Colourific Value

Manchester United, Communism, Ferrari, Coca Cola, McDonald’s… What’s the connection? Yes… you got it. It’s the colour red. Research has proved that the sight of colour red incites hunger and thirst. McDonald’s, Coca Cola, Red Bull are testimony to this fact. Red also signifies victory. It is no surprise that the top 3 teams in the English Premier League have red in their insignias – Manchester United, Liverpool and Arsenal.

Colours are all around us. One cannot deny the impact of colours in our lives. You wake up and brush your teeth… the toothpaste is white if it is dental cream, red, green or blue in case of gel. Your morning tea/ coffee is brown or black depending on your milk preference. Oh! If you happen to be a teetotaler, white milk is your drink. Breakfast time and the butter and cheese you eat is yellow. So even before you step out of your home for work or college, you end up seeing close to eight colours.

One emotion can have different colours in different parts of the world. Mourning for example in the UK is black, in India it is white while in Brazil it’s purple. Whoa!! An international marketing manager better be aware of these facts!! Red is for stop/ danger while green it is green for go.

The different shades help us bind together as a group – Black for all the pseudo-Satan worshippers and death metalers around the globe, Red scarves and jerseys Manchester United fans, Blue for all the Team India, Green for all the surreal capitalists. These clusters have people of different race, class and sex. You’ll find a Caucasian Eminem rapping about the Ghetto with his African-American counterparts, Indian Metal bands with names like Demonic Resurrection and an African endorsing Yoga!!

However, colours segment people right from the time they come out of the mother’s womb. A girl gets a pink towel and the boy gets a blue. People are white, black, brown and yellow. You have white collar jobs and you have blue collar jobs. Isn’t that a paradox?!  So are colours binding us or fragmenting us? Well… I don’t know. In case you figure out, do let me know. Google, in my opinion, is a smart operator considering the colours of the six alphabets in its names keep changing!!

The colour I see as green… Is it really green? Maybe I was taught by a colour blind teacher in kindergarten who couldn’t differentiate between green and blue. Have I all my life known blue as green? Team India’s fatigues are green? The vast oceans are green? The sky is green? I really hope that’s not the case. I pray that my perception of green is same as the rest of the world.

Before I conclude, I will leave you with some food for thought. Are black and white shades of grey?

Knifed in Guwahati

After a back breaking overnight bus ride from Jorhat, we had finally reached Guwahati. The marmalade skies during May were turning grey. Amma, Appa, Shreyas and I moved to 240 Transit Camp. The building is a colossal structure right next to the Guwahati railway station. Back in 1995, anyone travelling to any other part of the country by train would catch a train from Guwahati. Officers from the Indian Air Force and Army posted in the Far east Indian states of Assam, Meghalaya, Manipur, Arunanchal Pradesh, Tripura, Nagaland and Mizoram had to pass through the city of Guwahati before heading to their respective units. The officers and their families stay at the Transit Camp that has basic accommodation and serves food. We checked into a room on the 8th Floor that gave me a splendid view of the city.

Our train would start next morning. With over 24 hours on our hands, Appa decided that we should explore the city. The famous Kamakhiya temple would be our first stop. Amma said,” Go take a shower and then let’s go for breakfast. Our room had one bathroom and to save time, I went to the common bathroom at the end of the corridor.

After a quick shower, we all went to the dining area for breakfast. Appa had Shreyas tucked under his one arm and his bowl of Cerelac in the other. 18 month old Shreyas was a handful and he was loud. Other families sitting in the dining area were giving us steely glances from the corner of their eyes.
Any hopes of heading out after breakfast was dashed. The grey skies had given way to heavy downpour. We headed back to our room. I picked up the Famous Five book from my stash of reading material and got reading. Meanwhile, Shreyas had finished his morning ablutions and we had run out of diapers for him. Appa headed out in the torrential rain to buy the diapers.

By 10 AM, the rains had stopped. Amma stepped out to the Dining area to sterilise Shreyas’ feeding bottle. On her way to the dining area, Amma went to the common bathroom area to wash some of the stained clothes of Shreyas. The common bathroom had rows of cubicles of shower on one side and taps for washing on the other side. Amma finished washing the clothes and was heading out when she heard a pained growl from one of the cubicles. There stood a man stepping out of the cubicle with a heavily bandaged head and multiple bandages across his forearms and torso. He made eye contact with amma and darted back into the cubicle and creaky latch snapped back.

Amma was stupefied by what she saw. On our way back, she passed one of the many rooms in the corridor. One of the door along the corridor was ajar and she heard a lady sobbing loudly and heard her cries for help in Tamil, “Aandava !! Epidi aayidute. Ippo naan enne pannuvaen!” ( Oh Lord !  What has happened to us ! Now what will I do? ) Judging from the accent of Tamil, Amma figured she was speaking Tamil with our Palakkad accent. She peeped into the room and saw a young women bent over the side of the bed. Amma entered the room and started speaking to her.

“What happened? Why are you crying?!” asked Amma

“My husband is dying and I don’t what to do.” She said.

“ Dying ? Where is he ?! Is he with a doctor?”

At this moment, a man walked into the room. As Amma recollects, the man was startled by her presence. The lady points in the direction of the man, “There. That’s my husband.”

Amma went to the table in the room and poured some water into the glass and gave it to the lady. The lady sipped water and took breaks to sob in between. The man was a dark man standing well over 6 feet. Amma had seen him moments ago in the bathroom. He had a heavily bandaged head and lots of gashes on the face. He murmured something and sat on the bed next to his wife.

By now, Amma regained her composure and said, “Both of you wait right here. I’ll be back with my husband." She returned to the room and looked panicky. I asked, “Amma.. Enne aachu?” ( Mother.. what happened?)

 “Nothing Sid. You be here and take care of Shreyas in case he wakes up. I’ll be in room next to us. Let me know when Appa is back.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of this situation. She hung the washed clothes on armrest of the chair and left the room. Appa returned in what seemed to be like an eternity clutching the diaper packet in this hand.

“ Where is Amma?”

“She’s in the next room talking to someone. I’ll go get her.”

 I walked over to the next room and saw Amma consoling the lady while the man was prostrate on the bed. I had never seen a man with so many injuries and bandages in my life. Amma quickly realized that I was scandalized by the whole scene.

“Has Appa come back?”

“Yes Amma. He’s back and I came to call you.”

Amma  took me by the hand and we left the room. I was only 11 then. However, the image of the heavily bandaged man is vividly clear in my head till today. We reached back to our room and Shreyas was wailing loudly. Appa took him in his arms and patted his back. He could sense that Amma was testy and worried. He asked her, “What happened?”

“There is a couple in the next room. The man has a lot of injuries and bandages. They are taking the same train as us tomorrow morning. I’m not a doctor but I’m certain that they wouldn’t be able to travel tomorrow by train. The man’s sister is getting married in four days.”

Appa lay Shreyas onto the bed and walked over the next room. I followed Appa. Excited, worried and curious, I could feel the adrenaline rush through my body. He asked the lady, “Ma’am. My wife is the next room. Why don’t you go talk to her.”

“Sid. Take aunty with you.”

I wanted to be there to listen to the man’s story. Nevertheless, the lady walked towards me and I walked with her to our room.

Appa introduced himself, “I’m Squadron Leader S. Harshavardhan. Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“Sir, I’m Flight Lieutenant Raj.”

“How did this happen?”

“ Sir.. My wife and I were on our way to Kamakhiya temple this morning in a rickshaw. A young boy came out of nowhere and tried snatching my wife’s Mangalsutra ( a married woman’s necklace ) I caught hold of him and tried to push him. We both fell from the rickshaw. He took out a small knife and stabbed me.” He lifted his blood stained T Shirt and showed his bandage around his abdomen. The gauze and bandage were saturated in crimson.

“ The doctor has bandaged you. But you are bleeding even now.”

“Sir. I didn’t go to a doctor. I went to the pharmacy store near railway station and asked my wife to clean my wounds.”

Appa was livid. “Are you crazy? You are educated man. Let’s go to Army Hospital. I will get the Jonga ( an indigenous 4 wheel drive for the Indian Army ). Let’s go.

“No Sir. I don’t wish to see a doctor. They will admit me. I will miss my sister’s wedding in Madras and the doctor will get me grounded.”

For those not familiar with Indian Air Force policies, a pilot getting grounded is akin to a bird getting its wings clipped or a man losing his limbs. He was stubborn to say the least.

“Raj ! This is an order. Now get up and let’s go meet a doctor. I will ensure you don’t get grounded and I will have you and your wife fly to Madras.”

Appa wasn’t even certain whether Flight Lieutenant Raj would fly again. IAF has always demanded their staff in the best of health. Pilots who are not fit do get transferred to Ground Duties. He got a Jonga and the driver drove Appa and Flight Lieutenant Raj  to the Army hospital nearby for first aid. Then, he left for the nearest Air Force Station in Guwahati. He booked Indian Airlines tickets for the couple.

He rushed back to the hospital and ensured Flight Lieutenant Raj got discharged. Appa and Flight Lieutenant came back to our room. I saw some blood stains on Appa Shirt and got worried.

“Ma’am.. I have booked flight ticket in Indian Airlines for both of you. The flight leaves in three hours. My wife will help you pack your bags.”

Flight Lieutenant Raj was quite groggy. He stumbled his way to his wife and hugged her.

“Sir! I don’t know how to thank you and Ma'am.”

He looked at Amma with folded hands, “ Neenga Deiyvam maadri vanthuirrukael.” ( Both of you are God sent )

Appa told him, “Raj .. You can thank us later. Get ready to leave lest you miss you flight and your sister’s wedding.”

He asked Appa for his contact number and our address in Madras. They exchanged phone numbers and We all went to see them off in Jonga.

We took our train next morning and reached Madras after a gruelling 60 hour train journey across 5 states. We were greeted by my uncles, aunts and cousins in Madras. They were seeing Shreyas for the first time and everyone was excited to hold the baby cousin. Later that evening during dinner, Appa recounted the whole incident that happened.”

What I didn’t know until much later was that the doctor at the Army hospital had insisted Flight Lieutenant Raj to be admitted and kept under observation for 48 hours. This would have meant that he missed his sister’s wedding and the possibility of him getting grounded from flying. Appa knew some people in the hospital and pulled some strings to get him out of the hospital. It was a huge risk. But Appa knew what he had to do.

Back in 1995, there were no ATM machines and flight tickets were very expensive. With the money he had, he booked a one way ticket to Madras via Calcutta for the couple. What I didn’t know was that after booking tickets, he had less INR 500 in his pocket and the bank wouldn’t open until next day. The 4 of us travelled with less than INR 500 in my dad’s pocket.

Years went by. Appa got transferred to New Delhi later that year and we moved with him. Appa was part of the Air Staff inspection team that visited various air bases in India. During one of his visits to Defence Services Staff College in Wellington, Appa met Flight Lieutenant Raj. Now, he was Squadron Leader Raj. He fell on the ground and touched Appa’s feet.

Appa was rather startled and didn’t know how to react.

“Sir ! You saved my life and my flying career. I’m here today because of you. He had tears in his eyes.”

My Appa has always been my hero. Years later I asked him why he went out of the way to help a complete stranger. He looked me in the eye, “ Sid. This could have happened to us. Wouldn’t you have liked if someone helped us.”

This incident reaffirmed my faith in humanity. Hope, Kindness and joy are still prevalent in our lives.

Hackneyed words on Social Media

Switch on the laptop, iPad or mobile and you are bound to see these words. Used, overused, abused and beaten to death, I'm certain you have seen these words on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, LinkedIn, Flickr and plethora of social media drivers of 21st century. I have issues with some of the wordplay

Technophile - Beware !! He could be a pedophile as well !

Movie buff - Hmmm.. How about you buffing your leathers shoes for a change?

Foodie - All that rubbish you eat makes you moody.

Net junkie - What ?! Junkie means smackhead, pothead, cokehead, meth head. Who gets high on internet ?

Cellphone freak - Yes.. they are freaks you smack their neighbour's head with a Nokia 3310. Please exercise caution while walking in your neighbourhood as these people are always on the prowl.

Loves Traveling - Their travel is Chennai Beach to Tambaram or Borivili to Churchgate. So don't be fooled folks. 

Selective perfectionist - DAFAQ ? 

Budding entrepreneur - My dear friends ...Your buds were nipped eons ago

Strategic Thinker - And thinking what exactly ?

Time for evolution

I have across various articles on the internet detailing the metamorphosis that happen in a man's life in a very short span of time. All this while, I believed this to be a truckload of rubbish. Some people never change right ?! 

Life had other plans for me. Change has happened. My family, friends and colleagues have commented on the remarkable change in my life. My notoriety and unabashed behaviour has given way to a calm composed self with a sense of purpose. All this has happened in the space of 40 to 50 days.

Primary Education - Breaking the cycle

It has been 2 months since I moved to Pune. Moved into a nice apartment with two friends from college. Surrounded by the hills and plush greenery all around, Baner is a nice and peaceful neighborhood. The routine is set for weekdays. Saroj, our cook, comes makes breakfast and lunch.

During the weekend, I've got more time in the mornings. One Sunday morning I asked about Saroj and his background. He told me about his wife and 3 sons. My first question, "Are they in school?" Don't judge me here but most of the labour class folks don't want to send their kids to school. They would rather have a helping hand at home for errands and other sundries. He told me that on the contrary, the scene has changed. The kids are being sent to schools and education is the top priority for the families of these kids. 

His sons are in Std 4, 5 and 6. I wanted to know more about these kids. So I plonk myself on the kitchen slab with a beer in hand while he is making some lip-smacking Chinese food ( If you are in Pune, you must come home to taste Saroj's cooking). During our conversation, I realized he has painted a colourful future for his sons. He wants them to study, get good grades and good jobs. I believe every father wants his kids to do better than him. Starting at 6 AM, he cooks at 5 different house twice a day 6 days through the week. By the time Saroj heads home, it is well past 10 PM. He told me that his only mission in life is for his kids to do well and was amazed at how we spoke such fluent English. As he was leaving, Saroj confides to me that he wanted his sons to speak fluent English. His words touched a chord. I told him to send his sons to our house every Sunday morning.The kids started coming home. Perhaps, the cricket lover in Saroj was alive when he named his sons Sachin and Rahul.

The first couple of Sunday's were tough when the kids came home. On both occasions, I was supremely hungover. I told them to sit on the Dewaan and start reading loudly while I rushed to take a cold water shower. Now the challenge - How to teach these kids? While my grammar is in place, I'm not supremely confident in what my Prepositions, Past Participles are...

I've gauged the kids to be real smart and fast learners and realized that familiarity with a topic is always a  good way to get started. So Cricket was our topic of discussion. The stress was on speaking only in English. Initially, they had their inhibitions. I encouraged them to talk about cricket, their favorite format ( No prizes for guessing... T20 ) , the brutal power of Chris Gayle and why Dale Steyn is a world class fast bowler.

Been 2 months now. Their fluency is improving and confidence is slowly growing. Teaching them has helped me become a patient listener.

Hats off to Teach For India. They have permeated through to Rahul and Sachin's school and the government schools in the cities of Delhi, Pune, Mumbai, Madras and a few more. With youthful teachers under their wings who love teaching and aids including laptops and placards, India will soon see the change we've all been waiting.

A letter to Chairman, IPL

Dear Sir,

Thank you for a lovely season of IPL. Now that Kolkata Knightriders have won, I can safely comment that this match didn't have any agenda. I have made some observations during IPL 2012. The T20 game could gain a lot from my suggestions below :

• The concept of cheerleaders in cricket is preposterous. Cheerleading is a team event with precision movements performed by beautiful looking women. I feel insulted when I see cheap Russian hookers with liberal application of foundation doing retarded moves.  Do not get close up shots of their smiling faces. The yellow stained teeth give me a feeling that certain individual has pulled strings to see Chennai SuperKings' colours. Their outlandish outfits make my German Shepard laugh. The dance forms of Mohiniattam and Laavni  have been belittled to  greet Chris Gayle's monstrous hits !! Why didn't I see Zulu tribe dancers during IPL 2009 cheering for Dhoni's helicopter shot ? Let's not have the Cheerleaders. Let it remain in USA and it's universities. That's the only history they have. Right ?
• During the next auction, please ensure that you incorporate a clause of "No Dicks in Auctions". This would help you weed out the likes of Munaf Patel, Sreesanth and Piyush Chawla. 
• All the players in the fielding side could be given a microphone and the TV viewers could get to listen to their conversations. The audience would get to watch a new line of reality TV and would certainly boost the TRP ratings. We could learn to abuse in chaste Bengali, Tamil and Punjabi.
• Recruit a new breed of erudite commentators and groom them under the likes of Harsha Bhogle and Robin Jackman. As for the other commentators, I don't care if it is Ravi Shastri's birthday and certainly don't want to see him cut a cake during the IPL final. Ummm.. unless Pommie Mbangwa smacks the cake on Shastri just like his first name Mu-pe-le-lo  and says " EAT THAT !! RAAAVI". That would be fun. And what in the name of God does Danny Morrison smoke ?! I get daily live feed on the latest moves from a Maori circus. Sunny Gavaskar and Rameez Raja should do an act together that would make Laurie and Fry proud.
• IPL is about cricket and not about team owners. My neighbour's raccoon is terrified of SRK's purple attire. We are tired of watching Preity's Not-so-pretty sagging breasts jump up and down. The focus should be on the match. I have a plan to make you some money from the Team Owners as well. The BSF men from Wagah border are stressed enough and have tough life. The team enclosure could have a one of these men come down on a vacation and attached to the owner's ensemble with a steel whip to keep them in order. Perhaps Nokia TV could be given the rights to such a channel.
• Pass a statutory clause by which all the sponsors make silent advertisements. The sudden spurt in decibel levels at the end of each over has cracked the glass on my late great grandfather's portrait. The Madras humidity has left an indelible mark on his face with green colour moulds. He now haunts me everyday by stuttering and playing with the voltage levels at my home. 

Kthnxbai.

Regards

Cricket Lover

Expectorate and Play

I've always been in awe of all the batsmen playing cricket who managed to spit through the steel visor and grill with an uncanny precision. The phelgm always comes out and avoids hitting the grill. It has a six sigma accuracy.

HA !! That's right. It was 100% accurate until TV cameras caught Yogesh Nagar in that floundering moment of colossal proportion in IPL 2012. SPALT !! The glob came from the abysmal depths of his throat and hit his grill. YUCK !! His countenance at that exact moment reeked dumbness. The eyes spoke, " How did I miss that?"

Next delivery, he was clean bowled!!

To Sir's With Love

05th Sep - Teacher's day. After college, it's just this one day when we look back at our school days, feel nostalgic and thank our teachers with HAPPY TEACHER'S DAY wall post and tagging friends (For the record, I made this post on my Facebook page this year...just like that). You could have been an ace in academics, a champ in sports, excelled in both or the been good at music and arts. There would have been one teacher or coach who would have pushed you to the limit, made your life a miserable living hell or simply mesmerized you with their actions . One aspect common to all of them - They would have inspired you to believe in yourself, sand papered away your follies and channeled your rebellious energy to help you reach wherever you stand on this day.

I've changed nine schools in 12 years of schooling and had countless teachers. Yet, my FAB 4 made an indelible impression on my life. Interestingly, all of them are men - each in a different field and a unique personality. I would go in a chronological order and talk about each of the FAB 4.

Mr. John Datta

My English teacher during the three of the four years I studied in The Air Force School, Subroto Park. Erudite, witty and totally chilled out man. I was the shortest kid in the class those days and hence sat in the first row of the class. While I was into Tintin, Asterix, Hardy Boys and comics, it was he who ignited my interest in classics. Until then, I found poems banal and dry. "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" an epic in English Lit was mind boggling during 9th standard. We had the first part of the poem in our curriculum. He finished the poem in toto (He got a book with the complete poem and read it to us ). The interest in poetry can be instilled only in that age provided it is read out to you. My word !! I felt as though Mr. Coleridge himself was present in the class during that hot July afternoon in 1998. I performed miserably during my 10th Std. Yet, I owe it to him. As the Class Teacher, he constantly scanned our report cards and wrote fitting comments. PTA meets were a nightmare for me. Yet, when my parents went to meet, he always told that I was a good lad and very good bowler. He often told me that I should take studies seriously just like my cricket. After my 10th, I moved on to Hyderabad and lost touch with him. If you know his phone number or email address, please let me know. 


Mr. VSK Chakrapani

On Vijayadashami of 1998, I started learning Violin under the tutelage of Mr. Chakrapani. On that fateful day, over 100 kids along with their parents thronged the Delhi Tamizh Sangam in R.K Purum. On the second floor, kids were hammering away on the Mridangam and our class was in the 1st floor. He motioned us to sit on the dari and wait for my turn. He sat in the centre while the rest of us sat around like the spokes of a wheel around the hub. This is how we sat during all the classes. For the auspicious start, he told us kids how to grip the violin and bow. Demonstrating the left hand technique, he told us the importance of left hand technique. The moment I held my violin, his eyes light up. Might seem filmy like a scene from Mahabharat but it was like I had found the Guru. And thus started my violin classes.

Mr. Chakrapani stands over 6 feet with broad shoulders. A dab of vibhuti on the forehead, Bata leather Chappals and crisp white shirt ( his shirts seemed frozen.. like that crisp) and trousers. A man demonstrating simple living and high thinking, he travelled only by Bus and took the Killer BlueLine from Gole Market to R.K Purum.

My classes progressed and I overtook my fellow students and reached Varnam while they were still playing Alankaaram. The sudden success got into my head and I became over-confident and complacent. He sensed this at once ( I don't know how... Did my dad tell him ? ). Before each class, we had to copy the notation in our notebook. I was all thrilled to start my first Varnam (Mohanam). At the beginning of each class, he would teach us a new lesson. However, we also had to play the previous lesson. I started and stumbled along. Looking back now, with the complacency creeping in, my grip of the bow changed and it affected my playing. What ensued was a verbal blasting - 

"You think you are as good as Lalgudi Jayaraman?" 

"If this is your attitude, you will fail in life!!" 

He asked me to leave and not to come for violin classes ever again. Fighting back tears, I managed to get into the car. My father didn't say a word and drove back. I reached home and cried my heart out to mum. She consoled me and asked me to call him in the evening. 

Later in the evening, I called his residence. He picked up the call. I told him I was sorry and requested him to allow me to rejoin the classes. He started laughing. After about 30 seconds (somehow, it seemed forever), he asked me to come for class the following Saturday. Much later, he told my father that he wanted to teach me lesson and meant no ill will. Boy !! He sure did teach me lesson. From that day on, I've never taken life for granted. Along with my family, he is perhaps the only person who taught me the true meaning of humility.

As an A-Grade artist in All India Radio, he has traveled across the globe for countless shows, stayed in five star accommodation. Yet, he used public transport, lived in government quarters in Gole Daakkhana near Connaught Place. In my eyes, he is the epitome of humility and truly preached the mantra of simple living-high thinking. 

Mr. Balasubramanian

After entering 9th std, I developed a mortal fear for Mathematics. I simply loathed the subject. Everyday, the maths class seemed never ending. I stopped studying Maths and by God's grace cleared the CBSE examination in 10th. My eyes were set on taking commerce. I loved my physics and didn't seem sense to take science stream since I sucked in Mathematics and Chemistry. Somehow, it got into my head that taking Maths as an elective would be better compared to Geography and Hindi (the other electives offered). After a couple of classes, I made friends with couple of guys in the Science class and they told me join classes at Balu Sir's house in the evening. Thus, began my tryst with Balu Sir's class.

I bonded well with Aakash and Avinash from the science stream and the three of us were inseparable. The teachers called us the Trinity. We were the ultimate recipe for pranks and trouble. These two aces always got busted and somehow I never earned the wrath of the teachers in School.

Balu sir saw right through me in the first class. He told me, "You are good kid but capable of trouble."  Pointing in the direction of Aakash and Avinash, he said, "Stay away from those two guys." A short and broad man, he had converted one bedroom of his 2 bedroom house into a classroom with wooden benches and white board. His classes started at 3 in the afternoon and ended at 8 in the night. In all he took classes for five batches from 9th to 12 std six days a week throughout the year.Charging a very nominal fee, we came to know much later about his tactic of charging his students. "Free mein padhaunga to bacche serious nahi honge."

Our first chapter was "Relations and Functions". He had asked us to memorize the definition of a function. Next day was sunday. So I chilled, played cricket from dawn to dusk and forgot about it. Monday evening, we enter the tuition room. He looks at me, "Function ka definition bolenge Siddarth". I had totally forgotten about this and didn't even open my books during the weekend. Honestly, I admitted, "Sir ! I don't know." He smiled and walks out to his garden and comes back with a nice leafy twig from the hedge. Stripping the leaves out, he tells me the definition of a function and asks me to show my left palm, TWAATT !! I had a lot of trouble with my morning ablutions for the next couple of days.

I was livid and told my dad that he caned me and I couldn't take this corporal punishment. Dad's head peeped out of the newspaper," You didn't study and hence you deserved it !! Now go hit your books." And he went back to the Hindu's editorial. The caning sessions got heavier by the day. As we entered 12th Std, the seriousness of exams and marks hit us all. And the caning stopped !

My batch being the only all-boy batch, we were loud and full of mischief. When I started my classes, his younger daughter was 4 months old and by the time, we finished our boards, she could abuse in Hindi ( Yes.. mother and the sisters ones ). Then one last time, he caned us when he realized it was us who did the dirty deed of polluting a baby's brain.

He gave me special attention as I was the only Commerce-Maths student and ensured I score maximum in that section. Despite knowing my weakness, Balu sir never mocked my silly mistakes. He coaxed me to think and look for alternative methods to solve a problem. He gave me faith that I could score high marks when I could only think of scrapping through. I didn't disappoint him and passed 12std and got a commendable 74 on 100 in Maths.


Balu's sir unflinching devotion in taking classes for close to 6 hours for countless years is truly commendable. Today, many of his students are fighter pilots in the IAF, doctors, software geeks and spread far and wide across the globe. He taught me the virtue of hard work, dedication and perseverance.


Mr. Vimal Kurien 

My professor for accountancy in Madras Christian College, he was a resident professor in Bishop Heber Hall. He looked younger than most of us despite sporting a beard. After completing his M.Com, he joined MCC as a faculty member. From the very beginning, he stressed on the importance of fundamentals. One particular instance, I clearly remember was when he was teaching us about Balance sheets and I asked a question. He thought about it for a good minute and said,"Sid !! I'll confirm and tell you by tomorrow."

Next day, he entered class and cleared the doubt that was pending. Honestly, I had forgotten about it. However, he had gone back and poured over books and cleared my doubt. I was pleasantly shocked. Here was a professor who accepted that he had a doubt, kept it pending, confirmed with the text book and finally told me the answer. It is very rare when you see your teacher accepting his limitation and ensuring he learns along with me. It just blew me.

Outside class, he was one chilled out person. He told me I was a Kaatan while I reminded him of Barbarian roots. He would often take me out to Sundaram's for chai and tell me to study well and get good grades. You see, it was very easy to digress in the greenery of Madras Christian College. A brilliant Piano player, he was part of MCC's award winning  Progressive Rock band. Vimal Sir introduced me to some of the best music - Dream Theater, Al Stewart, Cat Stevens and many more artists.

Today, he is a professor in BMS College, Kottayam and settled with his wife and daughter. He is the only teacher with whom I'm still in touch. With his level of intellect, he could have been a successful person in the management of an MNC, a Chartered Accountant or even a professional musician. Yet, he did what gave me joy - Teaching !!

To all the people I've mentioned above, thank you for shaping me and helping me become a better person. Today, whatever I am, I owe it to you.

Abuse / Gaali / Ketta Vaarthai / Therri - Power of abusive language

• Walking on the roads after heavy overnight showers, an unassuming office-going champ on this Hero Honda Splendor ( Still called splendor after the company became Hero MotoCorp? In your face you short Nipps...Mother Nature just had an orgy with your islands) hits a pot hole. Brown stains on your face and cloths. 
• Buying a ticket and boarding an EMU from Guindy. After alighting at Santorium, you plan to run to the two-wheeler stand and reach home just in time to catch every ball of Chennai Super Kings slaying Victoria Bushrangers. However, the train zips past Tambaram Sanatorium and it's only then you realize that you got into a Super Fast.
• The Grand Finale of India's Got Talent. The only time at home when the family doesn't fight over remote control... and Wham !! Power cut.
• Drinking with friends in your hostel room and one of your buds zonks out on your bed... 25 mins later... gurgling sounds and the complete menu of the evening on your bed. 
• A slow moving car in front of you that doesn't speed up or give you way. You can have Air horn or a fog horn installed in your car. As you overtake and look in the rear-view mirror, all you see some knuckles on the steering wheel. 

Different dialects of Punjabi - Pathankot to Bhathinda, Malayalam - Kasargod to Trivandrum, Tamizh - Chennai cheri to KK or good old English, we indulge in liberal use of female anatomy, acts of incest, Oedipus complex and baby making process when we are involved in one or more of the above scenes.

At times, I wonder why humans use abusive language. Soon, I realized it is all about impact. When it's about wanting to make a hard hitting point, abusive language reigns at the highest echelons of human communication. Unless you are a Martin Luther King, Winston Churchill or Adolf Hitler, no one would listen to you until you throw in a couple of F's and B's. 

Let us look at a few situations where abusive language will certainly prevail over white collar language and help making a difference to humanity and society  :

Making a Sales pitch :

As a sales guy, there are occasions when I'm tongue-tied. "Mr Krishnan, what we offer you is fucking awesome. You will not be disappointed." If I could add these lines to my sales pitch, I can close more sales deals, achieve over 100% of my target YoY, get a raise and a promotion. Everyone is happy.

Helping your near and dear ones deal with a break-up 

The guy has been dumped by the woman. All along you knew she was a bitch. Yet, you kept quiet ( Friend oda aalu macha ). Now you've got the full monty to go ahead and break the truth your friend. Choose your words carefully. "Dude !! I told you. She is a bitch of the first order. Sonnathu kettaiya ?! Antha tevadiya mundam ellam orupadaave orupadaathu. Let's buy some beer and watch Curvy Girls. Beshtu macha aathu.. watha !! chancey illai."

Boosting the morale of your sales team 

Inflation is ever increasing. Government keeps increasing Repo and Reverse Repo rates. Clients are not giving you repeat orders. Competition on the rise from new players. Government keeps tweaking the policies. Vice President,  Marketing and Sales calls you into his cabin and asks you for the numbers !! You swallow hard and call your sales team into the conference room. "Bhenchod !! Kya kar rahe ho tum log ? Sales kar rahe ho ya maa chuddha rahe ho ?!  Prakash !! Tum to baatein bahut choddhte ho ! Sales karo nahi to tumhaari gotiyaan VP le lega ?! Commmon boyz !! Let's rock and role. If the team achieves 100% sales, we'll go to Thailand and indulge in some sick stuff ! I know you boys well. You are the best out there in the industry. Let's show the VP that we've got balls of steel. "

Tell the HR that she ain't doing community service

"Madam !! You are not going me a favour. This is your KRA. You oughta do this ! Go hit the markets and you'll realize what we go through everyday. Stop sitting on your dandy ass and process my outstanding dues. We earn revenue for the company. You are simply a fucking ancillary service. Stop fucking around with my head. Don't tell me to refrain from using non-parliamentary language on the office floor. I can bloody well roll my sleeves considering this outfit of yours looks like a nighty my grannie sports at home."

Use the power of abusive language. It is hard-hitting and does make an impact. Don't abuse it.. yeah ?

B-School Reunions

It is that time of the year when me and my friends from Symbiosis Institute of Management Studies decide to head to Pune for the National Alumni Meet. The bakchod gang (Please read my earlier post "Oh Mere Chacha the great" to know a little about the bakchods) had a made a pact that we would try and meet every year for the National Alumni meet over 2-3 days. The idea is to relive those days of fun, frolic and unadulterated shizzle. This year will be the second meet after graduation. Barring one of the us, who is posted in Algeria, every single soul from the bakchod would be present.

The idea of a reunion is to meet up with your batchmates, juniors and seniors and catch up on the lost times. Yes... This includes half hugs, fake hellos, lots of  HEY's and numerous dead-fish handshakes, meeting a lot of people you wouldn't want to meet in first place including the two-timing bitch-of-the-first-order ex girlfriend of yours. A big percentage of the alumni would give the meet a skip ( I wonder why ?)

Typical conversation among men during the meet :

• Oh !! That Bitch got married ?! RIP the poor soul who is stuck with her. 
• She ?! McKinsey ?! You got to be kidding me ! I'd give my left ball for that profile. How the fuck did a birdbrain like her end up with that profile ?! Word
• HAHA !! That loser is still stuck with Infosys ?! DAMN !
• WHOA !! She was so HAWT macha !! Whatever happened to her ?! 
• That son-of-a-bitch is getting all the action !! Dekho kaise haans raha hai saala !!
• After the meet, let's get drunk dude !! Haddh hai bhenchod !!

Typical conversation among women during the meet :

• OMG !! That bitch hasn't changed one bit !! Botox you reckon ?
• Dekha ?! Copycat !! She still sports the same colour combination that I used to... including the brown stilettos. Sari bhi same colour !! BITCH
• Kya karoon yaar ?! Even power yoga is not helping ! Liposuction in India is safe ? 
• He was so cute !! Uske baal kahaan udd gaye ?! Just two years ? Blame the Bengaluru water ! BTW...I once made out with him near Placement Cell. 

Me ?!  I prefer meeting all the people who were a part of my life during the two best years of my life. Greeting the canteen stuff for the numerous plates of Cheese Maggi and Anda Bhurji they served, Library staff like Raju Bhaiya for their benevolence when I laughed loudly during a funny conversation inside library, who let me issue more than four books and keep them beyond the return deadline, Gajwaar sir and Ajay Sir from Admin office for helping me out with attendance esp. in fourth semester ( I had 4% against a mandatory 75% !! ) and most importantly - The Director of the Institute. Leaving me with a warning and no further action for my loud laughter from the hostel room during our social acts, taking loads of my BS and yet giving it a patient listen - I liked him. He had been unreasonable on many occasions. I choose to ignore that over the countless times he helped me personally. 

Coming back to my group, our customary huddle will start with beer guzzling and a sojourn with Sheelavati, chai, sutta and vada paav at the tapri behind SIMS, a head massage session at Ideal Hairdressers ( They are the best in the business. Do check them out if you go to Pune ) followed by hopping around Koregaon Park. A couple of us would pass out and wake up with a massive hangover the next day.

We would laugh at the most stupid acts, remember the grey cell stimulating all-nighters in hostels around the topic of politics, sports and women, drunken brawls at pubs and many more incidents which I wouldn't want to quote.

After the meet, we get back to our lives - Work, office, diatribe with girlfriend, boring office dinners without  alcohol with equally boring people from work. Being a fully residential campus - we were the only family for one another -  knowing the deep dark secrets, going to fight for your friends without knowing the actual reason or opponent, rushing them to hospital when they met with an accident or fell sick.

Soon, we would get married and settle down into our lives with work, wife, kids and a fight with the ever increasing waistline. Perhaps, this alumni meet would go on to become the only platform for all of us to meet each other together and live those golden days - even if it is for once a year.

Facebook - Breaking down a barrier of communication

Now that my folks are on FACEBOOK, I've got to be extra careful on what I post and more importantly to filter photos and comments on my status updates. My dear friends.. please think twice before you comment on my status update :D

Mum has made some real good friends with women in her age group since she joined FACEBOOK in 2006. Farming and fishing virtually is a fun filled activity she enjoys besides her usual Tanjore painting and sketching. Some of her friends actually came over and stayed with us for a couple of days. These were complete stranger whom she had never met and yet bonded as like little girls playing with their barbie dolls. Gossiping about mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law is a such a nice way to unwind ( I'm going to get thrashed for this !!)

Dad has been on FACEBOOK for two months and he is really thrilled. Connecting with friends from school, college and the Academy, he couldn't have asked for sweeter networking application - meeting friends whom he last saw in vest and shorts and now.. they have grandchildren !! 

My dad having served the tour of duty in Sri Lanka during the IPKF operation, never spoke about it. He only mentioned the scenic beaches and the beautiful country side. Only a photo album of snaps clicked in Jaffna, Trincomalee and Batticaloa remain. Every time I treaded the topic, he would digress. However, this afternoon I was chatting with him on FACEBOOK and he asked me to download a documentary on Sri Lanka's war with LTTE. One thing lead to another and we started talking about his stint. He told me lots of stories and the realities of war coupled with the effect it has on human psyche. I realized that he had typed so much.  This was the first time that he spoke about his 6 months stint  in a land where he speaks Tamil just like them !! Soon, it became intense and I felt goosebumps all over my arms.

I logged out and headed back home. It dawned to me that Facebook had actually broken down a barrier and opened a new line of communication. I may have never gotten to know the realities of war, stories of bravado, the feeling of your buddies die in your arms and other war related atrocities. 

Oh Mere Chacha THE great !!

 As promised, my blogpost on Chacha!

We meet countless people in our lifetime. Few characters stand out and stay etched in our memories. One such person in my life is Chacha.

I first met Chacha on my first day of class during my MBA. We all had to get a SIMS CUT from the nearby saloon. Every fresher on campus looked like a soldier. Eventually, our hair grew back to normal length and yet Chacha resembled a soldier. He was a true Jawan. A very quiet and unassuming bumpkin from Kanpur, he led a peaceful life on campus. Well.. at least the others thought so. It is only the inner circle (I called our mob of 8 as bakchods ) who knew his true colours and cruel intentions. Although I knew Chacha from our first semester days, our true bonding started at the beginning of third semester.

My first and the most memorable action sequence with the Stallion ( Another name for Chacha but that story for another blog) was during a drunken Saturday night. It was the peak of summers and Pune was reeling under acute water shortage. No water to wash one's arse after the big job !! Everyone was like ,"To heck with the water problem.. Let's have some Rum." It was a long night that stretched into the dawn. One of us (He's another funny character with a wonderful gift to paint) started talking about his prowess in bed. He described in detail about how he made love ! Chacha took a deep puff from the cigarette and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, " Arey !! Tumhaara jitne baar khada nahi hua..utni baar hum laundiyoon ke saath masti kar chuke hain." What ensued was a massive laughter riot with yours truly leading the pack. Our Director summoned the warden to bring order in the house. After hearing such a statement, our painter had no comeback.

His one-liners would humble any poet or satirist. Using explicit and pure Hindi one-liners, he came up with such outlandish and relevant proverb. There was no comeback.. ZILCH !!

He is a man of routine. Washed his cloths everyday and kept the room clean. He would religiously go out everyday to our tapri for Chai, Dhokla and Chota Goldflake. He had a place for everything and everything was in the designated place and I'm sure to this day he keeps it the same way.

Some people have rotten luck. Chacha and Indian Railways were always at loggerheads. After numerous failed attempts to successfully board a train, he reached the station by 5 PM  to catch a train at 7:30. Well... the train had already left that morning !!The scheduled departure was at 7:30 AM. He came back dejected, had a couple for beers and hit the sack. He had missed the train to be at home for Diwali.

When it came to surprises, Chacha was the man ! He would delight us with a cigarette when everybody in the hostel was out of smokes or herbs! He won a bet against another bakchod after he produced 32 Classic Milds. The bakchod had to strip down since he and the rest of us never imagined he could produce 32 Classic Milds at 2 AM and hence blindly placed the bet. Chacha hid cigarettes in such bizarre places in the room. His room mates had no clue and could never find cigarettes even though they had access to all his stuff.

When he sits on the laptop to play CounterStrike, it's insanely funny. His dream is to do IISSSNNAAIIPPERR Headshot. He'll be at the controls and the room would be intense. He would crack another of his one-liners and the whole CS team has to halt since his one-liner would leave you in splits. 

Besides all the comedy, he is a wonderful human being. Ever helpful and big hearted lad. You can read about his human side on my other blogpost (Eerie Moments Part 1)

Cheers to our one and only Chacha.

Types of travellers aboard Indian Railways

Indian Railways, one of the largest employers in the world provides service to one and all. Each one of you reading this blog would have used the services of Indian Railways at some point in your life. Travelling in the AC III tier coaches while traversing the length and breadth of the country is a wonderful experience. One meets wonderful individuals and families. As the son of an officer from the Indian Air Force, we got posted to obscure place on the Indian map. Summer vacation to Chennai and Coimbatore from Jorhat involved changing two trains and 3 days of travel. I observed many people during these long journeys and continue it to this day with regular travelling in my current job. I have classified certain section of passengers. I'm sure you would have met the following people at least once during your train rides.


Joint Family

At least 6 people and will certainly include the following - Bald headed father, mother with a humongous back, son, his wife and a cranky toddler with runny nose who keeps running along the length of the coach and his sister. They would have packed all their three meals. The kid starts crying post 10 pm everyday and the whole family earns the wrath of the co-passengers. The sister would be a pretty lady and eye candy for the men in the coach.


A Lone Wannabe Guy with a Laptop and Small suitcase

Would be wearing oversized Woodlands shoes, Reebok T-shirt and addidas trackpants ( Yes, they are fake and hence addidas ). Changes his berth as soon as he boards the train since the fat old aunty can't climb the upper berth. He would again have to change his berth because some family wants him to adjust. Invariably gets transffered to another coach and settles into a side upper berth. Mans the electricity socket as though his life depended on it. Watches movies on laptop while he munches his kurkure and would sleep when the laptop is switched off.


Ticketless Dude

He gets into the train and parks himself on a seat. Places his bag on the upper berth. Mind you, he doesn't have a ticket - Not even RAC or a wait listed ticket. Arms himself with a INR 100 note and is on the prowl looking out for the TTE. At night, he opens his bag and goes out near the bathroom to have a swig of Old Monk. Lo behold !! RPF busts his ass. He has to shell out 300 bucks now and the cops take away his bottle. Gets a berth at the fag end of the train journey.


Lone Woman

A bespectacled spinster in her early 20's. Acts like a stuck-up snobbish virago. Adjusts her kurta and dupatta every 30 seconds. She believes that every guy in the coach is a hardcore lecher whose prime objective is to get into her panties. She takes her handbag every time she goes to the loo. To avoid eye contact and conversation, she keeps looking out of the window, even if it is 9 PM.


Old Fat Uncle

A big pot-bellied man in his late 50's or early 60's. He is HUGE. His palms would be the size of a quarter plate. Snores like a foghorn. He would eat anything and everything that every vendor has to offer. After this, he lets out a huge burp and the whole coach would know the menu. 

Where do we go from here ?

Most of the people on my generation don't have the balls to follow their passion. Heck .. only few know passion.. the fruit ! Since when has working for Infosys become your dream ? or just getting a seat in IIT Powai ? Nobody wants to be fighter pilot and touch the sky with glory ? How about helping the country win a gold medal in Olympics? If you were good at music, why not pursue it to earn your bread and be happy ? The truth - Passion is dead and we killed it! You, me and everyone soul living in this cynical society !

As a kid, either your parents or friends crush the seed of your dreams and passion. Even before it could germinate. Now, you as a parent want your kid to follow YOUR dream and not his (or her dream ). You might even ask them to tread a safe path of being an engineer, doing a MBA from reputed B-School ( What on Earth is reputed? Who grants them reputation. My two cents... IIT's and IIM's are not reputed Institutions. This would need another blogpost ) and then becoming a banker ?! Why do engineering? The kid could have done a lot better had he/she done a course aligned with the area of interest. One the main reasons why India rots at the lower echelons of UN's Human Development Index is Indians laugh at a potential farmer, an aspiring teacher or professor and we kill the child inside these people. You see, a child is careless and not scared to do as the mind goes about the work. We pump out electrical engineers and turn them into enterprising pimps.

Why are we failing as parents, as humans? You blame the system and want to change? Well...You are the system and let the change begin from self. Be rather than to seem

Annoying Part I

Below is the breed that sends my blood surging to my head, makes me slap my forehead and take my shotgun out of the closet..


Peeping Toms - These people have this insatiable hunger to peep at the drop of every hat. Their favorite haunt is into your computer screen just as you are checking your email in office or booking a train ticket. "Abey !! 243 waiting list hai. Teri ticket pucca confirm nahi hogi. Mein apne dad ke friend se baat karta hoon." Know what... BEAT IT BIAATTCCHH !!! Your two cents in your arse. I'd rather cancel my ticket and walk all the way to Delhi than listen to you bragging about your good-for-nothing networking skills. You better be watching your drawers in office than watching your neighbour's screen coz yours truly might soon lay a baby Boa Constrictor in between your files.


PDA - Trying to feel your girlfriend's ass ,which in first place is a BLOODY HUGE pile of protoplasm, is not funny. Think about the public who must this watch gory act of lovemaking...those tiny ones who walk around the mall while you are digging into the Desi Queen Latifah. What about your girlfriend? Imagine the agony she feels while you are on ecstasy. Really dude !! Get a Rs 350/day 24 hours checkout lodge near the Bus stand that have blood stained bedsheets and bed bugs. Most likely.. a grainy 3.2 mpx video of your cute act would pop-up on websites of tamilsex and desibaba ( wait.. does desibaba still exist? Been a while since I checked the website..hmmm )


Poser Smokers - These breed will suck the smoke out of your lungs. Your cigarette ? Heh.. He/she already snatched it as soon as you lit it. Never the one to buy smokes, these hyenas are so annoying...I'd rather take the lit end of the cigarette and stub it in their eyes. Dude... Wills Goldflake is 5 bucks !! Damn !! Just buy it and smoke. I wonder if they ever smoke alone as they are hand-partying with their fantasies !!

Eerie moment Part - I

Last exam ( hopefully I clear all my papers ) of my MBA and as I submit the paper to the invigilator, the adrenaline rush is overwhelming. As per plan, 2 BHK was supposed to get some London Pilsners a.k.a LP's to the room right after exam and more importantly, the culmination of the 2 year paid vacation. We will get back to 2 BHK a little later.

I meet my girlfriend near the cafeteria just like we did after every exam since Sem 1. I tell her my plans. As usual, she's cool and tells me to have a good time. So I run back to my room. The family is already waiting and good to go. Adi takes out his car while Chacha takes my bike. 6 of us packed like sardines in the Maruti Swift and tripping on the Hate Song, we reach the calm cool confines of Sheetal. Having picked up our LP, we head to Palone and start the chugs. The heat was on.

2 BHK were two rooms in the hostel known for their green ideologies which helped yours truly secure a job in a leading Carbon Consulting firm. Countless gifts of Maggi given by the Old Monks talking mildly under the red bulb sun, these two rooms were testimony to fun, frolic, insanity, havoc with Fit attacks, discuss throw competition with empty beer bottles, double entendre dialogues in Marathi with the Dictator ..err Director (Dada Khondke would be mighty proud with us), guitar jams, erotic art and most importantly... lots of grey cell stimulating conversation. However, what happened that day during some beer sipping left me with ambivalent feelings.

So yeah... One bottle down and we weren't satisfied. Chacha (He's the man... hell he deserves another blog post) answers his call of duty and heads back to get some more. As we chat, a kid not more than four.... maybe five walks to me and tugs my pant. She wanted the bottle. Stupified.. I looked in horror. Pretty soon, I realized she wanted the empty bottle. It was a no-brainer. Her ragged cloths and cracked heels screamed MONEY. Money she could get with those empty beer bottles traded with the Raddhiwalla.

Chacha is back in no time with the second crate of LP. We start chugging as a goods train chugs along the railway track closeby. By now, the little girl watching us has company. In no time, her pals-in-rags eye our bottles. They sense hostility from our end. However, we had none and empty our bottles. The good old habit of throwing the beer bottle is curbed. The bottles are passed to the children. Adi starts chattering in Marathi with the kids. Seems their folks had gone out for daily wage work and the kids were on their own.

Chacha heads back on the bike for a third time. However, no beer bottles this time when he returned. Armed with a dozen guavas, some snacks and chips, he distributes it equally amongst the kids who clearly show signs of Kwashiorkor and Rickets.

Soon, we head back to our 2 BHK for a much needed siesta. With Colin Edwin's basswork in the background, I wonder what provoked Chacha. Having known him for two years, I had never seen this side of him. Our conversation revolved around our lives, women, music, films and where we were headed after MBA. What he did that day, left me speechless and confused.

It was a strange feeling that I can't explain. Perhaps, I can never put it in words. With the sickening poverty rates in our country, we don't know how much difference this post makes. That day, the small act from Chacha made a difference to those kids on that day nonetheless.

Sexual Harassment - A Different Story

As I switch on Winamp and listen to the Frank Zappa classic instrumental "Sexual Harassment at workplace" my thoughts go back to this much debated subject.

Hang him !!! He deserve to DIE !!

The above statement is true for a man called DIG Rathore a.k.a Ruchika's rapist and murderer. However, media and in turn society perceives all MEN = RAPISTS

Agreed there are some psychotic guys who believe in getting the sacred Punaani by force rather than earning for it or paying. They make cheesy comments at women - be it road, workplace, educational institutes or places of worship.

However, the media never reports how men are sexually harassed. Try calling a lady SEXY at workplace in the morning. In about 15 minutes, you would be giving your exit interview. But a woman can do that to a guy.

There have been cases of women harassing their husbands with threats of suicide. Slashing their wrists and reporting to the Police. The reason... He refused to buy her a jewelry set. I'm not kidding !! This happened to my colleague from office. Is this is sexual harassment or blackmail ? I don't know.

Sexual Harassment is prevalent in our society and this not just confined to men abusing women verbally or physically. It does happen the other way around as well.

Advice Anyone ?!

Visualize this : You are solving a sudoku puzzle while travelling in a bus. The person next to you peeps into your puzzle and tells you," Why haven't you filled the the top right box. That's a certain 7." Much to your chagrin, you force a smile and mutter,"Gee thanks."

How often has this happened to you in other spheres of life ?! I speak for myself and I would say ALWAYS. As kids, your folks tell you to go easy on those chocolates and eat lots of spinach like Popeye. Fine. Maybe they have a point. ( I ate lots of chocolates and Spinach as I loved chocolates and spinach )

Your student days and everyday you get advice. Study well. Take Science with computers. Join the Brilliant Tutorial classes and crack IITJEE. Work for two years and drop a year for CAT. Get into IIMA and join Mckinsey. If you happen to be a commerce student - Get good grades and join SRCC. Did you read the news about that boy getting a 32 lakh package ?!! Beta... you can do it. You must do C.A. Look at Sharma uncle's son. He's with E&Y !! Well, neither did I go to SRCC ( Joined Madras Christian College and mighty proud to be an MCCian ) nor did I do C.A.

When I was 16 or 17, I decided to join a Gym. Those toned muscles got you girlfriends you see !! First day, one of the well built guys working out tells me what to do. So I did 3 sets of benchpress - Flat, inclined and reclined followed by 100 sit ups and 20 pushups and finally some dumbbells for my biceps and triceps ( yeah that twisted rod!!). Those were the last days of gym. The good ol' jog, pushups and crunches work just fine for me.

Ever noticed a group of women shopping. Nahi yaar !! Don't buy that top. Your bust won't be accentuated. Go for that black top. Won't make you look fat. How can you go for such hideous yellow belles ?! Stick to that indigo. So all your hopes of buying that nice looking top go for a tossed salad.

I played a lot of Cricket in my school days; the opening bowler of my school team (with all due modesty). My first game, I bowl three good balls, get the batsmen out on the fourth ball of a no-ball. Next ball he smacks me for a four through covers. Gah !! the whole team including skipper comes and tells me to go around the wicket and bowl an inswinging yorker wide of the crease ( people familiar with cricket - imagine a left armer (me) bowling such a line to a southpaw ). I told him to buzz off !! Next ball, a slower half volley and he gets a leading edge that lands short of the fielder at Cover point.

My point here is everyone gives you advice... however, do you really need it ?!

For me, I'm a selective guy. Keep my options open and go ahead with what my instinct tells me.

To quote the great Oscar Wilde -Advice is like mushroom... the wrong ones can be fatal

Smile/laugh please

A smile ain't cost nothing. You don't have to make an effort to smile. While some have a monstrous laugh (including yours truly), it is a smile that is treasured.


Just when you are lost an important file, document, USB drive and someone finds it, the emotion experienced is that one of relief and there is a smile.

Smiles are genuine and fake

Smiles are right and left.
Smiles are big and small
Smiles are heavy and light.

Moments when I have smiled.

  When you went to an ice cream parlour, the kid in the next table licks the melted ice cream cone. You wonder when was the last time you ate an ice cream like the kid. All the nostalgia sinks in.

When I cracked up what I thought was a funny joke and I burst out laughing. Then, I notice... no one is laughing. To cover up, I laugh loud enough to make the other people worry about the sonic levels. Suddenly, the whole group erupts in laughter. Now I had a smile on my face.

Looking back at all the snaps clicked while I was drunk !!

Watching Jackass I & II. Some scene were bizarre while the others were gory. Still fun watch

My first day in a B-School

I land up in Pune city 10 pieces of luggage. This includes a bass guitar, a bass amp and 2 huge suitcases. Seeing my luggage, a kind autowallah suggests that I take an auto for flat 200 bucks. Geez !! 200 rupees for a distance of 6 kms !! I politely agreed considering I didn't have much choice. Finally, reached the gates of the Institute. Get a room on the 4th floor ( Room number 408).

With the lifts not working, I had to lug all the luggage four stories.

As I meet my new roommates, seniors come barking into my room. "What's your name?" Another one shoots, "Go get a SIMS cut."

Now a SIMS cut is the official haircut for a first year student in SIMS. All you need to do is walk to Ideal hairdressers and tell them, "Boss .. SIMS cut please." The guy at the saloon gives you a wry smile and takes an electric shaver and starts trimming your hair. Before you realize, you like a NDA cadet !!

I head back with my new hairdo and pick up some snacks on the way. Being in hostel, one needs a midnight snack. My all time favorite are Parle G glucose biscuits. Armed with four packets of biscuits, I reach my room and after a quick shower, settle in my room. My roommates are all asleep. I play around with my newly acquired toy - A HP Compaq laptop. Damn !! I had a laptop all for myself and I try acquaint myself with MS Excel.

Come evening and my roommates are awake. We get talking about our roots, education, work ex. Dinner time and we head for the Mess. The seniors are waiting for us and make the whole batch huddles into one small room above the mess. We are made to wait for about 30 mins and then they let us go.

I was really tired and was all set to hit the sack and BANG !! Some asshole kicks the door and barks, "Get your ass to 404.. in formals." Yeah right... this was all I needed. Anyway, I go to the room and we are asked to do all stupid shit... Play cricket with my bum, sing a joke ( heh.. ever heard that ?)

Finally came back to my room at 4 am. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I felt funny inside.

When I graduate in April 2010, I would look back at this first day with ambivalent feelings.