He was not nervous. Anxious? Perhaps. He checked the presence of the Walther P99 gun with him and the fact that it was loaded, gave him some strength and comfort. As usual he was alone. Infact he had no partners and had never wanted one. While the rest of the world lived a life where each day was almost the copied and pasted version of their previous day, he lived one where there was no today, leave alone tomorrow.
He tiptoed into the building with the alacrity of a cat and went to the unclassified place as he had planned. The door was locked from inside. Well that was the least of the problems for this highly skilled man. He opened it and went inside as if he would enter the town hall. There were 5 men in the room and they did seem surprised by his entry.
He shot the first and second straight in the head. The third tried to run and got shot in his back. The fourth pounced on him as the fifth tried to run. The gun spilled from his hand and the fourth one hit him hard on his face. Blood oozed out of his mouth and he fell hard on the floor and got hurt on his head. The fourth one relaxed for a second. Mistake.
He bounced back and hit him hard on his face. It was such a powerful shot that even her majesty would have stood up and applauded. He took back his gun and shot the fourth and fifth. Perhaps he had been born as a cold blooded bastard and he was proud for that. He took the unclassified file on the desk as planned and called his superiors to let them do the cover up. Nobody would know about him and as usual he would go on a hiding.
He walked to the headquarters to return the file. They took him to the meds and the nurse came in with the first aid. She seemed new as he had known every staff on the building by their first name. As she nursed his bruises she asked him "May I know your name?"
He smiled. It was a smile that had made women swoon at his feet. Then he uttered the most famous words spoken by any spy on earth "The name is Bond....James Bond".
She gasped with disbelief and immediately smiled flirtatiously. She was not the first and she won't be the last.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Monday, November 13, 2006
V for Vetti
A shopping mall is the best place to look around for characters if you are a writer. You get to see anything and everything. One gets to see patterns in the people of the same ethnicity and it really surprises at times. It’s easy to spot Asians because they always tend to travel in groups. Particularly Desis are famous for that. If you happen to see someone taking a snap of another in a long shot, when no one else in the mall thought of doing that...its gotta be a desi.
During Halloween time it was even funnier. There was a woman walking in the mall with wings like a witch and a saber tooth like a Dracula. There was one thing that I observed in US when I landed here on first day. There are only 2 categories of people in terms of size. Either they look like straight-out-of-gym types or like honey-I-blew-them size. In short they are either very fit or very fat. There are people walking around calling themselves as School students, but by their size and build even I looked like a Kindergarten kid in front of them.
There was a Caucasian family where the parents walked in front leaving their children behind as if they had got the children for free from some fair. Behind them was their 4 year old kid who was pushing the perambulator of her 2 year old sibling who seemed to consider that having a feeding bottle nipple in mouth and locked to the machine was a better option than being an s/w engg. The kids are very cute, but beware before you set your eyes on them. If they happen to see you around looking innocently at their kids as such, the next thing you could know might be being frisked away by cops being implicated of acting (?) like Michael Jackson.
The best characters however are the "Yo Guys", "Brother" or our African-American brothers. I have no idea on earth how they grow their hair in all sizes and shapes. Irrespective of men, women and childern, they grow it vertically, horizontally, diagonally, plait them, and have beads around like Henry Olonga and god know what. They wear their caps on their head at an angle greater than 15 degree and less than 365 degree which in straight words can be explained that they NEVER wear their caps straight.
Even the men wear so much of jewellery and diamonds that an average Indian father could get all his 5 daughters married and settled if he were to rob just one of the "brother". They have a distance walking style limping around like as if "their mom just forgot to give them their quota of polio drops" (as quoted by my friend Jithu). Their dresses are so big and loose enough that an average Indian can raise his family, 2 kids and his dog if he were to make a tent out of it.
Just as I was thinking these, a woman just looked at me and turned her head in disgust. Wondering why I went to have a look at myself in the mirror around and found out the reason. I had stubble for 4 days and it looked like I had mourned the death of my dog and had buried it in a cemetery nearby. My eyes had swollen due to lack of sleep and so I looked drunk. That’s when I remembered the immortal last lines uttered in the movie Some like it hot
"Well, nobody's perfect" :-)
During Halloween time it was even funnier. There was a woman walking in the mall with wings like a witch and a saber tooth like a Dracula. There was one thing that I observed in US when I landed here on first day. There are only 2 categories of people in terms of size. Either they look like straight-out-of-gym types or like honey-I-blew-them size. In short they are either very fit or very fat. There are people walking around calling themselves as School students, but by their size and build even I looked like a Kindergarten kid in front of them.
There was a Caucasian family where the parents walked in front leaving their children behind as if they had got the children for free from some fair. Behind them was their 4 year old kid who was pushing the perambulator of her 2 year old sibling who seemed to consider that having a feeding bottle nipple in mouth and locked to the machine was a better option than being an s/w engg. The kids are very cute, but beware before you set your eyes on them. If they happen to see you around looking innocently at their kids as such, the next thing you could know might be being frisked away by cops being implicated of acting (?) like Michael Jackson.
The best characters however are the "Yo Guys", "Brother" or our African-American brothers. I have no idea on earth how they grow their hair in all sizes and shapes. Irrespective of men, women and childern, they grow it vertically, horizontally, diagonally, plait them, and have beads around like Henry Olonga and god know what. They wear their caps on their head at an angle greater than 15 degree and less than 365 degree which in straight words can be explained that they NEVER wear their caps straight.
Even the men wear so much of jewellery and diamonds that an average Indian father could get all his 5 daughters married and settled if he were to rob just one of the "brother". They have a distance walking style limping around like as if "their mom just forgot to give them their quota of polio drops" (as quoted by my friend Jithu). Their dresses are so big and loose enough that an average Indian can raise his family, 2 kids and his dog if he were to make a tent out of it.
Just as I was thinking these, a woman just looked at me and turned her head in disgust. Wondering why I went to have a look at myself in the mirror around and found out the reason. I had stubble for 4 days and it looked like I had mourned the death of my dog and had buried it in a cemetery nearby. My eyes had swollen due to lack of sleep and so I looked drunk. That’s when I remembered the immortal last lines uttered in the movie Some like it hot
"Well, nobody's perfect" :-)
Monday, November 06, 2006
True or False
She was barely out of her teens and looked very fresh. Aslam, the film reporter of a local newspaper was looking at the new Mumbai heroine Savitha. It was the shooting of the movie "Paapa potta Thaapa" (The girl who locked the latch). While purists argued that the title sounded pornographic, the producer and director didn’t seem to mind much. They were happy that this title made them use double entendre intentionally in the movie with hell lot of glamour and oomph targeted at their youth audience. What more, they would also get tax exemption from the state government for naming their film in Tamil :-)
This was the Mumbai Girl Savitha's first Tamil movie. Her mother was seated nearby and as per heroine's mother’s norms she was having all her share of apple juice and throwing tantrums at the hapless Assistant directors. The make up girl was applying more rose powder needlessly to her already rose colored cheeks. She was reading Sidney Sheldon’s' Best Laid Plans. Aslam didn’t know if really heroines did read Sheldon or pretended to do so as he had seen most of them do that.
Aslam: So where are you from?
Savitha: I am from Mumbai. The director approached me after he saw me in an ad.
Aslam: How do you find TamilNadu?
Savitha: Oh it’s a nice place. Ennakku tamil konjaam konjaam teriyum. Is this rite?
Aslam: Wow you are good.
Liar. She was running a bulldozer over Tamil with intensity greater than the Tamil TV comparers and a touch lesser than Udit Narayan. May the noble souls of Valluvar and Bharathi rest in peace.
The physics of Indian male is funny. They fantasize heroines as their lovers or wives. That’s why the Indian heroines have not been successful playing title roles after marital bliss. Heroines were dumb and stupid or had to act as such. Those who didn’t follow the convention found themselves playing sister, mother or grandma (in worst cases) to heroes who were old enough to act as their great grandpa. The more lucky ones became mega serial heroines who cried at a drop of a hat. The rest chose to become some Durga, Lakshmi or Parvati or whatever goddess with all jewels locked in RBI and seated over a fake tiger. After the shot got over, Savitha and her super mom went inside the caravan van to take some rest. Aslam's interview was over and he just had to spice it up a little for his gossip loving public.
Inside the caravan, the following conversation happens in chaste Marathi
Savitha: I hate to do this. Why can’t I tell that I am a tamilian settled long before in Mumbai and have to lie about this?
Mom: Are you stupid? Except Trisha and Sneha how many Tamil heroines do you know in the movie industry? Nobody knows this truth about us. Look, your market rate is just based on the fact that you are from Mumbai.
Savitha: (sobbing) But I hate this mom. Did you see how that son of a bitch reporter was ogling at me? I feel uncomfortable doing this mom.
Mom: Savitha, dont become emotional. Just do a few more films. Wait till we find some rich business man or a producer's son. Do you think I want to make you go through all this?
Savitha didn’t say anything. She looked outside the caravan window. The sun was going deep down behind the mountain and nobody around seemed to be in a mood to appreciate it. She was having a sense of Deja vu.
This was the Mumbai Girl Savitha's first Tamil movie. Her mother was seated nearby and as per heroine's mother’s norms she was having all her share of apple juice and throwing tantrums at the hapless Assistant directors. The make up girl was applying more rose powder needlessly to her already rose colored cheeks. She was reading Sidney Sheldon’s' Best Laid Plans. Aslam didn’t know if really heroines did read Sheldon or pretended to do so as he had seen most of them do that.
Aslam: So where are you from?
Savitha: I am from Mumbai. The director approached me after he saw me in an ad.
Aslam: How do you find TamilNadu?
Savitha: Oh it’s a nice place. Ennakku tamil konjaam konjaam teriyum. Is this rite?
Aslam: Wow you are good.
Liar. She was running a bulldozer over Tamil with intensity greater than the Tamil TV comparers and a touch lesser than Udit Narayan. May the noble souls of Valluvar and Bharathi rest in peace.
The physics of Indian male is funny. They fantasize heroines as their lovers or wives. That’s why the Indian heroines have not been successful playing title roles after marital bliss. Heroines were dumb and stupid or had to act as such. Those who didn’t follow the convention found themselves playing sister, mother or grandma (in worst cases) to heroes who were old enough to act as their great grandpa. The more lucky ones became mega serial heroines who cried at a drop of a hat. The rest chose to become some Durga, Lakshmi or Parvati or whatever goddess with all jewels locked in RBI and seated over a fake tiger. After the shot got over, Savitha and her super mom went inside the caravan van to take some rest. Aslam's interview was over and he just had to spice it up a little for his gossip loving public.
Inside the caravan, the following conversation happens in chaste Marathi
Savitha: I hate to do this. Why can’t I tell that I am a tamilian settled long before in Mumbai and have to lie about this?
Mom: Are you stupid? Except Trisha and Sneha how many Tamil heroines do you know in the movie industry? Nobody knows this truth about us. Look, your market rate is just based on the fact that you are from Mumbai.
Savitha: (sobbing) But I hate this mom. Did you see how that son of a bitch reporter was ogling at me? I feel uncomfortable doing this mom.
Mom: Savitha, dont become emotional. Just do a few more films. Wait till we find some rich business man or a producer's son. Do you think I want to make you go through all this?
Savitha didn’t say anything. She looked outside the caravan window. The sun was going deep down behind the mountain and nobody around seemed to be in a mood to appreciate it. She was having a sense of Deja vu.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Kannum Kannum Nokia
The germ for this post was sown by the 1st standard studying cousin of my roommate. When my roomie asked him what he wanted from US, he replied without any hesitation - CELL PHONE. I was wondering why a 6 year old kid needs a cell phone. When I was in college, there was only one guy in our hostel who had his own cell phone and we looked upon him as if he was Lakshmi Mittal and we were iron scrap merchants.
Back after college, my parents insisted that I get a cell phone before I leave for job. But an adamant idiot that I am, I had always wanted my cell phone to be bought out of my own money and so I waited for my first month salary and bought a Samsung C100. In my training period, one of my fellow batch mate asked for my number and when I told him that I had no cell phone, he looked at me as if I had just told him that Bush was gay.
"No Cell phone? What’s your problem dude?"
"Anything wrong with it? What are you, some Mr. I-was-born-with-a-cell phone-in-my-hand? "
Indeed it seemed to be. Back in 1997, I remember cell phone was a status symbol when the incoming and outgoing were charged at exorbitant prices and you were looked upon as if you had booked Rajini for a movie. But enter Mr Ambani and his "Mera sapna Sabka Apna" and every body on the street was out with a cell phone. The ad of “Viru ki Maa” became the butt of all jokes, but who cares. You see a reliance cell phone with someone and look upon them as if they said that Vijayakanth was the most handsome man in the world.
Some of the stupid instances are the Customer Care calls. Once my friend received a call as such
She: "Sir, I am calling from XXXXX. Would be interested in taking a personal loan?"
He: "No Madam. I am leaving for a meeting now. And I don’t want a loan"
She: "Sir we offer premium rates and there is no limit as well"
He: “Does it come with a steal-the-bank option?"
She: "Sir...."
He: "Because I am already buried neck deep with hell lot of loans and if you force me to take this, I don’t think I have any other option of paying you back"
By the time he replaced his phone, she must have mumbled "What a jerk" and must have wished him luck to not even find a burial place in Kannamapettai in his last days. Every day there is a new model with a new feature. By the time you buy some model wondering what more can be done, there is another one in the market with something extra. It has an FM, MP3 player, TV, Mailbox, Chat, Bluetooth, GPS...I wonder if the only things that are left to be added to it are Washing Machine and refrigerator. Some common traits of cell phone using people are numbers marked as HOME, OFFICE, INDIA, and RELIANCE and so on.
The consummate users of cell phone are the love-and-flirt pairs. They begin their day with a good morning for their beloved and go to bed with their good night. They won’t let their cell phone go from their hands for their lives. A typical conversation is as such between the kadalai ppl
He: "Hey, so what’s the Tiffin?"(Thanks to CUG (Closed User Group) I dont need to pay for this)
She: "Its idli" (Jerk, he doesn’t know any other opening line)
He: "Was it chutney or podi?" (Why doesn’t she eat anything other than idli)
She: "It was chutney" (Oh moron, ask something else)
He: "Why, you don’t like sambhar?" (What should I ask next? This is going nowhere)
She: "Oh C’mon Bharath. You know I don’t like Sambhar for idli" (He cant even remember this about me?)
He: "Meena, this is Arvind" (Who the hell is Bharath?)
She: "This is Asha"
Thattam Gatam. End of conversation (perhaps relationship). Agreed, it is one awesome tool for communication. It’s a hell of a safety tool for working women and college going girls to communicate to their parents. You think of someone special sometime, just open it and boom....there you go. Life was never so easy. But we have also heard about blank calls, obscene sms and so on. One stupid case I heard recently was where a woman complained receiving obscene SMS and when traced, it was from an unlisted number....owned by her husband.
Let’s admit it, haven’t we all lost our privacy? As every technological innovation, this too has a dark side when all it was invented was for one major purpose - Connecting people.
Back after college, my parents insisted that I get a cell phone before I leave for job. But an adamant idiot that I am, I had always wanted my cell phone to be bought out of my own money and so I waited for my first month salary and bought a Samsung C100. In my training period, one of my fellow batch mate asked for my number and when I told him that I had no cell phone, he looked at me as if I had just told him that Bush was gay.
"No Cell phone? What’s your problem dude?"
"Anything wrong with it? What are you, some Mr. I-was-born-with-a-cell phone-in-my-hand? "
Indeed it seemed to be. Back in 1997, I remember cell phone was a status symbol when the incoming and outgoing were charged at exorbitant prices and you were looked upon as if you had booked Rajini for a movie. But enter Mr Ambani and his "Mera sapna Sabka Apna" and every body on the street was out with a cell phone. The ad of “Viru ki Maa” became the butt of all jokes, but who cares. You see a reliance cell phone with someone and look upon them as if they said that Vijayakanth was the most handsome man in the world.
Some of the stupid instances are the Customer Care calls. Once my friend received a call as such
She: "Sir, I am calling from XXXXX. Would be interested in taking a personal loan?"
He: "No Madam. I am leaving for a meeting now. And I don’t want a loan"
She: "Sir we offer premium rates and there is no limit as well"
He: “Does it come with a steal-the-bank option?"
She: "Sir...."
He: "Because I am already buried neck deep with hell lot of loans and if you force me to take this, I don’t think I have any other option of paying you back"
By the time he replaced his phone, she must have mumbled "What a jerk" and must have wished him luck to not even find a burial place in Kannamapettai in his last days. Every day there is a new model with a new feature. By the time you buy some model wondering what more can be done, there is another one in the market with something extra. It has an FM, MP3 player, TV, Mailbox, Chat, Bluetooth, GPS...I wonder if the only things that are left to be added to it are Washing Machine and refrigerator. Some common traits of cell phone using people are numbers marked as HOME, OFFICE, INDIA, and RELIANCE and so on.
The consummate users of cell phone are the love-and-flirt pairs. They begin their day with a good morning for their beloved and go to bed with their good night. They won’t let their cell phone go from their hands for their lives. A typical conversation is as such between the kadalai ppl
He: "Hey, so what’s the Tiffin?"(Thanks to CUG (Closed User Group) I dont need to pay for this)
She: "Its idli" (Jerk, he doesn’t know any other opening line)
He: "Was it chutney or podi?" (Why doesn’t she eat anything other than idli)
She: "It was chutney" (Oh moron, ask something else)
He: "Why, you don’t like sambhar?" (What should I ask next? This is going nowhere)
She: "Oh C’mon Bharath. You know I don’t like Sambhar for idli" (He cant even remember this about me?)
He: "Meena, this is Arvind" (Who the hell is Bharath?)
She: "This is Asha"
Thattam Gatam. End of conversation (perhaps relationship). Agreed, it is one awesome tool for communication. It’s a hell of a safety tool for working women and college going girls to communicate to their parents. You think of someone special sometime, just open it and boom....there you go. Life was never so easy. But we have also heard about blank calls, obscene sms and so on. One stupid case I heard recently was where a woman complained receiving obscene SMS and when traced, it was from an unlisted number....owned by her husband.
Let’s admit it, haven’t we all lost our privacy? As every technological innovation, this too has a dark side when all it was invented was for one major purpose - Connecting people.
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Departed
"Pachchas rupya do saab" (give me fifty rupees) demanded the autowallah as he dropped me outside the Delhi High Court. I didn’t haggle with him and handed over a 50 rupee note and walked to the Courtroom. Even though I have a car, I can’t come in it as the press knows my car and they will hound me like vultures surrounding a dead body. I walked as fast as I can so that I don’t want to get mobbed by anyone and settled in one end of the court clutching my bag closely.
"Today we will have the verdict for the case between Priyadarshini Vs Santosh" declared the judge. Priyadarshini. My dear daughter could have been a successful lawyer, a more-than-average-singer or an obedient wife and a nice mom. But what did she become? An objection of obsession of a psychopath who had stalked her for long, who one day ended her life after a gruesome rape and left her dead in a pool of blood. Every time the press and the court when ask me to repeat the details of the crime, it was like being hanged to death without any sentence.
The case has been in hearing for the past 10 years and it has been like 10 centuries. The worse day of my life was when in 1999, a court judge declared openly that he was acquitting the murderer even though he knew he was the culprit, because of lack of evidence. My whole world turned upside down. It was a blow on the face of justice. Worse was that the murderer Santosh cleared the Bar exam and is now a practicing Lawyer.
What makes these people commit such crimes? Is it the fact that our justice system has so many loopholes that even a dinosaur can walk out of it? Is it the support of their strong connections with powerful men in positions where anything and everything can be compromised? Don’t these senseless bastards think that the women to whom they do such gruesome acts are women as their own mothers or sisters?
The judge cleared his throat and brought me back to the shore from the sea of questions and doubts. "The trial judge acquitted the accused amazingly taking a perverse approach. It murdered justice and shocked judicial conscience. Santosh is found guilty of murder of Priyadarshini under Indian Penal Code sections 302 (murder) and 376 (rape)."
As he delivers his sentence, there is uproar in the room, but I would not hear it form sometime. Tears of joy flow down my eyes and it’s a sign of perseverance of the 10 years I spent to hear this verdict. I know that by hanging him dead I cannot bring my dear daughter back from dead. But why I need this verdict badly is to prevent more men from turning into maniacs as Santosh and stop women being victimized as my daughter.
As I leave the court I take my hands out of the bag that I was clutching. The press swarms up to hear my opinion on the verdict. "Finally justice has been delivered" I say plainly and leave the premises. I am happy that they didn’t make me use the gun I had in hidden in my bag as the very last resort.
P.S: Dedicated to Priyadarshini Mattoo. Finally Justice has been served.
"Today we will have the verdict for the case between Priyadarshini Vs Santosh" declared the judge. Priyadarshini. My dear daughter could have been a successful lawyer, a more-than-average-singer or an obedient wife and a nice mom. But what did she become? An objection of obsession of a psychopath who had stalked her for long, who one day ended her life after a gruesome rape and left her dead in a pool of blood. Every time the press and the court when ask me to repeat the details of the crime, it was like being hanged to death without any sentence.
The case has been in hearing for the past 10 years and it has been like 10 centuries. The worse day of my life was when in 1999, a court judge declared openly that he was acquitting the murderer even though he knew he was the culprit, because of lack of evidence. My whole world turned upside down. It was a blow on the face of justice. Worse was that the murderer Santosh cleared the Bar exam and is now a practicing Lawyer.
What makes these people commit such crimes? Is it the fact that our justice system has so many loopholes that even a dinosaur can walk out of it? Is it the support of their strong connections with powerful men in positions where anything and everything can be compromised? Don’t these senseless bastards think that the women to whom they do such gruesome acts are women as their own mothers or sisters?
The judge cleared his throat and brought me back to the shore from the sea of questions and doubts. "The trial judge acquitted the accused amazingly taking a perverse approach. It murdered justice and shocked judicial conscience. Santosh is found guilty of murder of Priyadarshini under Indian Penal Code sections 302 (murder) and 376 (rape)."
As he delivers his sentence, there is uproar in the room, but I would not hear it form sometime. Tears of joy flow down my eyes and it’s a sign of perseverance of the 10 years I spent to hear this verdict. I know that by hanging him dead I cannot bring my dear daughter back from dead. But why I need this verdict badly is to prevent more men from turning into maniacs as Santosh and stop women being victimized as my daughter.
As I leave the court I take my hands out of the bag that I was clutching. The press swarms up to hear my opinion on the verdict. "Finally justice has been delivered" I say plainly and leave the premises. I am happy that they didn’t make me use the gun I had in hidden in my bag as the very last resort.
P.S: Dedicated to Priyadarshini Mattoo. Finally Justice has been served.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Choose the Best Answer
By the time Ashok reached home it was 8.30 at night. It had taken him more than one hour to reach Adayar from the busy streets of Anna salai. He was so hungry that he could have gobbled up a piano with tomato sauce and chutney. He was not surprised to see his two month old wife Anitha sympathizing with a mega serial heroine who seemed to have a summation of all the problems of an entire country in her single family.
After freshening up, he opened the hot box with lot of anxiety and tons of hunger. The supper was Idli, dosa, Sambhar and chutney. Awwww. The idli looked hard enough to cause blood flow if hit on head. The worse part was that the Sambhar was so much liquefied to make it look like rasam and chutney didnt have any coconut in it. The dosa looked like some piece of rug. When Ashok had first met Anitha, her mother claimed that she had cooked all those delicious delicacies. But her brother told him that Anitha was so bad at cooking that she would read the instructions to cook Maggie noodles at least 5 minutes in those 2 minutes.
"Do you know that Mrinalini's father-in-law passed away today?" asked Anitha.
"Mrinalini? Is she from your family side or mine?" asked Ashok mechanically eating one of the idlis.
"Budhdhu. I am talking about the heroine in Kabhi Bahu bhi Saas baneggiii" said Anitha.
Ashok never understood 2 things. One, why did all Ekta Kapoor's stupid serials need to start with the letter K and have unspellable spellings. Two, why did women refer to mega serial characters as if they were close enough as neighbors next door. Ignoring these ridiculous doubts aside Ashok chomped the idli with sambhar with the expression of Narasimha Rao meeting his ministers. She was still in the learning phase and Ashok was prepared to wait. And then as he feared, the inevitable question popped up.
"So how is the dinner? Is the sambhar as nice as your mother makes?" asked Anitha.
Most of the men in the world would be ready to fight a lion barehanded or attempt IITJEE question papers rather than answering this question. Ashok’s mom had been cooking since the age of 16 and was famous in the colony for the tasty south Indian dishes she made in festival times. If he were to tell her that it was nice, then she would get the wrong impression and would continue to cook this horribly and drive him mad. If he were to say that it tasted like garbage, she may start sobbing without any glycerin and may even fight and make him mad. If he were to say that both were alike, then maybe she may get angry that her cooking was not good than his mother’s.
Hell, if he could think of so many possibilities, he could put Vishwanathan Anand out of business or topple Topalov and become Chess Master. The bottom line was that he didn’t want to hurt her as he loved her a lot.
Hesitant he played on neutral grounds “Ani..its nice. It’s not like what my mom makes...but it’s nice. Tell me one thing. Why did you have to make these when you could have simply made something like noodles that’s very easy to cook?"
"Because I want to make you happy" replied Anitha.
Ashok turned silent and kissed her on her forehead and ate silently. The sambhar did not taste that bad after all.
After freshening up, he opened the hot box with lot of anxiety and tons of hunger. The supper was Idli, dosa, Sambhar and chutney. Awwww. The idli looked hard enough to cause blood flow if hit on head. The worse part was that the Sambhar was so much liquefied to make it look like rasam and chutney didnt have any coconut in it. The dosa looked like some piece of rug. When Ashok had first met Anitha, her mother claimed that she had cooked all those delicious delicacies. But her brother told him that Anitha was so bad at cooking that she would read the instructions to cook Maggie noodles at least 5 minutes in those 2 minutes.
"Do you know that Mrinalini's father-in-law passed away today?" asked Anitha.
"Mrinalini? Is she from your family side or mine?" asked Ashok mechanically eating one of the idlis.
"Budhdhu. I am talking about the heroine in Kabhi Bahu bhi Saas baneggiii" said Anitha.
Ashok never understood 2 things. One, why did all Ekta Kapoor's stupid serials need to start with the letter K and have unspellable spellings. Two, why did women refer to mega serial characters as if they were close enough as neighbors next door. Ignoring these ridiculous doubts aside Ashok chomped the idli with sambhar with the expression of Narasimha Rao meeting his ministers. She was still in the learning phase and Ashok was prepared to wait. And then as he feared, the inevitable question popped up.
"So how is the dinner? Is the sambhar as nice as your mother makes?" asked Anitha.
Most of the men in the world would be ready to fight a lion barehanded or attempt IITJEE question papers rather than answering this question. Ashok’s mom had been cooking since the age of 16 and was famous in the colony for the tasty south Indian dishes she made in festival times. If he were to tell her that it was nice, then she would get the wrong impression and would continue to cook this horribly and drive him mad. If he were to say that it tasted like garbage, she may start sobbing without any glycerin and may even fight and make him mad. If he were to say that both were alike, then maybe she may get angry that her cooking was not good than his mother’s.
Hell, if he could think of so many possibilities, he could put Vishwanathan Anand out of business or topple Topalov and become Chess Master. The bottom line was that he didn’t want to hurt her as he loved her a lot.
Hesitant he played on neutral grounds “Ani..its nice. It’s not like what my mom makes...but it’s nice. Tell me one thing. Why did you have to make these when you could have simply made something like noodles that’s very easy to cook?"
"Because I want to make you happy" replied Anitha.
Ashok turned silent and kissed her on her forehead and ate silently. The sambhar did not taste that bad after all.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Match the Following
"Again less marks in Maths. 180 out of 200. How do you think you are going to make the top grade Kaushik?" yelled Dad. I hate this whole exam system. Worse I hate is this enquiry after each and every exam. It’s as if I am a militant on an execution row.
"Look at me Kaushik. Your brother Kishore scored centum in 3 subjects and was the second in district. Dont you want to match him?" Match him my ass. My elder brother Kishore was bloody bookworm who knew nothing about life. All his life was spent reading subject books. He once asked me if VijayKanth and Rajnikanth were siblings. At times when my dad is out there comparing me with my brother, I feel like killing Kishore by the scruff of his neck. But then, that poor fella also got unfavorably compared to my elder cousin Ravi.
Why do we need to be compared with someone? Life is a whole lot comparison cycle. As a kid you get compared to your siblings or cousins. At work place you get compared to your peers (I heard about Appraisal from my cousin). And if you are unlucky enough at old age, your kids may bitch you comparing about the standards you provided them with the rest. I wonder now how unfavorably the wards of famous politicians, artists, sportpersons are compared with them. Aren’t we all individual entities? If we are all the same, then what’s the point?
"Don’t you want to become an engineer like your brother Kaushik?" asked Dad. There we go. The number of engineering colleges was already more than the Punjabi Dhabas and Muniyandi Vilas all over. I had heard that the tea master near our house was also an engineering student who had arrears more than the political parties in India. Why couldn’t I become a painter by enrolling in an art school? I have always been good at drawing. Hell, papa would say that if you had to tell that your son is a painter to the relatives, then the next thing they would do would be to ask to paint their house for Diwali. Here you can be either an engineer or doctor or a cricketer to be regarded respectful.
"Are you going to study or Graze cows?". Man, papa really looks angry. But hey, even this is a good idea. I can have 2 cows and milk them and sell it to the tea boy next street. Maybe I will ask Kishore to lend me some money and buy more cows. With little time I will open a Dairy of my own and import cows from New Zealand. I can even ask Asin to model for my dairy products. Who knows, she may ask me to marry her. Mom can easily be cajoled. Dad? Ahhh...who cares.
"Are you still day dreaming Kaushik?" dad had reached the boiling point.
Grandma came running "Oh Ashok. Is this the way you treat your kids? Have you ever seen you brother Ajay treat his kids as such?"
For the first time in an hour I laughed aloud.
"Look at me Kaushik. Your brother Kishore scored centum in 3 subjects and was the second in district. Dont you want to match him?" Match him my ass. My elder brother Kishore was bloody bookworm who knew nothing about life. All his life was spent reading subject books. He once asked me if VijayKanth and Rajnikanth were siblings. At times when my dad is out there comparing me with my brother, I feel like killing Kishore by the scruff of his neck. But then, that poor fella also got unfavorably compared to my elder cousin Ravi.
Why do we need to be compared with someone? Life is a whole lot comparison cycle. As a kid you get compared to your siblings or cousins. At work place you get compared to your peers (I heard about Appraisal from my cousin). And if you are unlucky enough at old age, your kids may bitch you comparing about the standards you provided them with the rest. I wonder now how unfavorably the wards of famous politicians, artists, sportpersons are compared with them. Aren’t we all individual entities? If we are all the same, then what’s the point?
"Don’t you want to become an engineer like your brother Kaushik?" asked Dad. There we go. The number of engineering colleges was already more than the Punjabi Dhabas and Muniyandi Vilas all over. I had heard that the tea master near our house was also an engineering student who had arrears more than the political parties in India. Why couldn’t I become a painter by enrolling in an art school? I have always been good at drawing. Hell, papa would say that if you had to tell that your son is a painter to the relatives, then the next thing they would do would be to ask to paint their house for Diwali. Here you can be either an engineer or doctor or a cricketer to be regarded respectful.
"Are you going to study or Graze cows?". Man, papa really looks angry. But hey, even this is a good idea. I can have 2 cows and milk them and sell it to the tea boy next street. Maybe I will ask Kishore to lend me some money and buy more cows. With little time I will open a Dairy of my own and import cows from New Zealand. I can even ask Asin to model for my dairy products. Who knows, she may ask me to marry her. Mom can easily be cajoled. Dad? Ahhh...who cares.
"Are you still day dreaming Kaushik?" dad had reached the boiling point.
Grandma came running "Oh Ashok. Is this the way you treat your kids? Have you ever seen you brother Ajay treat his kids as such?"
For the first time in an hour I laughed aloud.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
"Hairy" Potter
"And what’s that Porcupine doing sitting on your head?" asked my roommate looking at my new haircut as others join him.
"Very funny. You are jealous because I look smart" as I say this even I can’t stop smiling and they break into a hysterical laughter.
Oh come on. What can I do if my hair looks like the lightening arrestors on the top of the buildings? Its been the same throughout my life and perhaps will be the same till I go ba(l)d. Infact it has been a part of my identity wherever I have been. Ask for Harish in the class and they will answer like "The one with the spikes on his head" or "Porcupine head" or "Dish Antenna" or "Brush mudi" and what all.
Ever realized that how young and vibrant we feel after a haircut? The immediate urge is to roam around and show everyone as "Look Dr. Jekyll is out and this is Mr.Hyde". I guess girls must be having a tough time in country like ours....atleast the ones I knew did. My cousin had a huge fight as she wanted to crop it short and my aunt was against it and it looked to me like WW3. Good heavens she didnt propose her original agenda to color it.
In my childhood days my mom insisted to get the summer haircut irrespective of the season around. It was more than getting your head shaved and less than grabbing the hair with your fingers. The best you look like is as if you are an inmate of some mental asylum. In recent years, once I was in a project where we worked continuously for 3 months and so I hardly noticed and before long I had horribly lengthy hair. My colleagues would start like "Hey Remo (from Anniyan)...which is the component you are using?". Poor Vikram would have died out of heart attack had he heard this. Worse was when I went home after 2 months my mom just looked as I rang the bell and said blindly "Oh these beggars. Now they have begun to enter the buildings as well. Po ppa..my son will arrive soon". I had to show my birthmark to make her believe that I was her dear son.
But the worse thing happened in my college. It was one day evening when we 4 friends got bored and were walking around. Suddenly out of nowhere a fight erupted between 2 of them and one of them challenged the other to get his head shaved bcoz this fellow had just done the same in his hometown. The next thing we realized was we were before a barber shop where 2 guys got their head shaved. 3 out of 4. And they were like "Dei Harish...you too join the party"
As if it was easy as joining the congress.It takes 3 bloody months to grow and you end up looking like a goon. But it fell on deaf ears. Finally we made a pact where the fate (?) would be decided with a spin of coin. Heads - Escape and Tails - gone. Needless to say that my luck with coin was worse than Harvey Dent. It was tails and off went the hair on my head.
Those from college would vouch for the fact that the Mechanical and EEE Dept staffs would always be branded Psycho dept because of their NICE staff. The next day we all 4 were in the same lab when our dear prof came and enquired "arisu (grrrrr)...ennapa...gang form pandreengala?". "No sir..Summer cut". He really got pissed off and went by. Aalavandaaan got released at that time and so all the 4 of us got some cooling glasses, and picked a knife which wouldn’t even cut butter and posed like KamalHaasan. Had Kamal seen those horrible pics he would have shelved Aalavandaan and quit filmdom forever.
As of now, I am happy with whatever is around. Because I have a bad feeling that in 3 to 4 years its gonna look as empty as the rocket launching grounds in Sriharikotta and I may have to resort to a Vin Diesel/Cho Ramaswamy cut to restore some dignity. Moral of the story: Be happy with whatever you have at the moment :-)
"Very funny. You are jealous because I look smart" as I say this even I can’t stop smiling and they break into a hysterical laughter.
Oh come on. What can I do if my hair looks like the lightening arrestors on the top of the buildings? Its been the same throughout my life and perhaps will be the same till I go ba(l)d. Infact it has been a part of my identity wherever I have been. Ask for Harish in the class and they will answer like "The one with the spikes on his head" or "Porcupine head" or "Dish Antenna" or "Brush mudi" and what all.
Ever realized that how young and vibrant we feel after a haircut? The immediate urge is to roam around and show everyone as "Look Dr. Jekyll is out and this is Mr.Hyde". I guess girls must be having a tough time in country like ours....atleast the ones I knew did. My cousin had a huge fight as she wanted to crop it short and my aunt was against it and it looked to me like WW3. Good heavens she didnt propose her original agenda to color it.
In my childhood days my mom insisted to get the summer haircut irrespective of the season around. It was more than getting your head shaved and less than grabbing the hair with your fingers. The best you look like is as if you are an inmate of some mental asylum. In recent years, once I was in a project where we worked continuously for 3 months and so I hardly noticed and before long I had horribly lengthy hair. My colleagues would start like "Hey Remo (from Anniyan)...which is the component you are using?". Poor Vikram would have died out of heart attack had he heard this. Worse was when I went home after 2 months my mom just looked as I rang the bell and said blindly "Oh these beggars. Now they have begun to enter the buildings as well. Po ppa..my son will arrive soon". I had to show my birthmark to make her believe that I was her dear son.
But the worse thing happened in my college. It was one day evening when we 4 friends got bored and were walking around. Suddenly out of nowhere a fight erupted between 2 of them and one of them challenged the other to get his head shaved bcoz this fellow had just done the same in his hometown. The next thing we realized was we were before a barber shop where 2 guys got their head shaved. 3 out of 4. And they were like "Dei Harish...you too join the party"
As if it was easy as joining the congress.It takes 3 bloody months to grow and you end up looking like a goon. But it fell on deaf ears. Finally we made a pact where the fate (?) would be decided with a spin of coin. Heads - Escape and Tails - gone. Needless to say that my luck with coin was worse than Harvey Dent. It was tails and off went the hair on my head.
Those from college would vouch for the fact that the Mechanical and EEE Dept staffs would always be branded Psycho dept because of their NICE staff. The next day we all 4 were in the same lab when our dear prof came and enquired "arisu (grrrrr)...ennapa...gang form pandreengala?". "No sir..Summer cut". He really got pissed off and went by. Aalavandaaan got released at that time and so all the 4 of us got some cooling glasses, and picked a knife which wouldn’t even cut butter and posed like KamalHaasan. Had Kamal seen those horrible pics he would have shelved Aalavandaan and quit filmdom forever.
As of now, I am happy with whatever is around. Because I have a bad feeling that in 3 to 4 years its gonna look as empty as the rocket launching grounds in Sriharikotta and I may have to resort to a Vin Diesel/Cho Ramaswamy cut to restore some dignity. Moral of the story: Be happy with whatever you have at the moment :-)
Monday, October 02, 2006
Blog Tagged
Krithika has been bugging me long for writing this tag...and at last...I am done. Marutham's tag is still pending...oh boy...I have been kept busy :-)
1) Are you happy/satisfied with your blog with it's content and look?
When have we been happy with anything that we have had? Its juts a sort of temporary adjustment and as of now I am fine. Maybe when bored….will change it :-)
2) Does your family know about your blog?
Nope. No idea whatsoever.
3) Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or you just consider it as a private thing?
Yeah. Some do know and comment as well.
4) Did blogs cause positive changes in your thoughts?
Absolutely. I feel like Nostradamus. When I see any event I try to judge the past, gauge the present and predict the future...in my own way.
5) Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself?
Nope. I Comment wherever I find something interesting. It’s the other persons personal wish to comment on mine or think "this guy is nuts" :-)
6) Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
Real pics? Are you kidding? Am I supposed to scare them from reading my blog or what? Let this Man remain behind the Mask.
7) Admit. Do you think there is a real benefit for blogging?
A Lot. In a way I am satisfying my urge to become a writer…perhaps a New York Times Best Seller List may not be possible immediately...but you priceless comments do make up for it :-)
8) Do you think that bloggers society is isolated from real world or interacts with events?
No. I guess we have pulled from every trivial issue. Why the hell did you think that they banned blogging during the bomb blasts if it weren’t serious?
9) Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it's a normal thing?
Its better. That’s how one knows if he/she is right or not. (perhaps that why I stopped writing in tamil :-))
10) Do you fear of some political blogs and avoid them?
Never heard of any.
11) Did you get shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
Arrest? Am I on moon or did it happen?
12) Did you think about what will happen to your blog after you die?
Simple. No stupid stories to tell any more.
13) What do you like to hear? What's the song you like to put its link in your blog?
Hmmm...one song every week. For this week it could be "Khoya Khoya sa" from Shabd.
14) Five bloggers to be the next "victims"?
Neah. Lives spared :-)
1) Are you happy/satisfied with your blog with it's content and look?
When have we been happy with anything that we have had? Its juts a sort of temporary adjustment and as of now I am fine. Maybe when bored….will change it :-)
2) Does your family know about your blog?
Nope. No idea whatsoever.
3) Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or you just consider it as a private thing?
Yeah. Some do know and comment as well.
4) Did blogs cause positive changes in your thoughts?
Absolutely. I feel like Nostradamus. When I see any event I try to judge the past, gauge the present and predict the future...in my own way.
5) Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself?
Nope. I Comment wherever I find something interesting. It’s the other persons personal wish to comment on mine or think "this guy is nuts" :-)
6) Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
Real pics? Are you kidding? Am I supposed to scare them from reading my blog or what? Let this Man remain behind the Mask.
7) Admit. Do you think there is a real benefit for blogging?
A Lot. In a way I am satisfying my urge to become a writer…perhaps a New York Times Best Seller List may not be possible immediately...but you priceless comments do make up for it :-)
8) Do you think that bloggers society is isolated from real world or interacts with events?
No. I guess we have pulled from every trivial issue. Why the hell did you think that they banned blogging during the bomb blasts if it weren’t serious?
9) Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it's a normal thing?
Its better. That’s how one knows if he/she is right or not. (perhaps that why I stopped writing in tamil :-))
10) Do you fear of some political blogs and avoid them?
Never heard of any.
11) Did you get shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
Arrest? Am I on moon or did it happen?
12) Did you think about what will happen to your blog after you die?
Simple. No stupid stories to tell any more.
13) What do you like to hear? What's the song you like to put its link in your blog?
Hmmm...one song every week. For this week it could be "Khoya Khoya sa" from Shabd.
14) Five bloggers to be the next "victims"?
Neah. Lives spared :-)
Monday, September 25, 2006
Jill Endru Oru Kaadhal
Gautham was bored. With a flick of the remote control he muted Tony Greig who was cocky about Sachin's return on the field. The match didn’t look like going India's way and disappointedly Gautham switched the TV off and headed to their bedroom where Kundavi was preparing their 6 year old daughter Aishu for the math’s test next day at school.
Not willing to disturb them Gautham went to the other bedroom and just lay there on the double bed. He remembered then that his distant cousin had asked him the project report about the suspension system in the car that was designed in his company sometime back. Gautham searched in the loft above the bed and after half an hour he found it in his old suitcase which looked as if it hadn’t been touched since ages.
There Gautham found something that he had not opened for long.....his personal diary in 1997. He had got rid of that habit long before and now he felt tempted to open it. He even remembered the date that he knew he wanted to read.
Dec 26
Jill Endru Oru Kaadhal
Today was the third day of our Shimla trip. While the rest of our collegemates had gone to the Jakhu Temple, I and Aishu eloped to Kufri and decided to try our hand at skiing. Shimla is cold and it feels colder if you have come from somewhere as hot as Chennai. I was horrible at skiing and she was as usual graceful. I tried something acrobatic and fell awkwardly spinning 90 degrees. Aishu laughed harder till her cheeks became pink.
"STOP SMILING AND STOP LAUGHING" I yelled.
Aishu was stunned. She had not expected me to be happy, but not yelling at her of course. I went near her and touched her smooth cheeks and almost spoke in a whisper "Don’t Smile Aishu. Your smile is powerful enough to melt the icebergs. Do you think that my little fist sized heart and this poor Shimla can handle it?"
Aishu smiled as her cheeks became red and hugged me even harder. Whoever said that Shimla was cold must have been single...and not in love.
Gautham closed the diary and heaved a deep sigh. He was happy that Kundavi had not seen this diary. He didn’t have the courage to burn it or shred it to pieces. He had to keep the diary safe somewhere from the reach of everybody....like her memories in the corner of his heart.
Not willing to disturb them Gautham went to the other bedroom and just lay there on the double bed. He remembered then that his distant cousin had asked him the project report about the suspension system in the car that was designed in his company sometime back. Gautham searched in the loft above the bed and after half an hour he found it in his old suitcase which looked as if it hadn’t been touched since ages.
There Gautham found something that he had not opened for long.....his personal diary in 1997. He had got rid of that habit long before and now he felt tempted to open it. He even remembered the date that he knew he wanted to read.
Dec 26
Jill Endru Oru Kaadhal
Today was the third day of our Shimla trip. While the rest of our collegemates had gone to the Jakhu Temple, I and Aishu eloped to Kufri and decided to try our hand at skiing. Shimla is cold and it feels colder if you have come from somewhere as hot as Chennai. I was horrible at skiing and she was as usual graceful. I tried something acrobatic and fell awkwardly spinning 90 degrees. Aishu laughed harder till her cheeks became pink.
"STOP SMILING AND STOP LAUGHING" I yelled.
Aishu was stunned. She had not expected me to be happy, but not yelling at her of course. I went near her and touched her smooth cheeks and almost spoke in a whisper "Don’t Smile Aishu. Your smile is powerful enough to melt the icebergs. Do you think that my little fist sized heart and this poor Shimla can handle it?"
Aishu smiled as her cheeks became red and hugged me even harder. Whoever said that Shimla was cold must have been single...and not in love.
Gautham closed the diary and heaved a deep sigh. He was happy that Kundavi had not seen this diary. He didn’t have the courage to burn it or shred it to pieces. He had to keep the diary safe somewhere from the reach of everybody....like her memories in the corner of his heart.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Tell me your dreams
There is a very thin line between fact and fiction and I seemed to have barged that line so much that even a real account into my dream life seems like my stupid stories. So I decided to double the dosage and torture you all with another account of my dream life.
The trouble of having lived in various places is that you know many people and you never know who amongst them is going to knock in that night. At times I get to see my first crush who was a Gujarati girl when I studied in Gujarat in my dreams...and suddenly she would knock me cold by talking in Tamil. For so long I used to think that in our dreams we could be the Hero/heroine and nothing could go wrong. It all got wrong 3 days before.
It was a dream where I was a devious, evil and calculating fella. I did evil things which I couldn’t have had done in my real life. The climax of the dream was worse. Yeah yeah....thats the trouble of being a movie fanatic. All that my dreams don’t have are songs, Interval, Pop corn, Samosa and Inji morappa. Some times I even get to say Punch Dialogues. In the climax it is revealed that I have Multiple Personality Disorder. I fainted in my dream and woke up in real.
If you thought that I could not have imagined worse, wait for more. My favorite recurring dream/Nightmare was the Exam dreams. Exam dreams? Yeah. Whenever I used to go to my home after my semester holidays, this exam dreams used to bump in at least 10 times of those 30 days. It’s a dream where I would go to the exam and screw it up one way or other. Either I would forget my hall ticket, or drafter, or would be in the hall of EEE's for a thermodynamic exam and so on. I don’t remember a single instance of having finished my exam in my dreams.
The worse one was when once I entered into the exam hall and got my question paper and was filling the details in my answer sheet. The invigilator madam came to me and looked at me from toe to head. I had a big Bata shoe, Nike socks.....and a towel. She looked disgustingly towards me as if I looked like the innocent school boy in Shakeela movies. She dragged me by my ear (thank god towel was spared) and I was close to tears as I kept telling her that this was my last semester, that I had got placed, that I had a family to support. Uhummmm....no chance. Madam was in a supreme foul mood and threw me out of the hall as Captain Vijaykanth does to his Pakistani Villains.
Shocked I woke up and didnt know where the hell I was for 2 minutes. Then I realized that it was July and that I had passed and had got all my certificates and was waiting for the company guys to call me up. You cannot imagine how much relieved I was to realize this at 3 AM.
Anyone of you has got anything to make me feel better?
The trouble of having lived in various places is that you know many people and you never know who amongst them is going to knock in that night. At times I get to see my first crush who was a Gujarati girl when I studied in Gujarat in my dreams...and suddenly she would knock me cold by talking in Tamil. For so long I used to think that in our dreams we could be the Hero/heroine and nothing could go wrong. It all got wrong 3 days before.
It was a dream where I was a devious, evil and calculating fella. I did evil things which I couldn’t have had done in my real life. The climax of the dream was worse. Yeah yeah....thats the trouble of being a movie fanatic. All that my dreams don’t have are songs, Interval, Pop corn, Samosa and Inji morappa. Some times I even get to say Punch Dialogues. In the climax it is revealed that I have Multiple Personality Disorder. I fainted in my dream and woke up in real.
If you thought that I could not have imagined worse, wait for more. My favorite recurring dream/Nightmare was the Exam dreams. Exam dreams? Yeah. Whenever I used to go to my home after my semester holidays, this exam dreams used to bump in at least 10 times of those 30 days. It’s a dream where I would go to the exam and screw it up one way or other. Either I would forget my hall ticket, or drafter, or would be in the hall of EEE's for a thermodynamic exam and so on. I don’t remember a single instance of having finished my exam in my dreams.
The worse one was when once I entered into the exam hall and got my question paper and was filling the details in my answer sheet. The invigilator madam came to me and looked at me from toe to head. I had a big Bata shoe, Nike socks.....and a towel. She looked disgustingly towards me as if I looked like the innocent school boy in Shakeela movies. She dragged me by my ear (thank god towel was spared) and I was close to tears as I kept telling her that this was my last semester, that I had got placed, that I had a family to support. Uhummmm....no chance. Madam was in a supreme foul mood and threw me out of the hall as Captain Vijaykanth does to his Pakistani Villains.
Shocked I woke up and didnt know where the hell I was for 2 minutes. Then I realized that it was July and that I had passed and had got all my certificates and was waiting for the company guys to call me up. You cannot imagine how much relieved I was to realize this at 3 AM.
Anyone of you has got anything to make me feel better?
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Lage Raho
It was cold and my hands got numb. If it was gonna be so cold in September, I wondered that I should have my will written before November. I was the only soul walking on the deserted road at 6.40 AM and the people in car looked at me as if I was nuts. The bus arrived at 6.50 AM and I buried myself behind "Harry Potter and The half Blood Prince" which I had booked weeks before and got 3 days before. Harry's dilemma about Ginny Weasely was interesting and I wish I could take a day’s leave and finish it off.
"Reading Potter?" she asked.
She must have been 23 years old. At about 5.6 inches (excluding her 1 inch heels) she must have weighed around 125 pounds and had an athletic build. She was wearing a White shirt with a floral design in the center and a Black pant. Her features were sharp and she had high cheekbones and deep set eyes. She seemed to have applied some mascara around her lashes and lip gloss which made her lips look like Jolie. Her hair was curly (brunette) and perhaps always wet (Is that Livon?).
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
The hell I was gonna mind. The evening 5.30 bus was crowded by the Indian gang just to get a glimpse of her. Nobody of us knew her real name and so code named her as figure. Apart from the Driver and a few old ladies, rest of the men could hardly take their eyes off her. She sat near me and I could smell her Lavender perfume inspite of my esnophilia. If I were to take a female version of Axe spray, she was gonna play the title role.
"You always read books. Dont you?" She asked. I was surprised that she had noticed me. To Hell with Potter I thought and closed it.
"Yeah. Always wanted to be a writer...but the closest I came was to writing those stupid Status reports" I wondered if I could have given a dumber answer. Desperately I wanted to impress her and remarked "I think that the fire alarm in your floor is disabled. Isn’t it?"
She made a face which suggested that she didn’t understand what I was talking about. I smiled and replied "Well. I figured it out as if someone HOT as you is seated beneath it, then they better disable it."
She was surprised and laughed aloud. The middle aged man seated across us turned red with envy. As I was about to introduce myself she stopped laughing and spoke aloud "Machchan...dei Machchan". Hearing her speak chaste Tamil in gruff voice looked worse than the dubbed movies on Vijay TV.
"Dei Machchan....ennada pandra?" Oh Man. What the hell was happening? Damn, she knew Tamil. All these days and we had been passing comments over her head. Oh my god...she was gonna call the cops next. Shuddered I remained speechless staring helplessly at her.
"Machchan...Today is status call. You need to go to the office soon. Wake up man" my roommate was shaking me up and I gave him my best look of contempt. I wanted to strangle him, tie him, kick him...but hopelessly I could do none.
Hmmmmm...not just in real life...even my dreams get screwed up.
"Reading Potter?" she asked.
She must have been 23 years old. At about 5.6 inches (excluding her 1 inch heels) she must have weighed around 125 pounds and had an athletic build. She was wearing a White shirt with a floral design in the center and a Black pant. Her features were sharp and she had high cheekbones and deep set eyes. She seemed to have applied some mascara around her lashes and lip gloss which made her lips look like Jolie. Her hair was curly (brunette) and perhaps always wet (Is that Livon?).
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
The hell I was gonna mind. The evening 5.30 bus was crowded by the Indian gang just to get a glimpse of her. Nobody of us knew her real name and so code named her as figure. Apart from the Driver and a few old ladies, rest of the men could hardly take their eyes off her. She sat near me and I could smell her Lavender perfume inspite of my esnophilia. If I were to take a female version of Axe spray, she was gonna play the title role.
"You always read books. Dont you?" She asked. I was surprised that she had noticed me. To Hell with Potter I thought and closed it.
"Yeah. Always wanted to be a writer...but the closest I came was to writing those stupid Status reports" I wondered if I could have given a dumber answer. Desperately I wanted to impress her and remarked "I think that the fire alarm in your floor is disabled. Isn’t it?"
She made a face which suggested that she didn’t understand what I was talking about. I smiled and replied "Well. I figured it out as if someone HOT as you is seated beneath it, then they better disable it."
She was surprised and laughed aloud. The middle aged man seated across us turned red with envy. As I was about to introduce myself she stopped laughing and spoke aloud "Machchan...dei Machchan". Hearing her speak chaste Tamil in gruff voice looked worse than the dubbed movies on Vijay TV.
"Dei Machchan....ennada pandra?" Oh Man. What the hell was happening? Damn, she knew Tamil. All these days and we had been passing comments over her head. Oh my god...she was gonna call the cops next. Shuddered I remained speechless staring helplessly at her.
"Machchan...Today is status call. You need to go to the office soon. Wake up man" my roommate was shaking me up and I gave him my best look of contempt. I wanted to strangle him, tie him, kick him...but hopelessly I could do none.
Hmmmmm...not just in real life...even my dreams get screwed up.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Enlightened
It seemed like a writer's block. He was not able to concentrate and zero on one idea and it was increasingly frustrating as the day progressed. He thumped his fist on the table showing his displeasure and it echoed across the silent room. He was happy that his readers would never find out that a writer of his caliber also suffered from lack of imagination put gently as writers block. But it all changed when he saw her enter the room.
She was wearing a white colored sari bordered in red. She wore bangles which matched the color of the border of her saree. The room was filled with the music of her payal which sang as she walked. The vermilion on her forehead and the big round bindi gave her a divine look. He was surprised that the bindi looked romantic when she laughed and made her appear like Durga mata when she expressed anger. But then he had never seen her angry. She was an ideal house wife who never questioned the income of her husband, had raised 3 girls, looked after the elders, and cooked fresh fish bought from the bazaar. What else could one ask for?
But today it was different. She was holding the lamp close to her face and it increased the aura around her. Instead of feeling love towards her, he felt a deep sense of respect. She was the one who ran the family and was responsible for its happiness. And who takes the credit? The outsiders simply say "Babu?Babu ka kya? He runs his family so nicely". He had never given her any credit in any of his works and she never demanded him for it as well. Infact he hardly asked her opinion in any matters. Or did she have one?
He decided that this time he was going to compensate for all his ignorance. She realized that he was looking at her as he had never seen her before. She asked "What happened?"
He "Do you mind if I write a poem in your honor?"
She smiled and didn’t reply. She thought that maybe he was flattering her for fun and left him alone in the room. He took his pen and connected his two chain of thoughts-one from his life and another in his novel.
Bankim Chandra was happy with the final result and titled his masterpiece as BANDE MATARAM. Little did he realize that 100 years later his ode to motherland will be used as a weapon to create hatred among his countrymen and gain political mileage. May his soul rest in peace in the thought that all the evil plans have been sabotaged.
She was wearing a white colored sari bordered in red. She wore bangles which matched the color of the border of her saree. The room was filled with the music of her payal which sang as she walked. The vermilion on her forehead and the big round bindi gave her a divine look. He was surprised that the bindi looked romantic when she laughed and made her appear like Durga mata when she expressed anger. But then he had never seen her angry. She was an ideal house wife who never questioned the income of her husband, had raised 3 girls, looked after the elders, and cooked fresh fish bought from the bazaar. What else could one ask for?
But today it was different. She was holding the lamp close to her face and it increased the aura around her. Instead of feeling love towards her, he felt a deep sense of respect. She was the one who ran the family and was responsible for its happiness. And who takes the credit? The outsiders simply say "Babu?Babu ka kya? He runs his family so nicely". He had never given her any credit in any of his works and she never demanded him for it as well. Infact he hardly asked her opinion in any matters. Or did she have one?
He decided that this time he was going to compensate for all his ignorance. She realized that he was looking at her as he had never seen her before. She asked "What happened?"
He "Do you mind if I write a poem in your honor?"
She smiled and didn’t reply. She thought that maybe he was flattering her for fun and left him alone in the room. He took his pen and connected his two chain of thoughts-one from his life and another in his novel.
Bankim Chandra was happy with the final result and titled his masterpiece as BANDE MATARAM. Little did he realize that 100 years later his ode to motherland will be used as a weapon to create hatred among his countrymen and gain political mileage. May his soul rest in peace in the thought that all the evil plans have been sabotaged.
Friday, September 01, 2006
வேட்டையாடு விளையாடு
ராகவன் மெதுவாக கொட்டாவி விட்டான். இந்த துன்பமான நேரத்திலும் மனிதர்ளுக்கு கொட்டாவி வரும் என்று அவனுக்கு தோன்றவில்லை.வாசலில் இருந்த "அரசு மருத்துவமனை" என்ற எழுத்துக்களுக்கு சுதந்திரத்துக்கு முன்னால் வர்ணம் பூசி இருப்பார்கள் என்று அவன் கணக்கு போட்டு கொண்டான். பக்கத்தில் செல்லும் டாக்டரை பார்த்தபொது சின்ன வயதில் தானும் கோட்டு போட்டு வெஷம் கட்டியது ஞாபகம் வந்தது.
ம்ம்ம்ம்....ஒழுங்காக படித்திருந்தால் அவன் நண்பன் கோபால் போல் குறைந்த பட்சம் வாத்தியாராவுது ஆகியிருக்கலாம். இப்பொழுது பார்க்கும் மெக்கானிக் தொழிலில் வரும் காசு லாட்ட்ரி சீட்டு கூட வாங்க பத்த மாட்டேங்குது.
"யாருப்பா ராகவன்?பெரிய டாக்டர் கூப்பிட்டாரப்பா" என்றான் வாசலில் இருக்கும் கம்ப்பௌண்டர்.
"வணக்கம் அய்யா " கும்பிடு போட்டான் ராகவன்
டாக்டர் "என்னய்யா?உங்க அப்பாவா அது காலைல இறந்தது?"
ராகவன் "ஆமாங்க. இறப்பு சான்றிதழ் வேணும்ங்க. அது இருந்தாத்தான் மத்த நடக்க வேண்டிய சமாசாரம் எல்லாம் பார்க்க முடியும்"
டாக்டர் "சரி. சுத்தி வளைச்சு பேச வேண்டாம். ஒரு 1000 ருபா குடு. இப்பவே கைல சான்றிதழ் வாங்கிக்க".
ராகவனுக்கு கொபமாக வந்தது.இத்தனை துன்பமான நேரத்திலும் குடும்ப தலைவரை இழந்து இங்கெ இவர்கள் சோகத்தில் இருக்கும் பொழுதும் ஒரு மனிதனிடம் இவர்கள் பேரம் பேசுவதை நினைத்து அவனுக்கு வெட்கமாக இருந்தது. இந்தியன் படத்தில் சொல்வதை போல் "மத்த நாட்டில் கடமை மீற தான் லஞ்சம் வாங்கராங்க, இங்க மட்டும் தான் கடமை செய்யவெ லஞ்சம் வாங்ராங்க" ஞாபகம் வந்தது. இவர்களூகு நல்ல சம்பளம்,PF,மரியாதை,சலுகைகள் எல்லாம் கொடுத்தும் இப்படி ஏழைகளை இவர்கள் சூறையாடுவதை நினைத்து இவன் ரத்தம் கொதித்தது.
டாக்டரின் டேபிளில் இருந்த கத்தியை எடுத்து யோசிக்காமல் சதக் சதக்னு குத்தினான். டாக்டரின் வாயோரமாக வழிந்த ரத்தம் பார்த்து குரூரமாக சிரித்தான். அவனுக்கு அந்த கத்தி எடுத்து ஏதோ பரசுராம அவதாரம் போல் தோன்றியது. அந்த ஊரில் இருக்கும் போலிஸ் அதிகாரி, பஞ்சாயத்து தலைவர், இலாகா மந்திரி, சட்டசபையில் இருக்கும் அமைச்சர்கள், மந்திரிகள் இப்படி லஞ்சம் வாங்கும் எல்லாரையும் வதம் செய்ய வேண்டும் போல் தோன்றியது. வேகமாக அவன் தன்னுடய சூரசம்ஹாரத்தை செய்ய புறப்பட்டான்.
"தம்பி..தம்பி..உங்களை தான்.எங்க வேடிக்கை பார்க்கறீங்க. நேரம் ஆகுது இல்ல. சட்டுபுட்டுனு காசை கொடுத்துட்டு மத்த வேலையை பாருங்க " டாக்டரின் குரல் அவனை அவன் நினைவலைகளை விட்டு பிரித்தன. வாசலில் இருக்கும் அவன் அண்ணனிடம் காசு வாங்க வெளியில் வந்தான்.
டாக்டரின் வாயோரம் வழிந்த ரத்தத்தை நினைத்து தன்னக்கு தானே சிரித்து கொண்டான்.
ம்ம்ம்ம்....ஒழுங்காக படித்திருந்தால் அவன் நண்பன் கோபால் போல் குறைந்த பட்சம் வாத்தியாராவுது ஆகியிருக்கலாம். இப்பொழுது பார்க்கும் மெக்கானிக் தொழிலில் வரும் காசு லாட்ட்ரி சீட்டு கூட வாங்க பத்த மாட்டேங்குது.
"யாருப்பா ராகவன்?பெரிய டாக்டர் கூப்பிட்டாரப்பா" என்றான் வாசலில் இருக்கும் கம்ப்பௌண்டர்.
"வணக்கம் அய்யா " கும்பிடு போட்டான் ராகவன்
டாக்டர் "என்னய்யா?உங்க அப்பாவா அது காலைல இறந்தது?"
ராகவன் "ஆமாங்க. இறப்பு சான்றிதழ் வேணும்ங்க. அது இருந்தாத்தான் மத்த நடக்க வேண்டிய சமாசாரம் எல்லாம் பார்க்க முடியும்"
டாக்டர் "சரி. சுத்தி வளைச்சு பேச வேண்டாம். ஒரு 1000 ருபா குடு. இப்பவே கைல சான்றிதழ் வாங்கிக்க".
ராகவனுக்கு கொபமாக வந்தது.இத்தனை துன்பமான நேரத்திலும் குடும்ப தலைவரை இழந்து இங்கெ இவர்கள் சோகத்தில் இருக்கும் பொழுதும் ஒரு மனிதனிடம் இவர்கள் பேரம் பேசுவதை நினைத்து அவனுக்கு வெட்கமாக இருந்தது. இந்தியன் படத்தில் சொல்வதை போல் "மத்த நாட்டில் கடமை மீற தான் லஞ்சம் வாங்கராங்க, இங்க மட்டும் தான் கடமை செய்யவெ லஞ்சம் வாங்ராங்க" ஞாபகம் வந்தது. இவர்களூகு நல்ல சம்பளம்,PF,மரியாதை,சலுகைகள் எல்லாம் கொடுத்தும் இப்படி ஏழைகளை இவர்கள் சூறையாடுவதை நினைத்து இவன் ரத்தம் கொதித்தது.
டாக்டரின் டேபிளில் இருந்த கத்தியை எடுத்து யோசிக்காமல் சதக் சதக்னு குத்தினான். டாக்டரின் வாயோரமாக வழிந்த ரத்தம் பார்த்து குரூரமாக சிரித்தான். அவனுக்கு அந்த கத்தி எடுத்து ஏதோ பரசுராம அவதாரம் போல் தோன்றியது. அந்த ஊரில் இருக்கும் போலிஸ் அதிகாரி, பஞ்சாயத்து தலைவர், இலாகா மந்திரி, சட்டசபையில் இருக்கும் அமைச்சர்கள், மந்திரிகள் இப்படி லஞ்சம் வாங்கும் எல்லாரையும் வதம் செய்ய வேண்டும் போல் தோன்றியது. வேகமாக அவன் தன்னுடய சூரசம்ஹாரத்தை செய்ய புறப்பட்டான்.
"தம்பி..தம்பி..உங்களை தான்.எங்க வேடிக்கை பார்க்கறீங்க. நேரம் ஆகுது இல்ல. சட்டுபுட்டுனு காசை கொடுத்துட்டு மத்த வேலையை பாருங்க " டாக்டரின் குரல் அவனை அவன் நினைவலைகளை விட்டு பிரித்தன. வாசலில் இருக்கும் அவன் அண்ணனிடம் காசு வாங்க வெளியில் வந்தான்.
டாக்டரின் வாயோரம் வழிந்த ரத்தத்தை நினைத்து தன்னக்கு தானே சிரித்து கொண்டான்.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Everything is Illuminated
Maathangy was very busy. She was watching Tom and Jerry and coloring her crayon book. From time to time she checked if Tom got outwitted by Jerry or not on her 25 inch Philips color TV. She could not change the channel as her parents had put a child lock on the rest of the channels. But then they thought that was the best they could do to protect their 7 year old daughter from watching something insane and vulgar on the idiot box.
"Maathu kutty" her dad Prakash came from office and kissed her on her cheeks. Seeing her grow fast Prakash wondered if the LIC policy that he had been paying annually would be enough to spend for her marital expenses or would go of in the air as Dowry for some stranger who may own her for life. He knocked those off his mind and realized that he had something more important to discuss with her.
"Maathu. I got a letter from your school today." told Prakash.
Maathu looked up from the elephant she had been coloring in green color and questioned him with her expressive eyes. Prakash continued "The letter says that you contributed Rs.500 to the UNICEF fund. Did you get the money from mummy?"
"No daddy. I took it from my savings." said Mathu.
Prakash remembered that it was the plan he and his wife Priya had taken to explain the power of saving money to Maathu. They would deposit Rs.5 daily in a piggy bank in her bed and she was instructed to spend the money on anything she liked after a period of time. 6 months before she had bought a small doll for her mom's birthday from that money and surprised them immensely. But this was something different.
"Maathu. Do you know how much Rs.500 means?" Prakash asked without raising his voice.
"Yes daddy. It is enough to buy a tap and install a part of the hand pump in poor countries. Malini miss told us in the presentation." replied Maathu.
"But Maathu. You cannot spend your money like this. We gave it to you to spend it for yourself."
"Daddy. Remember that day we were watching TV and an old uncle in the TV said that if we donate some part of our wealth, we will go to heaven". She was referring to a children’s program on Disney Channel and Prakash wondered how much of an impact it had made on her. Danm Disney he thought.
"Its still wrong Maathu. You cant just hand it over to somebody like this when they ask. 10 or 20 rupees is fine. But 500 is too much Maathu. Those people who ask money can be crooks and bad people. Remember next time, some one asks you money for something, you have to ask Mummy and Daddy" Prakash finished sternly.
Maathu seemed disappointed for a minute. She didn’t look at Tom and Jerry and was coloring in blue outside the border of elephant’s body. Everything seems illuminated in the light of life and Maathu may realize it sometime in her life.
"We are not going to heaven, are we daddy?" Maathu questioned Prakash.
He could not realize if he was wise or her. Prakash pretend not to hear her question in the rising volume of the Tom and Jerry show.
"Maathu kutty" her dad Prakash came from office and kissed her on her cheeks. Seeing her grow fast Prakash wondered if the LIC policy that he had been paying annually would be enough to spend for her marital expenses or would go of in the air as Dowry for some stranger who may own her for life. He knocked those off his mind and realized that he had something more important to discuss with her.
"Maathu. I got a letter from your school today." told Prakash.
Maathu looked up from the elephant she had been coloring in green color and questioned him with her expressive eyes. Prakash continued "The letter says that you contributed Rs.500 to the UNICEF fund. Did you get the money from mummy?"
"No daddy. I took it from my savings." said Mathu.
Prakash remembered that it was the plan he and his wife Priya had taken to explain the power of saving money to Maathu. They would deposit Rs.5 daily in a piggy bank in her bed and she was instructed to spend the money on anything she liked after a period of time. 6 months before she had bought a small doll for her mom's birthday from that money and surprised them immensely. But this was something different.
"Maathu. Do you know how much Rs.500 means?" Prakash asked without raising his voice.
"Yes daddy. It is enough to buy a tap and install a part of the hand pump in poor countries. Malini miss told us in the presentation." replied Maathu.
"But Maathu. You cannot spend your money like this. We gave it to you to spend it for yourself."
"Daddy. Remember that day we were watching TV and an old uncle in the TV said that if we donate some part of our wealth, we will go to heaven". She was referring to a children’s program on Disney Channel and Prakash wondered how much of an impact it had made on her. Danm Disney he thought.
"Its still wrong Maathu. You cant just hand it over to somebody like this when they ask. 10 or 20 rupees is fine. But 500 is too much Maathu. Those people who ask money can be crooks and bad people. Remember next time, some one asks you money for something, you have to ask Mummy and Daddy" Prakash finished sternly.
Maathu seemed disappointed for a minute. She didn’t look at Tom and Jerry and was coloring in blue outside the border of elephant’s body. Everything seems illuminated in the light of life and Maathu may realize it sometime in her life.
"We are not going to heaven, are we daddy?" Maathu questioned Prakash.
He could not realize if he was wise or her. Prakash pretend not to hear her question in the rising volume of the Tom and Jerry show.
Monday, August 21, 2006
The Unreleased version
(A Sneak preview into Kabhi Alvidaa Na Kehnaa's unreleased version)
The Mercedes stopped with a screeching halt outside the palatial house. Shahrukh (SRK) and Preity got down from the car and walked without any reaction inside the palace. While rest of all the NRI's crib at the very idea of a moderately priced apartment for 1200$ (shared by 4 people and with one year lease), Johar's NRI's resided in palatial bungalows which could make Lord Swaraj paul and Tycoon Lakshmi Mittal feel like beggars outside the Vadapalani temple. But then this is a Karan Johar movie and so everything is blown out of proportions, be it the story or the characters or events.
"Come in SRK!To kahiyae...kaunsi Lifeline use karna chaahenge aap?" Amitabh spoke in his huge baritone.
"Dad..this is Karan's movie and not Kaun Banega shooting." nudged Abhishek nearby.
"Oh.Sorry. You see I am an old man. Can be messy at times. Let's start with the dinner." Amitabh invited. A beaming Rani enters late and sits opposite to SRK and gives him her gorgeous smile. "How handsome and clean shaven he is" thought Rani to herself about SRK and wondered if she could present a shaving kit as Birthday gift to hubby AB Jr. As usual it was a needlessly very big dining table which could include the whole Indian cricket team with substitutes, physiotherapist and coach and there were only 5 of them seated. SRK wondered that the Italian chandelier above them must be worth some 10,000$ and wished how good it could be if it could fall on Preity.
The dinner was served by some maid dressed royally enough to pass as heroine in a B-Grade Movie. Women in Karan Johars movies were always shown wearing Manish Malhotra designer saris, bejeweled by Kirtilal Kalidas & Co and were never shown cooking with the possible exception of Super moms Farida Jalal and Kiron Kher. Men were never shown going to office and always wore Armani's and Raymond's except Amitabh who had a contract to fulfill with Reid and Taylor.
"I am not happy with this mmmmmmmmarraige" stuttered SRK. Amitabh had seen SRK stuttering since his serial Fauji days and wondered if he could make him speak with some pebbles stuffed in his mouth. He wondered how come the public llllloved him do this idiotic crap movie after movie.
"What's wrong with you?" asked a shocked Preity looking indirectly at Rani
"I am in love with someone else" said SRK and started crying.
Rani could not believe herself. Her worse suspicions were confirmed and she wondered how could he cry so well with such less glycerin. Infact apart from the star's astronomical salaries, huge movie sets and extravagant songs, the next big budget was reserved for gallons of glycerin. Except the producer everyone else was crying after the movie and it was even suggested to distribute free hand kerchiefs to the movie going public.
"I cant live with you anymore. I am leaving the house with my lllllove" said SRK.
Everyone remained silent for a second and wondered if this climax would work or not. SRK stood up and walked to Rani who didn't know how to react. SRK kissed AB Jrs cheeks (because lip kissing would be cut in the censors or protested by Shivsainiks) and said "Let's go Abhi. We can't live with these hypocrites anymore."
They walked towards the exit door as Amitabh suffered a heart stroke, Rani and Preity happy enough to trade them even for Vadivelu.....and lived happily ever after...perhaps.
P.S: I thought that since Karan Johar has become so 'sensitive', why not he be asked to make a desi version of BrokeBack Mountain :-)
The Mercedes stopped with a screeching halt outside the palatial house. Shahrukh (SRK) and Preity got down from the car and walked without any reaction inside the palace. While rest of all the NRI's crib at the very idea of a moderately priced apartment for 1200$ (shared by 4 people and with one year lease), Johar's NRI's resided in palatial bungalows which could make Lord Swaraj paul and Tycoon Lakshmi Mittal feel like beggars outside the Vadapalani temple. But then this is a Karan Johar movie and so everything is blown out of proportions, be it the story or the characters or events.
"Come in SRK!To kahiyae...kaunsi Lifeline use karna chaahenge aap?" Amitabh spoke in his huge baritone.
"Dad..this is Karan's movie and not Kaun Banega shooting." nudged Abhishek nearby.
"Oh.Sorry. You see I am an old man. Can be messy at times. Let's start with the dinner." Amitabh invited. A beaming Rani enters late and sits opposite to SRK and gives him her gorgeous smile. "How handsome and clean shaven he is" thought Rani to herself about SRK and wondered if she could present a shaving kit as Birthday gift to hubby AB Jr. As usual it was a needlessly very big dining table which could include the whole Indian cricket team with substitutes, physiotherapist and coach and there were only 5 of them seated. SRK wondered that the Italian chandelier above them must be worth some 10,000$ and wished how good it could be if it could fall on Preity.
The dinner was served by some maid dressed royally enough to pass as heroine in a B-Grade Movie. Women in Karan Johars movies were always shown wearing Manish Malhotra designer saris, bejeweled by Kirtilal Kalidas & Co and were never shown cooking with the possible exception of Super moms Farida Jalal and Kiron Kher. Men were never shown going to office and always wore Armani's and Raymond's except Amitabh who had a contract to fulfill with Reid and Taylor.
"I am not happy with this mmmmmmmmarraige" stuttered SRK. Amitabh had seen SRK stuttering since his serial Fauji days and wondered if he could make him speak with some pebbles stuffed in his mouth. He wondered how come the public llllloved him do this idiotic crap movie after movie.
"What's wrong with you?" asked a shocked Preity looking indirectly at Rani
"I am in love with someone else" said SRK and started crying.
Rani could not believe herself. Her worse suspicions were confirmed and she wondered how could he cry so well with such less glycerin. Infact apart from the star's astronomical salaries, huge movie sets and extravagant songs, the next big budget was reserved for gallons of glycerin. Except the producer everyone else was crying after the movie and it was even suggested to distribute free hand kerchiefs to the movie going public.
"I cant live with you anymore. I am leaving the house with my lllllove" said SRK.
Everyone remained silent for a second and wondered if this climax would work or not. SRK stood up and walked to Rani who didn't know how to react. SRK kissed AB Jrs cheeks (because lip kissing would be cut in the censors or protested by Shivsainiks) and said "Let's go Abhi. We can't live with these hypocrites anymore."
They walked towards the exit door as Amitabh suffered a heart stroke, Rani and Preity happy enough to trade them even for Vadivelu.....and lived happily ever after...perhaps.
P.S: I thought that since Karan Johar has become so 'sensitive', why not he be asked to make a desi version of BrokeBack Mountain :-)
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Kabhi Alvidaa Naa Kehna...
Read first part here
Check Has to be me's version here
He was shocked to see Sowmya with her husband and kid. It was serendipity and Sagar could feel that Sowmya could read his feelings.
"Hey Sagar. How are you?" asked Sowmya casually.
Sagar gave her a faint smile and they boarded the flight to Kolkatta together. They sat separately in the flight and Sagar was racing his thoughts as how could he avoid her as they were going to the same conference in Kolkatta and were going to be stationed in the same hotel. Not all went planned for him as Sowmya met him again in the dinner table in the hotel with her 5 year old son Deepak.
"Where is your husband?" asked Sagar
"Sagar. Don’t you know that we have been divorced 3 years before." said Sowmya.
Sowmya described how their professional lives had taken toll in their relationship and when she found that her husband was having an affair with his colleague, she put her foot down and called it quits. The divorce was settled amicably with Sowmya winning the custody of her child. She was working now in Bangalore and was in Chennai for a corporate meeting. Her ex-husband was married now to that colleague and incidentally she had run through him the airport today.
After 3 days of the conference Sagar had become best pal with Deepak who seemed to enjoy his company. Sowmya also empathized with Sagar's life when she heard about Asha. They reached Dum Dum International Airport amidst silence which was occasionally broken by Deepak's banter. Sagar got his tickets and stood staring at his wrist watch as if he was expecting some delay.
"The flight 1710 from Kolkatta to Chennai is bound to leave in 10 minutes. We ask passengers to check in" shrieked the announcement. Sagar looked paralyzed and bade good bye to Sowmya and Deepak. Sowmya too felt as if much had been spoken and still left blank between them. She turned to go her terminal and walked a few steps when she heard footsteps running towards her.
It was Sagar who puffed and panted and said "Sowmya...Will...you...marry...me?"
Fighting her tears Sowmya smiled and hugged him. Sobbing she asked "Why so long Sagar...and why here?"
Sagar "You know it Sowmya. I am sentimental."
P.S: Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. This whole story is based on a real incident that happened in Dubai :-)
Check Has to be me's version here
He was shocked to see Sowmya with her husband and kid. It was serendipity and Sagar could feel that Sowmya could read his feelings.
"Hey Sagar. How are you?" asked Sowmya casually.
Sagar gave her a faint smile and they boarded the flight to Kolkatta together. They sat separately in the flight and Sagar was racing his thoughts as how could he avoid her as they were going to the same conference in Kolkatta and were going to be stationed in the same hotel. Not all went planned for him as Sowmya met him again in the dinner table in the hotel with her 5 year old son Deepak.
"Where is your husband?" asked Sagar
"Sagar. Don’t you know that we have been divorced 3 years before." said Sowmya.
Sowmya described how their professional lives had taken toll in their relationship and when she found that her husband was having an affair with his colleague, she put her foot down and called it quits. The divorce was settled amicably with Sowmya winning the custody of her child. She was working now in Bangalore and was in Chennai for a corporate meeting. Her ex-husband was married now to that colleague and incidentally she had run through him the airport today.
After 3 days of the conference Sagar had become best pal with Deepak who seemed to enjoy his company. Sowmya also empathized with Sagar's life when she heard about Asha. They reached Dum Dum International Airport amidst silence which was occasionally broken by Deepak's banter. Sagar got his tickets and stood staring at his wrist watch as if he was expecting some delay.
"The flight 1710 from Kolkatta to Chennai is bound to leave in 10 minutes. We ask passengers to check in" shrieked the announcement. Sagar looked paralyzed and bade good bye to Sowmya and Deepak. Sowmya too felt as if much had been spoken and still left blank between them. She turned to go her terminal and walked a few steps when she heard footsteps running towards her.
It was Sagar who puffed and panted and said "Sowmya...Will...you...marry...me?"
Fighting her tears Sowmya smiled and hugged him. Sobbing she asked "Why so long Sagar...and why here?"
Sagar "You know it Sowmya. I am sentimental."
P.S: Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. This whole story is based on a real incident that happened in Dubai :-)
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Kabhi Kabhi
Sagar was bored. Neither Mukesh's Kabie kabhie playing on his ipod neither the John Grisham on his lap managed to keep him occupied.
"Flight No 1721 from Chennai to Kolkatta has few technical problems and we expect an hour’s delay in the schedule. We apologize for the inconvenience caused to you" beamed the Rasagulla in the stewardess dress. Somewhere far he could see a woman crying on the shoulders of a man with lot of luggage. Must be newly married and traveling he thought.
This reminded him of Sowmya. Sowmya. Technically speaking she was an archived record in his memory database. It popped up at times and reminded him if some of his pleasant youthful days. Sowmya and Sagar had been in the same colony for almost 20 years and had been family friends. Sagar had a soft corner for her and was waiting for an opportunity. After his graduation Sagar got an offer for an interview and he was at the airport with Sowmya. Gathering all his courage he told her.
She smiled. Sagar was never so happier in his life. His happiness doubled when he got the job and he knew that everything was well set. But then that would be a perfect love story, isnt it? The demons of caste, religion, status and ego made sure that their love was buried deep in the cemetery of life. They parted as friends with each deciding to themselves that they would never see the other for the rest of their life.
10 Years had rolled by. Sagar heard from someone long before that Sowmya was married to some guy and had a kid. He had seen their marriage photo in his friends’ house and he had to say that her hubby was smarter than him. He did feel jealous. Sagar too got married to Asha and they had a daughter. Asha passed away in labour and Sagar felt as if he was carrying some curse where everyone close to him perished. Despite his parents constant nagging to remarry he had resisted it and managed to raise his daughter with their help.
"Excuse me." Someone broke his thoughts as he realized that his bag was in the middle of the pavement. He got up and removed the bag and apologized.
He was shocked to see Sowmya with her husband and kid.
Ok. I know the ending. Lets see how you people can take the story ahead.
Start the music :-)
"Flight No 1721 from Chennai to Kolkatta has few technical problems and we expect an hour’s delay in the schedule. We apologize for the inconvenience caused to you" beamed the Rasagulla in the stewardess dress. Somewhere far he could see a woman crying on the shoulders of a man with lot of luggage. Must be newly married and traveling he thought.
This reminded him of Sowmya. Sowmya. Technically speaking she was an archived record in his memory database. It popped up at times and reminded him if some of his pleasant youthful days. Sowmya and Sagar had been in the same colony for almost 20 years and had been family friends. Sagar had a soft corner for her and was waiting for an opportunity. After his graduation Sagar got an offer for an interview and he was at the airport with Sowmya. Gathering all his courage he told her.
She smiled. Sagar was never so happier in his life. His happiness doubled when he got the job and he knew that everything was well set. But then that would be a perfect love story, isnt it? The demons of caste, religion, status and ego made sure that their love was buried deep in the cemetery of life. They parted as friends with each deciding to themselves that they would never see the other for the rest of their life.
10 Years had rolled by. Sagar heard from someone long before that Sowmya was married to some guy and had a kid. He had seen their marriage photo in his friends’ house and he had to say that her hubby was smarter than him. He did feel jealous. Sagar too got married to Asha and they had a daughter. Asha passed away in labour and Sagar felt as if he was carrying some curse where everyone close to him perished. Despite his parents constant nagging to remarry he had resisted it and managed to raise his daughter with their help.
"Excuse me." Someone broke his thoughts as he realized that his bag was in the middle of the pavement. He got up and removed the bag and apologized.
He was shocked to see Sowmya with her husband and kid.
Ok. I know the ending. Lets see how you people can take the story ahead.
Start the music :-)
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Confessions of a Dangerous mind
"Drugs, Diamonds or Dollars?" the General asked as if all the 3 were legitimate to carry.
"How about all the 3 in equal proportions?" I said.
Who am I? I am Yuri Varlov. Into my late 30s and with medium build and receding hairline, people say that I resemble Nicholas Cage. I am a dealer. No no...not the ordinary dealer you happen to meet around. I am an arms dealer. Oh...you despise me right? Well that’s your personal opinion and you can do that. I may have failed academically but I passed the school of life with honors as I knew how to make a quick buck. I had always wanted to make it big in life and wanted to make it soon. What better than transporting and supplying illegal arms?
In my childhood I always wondered as to why did these people needed to fight and cant say truce. But as I grew up I understood that this truce would only be acceptable by the common people, but would hurt the political bigwigs. You cannot imagine the amount of money each country spends in a war and how much the heads of government’s and arms dealers like me make most out of it. Once when a friend asked if I had any guilt for this, I shot back "My bullets are better than alcohol and tobacco. At least they have a safety switch to turn it off." But I always had a rule. I supplied guns and left the place after getting paid immediately. The last thing I wanted to see was to see someone use it to kill someone. Chicken hearted aint I?
Today I came here in Africa to supply guns for the first time to some crazy dictator who had managed to rule with an iron hand for long time. My Kalashnikovs we handled by kids who were just about the same height as the guns. Just as we were having negotiations, the 10 year old kid of the general took the gun to a far by tent and shot a kid about 6 years old in the head. He laughed and said that he was testing the gun.
The dead kid was about the same age as my son. I felt a knot in my stomach and left as soon as I could. The amount of guns that I supplied to such small countries in a year was the same that big nations as US, UK, France, China and Russia supplied to some nations in a day. Ironically these 5 nations are the permanent members of the UN Security council. God bless the world.
I reached home and went to my son’s room and kissed him good bye while he was asleep. In the table nearby I found a Smith and Wesson .38 type toy gun. I took it in my hands and looked at them for a long time. Without any rhyme or reason I started to cry and angrily threw the gun into the trashcan nearby. Just then my phone rang and it was the same General.
"Mr. Yuri. We would appreciate if you could supply us 200 more 'Angels' (code name for AK -47) the next week. Is it possible?"
"No problem" I found myself saying that without hesitation.
But then I knew that even if I turn into a Jesus or Mahatma and abolish my gun trade, these silly wars are not going to stop. If not me, then someone else will take my place and supply these goodies. What a slimy bastard I had become.
P.S: Inspired from the movie Lord of War.
"How about all the 3 in equal proportions?" I said.
Who am I? I am Yuri Varlov. Into my late 30s and with medium build and receding hairline, people say that I resemble Nicholas Cage. I am a dealer. No no...not the ordinary dealer you happen to meet around. I am an arms dealer. Oh...you despise me right? Well that’s your personal opinion and you can do that. I may have failed academically but I passed the school of life with honors as I knew how to make a quick buck. I had always wanted to make it big in life and wanted to make it soon. What better than transporting and supplying illegal arms?
In my childhood I always wondered as to why did these people needed to fight and cant say truce. But as I grew up I understood that this truce would only be acceptable by the common people, but would hurt the political bigwigs. You cannot imagine the amount of money each country spends in a war and how much the heads of government’s and arms dealers like me make most out of it. Once when a friend asked if I had any guilt for this, I shot back "My bullets are better than alcohol and tobacco. At least they have a safety switch to turn it off." But I always had a rule. I supplied guns and left the place after getting paid immediately. The last thing I wanted to see was to see someone use it to kill someone. Chicken hearted aint I?
Today I came here in Africa to supply guns for the first time to some crazy dictator who had managed to rule with an iron hand for long time. My Kalashnikovs we handled by kids who were just about the same height as the guns. Just as we were having negotiations, the 10 year old kid of the general took the gun to a far by tent and shot a kid about 6 years old in the head. He laughed and said that he was testing the gun.
The dead kid was about the same age as my son. I felt a knot in my stomach and left as soon as I could. The amount of guns that I supplied to such small countries in a year was the same that big nations as US, UK, France, China and Russia supplied to some nations in a day. Ironically these 5 nations are the permanent members of the UN Security council. God bless the world.
I reached home and went to my son’s room and kissed him good bye while he was asleep. In the table nearby I found a Smith and Wesson .38 type toy gun. I took it in my hands and looked at them for a long time. Without any rhyme or reason I started to cry and angrily threw the gun into the trashcan nearby. Just then my phone rang and it was the same General.
"Mr. Yuri. We would appreciate if you could supply us 200 more 'Angels' (code name for AK -47) the next week. Is it possible?"
"No problem" I found myself saying that without hesitation.
But then I knew that even if I turn into a Jesus or Mahatma and abolish my gun trade, these silly wars are not going to stop. If not me, then someone else will take my place and supply these goodies. What a slimy bastard I had become.
P.S: Inspired from the movie Lord of War.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Whats Cookin?
Believe me, being Vegetarian is a curse. And if you land up in an alien land, its even worse. Right from my college days there have been various attempts by my friends and enemies alike to thwart my resolution to stay a veggie. My gang of friends excluding a few hapless souls as Srini and Maaps were strictly non-veggie and so I was used to people lurking around and tempting me. The offer varied from a muttai dosai to a free Chicken 65 or whatever you call it.
The very earliest attempt was made in the year 1987 when I was rushed to a doc by my parents. For one and only time in my life I was thin and the doc looked at me as if I was this famished kid from the slum. He asked my parents to feed me with eggs and fish which of course got rejected flatly. Afterwards I blew to such a huge size that if I had blown in the same proportion I might have been in the Sumo championships.
The simplest solution offered to me on landing here was...start eating chicken and eggs. I have been asked at times if being veggie had something to do with my religion or if like filmy moms or like Gandhi’s mom, my mom too had made me take some vow or that stupid sort. Nope. The reason is plain and simple. I just want to stay veggie just for the heck of it. If you can’t even control your taste buds, what would you do when you are faced with greater temptations(you know what I mean)?
The first time I had my lunch here in Burger King, this was the conversation between me and my roommate
Him: What do you want?
Me (After searching for half and hour in the menu and finding nothing): I will get a veg burger.
Him(to the waiter):Get a chicken burger and a veggie burger without meat and sausage.
Me: Dei, Its a veggie burger rite? Why do we need to say it in particular
Him: You need to or they will add it.
Me: Do they have lot of cows, chicken and lamb in their backyard that they throw it in veggie stuff as well?
him: Dei, You have no choice. Either eat this or start cooking.
Ooops. Cooking? Apart for my culinary skills, cooking was as much alien to me as intelligence was to Bush. Determined I came home and got my mom's cooking diary and got everything ready to make sambhar. After 15 utensils, 1 1/2 hours and tons of patience later...the sambhar turned to a dal. Enna kodumai Saravanan idhu?
Unfazed I tried the next day and this time, I got it right. The journey continued with rasam, Kootu, veg Biriyani, Bisibelabath and so on. Cooking became fun and I was enjoying my new experiment. Well, I shouldnt say that, but I have been a better cook as I would be the first person to throw the food away if its awful and I am still alive after eating self cooked food after a month.
Well, that adds one more reason to break my eligible bachelorhood. :-)
P.S: Completed one year in Blogsville. Thanks to Srini, Vijay and Vani for inspiring me to start it. Some of the favourite ones I blogged are The Grudge, A stupid story, a Drama,a candyfloss, ஒரு புல்லாங்க்குழல் அடுப்பு ஊதுகிரது and so on. Thanks to everyone who has loved and hated me :-)
The very earliest attempt was made in the year 1987 when I was rushed to a doc by my parents. For one and only time in my life I was thin and the doc looked at me as if I was this famished kid from the slum. He asked my parents to feed me with eggs and fish which of course got rejected flatly. Afterwards I blew to such a huge size that if I had blown in the same proportion I might have been in the Sumo championships.
The simplest solution offered to me on landing here was...start eating chicken and eggs. I have been asked at times if being veggie had something to do with my religion or if like filmy moms or like Gandhi’s mom, my mom too had made me take some vow or that stupid sort. Nope. The reason is plain and simple. I just want to stay veggie just for the heck of it. If you can’t even control your taste buds, what would you do when you are faced with greater temptations(you know what I mean)?
The first time I had my lunch here in Burger King, this was the conversation between me and my roommate
Him: What do you want?
Me (After searching for half and hour in the menu and finding nothing): I will get a veg burger.
Him(to the waiter):Get a chicken burger and a veggie burger without meat and sausage.
Me: Dei, Its a veggie burger rite? Why do we need to say it in particular
Him: You need to or they will add it.
Me: Do they have lot of cows, chicken and lamb in their backyard that they throw it in veggie stuff as well?
him: Dei, You have no choice. Either eat this or start cooking.
Ooops. Cooking? Apart for my culinary skills, cooking was as much alien to me as intelligence was to Bush. Determined I came home and got my mom's cooking diary and got everything ready to make sambhar. After 15 utensils, 1 1/2 hours and tons of patience later...the sambhar turned to a dal. Enna kodumai Saravanan idhu?
Unfazed I tried the next day and this time, I got it right. The journey continued with rasam, Kootu, veg Biriyani, Bisibelabath and so on. Cooking became fun and I was enjoying my new experiment. Well, I shouldnt say that, but I have been a better cook as I would be the first person to throw the food away if its awful and I am still alive after eating self cooked food after a month.
Well, that adds one more reason to break my eligible bachelorhood. :-)
P.S: Completed one year in Blogsville. Thanks to Srini, Vijay and Vani for inspiring me to start it. Some of the favourite ones I blogged are The Grudge, A stupid story, a Drama,a candyfloss, ஒரு புல்லாங்க்குழல் அடுப்பு ஊதுகிரது and so on. Thanks to everyone who has loved and hated me :-)
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