Travel Aplenty

*Statutory Warning: Achtung! Long post! Please read it only if you are OK with lengthy nonsensical posts that add no value whatsoever. If long, ranting blog posts are not your cup of tea, then please refrain from reading this and go read a haiku or something. Don’t tell me later that I didn’t warn you :-)*

Hella yeverybaddy! Long time! It’s so nice to come back and breathe the air in blogosphere and flaunt my two-bit existence in this esteemed web space. I know I’ve been away for a while. I know I haven’t been blogging regularly. I know I haven’t been able to visit your blogs and leave you smiling or scowling with my unsolicited comments. My bad. Ok I admit that I’m not too happy about my irregularity and I kinda feel guilty about my prolonged absence from blogosphere (so please don’t rub it in by sneering at your computer screens and ask “Why the fuck have you come back?” ). I don’t get to show my cheery face (as cheery as the Joker in Dark Knight) on the cyberspace too much these days. My Orkut/Facebook pals think I’ve either vanished into thin air or ran away to the Himalayas. The entire legion of my loyal fans (mostly hot lingerie supermodels) is fretting about my unexplained disappearance. And my readers, oh, they’ve gone on a rampage, I tell you. There is widespread distress, concern and grief among the people due to my no-show on the blogosphere. Now don’t you roll your eyes, I am telling you the truth. Look at some of these distressed comments expressed by my loyal readers themselves, in verbatim.

“Ever since the Parikshith has blog writing stop, my the buffalo has milk giving stop”
-Ramu Pandey, the colony’s doodhwala

“It is so sad that Parikshith is not updating his blog on regular basis. His blog is an epitome of modesty and honesty and always makes very educative reading. He seems so busy these days that he doesn’t even visit my blog also”
- Muniamma, house-maid.

“Not a day passes without us wondering when Parikshith would come back and enthral us with his next post. Ever since he stopped posting, the light has gone off our lives.... as if the Lord has switched off a tube light in Heaven.”
- Dan Brown

“Forget the blog, Parikshith told me that he would visit me last night and promised me that we’d spend some cosy time together, but he didn’t turn up. He ditched me. I spent the whole night tossing and turning in the bed all alone and cried until my pillows were wet. Why o why o why, Parikshith?”
-Angelina Jolie

“Jolie, you bitch, Parikshith is mine!!!”
-Megan Fox

“My business has gone down ever since Mr. Kumar stopped uploading his blog. People would take printouts of his blog to use them as makeshift toilet papers, and I made great business selling printer-sheets. Now I am incurring losses. Please come back and write, Mr. Kumar”
- Mr.H.P Paperwalla, stationery shop owner.

“Parikshith, who?”
-Followers of Nonsense Aplenty.

Well Ladies and Gentlemen, these are only a few of the comments that I have received... there are plenty more, yeh toh sirf sample hai. My being away from cyberspace can be attributed to only one solitary reason yaar - the dreaded W word- Work! Yes, the past month or so has all been about work, more work and some more work for me, the poor old IT professional. I’ve been so busy working that I have to book my calendar to find time to scratch my back. I mean, forget visiting blogs, I don’t even have the time to visit the loo. Now let me not dwell into the details of my job partly because a) it is so boring that it would yawn an insomniac to sleep and b) nobody, not even Einstein’s father would understand the technical mumbo-jumbo involved. But if I were to honestly summarize my job, I can tell you that it is all about wearing crisp wrinkle-free formal wear and requires me to tap away at a few computer keys here, hoodwink a few gullible people there and convince everybody that I have the smartest dick in the corporate world. And mind you, all that takes some effort.

My work has brought me to Chennai this week, which is where I am put up and typing all this rubbish from. My work always brings me, the quintessential Bangalore boy, to Chennai- whether I like it or not. I have lost count of the number of times I’ve packed up for this city. My number of visits to this city so far, with no exaggeration, is probably equal to the number of ladder rungs it takes to climb up from the Earth to the Moon.

Anyway, the curtain raising event for the circus show happened earlier this week. There I was, in my cubicle, bum to chair and eyes into the computer screen, and into my 25th hour of work, when the boss picks on me and says
“Parikshith, you’ll have to visit our Chennai office tomorrow. The objective of your visit would be to teach our highly qualified software engineers there to count on the abacus.”

“Oh no not again man, why me?” I whine.

“You are the only bakra I could lay my hands on” he says with pride. “... and besides, you are important. This assignment is important”

Important, yeah right my ass. He makes it sound as if he is sending a Mossad agent on a Palestine mission.

“Come on Boss, why don’t you send someone else?”

“Sssshhh... stop being a little sissy, Parikshith, and go show your face in the Chennai office will ya? Your hotel, flights and cabs would have probably been booked by now... I don’t know, check with the Travel Department. Now off you go, shoo away from my chamber and let me have my nap in peace. Bye, have a great trip. Good luck.

Now don’t let all this fool you. For a random onlooker, travelling to another city on business class flights, having AC cabs ferry you back and forth and staying in star hotels – all on company’s expenses- may seem to be a glitzy affair. But not to me, not when this is the one hundred and umptieth time I am embarking on similar business trips to Chennai. It’s the same shit routine every time. A cab picks you up from home and drops you at the Bangalore airport. A flight crash-lands you in Chennai. Another cab receives you at the airport and drops you off at the Chennai office- where you spend the remainder of the day training astounded idiots on some shit technology or breaking your head in getting some defunct, gibberish bug-filled code to behave properly. After wasting yourself for the entire day, you check in to the same stupid hotel, order the same loftily priced room-service food and watch TV until you doze off to sleep. As I said, for a rookie engineer, all this ‘business experience’ may seem oh-so-glamorous and may have him all nippy and excited. (Why, he may even send a post card to his mother that says “Look Ma! I flew in an aeroplane once again, today”). But not me sir, I am a travel-hardened 26-year old and no spring chicken... and I’ve been enduring this magaj-maari for years now. So when the Boss sends me packing on my one hundred and umpty first trip to the same Godforsaken city, I am as enthusiastic as a dead dodo.

Realizing that my fate is cast in cement, I let out a long sigh and call up the Travel Department (T.D) of my office to get a status of my bookings. With all the interactions that we’ve had, the T.D guys are surely sick of my face by now. And vice-versa. Here’s the telephonic convo that ensued:

Travel Dept. Guy (T.D.): “Good evening, Parikshith. How may I assist you today?”

Me: “Array yaar, same flight, same place. Book the damn ticket for tomorrow”

T.D: “You mean you want an early morning flight to Chennai, sir?”

Me: “No. I want a late night flight to Timbuktu. Don’t ask stupid questions and give me a status of my bookings”

T.D: “We’ll have you on the 6 A.M flight tomorrow, sir. The cab will be at your place at 4.15 AM sharp for pickup. Have a nice journey and...”

Me: “Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on. Why the hell are you putting me on a 6 A.M flight? What happened to the regular 8 A.M flight?”

T.D: “That flight is completely booked, sir”

Me: “What happened to the 7 A.M flight? That one got sucked into the Bermuda Triangle eh?”

T.D: “I am sorry sir, but even that one’s completely booked”

Me: “Tell me something dude. Wasn’t my travel request been lying on your stone-age system since early this morning?”

T.D: “Yes, sir”

Me: “Then why couldn’t you book my tickets earlier, sir?”

T.D: “I am sorry sir, but we were so busy picking lint out of our belly buttons that we couldn’t find time to attend to your request earlier”

Me: “Excellent. So you put me on a 6 AM flight. You pick me up at 4.15 AM. And to think I have to wake up by 3.30 in the morning. Hey, why don’t you do me a favor and send some owls over to my place as well to wish me good morning?”

T.D: “Heh, heh, good one, sir”

Me: “This is ridiculous. I am not gonna be part of this stupid schedule. What would you do if I simply refused to go on that 6 A.M flight? What would you do then, huh?”

T.D: “We would then book you on the next available bullock-cart to Chennai, sir”

Me: “*Gulp!* Hey ok, ok, send me the tickets”

Trrrrrrrrrriiiingggg. My alarm clock goes off like a fire-alarm, breaking all the decibel barriers. The day of my travel finally dawns. 3:30 AM. I look out the window. Pitch black darkness greets me. Never in my life had I woken up at 3.30 A.M before. And to think I had to wake up now for something as stupid as my business trip. Okie-dokie, ho-hum another trip. What’s the big deal Johnny, it’s just another visit to Chennai after all, just like a visit to the super-market or visiting your Granny... all routine, all the same. Yeah right. Bloody hell. I toss my blanket aside and get up from my bed muttering curse after curse. I curse my job, curse my boss, curse the travel agent, curse his mother, curse the pile of clothes and bottles lying on the floor and stumble noisily into the bathroom. All my wee-hour commotion wakes up Sunil, my roommate. Now Sunil’s very first words when he wakes up in the morning is usually a devout “Hey Prabhu” and he then follows it up with a quick chant of a religious mantra. Today he wakes up and utters a classic “Abey betichod. Saale kya subah subah awaaz kar raha hai...”. But he notices my sleep-deprived foul mood and thankfully shuts up quickly. I zombie out of the bathroom, still more than half asleep, and get myself dressed. I collect my bags, mutter a ‘Gmmphhh’ (Goodbye) to Sunil and groggily trudge out of the room. Sunil sees me off at the door. He thumps my shoulders and says “Chal chal wake up dude, and have a safe journey... And don’t fall asleep on the air-hostess’ boobies. Chal bye...” and shoves me out of the room. “Gmmmpph...” is all that I can mutter back.

I approach my waiting cab, toss my bags in, crash into the back seat and mutter another “Gmmmpph” (Good morning) at the driver. In case you’ve been wondering why I’m being picked up so early, here is a piece of trivia for you – the new Bangalore airport is about 50kms away from the heart of the city... and even though its early morning, it still takes an hour to get your ass up there. Why is the Bangalore airport that far away? I don’t know. Ask the Government. Maybe the Govt wanted to keep their chaste little airplanes faaaaar away from prying evil eyes. So what did they do about it? They built one airport faaar away.

“Saaar... oh saaar, we reached ayer-port saaar” screams the cab driver until I jolt awake. True enough, I open my eyes and shield them from the bright entry lights of the departure terminal. Letting out a deep sigh, I enter the terminal, sleepwalk thru all the formalities and soon find myself inside the familiar confines of a flying coffin. “A very good morning and welcome aboard sir.” says a gorgeous air-hostess, welcoming me with her oft-practised plastic million watt smile. Now here’s a thing that you get a lot when you travel business class with private airlines – fake courtesy. Make no mistake, these private airlines, with their cute-as-a-button airhostesses; do offer pretty decent in-flight cabin services. I’m sure a lot of people will be overwhelmed by courtesy that they receive and will be bloating with a false sense of pride even after getting off the aircrafts. Well, good luck to such people. I am a simple, straight-from-the-heart desi guy and for me personally, there is no bigger a turn-off than fake smiles, artificial sweetness and put-on politeness. I cringe every time these airline people are so overbearingly nice to me in a fake, facaded way.

Anyway, I find my seat by the window, and quietly slip into it, in an attempt to catch my forty winks. “Good morning, how are you doing today? I hope you are comfortable sir, is there anything that I can get you?” inquires another sexy, stunner of an air-hostess; her genuinely beautiful face marred by a ridiculously phony smile. “No, thank you” I reply. This may sound howlingly ridiculous, but in moments like these, I really miss the Auntyiji air-hostesses of Indian Airlines/Air India and their no-pretence, no-nonsense, in-your-face ways of offering service. For example:

Aboard private airlines:
Me: “Excuse me, can I have some water?”
Gorgeous air-hostess: “Oh yes, surely, certainly, sir . I will get you a bottle of mineral water right away sir In the meanwhile would you like anything else sir? Do you also want some fresh orange-juice sir? No? Just the water, sir? Would you be able to drink the water yourself sir or do you want a tube to be inserted into your nostrils and the water to be poured down that, sir?”

Aboard Indian airlines/ Air India:
Me: “Excuse me, Aunty. Can I have some water?”
Auntyji air-hostess ( A.A) : “Aunty hogi teri maa”
Me: “Oops, sorry. Can I have a water bottle?”
A.A: “OK. Let me see”

Disagree if you want to, but I rest my case. But as an afterthought, I must say that we really need to appreciate the airline crew for the work that they do, especially when they work into such odd, ungodly hours. I mean, jeez, 5 AM in the morning- when an average sleepyhead like you and me can at max utter a grumpy ‘Gmmmph’, these men and hot women have to put on smiles on their faces and say nice English sentences to you. And when your early morning grooming procedure is limited to a pee, shave or a bath, these women actually have to spare time to apply layers and layers of make -up and look as fresh as a daisy. I’m sure it may not be easy for those poor souls.

Anyway, we taxi for take-off, the cute air-hostesses finish their customary little Bharatnatyam gig about the safety features. And then the Captain’s customary announcement spurts out from the loudspeakers. “Good morning, this is Captain Haddock and welcome aboard Kaput airlines...” the pilot announces. “...the weather outside in Bangalore is a pleasant 21 degree Celsius, although when you reach Chennai, it may be as pleasant as an oven. We will be flying at an altitude of 15,000 feet above sea level and darn, why does the proverb “The higher you fly, the harder you fall” keep hounding in my ears every time I say that. We hope you’ve paid attention to all the security features demonstrated to you by the crew. Just in case we crash into the sea, please be informed that the water is warm and the sharks are friendly. Thank you for flying with us, have a pleasant flight and we look forward to serve you again.” Errr... well, ok he may not have said all of that, but I was asleep by then and I am only guessing that’s what he may have announced.

Well, we finally land in Chennai (no wheel comes out of the landing gear, so I assume it was a safe touchdown) and I bid goodbyes to fake Colgate smiles. I know I am in Chennai- the hot winds blowing across the tarmac instantly make me feel as if I am inside an oven, indeed. I trudge to the arrival lounge, and search for the sign of cab that was supposed to pick me up. “If there is no cab sent to pick me, then I am heading back to Bangalore...” I silently promise myself. But I realize that it wouldn’t be necessary because soon enough I see a gentleman holding a large placard that says “Welcome to Chennai, Mr. Pratiksh Kumar”. I look at the placard and take a wild guess that it could possibly be for me. And as always, it turns out that I’m never wrong and I quickly follow the driver out of the lounge to my pickup cab.

So, that’s that folks. That’s where I am right now- cooped up in a hotel room in Chennai and that’s where I will be put up - for at least another fortnight or so. So until then, there is no guarantee that I can find any free time to visit the blogosphere (I’m sure you’ve had enough of me for now, if you read the whole post). I will even keep carrying work from the office to the hotel, like a doting mama Kangaroo. But I promise, I’ll try to smuggle in some free time here and there and intermittently visit the blogosphere. So before I say tata and birla for the time being, here is

My message to my dear male readers:
“Hi-five dudes!!! I will be away for sometime but we’ll catch up soon. Keep blogging, keep rocking and stay out of trouble you crazy bastards :-) . Chao! and catch’ ya later buddies”

And, my message to my dear female readers:
“Mmmuuuuuuuaaah, my sweethearts. I’ll be gone for a bit, OK? Awww, now don’t be sad, don’t pine for me. I will be back before you can say ‘Chocolate Cookie’”

Love,
Parry.

The Conversation

“What kind of a girl do you want to marry, son?”

“Huh, come again? What?” asks the son, nearly choking on his beer, startled at the sudden salvo fired by his dad

Dad and son lie sprawled on the lawn, next to each other. A warm breeze, a desolate night sky, and a crate of beer cans give them company. An invisible choir of crickets chirps away in discord. An old tape-recorder plays out lilting Floyd.

“I said what kind of a girl are you looking to marry, son?”

The son closes his eyes and shakes his head. He casts one glance at his old man and another at the beer crate. “One, two, three, four, five...” he carefully counts.

“Just five cans and you are already out, Dad. I swear I won’t let you have more than two next time”

“I wrote my bloody Civil services examination with six beers inside me...” retorts the old man “...and I still topped my college. What does that suggest to you, son?”

“It only suggests that all your other classmates wrote the exam with seven beers inside them. Ha ha”

“Funny, huh? Some sense of humour you’ve got. I am perfectly sober. Now answer my question”

“What question, Dad?” asks the son, innocently.

“Your poker face doesn’t work with me. I’ve only asked you one question. I remember what I asked and I know you remember what I asked. Now give me a straight answer” remarks the Dad, taking another swig at his canister. He seems to be getting more and more sober with every passing sip of his poison.

“Oh you mean the question about you passing your exam with six beers and...”

“No, the one before that” grunts the Dad, cutting his son short.

Silence. The son lets out a big sigh that reeks of all the alcohol he’s had. He gives up. He knows there is no way out tonight. Daddy dearest has extended a vice like grip on him, which only threatens to tighten with every can of beer being emptied. He looks away from his Dad. More silence fills the air. The motley bunch of crickets continues to chirp away in disharmony. What’s with the crickets and their bad singing tonight? Have they been drinking out of the beer-cans too?

“Girl.... Ahh... any girl would do, Dad... I mean ... no specific expectation as such, just any girl would do for marriage... I mean, I don't know, you say...“ replies the son with slurring honesty.

“O ho just any girl will do, eh? Very good. You’ve made my search criteria narrower then. That rag-picker who comes to pick up the thrash everyday is also “just any girl”. You want me to ask for her horoscope eh?”

“Ha, must say your ripping sarcasm is improving day by day, Dad.”

“I know. With you for a son, I’m bound to go on and receive an A+ for sarcasm, someday”

“Well, I only have modest expectations for marriage, Dad. For a wife, I’d only want someone like Angelina Jolie… Heh heh”

“Anjali, who?”

“**Sigh*** Never mind Dad, can’t we talk about this when we are sober tomorrow?”

“No, you tell me right now”

Son falls silent. He looks down, shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. He throws up his head and looks at the sky. He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to say it. It is so difficult to talk about the intricacies of relationships...he is just a man after all.

He takes in a slow sip and pauses for the sublime liquid to enter his bloodstream and catalyse his thinking. He stares vacantly into oblivion and ever-so-slowly replies “You know what Dad, I don’t want my wife to be a wife. I want her to be my friend, my buddy for life. I want to marry a girl who is nice but not too saccharine sweet. Someone who listens to me, but not in an overtly subservient housewifish way. Someone who’s naughty and adventurous, but not promiscuous. Someone who talks but doesn’t go yappity-yap and naggity-nag 24 hours a day. Someone who looks like a dream and smiles like an angel. Someone who laughs with me, cries with me and stands by me through thick and thin. Someone who loves me for what I am, for who I am. Ah! Love... that’s what everything boils down to, doesn’t it Dad? Love -pure and unconditional... That is all I need. If I can find love in her, and if she can find love in me, then I swear by you Dad, that’s all I could wish for... I really wouldn’t care about the rest of her.”

The dad looks at his son with silent astonishment. Wow, who is this guy... he wonders to himself. Wow, is he my son? Where was he hiding all these years? He smiles to himself. My boy has got his heart and soul in the right place. Yes, he is my son, after all. I’ve got to know what I wanted to know. He nods to himself and takes a celebratory sip , to raise a toast to the moment.

The son realizes that words have tumbled out. “Darn! What have I done!” he curses to himself and buries his forehead in his hands. He looks up, snatches the beer from his Dad’s hands and empties it in one overflowing gulp. “Don’t believe in what I said, Dad. It wasn’t true. You don’t believe all that do you?” he mutters. He stands up on his feet, kicks a stone, stumbles over another, and flings the empty beer can far away. “Don’t believe in all that bullshit I just said. It was all rubbish, bollocks, balderdash. I don’t believe in all that love and shit. You know I don’t, right Dad? I only want the standard specifications in a girl. You know, the size 38 breasts, the size 36 bums, the hour-glass waist, the endless silken legs, the milky skin, the high performance capacity etc you know.... that’s all. That’s it. That should do it for me. ”

The dad shakes his head and smiles at his son. He’s amused by the son’s desperate attempt to mislead him. He reaches out, grabs the son by his trousers and pulls him down to the lawn. “Of course I believe you, son” he replies with a wink. “In fact, I was wondering why that standard specification part didn’t come out of you earlier”

“Ha ha ha ha”. The son breaks into laughter. He knows that his old man is lying. But he still can’t help laughing.

“And you know what, young man... I am sure all your ex-relationships went kaput because you ran after your girlfriends with a laminated copy of the ‘standard specifications document’ hung around your neck! . Now do me a favor and pull out another beer”

“Aw, come on...” is all the son can sheepishly mutter as he pulls out a tin for himself and tosses another at his Dad.

Embarrassment. Smiles. Laughs. Guffaws. Clink of metal. Cheers!!!. Swig. Pause. Ponder. Despair. Sorrow. The son’s emotional clock changes position with every ticking second.

“I am a loser, ain’t I, Dad?” he asks.

“Oh yes of course you are, son!!!!”

“Ha ha ha ha ha”. The son erupts in more laughter. “Oh come on, man...!” he says “... couldn’t you at least say a few comforting Dad-words like ‘It’s alright son’ or ‘No, you aren’t a loser, you are a champion, son’ or something like that? That was supposed to be my cue for you. Ha ha ha... Dad you are too much. Ha ha ha.”

“What, you expect me to lie through my beer?” says the Dad. “Don’t worry I’ll say all those things when I am sober tomorrow..” he remarks, throwing a wink at his son. And I’m gonna get your horoscope out, first thing, when I am sober in the morning.

The two men continue to sip away silently. The sky goes on to acquire a serene midnight blue. The breeze gets stronger and the crickets get merrier.

“Tell me something Dad, why do you want me to marry me off so soon? . I have got so many things to achieve, so much to do. I have seen only half the colours of rainbow in my life so far...”

“You are 26 years old, you have a great job and you are leading an independent, well settled life. What more do you want? And what rainbow are you talking about. By the time you are done seeing the entire rainbow, you’ll be 80 years old”

“Marriage will snatch all my freedom and free will away. Do you think I can lead my care-a-hoot life after I get married? I will always be answerable to the Big Boss. And do you think I’ll get to come over here on Saturdays like this and have unlimited beers with you after I get married?”

“We can always have our beers, son and...”

“Yeah right...can always have our beer” replies the son, cutting his Dad short in mid-sentence “... Forget the beers, you know, after marriage I’d probably be spending Saturdays shopping with my wife in the ground floor of Big Bazaar , buying scrubs for the wash basin, curtains for the windows and toilet-cleaners for the commode. Don’t you think so?”

The dad pauses, ponders, scratches his chin and slowly replies “But toilet-cleaners are important, son. What’s the harm in shopping for that?”

The son throws his arms up. “Yeah, great, Dad. I knew I could always count on your advice. I’ll mix some of that liquid in your beer next time, you should be able to offer even better advice”

Both men break into guffaws.

“Think about it, son. Isn’t your life incomplete without marriage?”

“Right. And I get married and my life will be finished”

“***Sigh*** why is it so bloody difficult to reason with you?”

The son thumps his old man on the shoulders “Chip of the ol’ block Dad, chip of the ol’ block. It’s your genes that run in me”

The men shake their heads and smilingly look away from each other in opposite directions.

“Come to think of it, I know why you are in such a hurry to marry me off” says the son, sipping the last drops from his can.

“Oh really? Would you mind telling me too?” replies the Dad, throwing a quizzical glance at his son.

“It’s the babies. You just can’t wait to be a Grandpa and play toy-trains with your grandkid”

The dad smiles in realization. “Well, that is also true. Playing with my grandkid. Wow, now wouldn’t that be wonderful? You know, now I really think I should get your horoscope out in circulation, first thing tomorrow morning”

“Damn you and damn the bloody horoscope” sneers the son.

“Come on son, just think how wonderful it is going to be after the years. You, me and my grandson. I’m sure my he’ll grow up to be a fine man too. We’ll sit here on this very lawn and have beer together – all three of us. I sure hope I’ll be around till then...”

“Ha ha ha... you are right. But why grandson? I can have a daughter too right? But anyway, even that will be fun. All of us - Granddaughter, father and grandfather having beer together...” replies the son.

“Hey... you let my grand-daughter drink, I will kill you” retorts the old man.

“But...” objects the son.

“I swear young man, if you let our sweet little girl touch even a drop of alcohol, I swear I will kill you” fires the old-man.

“But what’s wrong in her having an occasional beer and...”

“Nothing doing” the old man continues his drunken tirade. He gulps his beer and slams the canister hard on the ground and stands up on his feet. “Your little girl will be such a darling angel. I am warning you son, if you dare let our angel drink, I swear I’ll bash your head up.”

“Ok fine calm down, calm down, Dad. Fine. I will not let her drink” says the son, standing up to his feet and getting to his stumbling Dad’s aid.

“I don’t believe you, liar” says the Dad, looking at his son suspiciously.

“Don’t worry Dad. Now just calm down will ya. Fine I’ll not let her drink. Even if she drinks, I’ll make sure she will not have too much.”

“See, you are lying already”

Silence engulfs the night. Even the crickets stop chirping, probably intimidated by two inebriated men loudly quarrelling over their nonexistent daughter/grand-daughter’s drinking habits.

“Now come on Dad, it’s been a long night. Let’s find ourselves something to eat. Now come on in” says the inebriated son to his inebriated father. The two men help each other from their lawns and into their house.

“Yeah, let’s go in and eat. I am hungry too. But don’t forget son, tomorrow morning, when I am sober, I’ll be getting your horoscope into the nearest marriage bureau.” says the Dad.

“We shall see about it tomorrow, Dad. I will remind you about it.”

“Now don’t you trick me son. I may be fully drunk alright, but I am still completely in my senses.”

“Yes, absolutely, I know that Dad, don’t I?”

“That’s enough. Let’s go inside”

Dad and son walk together, arms supporting each others’ shoulders and help each other stumble into the house, leaving the night sky, the crickets, the beers and their conversation behind...

A Day In My Life...

Caution: Reader discretion advised. This post contains Hindi swear words. If you are averse to crude and foul language, then please close this window and read no further. If you are cool with foul language, and accept it as a part of bachelor life, then smile and continue...

07:00:00 AM: Trrrrrrrrinnnnngggg....

07:05:00 AM: Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiinnnngg....

07:05:59 AM: Sunil, my roommate, wakes up from his slumber, and groggily screams "Abey alarm bandh kar, chutiye"

07:10:00 AM : Trrrrrrrrinnnnngggg....

07:10:54 AM : "Abey Kumbhkaran ke aulaad, alarm bandh kar"

07:15:00 AM : Trrrrrrrrinnnnngggg....

07:15:30 AM : "O Parry Oye, uth ja saale..."

07:15:35 AM : "Zzzzzzzzzz...."

07:15:35 AM : "Abey Parikshith ke bachche...."

07:16:00 AM : "Zzzzzz..."

07:16:30 AM : Sunil casts a groggy look at his sleeping beauty roommate and mutters under his breath. "Bhutnika saala, laash ki tarah leta hai" .

07:20:00 AM : Trrrrrinnnnnggggg...

07:20:15 AM : Sunil mutters some more curses, tosses his blanket aside, walks upto my bed and slams my alarm shut. He tries shaking me awake. " Parry, oye Parry. Uth ja. Abey gym nahin jaana hai kya? " . He then lands a frustrated kick on my ass and goes back to sleep. Ten years of friendship and four years of living together in a single room PG accommodation has made him all too familiar with his roommate's living habits.

08:00:00 AM : Ta da!!! I wake up slowly. Like a ghost raising from a coffin.

08:04:00 AM: Groggily take a look at the clock. Jump up with a start and exclaim "Oye teri behn di, saala 8 baj gaya? Abey yeh alarm kyun nahi baja? Oye Sunil, abey saale utha nahi sakta kya mujhe??. Shit, I can't believe its 8. Oye, Sunil... "

08:05:00 AM : Sunil is peacefully having his shower. Sounds like "Laa laa laa... O ho hoooo.. and Tujhe dekha toh yeh jaana sanammmmmm" echo thru the room.

08:10:00 AM : I feel the first tingling sensation in the tummy.

08:15:00 AM : Bang on the bathroom door. Bang Bang Bang. "Oye Sunil, abey gaana bandh kar aur bahar nikal saale"

08:15:05 AM : "Oye ruk ja. Nahane de saale........ Laa la la... Pyaar hota hai deewana sanammmm. Laa la laaa"

08:18:00 AM: The tingling in the stomach intensifies.

08:19:00 AM : Bang some more on the bathroom door. " Oye chutiye kya Liril girl ki tarah naha raha hai. Abey nikal bahar "

08:19:10 AM : The echoing voice from inside the bathroom says "Ruk jaa, saale"

08:22:00 AM: The stomach goes into a tizzy. "Oye Sunil, o nikal ja bhai, badi zor ki 'pressure' lagi hai "

08:23:00 AM: Sunil comes out, dripping from head to toe, and says "Abey agli baar pressure lagegi toh diaper pehen lena, saale... Chal jaa ab"

08:25:00 AM: In the bathroom. Peace. Relief. Nirvana.

08:35:00 AM: Head to the gym. Head to the gym. Heck, where is the darned tracksuit?

08:45:00 AM : Reach gym. Thomas, my gym instructor and a close friend since years, is already there.... drumming his knuckles on a table and waiting for me. " O ho Parry sir, wow, kya baat hai kya baat hai! Aaj sirf ek ghanta late?"

08:45:02 AM : " Fuck, dude. I woke up late"

08:50:00 AM: Begin with the warm up exercises. Hate these warm up exercises. But Thomas never allows me to pick up even a gram of weight without doing the bloody warmup routine. Three minutes into the warmup, I casually look sidewards and am pleasently distracted by what I see.

08:53:00 AM: Thomas notices what I am distracted with. He comes upto me and slaps the back of my head, bringing me to my senses. He says "Yes, dude. She is a new joinee... joined yesterday. Abey badi pahunchi hui cheez hai yaar, don't even try on her..."

08:54:07 AM: Shake my head in disagreement and respond to Thomas. "Array nahi yaar, I am not trying on her. I was just looking at her ass. Don't you think the female posterior looks even better in tight, figure-hugging track-pants? ... Sahi mein yaar, chune ka mann karta hai!"


08:54:15 AM: Thomas closes his eyes and slaps his forehead. He warns me "Saale... tu agar uska chuega na, toh meri naukri gayi aur saath mein teri haddiyan bhi gayi". He then points at a 6 feet 6 inches brute lifting weights nearby... " Woh pehelwaan, bodybuilder ko dekh rahe ho? Tu agar chahta hai toh uska choo sakta hai!!! "

08:54:40 AM : Ha ha ha ha. Guffaws and high-fives are exchanged between the friends.

08:55:00 AM : Back to the push-ups. Hup one. Hup two. Hup three. Hup four. Hup five...

09:00:00 AM : Get up and bolt to the door. Shout an apology to Thomas... " Oye Thomas office ke liye late ho raha hoon yaar. Chal bye". Ignore his "Abey saale kya.... " . Turn back and cast one final look at the bum of my fantasy. Rush out of the gym.

09:15:00 AM : Reach room. Sunil is all dressed-up and ready for office. He is polishing his black shoes. Let out a wisecrack "Abey, woh shoe polish se tu apne baal bhi dye karle .. muwahaha " and scoot into the bathroom before he can fling the shoe at me.

09:20:00 AM : Hot shower. Ah nothing feels more heavenly, I tell you ( with the exception of Miss Fantasy Bum, maybe) . Stop suddenly. Abey soap kahan hai?. Darn! there is no soap, kabka khatam ho gaya hai. Forgot to get a new one. Koi baat nahi, shower without soap today.

09:30:00 AM : Open the rickety wardrobe. Just one trouser ironed. All shirts crumpled. Orange shirt, black trousers. Excellent! Aaj toh bilkul Govinda lagunga. Oh hell, get dressed up anyway, lock the room and run out. 15 minutes to go before the office cab zoots away.

09:34:00 AM: Oh shit yaar, ID card kahan hai? Run back to the PG, dash upstairs, unlock the room. Dhoondo dhoondo dhoondo.... Where the heck did it go. Ah there it its. Relieved to find my ID card under the pile of my underwears. Lock room. Get out. 11 minutes for cab departure...

09:41:00 AM: Breakfast. Reach Hotel Ganesh Upahar. Typical Bangalore style breakfast restaurant. No place to stand. No place to sit. Kya bheed hai. Saala hotel hai ya kumbh ka mela!. Fortunately Ravi anna , the proprietor, spots me in the crowd. I scream "Anna , the usual breakfast. Jaldi, Jaldi". Ravi anna takes out an idli from the oven and flings it at me. I catch it with my left hand. He throws a second idli at me. I dive and catch it with my right hand. Finally, a vada comes flying in my direction, which I promptly catch with my mouth. What spectacular catching skils. I am a Labrador in human form.

09:50:00 AM: Sandwich the vada in between the two idlis to form a makeshift South-Indian burger. Chomp on it and scurry to the bus-stop.

09:55:00 AM: The most wonderful event of the day unfolds. My office cabs zoots away in front of eyes, leaving me behind. Fuck. There is no other cab.

09:56:00 AM : Run after the cab like P.T Usha. Driver STOP, oye driver, *huff* *puff* *pant* *huff* abey oye driver, stop stop. *Huff* *Puff*

09:58:00 AM: My cab disappears into the horizon.

10:00:00 AM: Rush to the nearest parked auto-rickshaw and dive into it.. “Auto, abey auto.. Follow that cab. Follow that cab. Quick. Quick!!”

10:00:55 AM: Auto driver removes the toothpick from his mouth and says in Kannada “He he he… Yen saaar.. Neevenu James Bond aaa? ( He he What sir, you think you’re James Bond?)

10:01:00 AM: “Follow that bloody cab”, I scream. The auto-driver relents under my fury. He touches a Michael Schumacher’s photograph for aashirvaad, finds his need for speed and puts his rickety rickshaw into top gear. After three minutes of break neck zig-zag driving, we finally pull abreast of my cab and flag it down.

10:04:00 AM: Chalo, finally, cab mil gaya. I occupy my usual last row seat and switch on my iPod. It’s a one hour ride to office, provided the traffic snarls are benevolent enough.

11:10:00 AM: Reach office. The air-conditioned grave where the country’s elite software engineers die to earn their crumbs of money.

11:15:00 AM: Goooood morning!!!. Hi hello how are you. My colleague welcomes me with a handshake. “Beautiful morning isn’t it, Parikshith?” she says. Yeah right, I know how beautiful my morning has been.

11:20:00 AM: Boot the system. Straightaway open Nonsense Aplenty, my infamous blog page. Scroll down. No new comments… @%$#@$^@!! “Yeh kya saala, ek bhi naya comment nahi hai . Kahan mar gaye saare ke saare? Nobody reads my blog or what. Saala aaj se post nahi karunga”

11:30:00 AM: Coffeeeeeee!!!!

11:50:00 AM: Enter the office library. Newspapers. One after the other. Times of India? Done. DNA? Done. Hindustan Times? Done. Indian Express? Done? E.T ? Done. Vijaya Karnataka? Done.

12:45:00 PM: All newspapers done. There is one Tamil newspaper remaining. Don’t know a word of Tamil. But I still leaf thru its pages and stare at pictures. There is a photo of an elephant in the cine-entertainment section. Now what the heck is an elephant doing in the cine section? Journalism these days… Bah!

12:55:00 PM : Its 12:55. Kya karu? Should I head to the cubicle or should I go upstairs for lunch? Ponder, ponder, ponder…

01:00:00 PM : Oh by the way, I double check and realize that the photo in the newspaper is not of an elephant. It is the photo of popular South actress, Namitha. My bad. I need to start paying attention!

01:30:00 PM: Lunch!!! Inadequately subsidized office lunch. The rotis are like charcoal, the paneer seems to be carefully preserved since Ice age and the sambar tastes like sewage.

01:31:00 PM: Feel like murdering the food caterer and go to jail. At least jail food will taste better.

01:32:00 PM: Gossip with the group of male pals over lunch. Gossip topic ranges from economic recession to hairline recession. From IPL scores to Manchester United’s form. From Pulsar’s DTSI technology to gobar gas fuel plants . From Kalpana Chawla’s achievements to Kangana Ranaut’s boob size….

02:30:00 PM: Back to the cubicle after lunch.

02:30:55 PM: Time for a short nap.

04:30:00 PM: Wake up after the short nap.

04:35:00 PM : Coffeeeee!!! Drag a few reluctant colleagues with you to the coffee machine.

05:00:00 PM : Time for a quick game of TT. Drag another reluctant colleague to the TT room.

05:30:00 PM: Back in the cublicle. Chalo, let me tap away at a few keys and click the mouse in random and forward a few chain emails.

05:40:00 PM: Tap. Tap. Tap. Click. Click. Click.

05:45:00 PM : Tappity. Tappity. Tap. Clickity. Clickity. Click.

06:00:00 PM: After a hard day’s work, sweat and toil, its time to go home!

06:05:00 PM: Collect my belongings, sing goodbyes to everyone and rush to get hold of the departure cab.

06:30:00 PM: Another hour’s ride back home. Saala, lagta hai aadhi zindagi toh cab mein journey karte karte hi nikal jayegi.

07:30:00 PM : Head to the pani-puri stall, adjacent to my PG. Life always seems better when there’s pani-puri to eat.

08:30:00 PM : A hot shower later, plonk down on the floor (no chairs in our room) and switch on the TV.

08:34:00 PM: Flip channels. Flip-flip-flip. Bharatnatyam performance on Doordarshan. Flip. A python swallows a deer on National Geographic. Flip. A hero, 2 heroines and 2500 extras sing a strange song and do a jingalala dance on Sun TV Tamil. Flip. “Nahinnnn.. Mein tere bachche ki maa kaise ban sakti hoon. Tuney toh mujhe chua hi nahi tha….” type melodramas on Zee Cinema. Flip. Saas-bahus on Star Plus. Bang forehead against the wall and flip. Hedonic men and anorexic women on MTV Splitsvilla. Shut down the TV and throw away the remote.

08:35:00 PM: Our knight in shining armour, Sunil, comes back from office.

08:40:00 PM : “Yeh dekh mein kya laya hoon…” announces the jack-ass, and triumphantly pulls out three DVD’s from his bag for me to see. “ Chal Parry… chal saale laptop on kar”

08:41:00 PM : DVD 1 : Tom & Jerry cartoons. DVD 2: Baba Ramdev’s yoga sessions. DVD 3: Titanic!!!

08:42:00 PM: Let out a flurry of abuses. One after the other. Start talking again. “Abey yeh kya laaya hai. Saale aur koi dhang ke movies nahi mile?? Kuch action-vaction nahin tha kya?”

08:42:30 PM : “Ab bas yahin the… Aur saare free mein mile hain” comes the reply

08:43:00 PM: We decide to watch Titanic. Unfortunately, both our laptops have been recently formatted so there are no movies in store. And being the responsible adults that we are, we don’t watch triple-x flicks on weekdays. Neither me nor Sunil like movies with mush. And like idiots, we watch Titanic.

08:45:00 PM: The movie starts. Budhiya ka flashback shuru ho jata hai. Leo Di Caprio wins his gambling jugaad, hops on the ship and waves to strangers.

08:55:00 PM: Kate Winslet arrives on screen.

08:56:00 PM : “Abey Sunil, chal yaar, who painting waali scene tak forward kar dena”

08:56:05 PM: “Oye ruk ja tharki… Poori movie dekh”

08:57:00 PM : “Yaar, kya dekhega yaar, chal woh car-waali scene tak forward kar”

08:58:00 PM: We mutually agree to fast forward the movie till the scene where the ship hits the iceberg. Chalo, atleast yahan se thoda action dekhne ko milega.

09:30:00 PM: The ship snaps into two. So does our patience. “Abey aise kaise toot sakta hai ship? Pakka steel ki tensile strength mein koi kami thi” . Abey iron aur steel se bante hain na ships? Phir ek iceberg usme itni aasani se kaise ched kar sakta hai?... Kamaal hai yaar, kaheka design hai? Aur koi crash testing nahi hota hain kya ships ko build karte time??..… ” . This is what happens when two engineers watch Titanic together.

11:00:00 PM : The final scene of the movie is being played out. Rose on wooden plank. Jack in water, holding her hand. Rose cries “I’ll never let go, Jack” *sniff* *sniff*

11:07:00 PM : Scream advice to Kate Winslet on screen. “Oye kood jaa meri maa!!. Toh tu bhi kood ja!!. Chal dubki laga aur khatam kar kahani”

11:30:00 PM: We shut down the laptop, nursing a headache.

11:45:00 PM: “Oye rehne de na yaar, chodd” Sunil consoles me. “ Koi baat nahin chal khana kha lete hain…”

12:00:00 AM: “Sahi mein… Saala 12 baj gaye hain.. Khana kha lete hain… Mere pet mein toh choohe daud rahe hain”. Chal dabba leke aa.

12:02:00 AM: Sunil looks around the room. “Oye dabba kahan hai?”

12:15:00 AM: Biggest shock of the day! Our dabbawaala has not delivered our dinner. ( ‘Dabbas’ are boxes containing packed lunch/dinners. Dabbawaalas deliver the lunch/dinner boxes to bachelors like us. Rupees 25 per dabba). We are furious. “Uski maa ki, saala, abey yeh dabbawaala aaj kahan chudaane chala gaya?”

12:20:00 AM: No dabba. No dinner. None of us cook. Realization dawns.

12:30:00 AM: “Sunil, yaar, kahin bahar khane chalte hain chal”

12:30:00 AM : Sunil raps back. “Saale ab itni raat gaye tera sasur highway mein dhaba khol ke baitha rahega kya? Saareke saare hotels bandh rahengi…”

12:40:00 AM: Scratch my head. “ Shit yaar bhook lagi hai. Toh phir ek hi chaara hai. Nats ke yahan khaa lete hain”

12:45:00 AM: “Nats ke yahan? Time dekh raha hai? Abey marvayega kya?”

01:00:00 AM: Introducing Nats. Nats, a.k.a Natasha, is a close friend of ours, who lives on the third floor of our PG building. Nats is our emergency food provider. She feeds us with her delightful cooking during occasions like famines, bandhs, earthquakes, locust attacks, wars and on days when the dabbawaala’s food looks and tastes like dog poop. Well, even on normal days, it’s a common practice to visit her place and casually ask “Nats, khane mein kya hai?” . I have nothing but tremendous love and admiration towards Nats. A champion of a girl and blessed to be brilliant at whatever she does, she's been our bumchum buddy since years. Lekin ek baat hai. Nats has got a volatile temper. Oh boy! She can make any weak-hearted man pee in his pants with her ferocious nature. But not me and Sunil- we are two of a kind… hame koi fark nahin padta. But then, that’s Nats for you – as ferocious as a German Shephard from the outside, but as loving and vulnerable as a Labrador pup from the inside. Above all, a brilliant cook. That is what matters to us at this hour.

01:05:00 AM : Entrusted with the task of convincing Nats to make dinner for us. Sunil eggs me on " Yaar Parry, tu toh ladkiyon ko manaane mein number 1 hai yaar, tu hi baat karle Nats se... " . Yeah right Sunil, you rat. Ladkiyon ko manaate manaate kitne jhoote khaya hoon aaj tak, yeh sirf mujhe hi pata hai.

01:10:00 AM: Climbing up the stairs to Nats' room. Aaj maar dalegi Nats. I feel like a pilla heading to a sher's den.

01:11:00 AM: *Knock*. *Knock*. *Knock.*. Gently knock on Nats' door. She opens the door, pops her neck out, sleepy-eyed. She immediately knows why I am there. She grunts"Oye Parry ke bachche.. Khane ke liye kuch nahin hai. Sab khatam ho gaya. Aur mein koi khana nahin banane waali hoon is waqt. Good night" *SLAM* . She slams the door on my face.

01:12:00 AM: *Knock*. *Knock*. *Knock.*. Try again. "Oye Nats, suno toh yaar"

01:13:00 AM: Nats comes out and retorts "Go to hell. Bhaad me jaa, Parikshith".

01:14:00 AM: Give Nats a peck on her cheek and envelope her in a warm cuddle. Then take two steps back, put on my most innocent expression and rub my stomach in a clockwise motion. And in the meekest of voices say "Puhleeeeeasse Natsssss ?"

01:15:00 AM: The iron lady finally relents. She says "Theek hai, lekin sirf chaawal (rice) chadhaungi cooker mein. Aur kuch nahi. Achca theek hai. thoda sa daal banaungi. Bas itna hi"

01:16:00 AM: "I love you, Nats. Yaar, by the way tu woh aloo-pyaaz ki sabzi badi achchi bana leti hai."

01:16:15 AM: "Haan saale, aur maska maar. Do jhapad lagaungi. Theek hai banaungi sabzi. Aur jaa Sunil ko bhi bulale... Half an hour lagega."

01:20:00 AM: Woo-hoo!!! Score!!! Garma garam daal, chaawal and potato curry. This is like winning a lottery for us. Run down the stairs to convey the good news to Sunil.

02:05:00 AM: Dinner at 2 AM. We had enough snacks and biscuits thru the evening. Now literally dying of hunger.

02:10:00 AM: Nats lays out her wonderfully prepared dinner infront of me and Sunil. Bless this girl.

02:11:00 AM: Toot pado! Nats smiles in amusement as me and Sunil tear into the food like famished UNICEF kids. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Neither of us even glance up from our plates.

02:15:00 AM: "Array, kaisa hai khana?" Nats inquires

02:16:00 AM: Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

02:17:00 AM: "Array kuch toh bolo"

02:18:00 AM : Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. We hardly hear her.

02:19:oo AM: "Saale ek number ke bhukkad kahinke" says Nats and breaks out into a laugh. We know she loves us to bits.

02:35:00 AM: Done with the dinner. Fully satisfied. One of the best dinners I've had in recent times. Let out a burp.

02:36:00 AM : Sunil follows suit and lets out a second burp.

02:40:00 AM: Wash hands in the basin and say thank you's to Nats. " OK. Thank you Nats. Chal goodnight"

02:41:00 AM: Nats grabs the two of us by the collar of our shirts. "Not so soon. Abey kahan jaa rahe ho. Pehle yeh batao ki khana kaisa raha?" Nats ma'm now wants feedback (read praise) for her cooking.

02:45:00 AM : I let out a big sigh and reply. "Ab kya bataye Nats... Khana toh... Ok-ok tha.... I mean theek thaak tha. Nothing special. Taste bhi kuch khaas nahi tha. I mean, average tha..."

02:45:50 AM: "Kyaaaaaaaaa?" Nat drops her jaw in shock and lets go of our collars.

02:46:00 AM: Sunil picks up the hint from me. "Haaan yaar Nats.. Woh sabzi bhi kuch achcha nahi laga mujhe. Taste toh seriously kuch achcha nahi tha. Main toh kahunga ki below average hi tha khana..."

02:46:50 AM : "Huhhh????" . Nats' face turns a shade of purple.

02:47:00 AM: I continue. "Aur woh daal-waal woh joh bhi tha... Array woh kya banayi thi yaar. Bilkul bekaar. Namak, mirch kuch tha hi nahin. Array isse achchi daal toh hum log bana sakte hain"

02:48:00 AM: Grrrrrr.... Nats' face now turns a scarlet red.

02:49:00 AM: Sunil nods his head. " Nats, apni cooking sudhaar yaar. Aisa nahin chalega..."

02:50:00 AM: Smoke is billowing out of Nats' ears by now.

02:51:00 AM: Me and Sunil burst out laughing together. In one swift motion, Sunil gets up and gives Nats a big hug. I then land a big kiss on her cheek. We ruffle her hair, and still choking with laughter, say "He he he... Love you yaar. Khana zabardast tha. Bahut badhiya. Simply too good" . And before she realizes what is happening, I slap the back of her head and we run out of her room, still bursting with laughter.

02:52:00 AM : Run down the stairs quickly to our room, still splitting with laughter, lest Nats chases us down.

03:00:00 AM : "Ha ha ha ha... Yaar Parry. Main toh keh raha hoon kal Nats pakka maar dalegi hume" Ha ha ha....

03:05:00 AM: "Chal saale, bahut ho gaya aaj ke liye. So jaa. 3 baj gaye hain"

03:07:00 AM: Let out a big sigh. "Haan yaar so jao.. Kal mujhe jaldi uth ke gym bhi toh jaana hai. Alarm set karta hoon 7 baje ke liye"

03:10:00 AM: Sunil slaps his forehead. "Array alarm mat rakho yaar...Abey saale sun"

03:15:00 AM: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

------------------------------ THE END--------------------------------

10 Honestly Useless Truths

Greetings, dear Earthlings!

I need you to do three things immediately

1) Step away from your computer for a minute.
2)Walk upto to your windows and swing them wide open.
3) Poke your neck out, tilt it upwards and look at the sky.

Do you see fireworks lighting up the sky?

a)Yes you do? Very good, that was as expected.
b)No you don't ? Please wait until darkness descends on your part of the world and then carefully repeat Steps 1-3 again. If you still don't see any fireworks, then please wait a while until Diwali.
c)So you looked up and the bloody Kauuva Rani ( Queen crow) chose the same opportune moment to take a leak on you? My sincere apologies, these darned crows think that the world is a stage and the sky is the bathroom. Someone needs to educate these crows, really. I'll talk to them. In the meanwhile, lets return to the narrative.

I'm sure at least 99.83% of the people who looked up at the sky right now would have seen a breathtaking array of fireworks dazzling up the sky. Those fireworks are there for a reason, my friends....that is because the world is rejoicing, everyone's celebrating. Why? Because moiself, Shri Parikshith Kumar, has just won an award!!!!!! Yes, thats right people. I doubt if you could hear me over the din of bursting crackers and popping champagne corks right now, but you've heard me right. The world's celebrating because their favourite human has won an award.... an award for honesty! Yaay-yippee-yo!! An award for 'Nonsense Aplenty' :-) . This is the award I've won :

Now don't ask me why its called 'Honest Scrap' award when 'Honest Crap' would have been a more appropriate bestowment for my blog. But hey awards are awards... they should be respected, they should be accepted as is, and more importantly they should not be questioned. I mean, have you ever seen an Oscar winner walk up to the stage, accept the golden statuette , take a look at it and gigglingly remark "Hey why does this gay little goldie boy wear no underpants muwahahaha" ? Therefore, I have accepted this award in all humility and with no questions asked.

Well this is not the first award I have received in my life. The feathers in my cap, among others, include the prestigious Nobel Prize for Nonsense, the Academy Award for Best Actor ( for my role in pretending to work in the cubicle everyday) and oh well, the list would go on and on. But I must say the "Honest Scrap" award is indeed overwhelmingly prestigious. It was presented to me in a lavish ceremony held at the Kodak theatre, which was graced by the presence of eminent World leaders ( Yo Obama! Wassup bro? Beer this Saturday?) , the who's who and who-the-fuck-is-that of Hollywood (I know you love me Pam but tch tch too much silicon, gal...) , and the usual bachchcas and Bachchans of Bollywood ( Oye Shah. KnightRiders ki toh vaat lag gayi yaar. Array Amit sir, kaise ho? Khana ho gaya?) . So in the presence of all the glitterati in their full splendor, I was called up to receive my award. It was an emotional moment. I cried. *Sniff*. Britney Spears pulled out her handkerchief and gently dabbed away the tears that had welled up in my eyes . Paris Hilton took off her bra and offered it to me , so that I could blow my nose into it. The world rejoiced and the spectacular firework display you continue to see bears ample testimonial to the worldwide celebration.

*Sigh* Alright, alright this post is supposed to be about honesty. Be darned, honesty. So in honest spirit, I must confess that some of the things mentioned above, ummmm, didn't really happen. I mean, the ceremony was planned and was pretty much on the anvil, but we couldn't get to book the lush Kodak theatre- only Sarvabhauma Kalyana Mandir was available to host the event. And thanks to recession, we didn't have the budget to serve complimentary champagne to the elite guests- we only had complimentary desi daru at our disposal. These logistical constraints led to the cancellation of the ceremony. So in lieu of attending the ceremony, I accepted the "Honest Scrap" award from Karthik, online. But let me promise you something. For the next award I receive, I'll host a grand reception ceremony and whats more - you all will be invited. Hurray!

Here's the citation for the "Honest Scrap" award:

" This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog's content or design is, in the giver's opinion, brilliant. When accepting this auspicious award, you must blah blah blah. And then you must blah blah blah and some more blah. Most importantly you need to blah and then blah blah. List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself. Then pass it on!”

Oh house of horrors! I now need to list 10 honest things about myself? And oh villa of horrors! you, my dearest readers, will have to suffer the anguish of reading thru them? Ah! such a cruel planet we live in. Would Jupiter treat us any better? I don't know. But until we figure that out, here are 10 honest facts about myself, which should help you a bit in unravelling the asshole enigma that I am :

1) I hate reading books. I absolute loathe reading. Now this opening salvo may come as a shock to some of you. The man who talks rat-a-tat and writes like a machine gun hates reading books? Yes, that is true. In all my life I must've read only 3-4 books ( i.e novels/fiction/non-fiction/technical reference/self help and other miscellaneous crap in bound form) . While the world goes ga-ga about JK Rowling, Shiv Khera, Ian Fleming, Jeffery Archer and that Ludlum, Wudlum, Budlum guy, I choose to sit kilometers away from their works. I'm sure even if I were to take printouts of my own blog and bind them into a book - I wouldn't read it myself (Nobody would for that matter, but that's another story)

2) I may hate reading books, but I absolutely adore newspapers. My office subscribes to at least 5 English dailies and I gorge on every single one of them. Infact so serious is my newspaper addiction that if I don't get my daily dose of news, I feel like being enveloped in a strange sense of vacuum. No food? No problem. No water? No problem. No girlfriend?, no job?, no friends?, no bundles of joy? No problem. But no newspapers? Awwwmyyygaaawd!!! Calamity!!! National Emergency!!! Call in the Army, summon the Airforce, alert the Navy!!! Ask them to get me a newspaper from somewhere!!!

3) I am prematurely balding. I'm 25, but thanks to my receding hairline and shining pate, I look 250 years old. Can't help it really, because hair troubles run in my family... my baldness has been genetically handed over to me. I'm sure even the apes who were the ancestors of my ancestors had receding hairlines too. Most of the times I really don't care about my condition, but when it occasionally comes to dating pretty young things, the situation gets a bit tricky. I was out on a date with this beautiful (read dumb) girl the other day. Suddenly, out of no where, a herd of her female pals show up at our table. Amid shrieks of hi-hello and fake air-kisses, one of the girls notice me sitting there. Pointing at me, she tells my date "Wow your Grandpa is so fit even at this age yaar!!!" . My date turns an embarrassed red and screams back saying "He is not my Grandpa boo hoo....." and runs away, out of the mall, never to been seen again. *Sigh*. You know what, I sometimes hope that my toned physique, boyish charm and dimples on both cheeks would somehow camouflage my 250-year-old appearance. But I hope in vain, really. The girls now say "Oh Grandpa's got dimples too?!!!! "
P.S : Guys, baldness is sexy. Flaunt it. Girls, baldness means presence of extra testosterone. You get the hint? Wink wink wink ;-)

4) I am a teetotaler. I abhor alcohol. But that doesn't stop me from accompanying my alcohol-guzzling friends to a pub or a bar. Hey, after all friends are friends and friendship is unconditional. In a pub/bar, this is how my bevda friends summon the waiter and place their drinks order: "OK, three KF's, one Haywards strong, one Seagram Fuel, one Budweiser and one glass Bournvita for this little kid muwahahahaha!!!" . No prizes for guessing whom the joke was on.

5) I am a confident, headstrong, ruthless guy. The phrase "to forgive and forget" simply doesn't find acceptance in my DNA. I still haven't forgiven Pamela Anderson for breaking up with me. Oh well, Honest Scrap. Honest Scrap. Darn! I need to be reminded of it every time!

Whew.... five truths down, five more to go. Lets take a small commercial break now. Washing powder Nirmaaaa. Washing powder Nirmaaaa.. Oh cut the crap Parikshith, and move your ass to fact number 6.

6) My aforementioned ruthlessness aside, I can be very kind to beggars, particularly the old, frail ones (who, going strictly by appearance, are qualified to look like my Siamese twin) . I know there is a lobby of thought which says that one shouldn't encourage or give to beggars- but I don't really subscribe to it. One incident remains fresh in my memory to this date. An old, frail lady approached me at a traffic signal one day, begging me for alms. I didn't have any loose change, so with a sigh, I handed over the lone, solitary five-hundred rupee note in my wallet to the beggar. So alarmed was the old lady with my offer , that she reached into her dirty gunny bag, plucked out four hundred fifty rupees of change, and handed it back to me saying "Ye lo, change rakh lo sahib". A beggar asking you to keep the change in return. Has it ever happened to you? Its happened to me. I lead an eventful life.

7) I love taking long hot showers. At the end of a long tiring day at work, nothing can be more relaxing than a long indulgent stint under the shower. As clocked by my roommate, my average long shower lasts anything between 60-80 minutes. No matter how much my life sucks all day and no matter how much grime and dust I get to face, I am grateful that at the end of the day, my rickety one room paying guest accommodation has a hot shower that sprays generous bursts of water. It washes all my stress away. Sad, there's no luxury jacuzzi in my shanty bathroom yet, but the simple shower will do. ( There is a commode, but it sadly cant accommodate all of my 5'8" frame for bathing purposes)

8) I have been an atheist since times immemorial. Even as a kid, I was an atheist at heart. Of course growing up, I had moments of wavering faith in God ( specially when exams neared or when India needed 2 runs to win from 1 ball) , but on the whole, I've been very much at peace with my atheism. I still remember being spanked left and right by my sixth grade class teacher for wondering out loud in the classroom - "If God exists, ma'm , why doesn't he show up and do my homework?" .

9) I can competently play six different types of percussion instruments ( please note that 'competence' is a highly subjective word here, but take my word for now, will ya) . I will someday attempt to upload a video of me playing all the instruments together. Boy, now wouldn't that be fun? I can gleefully visionize the torture that would befall you, my dear readers. I am sure pandemonium will break out in the World Wide Web. There will be widespread clamor among the people to close the webpage window and people would surely be running helter-skelter , away from their computer screens. Now wouldn't I love that to happen? You betcha! :-)

10) I always eat cream biscuits by separating them into two. You know, the regular Britannia/Sunfeast ones? - I usually de-sandwich the biscuits, separate them into two parts, lick away at the cream like a cat and proceed to bite into the now naked biscuit halves. Whats the big deal, you may wonder? No big deal really, but this deep rooted habit of mine has managed to seep into my corporate life. I had to give a presentation to a group of American clients, the other day. Now this was a jazzed up, hi-fi presentation ( read as 'fake everything presentation'). So here I was, decked up in a crisp gray suit, with slick gelled err... hair, and with my teeth and shoes shining brightly in the amber projector light. The presentation went on flawlessly ( nobody understands my jargon, I tell you). After an hour or so, we broke for coffee. To my delight, I saw that they served some delicious sandwiched cream biscuits in the room. True to my habit, I went ahead with my carefully choreographed split-lick-eat routine. Pin drop silence engulfed the room. I then looked up to see 10 senior American heads stare at me with amazement and 10 senior members of the Indian staff stare at me with embarrassment. Unmindful of the business and cream biscuit etiquette, I continued to lick away biscuit after biscuit. These corporate rules, I mean I don't get them. Licking your boss' ass to get a promotion is OK. But licking cream from your biscuit is a strict no-no. I don't get it.

Anyway, the count has reached 10 and I've done my duty towards being a deserving recipient of the "Honest Scrap" award. I've had an overdose of honesty. I'm sure you've reached the end of your tether too. But you should count your lucky stars, my dear people. In this part of the world, Saridon and Aspirin are sold real cheap.

Until later,
Sincerely yours (no pun intended)
Parry.

IPL, Cricket Widows and Workaholic Bosses

Statutory Warning : This is a pretty long post. You are advised to plan your bathroom breaks in advance.

Greetings, dear Earthlings

As promised, I am back with the sequel to my previous post. Sorry for the long delay in uploading this post… I hope you were not wondering if I had vanished into thin air or fallen off the face of Earth ( you really wish that had happened? Yes? Oh you bad people) . One of the feeble excuses that I can offer to justify the delay in posting, is the IPL itself. You see, my work keeps me busy in the mornings, lunch and the subsequent naps inside the cubicle walls keep me busy in the afternoons, the IPL keeps me busy in the evenings and my trainee watchman duty keeps me awake and busy at night. Hey, by the way, did I tell you that I am training to be a watchman at the neighbourhood factory gates? Just in case the recession nips my techie job away, I can at least ensure employment by signing up for the attractive job as a night-watchman in that factory. And being a man with a remarkable degree of self-awareness, I know that I am very well qualified for the job of a watchman. I am rigorously participating in the pre-employment training. The training curriculum for the post of a gate watchman, includes:

• Juggling and balancing an ill-fitting ‘topi’ on top of my head.
• Wielding a ‘lathi’ that is as strong as a tooth-pick.
• Chasing noisy street dogs away - the ones which utter more than 10bps (10 bow-bows per second) .
• Dozing off in an upright sitting position.
• Saying ‘Salom shaab’ , without giggling, and in a perfect accent.

I have my alternate profession all planned out, folks. See, I am a busy man with a busy 24/7 schedule. So from where do you think can I carve out time to pen blogs huh? *Sigh* Alright alright, I suck at giving excuses don’t I? Well people, the real reason for the delay in posting is that I simply couldn’t bring my lazy bum to the computer and type. Now that all three of us – myself, my bum and my computer – are in perfect harmony, I have the promised blogpost ready to be uploaded. In hindsight, my inability to come up with proper, believable excuses is a real worry, I must confess. In another three years, I’ll be a married man, and by then if I don’t have the skill to dish out proper excuses, then it is guaranteed that my life will be miserable. But lets worry about that another day shall we?… I mean why look ahead and worry about contracepting the future when you’re being fucked by the present. OK folks, enough said. Lets move on from useless nonsense to useful nonsense.

The IPL… ah what an absorbing affair is it turning out to be. At the time of writing this, we are into the second phase of the tournament. The contest is split wide open, predictions are going haywire and it’s a free for all. It seems to be anybody’s guess as to which four teams would line up to face each other in the semis. Given the unpredictable nature of the game and the inconsistent form of the teams, it is going to be a real tough guess to hazard. Heck! I’m sure guessing Shilpa Shetty’s real age would be an easier task than speculating on the semi-final line-up of IPL2. My favorite team Rajasthan Royals, lead by an extremely passionate man, is continuing to surge forward, even though they don’t have a reigning superstar in their lineup. The Royal Challengers Bangalore team, who until a few days back looked destined to graze the grasses at the bottom of the table, are now looking to be a contender for a semi-final spot. Honestly many a Bangalorean had given up on this team- me included. Many of us had felt that under Mallya’s tutelage, the Royal Challenger boys would have made better bartenders than cricket players. But hey presto! now they’ve surprised everybody with three wins on the trot. Bring on more action, baby, I’m loving it.

OK. Now all said and done, it should be realized that not everybody is a fan of IPL or T20 or why, even the game of cricket. This blog is written by me, a cricket fanatic, and read by you, who could possibly be a cricket fanatic. But the world does not comprise of just you and me, my friend. The world also comprises of people who hate cricket… you know, the kind of people who equate cricket with rat plague and absolutely abhor the sight of bat hitting ball. Surely some of those people may be reading this blog and nodding their heads in approval and acknowledgement. It is important that in this busy IPL season, we cricket fanatics should respect the presence of non-cricket watching public and not disregard their very existence on the planet. However, avoiding the non-cricket watchers is easier said than done, particular when they happen to be in your family or friend/acquaintance circle. For a cricket fanatic, for whom watching the game on TV during the game's peak season is his sole reason for existence, having to deal with the non cricket watching types can be a real pain in the neck and obstruct his viewing pleasure. Chime the bells and blow the bugles, because now I will introduce you two categories of such 'cricket obstructers' - Cricket Widows and Workaholic Bosses.

Cricket Widow : Definition (derived from the Web) : A cricket widow is basically a woman involved in a relationship with a male cricket fanatic who pays more attention to the game than to their female partner, during the sport’s season of play. Cricket widows (usually wives or girlfriends) usually have little or absolutely no interest in cricket themselves. The cricket widow simply does not understand the madness which overcomes their male partners during a cricket match.

Make no mistake, the husband or BF is not a heartless man from Old Stone Age.. he is usually a very doting partner. But it so happens that with the cricket season in full-swing, the game takes precedence for him over everything else in the world. So with the husband or BF glued to the TV screen and literally forgetting his wife’s or GF’s existence, the cricket widow is left to fend for herself. Now, Nonsense Aplenty is not a coochie-coo, Agony Unc, pour-me-your-heart-out-I-will-listen-to-you-sweety kinda blog, so don’t look for comforting talk here. Practically speaking, I must say that a cricket widow can be a real obstructing irritant for a cricket fanatic who is devoted to the game. With the IPL season hotting up and matches getting more interesting, the irritancy factor of a cricket widow can get magnified manifold. Here is an example scenario of one such household. The husband here is an IPL T20 fanatic. He is sprawled on the couch, glued full-on to the match being played out infront of him. His eyes are transfixed to the TV screen and understandably, little else matters to him right now. The wife (a potential cricket widow) can’t understand what the whole fuss is about. She is done with her office work, finished rounds of shopping, fed up with hanging around her pals, has browsed thru 6 Feminas, 3 Women’s Eras, 10 Filmfares, and the entire Internet. She has slept off. She has woken up. But she still finds Hubby dearest glued to the TV, cursing every dot ball and cheering every six hit. The disgusted wife tries to strike up a conversation. Lets join the action from here :

Wife : “Cricket, cricket, cricket. Ufff.. all you watch is this stupid cricket”

Husband: “Ummm… hmmm…”

Wife: “ You know I went to the parlour today….”

Husband: “Ummm hmmm…???”

Wife: “And I got my hair layered and permed and colored. First I got this strand colored dark brown and then this… “

Husband: “It’s a six!!! What a shot!!”

Wife: “What the… hey are you listening to me?”

Husband: “Yes yes…. And you were saying…. ?”

Wife: “Ya, I got my hair coloured. See, its nice na? And then I got a manicure and then I applied nail polish to this finger and….”

Husband:”Fouuuurrrrrr!!!!”

Wife: “Ufff…. You never listen. By the way what is this match. IPL?

Husband: “Yes”

Wife: “Ooooooh… so India is playing Pakistan?”

Husband: *gives an exasperated stare*

Wife: “Oh… so India is playing India?”

Husband: *silence*

Wife: “See such a yuckie colored uniform those players are wearing na. The color of their outfit is not at all matching with the color of their shoes and… “

Husband: “Ssshhh..”

Wife: “Sorry”

Husband: “Don’t disturb me. Don’t you have anything else to do?”

*10 seconds of silence, and then *

Wife: “Hey why is Kumble bowling to Dhoni? I thought they were in the same team”

Husband: “This is IPL for Heaven’s sake. They are in different teams. Now just shut up and watch for sometime"

Wife : " Yeah whatever. Hey, can you flip the channel once? I need to watch my serial"

Husband: "What serial?"

Wife: "Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bevdi Thi"

Husband: " *Grrrr* Don't you touch the remote"

Wife: "Stupid..... *Hmmmpfff* "

*5 seconds of silence, and then *

Wife: “Hey, must those cheerleaders wear such short skirts?”

Husband: “Shut up and let me watch”

Wife: “And must those cameras focus right up their skirts?”

Husband: “Shut up and let me concentrate”

Wife: “Ewwww… is it the Indian Premier League or the Indian Porn League?”

Husband(losing it) : “ Cant you just SHUT UP, lady? Do I need to call a locksmith to lock your big mouth shut?!! “

Wife (in tears) : " *Sob sob* You just screamed at me? "

Husband(staring at TV): “ Oh good shot. Good shot. Come on boys, another 10 balls to go…”

Wife: “*Sob* You screamed at me?”

Husband: “Sssshhh quiet… 9 balls to go…”

Wife: “ *Sob* I am not gonna stay here. *Sob* I am going to my mother’s. D’ya hear me? I am leaving”

Husband: “Why? You don’t want to watch the second innings?”

Wife: "*Sob* What sort of a jerk are you? *Sob*"

Husband: "I am yet to classify myself, he he"

Wife: "Useless talking to you. I am leaving."

Husband: "Take my car, I wont be needing it today. Oh shot! Its a six! Yippeee!"

Wife: "I don't need your bloody car. I'm leaving forever."

Husband: "Shot! Hey on your way out could you just toss me a Coke from the fridge?

The wife literally tosses the can of Coke at her husband, which lands boink on top of his head. And then she proceeds to storm out, Gucci handbag in tow. The husband recovers from the blow, but is too occupied to think about it because the final over of the innings is being played out and the batsmen are slogging at everything.

Wife(at the door, holding it ajar and looking back over her shoulder) : "I'm leaving. Goodbye forever. Is there any final thing you wanna say?"

Husband: Fouuurrrrr!

*SLAM*

There you go folks! The wife in our story is the latest entrant into the cricket widows' club, albeit her mode of initiation was slightly on the extremes. Now the sequel to this story is also among common lines. A good month and a half later, with the tournament finally over, the husband gets up from his couch, clears the cobwebs from his body, puffs away the layers of dust around him. He then stretches his arms and legs, looks around for a minute, pauses and suddenly wonders "Hey, where's wifey?"

Alright folks, time now to introduce to you the second category of cricket obstructers - the Workaholic Boss.

Workaholic Bosses are the kinds of people who expect their subordinates at work to stay back late into the night and put in extra hours of work- whether there be a genuine need for it or not. What makes them the worst species of supervisors is that not only do they expect their minions to stay back late, but they themselves stay back late and choose to 'lead by example'. These sons of bitches have no social lives for themselves, have no interest in cricket and don't understand others' passion for cricket. They only fear that the skies would come crashing down on their thick skulls if their subordinates do not work late into the night.Now naturally, if you are the kind of employee looking forward to scurry an scoot home early to watch a game of IPL, the presence of a workaholic boss in your life can prove to be a real pain in the neck. But with a little skill and bravado, you should be able to navigate around these assholes like a smart, slippery eel. Here's an example:

Boss: "Hey, where are you going? Its only 5PM"

You: "I'm going home. The match begins at 5PM"

Boss: "What match?"

You: "The IPL"

Boss: "Bah! those two-hoot cricket matches. Don't you think you should rather stay back a bit late and finish off some more work?"

You: "But what for? I'm done for the day"

Boss: "But still, you can stay back and improve on your err... productivity?"

You: "But I need to go home and watch the match"

Boss: " OK fair enough, but can I ask you a few questions first?"

You: "Sure, sir"

Boss: "Do you earn any money by watching those matches?"

You: "No, sir"

Boss: "Are you playing in those matches yourself?"

You: "No"

Boss: "Is your girlfriend cheerleading for any of the teams?"

You: "No"

Boss: "Then why do you have to watch those matches? Why can't you stay back and work some more?"

You: "OK, fair enough sir, but would you mind if I now asked you a few questions?"

Boss: "Shoot, boy"

You: "Do you earn a multi-million dollar bonus for putting in a few hours extra?"

Boss:"Well, no..."

You: "Do you think they'll promote you to be the CEO, if you merely spent extra hours at work?"

Boss: "Hmmm... no"

You: "Working late, with no one around, do you download porn to your official computer, use the office printer to take sleazy printouts, and take them home to arouse your impotent wife?"

Boss: "Heavens!!!! No!!"

You: " Then why do you have to stay back and work late? Why can't you go home and enjoy those matches?"

*10 seconds of silence, and then *

Boss: "Fine, go home and watch your darned cricket match"

You: "Thank you, sir"

See folks? You can navigate around any type of human obstacle that prevents you from watching your beloved IPL. I pray that you don't get to face up with such 'cricket obstructing' specimens in your lives, but in case you do, I hope that my blog has endowed you with some related education. Have a great time, folks! Wish you a very happy cricket season.

Love,

Parry.

P.S: If you have read the entire post and desperately want to throw a shoe at me, please bear in mind that I am a size 8 and my favourite is Nike!