Jab Deep jale…….

The forgetable note which I found lying under my shelf. Actually this used to be posted eariler….anyway enjoy the most exulting and awaiting festival of India(The Land of Festivals…..)

There are few times when life gives you a breather, when you can look back at your life as you walk and drop quietly into an uncovered manhole in the process. For me, these three days away from office have been just that – A time to break away from the comp and mails reflect on the direction my life is heading in (Which, I discovered, may be heading right into a smelly pile of cow dung), and in a rather unusual moment, grab a ‘pooja ki thali’ so hot, my fingers still smolder like the venue of a fresh nuclear test.

And , of course , celebrate Diwali , the biggest festival of North India . It may leave the street dogs terrified. It may make people blow up crackers which cost half the entire GDP of Botswana . It may have burned down Mrs Chopra’s garden , as it did the year before last . But then, an year without Diwali is like a three feet deep bungee jump . Safe but no fun.

You know Diwali is around the corner when all the ladies in the colony arrange themselves in pairs and start discussing how to please the ‘kaamwali’ this year.

A typical conversation between Ma and Mrs Kapoor , our neighbour , a day before Diwali..

Ma:Aapne soch liya ?Kapoor : Main to soch rahee hoon aadhi kilo milkcake aur ek saaree theek rehegi . Kyun ?

Ma:Cotton ?

Kapoor:Haan .

Ma : Ab , aap dekh lo . Pichle saal Mrs Malhotra ne cotton saree dee thee shobha ko ..agle din hee bhaag gayi thee unka bone china collection chori kar ke..

Kapoor : Accha ? ! Chalo theek hai , silk kee le deti hoon ….milkcake to theek rahega na ?

Ma : Haan Haan , fresh hoga na ?

Kapoor : Bilkul ! Shital ke papa personally jaakar laayenge..in maamlo mein I can not take a risk na !

Ma : Bass fir chinta kee baat nahi . Chalo abhi main jaati hoon , pata chale ki Mrs Chopra ne kya diya hai to batana ..

*************

The exchanging of sweets with friends and relatives is another domain which calls upon the recycling resources only a woman can possess- Chaudhri Ji gets the ‘burfi’ given by Jain saab. The kurkure gift pack from Chaudhari’ finds a place in Chauhan Uncle’s house. Dhakad’s are the lucky recipients of ‘something’ we got from the Sharmas – did not open up the pack , so don’t know what. But a logical thinking mechanism is indispensable here.If possible , a diagrammatic representation should be used here. Because one little lapse of concentration can be very hard to accept for the Parmars who ended up getting a ten pack set of Real Juices from us , which they had gifted to the Kumars .

***

Also , firecrackers are an integral part of Diwali . It’s all good , unless your Chachaji’s daughter burns the corner of her skirt during Diwali 2005 and your mother takes it too seriously.

Not withstanding my mother’s views on the world destroying capability of fire crackers , and in a stance very much in conflict with my age ( I was referred to as ‘Navin Uncle’ by the seven year old kid of the Yadavs when they visited us two days back . Saale Yadav , apni aulaad ko control kar !) , I decided to get firecrackers this diwali.

A day before diwali , I walked upto my mother as she stood in the kitchen , and in a tone generally reserved for declaration of independence and such historical moments , declared – “Ma , Iss baar patakhe laaunga.

”Ma- "Chup Reh ! Yaad nahi do saal pehle Ishu ke saath kyun hua tha ! Bechari jal hee gayi thee almost ! Chup Reh !"

Me- "Ma ! Uski skirt ka corner jala tha !

"Ma- "Chup Reh !"Two words which kill off any scope for negotiations, pleading or begging. Especially if they come from a lady who has three types of kitchen knives within her reach. The permission was gained only when I promised to wear one of those inflatable dresses members of bomb defusing squads wear, keep at least four buckets of water placed next to the site , not fire a single rocket which is not perpendicular to the ground and to get married to a girl of her choice.

Note - I have no idea why the second rocket I fired this Diwali changed direction as soon as it left the bottle and zoomed downwards to end it’s eventful journey with a sharp thwack on the windshield on Mr Khosla’s car.. I think Khosla should look at it with a positive outlook – I mean , it could have hit his seventy three year old father . Ask Mr Sharma. Unke papa ne mere fourth rocket ka kya bigaada thaa..

****

The ‘Aarti’ is a rather noisy affair at our home , with the collective prayer singing led by my father , who considers himself just a shade higher than Mohammed Rafi during his crooning of ‘om jai jagdish’ . My mother , who sits besides him , tries to keep out his booming call to the gods out of her ears and my sister keeps busy trying to keep the prasad out of my reach till the aarti ends. This year too , everything was regular , until I decided to pick up the ‘aarti ki thali’ placed neatly before the idols , shimmering diyas and all . Not realising that it is slightly hotter than sun , I reached for the plate and grabbed its edge with my right hand . My sister is having trouble hearing since then . It is her fault she was sitting so close when I yelled ‘Aaowww’.

****

Vaah kya ad hai !!!!!!!

Waise to no one is chillaying "naveen , kahan gayab ho gaya tu !! Maloom tere bin roti nahi khayi jaatee thee mujhse !! " , but main ultra deluxe besharmo jaise bata deta hun , I had been busy with my upcoming exam last night . Anyway , forget that , abhi tu apni bike utha , go to the nearest magazine stall , buy the latest edition of 'Business today'. Turn around the cover page .You will see my color fotu with my right arm around Priyanka Chopra and left arm around Esha Deol and Mallika Sherawat holding up a table fan to my face and Lara dutta dangling Black Grapes over my head and Amisha Patel standing some feet away with a "Swami jee , mujhe bhee apni seva karnne dijiye na please" expression on her tiny face . Hai allah , me and my rangeen dreams.

Anyway ,if you turn the page , You will come upon an advertisement for a cellphone.

I mean , bhaiyya , the ad says that it is a cellphone . Though it looks like a 4 inch mercedes. I thought the "uee ma , main gayab ho gaya !" wala gadget Anil Kapoor found in Mr.India would be the most complex gadget to be invented. Now I do not. The cellphone in the advertisement has these features - Direct to TV output 2 mega pixel flash camera , 262K color QVGA TFT-LCD , expandable memory slot ,Dual speaker 3D sound , music player ( MP3 , AAC ,AAC+), camcorder and video messaging ( mpeg , h.263 ), piscel document viewer , bluetooth wireless , pictbridge printing and GPRS quadband. Hey raam , yeh fone hai ya mini satellite. Thinking of phones , mujhe flashback yaad aa raha hai bott zoro se.

My dad has clicked a three year old me splashing happily in a little orange plastic bathtub where I have this "I am nanga !! But who cares !!" expression on my face. He has clicked a six year old me holding the receiver of our phone to my left ear with a "hey sonali , what are you doing this evening ? Let us meet over a couple of lollipops" expression on my stupid face. I remember the phone in our home at that time. It was black. It had that coiled wire connecting a big banana like receiver to a base heavy enough to outweight Riya Sen .It rang sometimes , with a simple 'Trrring Trrring'. Mostly , it was my mausi who used to chat with ma about Indore wali aunty's new jewellery set or some recipe for a 'never-seen-before' variety of halwa. In spite of these culinary disaster plots , those were telephonically peaceful times.

Since then , a lot of contaminated paani has flown under the bridge. Kai Mausam guzar gaye , kai sardiyan guzar gayi , kai garmiyan guzar gayi, kai patjhad guzar gayi , kai spring guzar gaye , meri colony ke mr.taneja guzar gaye , and mere jeevan se kai cellphone guzar gaye . But I still got a very normal cellphone with no inbuilt megapixel cameras or inbuilt juicer-cum-mixers or inbuilt water dispensers or inbuilt flat screen televisions or inbuilt AK 47s. I dont even recall what is the model number of my handset for sure. For the 'features' part in my masoom gareeb cellphone , it has got a phone book , sms facility ( jispe airtel guys tell me that i can be the next indian idol or have lunch with shahrukh khan by sending L U N C H to 123 ) , and also no FM radio . I plug in the headphones when I feel the work is too boring or when I want to look a "subhan allah , what a music diggin cool dude ! Yo maaan ! " types guy. And the phone can make and receive calls too.

I look at it and then at this advertisement before me. It seems I am some stone age animal , born in some stony cave with dinosaurs roaming around in the backyard , and me wearing deer skins as chaddis in routine and tiger skins as party wear chaddis , and using a normal cellphone when the world is moving onto this bhayankar gadget which they call a cellphone. But I think I will survive with this one. Atleast , When I sit down with it in my trouser pockets , it has no 'Bijli ka Khamba' sized antennae to visit awkward places .

Safar

Last week , as I sat at my desk , tapping away on the keyboard and trying to look as involved as if I was three keystrokes away from finding the cure to Limfusarcoma of the intestine , a colleague walked by.

Noticing me , he exclaimed in a rather cheerful tone generally reserved for pretty secretaries..

"Hey Neo , I hear you are getting married !"

Now as u people would have noticed , I am a very shy boy , steeped in tradition and "samaajik maryada". Hence I merely let out a coy smile , lowered my eyes till my eyelashes brushed the keyboard and nodded a delicate yes .
At this point of time , I was expecting a little congratulatory pat or something . But the colleague shook his pumpkin head sideways , murmured a "Yakeen nahi hota" and walked on.

Now , people would believe it if I said I ordered a tomato soup last night and found Himesh's cap floating in it , but nobody has been ready to believe the fact that I am getting married . My underdeveloped brain , which has helped me flunk many maths exams , offers possible reasons: and it is that ki i look too young to be a married man . I just ambled past 26 , and to make things rosier , I have been told by perfectly sane people that I still retain a bit of the boyish charm which deserts a normal indian male in the early twenties . Some have mentioned that I am a male version of the santoor girl , who captured our imaginations with "meri twacha se meri umra ka pata nahi chalta".


My canine instincts warn me a lot of readers would like to raise their left eyebrows , smile a slanted smile and pose the "Who is She" question to me now . This time it irritates me(yaar plz let me also who is she, hvng such a brave heart to say yes , to a person like me). Anyway it was just a rumour that has been spread all in the office without any sense of truth in it.Yeh u can call it a prank. Infact , the same has been done by me sometimes when I feel like to do it. On the last valentine on the way to my home town, a 'hi-society-well-dressed-confident' types a young guy, of mine age was sitting besides me . I had noticed him boarding the train with a lot of luggage ( A travel bag , a backpack , and a cardboard carton carrying the V day gifts .So some fifteen minutes into the journey , I asked him ..
Me : lot of luggage..eh ?
Guy : Uh..yeah..a lot of stuff for family n freinds..he he..
Me : friend or girlfreind?
Guy : gasp..oh no..I was trying to be a little amusing..never mind
Me : What's in that cardboard box ?
Guy : Oh that ? Well..actually it contains all the gifts I bought for my fiancee..
Me : I see..that's sweet..
Me : So , you are going to buy her things next valentines day too ?
Guy( proud as a soldier ): Of course ! I am quite a handful when it comes to out-of-the-box surprises for the people I love !
Me : Trust me , dear . Next V day , you wont do it .
Guy ( with a simmering rage in my eyes ) : Oh no man , I wont change !
Me : No . Its not about you . Next V day , after an year of taking her out for shopping and eating out and movies , you wont have any money with you to buy all this.
It was then when he realised that i was in the process of doing great damage to the confidence of a dreamy to-be-married young guy. I did not encourage any conversation with him for the rest of the journey.

Sawaal Apke , Jawaab humare

One of my chat freinds ???(sorry naam nahi bataunga)tagged me so many questions. And you know me , I am the sort of 18th century quixotic chivalrous gabru jawan types guy who would challenge the entire deol family to "do-do haath" if a lady asks me to do that .And completing a tag is much simpler than protecting my physical well being against Dharam 'Garam' Paaji , Bobby 'Soldier' Paaji and Sunny 'Dhai killo ka haath' Paaji , so here I go.

1. Pick out a scar you have , and explain how you got it .
Mar jaawa mirchi kha ke , these guys are talking about painful memories right away . I have a strong belief that any decent young man without a history of police encounters or public beatings should not have any scars on his 'jism' ( Waise compared to the word 'body' , the word 'jism' sounds as cheap as the fromt row ticket of Bhushan takiz Gariya Phatak… na ? ) . So after a prolonged examination of the wonderland that my body is , I proclaim I have no scars on my body . I know the question demands I find a scar and even talk about how I got it as if it's the world cup trophy , but then what do I do if I have no scars ? Ab blog post ke liye I won't go around asking people "Bhai saab , please stab me thoda sa , I need to write about the scar in my blog ."

2.What is on the walls of your bedroom ?
Yaar yeh sting operation paltan tho bedroom tak chale gaye . Arre miyan , shareefo ka mohalla hain yeh , ek jawan ladke ke bedroom ke baare mein poochna kahan ki sharafat hain ?Aaj bata detein hai bass , dobara mat poochna ( Oye yeh tho chlormint ka ad ho gaya.) - I have on the walls of my bedroom the face a plastic mickey mouse smiling stupidly , and framed photographs of Pooja , Naina , Tara , Tina , Julie and Rita . A sensitive lad like me would always keep the pictures of his ex-girlfriends . Yaadein . Meethi meethi yaadein.

3. What is your current desktop picture ?
Arre ab kahan wo zamaana . If you had asked me this question when I was at hostel , then you would have got a rangeen reply . You know what kinda desktop pictures we keep when at home - sunsets , palaces , gardens , monuments , waterfalls etc etc . Waise right now I see my dad smiling at me on the desktop . Hi Papa .

4. Do you believe in gay marriage ?
Huh ? Oye gay marriage hain , koi UFO thode hee hain jo pooch rahe ho "Do you believe ?". I believe a marriage is a union of two minds , who then commit to tread the path of life together , facing all adversity and celebrating all joys together , and helping each other grow in the process . Gay or otherwise , the essence of a marriage is unaffected by such trivial issues . Subhan allah , ekdum miss world waala answer diya na !

5. What do you want more than anything right now ?
Watch Die Hard 4 . Looks like all my friends are either married or committed to find time to go out with me . All boys outings ka tho zamaana hee nahi raha . I am planning to take my mom to the movie after convincing her it's a comedy.

6 . What time were you born ?
On a mildly cool morning that fateful day in May , 1980 , I was delivered into this world , with no indication of the fact that I was to grow up to become the wonderful and charming young man I am today . Within seconds of my being born , a pretty nurse with big eyes wrapped me into a soft white blanket . As she was turning back to get something else , I suddenly gripped her finger with my tiny palm , pulled her towards me and squeaked in my newly discovered voice - "Aunty , time kya hua hain ?."
You actually think all this happened ? Nahi na . So how am I expected to know what time it was when I was born ? …(as per the puratatva vibhag it was 06:45 am Friday).

7. Are your parents still together ?
Oye ! Abbe western culture ke poster , humare India mein parents remain together . They are very much together and have no dangerous plans . Shaadi mein fevicol khaayi thi mummy papa ne , mazboot jod hain , tootega nahi.

8. Last person who made you cry ?
Me . I believe no one else can make me cry . Tears arise out of what I do with the thoughts in my head . ( Kaafi profound hain yeh jawaab , samajh na aye tho koi nahi )

9. What is your favorite perfume / cologne ?
Yaar main koi Page 3-socialite-fashion designer types hoon jo itna perfume conscious hunga ? Apna 150 rupye mein Zatak deo lekar use karta aa raha hoon saalo se .Ladkiyan tho ad mein hee attract hoti hain . Real life mein tho 'Namaste Bhaiyya' hee kehti hain.

10. What kind of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex ?
Am a very adjusting and easy going person . You ask about the colors , even a lack of hair and eyes is totally cool with me ( Jyada bol gaya emotional hokar , maybe I won't be totally cool with a girl who looks like a blind Anupam Kher )

11. What are you listening to ?
'Bol na Halke Halke' from 'Jhoom Barabar Jhoom'. The first time someone told me there is a song which goes "Bol na Halke Halke" , I thought it was about a couple of engineering students whispering answers to each other during an exam.

12. Do you get scared of the dark ?
Not if there is Amrita Rao in the same room .

13. Do you like pain killers ?
Like ? What's there to like or dislike in a pain killer ? If there is pain , I take the pill . You don't expect me to 'like' pain killers and yell "Mummy ! Aaaj lunch mein aloo ke paranthe aur pain killers bana do ! Bott din ho gaye accha khaana khaye hue !."

14. Are you too shy to ask someone out ?
I am as 'besharam' as a C grade tamil movie . Aati kya Die Hard dekhne ? Ab bolna tho "aati kya khandaala' chahta tha , but abhi khandaala jaane ka mood nahi hain.

15 . If you could eat anything right now , what would it be ?
The guy or a girl who put so many questions in this tag . With some tomato ketchup.

16. Who was the last person you made mad ?
Mummy. I do that with alarming frequency.

17. Is anyone in love with you ?
Ladies , this question is for you. Aaju baaju mat dekh , baat dil ki bol daal.

Chalo abhi I need some sleep

A fear of myself !!!!!!

Once upon a time , I went home.....wait a minute...I am sick of this grandma style opening.Forget once upon a time.Lets restart.
Last october , I went home during the Diwali leaves.When you go home after staying away for months , everybody acts nice.Mom cooks what I like.Dad doesnt nag me about getting a haircut.Sister lets you have the remote.Even the neighbourhood Mrs.bhatia who is usually as grumpy as a crocodile manages to pretend a smile and coo "oh golu , vacations ? How is pune ? any girlfriend there...haaaaaa".She winks mischeviously as she mouths the girlfriend part.That makes my tummy churn.But all in all , for that one week of October , life was as cool as 2 feet by 2 feet room fitted with 13 air conditioners.

One day , during those October vacations , I was sprawled on the drawing room floor.I was watching POGO channel on the Television.Ok.My parents dont read this blog.I was watching FTV.That stands for fashion TV.Its about fashion and clothes.I focus on the clothes , not on the pretty models wearing them.Trust me.Anyways , just then the phone rang and mom got it.It was mom's sister , my 'mausi'.Now dont you understand 'mausi' ? Maybe you grew up in California.Anyways , in our country , India , we call mom's sister "mausi".Namaste.
So mom and her sis caught up with all the normal talk while I watched Pogo , waiting for the call to end so that mom goes away and I dive back into the world of waxed legs and exposed navels on FTV.And then this happened.
Mom (on phone , to mausi ) : What ? ......why ?
Mausi ( on phone , to mom ) : ........( me to you) wait a minute , how am I supposed to know what she said from the other side ?
Mom ( on phone , again to mausi ) : He just turned 26...But why ?
Mausi ( on phone , to ..i dnt believe it ...mom ) : ....( me to you).I told you guys, I dont know !
Mom ( on phone , to mausi ) : What ! Oh no anita ,he dnt want to get into this for next two years...

It was about my marriage.Some friend of ma's sister had some daughter.It was like I had just received an email from god with the subject line 'from boy to man".I agree that 26 is anyways too early an age which makes marriage sound more like child mariage.But that was the moment when it first struck me that marriage is no longer something which happens to big brothers .Marriage is no longer something which I attend as a guest , it may just happen to me.Anyways , mom mercilessly drove the scooter of my first marraige proposal in a brick wall.I still dont know anything about that girl.But whoever she is , she is for me what a first ever customer is to an auto driver.

Things changed radically soon after that strange day in October.When I went home in the March of 2007 , I did not wait for any phone calls.We got home from the station , and within forty minutes I had told my parents all about "her".
I have read 'Who moved my cheese?'.It says change is inevitable.So here I change , as I am tired of addressing "her" as "her".It makes things so complicated .So for the rest of this post , "her" would be addressed as madonna.Anyways , I told my parents madonna was the girl i wanted to marry.For someone like me to say something like that to my parents , its like a tibetan monk asking for some beer at a pub.What followed were perhaps the most topsy turvy days of my life so far.I save the story for another day.

And now that she is a series of black and white photographs pasted in my "golden memories" album, I see my marriage as being an arranged one.We will probably visit the girl's home , where I would drink some coffee , smile at the girl and look at her stupid little brother.And I will tell her about my days with madonna , even if that makes my dad pull out a gleaming bazooka and blow my head off. If I expect her to share my life , she has every right to know my life.And in a way , I think my experience with madonna has transformed me from a bubbly and reckless boy to a slightly more mature and considerate one.My opinion of myself as a human being has taken a dent in the one moment I left her alone when I promised to be with her, and I want to improve this opinion by making the girl I marry feel happy every day of her life.I am scared of hurting people now .I know how bad and wrong I can be .And I want to prove it to myself that I may be weak , but I am not evil.
I gave her a lot of sorrow , but gave myself a fear of myself , a fear of me hurting someone ever again.

I am a 83 old guy seated on a rocking chair in home's bedroom.I am watching FTV on the TV.Then my 79 year old wife staggers into the drawing room leaning on a wooden stick.I am too old and slow by now to flip the channel to POGO the way I used to as a 23 year old.And she anyways is old and weak sighted to make out the difference between FTV and POGO.I get up with my aching joints , find my way towards her without managing to fall , hold her hand and walk her to the chair.I make her sit on the chair gently .And then she looks up at me , straining her eyes to have a good look and then says in a frial old voice "You know , I have had a good life with you".and If that happens, maybe I will know that though I was weak at some points of my life , I was never evil.I will always remember that last phone call to "her" , when I told her its not possible for us to be together and cried like a kid at a public phone booth.But if at the end of my life , my weak sighted and old wife thinks I helped her live a good life , maybe then I will know that I was not that bad a human being , after all

Talent hunt!!!

My certification exam is coming towards me like a drunk and unbathed Gulshan Grover staggering towards a cowering and trembling girl who took refuge from the rain in one of his luxurious bedrooms. In the movies , the girl generally pulls out a seven inch knife from the apple basket lying on the side table , positions it right over her tummy and yells "Kutte , ek kadam bhee aage badaya to main khud ko khatm karr dungi". But I do not feel any amount of artillery positioned over any part of my anatomy can halt the oncoming ghost called exam . So I better gear up unless I want to go jobless and then end up as an anti social element , stealing vada paav to feed my kids and wives(dnt be serious,just checking ur reading skills) and girlfriends.

As a part of this "get certified to switch" preparation , I sat down to work on my resume yesterday. I looked at a blank word document and typed down each and every achievement of mine .But even after that , page space enough to fit in the entire voters list of UP remained. So to come out of this I have to add a lot of value to it. This is what I m preparing for all my certifications.

If something has been come up in the name of sports world, this is what I remembered the school days.

When I was born , I was a baby with baby fat enough to make butter naans for half the colony. And that is all right , I guess babies are like pay cheques - they look good when they are fat. But hanuman jee kee leela dekho , I was born into a family with a granny who fed grains to sparrows in the morning and oily food to her grandson for the rest of the day. So at a tender age , when I had no nails or teeth to scratch and bite in self defence and could just murmer "nana..mamama...umm" ( No I am not hungry ) , she made me eat and eat to make sure I retained a major part of my precious baby fat even when I entered school .

So that made me as much "suitable-for-sports" as Nana Patekar is for the role of Leo Caprio in Titanic. Like any 'deshbhakt' little fat indian kid , cricket was my first love . And cricket was fun , as long as I was watching it on TV. When I went out to play , tall and lean boys gave me that "Go play Ludo" look . I was always the curly haired little kid who was pleading- "Ayye bunty , bat de na , mujhe batting karne de na" , "Ayye rahul , ball de na , mujhe fast balling aati hai acchi wali " , "Ayye Vikky , mere andar ke cricketer ka gala matt ghott. mujh par taras khaa zaalim. Mujhe batting open karrne de ".

But no bunty or Rahul or Vikky ever ate any taras on the budding and well hidden cricketer in me . So one day I decided ki bhaiyya , bott ho gaya public mein humiliation , boundary ke side mein fielding karte karte budaapa aa jayega .And I hung my bat and walked away into the sunset , never to return to cricket again .

Since then , I have had myself humiliated , laughed at , beaten and thrown away out of sporting career of cricket world. Then it was the time to prove like some hindi movie where hero after getting failed, saying “kasam paida karne wale ki main ye kar dunga,main vo kar dunga” .And the same has been done by me, I was one of the good football player during my graduation and PG. Not even football, I too play cricket very well now there seems to be nothing which gives me a feel like a looser in any of sport I have played .

Ok , it is six in the morning and I think I will go for a gym now. No no no , do not get me wrong , gymnesium is not my next sporting passion .

Before I go , a very very gud morning to you buddies .You be the good person you have always wanted to be , and if you see a little fat kid pleading before big and lean guys and saying "Mujhe batting karne do please" , walk over , slap the big kids unke respective kaan ke neeche and hand over the bat to the little fat kid with a smile , and lastly , maintain peace in the new fresh morning.

Maybe my son will grow up to be some star soccer player who is signed up by a fancy club and makes girls scream at super sonic levels when he steps out of his red sports car , or some champion boxer who chomps on ears and strips topless and beats dark and bald muscular men on TV. But you wont see me on ESPN or any sports channel in this lifetime of mine , unless I am picked up by some channel to dress into a noodle straps blouse and replace Mandira Bedi , which , I somehow feel , is slightly improbable .Have Fun.

Death

I just came out of the ICU with lot of flings of emotions that suppressed me for some moments. All that happned it touched my heart. At the same time when tears fill the little boy's wide n clear hazel eyes and slide delicately down his fair and pristine cheeks ,its difficult to deny the tears in your own eyes .Death of his mother it was.

Death is a painful thing.Not the pain of the body.But the pain of the seperation.Of not feeling the smell of her hands.Of missing the moments when you threw your arms playfully around her neck.Of not watching her folding the clothes.of not hearing her voice.

I know that death is not a pleasant thing.But just if we remember that it is there , waiting for of all of us,life can be more sincerely lived.Just remember that at the twilight,you will just have the moments made of these emotions and feelings to savour.nothing concrete.no money.no cars.no houses.no businesses run .no empires built.just these little moments.so we must be good. a fast brain u may do without.but have a beautiful heart.People wont remember the money u got , but how you made them feel.

And the fact is that this thing called life has lately been, not exactly as horrible as we mould it .

Yaad aa rahi hai!!!!!

1912: Titanic sinks.

1945: Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombed.

1975: Indira Gandhi imposes emergency in India.

2007: Washerwoman at Karve Nagar,my flat goes missing.

Our washerwoman is missing.Its been more than a week now. Dirty clothes lie crumpled in the plastic bucket just outside the door of my room , gathering dust.The wooden racks in the corridor which lovingly held freshly washed shirts and shorts , dripping water onto the floor , now stare at me with empty arms. I lie in my room , staring at the ceiling.Looking at the blades of the fan cutting imperfect circles.Reminds me of how the drier of the fully automatic washing machine at my home used to rotate in those gracious rounds.I hear someone outside.Is she here ? Is she ? I jump out of the bed and step out in the corridor with an eager anticipation.Its a cat , trying to grab something from the dustbin kept outside , in which I had those incredibly shitty non required stuff.She looks at me .My be she wud be gazing me as a silly duffer.I sneak back into the bed and stare the ceiling.My mind drifts off to those days.Seems like yesterday.Covered bodies.Freshly washed clothes smelling of detergents.How happy I was.Used to carelessly fling the dirty pair of jeans in the bucket kept outside.And the next day it would be there.Washed.Neatly ironed.A few burns.But far from a burnt sandwich.

And now.I look at the shorts I am wearing.It a recordbook of my culinary exploits over the last four days.There is this fresh ketchup stain I pasted near the right pocket half an hour ago.Thats what happens when u try to dip a sandwich in a ketchup bowl kept in your lap while trying to catch a "mithun-da" action movie on the computer.They should have told me before mithunda yelled "Ma kasam!!!" so loudly that i spilled the ketchup onto my shorts.Oh , there is also this "Shahi Paneer" gravy stain on the left side.Or is it the cheese that fell from the pizza ? I have to scrape it off and taste it to know the answer.There must be many more footprints of what I ate ,all over my shorts.But I think you are already feeling full.

But the good part is that I dont see any stains on the tee shirt on my body.Because I dont see a tee shirt on my body. When your washerwoman is missing over the last seven days , dignity is something you put on the pillion seat of the scooter of life.Dignity can wait when you dont know what you will wear the next time u step out of the bathroom.Just one light yellow chequed shirt lies in my wardrobe.That can cover me up for tomorrow.Day after tomorrow ? The question threatens me with an future projected scene involving semi nudity in the office.A topless me in the office, though hopefully appreciated by the girls , wont exactly generate a lot of accolades from the seniors.I have to cover my top when going to office.That worries me.

Now the right time comes when I have to do something,obviously I have to do it my own,I have to be a washerman now…putting in the clothes in a lot of water and letting the clothes stay in water for half an hour and then putting in a lot of detergent and then washing them hard and then taking the clothes out and wringing them and then letting them dry.Looks as easy as Bangladesh beating Australia.Oops.Now that they have actually beaten the Aussies, ill change it.
Ill have to come out of this inertia soon.Ill will have to carry out my debut "clothes-washing" innings soon.Otherwise I have an alternative plan.I will wrap around a newspaper.

Listen Miss.washerwoman , I would smile on your sense of absentminded-ness if you burn a gateway through my favorite blue shirt.I would knowingly leave a minimum of five rupees in the hip pocket of every trousers i put in for washing.If i get the time , I will help you in washing on the weekends.I will get you the most wonderful detergents which will keep your hands as soft as a baby's bottom.I will give you extra cash on every diwali , christmas , Ambedkar Jayanti , Guru Nanak Jayanti, Makar Sankranti , Maha Shivratri , Holi and Hanuman Jayanti.

But please come back.I need you.infact all needs you.

Paav Bhaaji

I am starting this post because I don't feel sleepy . I will just type out stuff about my evening. I hope to fall asleep on the keyboard doing it . I hope you too fall asleep reading it . Make sure you don't drool in your sleep . The saliva may screw up your keyboard.

This evening , S***** came to my room . He had to go shopping for some clothes . He asked me to accompany him . I refused and told him I had to work on an assignment of top priority. He promised to pay for my pizza if I went with him . It took me seven seconds to get ready.

So we went to crossword . It's a nice bright bookstore with a lot of books . Middle aged women in khadi kurtas sit around on low stools and pore over books discussing ways to rekindle the fire in married lives . Little kids noisily run around book racks and their mothers threaten to burn their toys if they don't shut up . Young girls are around the fiction racks . I think most people found in a bookstore are fat . Maybe it's because they spend a lot of time sitting and reading books on weight reduction . I picked up 'Tuesdays with Morrie' and went to the billing counter .

The billing girl at the counter looked at the big whacy quote stating “Monday is the worst day to spent 1/7 of ur whole life” on the front of my black sweatshirt and gave me a smile . I think she liked my sober taste only abt weekend . And as I went away , she again smiled at me . I could feel it . It wasn't the 'please visit again' smile every customer gets . I think she liked me in a cute way . If you work at Crossword and met that handsome n cute guy in the black sweatshirt with such a whacky quote, just know that I still think about you.

We got out and we went into a reebok store . S***** kept checking out the price tags of all the stuff there . He made a peculiar whooshing sound with his breath every time he did that . I think it translates into 'Why dont I have a rich dad who is into smuggling ?' . I did not have to buy anything . So I was pretty relaxed and tried on all the caps while he went around looking for something which had the price of a matchbox . He bought a pair of orange shorts finally . Reebok people don't have the right marketing guys . It is a blunder to have that dark skin guy at the billing counter . I felt a strange creepy chill the way he smiled at me . I know gud looking(Oh come on!! Guys don’t relate it with some bhopali sort of stuff) cute guys are the prime targets for these kinda men. I will never go to that store again.

Then we went to food court to eat something . Never trust anyone . Just do not . People promise to pay for your pizza and back out then . And you can't do a thing because they have already bought the obscenely orange shorts and got your company while doing it . It is a hard world . And then you realise you it is harder . I was not even carrying much money and had to settle for pav bhaji . I wanted to empty the ketchup sachet in S*****’s nose . But a descent guy is not required to play such cheap pranks on such public places(After all the accha insaan in me ,wake up) just fill someone's nostrils with ketchup and not be beaten thereafter . I controlled my anger.

On our way back in the cab , S*****’s girlfriend called up . I screamed 'Don't touch me S***** !' followed by 'Leave me honey !' in the most girly voice I can put on . He spent the rest of the call explaining to his girlfriend there was no girl around him . You don't give me a pizza . I tear apart your love life .Fair and simple.

It's past five in the morning now . But I still dont feel sleepy. I think I will start reading 'Anything for you mam’m' now . The book reminds me of the billing counter girl . I think I should visit crossword on the 14th Feb .

Little sinshine!!!!

My family is a "small dreams" family.And this has been inherited by me.My idea of a perfect day at the age of 50 is taking out my cute wife and two cute-er and little-er kids to a comedy movie , laugh a lot with them , throw popcorn at people , sing loudly with the songs in the movie , then go to a little cosy restaurent for dinner , spill a lot of food , laugh a lot , drop things in each other's glasses when they aint looking , and then sneak home without paying the bill.I do not know if I will get that "potato-dropping-window -glass-shattering" salary , and to be as honest as a lie detector machine , I do not care.

Being in an Software Professional assures me that I will attain good standard of financial status , that I would not need to sell my wife's "mangalsootra" and my daughter's barbie collection to buy dinner.All I want is a nice and simple life.Where nobody cries much , and even if they do , there are always people to offer a nice smelling handkerchief.And it is this simplicity and innocence which the world seems to be losing.Looks like a little dream of an innocent smile is becoming too much to ask for.

Three months back somewhere in the newspaper I read about that a 13 year old girl was raped somewhere in rural area of Pune.Raped before her parents ,by four men.She was the daughter of a domestic help.She went to school , class VIII.Maybe she would have had dinner a few hours before being raped.Maybe her mother would have prepared her favorite dish as dinner.She would have enjoyed eating it , then maybe she would have studied a little.Studied some english lesson maybe.Then her mother would have finished the household chores and mother and daughter would have chatted.Chatted about her classes at school that day , imitating with glee the strange pronunciation of her south indian Maths teacher , expressing her difficulty with Physics to her illiterate mother , maybe asking her mother to get a new pair of socks the next day. Then she would have slept.

And at 4 in the morning , four men drag her out of bed , push her to the floor , and rape her brutally as her gagged and tied mother and father watch helplessly.Watch their little girl undergo something she is too young to understand.They watch all the moments , the moment their daughter took her first step , the moment she stepped into her school for the first time , the moment she made her first "chappati" , the moment she used her pocket money to buy flowers on her mother's birthday , they watch all these moments heartlessly trampled by four men.

Is it foolish to dream and hope in such a world ? I say this to myself and my friends , but is life really beautiful ? All I want is a life bathed in a little bit of sunshine , but is the darkness too much ?

Signal

Like other select young, successful and rich men around the world , I drive to work every day with all the normal settings.
It takes me half hour to get to my office in Pune, time which I judiciously invest in planning how to avoid the unwanted deals during the day,how many coffee breaks to take that day,and what songs to download in office.Ah yes , and I spend time standing still in the middle of a sea of cars,bikes,tractors and trucks at the third most common thing on indian roads after potholes and lazy cows- the traffic signals.

Now , when the light is red ,it is a strangely empty phase of your life. Like those phases in the elevator,Loo or a bad date,when you need to just wait till it gets over.You can do a number of equally useless things.You can stare at the "Horn Please Ok"/"Road kee Rani"/"Keep Distance" painted in dirty yellow colors on the posterior of the truck ahead of you.You can check your hair in the rear view mirror ,though its a rather girly thing to do. Or , like the typical irritating and nosey indian male, you can stare at other people waiting in their cars around you.Which is what I do.
Strangers.Young men.Families.Women in their 30s.Headed to office.Tapping fingers on the steering wheel.Impatiently.Few relaxed.Most hurried.Their lives forcibly paused for those few moments till the light flickers to yellow .And then green , to signal the resumption of life as they know it.
Now, maybe I am one of those people who sterotype people.You know , the kind of guy who thinks every bengali wants to participate in a strike atleast once a week and every north eastern guy is born with a black belt holding up his diaper and every Indian living south of Madhya Pradesh worships Rajnikanth.Because whenever I look around at people in their cars at the traffic signal ,there are some typical kinds I find:

The Corporate Honcho
40ish year old.Balding head.Smart black business suit.He reads a Business Newspaper through his gold rimmed glasses as the powerful AC whirrs silently in his Honda Accord.A uniformed driver holds the steering wheel.Even the driver looks well fed and bathed.He belongs to the upper strata of drivers.Not like the shabby and wiry auto drivers who dig noses and smell like Harbhajan's vest after his ten overs.Class drips from the car and everything in it.But for a man so rich ,the guy reading the newspaper looks as uncomfortably stiff as an electricity pole (To be honest,my first thought was to compare the stiffness to that of something else.I know you know.)
He looks a bit grumpy.Like a guy who had too many mooli ke paranthe last night and woke up this morning to find the flush was broken.Maybe his son doesnt listen to him.Maybe he is worried about closing that all important deal with the Japanese.I dont know.But I dont want to be this guy when I get old.I know this much.

The Brat
Meet the College guy, who has been described as the "Ameer baap ki bigdi aulaad" by Bollywood since stone age.The kind which bullies bespectatcled nerds and ogles at Giggly girls at college.The car won't be very big here , unless Daddy is too lenient.Generally a Santro/Swift/Esteem.The back windshield plastered with stickers which say 'Speed Demon'/ 'Extreme Speed'/'No Fear' and other phrases with similar philosophy.Infectious Punjabi/Hip Hop music blaring from the speakers.And , a lot of dents and craters on the car body as if the car substituted for a Pakistani , when an angry ,Handpump toting Sunny Deol could not find one.
Finding him at the signal on my way to office is not easy due to two reasons-
A.He does not get up this early in the morning.
B.Even if he gets up and gets ready ,you need a tank or a Pune Police Hawaldar to make him stop at a traffic signal.

Women
I think all the female drivers - Young,old,trendy,homely,fat,slim,etc etc should be grouped in one category, as I have done. Because in spite of their diversity in appearences and lifestyles ,they share that one common binding force in the matters of driving a car - They are all life threatening to the rest of the people on the road.Specially if they are on their way to a Discount Sale.

Don't get excited and organise a morcha yet.I know Sunita Williams went to space and did things like floating upside down there.I know Chak De India is a hit and we loved when the girls won.But pardon me , for I speak from personal experience.For one,women are extreme drivers.Either they drive very slow.So slow , Manmohan Singh in a frog race would overtake that car.Or , they will go fast like they got a pregnant friend on the back seat who is seven minutes away from delivering.
They would utilise the waiting time at the signal in pouting their lips at the rear view mirror.Checking if slight wrinkles at the eye corners are still there.Young girls who have a boyfriend ( Who doesn't,these days? Contact me.) may manage to send a cheesy sms before the light goes green and they are let loose on the society again.
If you love life , stay away from them.

Call Centre Cabs
I don't know how things are in other parts of the world.But in Pune,the sight is as common as thumkas in a Bhojpuri movie.White Indica or Sumo.Young men and women cramped inside.Office cards hanging around their necks.Tired eyes.Crumpled clothes.These are the Sams & Jims and Marks of India who work in the Call Centres of Pune , which outnumber the entire population of Alaska and Ibizza put together.Tired after a night of explaining how to switch on that washing machine to super dumb people in the USA ,these youngsters just lie slumped at the signal,unable to move because of lack of energry and space in the cramped vehicle.The drivers in this case,though mildly dangerous , are still angels when compared to women.
Though in very few professions you to get to spend the night with each other ,this car looks more like a sleeping lounge than anything else.

Young,sophisticated,rich,mannered and elegant men
These are men in their twenties who cheated in their exams and got into good Business schools and are now young managers in Big Companies.They dont look tense like the corporate honchos in the Accords since they havent got all those heavy duty tasks yet.They dont look tired like the call center guys since they got back early from the office last night claiming tummy pain and enjoyed a prolonged and refreshing sleep after the India Australia match.These are the perfect,most balanced and most wonderful men anyone can expect to see at a traffic signal,or on the planet , for that matter. Incidentally, I belong to this group.You could have guessed that from the adjectives ,anyway.
You see,trying to notice the different people waiting with you for those few moments at a signal is like trying to stuff Mayawati in a butterfly net.Different people.Different lives.Different emotions.Stuff above is as inadequate as my answers to the class X chemistry question paper.But I need to shift the gears and go now.The light just turned green.

Excuse me “Can we chat”

Hi Girls ,
Well ,11.56 in the night is not a perfect time to talk to girls but we havent talked much over the last 25 years of my life, have we ?

First Let me make clear what bunch i am talking to.Girls=Girls.Exclude mothers and grandmothers and grand grandmothers and...i think anyone higher would be dead by now.Right.So girls=girls.If you still are confused about what I mean by girls ,its ok.Girls are supposed to be a little dumb.

My earliest memory of your clan- my younger sister pulls my hair.Painful.Digs her nails in my cheek.Painful.And then runs to mummy to complain that I hit her.Not a perfect start.I went to school at the age when I supposed to be there.We were small and carried water bottles and small bags and crayon boxes. You girls colored silly color books.You did not shout much.You did not spill food while eating.You played stupid games during the games period where you became a mother and someone became your daughter and someone became your mother.
By class 2nd , I had formed a mental banner which declared in a glowing and blinking neon sign - GIRLS ARE STUPID AND BORING.School progressed.Class 6th.Class 10th.

The font size in the neon sign kept getting bigger and bigger.You people never took any interest in me.And I was equally indifferent and snooty about you people.I was of the back benchers gang.I was a regular at being thrown out of class for my acheievements in form of punishment called “kneel down”.I was the guy girls should not talk to.You people stayed with the boys who wore clean clothes , combed their hair,shared their tiffin with you , spoke softly, took notes and did well in studies.

College.First day , seniors pick me out for ragging.They point at a group of fresher girls and tell me to call one of them.I walk upto her and ask her to come.She does not care to reply and looks away.I lean in and growl "Look lady.You may be pretty.Guys may swallow a lizard if u order them to.But I have 0% interest in you and your friends here.You understand how much is 1 - 1.It's 0.Thats the interest I have in you.Those seniors want you , not me.So just move."

She came along ,I proposed to her and then We sang "Aati kya Khandaala".It lasted for some ten minutes. Through these three years of engineering, most from your clan saw me and mumbled "MCP" under their breath.One yelled "MCP" at me loudly in the college canteen.MCP stands for My Cute Pal.Ok.It stands for Male Chauvinistic Pig.All the hormonal developments were on track.I was not gay.But I got into another of those all-guys-brats-bunks-bikes types group which was too busy in having fun by themselves and considered girls as a waste of time and energy.We were a sunny bunch of happy-go-lucky chaps at college.

The appereances of girls definitely changed in college.You know what ,please do not on use too much of make up.Then your face looks like you have been sleeping in a paint tumbler and your mouth looks like you have eaten 3 bars of lipsticks.And please think about those long earrings which hang like earthworms from your ears.They look wierd.And make you look wierder.And you do not need to let your hair loose all the time.They cover your ears.If you tie your hair up you can actually hear better.And all that hair keeps falling in the plates around when you eat.Please consider tieing it up.Its hygienic.

Anyways , that was the way it was.Till 'she' breezed into my life.She had a sense of humor.She had similar thoughts.She was mature.She was responsible.She was silly.She was simple.She was very human.For the first time , I sensed that girls have a "lipsticks-n-eyeliner" free brain.That they think of something beyond that.That they are as good human beings as anyone.Every tear I have caused her has left a streak on my heart.I thank the guy whom she is with now.He did not give her much time to feel hurt and alone.

Thinking more calmly and having more girls as friends has helped realise some of you are mature.Some of you think deeply , think good thoughts and are really sensitive and introspective .Some girls are really good human beings. All in all , you people are not so stupid as I thought.You dont have the IQ of a cheese burger.You people are as mature as any human being and probably a lot more sensitive than guys.

And know what is the best part about being a girl ? You will be a mother some day.However stupid and stubborn and irritating you may be right now , being a mother is being capable of some kind of divine love, of being closer to god.One day you are going to create life and nurture it with such unconditional care which makes you all the more respectable.

But some things about you people still beat me.Firstly , why do you people give so much importance to the way you look ?If you think every guy looks at you when you go down a street , catch the next lift down and come down to earth.Tom Cruise doesnt care about how you look.Hrithik Roshan doesnt care about how you look.Your dad doesnt care about how you look.And any sensible guy wont care about how you look.And if someone is attracted by your looks , he can only desire you , not love you.

Another thing.If I end up talking to you for anything over eight minutes , dont assume I am flirting with you.Being a girl or a guy is not so important.Please behave like a normal homo sapien.I hate being branded a girl chaser.Because I hate to be one.

I have always been an outsider in your world.The brat.Never too close.And after causing hurt to 'her',I intend to stay away from your world for a long long long time to come.After all , I was hurt too.I am plain scared to meddle in your world now.I am plain scared of again causing a lot of tears and hence have resolved to stay at a safe yet friendly distance from your domain.If earlier it was snobbish indifference , now it is a peaceful and quiet lack of interest.Anyways ,it was good talking to you. I will take your leave and read some Jughead comic.And one last thing.If you drive anything more than a bicycle , please do not.Its sin to kill innocent walking on the street ,people not belonging to the Al-Qaeda.But if you have to drive , atleast keep a First Aid box handy.That was it.

My calulation deserves a proper outcome?

I am beginning to mess around too much with sleep patterns.The way things are going , I will soon grow big round eyes and a little beak and become a perfect owl in a week.Right now I am feeling like a baby monkey who has been air dropped in a chemistry lab.So I have no idea what this baby monkey is going to do.So , I have no idea what I am going to write.

But at 1.45 in the morning , i am too useless to do anything but write.So let me think.Its said that when most guys think , 80% of the times , they think about girls.I think that is wrong.When most guys think , they think about girls.From the Anna Kournikova wallpaper on the desktop , to the coochie coochie late night talk with the third girlfriend in the last four months , there are more girls than grey cells in a guy's head.And I do not understand it.And I do not get why a guy needs to go gaga over girls.I hate only two things.One.Kareena Kapoor.Two.Guys who change colours before a girl.And I see these guys all the time.

In class 11th , I had this boy, V**** , in my class.I used to think he is one of my good friends.I used to share my lunch with him.Even when I got bread rolls for lunch.I saw Sholay.I saw the "Yeh Dosti Hum Nahi Todenge" song with Amitabh and Dharmendra on their bike.I used to think I am Dharmendra and he is Amitabh and our friendship is like theirs in the movie.One day , during the lab class , I asked him for the practical book.He gave me the one which he had.And then the little girl , L**** ( I still remember her name !) asked him for the same book.He took it from me and gave it to her.And smiled at her.I was about to finish with the calulation and was applying the formula for the final outcome from the same book at that time.The half filled sheet lay before me as he snatched the book from me and passed it to L****.It broke my heart.The psychological scarring it caused me leads me to hate every squirming guy dying to impress girls. And there are a lot of V**** around still.

And ofcourse why not ? Here are the sufficient proofs for my saying!!!!
Me : Heyyy Rahul , yaar please explain me the 17th chapter in microprocessor.The exam is tomorrow , and right now I understand the chapter as much as our college security guards do.
Rahul : My dad just had an accident.My mom just had a heart attack.My sister just attempted suicide.I am sad.Leave me alone.
Deepika : Heyyyy Rahul , I hope we are meeting for coffee at the canteen in the evening.And please explain economics chapter 17 to me over the coffee.....pleaaaaaasse
Rahul : Oh sure , I am willing to stick carrots in my ears and paint myself orange and come riding on a donkey to teach you microprocessor , Deepu ( whatever happened to the name Deepika).
Me : Heyyyy Ajay , you seem to be going to the hostel , I guess I can get a lift on your bike.
Ajay : Man my bike suspension is real shaky these days.And the pen in your shirtpocket looks real heavy.Sorry.Priyanka : Heyyy Ajay , I was wondering if you could give me a lift till the academic block.....
Ajay :Oh priya ( say the complete name dumbass ) , I can carry you on my shoulders ( priyanka weighs 84 kg , by the way ) and run all the way to afganistan .What are friends for yaaaaaaaar ( notice the extended pronunciation)
Me : Heyyy Gaurav , I am broke buddy.I need 200 bucks yaar.I will repay you by evening.

Gaurav : My dad's name is not Dawood Ibrahim or Bill Gates man.I am real low on cash too. ( no extended pronunciation)Richa : Ohhhh Gaurav , my dad is beginning to scold me for spending too much these days.
Gaurav (pulls out his ATM card and stuffs it in Richa's mouth) : All yours Richaaaa.

Ok.Things are a little exaggerated here.No guy is so desperate.But guys go extra soft around girls , and I do not know what for.Even here in the blogworld.A girl starts a blog and there are "sweet blogggg , cute bloggg , cool bloggg" comments before she clicks the "post it" button.So any guy who goes extra soft around girls is V****.I like good people who teach microprocessor , give rides and lend cash. But be good to all.Good people should be good to all.

Gaata Rahe Mera Dil !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometime people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there, they serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson or help figure out who you are and who you want to become. You never know who they are they may be your neighbor, child, long lost friend, lover, or even a complete stranger who, when you lock eyes with them, you know that they will affect your life in some profound way. And sometimes things happen to you and that time they seem painful and unfair, but in reflection you realize that without overcoming those obstacles you would have never realized your potential strength, will power or heart.

Everything happens for a reason nothing happens by chance or by means of good or bad luck, illness, injury, love, lost moments of true greatness and sheer stupidity all occur to test the limits of your soul. Without these small tests, whether they be events, illness, or relationships, life would be like a smoothly paved straight flat road to nowhere, safe and comfortable, but dull and utterly pointless. The people, who you meet, affect your life and the success and downfalls you experience create who you are, and even the bad experiences can be learned from. In fact, they are probably the poignant and important ones.

If someone hurts you, betrays you or breaks your heart, forgive them, for they have helped you learn about trust and the importance of being cautious to whom you open your heart. If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally, not only because they love you, but because they are teaching you to love and opening your heart and eyes to things you would have never seen or felt without them

Make every day count appreciate every moment and take from it everything that you possibly can, for you may never be able to experience it again. Talk to people you have never talked to before and actually listen, let yourself fall in love, break free and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have every right to. Tell yourself you are a great individual and believe in yourself. For if you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will believe in you either you can make of your life anything you wish.

Create your own life and then go out and live it. “Live Each Day As If It Were Your Last…Tomorrow is Not Promised”. You cannot do kindness too soon
Because you never know how soon it will be too late…

Apne pairo par!!!(track from beete hue din)

During my PG in Bhopal ,in the cold severe days,everyday after chomping on some unidentified un-flying object for breakfast at a resturant nearby our room. I used to fill a cup of hot steaming tea, and go to the little ‘terrace’ kind of thing we have in our college days. The terrace at above my small room.Our terrace is much more unglamorous . It has got some stacked in a corner and a couple of biscuits wrappers thrown in another and even a broken washbasin lying in another . But every morning , I go there after my breakfast .The sunshine feels warm , and I sip the tea , and I flip through a copy of the Times of India. I liked this terrace thing, until around 10.15 am every morning.
Because as I stood in the sunshine and stared at the horizon and lazily sipped the tea and watched our washerwomen passed by . I looked at her , she looked at me , and somebody in a room , started playing “Humne tum ko dekha , tumne hum ko dekha , aise , hum tum sanam , laakho janam , milte raho ho jaise.” Ok , nobody played the song .Instead , this followed –
Washer woman – “ Aaj aap paise denge kya ?”
Me ( looking straight down in the cup of tea)- “ Jee…umm..actually..”
Washer woman – “Saab , pichle mahine ka bhee rehta hai 200 rupya….”
Me( thinking that the tea should have had more milk in it )-“ Jee , main samajhtaa hun , but main kya karu….”
Washer woman ( looking amused ) – “Saab , main saamne hoon , chai ke cup mein nahin.”
Me (looking up at her) – “He he…umm , dekhiye , main aapke paise pakka dunga , and jaldi hee dunga , please kuch time de deejiye.”
She let me go with a “Theek hai saab , but please jaldee paise de dena.”
24 carat gold. That is what her heart is . You can make a dozen gold biscuits by melting her heart. She let me go. Because she understands the plight of a man who is unemployed.Yes , I am unemployed. Kangaal. I was not this way since my birth . I was born in a financially stable family. And I remebred the night almost four years back , when my dad called up. My dad is as predictable as a hindi movie , when he calls me up.
Dad – “Haan bete”
Me – “Haan papa”
Dad – “Everything fine ? ”
Me – “Perfect , papa.How is everything at home ? ”
Dad – “Perfect , bete.”
Now , I swear on Hema Malini’s eyes , Dad always asks about the padai likhai after this. But this night , he did something else .
Dad – Golu, you withdrew more cash from the ATM , did you?”
Me-“Yeah , went out to eat some popcorn , and needed the money for that .”
Dad – “So you bought some popcorn with that money.”
Me – “Yeah, salted popcorn , and a little ticket for the movie I watched while eating it.”
Dad – “Ok. See, Goluu, you shall be managing a family of your own in some years”.
Dad went on to mention terms such as money management , kid’s fees , life insurance policy , money management , family budget , house loan and money management. But then I decided to join in the conversation and before I knew , Dad was mentioning phrases such as “how dare you reply to me like that”, “what do you mean” , “shut up” , “shut up I say”. And I ended the conversation with a “Ok , main aapko apne pairo pe khade hokar dikhaunga”.I hate it when I remember dialogues from hindi movies.
So now I am standing on my own feet , without any money .Later on the things between me and dad were fine again , and he has been asking about the weather with no mention of ATM card over the last six. But I feel I have been spending too much , it is like my “andar ka accha beta” has woken up and decided to save daddy’s money .
So I have kept away my ATM card and decided not to touch it before a specified date. And the side effects have been quite stirring. At that point of time I was having only seven rupees as my cell balance . I was fine as long as I talk to people who call me up. Was fine as long as I dnt call back boys who give me a missed call and expect me to call back. But I get restless if some girl gives me a missed call and expects me to call back. In such a situation , and with seven rupees as my cell balance , I am unable to call back and am left watching my interaction with the female species drop to abysmally low quantity.
The mohalla’s departmental store wallah observes the change in my eating habits.
Me – “Woh ‘Hide and Seek’ pack kitne ka hain ?”
Store guy – "12 rupya"
Me – “Oh , who Bourbon pack kitne ka hain ?”
Store guy – "15 rupya"
Me – “Ok.cool.Ek Parle G de do.”
Store guy – “Kya navin tu bhee , Engineering college main padne walo ko bade paisa wali naukri milti hai , tab bhee Parle G ?”
Me – “Swad bhare , shakti bhare , barson se .Parle G !”
I wish I could tell you I love Parle G , but I cant tell you this , because I don’t like Parle G, never . But with a four rupee price tag(during those struggling Edays) , it looks like a creamy bourbon pack to me for that moment of time.
So I wished I cud have done all the things at right time and wish to hope that somehow , someday , when the washerwoman asks “saaab , paise denge kya ?” , I wont have to look down into the teacup.

The great indian wedding

A sad horse.A more sad guy on the horse.Bright lights.Sweaty men dancing explosively to loud filmy songs on the street.Ladies wearing more gold than with the RBI.Smell of cologne in the air.Old women with 'dholak' singing songs which no one understands.Spending forty minutes in the cosmetic store to find the lipstick to perfectly match the color of the saree.Welcome to 'The great Indian wedding'.Its one of the most amusingly extravagant things I see in this funny world.

I dont know how weddings take place in Southern India or some other parts.I guess the weddings there are not very elaborate.I think they just make the groom wear some kind of small cap with some beads and plug some grass behind his ears and sprinkle some basmati rice on him.The bride is also very simply dressed , with not much make up and the thing gets over pretty easy.I went to the wedding of our neighbour’s daughter.Dont remember much.But it all seemed perfectly human.

But attending a typical north Indian wedding leaves me pretty gasping and shaken.I take a couple of days to feel like eating after attending a wedding.But to go through the experience as a guest makes me wonder about the psychological scarring the people getting married have to go through during the process.

Imagine you have a maths test tomorrow.And all the Mrs.Malhotras and Mrs.Kocchars of the colony will ask your mum about your result when it is declared.And you have diarrohea and a running nose.And your neighbour is celebrating his irritating son's sixth birthday.So they have put up a huge tent in the street and the loudspeakers are playing Daler Mehndi songs right outside your window while you are trying to study differential calculus.You get the feeling.Thats the strange mix of desperation and frustration I feel when I recieve a wedding invitation card .Uncle Mehta's son ,who allegedly failed twice in class X and now runs coaching center for kids is getting married.My first move is to protest.

Me *ready-to-suicide-look*:Ma,papa,I dont wanna go.All that noise.All that lights.All those plastic smiles people.
Parents*ready-to-kill-look*:Golu,you have to grow up (complan?).And if you dont go,who will care to attend your wedding ?
*Sidenote- Looks like my parents really want a lot of people to attend my wedding ,if it happens.So I will send out cards to all of you.Please turn up.Get along your families , neighbours ,old classmates , school principal,computer vendor,postman , milkman , anyone.Just build a HUGE crowd.*

So I have to go to that Mehta's wedding. Well at the wedding, D day dawns.The day when a man and wife would vow to tolerate each other and throw things at each other and spy on each other for the rest of their lives and a day when a few hundred fools ,including me,would cheer this amazing alliance by eating a lot.

The 'baraat' is to assemble near "New Era Public School" and would proceed towards the "Just Divorced" farmhouse where the bride and her battalion would be waiting.I reach the spot near New Era Public School.Fat ladies with thick lipsticks,jewellery enough to pull down a weak man to the ground , half inch makeup layers,hair tied in super amazing buns.Big fat men.Loud laughs.Ill fitting suits.Hair swept back.Cellphones in hand.Young girls looking like cosmetic showrooms.Now being from the groom's side , I have to be a part of this "Baraat".Now this is the most depressing part.

The groom is made to sit on a horse.In the 21st century ,with people zooming along in swanky cars ,this guy sits on a "count-my-ribs" horse brought on rent.Infact a female horse.A 'ghodi' in hindi.Whats that called in english ? A horsess ? And a huge "Bharat Band" contingent starts beating drums and blowing trumpets.And they are super sonic loud.LOUD.George Bush in the White House would know that the 'Baraat' is starting from New Era Public School.Real Loud.And the fat aunties and the fat uncles and the pretty girls and the young guys slowly start to slip into the area before the animal carrying the poor guy.They start with shaking sheepishly but before the poor animal knows whats happening , they explode into highly vigorous physical vibrations.All the loud band and the dancing people and the guy on the top of him makes the animal shit twice on his way to the farmhouse.

We reach the farmhouse where the bride is.My parents get busy with all the friends.The dancing party breaks up and promptly attacks the snacks area.I grab a tomato soup and look around.Soon people are pushing and falling over food.Looks like a UN relief camp.Someone introduces me to a girl of my age who is preparing for MCA.
Me *end-to-boredom-relief-expression*: "Hello ,Im Navin.How are you?"
She*dollar-dreams-expression*:"Hi.How did you prepare for MCA?"
Me*not-again-expression*:I jumped off a bridge.That really helps.Try it."
She*confused*:"Eh..he he..um..joke?"
Middle aged ladies keep coming to me and ruffling my hair.
Middle aged lady : "Recognise me golu beta?"
Me ( thinking to myself):She looks like Mayawati.
Me ( smiling to her) :"Aishwarya Rai?"
Middle Aged Lady (slapping my arm real hard) :"he he he...you wont change ever."
And all this bumping into people and grabbing ice creams and soups from hassled waiters goes on and on and on till the guy and the girl put garlands around each other necks and go around a burning stove.Finally the girl leaves crying on every shoulder around and it is time for me to go home.
A genuinely stupid and tiring day.We get home,unlock the main gate and I habitually check the mailbox before getting in.Aha,there is something in there.A wedding invitation card.Thapar uncle's son who as a kid,stole eggs from the departmental store and is a cop now , is getting married.Wedding after a week.My esteemed presence on this auspicious occasion is requested.Sigh.Life is B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.

Success!!!!

Whatz my “success”?

ive been thinking lately.thinking about the concept of success.Am I on the right track ? will I be a success ? Am I moving towards that stage when I will be called a "successful" man ?

Actually this was sparked about a little discussion that happenned with a friend of mine during the class yesterday.We were flipping through the latest businesstoday edition when we chanced upon the pictures of a classmate of us who recently won the BT acumen debate .congrats to him.

n my friend dint seem to be very impressed while I was like "hey look ! thats our classmate in the snap !" i remarked that this guy wud be a "success" one day.That this guy was better than me ,infact than most of the guys in the class.

So my friend says " how can u say that he is "better" ?n i reply "because the society thinks so-the society rewards him not me, felicitates him not me".

and my buddy retorts-"If u let society define success for u , u wont find ur own success."

wait . isnt there like a common definition of success which has been laid down by society and all of us will be termed successful when we meet the parameters laid down there ? we dont have our own concept of success at all.I want an easy life , but i will be successful if im working my ass off at some I bank in new york.wait,this doessnt make sense.I will be "successful" as per society even though im doing something i dont want to.nah,this is wierd.I wanna spend time with my family , but ill b successful when im at a job where i work day in n day out in a different country.this wont do.kids are working crazy to crack Tech bcoks its been told to em that they will be successful only if they get into IITs.a collective common defintion of success has been fed into their brains.

so whats the way out ? looks like I need my own concept of "success".which will have things which I want.not what the society deems necessary for me to have.yea,this sounds right.we all need our own definitions of success.u may need to crack IIT to be a success , n u may not.it all depends on what "success" is for u.

On the Jukebox :"Jab Tum Yaad Aye "- Alka Yagnik

Boyfriend /Girlfriend = Faltoo tension ?

A popular and slick and busy eating joint .Well lit. Big flat screen television playing in a corner. Round little shining tables with nice angular chairs around it.
A guy and a girl seated around a table.The guy reaches into a paper bag and pulls out a box of chocolates.

Scenario 1 -

Guy ( handing over the box to the girl ) – Hey , I got this for you , I guess you like chocolates.
Girl – Oh, Thank you ! I love them.
*Girl thinks – Ueee ma , it would be fun eating all of these chocolates .Ek ek ko chaba daalungi.Calorie consciousness gayi tel lene*

Scenario 2 -

Guy ( handing over the box to the girl ) – Hey , I got this for you , I guess you like chocolates.
Girl – Oh, Thank you ! I love them.

*Girl thinks – Ueee ma , I am again accepting gifts from him , but over the last three weeks , he has been a little cold . Since the time that new girl with the colored hair has joined our classes , he has not been his normal self .See , even the chocolates he has gifted are Cadburys , why could not he gift me those Swiss ones….maybe he hates me now that I have put on weight . Hell , I am so scared and anxious now , these chocolates look as tasty as a Dettol soap to me.*

And it makes me appreciate how much more delightful a simple guy-gal friendship , rather than a “coochie coochie –more than friendship-ishq vishq” , is .I mean , kasam Bhawani ki , the “expectations/possession” ka funda that creeps when a girl is your girlfriend and not just a friend is one wierd issue , atleast with a ‘tension-nahi’ types insaan like me. I mean , I gifted her chocolates because she is a friend , and I wanted her to have fun gobbling them up , and that is that. And this kind of relation is so simple , natural and free of muddled feelings and assumed expectations.

But the moment a ‘proposal and acceptance’ takes place between a guy and a girl , things are transformed. Suddenly the girl, who was a friend till yesterday is a girlfriend . Till last Sunday , Rahul and Shruti were classmates in college . Rahul called Shruti his friend. Then Rahul proposed and Shruti accepted. Now Rahul calls Shruti “My girl”. I mean , yeh “My girl” kya hota hai Rahul Kaka , yeh koi cycle hai , ki “my cycle” ?

Then if Shruti decides goes out on a lunch with her ‘barso ka dost’ vineet , Rahul narrows his eyes and asks her “Tera koi chakkar hai kya uske saath?” and promises to throw export quality acid on her if the answer is in the affirmative.

If Rahul does not send Shruti a bunch of fresh roses on the anniversary of the day they first met in the physics lab , Shruti calls him up in the evening , says Hello , then coughs , sobs and breaks into a long wail which ends in “You are not the same , Rahul” or something to that effect followed by a violent slamming down of the phone.

And Hanuman Jee na kare , if Shruti goes out to shop and spots Rahul riding his bike with a pretty girl on the backseat , she will throw dangerously heavy things at Rahul till he shows her the birth certificate of that girl to prove that it was his sister he was going to drop at her maths tution classes.

I mean , dekho jee , I have minimal experience of having a girlfriend , and considering my state of existence , I don’t think I will have too much experience in this and the next few lifetimes. But to my underdeveloped dimaag , a simple friendship is a very direct , expressed and delightful relationship to have . Maybe all these complications between Rahul and Shruti would not happen , and they will trust each other come what may , and that is very comforting and kaleje ko thanda karne wali thought . But I guess it is cool to let feelings grow naturally without the thing of “having to do it” because he/she is your girlfriend/boyfriend. A true feeling needs no promise , and no promise can make an untrue feeling survive , so why promise and build expectations and lead to unfulfilled ones ?

You can yell “sour grapes , sour grapes” for me now. Infact , I am such a girlfriend-less guy , that even a forest of sour grapes may seem to be the reason behind my thinking . Maybe I am just too immature to handle all the responsibility and promises a commitment demands . But in my opinion , one can be more easy , be a lot more frank , and a lot more natural with a girl who is just happy to see a box of chocolates instead of worried over some new girl with the colored hair.

Pizzza Hut

Recently , due to some unexplained celestial movements and a friend(obviously girl..) with no regard for punctuality , I found myself in a pizza hut with nothing to do over the next half an hour . I settled down at a corner table , plugged in my headphones , ordered a little something and casually looked around . Being a IT Professional, I have to develop this inborn tendency to analyse a sneeze , so I used that half an hour to categorise the type of crowd that visits Pizza hut.

1.The loud and happy "hum saath saath hain" familyEverybody looks happy here . Daddy jee jokes with the kids and makes funny faces at them . Mummy jee is satisfied as pappa jee just convinced her the lipstick marks she found on his shirt was mosquito blood . Kids are happy because they know that in spite of their dad making stupid and outrageous faces at them , he is going to order ice cream after pizzaz and garlic bread . The kids are allowed to push their fingers in their noses and run off to show what they pulled out to the couple seated at the next table . The eating is ruthless and this is one of the more noisy tables of the hut . In case it is a joint family , frequent peals of laughter accompanied by table slapping is evident . In case it is a sardaar joint family , frequent peals of roaring laughter accompanied by table upturning slapping is evident.

2. The coochie coochie "Kuch Kuch hota hain" couple
Now this is the karan johar sponsored couple which is usually a boyfriend-girlfriend combo pack. Just married couple who are yet to fall in the where-is-my-shirt-you-pick-kids-from-school' trap of married life may also qualify.They prefer to sit in remote corners of the hut , well hidden by flowerpots or pillars , leading to problems for waiters who have trouble finding them . They sit as close as siamese twins , may eat from the same plate ( rather unhygeinic) and the only time their hands are not holding each other's body parts is when they are holding spoons or forks . They don't laugh the typical 'balwant-singh-chappar-faad-ke' brand of loaring laughter. It is more like twittering accompanied by whispering into ears . In short , both of them are in complete bliss . For the girl , bliss ends when daddy finds out his daughter has been visiting pizza hut instead of the maths tutions . For the guy , bliss ends much earlier , when the waiter brings the bill.

3. The "shehar ki ladki" tribe
The table which challenges every sound barrier with its shrieking and excited occupants . High school girls maybe . Even college girls , if they are slightly low on maturity . Usually , there is an occasion , which usually , is the birthday of one of those ladies . Shrill and sharp pizza-toppling cries of 'wowwwwwwwwwwwwww', 'Howww chweeeeeeeeeeeet', 'Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww' escape from this gang . A lot of ribbons , gifts and greeting cards may also be passed around , leading to delight of the birthday girl and a certain archies gallery owner. Noise levels , boy's interest in pizza hut and daddy's credit card expenses rise dramatically due to this set of young women.

4. The "kya kool hai hum" boys.
This is the symmetrical opposite of category 3 above . But boys being boys , the sounds they emit are much less shrill and much more unrestrained in terms of their colorful vocabulary . 'Abbe pizza kaunsa mangwaye? , 'Pooja se baat karun kya?' are some examples suitable for an under 18 audience . Their table manners are in urgent need of upgradation and cleaning these tables is the kind of work responsible for salary hike demands by Pizza Hut Waiters Union . Any delay in getting the food on table may lead to heated reactions by these boys , unless there is enough of category 3 around to keep their minds off food . The payment is the most tense and crucial moment , when frequent references to previous 'saale-tujhe-mere-200-dene-hai-pehle-ke' lendings are made.

5. The "na tum bolo na hum" couple
I am really confused about this variety.I mean , if a man and a woman don't want to talk , what kinda gunpoint threat got them together at pizza hut ? But I have always noticed the table as silent as a graveyard occupied by a couple who look as close as kabul and barbados. These people avoid eye contact with each other , smile with the comfort of a nun in a nightclub and keep looking out of the nearest window with the classical philosphical expression . The most elaborate conversations they strike up are about the temperature of the soup , which last for about thirteen seconds , including the sighs and coughs.

6. The 'tanha tanha yahan pe jeena' organism
Primarily , these are people in wait for their friends/girlfriends/boyfriends/blind dates/dates who can see . The waiters eye them suspiciously , clearly distressed by the person's sipping a single coke over the last forty minutes . The fellow passes his time by sipping the drink with the hurry of a super slow motion vision stump camera , blows bubbles in the glass , spends time by memorising every name in the menu card , or just looking at other people.

Yeah , there are other species too , but right now , feeling hungry…
She just coming towards me n I hv to say a cheesy hello to her so plz do not disturb……….

Purani Jeans.....

If I say I need more time to blog , it’s like Bill Gates saying “Hey, can you lend me a dollar?”. My typical day is made up of a couple of classes, some tafri and movies. So I can fit in blogging. But blogging is like making a baby pee , you cannot force it , it just happens. The baby decides to pee when it does. Anyways , now that baby says “Uwwaan Uwwaaan ( Remove my diaper idiot , I want to peeeee )” , I shall blog .

Now If Shahrukh Khan says he loves Chocolate Ice Cream , some thirty three hundred girls would sigh “Oooooooh , you heard that ! Shahrukh loves Chocolate Ice Cream , how cute !”. Or if Sushmita Sen says she likes men with impeccable english , ‘Rapidex English Speaking course’ will be a bestseller overnight . But even my mother won’t be interested in facts about me. Anyway , what me worry.

1. During my graduation , I was very violent. Almost like Suniel Shetty or something. In second year , I broke a tooth of one my classmates. Maybe it was already loose , but I still am sorry for doing that. Later on i hear that guy grew up into a big guy and is a regular at some Hercules gym now and still smiles a toothlessly wicked smile and is hunting for me . It’s rather nice he doesn’t read blogs and doesn’t surf the net too much .

2 . I like bubbly nature girls. Girls who keep on chattering like me.I really like such girls, there is something so Indian and elegantand pleasant about them.

3 .Take away my small intestine , take away my marksheets , take away all my Aishwarya’s posters , but don’t take away my ipod and my music collection. I need oxygen and music to live.

4 . I cannot dance. I tried once. It was my brother’s wedding and some fat aunt pulled me to the ‘dancing area’ and yelled “Naach golu , naach !”. I started doing my moves. She looked at me in horror. Then she yelled “Someone help ! He is having a concussion !”. She killed my self confidence. I cannot dance ever again.But on this very date I can compete with Mr Jackson.

5 . My sleeping time is between 3 to 6:30 in the morning. My biological clock has had its frame crushed , all its springs pulled out ferociously , its dial smashed and its hands twisted .

6 . I speak a lot and I speak nonsense ( sach hai na ? ). As I explained to a dumbstruck friend “Yaar , I don’t think my tongue is gonna be placed in some museum after my death , so I better use it enough.”

7. I do not drink. I do not smoke. Mommy , I am a good boy.

8 .I cannot get away with lying to my mommy. Have you seen a walking Lie Detector machine ? I grew up with one in my house.

9 . I hate lights. Most of the time , the lights are switched off in my room , with the computer screen being the only source of light.Could not Edison invent anything else ?

10. I can maintain a deadpan face and say weird things .There was one of my class mate who had just joined the college. And he wanted to approach a girl asking for some class notes. And I was sitting next to this guy.So he asks me –“Hey man , what is that girl’s name ? The one in the pink suit .”.And I say – “Rani Mukherjee”.And he goes over to her and says “Hi Rani”.As time went by , that guy met kajol , urmila matondkar , sushmita sen and a couple of others through me.

ladki.......

I feel like an Adnan Sami forced to pack himself in Priyanka Chopra's jeans. I feel like a Julia Roberts forced to watch 'Main prem ki deewani hoon' from the front row of any z grade Cinema hall. Kitne examples sunega bhai , samajh ja na ki I feel uncomfortable . I have been tagged by frends who want me to put down eight things I desire in my life partner. I seriously think the hindustaani sarkaar is goofing up by not awarding a paramveer chakra to my mom who has managed to tolerate me for 25 years , so expecting someone to be with me for life scores a perfect ten on the optimism meter. But Mungeri Laal doesn't hold the exclusive copyright to dream. So here goes .

1. The sharmeeli salwaar suit girl'Bholi si soorat , aankhon mein masti , duur khadi sharmaye'
I first heard these lines from 'Dil to pagal hai' in my mohalla. Since then , whenever I imagine my dream girl , these lines start playing in the background of my bheja . Plain face. Minimum make up. Ek choti se bindiya . naazuk . Hair tied a choti. Pink salwaar suit. A few kaanch ki green bangles . Quiet girl . Elegant . Shy. Soft laughter. Hai main marr jaawa manchurian kha ke .The multiplex chaap girl who wears a three year old's bathing suit to parties , drinks , smokes , uses foul words and calls herself independent is a wonderful thing to happen to the cosmetic and tobacco industry , but for me , the bhartiya simple ladki remains incredibly cute . But oye sohniye , not too much shy . But still it wont works…want to know….check out this.

Me ( Back from office ) - Knock . Knock . Oye laajwanti , darwaza khol yar , I am back .She ( softly ) - Suno jee , mujhe aapke saamne aate hue shy shy feel hota hain jee .Me ( Trying to keep my voice low while the neighbours look at me curiously ) - Ahem . haha. Arre darwaza khol sweetie , it's been 13 years since our marriage now. Abb kya sharmana .She ( softly giggling now ) - umm..nahi jee , mujhse nahi kiya jayega . Aapke saamne aate hi sharma jati hu main.Me ( hitting the briefcase against the door ) – Teri*****..I mean , I love shyness , but I don't want to use my briefcase to enter my home everyday.

2. What's common between ego and dinosaurs ?
Both are dead now. That's right , her ego should be as dead as a thief in Mike tyson's home . I don't like people who have big blue whale sized egos . She should be like "You remember the time I burped loudly when we were having dinner with your boss's family ? HaHa. I am such a goof!". Maybe that's why I have never been attracted to any Techno girl , many of whom can't laugh at themselves . Oye kake , campus selected hokar aayi hai hema malini , to ego ekdum eiffel tower size ka ho jata hai kaafi ladkiyon ka .

3 . Kuch to log kahenge , logon ka kaam hai kehna .Tu bheje ka kofta mat bana .
Now that she would be married and assumingly exposed to a healthy dose of fat padosans and frustrated colleagues like most Indian women , a lot of junta soundbytes like 'How do you stay with this half crazed nut ?' and 'I know a pretty good divorce lawyer.You deserve a better life' and 'What ?? He comes back late these days ? You should talk to 'Husband-secretary-pol khol detective agency'. I don't want her to kill these padosans and colleagues and dump their bodies under our bed , but she should have a mind of her own to prioritise people and what they say. What most people think about me doesn't move a fingernail on me , and I hope she is kinda chilled too.

4. Tunnu munnu ke papa , chalo aaj 'Haseena maan jayegi' dekhte hain
Kasam Madhubala's smile ki , the girl who actually laughs at Govinda or Akshay Kumar's brand of exaggerated comedy is my kudi , because it shows she actually enjoys brain-less , 'bheja-bhool-ja' variety of antics , which gives her a clean ten extra points in my 'Kaun Banegi Meri patni' contest . Infact , I intend to ask her about this during the 'ladka ladki ek doosre ko jaan le , samajh le' stage .
Me - Hi . Have you seen 'Haseena maan jayegi' ?She - Oh I love that one !Me - Oh yeah . How about 'Jodi no.1' ?She - Uee ma . Seen that 14 times.Me - That's so touching . Mujhse Shaadi karogi ?She - Wow , Akshay kumar was so funny in that one .Me - Oye Basanti , not the movie , this is a real life question. Mujhse Shaadi karogi ?

5. Oh , bhaago “Jaag utha shaitaan” !
I write nonsense . I am not asking you , I am telling you a fact I know . But I write whatever I want to write , rather than what you want me to write . Now a girl reads the stuff at this blog , thinks 'What an idiot he is' , leaves a 'This is crap . And now you are in trouble' comment , reports me to blogger for being a burden on the cyber dharti and calls up her connection in Dubai to get me killed by some Truck during my morning walk. I will marry a lamp post rather than this girl . I mean , the girl should not consider herself the 'I am perfect' , 'I will clean the system' , 'How dare someone be silly' headmistress type character . Chill maar yaar . I am having my fun the way I want to , just leave me to my stupid life , sweetheart .


6. Thoda hain , thode ki zaroorat hain
Her life ka basic funda of happiness should match with mine . I too enjoy my work , but I need to keep the big picture in place . If the purpose of her life is to be on the cover of a business magazine , I am cool. If she is willing to neglect her ( and hopefully , mine too ) kids for that , I am boiling . My priorities - my family , my kids , a happy environment at home. Money is a pen I need to script happiness and comfort for my family. If she loves the pen more than the script , she better marry some 'aag-in-the-belly' , high flying , busy business man whose kids have trouble remembering his face , mere pyare pyare gol mol baccho ko baksh de mrs CEO.

I have to put down two more points about the girl who shall marry me and get to say 'See that guy with the stupid face over there ? He is my husband' . But I don't really think I want pouty red lips or a rich dad in law or 'jheel see aankhein' , because life is not a movie where I can happily drown in her eyes and feel happy forever . Zindagi mein things have to be worked out and when I need her to understand and share my life , pouty lips or pink cheeks won't exactly be a very useful thing . So abhi bass itna hee mangta hoon hanuman ji. If you think you have it in you to be the first ever Miss.Hitler's soul , pick up your cellphone and sms D-I-V-O-R-C-E to 123 rightnow. Sms karne se kya hoga ? Kuch nahi . Aise hee paise waste karwa raha hun yaar.