing and lifestyle, he was a dirty money eating caterpillar, striving on the cash of innocent leaves like us. He was half bald and on his upper head, there were some hair approximately 2 cm distant from each other. The sides of his head were abundant with hair. Half of his hectic work life went outside the registration office, in the sun, and a part of it under the table of the officers inside the registration office. Due to this and the other personal tensions, his upper head was scarcely haired. In those remaining hair, the soaring heat created tiny droplets of sweat, forming a glossy texture.
He was a proud customer of 'Manikchand gutkha'. His teeth had a complete red colour, not even pink(the mixture of white, his teeth and the red of 'gutkha') carrying the brand identity and unique style of the 'gutkha' product. His office surroundings were all drenched in those lively red squashes, which poured from his mouth like a fully flowing tap.
He was a silent and patient person and would not speak unless needed. But, as he used to open his mouth to ask for more documents, his glittery red teeth and the lovely smell of 'gutkha' used to make our eyes red. Thanks for those who invented handkerchiefs, or else we wouldn't have survived chatting with him.
His voice was comparable to the double lowest note of C, on a keyboard(piano), if existed. We could feel the vibrations of the sound his vocal cords made. It would have been a science lesson to study how sound vibrations work, if we were science students. Hearing his tone, I always felt itchy in my throat. I felt like pouring a litre of the liquid 'Vicks' forcefully in his mouth and end the dryness of his voice for ever.
His posture and dressing style was pretty formal. Clothes used to be neat and ironed. In those 5-6 time we met him during our work, he wore the same pant and maybe 2-3 different shirts. He was always wet with sweat. If his sweat was stored and desalinated, it would at-least quench the thirst of an entire lane.
He had a mobile phone, which, I suppose, had a facility to answer only if a person is trying for the third time. Whenever I called him for asking the progress of our work, he had a long pause before answering, as if he's giving a speech like our Respectable Former Prime Minister Vajpayeeji. If I repeated the question, he would go impatient and blurb out the answer, like squashing the red 'gutkha' out of his mouth.
One of his legs had a ligament problem, I suppose, as he didn't walk normally. That might be a result of slipping off the red pond of saliva surrounding his office space.
His mother was 10 times fat than him. I suspect, she ate food and he ate 'manikchand gutkha'. 2 packets for breakfast, 4 for lunch and 3 for dinner, with a glass of water.
This, Mr. Agent is unforgettable in my memories because of his slummy character, poor attitude, corrupt mind, and greedy approach. But is he the one responsible for it? Or is it the situation he faced and saw his entire life made him like this? That's a hard question to answer!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Summing practicality in fiction
Recently, I was watching a documentary on BBC, "triumph and tragedy" which was based on the NASA experiments. It showed all the achievements and failures of NASA, from landing on the moon to orbiting the earth in a space shuttle.
It focussed on the challenges and efforts of making a space shuttle, which can be reused to save millions of dollars. The process of getting out of the earth's orbit needs tonnes of fuel and re-entering suffers tonnes of heat. So tiling the space shuttle with heat resistant tiles was essential. The last tragedy in 2004 when, the crew on board the space shuttle, including the legendary Indian woman, Kalpana Chawla, in NASA's reusable space shuttle fell prey to the excessive heat which entered the space shuttle through a broken tile and destroyed it, including the crew, into hundreds of pieces. That was a big tragedy.
While watching the documentary, an abrupt thought struck my mind. What if superman was in real! Now you would think that I'd say that for saving the space shuttle. NO! I thought, he was resistant to almost everything, including fire, but his clothes? I suspect: no! We have seen him going out and entering the earth's orbit a thousand times, in the repeat telecasts of his movies on HBO. So, my point of concern is, if he was real, then he would require new clothes every time he entered the earth's atmosphere, as those would turn into ashes in the 1500 Degrees of soaring heat. He's resistant even to sun, so even his pubic hair would remain cool as the Himalayan ice, but his clothes? This is the question!
What if, Iron man was here working on the development of his latest suit? NASA wouldn't be there, because, Mr. Tony Stark would reach even the sun, with his astonishing, high speed, one manned, universal shuttle. Though, he would certainly need a space caravan behind him to rest and store his food and supplies.
Ok, lets forget about the western super heroes, and think about our own, "Shaktimaan." Though, he's a colour Xerox copy of Superman, with some spicy addition of ancient, Indian spirituality lessons, like attaining 'siddhis' with meditation, and enduring the supernatural powers, and a spin travel, rather than going in a normal and straight way. He would've obviously fainted a hundred times if he was in real. He has orbited the earth for a thousand times, almost in all his episodes. In his case of re-entering the earth's atmosphere, he would also need a couple of thousand costumes, to start his work without any delay, and a towel to hide his sensory organs immediately after he reaches the earth's atmosphere.
To make the lives of these super heroes simple, I would've suggested them to tile their clothes, with those resistant tiles used in the space shuttle by NASA, or make a towel out of them, to hide in till they dress up with their original costumes after getting home.
It focussed on the challenges and efforts of making a space shuttle, which can be reused to save millions of dollars. The process of getting out of the earth's orbit needs tonnes of fuel and re-entering suffers tonnes of heat. So tiling the space shuttle with heat resistant tiles was essential. The last tragedy in 2004 when, the crew on board the space shuttle, including the legendary Indian woman, Kalpana Chawla, in NASA's reusable space shuttle fell prey to the excessive heat which entered the space shuttle through a broken tile and destroyed it, including the crew, into hundreds of pieces. That was a big tragedy.
While watching the documentary, an abrupt thought struck my mind. What if superman was in real! Now you would think that I'd say that for saving the space shuttle. NO! I thought, he was resistant to almost everything, including fire, but his clothes? I suspect: no! We have seen him going out and entering the earth's orbit a thousand times, in the repeat telecasts of his movies on HBO. So, my point of concern is, if he was real, then he would require new clothes every time he entered the earth's atmosphere, as those would turn into ashes in the 1500 Degrees of soaring heat. He's resistant even to sun, so even his pubic hair would remain cool as the Himalayan ice, but his clothes? This is the question!
What if, Iron man was here working on the development of his latest suit? NASA wouldn't be there, because, Mr. Tony Stark would reach even the sun, with his astonishing, high speed, one manned, universal shuttle. Though, he would certainly need a space caravan behind him to rest and store his food and supplies.
Ok, lets forget about the western super heroes, and think about our own, "Shaktimaan." Though, he's a colour Xerox copy of Superman, with some spicy addition of ancient, Indian spirituality lessons, like attaining 'siddhis' with meditation, and enduring the supernatural powers, and a spin travel, rather than going in a normal and straight way. He would've obviously fainted a hundred times if he was in real. He has orbited the earth for a thousand times, almost in all his episodes. In his case of re-entering the earth's atmosphere, he would also need a couple of thousand costumes, to start his work without any delay, and a towel to hide his sensory organs immediately after he reaches the earth's atmosphere.
To make the lives of these super heroes simple, I would've suggested them to tile their clothes, with those resistant tiles used in the space shuttle by NASA, or make a towel out of them, to hide in till they dress up with their original costumes after getting home.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
SOS/help/F1
Help! All the wise humans are preaching since ages, that we must help each other in good deeds, but the scenario is not the same today. I tried to do some research in this area and plotted down some of my findings. Use of heavy academic lingo like, research and all makes the crap sound evidential.
These days, we have help any where anytime! Life has become so easy. In the US we have 911, in the UK we have 999 and in India we have two or three lines, distributed in their own specialities, as far as I know, the 100 is the police, 101 is for fire brigade and ambulance, I guess. The ones who have experienced a trauma might have by-hearted these numbers. There are companies providing help for a car breakdown, if it does, in an area synonymous to the Sahara dessert or the Antarctic region. We find help in softwares, which is the F1 key. I've also encountered some senseless comics like a drowning person shouting F1 from the sea. Then I've seen some of the NGO's stating SOS planet earth, save trees, save water. Some also feel that drinking beer would be an option of saving water. So everything, everyone needs help and help is everywhere!
Sometimes, can create problems in relationships. Although, help helps in making up relationships, but it also makes them complex. To make it simple I tried to sophisticate it in two formulae, the first one is: Girl + Help = Boy + Infatuation. In this formula, if a girl tries to help a boy, the boy takes it as her interest in him and he gets infatuated with her. This creates a misunderstanding, sometimes ending in a red mark on the guy's face or some earth on his cheeks.
The other formula is exactly opposite of the first one! It goes: Boy + Help = Girl + Suspicion. Elaborating it defines that: if a boy tries to help a girl, the girl can assume that he's interested in her and she tries to ignore him, which can puzzle the guy.
Help can also make up relations. This can be explained like, if a guy helps an old woman cross a busy street, or save a puppy, wandering on a busy highway, in front of his girlfriend, she can get impressed! I had tried to impress my ex. by evacuating a puppy from the middle of a highway, but it ended in impressing the mother of that puppy who chased me for a mile. I luckily escaped 14 injections, possibly some in my belly.
So help has advantages and disadvantages as we saw. We help agents outside any of the government offices to do our work, in that we help save our time. By saving our time we work more at office which helps our job, which helps ours as well as that agent's family. This helps in getting those government officers more corrupted, and eventually it helps in the contribution of the underdevelopment of our nation. So again, help is everywhere, may it be negative.
So folks, help and get help, but only for good deeds!
These days, we have help any where anytime! Life has become so easy. In the US we have 911, in the UK we have 999 and in India we have two or three lines, distributed in their own specialities, as far as I know, the 100 is the police, 101 is for fire brigade and ambulance, I guess. The ones who have experienced a trauma might have by-hearted these numbers. There are companies providing help for a car breakdown, if it does, in an area synonymous to the Sahara dessert or the Antarctic region. We find help in softwares, which is the F1 key. I've also encountered some senseless comics like a drowning person shouting F1 from the sea. Then I've seen some of the NGO's stating SOS planet earth, save trees, save water. Some also feel that drinking beer would be an option of saving water. So everything, everyone needs help and help is everywhere!
Sometimes, can create problems in relationships. Although, help helps in making up relationships, but it also makes them complex. To make it simple I tried to sophisticate it in two formulae, the first one is: Girl + Help = Boy + Infatuation. In this formula, if a girl tries to help a boy, the boy takes it as her interest in him and he gets infatuated with her. This creates a misunderstanding, sometimes ending in a red mark on the guy's face or some earth on his cheeks.
The other formula is exactly opposite of the first one! It goes: Boy + Help = Girl + Suspicion. Elaborating it defines that: if a boy tries to help a girl, the girl can assume that he's interested in her and she tries to ignore him, which can puzzle the guy.
Help can also make up relations. This can be explained like, if a guy helps an old woman cross a busy street, or save a puppy, wandering on a busy highway, in front of his girlfriend, she can get impressed! I had tried to impress my ex. by evacuating a puppy from the middle of a highway, but it ended in impressing the mother of that puppy who chased me for a mile. I luckily escaped 14 injections, possibly some in my belly.
So help has advantages and disadvantages as we saw. We help agents outside any of the government offices to do our work, in that we help save our time. By saving our time we work more at office which helps our job, which helps ours as well as that agent's family. This helps in getting those government officers more corrupted, and eventually it helps in the contribution of the underdevelopment of our nation. So again, help is everywhere, may it be negative.
So folks, help and get help, but only for good deeds!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Commode
This issue can sound a bit vulgar, but everyone knows and feels the same from inside. Some express some don't! I am the one who wants to express my insights about it and its relations with the world.
Commode is an essential commodity in our lives, not just for the excretion of poop, but also for draining out the most important thoughts, decisions of our lives. Shitting is the only time when we're completely with ourselves. As experts say that one must completely concentrate on the activity and must not listen to any music or even read while in the process. I assume that it is because it might disturb the creative thinking, we're into, during that particular period.
I suspect, the geniuses would have discovered this activity as a self brainstorming session before discovering or inventing out-of-the-world ideas and concepts. One gag I remember, read in some forwarded email, which said, Isaac Newton discovered gravity after an apple fell off from the tree on his head, while sleeping below the tree. But, why didn't he discover it while shitting every morning? I suspect he'd have got the discovery calculated while emptying his bowels, but just to make the discovery sophisticated and to be able to explain it to young children he disguised his findings in an apple.
I think, that Mr. Thomas Edison wanted to light his toilet during the dark winters, which can be the reason which motivated his invention. Although, I am approximately sure about the invention of a motion picture camera, I am damn sure that he invented the phonograph to make those everyday 10-15 minutes enjoyable.
The commode has also created a lot of competition amongst the design of it and mainly the tissue papers. Whenever I roam around in a mall, I think why the hell they have a scented tissue roll with the picture of roses? Who the hell is gonna smell your ass after wiping it? Some cynics might do it, you never know!
The sound of flush is like the sound of those pleasant sea waves, but like a fast-forwarded sound-clip or a worn out, old cassette. I think that can be an inspiration for music composers to make something unique other than stealing pieces.
I don't think there's much inspiration or motivation for painters as they'll find only one colour, you know which one. But Graphic designers can learn from it as they're accustomed to work with strict briefs and tight measurements. So here's the sample of motivated brief: you've one colour. Design!
I've heard that people in Germany first look at the toilet and then the rest of the house while buying a property! I wonder what exactly they look for? The design of commode, its cleanliness or the creative environment to make most out of the daily 15 minutes.
I think India is still a developing country, not because of the corruption but because, in the glittery houses of the government authorities, it misses the breathing space of the toilet! It doesn't have the creative environment for them to think and make decisions. The dark yellow ochre accumulated around the space and the increasing smell of ammonia makes life more difficult.
You might think that I am writing this blog sitting on the commode, but please mind it that, that space is only for thinking processes and not for work!
Commode is an essential commodity in our lives, not just for the excretion of poop, but also for draining out the most important thoughts, decisions of our lives. Shitting is the only time when we're completely with ourselves. As experts say that one must completely concentrate on the activity and must not listen to any music or even read while in the process. I assume that it is because it might disturb the creative thinking, we're into, during that particular period.
I suspect, the geniuses would have discovered this activity as a self brainstorming session before discovering or inventing out-of-the-world ideas and concepts. One gag I remember, read in some forwarded email, which said, Isaac Newton discovered gravity after an apple fell off from the tree on his head, while sleeping below the tree. But, why didn't he discover it while shitting every morning? I suspect he'd have got the discovery calculated while emptying his bowels, but just to make the discovery sophisticated and to be able to explain it to young children he disguised his findings in an apple.
I think, that Mr. Thomas Edison wanted to light his toilet during the dark winters, which can be the reason which motivated his invention. Although, I am approximately sure about the invention of a motion picture camera, I am damn sure that he invented the phonograph to make those everyday 10-15 minutes enjoyable.
The commode has also created a lot of competition amongst the design of it and mainly the tissue papers. Whenever I roam around in a mall, I think why the hell they have a scented tissue roll with the picture of roses? Who the hell is gonna smell your ass after wiping it? Some cynics might do it, you never know!
The sound of flush is like the sound of those pleasant sea waves, but like a fast-forwarded sound-clip or a worn out, old cassette. I think that can be an inspiration for music composers to make something unique other than stealing pieces.
I don't think there's much inspiration or motivation for painters as they'll find only one colour, you know which one. But Graphic designers can learn from it as they're accustomed to work with strict briefs and tight measurements. So here's the sample of motivated brief: you've one colour. Design!
I've heard that people in Germany first look at the toilet and then the rest of the house while buying a property! I wonder what exactly they look for? The design of commode, its cleanliness or the creative environment to make most out of the daily 15 minutes.
I think India is still a developing country, not because of the corruption but because, in the glittery houses of the government authorities, it misses the breathing space of the toilet! It doesn't have the creative environment for them to think and make decisions. The dark yellow ochre accumulated around the space and the increasing smell of ammonia makes life more difficult.
You might think that I am writing this blog sitting on the commode, but please mind it that, that space is only for thinking processes and not for work!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Westernisation
Westernisation is not globalisation, my experiences says, its when...
the IT industry buy employees, and fat assholes eat 'McDonalds'
English is for status, even if without the sense of 'a' or 'an'
flattering relatives abroad, even if the one is cleaning toilets,
miniskirts reveal fat legs and faces have an ugly shade,
Americans struggle for obesity and Indians for pizzas and burgers,
adoption of eliminated brands of the west,
harmonium is for geeks and guitar speaks the passion of music,
a t-shirt stating USA is a brand in itself,
young know all the American English albums and genres in music,
its when Indian employers lick English and suck the local dialect,
and in spite of understanding that, "we lick the west",
we're fakers in disguise boasting our cultures and traditions,
some do understand the situation, but those are just 'some'
our democratic institution which we deploy, shows it all!
the IT industry buy employees, and fat assholes eat 'McDonalds'
English is for status, even if without the sense of 'a' or 'an'
flattering relatives abroad, even if the one is cleaning toilets,
miniskirts reveal fat legs and faces have an ugly shade,
Americans struggle for obesity and Indians for pizzas and burgers,
adoption of eliminated brands of the west,
harmonium is for geeks and guitar speaks the passion of music,
a t-shirt stating USA is a brand in itself,
young know all the American English albums and genres in music,
its when Indian employers lick English and suck the local dialect,
and in spite of understanding that, "we lick the west",
we're fakers in disguise boasting our cultures and traditions,
some do understand the situation, but those are just 'some'
our democratic institution which we deploy, shows it all!
Friday, May 8, 2009
Hindu Vs. Muslim, or Hindu and Muslim?
It has been a long time after my last post. I have been watching a couple of old movies, Bombay, 1995 and Black and White, 2008 this week. After that, I had a chat with one of my elderly friend in the family, discussing the issue of Hindu vs. Muslims. It all started with two of my best friends, a girl and a boy, who are in love with each other and are forced to be apart just for the sake of religion.
The discussion started when I asked, what's the problem in a Hindu, Brahmin girl getting married to a Muslim boy? Why is it always meant to be a disastrous phenomenon for both the families? Then, I answered myself, when myself as a Brahmin is forbidden to marry a lower caste girl in Hindu religion, then it's an issue of inter-religious marriage ceremony. Although, some open minded and educated families do accept such relationships, as it used to be said; these days all the families act open-minded and are highly educated but offend the inter-religious affairs.
The next question asked to me was, how would they adjust with each of their religious views, rituals, traditions, etc.? I feel that if we have a positive attitude throughout our lives, we can enjoy both the religions, experience and understand the beliefs and respect both the religions. I love being a Brahmin and Hinduism, but there's always been a hidden enthusiasm of visiting a mosque. I am not expressing it because I have raised this issue, but it's true! Many, might have this feeling.
Later, why did the girl chose a Muslim person to love? Are all the Brahmins in this world dead? Was asked. How can someone decide whom to love? I said. Some people do try it, but it's usually known as infatuation. Loving someone on their looks and style is kind of a contract of one year, as science has proven that infatuation lasts no more than a year, its due to some 'chemical locha'. In the case of my friends, they haven't actually had an affair, she's saying no and he's not empowering him on her, but both of them know they're made for each other. If it was an infatuation, it wouldn't last for 4 years.
I do not agree with the character of that girl, was told to me! I was outraged by that supposition. Is she bad because she cared for her parents? Is it because she didn't want to go against her parents' wishes? Or, is it because she didn't flirt with him, in spite of the uncertainty of their relationship? The other things, like wearing a short skirt, exposing outfits or huge makeup, were also not applicable to her. So, in which angle should the girl be perceived as bad?
I am with them no matter what. It's the problem of love and not religion. According to me, these are never ending questions. Although, in Hinduism and Islam, the first man and woman were different in their respective religion, practically speaking, I am thankful that this belief system emerged far later after the first man and woman, or else human race won't exist.
The discussion started when I asked, what's the problem in a Hindu, Brahmin girl getting married to a Muslim boy? Why is it always meant to be a disastrous phenomenon for both the families? Then, I answered myself, when myself as a Brahmin is forbidden to marry a lower caste girl in Hindu religion, then it's an issue of inter-religious marriage ceremony. Although, some open minded and educated families do accept such relationships, as it used to be said; these days all the families act open-minded and are highly educated but offend the inter-religious affairs.
The next question asked to me was, how would they adjust with each of their religious views, rituals, traditions, etc.? I feel that if we have a positive attitude throughout our lives, we can enjoy both the religions, experience and understand the beliefs and respect both the religions. I love being a Brahmin and Hinduism, but there's always been a hidden enthusiasm of visiting a mosque. I am not expressing it because I have raised this issue, but it's true! Many, might have this feeling.
Later, why did the girl chose a Muslim person to love? Are all the Brahmins in this world dead? Was asked. How can someone decide whom to love? I said. Some people do try it, but it's usually known as infatuation. Loving someone on their looks and style is kind of a contract of one year, as science has proven that infatuation lasts no more than a year, its due to some 'chemical locha'. In the case of my friends, they haven't actually had an affair, she's saying no and he's not empowering him on her, but both of them know they're made for each other. If it was an infatuation, it wouldn't last for 4 years.
I do not agree with the character of that girl, was told to me! I was outraged by that supposition. Is she bad because she cared for her parents? Is it because she didn't want to go against her parents' wishes? Or, is it because she didn't flirt with him, in spite of the uncertainty of their relationship? The other things, like wearing a short skirt, exposing outfits or huge makeup, were also not applicable to her. So, in which angle should the girl be perceived as bad?
I am with them no matter what. It's the problem of love and not religion. According to me, these are never ending questions. Although, in Hinduism and Islam, the first man and woman were different in their respective religion, practically speaking, I am thankful that this belief system emerged far later after the first man and woman, or else human race won't exist.
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