Sophisticated Sophistry??

It’s interesting, you know. How advertisements can influence you. It’s even more interesting how ads can change your perceptions. Like, for instance, ‘Fair & Lovely’ implicitly tells you how “Black is not beautiful” and how being fair boosts your confidence and makes you likable among people. 

The class after the noon-break was pretty boring. In fact, every class became boring then. I was trying hard to control the tug-of-war between my nose and eyebrow, each trying to pull the eyes towards itself. Considering that the 10th standard Board exams were nearing I should’ve been concentrating on the trigonometric ratios of complimentary and supplementary angles, that was written on the blackboard. 

The general public, that includes me, tend to believe everything in print and video. The internet connection that I’m using says it gives me a speed ‘up to’ 2 Mbps. I wish I get at least a tenth of that speed. The use of ‘up to’ in their ads might protect them legally while giving me false hopes. Another ad in the paper today – “Speak English fluently in 15 days”. Really??

Maths was always an insipid subject for me. Nothing to imagine; nothing to visualize. You just scribble numbers on your note (Being an engineer now, that’s the most blasphemous thing I could say). It was unusual, but Rohit was keenly taking notes in the Maths class. I peeked over his notebook only to find FLAMES being played. For the uninitiated, FLAMES is a stupid method by which you check your compatibility with a girl by doing some calculations with your names. You get one of the 6 letters as a result of the method, which describes your possible relationship with her -- (F)riend, (L)ove, (A)ffection, (M)arriage, (E)nemy, (S)ex. Rohit blurted out a ‘yay’ with his fist raised as he got ‘S’ with the name Tina. 

The housing loan dad took from a particular bank, which offered an interest rate of 7.5%, shot up 2% within just one year and has been ‘shooting up’ ever since. Now it’s a 14% but fortunately he could pay up and finish it off without further damage before the rate hit the stratosphere. 

Maths class is perhaps the best class for the nerds in the first bench to show that they’re really big fat nerds. For Rohit, my perennial bench mate, and I, marks come our way with the frequency of miracles when it comes to Maths exams. 

Who’re the biggest gullible toads here? No brainer. It’s the group with a little knowledge (which is a dangerous thing, as the clichéd saying goes) and a truckload of ignorance. The group is christened by the name ‘teenagers’. It was heart-rending for me to realize that Complan couldn’t make me a six footer, Maltova couldn’t get me a 1st rank in class, Jockey underwear couldn’t get me girls in my bedroom or neither could Axe deo get a dozen girls sniffing me, for that matter. 

It seems that Rohit almost finished his ink writing all the names of girls in the city. He has been shaking his fountain pen for quite some time and as I expected, the bugger spilt ink all over the desk. He gave me a dirty grin and took out his handkerchief to wipe the ink when all of a sudden, Tim, the dude in our front bench, turned back and gave an unsolicited advice to Rohit,

“Hey, why are you ruining your kerchief? Why don’t you use something like ‘Whisper’?”

At first we thought he was joking, but he wasn’t!!!

The most misleading thing for young boys, especially the young boys in a boys-only Jesuit school, is perhaps the sanitary napkin ads in which blue ink is poured on two pads as a metaphor for, you know what. Perhaps, they could’ve used the term ‘menstrual pad’ instead of the more euphemistic ‘sanitary napkin’.

We clutched our laughter hearing the ‘whisper’ing fallacies of Tim, and asked, 

“So, you use ‘Whisper’ regularly for wiping ink?”

“Not always, but mom has got a pack of ‘em at home for that purpose!”

We couldn’t control anymore and burst out guffawing insanely. We never thought Tim, who was our Biology teacher’s pet, could say such a wonderful thing. Man, it was priceless to see his face when we were laughing our hearts out.

“Thomas!! Rohit!! Both of you stand up. Now get out of my class!!!”

Drats! We should’ve realized it was Philipose Sir’s class. Contrary to the old adage, laughter is not the best medicine; at least not in Maths class.

As I browsed through my inbox, I saw this email ad titled “Low cost pheromones to attract females”. I smiled as I remembered that Maths class 7 years back. 

All in a Day's Imagination

It’s been 2 days since I’ve been noticing thick blood in my mucous. At first I thought it must be some abrasions in my throat, as told by that young doc, when I visited her 8 months back; but I sensed something really wrong this time. So off I went to the hospital today. The doctor after an initial check up, looked at me, paused for a second, and slowly said, 

“Thomas, capillary is broken”

What!! Hmm, I always had a hunch that there was something wrong with my brain. Too much intelligence cloyed it. And now, all that abounding intelligence caused the capillary to break! 

Doc asked me to take all those blood and urine tests and return in an hour. I didn’t have a dook of an idea that the tests costs over 1000 bucks, and there I stayed perplexed. I didn’t call dad as I didn’t want to break the news to him, so I phoned Chottu, my neighbor, to bring the money to the hospital. As I waited for him, flashes of scenarios started conjuring up in my mind.

Now the problem with me is that I tend to imagine a lot of weird situations and scenarios in life all the time. Sometimes the best case scenarios and sometimes the worst case; but for most of the part they are highly improbable. For instance, when I meet certain girls, I chart out my entire life with her in a matter of seconds. And when I find that they are all committed, I imagine wringing their necks and kicking their asses. Or when I see a Benz or BMW on road, I imagine driving and accelerating it at full throttle. Or when I see an exciting cricket match, I imagine myself in the place of Tendulkar, hitting consecutive sixes and fours and smashing all the previous records, then waving my bat to the spectators in full glory. Or when I write a blog post, I imagine people commenting that I’m the greatest writer on earth. You get my drift, right?? Yeah so where was I. Flashes of scenarios, yes.

I visualized myself dying and the funeral being attended by all the people I know. I imagined all the casket sprays and flowers I’ll be getting. I imagined people eulogizing me:- 

Friends: “He was a great guy and a true friend.”
Acquaintances: “Thomas, he was a man of honour, a man with integrity and a man with an impeccable personality.” 
Teachers: “He was a brilliant student, albeit he got zeros in my subjects.”
All my crushes: “Oh Thomas, he was so cute. I always wanted to marry him, but……but……waaaaaa *sniff* sniff*” 

All right, let's cut the crap out. Chottu came in a while and I took all the tests and returned to the doctor. 

Me: So doc, how bad is the brain damage. Do I need any operation to fix the brain capillaries??
Doc: What brain?? The capillary in your throat is broken. Take this medicine and it will heal in about 5 days. Zimple! 

What the bloody F?? There are capillaries in throat too? I thought they existed only in the brain and heart!! Drats! I should’ve studied biology well in high school. 

Me: Then why the umpteen tests?
Doc: They were just to verify the clotting time and stuff. (You bloody ignoramus, these are ways by which our hospital churns out moolahs from you duffers) 

I walked out of the hospital confused whether to be elated about having no brain damage or to be depressed about the fact that I now owe Chottu a 1000 bucks. I chose to be numb. Comfortably numb. 

Inane Questions

Saw this question posted in an internet community forum: 

Do Indians know anything about sex?

The best answer among the lot, I could see, was:

How do you suppose India has a population of 1.1 billion?? 

P.S. “Why the hell did you go to that forum in the first place?” --- Please refrain from asking such depressing questions, ok.

Strip Tease

Disclaimer: No habits, hobbies or characteristics of the primitive, innocent, young version of the protagonist is carried over to his advanced, sophisticated, grown up version. (Or so I think!) 

There’re certain things you don’t want to talk about your past. But sometimes the past claws its way out; for instance when old friends meet together and start picking up and mocking poor souls. It was during one of those sessions with mom’s old friends that I learned something about my horrible past. I don’t remember anything about it and is mostly as described by mom and hence the authenticity of this post is not verifiable. 

Nineteen years back, when I was 3 years old, dad was doing his post-doc in Aachen and mom was doing her PhD in Paris. I stayed with my dad, and mom used to visit us on weekends when we often used to go to our friends’ places for dinner. Now I had this habit of picking up small toys and articles whenever I visit any place. In Malayalam we call it ‘pokkufying’ or ‘isking’. Alright alright, I used to steal. Happy now? Mom and dad were amazed by the rate at which my toys, which they never bought, kept increasing at an exponential rate; but they thought it might be the presents from my friends or something. Until one day, they found out the truth, while visiting dad’s professor. When we were just about leaving, the professor asked me,

“Why are you walking in a clumsy way? Is there anything wrong with your leg?”

Mom removed my shoe and to their shock and dismay, found a small toy car inside my shoe. Dad’s entire future depended on the professor and there was me, his innocent guileless son, robbing his professor’s possessions. Mom and dad squirmed with embarrassment and shame, I’m told. From then on, mom was extremely cautious when we visit any friends, and to make sure I haven’t done any egregious acts of turpitude, she used to strip me naked before leaving their places, and search whether I’ve ‘isked’ anything off her friends. 

Once, before leaving this friend’s house after dinner, mom as usual stripped me, searched my whole body and made sure I haven’t ‘pokkufied’ anything from there. On reaching home, she stripped me again to change my clothes. I smiled at her, lifted my hand and opened my palm. There was a small wooden elephant inside my palm. 

*mom bangs her head on the wall*

Myth: Parents are too intelligent for their kids.
Fact: Parents ‘think’ they are too intelligent for their kids.