Saturday, May 3, 2014

Life In A Non Metro





The movie Queen and this ad reminds me a lot of 2000 and Kota. And let’s face it Queen is no Sholay but an IMDB rating of 9 is due to us finding her character very endearing because we all identify with her. All this might seems laughable or cringe worthy now but back then it was the life. Going out with friends meant eating Kachori in one of the famous shops, everybody had a teri wali, which meant one girl who we have never spoken to once in a life but we could recite her phone number, house number, Scooty number and tuition timings; Hero Puch was a good way of travelling but the real cool guys had a Hero Honda Splendor; everybody wanted to have a Sachin Stance or Glenn McGrath’s run up and action but all this had to stop before dad got back home; Letters to Penthouse was a Bible; and finally though everybody said they wanted to get into IIT / AIMS but we all secretly hoped that our college had girls in skirts dancing in the basketball court.

 

 

 

 

EAT


Every town has a ‘best’ shop for everything. You want to eat Samosa? the best ‘Samosa’ is made by Ratlam Sweet Shop. Kulfi? The best Kulfi is of Shrinath, or the push cart which used to come in front of your house ringing a bell selling Matka Kulfi. Kabab?  Ahmed has the best kakori kabab. We did not have restaurants specializing in any cuisine; most restaurants sold Masala Dosa, Chowmein and Dal Makhani, they were only differentiated with what they had the best of. Ambience be damned. I don’t think any of us knew what it meant back then back there, only whether it was a ‘Family Restaurant’ or not. Having a bar in a restaurant was unimaginable and people who had booze outside were either denied entry or given the stink-eye by every table in the restaurant, though most alcohol aficionados either went to a ‘Pack and carry’ place and had their food in the car or went to some dhaba outside of town. And having knowledge of what is best where is today’s equivalent of having a mobile phone, dialogues like “Ye koi Malai Kofta hai? Mere saath chalo aap ko main aapko Ambar Restaurant (pronounced as Rest o rent) ka malai kofta khilata huun” were quite common.

But most of our life was spent on the small road side places which specialized in small meals. Those were the pick-me-up or ‘Har choti khushi ka celebration’ places. Flunked the last test? Go dig in the Hot Pyaaz kee kachori at Jodhpur Namkeens and the pain lessened a lot. Aced the test? Let’s have a pineapple pastry at Bakewell. Got your pocket money? Let’s go Shiv Bakery to have patties. Distances were less, time was ample (Sigh!) 

Of course most of the real food came from the vegetable vendor’s push cart. ‘Aaaloooooo, tamaaaatar’ cry at the top of their voice were their CRM strategy and I actually used to wonder if they went to some sabjiwaala school, because the volume they maintained throughout the afternoon did not look humanly possible and every sabjiwaala uncannily sounded like the other. Then the ladies of the came out in the battlefield or rather that’s what they thought it was. Every vegetable was sniffed, scratched, analysed from every angle and sometime even cut to see if the claim was genuine. After that was settled the second battle was started of bargaining for the prices; there was no information asymmetry in this market, the women knew the current prices of vegetable and fruit in every mandi in town. I tried to fake this by asking every vegetable vendor “Bhaiya ye kaise diya” whether he said 8 or 18 made actually no difference to me I will buy whatever was asked by Mom at whatever price he or she was selling it. And the final battle was the Nimbu Mirchi battle, nobody bought Nimbu or Mirchi or Dhaniya it just came complimentary with the other vegetables you had bought.

PRAY


I don’t think we were more religious than sixteen year olds anywhere is the world are but we did pray very had sometimes :– 

Before an exam – Well we were students, exams and results mattered. And of course the bigger reason was in the exam time going to the temple was the only outing allowed on those days, so went to the temple to pray. There was one near my house which most of us preferred, because it was near my house, and we could play cricket in my driveway, also that temple had a pond where we could play skipping stones or temples also offered, how do I put it …. Let’s just say other kind of darshan as well.

Smoking a cigarette in a back alley – That was our rebellion. Our badge that we are not a kid anymore. The access card to the bad boys association. And the test every Childe had to give, it went like this – The big boy moved the cigarette to you, filter first and said “Piyega kya?” you could chicken out here and say “main cigarette nahi peeta” and get the disapproving ‘this guy is a still child’ look or you could take the cigarette upping you ante; but to cash in your chips you had to inhale the smoke and puff it out without coughing; if you could do that then that was your knighthood, otherwise what you got was a resounding laugh from everybody and the dialogue “Ye baccho kee cheez nahi hai bacche“ and the tag of ‘wanna-be’ for your whole life. But these tough guys were scared shitless when their neighbour uncle’s scooter passed through this alley and they prayed on to every god there is that either the uncle didn’t see them or won’t report it to their parents. What they did not know that their mothers already knew they smoked; not in spite of the supari and mint they chewed but because of it.

Porn – I remember one teacher telling me that in her hostel they had hollowed out a wall in the common toilet to serve as a library, that is where they stored their Mills & Boons. Being an all-girls college in the middle of nowhere (Laxmangarh) this is what they sustained themselves on. And the book store which used to import the Mills & Boons was near a temple, the risky task of smuggling the book was left to the final year students and all the girls took the book first, then prayed in the temple for not getting caught and then went to the hostel. I found this whole action plan very familiar, we also did pray very hard whenever we were smuggling Mastram in the school or the ever popular worth-shedding-blood-over ‘Letters to Penthouse’ and dreamed of going to America where everybody’s wife was blond, 34D and a stunner; and whenever your car had a puncture in the middle of nowhere she was more interested in having a tumble (thrice) in the empty cabin nearby (which always used to be there) rather than nagging you to death that she had reminded of getting the spare tyre repaired two weeks before.

But these were the pursuits of lesser men, the Big Kahunas dealt in motion pictures. And the highly revered guys were who knew a guy, who knew a guy who could get the real hardcore stuff. In which ‘upar ka aur neeche ka dono dikhaate hai’ they were the small town equivalent of drug dealers. And the boys understood more about the universe in those one and a half hours what Copernicus and Hubble did in their entire lives.

TB6 deserves a special mention here. It was Russian channel which suddenly was started being broadcasted here in India and used to telecast Adult movies late in the night. It was inspiration to a million teenage to ‘Study’ till late night in the TV room.

Cricket – Enough said. Back then Sachin was in process of attaining the status of God,  Azharuddin was un-tainted, the sight of Kambli in tears was fresh in in our memory and everyone prayed extra hard for us to win the Super Six against match against Pakistan in 1999 world cup, the cup be damned, that was our World Cup !

LOVE


Now you gotta get the scene first. The place is a middle sized town, the time is Circa 2000, the rich boys wear Reebok instead of Action, Maruti 800 is still an aspirational thing and parents have this habit of making you call every girl more than your age as Didi or making them call you Bhaiya if they are even one year younger.  Co-ed are the exception rather than the rule. Teens Today is the progressive magazine where girls complain that their 21 year old boyfriend after 6 years of relationship now wants to get physical. Nobody has Swag. And carnal knowledge is equivalent of Sainthood, nobody except the most blessed get it. Get it?
But of course there was no lack of trying from our side. And all techniques (also known as seetbaaji back in those days) came down to these –

Stare a lot – This was the most basic of all and practiced by everyone, you just sit behind her in class and keep gawking at her, you can even touch her hair if you were close enough  but the real jackpot was when you could find one day that one of her bra strap was showing, that would make your day and become the topic of conversation all evening.

Follow Home – This one required a mechanized mode of transportation and thus excluded the base of pyramid who had cycles. At the end of school there was a mad rush and throttles were sent to their maximum at the war cry of “Bhaai teri waali abhi nikli hai . Chal !” Thus you followed your waali back to her home, honked a lot, and overtook her once or twice just for fun. One anecdote here is worth mentioning (without going into names of course), our pack mate once wanted to go beyond the follow home routine and overtook the girl and braked right in front of her to make her stop, she did stop but not in the way our guy hoped, she panicked, braked too hard, skidded and fell down, what happened after that is not worth telling the tale of, but you should understand even this routine wasn’t without this risk. Another side of this routine was the stake out, this is when you spot the two wheeler of someone’s waali either parked or in motion and dashed out to his house to inform him that “teriwaali wahan hai, jaldi chal !” 

Make crank calls – This routine required more patience and hard work than the last one, you had to first find out the address of the house and then scan the whole directory by her surname until you zero in on the combination to find the phone number. This is when you started making the crank calls. Some people even tried to talk when the girl picked up but I don’t know anyone who got a decent reply from the other end. And since we are on this topic this killer line by our Dinh (read the dark tower novels to figure out what it means) is worth mentioning
Dinh: Priya ko bula do
Priya’s dad: Aap kaun bol rahe ho
Dinh: Main Raj
Priya’s Dad: Kaun Raj?
Dinh: Yahi to raj kee baat hai
*total silence for a minute and then we burst out laughing

Ask for notes – This one was certainly not for the faint of heart as this required having an actual conversation with the girl like a human being! Which very few of us could pull off.  No doubt the girls saw through this but I do know a few people who actually did get notes upon asking for it, and thus the staring of the whole class. And the people who were too far to understand what went down got the smile from the protagonist which Muhammad Ali gave the media when he won the gold medal and got back to USA.
Bash up the other lover – This technique was used frequently by people who had muscle power behind them. This is something what Komatsu had in mind when they had their motto as Maru-C, son instead of directly attacking the target you encircled them by knocking other pieces off the board. Conversations often went like this –
Guy1: Saale Priya ke ghar ke bahut chakkar laga raha hai

Guy2: Tereko kya?

Guy1: Mere mohalle kee ladki ko mat ched

Guy2: Kyun teri behan lagti hai wo?

This is when the fight started. The girl in most cases had no idea all this was happening because they did not know these two guys existed

Chat on Yahoo messenger – Finally, this is what the smooth operators did. The Johnny Depps of our times. They had already broken the ice and the girl had reciprocated, so now they sat in dingy Cyber cafes, logged onto their HandsomeGuy_84 IDs and chatted the hours away. And the final climax of this was when they sat in the same cyber café in the same cabin and … Let’s just say- did not chat

There was also this intermediate categories who had girls (or Aunties) in Philippines or USA and had their private show whenever they were online. I know one guy who even nearly 3000 dollars wired to his account by an Aunty from US.


Sigh! Those were the days!

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Things that amaze me



Ever since my article on faking news about Foreigners getting amazed by our celebration of Ganesh Chaturthi completely flopped I’ve been stuck with this word amazed and plotting my revenge at this world. I mean, I thought it was pretty funny (OK maybe not as funny as original Rahul Gandhi speech, read it here) but most people didn’t think so, one friend told me it was neither slapstick or dry enough to be funny, another friend was blunt enough to comment that I should stick to my style of humour. To both of you and the other 7 billion people who didn’t find it funny I say this …Fuck You! Think of it one of those things which are only appreciated when a person dies, like Copernicus’ theory about the planets or Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. But anyways, till that article becomes a standard class tenth chapter of the NCERT English book, I am gonna tell you about the things I am amazed by –

Girls’ vocabulary:

An average 4 year old girl knows more and speaks more words than an average 6 year old boy. And it is no secret girls always score more than boys in any language exam. But I always wonder where does their advanced vocabulary and language skills go when describing things. A thing which is good is good and a thing which is breath-taking, awe inspiring, mesmerizingly good is just sooooo good. And a thing which is tasty is yum, but a thing which is delectable, luscious and piquant is just described by adding more m’s after yum. And the worst thing is when a woman starts talking “You know that guy was so…” and she completes the sentence with a hand gesture and a facial expression and all women nod because they have got exactly what she meant to say. But I am stumped! What is that? That guy was so what? Handsome? Square jawed? Putrid? Well hung? Short? … Whatever he was I am sure there are words to describe all that. I am amazed where their 1800 words vocabulary goes at these times…

People who write okay:

I mean what is okay? OK is a word, fairly common word, maybe the most common word… but a word. Maybe it evolved from Germanic languages as Oll Korrect or Choctaw or maybe West African in origin but a word nonetheless. Why expand a short word? And I am not talking about the Grammar Nazis, I am amazed by the people who write –  c u thr and then reply as ‘okay’. I am also perturbed by people who write LOLZ instead of just LOL, but that is a debate for a different time.

Nature Lovers:

Only a nature lover can describe a gutter as “a gushing torrent of water in which human refuse swirls and dances like little children with dross, oh what a beautiful tango!” Or the morning 8:10 Kurla local as “A sea of humanity placed so close together that they share the sight, smell and consciousness of each other”
I really can’t stand them, these are the people who ruin Goa for you. As soon as you spot a German in bikini from the latest Sports Illustrated and are about to point out her to your friends a ‘Nature Lover’ will shout out “Bhaai sunset dekh! Kya nazara hai yaar ! Dekh dekh wo baadal bhi ekdum red ho gaya hai. Yaar meri ek photo le le is sunset ke saath”, by the time you figure which cloud is he talking about and take that bloody photo the German is gone and you have to content yourself by ogling at Indian girls in white shorts. Or as you settle down by a nice turn of the road en route to Mussori and you are about to start passing the whisky these people will shout “Look look ! There!” and point towards the sky, and the time you waste in figuring out that he was pointing at an eagle is used up by other people in eating all the remaining chips.
And Nature Lovers I admit that the beaches in Andaman are nice and all but “The Sea touching the small island from all sides” does not make me think about “how we are so small in the ethereal play of heavens”. Remember man built the shopping mall, everything else just kind of happened.

Autowallahs:


There is must be some secret manual for autowallahs or maybe some exclusive training school for them in Area 51. There is no other explanation for how they all behave exactly alike. No matter who you ask for no matter where, they don’t want to go there. And I am not talking about asking an auto guy to come from GK II to go to Yakubpur (it is a real place in Noida) at 2 o’ clock in the night. I am talking about asking an auto guy near Hebbal to go to MG road at 2 o clock in the day on a Sunday. If they can’t get a return passenger from there, I don’t know from where they will. They do not say that they want extra money or if you want to go to the main road or the bylanes, they just flat out refuse.  And these guys amaze me by hogging bus stands asking people waiting for a bus where they want to go, but at the auto stand 50m away they refuse everyone.
I would really love to conduct a study of how much they earn sitting around so that they don’t want to earn by ferrying passengers. And not to be cavalier about it; but I think they can really do with some more money. But to them it does not matter, they will sit at the auto stand whole day reading newspaper but will not break the unity by reducing prices or agreeing to go to a place the first guy had refused. One observation I had though: “Bhaiya please chod do na” of girls for some reason works better than “Chaloge kaise nahi boss, police mae complain karun kya?”of guys.

Football fans:

If there is anything more annoying than a football fan then the devil has kept it for his private torture chamber. I acknowledge that it is ok to be passionate about a game, and social media sites are made for airing your feelings and putting your carefully posed and selected photos in the album ‘Random Clicks’ or ‘Fun with friends’. But there should be line-drawing somewhere.
I don’t mind the occasional ‘Sachin scored a century’ post, or being the tolerant, broad minded guy that I am; I can also live with ‘Rafa won the Wimbledon’ (Did he?) but I get really amazed by the people who write “Against the KOP... Arteta allowed Henderson to run into the D from half line like he were messi...its another thing he missed the shot....Yesterday Arteta closed down well comparitively... n rosicky had a meaningful game in ages hahaha...” and expect people to like or comment on it. Or when they blurb on twitter “Fuck Arsenal! The linesman were paid off to give Beckham (or any other ManU player, I don’t know anyone else) offside, otherwise were would have won 3 – 2!”. Ya either the linesman were paid, or the referee, or the evil space bats interfered in the game by reality warp, but they can never admit that there team played a bad game and they deserved to lose; and moreover they expect normal humans to understand and care about what they are saying. It is like I suddenly exclaim on Facebook “Fuck man my DF1 TR went into error because the object VBAP-IHKREZ was not moved to QF1 system. Fuck these lousy developers” and expect people to react to it, expect maybe thinking I suddenly suffered head trauma.  
So football fans please take notice of what spongebob is saying below –

Arranged marriage people:

I really did not want to write this one, thinking it was a bad idea, but my wife talked me into it. Ever since I talked her into a very bad idea (marrying me), she is just raring to get even with me. I have no intention to hurt anyone just because I did not have an arranged marriage, but if you feel offended then maybe I am right about what I am saying.
When I was in school I noticed this trend first. Being thin and having a small build I had to pick my fights carefully. I was wise enough to be friends with people who were friends with other people so I was protected in general, but the threat of instant and individual violence was always there and hence I started noticing this trend. The guy who shouted “saale maa c**d dunga teri. Tu jaanta nahi hai mujhe” numerous times was not be feared, he would either duck out of a fight first or start crying after two punches. It was the silent, staring and ‘who never initiates the fight’ guys you have to worry about. The same trend was in college, the guys who said “Andy bhaai aaj nadi baha denge” were the first to puke. And in office the people who complain about the workload the most while away their hours in gossip and in reading TOI.
Now there are people who are married a month back, have known their fiancé / fiancée for four more months before that through phone and start putting up tons of photos on Facebook and post statuses like ‘Happy Janamasthmi love of my life’ I can’t help but relate to the things I described above. I can’t help notice that only arranged marriage people hold hands everywhere, are in the front line of getting photos clicked together, call each other baby and eat in one plate. They seem to be more in love than the people who have fought their families for years to be together. No reason they can’t be, my parents had an arranged marriage and they seem to be doing ok. But then I am cynical, negative bastard who sees things this way, that there is no reason to poster your love for your spouse all over cyberspace. I mean people already are putting “oh my god my kid looks so cute while pooping” or “Please like this photo to end all wars” why add my ‘first karwachauth with the best husband in the world’ to the mix? But people still do it with so much tenacity that it amazes me.


Saturday, July 20, 2013

Go Forth





I could say that I had another parathawala moment. But it was much more than that, much more subtle and much more long drawn. Well, I did have a parathawala moment but that was different. But let’s first get it out of the way anyways.

So, It was raining that day and I had recently started going to client’s offshore captive office these days. That office is in Whitefield and I stay in Indiranagar, both places are around 20 kms apart. My office is in Electronics City which is 20 kms away too, but I used to come and go in an office bus and used to sleep along the way both times, so I really didn’t mind the distance. Or maybe I did but soon I got used to it, like we humans get used to everything we are in. Anyways back to that day, that day it was raining. I stood in the rain for a while to catch the public bus from my office back to the bus stop near my house. The bus was crowded so I didn’t get a seat and as it always happens the traffic was terrible, because it was raining. So I was drenched, standing in the bus and was stuck in it for an hour and a half and getting more pissed off by the minute. I got down at the stop, started running in the rain towards the house in the rain, mad at the whole world. I was mad at the weather for raining, mad at the Bangalore traffic for being bad like it is, mad at office people to ask me to go to client office for no good reason, but I was mad at myself the most for acquiescing to their demand and for not having a cushy job where I could come and go in an office car, wearing a nice suit. If any of these things had been different I wouldn’t be in the rain wet and tired and unrewarded. As I was running along the sidewalk I caught someone looking angrier than me on the sidewalk from the corner of my eye.

He was a tall thin guy with a light stubble on his face, wearing a light colored non-descript shirt that most Indians wear while going to work, holding an umbrella. His eyes were darting here and there in the crowd expecting something from people. I couldn’t place what at first but then I looked down to something shiny and metallic at his feet. It was a big metal degchi containing boiled eggs that he was planning to sell. But it was raining and nobody was giving him any heed or business, everyone was just running like me. And that point I realized he HAD a right to more angry than me, he couldn’t go anywhere, he had to stand and he was not getting paid, not paid extra like I wanted but to earn at all. Suddenly I remembered that come and go in an A/C bus, sit in an A/C office and earn 5 times than him. I had no reason to be angry.
But it is a different thing I wanted to talk about. So as I said these days I go to a place called Whitefield, that is a office hub, all you see around that place are offices and offices, it’s a steel and glass city with roads running through like arteries and you catch glimpses of people wearing ID badges moving around once in a while. There is nothing else there, all offices and a few malls dotted in some odd localities. And buses and office cabs shunting around; more at office hours, sparse at other timings and it’s a ghost town on weekends.

It’s all clean and sparkling buildings with huge signboards hanging from buildings heralding some of the biggest corporate names. But one day I stumbled into one by-lane, it was lined up with food stalls. Most were selling tea and cigarettes, which is the biggest demand of office goers. They are restricted to smoke inside office and everyone without exception hates the vending machine tea. So apart from the proverbial chaai sutta stalls there were lots of kiosks selling food I was surprised so many street vendors selling idli & dosa in the mornings and rice & Puri Sabzi in the afternoons. I wondered who would eat here, all the offices had their own food courts with certified and closely scrutinized vendors and there was no dearth of restaurants in the nearby malls. But I got my answer when I went there to eat with my colleague. A few were laggards like me who had missed the breakfast time in office and were forced to eat outside. But most were men wearing either white shirt & white pants, or a Khaki one, a sort of uniform. These were the cab drivers. It’s only natural when tens of thousands of people commute to Whitefield everyday from far off locations; most of them avail the office cabs. So while these tens of thousands eat in their neat office food courts inside sparkling glass buildings what of the drivers of the cabs who are not allowed inside the office, but are required wait outside anyways? They would require food as well. This is where these roadside vendors came in. They are fulfilling the auxiliary demand of food created by these offices. It is almost a parallel economy. The employees get their money from the clients whom they service, rather the office gets that, the office pays the cab company which pays these drivers, these drivers pay the food vendors for the food, which in turn pay some other people.

So who are these other people? Not counting the cops of course, who would come once in a while threatening to demolish these illegal unlicensed structures. Thus supplementing their meager salaries with bribes and egos killed by saluting politicians. It is another economy as well, but let’s not get into that for now. So it happens that these vendors have containers filled with water and a tumbler to act as make shift wash basin, my colleague seeing that asked me if it was drinkable water, I said no it is tap water while looking for a tap nearby to point at. But there was no tap nearby, there was no tap anywhere at all. And why should there be one? It is a commercial zone and this a foot path which they have encroached, there wasn’t any tap built. So I was wondering where they got their water from, it is too cumbersome to carry all this water from their homes. I got my answer after a few days when I was eating there again. An old man came up to me and asked me in Kannada if the bike parked near the pavement was mine, I said no so he went to the next person asking the same. I wondered why he was asking that, the bike wasn’t bothering anyone, but I realized why when the bike was removed, a water tanker came in parked there and all this vendors made a line to fill their water containers. The tanker guy gave approx 15 buckets of water, took his money and went to the next bylane to repeat the same thing. The tanker guy has made his business to supply water to these illegal water-connection-less food vendors.

So when you call someone under-privileged next time, when you believe someone who says he didn’t get a chance till now, when you nod along to something like a Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme or you roll down to your car window to give someone alms. Think of these people, think of the people who have made their space where no space existed, who have tapped the real market need without even knowing how Marketing is spelled or spoken for that matter. Who are only visible when you scratch the surface, who have no corporate ID badges and message boards to rant upon, no mails to point fingers at that they are whatever they are because of him and her. Believe in the Levis ad, which says – “There are ways out, you just have to look around for them”. Go Forth !

Friday, May 24, 2013

Dear Sir. Please permit dying.



I am a 31 year old Techie. I never liked this word when newspapers used this word – Techie robbed on Outer Ring Road, Frustrated Techie ends life etc etc. But today I am gonna use it because it would help you to guess what I do for a living, which otherwise is very difficult to explain. I have tried it with my mother in law, my Dad and some of my Businessman friends but I have always failed. Anyways back to the point, the Point is that I am dying. While meeting with a bike accident certainly has its plus points like No need to fight the insane traffic in the morning, not having to worry if you are carrying your DL, RC, PUC, NOC, PPP, XYZ and all the other documents that James Bond wouldn’t have got in one movie; not having to think which expense to cut every time petrol has a hike and you don’t. But it certainly has a bad side also, dying.  Though I didn’t die of that in the end
What follows are the emails that have gone back and forth between my office people and me before I died. And if you are wondering how am I speaking from beyond the great beyond, go watch Sunset Boulevard or American Beauty or Raaz

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

My dear wilted rose





It is not the end
Life gives a second chance
Take it and bloom
My dear wilted rose

That is forever behind you
Forget about the pain
It was good riddance
My dear jilted rose.

But remember what you hated
Or it you might become
As rotten, as twisted
As dry, thorny and tilted rose

I see the marks and prunes
But I won’t throw you out
Or confine you to a book
My dear mud silted rose

Instead I’ll be your sunshine,
Your water and your roots.
Till grow back. Don’t worry,
My dear wilted rose

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

My DoppelgAnger


I recently got to know that something horrifying was done to a person near to me. After that I have no rest, I can't sleep, I can't think of anything else, every time I'm not distracted it starts playing in front of me like a video on infinite loop. And then I start to imagine how it would be, but in the next 2 seconds I stop, because I can't take it, it's too horrifying to even imagine what it would have been.

Now I know what Joseph Gordon Levitt meant by the lines - 'to feel the anger inside in your bones' in the movie The Dark Knight Rises. That's the only true emotion I know now except maybe a deep sense of injustice. My laughs are forced and fake most of the times, happiness is a fleeting momentary misdirection, and I don't have the strength to feel sad for anything else.

So I let this anger be, it sits there coloring my every thought, guiding my every action, aiding my living. And I know I need this anger. I won't forgive and I won't forget. Because this anger contains something. This finite anger strangles the infinite grief it sits on top of. The grief that that happened and I could not do something to stop it. The grief doesn't understand the normal principles of cause and effect, it doesn't listen to any logic, it doesn't care about the basic problem of un-changeability of the past. It's like a beast showing it's teeth, waiting to come out and kill me. But the anger is the lock on the beast's cage. The anger doesn't let me sleep, it makes my lose my appetite, it makes my day dream in all my waking moments about the pain that I need to inflict back. But still I like this anger, I need this anger. This anger I can handle, I have been living with this anger for so long now that I won't know who I am without it.

The anger is my friend here, the only friend maybe. Because he only knows my burden and what I wish to do; no one else.

And what I want, what my anger wants; is not revenge, or some obscure meta-physical concept of harmony or justice. It wants to inflict punishment. Punishment for wrong doings. Karma is a bitch. When you do bad shit, bad shit is going to find you; and in this case it will be me.

If God exists, then he is unimaginably cruel, but even by that I hope God will give me this opportunity. And then I will demonstrate that there are no actions without consequences, that sooner or later it catches up on you. Sooner or later I would catch up to it. Then it would be understood by what Newton meant by - "Every action in this world has an equal and opposite reaction"

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Why you should marry an alcoholic





All my advice till now has been for men, but now with the wave of feminism abound I guess it’s better to be called anything else but sexist. So this latest blog post is relevant for women; about how should they take the most important decision of their life. They should really, whole heartedly, thankfully marry an alcoholic.

Now I’m sure you must be eyeing this with the suspicion that all women eye everything men tell them, so let me recount you people the benefits of marrying an alcoholic – 

  • He would never care if you don’t have your upper lip done, legs waxed, your  Errr let’s just say private area shaved and won’t judge you if you don’t wear a sexy dress in the middle of December
  • He would be ready to drive 20 km one way in a 10Km/L petrol car at a cost of 75 Rs/L to find  table mats on discount you saw once in a store on the left side of the road near a store you don’t really remember the name of. Just reward him with a quarter when he comes back.
  • The logic that you need to buy new bed sheets to match the color of your bed which was recently bought to match the new sofa whose upholstery was recently changes to match the new curtains which you got last week to match your walls which was recently re-painted to make the house Feng Shui friendly and thus increase your home savings; would make perfect sense to him.
  • Alcoholic anonymous is easier to join than most dating sites.
  • You actually have to never worry about his getting his shirt ironed properly.
  • As long as you have train him right, the answer to: “Do I look fat in these pants?” “Is this dress too tight?” “Is this top too deep neck?” will always be no. Just give him a beer for every no he says without pausing to think for more than 3 Mili Seconds.
  • No pressure to come home before he does, in fact the longer you stay in office the longer his friends can stay at your house and drink.
  • After being disowned for drinking too much his mother, brother, brother’s wife’s sister, brother’s wife’s sister’s aunt’s best friend’s daughter will never come to meet you at your house, leave alone asking you to come to theirs. Problem with in-laws solved !
  • After 5 large of Old Monk he will start appreciate the nuances of the plot of Diya aur baati hum, and understand the deeper meaning of showing the same slap 5 times from different angle in Kya hua tera vaada.
  • He’ll pass out on most nights without eating, so you can order Kimchi Salad and Babycorn Manchurian with less oil and less spice as much as you want.
  • He will never say you have too many cushions.
  •  He will drop your blouse to some tailor that your sister’s best friend suggested, even if it is on the other side of town if there is a bar nearby
  •  Alcohol causes short term memory loss, he won’t remember that you stood in front of your wardrobe for 30 minutes last night as well and complained you have nothing to wear.
  • In fact he also won’t remember that issue you are arguing about today actually happened last month and you said ‘it was nothing’ back then.
  • He won’t mind your buying cinnamon scented candles for 2120 Rs. If you tell him this is for lighting his cigarette.
  • If you stop enough bars along the way he won’t be able to recall that you tow actually went out to buy a pair of jeans for you and came back holding two pair of footwear and a bell chime. 
  • You can tell him “Jaanu bas bahut pee lee tumne, ab aur mat peena” any day anytime. I’m not very clear about the exact benefit of this to you people; but my experience has taught me that you derive some great pleasure out of it even, if the guy just had two drinks that too after an interval of 3 weeks.
  • Anybody who had 9 drinks since morning will always be a good listener, he won’t be able to give advice on any of your problems but hey, you didn’t want that in the first place now, did you?
  • He probably would be peeing all over the place, that pretty much settles the toilet seat argument.
  • No matter how deep cut your friend’s top is, his eyes will never leave his drink at dinner.
  • And lastly you people will never ever have to fake a headache. Anybody who downed a bottle of Royal Stag will require a crane to get it up.
Now if you like this, please write so in the comments, that way I can come and sleep at your house tonight. I’m sure to be tossed out of mine.