Sex Flies and Videotapes

I have recently moved into a new house from the one which was my home for the last 6 years. I did not 'feel' much about the move nor do I miss the place much. But I do miss someone.. cockroaches. I had written about them quite a few times before, but rarely in a fond tone. In hindsight, I wasn't perhaps spot on with my analyses always!

FLIES: I am no expert on cockroaches. But if sharing a living space with a few dozen of them for a few years can be construed as expertise-by-virtue-of-observation, then I think I am qualified to say a few things about them. After all these are creatures that repeatedly reminded me that I am not alone in here (in addition to the bank guys who call every time I miss an EMI) at times through display of camaraderie of the extreme kind - like getting on top of me at the weirdest hours of the night. I have seen the birth and death of generations of them in the last few years. Only at times of extreme annoyance that I have resorted to harm them in any way, squashing a few in rage using whatever that comes handy.

SEX: I say roaches have a healthy social behavior, especially if you observe them during those days of courtship and mating. They come out in huge numbers from hiding, making me feel like I am an alien inhabiting a planet of the roaches. I have even suspected at times that the congregation is hatching malicious plans to kill and eat me. This was in the early days when I mistook their elaborate matchmaking ceremonies as preparation for war. Only when, weeks later, I noticed offsprings running around from under every fallen object on the floor, that I realized the significance and magnanimity of those gatherings. From then on I made it a point to give them a wide berth during those nights, by shifting my bed to the other room; and they were understanding enough to restrict their amorous excursions outside of it. I started respecting roaches as a species.

Pluto, my neighbor's cat, also took a while before turning into an ardent roach admirer. He used to torment them by running them over or scratching them out of their hiding places, stopping just short of having them for snack. But then he realized the power of roaches as a species during the 2010 Worldcup Football tournament, when they predicted the outcome of every match as accurately as Paul the Octopus. Much more amazing was his hypothesis of them using Collective Intelligence. Pluto is now the Al Gore of the Roach planet, crusading for honor and glory of the roaches. I have to admit I have much awe and respect for the species after this incident. Yes I do miss the roaches!

VIDEOTAPES: Oh, I just included that in the title for the effect!

My Experiences with Ruth - 2

Ruth: Raindrops and roses and whiskers of kittens...

Me: Aahaa!

Ruth: Bright colored kettles and warm woolen mittens..
Me: Wow!

Ruth: Brown paper packages tied up with strings..
Me: mmm...

Ruth: These are a few of my favorite things.. What do you like?
Me: Egg Fried Rice

The End!

Fast Forward !

At the drop of a hat every Johnny is turning to satyagraha or fast unto death these days, the so called non-violent ways of getting things done. It is said that everything is fair in war and love, but then some wars are outright pointless because of the silly reasons and some fights are ridiculous due to the methods employed. Not much different is the case with these new age Johnnies who quote Gandhi and resort to shameless acts like these. For them non-violence is restricted to not raising arms and spilling blood. The thought that emotional blackmailing is perhaps the cheapest of violent tricks doesn't occur to them.

In a democratic setup or even in any other sensible political system, if you have a difference in opinion with the way things are done, you sit down, talk about it and make changes as required. An alternate view point does not give you the right to hold the government at ransom with emotional blackmailing. Taking out a demonstration to get attention of the machinery in an attempt to get an audience is understandable. But resorting to fasts unto death to get things done according to an individual's agenda is lunacy; especially when the requests are as noble and constructive as declaring 'Mosquito' the national bird. Gimmicks like these of-course gets them an undue advantage over the opposition who is forced to bend over seeing the clout of the fasting leader.

Anybody with some fan following feel these days that they can start an agitation and get any of their whims and fancies made the law of the nation. For some this has become a habit. Due to fear of vandalism from supporters of these thugs, even governments refuse to take a tough stand... after all they too dream of coming back to power after the elections. The unfortunate thing is that every other Joe with a perverted political ideology or who swears by God has a decent fan following these days. Even shit attracts flies! Media-support for someone who fasts for the good of common man, but flies to the place in a chartered plane beats me. They fast for new states, they fast for abolition of currency notes and now what?

Then there are a few other rats who cunningly take mileage out of these situations. These are the local politicians and wannabe-gurus who come up with posters supporting the campaigns, pasting their pictures alongside the campaign spearheads. This is probably the only legit way for most of them to ride the wave and get some publicity. Most of the people I talked to had a favorable opinion towards the recent fasts against corruption, understandably so. Nobody is excited enough to check out what precisely are these protesting leaders talking about issues like corruption. They just assume that it should all be benign. And why blame them, who in their right mind would think that abolishing currency notes is the best way to prevent corruption!

Meetings & Creativity !

Who said meetings are a waste of time?
Not when you have a piece of paper and pen around!

"When I was walking up the stairs
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there even today
I wish.. I wish he go away"

My Experiences with Ruth - 1

So we walk up to this place and sit down to eat.
I try to make meaningful conversation.
And meaningful it turned out to be!

Ruth: Are you alright sweetheart?
Me: I think so, pumpkin.
(yes.. pumpkin, the most romantic of all fruits!)

Ruth: Making others happy makes me happy.
Me: Fried chicken makes me happy.
(so thoughtful and profound..)

Ruth: I don't get sleep when I am either too sad or too happy.
Me: I don't get sleep when it's too hot or when there are mosquitoes.
(she quivers a bit, but sits through the dinner)

Moral of the story - My brain and mouth cannot work sensibly at the same time.

Roaches in Arms !

It was around midnight that I felt this tingling sensation on my neck. Though I wished this was one of those beautiful young ladies from the dream I was having, soon I realized it felt more like a cockroach making his way over my body. Unlike ants, who take a turn or go around, roaches just walk across, even if its along your open mouth. I started getting the same tingling sensation around my left foot as well, and it didn't feel good. I threw the blanket aside, stood up and switched on the light. I was startled to see at least 15 roaches all around the room.

I knew roaches lived in the house, and a lone crusader running from under the pile of dirty clothes was never a nuisance for me. But seeing so many of them around my bed was quite a different feeling. Their demeanor - lazing around without the slightest regard for a superior species (arguably)- was irritating. So I picked up the weapon of mass destruction (my slippers) and unleashed the fury over them. In a matter of minutes I was piling up dead roaches in one corner of the room. It took a full five minutes after this for me to realize that they didn't even try to run away as I approached menacingly with the slipper in my hand. Now that was perplexing! I am no expert on the social behavior of arthropods, but the fact that so many of them came out of their hiding places only to succumb peacefully to my blows was beyond commonsense.

Anyway, I went back to bed, this time snuggling a little more into the comfort of the blanket. But in a matter of minutes I could hear the creepy crawlies running over me once again. Now, this is serious business, and I got up once again to find another 10 odd live roaches in the room. I wasted no time in meting out the same treatment to this battalion as well. Somehow I got a feeling that this war is far from over and I decided to play a little game. I switched off the lights and waited quietly in the bathroom. While waiting for the guerrilla warriors to present themselves I started thinking of this unusual phenomenon. I had never witnessed anything like this in the last 5 years I've been staying at this house. Was this some kind of a roach ritual or ceremony that I accidentally gatecrashed into?

Were they trying to eat me alive? I had held roaches in high regard so far. Though I have written about them a few times here, it was always in good humor and with pure intentions. Even though Pluto had warned me once about their collective intelligence, I never suspected that they would hatch such a plan to attack me; even during the worst famine. I have heard of weird animal behavior prior to natural calamities like earthquakes, floods and volcanic explosions. Considering the recent earthquakes in Japan and Indonesia, even this came up as a reasonable possibility. Both the hypotheses were equally terrifying! I eagerly listened for any corroborating evidence from the dogs in the neighborhood; but they were all unusually quiet that night. It is highly unlikely that only the roaches got warned and not the dogs; and that did calm my nerves to a large extend.

Or is it that they came to know about the rebel uprisings in Egypt and Syria and are trying to pull one against me? For them I might be this giant who cohabits their territory? Putting an end to the uncontrolled wanderings of my mind, I switched on the lights and found another 5-6 roaches around the bed. There were a few in the kitchen as well. In short, I had about 35 kills by the time I finally got back to bed that night. I am sure this should be a record of sorts for one night! Fortunately the roach army receded for the night, probably to recoup and organize another attack some other day. I slept like a baby for the rest of the night though in my dreams I saw monster roaches attacking me with their gigantic mandibles; trying to push me off some cliff as I ran for my life.

Fortunately there wasn't any sign of roaches by the time I woke up in the morning. But I had anyway decided to launch a counter attack, once I replenish my arsenal with some anti-roach missile sprays and bombs. If what they want is a war, I will give them one. And as I do not have any oil reserves I am sure the US will not poke their noses in this 'civil unrest' (even though we are talking about American cockroaches, 'Periplaneta americana').

Victory will surely be mine!

Dop-a-minded !

My parents always had this doubt about us kids. How come all the four kids, of devoted Christian parents, raised in reasonable religious awareness, turned out to be skeptics who question the highhandedness of religion on a regular basis. All attempts to show this as a 'healthy' and 'normal' behavior had so far been as successful as the India-Pakistan agreement on Kashmir.

But now, looks like I have identified the culprit. After all, what we need is a sacrificial lamb to blame everything on, and then crucify it to let us off the hook. Our villain in this case is a chemical called Dopamine (no relation to 'dope' or 'wine' what so ever!). The story starts with the not so recent discovery that interpretation of causality has a biological foundation. So if you are one of those who believe the recent earthquakes in Japan and Newzealand are signs of end times fast approaching, you cannot really be blamed! The blame should go to those little strands of polypeptides inside you, which increase your propensity to believe in 'seemingly interesting & rewarding' ideas like religion.

Lack of Dopamine in the left hemisphere of the brain, among right-handers, can bring down the authority of belief systems. This makes them more vulnerable to pattern recognition, separating the casual coincidences from the so called 'miracles'. So this should possibly be our guy. All our transgressions into the unquestionable territory of religion is perhaps the result of Dopamine deficiency. But the question is how can we blame something for the consequence of its absence?

Ahem! Any answer suffixed by a why is a new beast.

Paranoia

No, I did not pick up writing to make fun of other people, as I don't have anything write-worthy happening in my own life. I actually started it as a time killing alternative during the school internal exams which then became kind of a compulsive disorder. I know it is not proper to laugh at your friends or neighbours, let alone write about them. But this one time I have to do exactly that... who knows I might stop right after this.

Let us call this dude Gumaltti, a fine young man except for the high levels of Paranoia he proudly carries around. I'll let him describe it for you.. "Don't laugh, I will be ready and prepared when the shit comes down, while you will be just wondering what hit you". As that reference of 'you' in the quote is me, you might be concluding I have gone nuts in making fun of such a fine piece of advise. I rather let you take the call by the end of this post.

Gumaltti has a top of the line laptop with him, but has no Flash or Active X installed in it. I first thought he is some Steve Jobs fan who followed the master's advice not to have Flash. But the real reason is that some friend once told Gumaltti that all the malicious stuff on the internet gets into the personal computers through these two horrible plug ins! So from that day Gumaltti is living without Flash or Active X. Unable to handle this wisdom, I asked him 'So, how will you view something that has a Flash component?'. Phat came the reply 'I will go to an Internet Cafe. I don't want to take chances with my laptop'.

Last weekend I found Gumaltti in a particularly disturbed mood. I saw him walking back and forth his bike a few times in the afternoon and I couldn't resist asking. Then he told that somebody's bike got stolen from the neighborhood a few weeks back. But I couldn't connect the incident with his restlessness. The connecting story goes something like this. Gumaltti gave his bike for servicing at some garage and the mechanic's assistant took it for a test ride after the job. According to Gumaltti, such a test ride should take just a few minutes, but this lad came back only after 17 minutes. Gumaltti suspects that this boy at the garage would have made a duplicate key for the bike, which he might use at some later point of time to lift the bike! As I stood there with my mouth wide open, he got into the details on why his guess is not a mere 'guess'.

1. While the lad was getting late, Gumaltti asked the garage owner for the boy's mobile phone number and the owner refused. So these two must be partners in crime!

2. The boy at the garage must be working for pretty low wages and the only way he can make more money is by joining hands with the vehicle stealing gang. Now we have the motive!

3. There were newspaper reports about gangs which operate in this manner; the mechanic-keymaker-vehicle thief nexus. What more evidence you need to corroborate?

I don't argue with Gumaltti most of the times because a few times I did I was called careless and stupid. But looks like Paranoia is not an aberration, but the norm these days. How else will you explain the existence of firms selling 'Key-chain-radiation-detector', a must-own for every one, just in case the neighborhood gets nuked and you got to figure out an escape route? Or those who sell bio-survival-kits with storable food, seed packets and a make-your-own-fuel apparatus, that helps you survive possible biological or chemical weapon attacks in the future?

We look forward to the future or just live the todays in fear of the uncertain tomorrows? Or perhaps I am just being careless and mumbling about the ones who are not.

Saints n Sinners

The church premises was unusually crowded this evening. But then I remembered its Thursday, the special day the patron saint of the church listens to matchmaking requests from the sinners. So lads from across the town and neighboring asylums travel to the church with handful of candles and garlands. I am not sure whether the garlands signify a wreathe on personal freedom or the candles represent the willingness to melt away under the asks and hypocrisies of paired life. Anyway the point is not to show marriage under bad light, but to think loud on this Tuesdays-for-saint-Walnut, Wednesdays-for-saint-Coconut business.

First it was the division of labor "..as Mr. Walnut has been declared a saint today, he will take over from St. Coconut the growing-hair-on-bald-heads department. Henceforth all hairy requests..." That is understandable, how many prayers are godly possible for the Trinity and mother Mary to handle a day, especially in these days when the sinners are choosy on ala carte orders, like the Kardashian butt, Katie Price boobies, Natalie Portman smile all fitted into a 1945 Marilyn Monroe chassis? So it makes super sense to assign St. George to handle the reptiles and horses, considering his knowledge in horse riding and dragon slaying. But experience is not the sole criteria here I suppose, as we are talking more about curing headaches and not coaching the football team. Knowing that Dispirin is for headache while Aspirin is good for hangovers is good enough for most of the situations. And what matters most I think is the magical powers, which you anyway get like an honorary Doctorate by virtue of sainthood.

So, while delegation makes sense in a world of increased purchasing power, population and demanding customers, I am still not convinced about the special-day concept. Imagine this note on the heaven's notice board "St.Walnut is busy playing pool at the club, with St. Jobless and St. Anabelle on Mondays,Tuesdays and Thursdays. So he will not be available for consultations on Belching-and-Burping these days. Sinners are requested to try St. Jinglebell in case of Emergencies". After all, all work and no play will make Walnut a dull saint.

Unlike here on Earth, looks like Saturday is not holiday out there in heaven, there are quite a lot of saints available for consultation that day. This is perhaps part of the sinner-friendly policy of the heavens... letting us submit the requests en-masse on one of the holidays. Why else is Sunday the holiestest day of all? Followers of Satan might argue that it is to keep us away from the television sets, which broadcast blasphemous shows like Mythbusters and Attenborough on Evolution. We all know that The Simpsons (after the Vatican declared that they are a catholic family), any David Blaine show (he is now an official member of the 'Super Best Friends' after he defeated Jesus in that episode of Southpark) and concerts by 'Lamb of God' are the only sensible programs on TV these days.

Whatever be the truth in the above argument, I personally feel Sunday services are 'stimulating' and hence have definitely contributed to the increase in population. (No, I am not talking about folks who take seriously the Pastor's argument 'more children more stability' and do the needful). Someone once told that grief and remorse are the perfect aphrodisiacs. If that is true, after an hour of rituals and sermon, which in English translates to how big a sinner you are, and a whole day ahead with nothing substantial to do, you can imagine what couples might get creative at. Hallelujah!

We should try arranging Sunday masses to the African mammals whose population is fast dwindling (somebody from NatGeo or Animal Planet pokes their camera right in, every time a couple gets in the mood, so how the hell will the population increase!) Religion seems to me a great alternative in increasing their population and getting the 'Endangered Species' out of the Red Book. But the challenge would be in finding out a suitable story to make them feel bad about. Stealing apples .. you kidding?

Coming back to the point, most of us eagerly wait for the Friday to go to St. Bologna's church and request the death of our boss under a garbage truck, even at the risk of getting stampeded to death by the crowd. Like wilder-beast migration across the Serengity, everyone from far and around flocks around St. Bologna on Fridays with a death wish on their lips. I see the logic now... someone will definitely be dead on the spot at the end of the mad rush, or definitely later due to injuries sustained during the process... and some Dany Sinner's wish will thus be granted. It is in fact much simpler logic in case of the Dudes and the Dames who come looking for partners.. where else do you get all of them at one place to pick and choose from! The discos are a distant second option I say!

So who ever came up with this Designated-Days concept wasn't after all a fool..eh?

Ask and ye shall receive.. for real !

The men folk have long been accused of their inability/reluctance in asking for directions even when they are lost in the middle of nowhere. Jesus Christ himself once said 'Ask and ye shall receive', after he got lost in Jerusalem. This phenomenon has been nicknamed Ego, Arrogance, Stupidity and Irreverence-to-Information by Huang Sang, Plato, Hippopotamus, Virginia Wolf, Victoria Beckham and the like. Though it is advisable to ask, asking is not enough at times, as a friend of mine recently found out.

Both of us wanted to go for this fusion concert organized by Indian Council for Cultural Relations(ICCR) at the Gallery of Modern Art in Bangalore. It was mentioned in the press release that passes had to be collected from ICCR in advance. Already having an experience without passes a week ago, I did not want to take chances this time. My friend agreed to do the honors as he had to go that side of the town to pick up a few things in the morning. So as suggested by his holiness the omnicient Sri Sri Google, he went in search of ICCR @ #1, 12th Main, vasanth Nagar. Fortunately he stopped his bike right in front of building#4, 12th main... not a bad start. The building next to #4 had an address board saying #3, but to his amazement the next building was #32. He could find #2, #5 and #7 but no #1, even after checking the name plates of a dozen other buildings. It was at this moment that he decided to go against the time-tested, evolution-nurtured instincts of his, and ask an elderly lady about building #1.

'I don't know about the building numbers, but what is that you are looking for', she asked.
'ICCR - Indian Council for Cultural Relations', he said.
'Ohhh ICCR.. you should have told me that. It is the third building from the other end', she said with a smile.

Thanking her for the tip he rode towards the said building. What the old lady said was true, ICCR used to be there, but not any more! The security guard for the building had no clue where they moved to. Unable to continue the search, my friend decided to let the old lady know about this before heading back home. She was shocked to hear that ICCR is no more there. She lived on the same street and was unable to accept the fact that things changed next block without her knowledge! But then she wasn't the 'giving-up' kinds. She insisted that my friend wait till the postman comes for his daily rounds, and find out from him what happened. She ordered one of her acquaintances for a chair and a cup of tea for my friend.

So in the next half an hour he got a quick download of her family history, a short lesson on pickling lemon and a lecture-demonstration on art forms of the pre-Rock era. Fortunately the postman came on time, just before my friend got a PhD on 'continuing erosion of value systems in modern society'. The postman announced to the lady's further disappointment that ICCR had shifted from there about an year back. She started apologizing profusely for giving the wrong and outdated information, but was glad that my friend stayed long enough to get the correct directions from the postman. My friend was happy too and he set out to collect the tickets finally. But the new location suggested by the postman was weirder than the first two. This place didn't even have a building.. just a few pits dug out for some construction and a pile of garbage!

As he stood there cursing his luck, the security guard from the nearby building came forward and expressed his desire to help. Fed up with all the help received so far, my friend just said ICCR.

'ICCR used to be here, now they have moved and the building has been demolished for reconstruction', said the guard. ICCR suddenly started sounding like a folk story, an urban legend which doesn't really exists. Everybody's heard about it, but nobody really knows where it is!
'Any idea where they have moved?', asked my eternally optimistic friend.
'They had a board somewhere here with the new address, let me see', he walked towards one of the pits, scolding the person in-charge of the site for not putting up the board outside.

From a pile of metal sheets and iron rods, he finally pulled out a board which read 'ICCR' on the top. Underneath the name it was written on a pasted piece of paper: 'We have moved to 1st Floor, 2nd Main, Palace Road'.
'First floor? But where the f**k is the building number', my friend almost shouted. All this time all he had was a building number, and now when he finally got other details the building number is missing. He had enough for one day!

So, without tickets, we decided to test our luck and walked into NGMA that evening. The whole place was deserted and the band 'Esperanto' was already on with their sound check. They had an interesting sound, a blend of Rudra Veena, Violin, Blues Harp, Acoustic & Electric Guitars, Tabala & Mridangam. As always the music did not disappoint. The acoustic guitarist also doubled up as the vocalist; wish he had stuck to his strings and not strained his chords. That was in fact the only pain point the whole evening. We were hardly 30 people in the 80 seater auditorium.. probably the others also searched around for ICCR and the tickets, but gave up.

Ask and ye shall receive, but only if you hang on long enough... and be prepared for a few surprises as well!

Resolutions & Delusions !

Its resolution time again. As I had successfully broken last year's resolutions they were nowhere to be found. Having lost the option of updating the list I wanted them to be actionable and measurable this year. So I decided not to have things like 'Contribute to world peace' and 'campaign for saving cockroaches' from the list. The idea of accountability is a result of the bad company I keep - the clients I interact during work, who root for objectivity and quantitative measurements.

The primary resolution for this year is to eat something other than Poori for breakfast. I have been eating poori every day for the past 6 months or so, except on Sundays and Public holidays when the shop is closed. This is in fact the only remaining link I have with discipline and consistency, after I stopped ritualistic whining a few years ago. But to hell with discipline, I have to get more creative with breakfast. How am I going to keep my eyes off the tasty pooris on display at the shop is the only challenge... probably I have to give standing orders for breakfast delivery at office.

I want to travel, travel more. I have been trekking the Himalayas once every year and now wants to do it twice this year and three times the next and so on progressively. Apart from the joy of crapping in the snow (and of course the mountains) there is also some strategic planning involved in this decision. I am sure they will kick me out of work when I request for five 15 days vacations few years from now, and that is exactly what I am planning to do. I have plans to quit 'work as I know it' and go farming in another 6-7 years. 'Got kicked out of office' is a more explainable excuse in such a situation... like 'cannot drive due to Ataxia' is a more acceptable explanation for not owning a vehicle than 'I do not need a vehicle'.

Mend those relationships broken a few years ago when I focused all my attention on this one individual. I thought the only road to Rome is via Afghanistan and had burned the other route maps. I am a late learner and it took me a while to realize not to make those your priority, for whom you are just an option! The learning was relatively quick considering the fact that I learned the virtues of brushing-teeth-twice-a-day almost after 28 years. That too after the doctor pulled out two of my molars for being 'beyond repair'. what to do, I am big on visual confirmations and convictions. I think all bridges can be repaired as long as there is water flowing underneath it.

Nothing more, nothing less.. its just a three point agenda. Now I only need to wait and see how soon I break these ones and they all end up as mere delusions.

On a different note, saw this posting on a cricket discussion forum - Got to disagree with Mathew Hayden when he said 'I have seen god, he bats at No: 4 for India'. for what has god done to be called Sachin ??. It is perhaps time for the master blaster to change his name to 'Ton'dulker!

Lost in Transit !

Its official now. I have lost one of my senses. Which one is the only question. As I am able to read as I write this, and listen to the cling-clang from the neighbor's kitchen as they make chicken, I assume my eyes, ears and nose are pretty much in working condition. I can also feel the chill in the December air and can still talk to animals. So that pretty much covers most of my senses and super powers, except for the most important one. I now have a strong feeling that I have lost my common sense, probably it finally gave up the will to live with me. This abrupt realization is the result of another eventful travel.

I was under the impression that my tough luck with travel has finally run out. I had an almost incident-free trip to Badami couple of weeks back, barring the cockroach-crawling-into-mouth-during-sleep bit. So I was looking forward to this weekend's travel. It did start on a good note - the seats were comfortable than I expected, the bus started moving just 45 minutes after the scheduled time, the driver announced that we will not stop for dinner to compensate the lost time and so on. With the air conditioner in action on an already cool December night, I prayed to Hermes and called on sleep to tide over hunger and cold. But my peaceful sleep was pretty short lived as I woke up to some loud noises.

While I was asleep, it so happened that some gentleman had asked the driver to turn off the AC as he was suffering from severe cold (so much so that his co-passengers did complain a few times about his non-stop sneezing). This in turn irritated a bunch of others seated towards the rear of the bus. As I slowly got hold of the situation, the guy sitting next to me stood up and shouted "Please switch on the AC, people are dying here!". I looked around and not seeing any dead people, finally at this soon-to-be-late gentleman with horror. He was quite a conglomerate of flesh (Visualize Mike Tyson with an ugly face); who can easily survive at least a couple of months without breathing. He claimed that he was feeling claustrophobic and breathless as the AC is switched off. Soon he earned a few supporters who shouted 'aye aye' from the back and I even heard a whistle.

The two foreigners sitting across got up from hibernation and looked at each other, not knowing what the commotion is all about. As the hue and cry for bringing back the air conditioner gained momentum, the gentleman with the cold made an entry with a powerful sneeze. He tried to explain how the AC vent which is directly above his head made him sneeze every other second. As if waiting for a gap, Tyson shrieked "How can 50 people sit inside the bus without any air circulation? If you have issues with the seat, come and sit somewhere in the back". But soon the driver interfered and agreed to adjust the AC to the comfort of both sides. This was the third time my sleep was disturbed - the other two times Tyson wanted to go pee and pull out his Pink iPod from the bag. I had almost made up my mind to punch him on his face.

To be honest, I never felt any suffocation, except when disturbed in sleep. I never even thought till that minute that I am perhaps inhaling the air that was exhaled by some of my co-passengers. I wasn't terrified by the thought that all the Oxygen in the air will soon be used up by the passengers and we all then die of Carbon Dioxide poisoning. There should be something wrong with me.. right? It has to be the common sense, the sense that I lost in transit.

The fun is that people got carried away with their arguments thinking they all reach their destinations before daybreak and can escape without seeing each others' faces in the light. But by a strange stroke of luck, the bus got delayed by 6 hours and the warring parties had to sit across the same table for breakfast and lunch! Not to mention, we all parted as good friends. Tyson even called and wished me on X'mas day!

Conversations with Pluto - Felis Do'mystica'

'What is that fluffy thing outside your door?', Pluto almost barked at me while trying hard to control his breath. Pluto is my neighbor's cat who spends most of his time at my place. He was visibly disturbed.

'It is no 'fluffy thing', it is a dog'

'Oh.. thank you for the info. Who put it there?'

'Nobody put it there. It just came the other day and put itself out there'. The poor dog had walked in to escape the rain and then found my doormat quite comfortable to leave.

'Then, you should throw it out. It is creating issues in my safe transit between places'.
'Let the poor thing be there. She won't bite you', I said.
'Oh my goodness. You never told me its a 'she', Pluto's eyes lit up like a bulb.
'So what?, what difference it is going to make?'

'You have no idea. Soon this place will be full of puppies'
Come on! You are being too paranoid'
'Why do you think they are called Canis 'Family'aris?

Without giving me a moment to understand the pun, he continued 'And puppies, they stink!'
'No, they don't'
'At least their poop does'
'Whatever'

'We should perhaps call her Boo'
'That is so mean'
'Not the Boo in Hindi; Boo as in 'Me and you and the dog named Boo..'
'Wow! Never knew you are a Lobo fan'

'You don't know anything about me dude. Cats are always mysterious. That is why we are called Felis Do'mystica', he said with a wink.

Amen!

PS: Our conversations on Free will and Predicting Future and the Paunch.

Pop stories !

I happened to hear two Pop and Son stories the past week. They weren't really funny, but interesting.

One story is about a Dad, who during one of those knowledge transfer sessions advised sonny boy to keep his tail folded nicely between his legs, tightly wrapped around and protecting the balls, instead of keeping it upright at the face of the world. He wanted the son to take the shortest routes in life than shooting for the longer but cleaner ones. He probably did not want to see his beloved son being stoned by the angry majority as he makes his sermon from the mount, against the so called absurdities of the world. I would have understood the intentions of such an advice if given to some bad ass who joined Greenpeace or campaigned for world peace. But all that he ever did in life was questioning some priests. And anyone who has ever walked into a place of worship, except to escape the rain, would understand this behavior.

I am not sure it is the right thing to sit back and blame the generation for its Lady Gaga culture and not provide real support when it matters.

And there is this other story where the son begs the father to come and stay with him, only to take care of the new addition to the family. The son is annoyed that his parents devoted two years raising his sister's kid, but refused to volunteer for the same profile when it was his turn. Pretty logical..eh? Can't blame him for thinking that he could use the experience they had in raising a bum like him. So he had an argument on the need of him getting his share of their time, while he and his wife could go about making some more money.

Who am I to pass comments on other people's lives anyway!

Conversations with Pluto - The Paunch

"Ever noticed that all the so called happy characters have huge paunches, while our idea of health and well-being is still about six packs and flat stomachs?", asked Pluto as we were enjoying a much deserved siesta after a sumptuous lunch that Sunday afternoon. Pluto is my neighbor's cat who spends most of his time at my place.

I did not give much attention to his rant as the wine in the 'Fish Wine-daloo' we prepared had just kicked in. I thought some chick would have passed a comment on his prosperous belly for which he is cooking up some excuse now. Moreover I generally stay away from any discussion where I am on the losing side. But he was in no mood to let go the argument.

'Take the case of Santa Claus, Laughing Buddha, lord Ganesha, Garfield or Obelix', said Pluto.

'What about them', I asked.

'There was a time when paunch was considered a sign of prosperity and happiness, and not a symptom of gastronomic problems or addiction to beer. That was when Websters had a single entry on stomach, and the definition was devoid of internationally accepted, UN approved measurements for the same'

Without waiting for my reaction he continued.. 'Like the Model T, they used to come in just one size and type- the 'stomach'. Outlandish terms like Pot belly, Beer belly, Apple belly, Pear belly, Pork belly and Muffin top were not part of the language then'

'Ahem! So, what is the point', I asked again.

Now that he got my attention, he stood up and slowly unraveled his theory. 'Eating to heart's content was not a crime those days and its consequence was thus considered benign. The only rules applicable to consumption of food were - Eat when you can, Eat all you can. Convenience, availability & ability to digest were the only considerations. What to eat, when to eat and how much to eat were all rules brought in later by authors of religious texts like Bible, whose idea of a full meal was dividing five breads and two fishes between 5000 people.'

'Thus came the idea of over-eating and ugly-paunch', he concluded.

'So you mean to say that all this hoopla about abdominal obesity is just lunacy?' I wasn't ready to take his argument lying down. I got up and leaned my body against the wall.

'Precisely', said Pluto. 'If nature wanted us to have flat stomachs it would have created us that way. After inhaling all this nourishing air day and night, all this while, if our nose can stay pretty much in shape, then it definitely isn't a mistake that the stomach is growing in size'

'Wonderful. So if I translate your rant into plain English, the claim that central obesity is associated with a higher risk of heart disease is just eye wash...eh?'

'You got it! I don't remember reading about Obelix or Santa Claus dying of heart failure. Do you? Is it that they did not have hearts after all?' He chuckled.

'Aha! Then there are no side effects of having a pork belly. Is that what you suggest?'

'No.. no.. Of course there are side effects. There is reason to believe that a prominent paunch can hamper normal sex life', He said with a wink.

'Now how do you arrive at that? Because Obelix & Santa Claus doesn't feature in Masters & Johnson?'

'Oohoho.. it is much simpler dude. Tell me the name of Santa Claus' daughter.. or Obelix's son?'

'They didn't have kids', I said.

'Now, that's the point!', I could see his stomach making waves as Pluto laughed away to glory.


PS: Our conversations on Free will and Predicting Future.

4 reasons to watch the 1st half of Enthiran !

Let me make myself clear, I am not suggesting that you should watch just the first half of Enthiran. It is that I cannot comment on the second half as I was forcibly removed from the theater a short while after the interval. Couple of my friends told that I did deserve every bit of that treatment, though they had a difference in opinion about the exact reason. While one attributed it to the excessive sound of my snoring, the other placed it one degree higher - the arrogance and utter irreverence of sleeping through a movie of his Rajniness.

I know that I am kind of late to come up with a review on Enthiran. Grady Hendrix has already written much about the awesomeness of the miracle birth, mysterious evolution and elevation to fame of Rajnikanth. In a momentary lapse of consciousness induced by jet-lag, India Today editor Aroon Purie also shamelessly reused a part of the Grady article in an edition of the magazine dedicated to the superstar from 'Tamilnadu, a south Indian state'. I also understand that I am trying to comprehend something which is beyond my grasp, like trying to explain what prompts a dog to lift its leg every time it sees a telephone pole. But anyway, let me add my two cents to what has already been said about his Rajniness.

The Double Role
We all know that no one character can completely accommodate all the acting power of Rajnikant. You cannot let the same character be a Rocket scientist and a rock band guitarist, right? Effectively that prevents his Rajniness from showing off his mathematical and riffing abilities in the same movie. He needs a range of different characters to express his talent properly and that is where Enthiran has at least tried to do some justice. By acting as the villain and the hero, his Rajniness has showcased the two contrasting extremes of his acting repertoire here. Don't think it is easy to wear a wig and act loony one moment and then switch to a funny robotic attire and blast cars the very next!

It's a name changer
Rajni movies are always game changers. While some idiotic movie makers spend years writing the script and scouting for shooting locations, the wise ones down south just rope in his Rajniness and think of the story during post production. But this time the movie is not just a game changer, but a name changer. I just heard that the Peruvian government is planning to officially change the name of Machu Pichu to Kilimanjaro. That is the only option available, as their tourism department now receives an average 300K inquiries a week about the right time to visit Kilimanjaro. That is the power of his Rajniness.. he shot a song titled 'Kilimanjaro' in front of Machu Pichu and half the world now thinks it is Kilimanjaro. I personally think it is a good move by the Peruvian government, as his Rajniness CAN (and only he can) hold an apple and say it is a pig, almost immediately ratifying the old Greek belief that pigs are grown on trees. I always had this suspicion that he is the one behind the Madras-Chennai, Bombay-Mumbai name changes!

The Science
There are so many hypotheses floating around in the academic and scientific circles about the awesomeness of Rajnikant. Though most people (except for the Japanese) think that Rajni movies are all about idiotic and impossible stunts, I personally think Rajni is probably the very proof of time travel, wormholes, multiple universes and the Grand Unification theory wrapped into one. They say two dimensions or universes only differ by the outcome of a quantum event. So if a quantum event has a particular outcome in our universe, some other universe would have had the opposite outcome as well! So for all those logic defying acts, all Rajnikant needs to do is to travel between the different universes and guide the desirable outcome to our own. I bet he uses time-travel to accomplish this feat, through wormholes between the dimensions. And to do something of this magnitude, you wouldn't argue if I say that Rajnikant needs absolute control over the electric, weak & strong forces of Nature. In short his Rajniness IS that what unifies all the forces of nature - proof of the Grand Unification Theory people like Einstein were searching for ages.

His Rajniness
I for one never underestimated his Rajniness. But if you really want to get sloshed by it, watch 'The Expendables' before the Eindhran experience. Both the movies got a sexagenarian acting as the protagonist. While Sylvester Rambo Stallone looks like carrying a glued-together, botox-filled face on his shoulders, his Rajniness shines like the sun with his wrinkle-free, pimple-less face. I could even see the reflection of Aishwarya Rai on his face whenever she came close to him. What do you mean 'Its all makeup'? It wasn't available in the Holy-woods for Mr. stallone or what? And with all the muscles and inflated body, Mr. Rambo could handle only a Noveske N4 in The Expendables, while his Rajniness was celebrating an early Diwali with half a dozen Bazookas in Eindhran, that too with his left hand.

So the final score,: His Rajniness - 2, John Rambo - 0.
Do I need to say more?

Pre Marriage Flux

My mom's been cross with me for quite some time for not agreeing to get married. According to her I have already past prime, and as my grandmother says 'at your age, your grand father and me had 3 kids!'. Somehow I had managed to stay away from this debate till now, saying I don't want to get married just because I am getting old. I should have a better reason for doing so than gray hairs, receding headline, number of birthdays and peer pressure. But all hell broke loose after mom learned that her brother has finalized the marriage of my cousin sister; who is six years younger to me! She had enough. She formally conveyed to me that now it is a matter of family pride for her to get at least one of her own, walk the aisle. My argument that marriage is not a competition item was vehemently opposed by tooth and nail and even tears.

Her requirements were also very stringent this time. Just a green flag to the bride search over phone was totally unacceptable. She wanted me to drag my ass home and visit a few prospects she fish out of all the matrimonial websites. In a momentary lapse of consciousness brought about by emotions, I dropped my guard and agreed to visit home over the weekend. This was one moment I underestimated my mom, or more accurately the power of wounded pride. In two days' time she called me back with details on a bunch of prospective brides. I was aghast, to say the least, at the pace at which things were moving, but the best was yet to come. She went ahead and arranged meetings with one of them over the weekend! I had to put on a really elaborate 'sick-and-down' act to prevent this mishap from happening.

I am generally not very comfortable with formal interview sessions. Give me an open field with no restrictions on the topics to brag about, I will look like an evangelist pastor on steroids. But if you make me sit across the table from a few serious looking people, with whom I am supposed to converse in civilized tongue, I act more like a lazy sloth. Most of my job interviews fortunately start with some comment on my name, 'Were your Dad drunk when he named you Disney', or something of that taste. That gives me the necessary upper hand, as I use a set of pre-prepared and well rehearsed dialogues to tell them how I resembled Mickey mouse when the nurse brought me out of the labor room, and so on. But presenting your case of husband-ship, for the kind consideration of a girl is a totally different ballgame. I had hugely underestimated the 'herculianness' of this task. Its no 'Venio Video Vinco' !

I shivered at the thought of such 'Meet the Parents' sessions, based on the experiences of friends and relatives. I even started getting weird dreams for the next few days, all of them featuring me in a courtroom, interrogated by people!

Scene 1: The Bride's Father
'So where do you work?", asked the prospective father-in-law.
'I work for a small company of 12 people', I replied, beaming with pride and expecting some appreciation on my risk taking abilities.
'Only twelve?', he asked in disbelief and I moved forward, stretching my hands to catch his eyeballs as they jump out of the socket.
"So you did not get into Infosys or Wipro", asked the girl's father who was eager to dismiss the case at the earliest.

In God's own country, working for one of the Big Three is an essential requirement to get a girl from a decent family. Infosys, Wipro & TCS are the most frequently used three words in Kerala, after Jesus Christ, fresh fish, Gulf, Bandh and Beverages-Corporation. Any one who doesn't work for these three companies are considered worthless, irrespective of whether they did their education in Law, Geography or Parapsychology.

I tried to explain more about the job and the passion involved, but it all ended up like a soliloquy as he invited me for a cup of coffee. He switched gears swiftly and started talking about the monsoon, and I got the idea!

Scene 2: Miss Congeniality
"So you go to St.Thomas or St.Antony's on Sundays", she asks as if she already knew my Achiles Heel.

I took a minute or two to decide whether to tell her how I wandered around the city to locate the church a week before - to meet a friend after the Sunday's service. Religion and Theology are anyway not my forte, unless the point is to argue against it.

So in a miserable attempt to diffuse the tension and put a humorous twist to the occasion, I told her 'HE might get down from the cross and run out of the church -even forgetting that he is improperly clothed to suit the situation- if I walk into the church'

Her mouth opened wide like the bonnet of a car, perhaps annoyed at my casual way of taking the lord's name! Even though I tried telling her that I prefer St. Patrick's because of the good choir, I could see the disinterest in her smile.

She asked me only one thing after this 'What is the capital of Uzbekistan', for which I did not have an answer.

Clever Advertising ?

"Caution: Wash your hands properly after applying oil on head, to avoid excessive hair growth on your hands". Saw this warning in a print advertisement for an Ayurvedic hair-oil.

Either it is some clever advertising or this one is the real deal! I have never seen such a statement in any other hair-oil advertisements, though it makes super sense to be present in every one of them if they really do what they claim. Or is it that the other ones are precisely engineered to affect only the hair on your head? Quite unlikely.

I know this one statement is no guarantee of the authenticity of the product. But taking it on face value, what if I accidentally apply some oil on my forehead or neck? Now that is scary (hairy?).

Stories from friends !

Some of us friends from college had a get-together the other day. After the initial pleasantries, as expected, everyone started talking about those 'good old days'. How two guys were kicked out for preparing tea in the Chemistry laboratory using a burner and the measuring jar, during one of the Practical sessions. How someone was caught writing sexually explicit poetry in the examination hall,and his explanation for the same - free paper and better utilization of time. How twelve guys from one class participated in the Fashion Contest, wearing the same dress (read 'cloak') made of worn out curtain cloth. How some of the relationships of those days got pushed deep down to the basement of life as we all moved on. Everything looked funny and beautiful as we craned our necks and looked back.

It is ironic that we all wanted to get out of this 'fun place' as early as possible, to grab the opportunities outside. Those days, nirvana was all about getting a job and enjoying life thereafter. We were more like dogs chasing cars.. wanted to chase and conquer life, but hardly had a clue on what to do with life once we get hold of it. Now with secure jobs and considerable 'disposable income' in hand, we felt we were better off in college, chasing dreams. As the booze settled in, discussions moved on to more hilarious topics leaving the dissatisfaction and frustrations alone. Nothing helps getting over own disgusted feelings than finding the same in others around you. No two of us share the same workplace and hence everyone brought a different set of stories to the table. Here are a few.

How do you survive in the courtroom as a relatively new Advocate? A dear friend vouches that non-verbal communication can make or break your case in the courtroom. The following are two of his favorite tricks.

- When the case is going against you, gently tap the left side of your chest, right over the pocket, and plead "Have properly instructed sir!". The actual message conveyed here is 'I have been paid in advance for this case which will forcibly be taken away if the ruling is against my party. So please have mercy'.

- If the first trick doesn't work and the judge denies your motion, try this. Move your right hand from over the pocket and draw concentric circles on your stomach with your stretched palm, saying "But, there is provision my lord". The message conveyed through this seemingly innocent action is something like "It is a matter of daily bread my lord; I am totally dependent on this case's fee for survival."

Now here is a story told by another friend, about the youth wing leader of a political party, who might one day sit on a legislator's chair and rule over you and me.

One day our hero sets out to collect some money for party fund with his entourage. The donor is an elderly Muslim gentleman, who is a local administrator of the 'Non Resident Indians Association'. After accepting the handsome amount, the leader breaks into a well rehearsed monologue, highlighting his commitment towards social service. He then contrasts it with the current generation's disinterest in History and culture. Things were looking good and the Muslim gentleman was quite absorbed by the speech. Then like an unexpected fart, the leader switched topics and remarked, "Looks like that dark patch on your forehead has grown bigger than the last time we met". Before the stunned entourage could stop him, he continued, "I know a skin specialist near my house, if you want I can talk to him".

Before the gentleman could react, the followers somehow managed to drag their leader out of his arm's reach. So much for his interest in history & culture!

Hairy Troubles !

OK, I got a Grey hair or two on my head. My hair is also falling at the rate of a dozen a day. I might get bald pretty soon as well. All these are facts and I know them too. But that doesn't mean that you can just walk up to me and tell this on my face, four times a day like a course of antibiotics. I haven't got a cactus where my heart should be (idea courtesy: The Magnetic Fields) to pretend that I did not hear it all the four times. This is exactly what the guys from the homeopathic clinic,Dr. Batras, been doing for the last couple of weeks. They have been sending four SMSes a day to my mobile phone, as if I am using their phone on rent.

They aren't the only guys who use my phone to expand their business empires. But the insurance companies never tell me that I will die one day and then my family will be begging on the streets if I don't take a policy now. Though Insurance is only as useful as a custom made Maple wood coffin for me, I don't get offended by their advertisements. Ya, once or twice I would have asked some telecalling executive to marry me in return for the policy, but then who wouldn't if they call during the afternoon power-naps. But the Batra's guys are outright irritating with their messages like "Don't ignore hair loss, treat it before it gets too late!".

Baldness is probably one of those incurable conditions like craving for ice-cream and tendency to look at beautiful creatures with long hair and interesting curves (not Yaks). Perhaps there is nothing to cure - baldness is just a natural progression from confusion to clarity, from darkness to light! I thought of looking up the picture of Mr. Batra, expecting to see a bald patch the size of undivided Russia on his head, thereby confirming the cure claim to be some kind of joke. This was not a random act of vengeance, as I know a friend of mine who used to work for Dr. Batra's, who still proudly carries around his reflector head. Though I did not find the Russia I was looking for, I can still argue that Dr. Batra got pretty thin hair for someone who sells the miracle cure.

I feel much better now!