November 2, 2009
October 28, 2009
About shirking chores
One of our family friends had his nephew visiting his house last week. The nephew dude was a chap of about 12 years old and was kind of like me, in that he doesn’t do any chores in his house. Now, our family friend uncle had an ‘everyone-wash-their-own-plate’ policy in his house. So the family had their dinner and when the nephew dude was just about to get up, uncle asks him to wash his plate. He silently went to the kitchen, washed his plate sparkling clean, came back and sat next to uncle on the sofa. After a few seconds, he gently asks uncle,
“Uncle, where do I have to go to report about child labor?”
Warning: Kids, do not try this at home. You’d probably get a whip on your butt. ;)
P.S. I’ll be moving to Kochi to work on a research project at Cochin University, in about 2 weeks. So I’ll not be visiting this space that frequently thenceforth, and posts will mostly be sporadic. However, I’ll be home once every week, or at least every fortnight - Nah, not because I’ll be nostalgic or dying to see my family but due to the sole reason that I love my washing machine; know what I mean? Hehe, cheers!!
“Uncle, where do I have to go to report about child labor?”
Warning: Kids, do not try this at home. You’d probably get a whip on your butt. ;)
P.S. I’ll be moving to Kochi to work on a research project at Cochin University, in about 2 weeks. So I’ll not be visiting this space that frequently thenceforth, and posts will mostly be sporadic. However, I’ll be home once every week, or at least every fortnight - Nah, not because I’ll be nostalgic or dying to see my family but due to the sole reason that I love my washing machine; know what I mean? Hehe, cheers!!
October 25, 2009
Random Chat
What does a lazy, unemployed, penniless person do when he has free time? Oh yeah, that’s the only time he got - free that is- after swatting flies, reading comics, watching porn, eating junk food etc etc. And what if he doesn’t have that smart, charming personality that enables him to attract and socialize with people, especially with the fairer sex? What if he has only about 20 friends in orkut, 10 in facebook and 3 in messenger? Yeah, that’s when he discovered this site called ‘omegle’. For the uninitiated, this is a chat site where you are connected randomly with strangers. You just go to the site, click ‘connect’, and the next second you chat with some stranger. Whenever you don’t want to continue, you simply click ‘disconnect’ (For people like me, chances are that you’ll probably get disconnected from the other end most of the time). If you want to chat again, you just connect and you meet another random stranger. Here are some of the conversations that I had (No chat lasted for more than 5 minutes for me though):
You're now chatting with a random stranger.
Stranger: male/female?
You: Male. you?
Stranger: Male. Bye
You: bye.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: asl?
You: 23/m/almost the southern tip of a peninsula
Stranger: Too much information!!
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
You: asl?
Stranger: What??
You: Fairer sex or the other one?
Stranger: I no sex!
You: Good for you
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
Stranger: m/f?
You: m, you?
Stranger: male. I’m gay.
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
You: asl?
Stranger: 20/f/India. You?
You: 23/m/almost the tip of a peninsula
Stranger: Where’re you from?
You: Let’s say I’ve Arabian Sea to my west, Bay of Bengal to my east and Indian Ocean to my south.
Stranger: Saudi Arabia?
You: Go and check your 5th grade geography text. Bye.
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
You: asl?
Stranger: 48/m/White house, you?
You: 52/m/Afghan-Pak border
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: asl?
You: 23/m/India. You?
Stranger: 55/m/US
You: Hmm
Stranger: I’m horny.
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
Stranger: Hi, I’m a hot and sexy brunette from Italy.
You: And I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox from Betelgeuse. How’s it going Earthling?
Stranger: Don’t be a douchebag like the last guy.
You: So the last guy also got fed up with you eh?
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: What do you do for a living?
You: I work for the Irish Mafia.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: What did you major in college?
You: Electronics engineering.
Stranger: Bye
(So much for saying an honest answer, drats!)
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: Does your room have a window?
You: Oh yes, six big ones and one wide flung open.
Stranger: What do you see when you peek from it?
You: I see a shooting star! Oh wait, I see a burglar sneaking through my garden!
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: Prove to me that you’re not a figment of my imagination
You: Oh, I’m actually a figment of your imagination. I don’t exist.
Stranger: Where’re you from?
You: From inside your mind.
Stranger: Yeah, so what do you feel like inside there?
You: Nothing. I feel void. Emptiness engulfs me.
Stranger: What do we do about it?
You: We need to put something called ‘brain’ in here.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
You're now chatting with a random stranger.
Stranger: male/female?
You: Male. you?
Stranger: Male. Bye
You: bye.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: asl?
You: 23/m/almost the southern tip of a peninsula
Stranger: Too much information!!
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
You: asl?
Stranger: What??
You: Fairer sex or the other one?
Stranger: I no sex!
You: Good for you
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
Stranger: m/f?
You: m, you?
Stranger: male. I’m gay.
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
You: asl?
Stranger: 20/f/India. You?
You: 23/m/almost the tip of a peninsula
Stranger: Where’re you from?
You: Let’s say I’ve Arabian Sea to my west, Bay of Bengal to my east and Indian Ocean to my south.
Stranger: Saudi Arabia?
You: Go and check your 5th grade geography text. Bye.
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
You: asl?
Stranger: 48/m/White house, you?
You: 52/m/Afghan-Pak border
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: asl?
You: 23/m/India. You?
Stranger: 55/m/US
You: Hmm
Stranger: I’m horny.
Are you sure you want to disconnect? *click* click*
Stranger: Hi, I’m a hot and sexy brunette from Italy.
You: And I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox from Betelgeuse. How’s it going Earthling?
Stranger: Don’t be a douchebag like the last guy.
You: So the last guy also got fed up with you eh?
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: What do you do for a living?
You: I work for the Irish Mafia.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: What did you major in college?
You: Electronics engineering.
Stranger: Bye
(So much for saying an honest answer, drats!)
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: Does your room have a window?
You: Oh yes, six big ones and one wide flung open.
Stranger: What do you see when you peek from it?
You: I see a shooting star! Oh wait, I see a burglar sneaking through my garden!
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: Prove to me that you’re not a figment of my imagination
You: Oh, I’m actually a figment of your imagination. I don’t exist.
Stranger: Where’re you from?
You: From inside your mind.
Stranger: Yeah, so what do you feel like inside there?
You: Nothing. I feel void. Emptiness engulfs me.
Stranger: What do we do about it?
You: We need to put something called ‘brain’ in here.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
October 10, 2009
Happens
So last day I got into the bus and took a seat by the window and was watching all these chicks by the road. These private buses will start only after the seats are filled and I sat there enjoying all those ‘things of beauty, joy forever’, and whiled away time, being in my own little world. A little while later, an old man comes and sits beside me. I looked at him and out of the blue he suddenly folds his hands and gestures a ‘Namaskaram’ to me. Seeing the good manners and formality of the old timer, I lowered my head and torso, folded my hands, and gave him back a big Namaskaram. Old guy scowls and stares at me, obviously very displeased. What the bloody F? Aah forget it, and I resumed my bird watching. Only after a while did I see a temple by the side of the road. Raise your palm, slap your face.
September 22, 2009
Tales of food (or lack thereof) from an old hostel
Although I was a day scholar, whenever I heard the hostelers in college narrate their harrowing hostel food stories, I knew they were not carping about nothing. I could fully empathize with them because long time back I had the privilege of spending about 3 weeks in a private mini hostel towards the end of my school days. Had I spent more time there, I would have looked like a prisoner in Hitler’s concentration camp. The hostel was run by Chathan, Mathan and Pothan (or so we used to call them), Chathan being a grumpy old man who took care of the cooking; and Mathan and Pothan his servile minions.
Now, I’m a person who’s not that particular about food - veg or non-veg, spicy or bland, sugary or sourly - it’s not much of a problem for me; only that it should be edible. But Chathan’s food was outrageous even for my standards. You get something like black burnt bread with greenish brown butter and tea that tastes like buffalo vomit (not that I’ve tasted buffalo vomit, but you get the comparison right?); and the chicken curry whose gravy consisted of 99% water with a tiny little piece of chicken that can be viewed better if you bring a microscope along with you. And not to forget the murky water in the taps. The dinner time would be something like that freaky ‘Fear factor’ show, where Peejay, Chakka and I would struggle with ourselves in pushing and squeezing the gastronomic delicacies down our throat. Chakka was perhaps the most tortured with the food, and in fact the name ‘Chakka’ was now a misnomer; his weight plummeted from stratospheric levels to normal level by now, thanks to Chathan food. And Pothan’s occasional raids in our room put an end to Peejay’s reading of comics. Pothan’s remark “You brats reading dirty books??”, on seeing the bikini clad Betty and Veronica in Archie comics, made us go to the church and confess how perverted and filthy our minds are.
One evening as I was just taking a nap, Peejay comes to our room and airily says,
“You know, Chathan made burger today”
And I sprang up from my bed in shock and disbelief.
“What?! Burger!! Chathan? Here? IMPOSSIBLE!!”
“Go see for yourself. If possible, get me one more too. It’s lip smacking!”
I ebulliently jumped down the stairs and rushed to the mess hall. Yes it’s true, there’s burger. I don’t know what the criteria are for a concoction of food to be called a burger, but it somewhat looked like one for sure. But on closer inspection, it was understood that the so called ‘burger’ contained 2 pieces of bun (the cheapest ones you can get in a local bakery) and a cutlet sandwiched in between; the shape of the cutlet reminds one of the picture of amoeba that we studied in biology textbooks. In short, 2 buns + cutlet = the innovative post modern age yummy yummy Chathan burger (patented).
A crestfallen and disappointed me (you know how it feels like when they bring a plate of chicken biriyani right in front of your face, and you smell it, and saliva oozes down your lips, and then all of a sudden the plate crashes down to the floor, and rats and lizards start licking the biriyani on the floor right down you. Well, it was not exactly that feeling, but the impact factor of this scenario commensurate with my Chathan burger scenario) trudged back to my room with head down, only to see Peejay’s 100 Watt, old incandescent smile (old incandescent coz of his yellow teeth). Putting his arms over my shoulder, he slyly said with a malicious grin, “Come, let’s find our next gullible victim”.
And that’s when Chakka walked by the corridor.
“Dey Chakka, Chathan made burger today”
Now, I’m a person who’s not that particular about food - veg or non-veg, spicy or bland, sugary or sourly - it’s not much of a problem for me; only that it should be edible. But Chathan’s food was outrageous even for my standards. You get something like black burnt bread with greenish brown butter and tea that tastes like buffalo vomit (not that I’ve tasted buffalo vomit, but you get the comparison right?); and the chicken curry whose gravy consisted of 99% water with a tiny little piece of chicken that can be viewed better if you bring a microscope along with you. And not to forget the murky water in the taps. The dinner time would be something like that freaky ‘Fear factor’ show, where Peejay, Chakka and I would struggle with ourselves in pushing and squeezing the gastronomic delicacies down our throat. Chakka was perhaps the most tortured with the food, and in fact the name ‘Chakka’ was now a misnomer; his weight plummeted from stratospheric levels to normal level by now, thanks to Chathan food. And Pothan’s occasional raids in our room put an end to Peejay’s reading of comics. Pothan’s remark “You brats reading dirty books??”, on seeing the bikini clad Betty and Veronica in Archie comics, made us go to the church and confess how perverted and filthy our minds are.
One evening as I was just taking a nap, Peejay comes to our room and airily says,
“You know, Chathan made burger today”
And I sprang up from my bed in shock and disbelief.
“What?! Burger!! Chathan? Here? IMPOSSIBLE!!”
“Go see for yourself. If possible, get me one more too. It’s lip smacking!”
I ebulliently jumped down the stairs and rushed to the mess hall. Yes it’s true, there’s burger. I don’t know what the criteria are for a concoction of food to be called a burger, but it somewhat looked like one for sure. But on closer inspection, it was understood that the so called ‘burger’ contained 2 pieces of bun (the cheapest ones you can get in a local bakery) and a cutlet sandwiched in between; the shape of the cutlet reminds one of the picture of amoeba that we studied in biology textbooks. In short, 2 buns + cutlet = the innovative post modern age yummy yummy Chathan burger (patented).
A crestfallen and disappointed me (you know how it feels like when they bring a plate of chicken biriyani right in front of your face, and you smell it, and saliva oozes down your lips, and then all of a sudden the plate crashes down to the floor, and rats and lizards start licking the biriyani on the floor right down you. Well, it was not exactly that feeling, but the impact factor of this scenario commensurate with my Chathan burger scenario) trudged back to my room with head down, only to see Peejay’s 100 Watt, old incandescent smile (old incandescent coz of his yellow teeth). Putting his arms over my shoulder, he slyly said with a malicious grin, “Come, let’s find our next gullible victim”.
And that’s when Chakka walked by the corridor.
“Dey Chakka, Chathan made burger today”
“What?! Burger!! Chathan? Here? IMPOSSIBLE!!”
September 19, 2009
Not a Guten Tag for someone
Many moons ago, that means so many moons ago, that means somewhere in the early 80s, which means before I even came into existence, my dad got a post doctoral scholarship in RWTH Aachen. Well, without knowing even the ABCD of German, he lands in Aachen and his professor arranges a temporary accommodation in a hotel. So he spends some time in the hotel and by evening decides to go for a walk around the city. Before he left the street where the hotel was, he carefully jotted down the name of the street, in case he got lost in the city.
So our protagonist enjoys the sightings and fountains and boulevards and cathedrals; oblivious as to how far he's away from the hotel; and keeps on walking admiring all the middle age style architecture.......until.....until it suddenly dawns on him that he has no idea where he is and absolutely no clue how to trace the way back. But our protagonist is a very cautious and proactive man; he had anticipated this predicament before he started out – he‘d written the name of the street, remember??
So he takes out the paper, goes to the man standing nearby and shows him the name of the street. The paper reads ‘Einbahnstraβe’. Dad tries to enunciate the name,
“Eyen – ban – straaabbe”
So our protagonist enjoys the sightings and fountains and boulevards and cathedrals; oblivious as to how far he's away from the hotel; and keeps on walking admiring all the middle age style architecture.......until.....until it suddenly dawns on him that he has no idea where he is and absolutely no clue how to trace the way back. But our protagonist is a very cautious and proactive man; he had anticipated this predicament before he started out – he‘d written the name of the street, remember??
So he takes out the paper, goes to the man standing nearby and shows him the name of the street. The paper reads ‘Einbahnstraβe’. Dad tries to enunciate the name,
“Eyen – ban – straaabbe”
It’s actually pronounced ‘eyen-ban-strasse’. The man laughs. Some problem with the pronunciation, thought dad. So he next goes to a lady in the near vicinity, shows her the paper and gestures for directions (this time careful not to enunciate). Despite all that, the lady blinks and stares. Puzzled he is too, yes. He approaches several other people but the upshot is the same; people just give a perplexed stare, and some might blurt out a mild laugh. And finally one kind man explains to him what the real problem is. Turns out Einbahnstrasse is the German for ‘one-way road’.
Fortunately, dad remembered that the hotel is near to the metro station and found out the route to reach the place. He never trusted street signs again.
P.S. I know you twisted bird brains might have expected some very embarrassing meaning for the word; maybe except for Belt Mathai, who the Germans are trying very hard to chuck out of their country right now; the govt. considers him to be a threat to the food security of the country, his neighbors think he's a source of noise pollution (read Mathai's singing in the shower) and the German chicks seem to be fed up of his constant ogling. God save the country. ;)
September 15, 2009
And one hot noon
And Shameen looked at me and barked “Nee Malayaliyo atho tholayaliyo?” You can’t blame Shameen though; I should’ve asked for more specific directions from that Malayali uncle I met. Oh, didn’t I tell you we’ve been trying to reach Mysore Palace for a long while? And didn’t I tell you we are stingy misers that it’s blasphemy for us to hire a rickshaw? Earlier another man explained some routes to reach the palace, but after 30 minutes of walking, we reached the KSRTC bus stand.
On seeing the long line of buses,
Shameen: Dubaiyil evideyada Bhagyarajum Radheem??
Me: aa kallan Gafoorka nammale pattichu!!
Well, now we have almost circumnavigated the palace and found 3 of the 4 gates, none of which were the entrance. So the remaining one should be the spot and boy! we could barely descry it. Jumped and hopped in, took out my old camera and voila!!, here we go:
Photography was not allowed inside the palace. Hence had to restrict the photos to its appurtenances and patios.
On seeing the long line of buses,
Shameen: Dubaiyil evideyada Bhagyarajum Radheem??
Me: aa kallan Gafoorka nammale pattichu!!
Well, now we have almost circumnavigated the palace and found 3 of the 4 gates, none of which were the entrance. So the remaining one should be the spot and boy! we could barely descry it. Jumped and hopped in, took out my old camera and voila!!, here we go:
Photography was not allowed inside the palace. Hence had to restrict the photos to its appurtenances and patios.
September 1, 2009
Proportion that didn't quite work
During the Onam celebrations in the 3rd year of college, there were several competitions among the various branches and one of them (and the most popular) was the Athapookkalam competition. So every branch tries hard to design the most flamboyant and exquisite arrangement of flowers, and our batch wanting not to be left behind starts making a big round flashy Athapookkalam (well, not me though; I was a mere spectator or rather let’s say, a member of the morale boosting committee). But midway into the making, the flowers that we procured got used up. So we collected money from among ourselves and directs Keeri to go to the city (as he was the one in the immediate vicinity who had a bike) and buy some flowers. And out of our generosity, we told Keeri he may use the remaining money after buying the flowers for filling petrol in his bike.
After a while, Keeri comes back with just a handful of flowers much to our disappointment and anger. On closer inspection we find that his bike, which had its fuel indicator needle close to the left before he left, is now in the extreme right position.
What we directed: Buy flowers and with the remaining money, fill petrol.
What he did: Filled petrol and with the remaining money, bought a meager quantity of flowers from the cheapest shop in town.
Epilogue: We had human tikka masala for Onasadya.
After a while, Keeri comes back with just a handful of flowers much to our disappointment and anger. On closer inspection we find that his bike, which had its fuel indicator needle close to the left before he left, is now in the extreme right position.
What we directed: Buy flowers and with the remaining money, fill petrol.
What he did: Filled petrol and with the remaining money, bought a meager quantity of flowers from the cheapest shop in town.
Epilogue: We had human tikka masala for Onasadya.
Happy Onam folks!!
August 22, 2009
Power saver, thy name is thomman!
The one good effect this city had upon me was that it made me appreciate the value of electricity. The frequent power cuts made me realize how much energy deprived of a nation we are. Sleep one night in this city without electricity and you’ll understand what I’m saying; forget the heat and humidity, it's the mosquitoes that are unbearable. Come to think of it, the mosquitoes in my house which fucked me thoroughly at nights for ages might have become a healthy, energetic lot by now. So you see, I’m not the kind of person who is comfortable seeing electricity wasted unnecessarily. And I almost always switch off lights and fans while leaving any place; uses my mobile in power saving mode; lectures friends and relatives about the importance of saving power etc etc. And last day, I even lectured my dad seeing that he was reading newspaper while the TV was ON. Midway through while I was giving my lecture, mom comes to me and says, “Ahem, one minute, could you please come with me”, and takes me to my room. To my utter disgust and chagrin, the lamp in my room was shining brightly. Now there are times when you wish you could just fade away into thin air, and this was definitely one of those. Five seconds after staring straight into my mom’s face (which sported a pursed lip by now), the light bulb inside my brain got switched ON and shone with mighty glory.
“You know mom, when a fluorescent lamp is switched ON, the choke acts as a step up autotransformer to increase the voltage and a high current flows through it. So if I had switched the lamp off, and then came back after a minute and turned it ON, then it would have had consumed more energy than if the lamp was working for that time. And I was just about to go back to my room. So technically speaking, I SAVED ENERGY!!”
Background music sets in while I continue,
“And by the way, chemistry people haven’t grown yet to play the game with electronics studs” (my mom is a PhD in chemistry).
Background music reaches its crescendo while I walked away in slow motion with head held high (visualize that Suresh Gopi scene in ‘Commissioner’) and giving a smug look to an agape mom. Yes, I’m impossible, totally!
Well I think my rebounding and the subsequent fiery speeches left a tinge of revenge in her mind, which was evidenced by the way she started giving me advices. But, this man will not take any beatings, quick rejoinders are to be given to stay put in this house.
Mom: Why don’t you switch that computer off and reduce power. It’ll be better for your eyes too.
Me: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your washing machine usage and save power? You can wash by hands and get exercise which will be better for your health too.
Mom: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your television usage to save power?
Me: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your microwave oven usage to save power?
Mom: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your music system usage to save power?
Me: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your mixie usage to save power?
Mom (pauses for a second): Ok. No problem. Eat idli sans chutney tomorrow morning.
Me: (Uh oh) umm errr aaa (drats!)
Mom: And there’s no sugar. So eat raw idli.
Me: (double drats!!)
“You know mom, when a fluorescent lamp is switched ON, the choke acts as a step up autotransformer to increase the voltage and a high current flows through it. So if I had switched the lamp off, and then came back after a minute and turned it ON, then it would have had consumed more energy than if the lamp was working for that time. And I was just about to go back to my room. So technically speaking, I SAVED ENERGY!!”
Background music sets in while I continue,
“And by the way, chemistry people haven’t grown yet to play the game with electronics studs” (my mom is a PhD in chemistry).
Background music reaches its crescendo while I walked away in slow motion with head held high (visualize that Suresh Gopi scene in ‘Commissioner’) and giving a smug look to an agape mom. Yes, I’m impossible, totally!
Well I think my rebounding and the subsequent fiery speeches left a tinge of revenge in her mind, which was evidenced by the way she started giving me advices. But, this man will not take any beatings, quick rejoinders are to be given to stay put in this house.
Mom: Why don’t you switch that computer off and reduce power. It’ll be better for your eyes too.
Me: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your washing machine usage and save power? You can wash by hands and get exercise which will be better for your health too.
Mom: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your television usage to save power?
Me: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your microwave oven usage to save power?
Mom: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your music system usage to save power?
Me: Not an option. Why don’t you reduce your mixie usage to save power?
Mom (pauses for a second): Ok. No problem. Eat idli sans chutney tomorrow morning.
Me: (Uh oh) umm errr aaa (drats!)
Mom: And there’s no sugar. So eat raw idli.
Me: (double drats!!)
Revenge, thy name is woman.
August 20, 2009
Road Rash
People don’t understand how important it is to reduce air pollution. And people don’t understand how critical the rate of road accidents in India is; perhaps much much more than the mortality rate of any fatal disease. And they don’t realize how efficient our public transportation is; tardiness is an unheard word perhaps. Okay, the last point may be a bit of an exaggerated falsify; but don’t you people get the point. I might be praising myself a bit, but I’ve to say that I’m an ideal citizen who strives for the betterment of this land. I almost always rely on public transportation; and with good reason. I’m fighting to stall climate change; helping to reduce carbon monoxide emission; trying to preserve fuel; providing to the revenue of public transport; you see the things I'm doing!. Also think about the added advantages – I can relax and sit back in the bus and watch the chicks by the sidewalks; enjoy the nature; feel the breeze et al; and everything without having to worry about changing the gear or turning the indicator ON. So you see...............alright alright...........I hate driving.........but it’s the reckless traffic of this country that’s been...........okay fine, I’m a terrible driver. Happy now?
Now how I got the driving license is a different story in itself. Why I took it is another story; and which may be partly because showing your passport as an identity proof is, trust me, a pretty embarrassing thing (Voters card is an entirely different thing altogether with all those spelling mistakes and the consequent hassles in trying to convince the authorities that I’m not a Greek Tomasi Sabastyani but a Nasrani Thomas Sebastian.)
So last day I took my dusty driving license from some cobwebbed corner of my room.
The reason: I decided to drive my family to church.
Why?: Coz it was a Friday late night mass at church.
So?: The traffic on the road will hopefully be very less.
HA!
Now whenever I drive, my parents go into a tizzy. See some excerpts from en route to church:
Dad: Turn left, turn left; Indicator you idiot, indicator, fast!
Mom: slow!
Dad: Now 3rd gear; fast fast!!
Mom: slow!
Me: Whaaaa
Dad: Just hit the pedal you idiot!
Mom: Don’t yell at him, it’s making him nervous. Go slow Thommu.
Dad: No no, don’t listen to her you idiot. Don’t slow, this is highway!
An angry biker (yelling): Which idiot taught you to drive?!
Me: Dad, I think he called you an idiot.
Dad: Shut up and drive!!
Dad: Left left, keep left!
Mom: Right right!
Me: Whaaa?!!
Mom: Right turn from here I mean.
Me: (eethu neerathaano ee kuntham oodikkaan thoonniye)
Finally after a lot of tussles and scuffles with the different equipments of the car, I managed to land at the destination. And while everyone got out and headed for the church (me with a sweat soaked shirt though), I noticed that my 15 year old sister was all placid and unperturbed. I went up to her and said,
“I’m glad atleast you had faith in my driving. You didn’t scream or yell at me. High Five Sis”
And I raised my hand for a high five when all of a sudden she quipped,
“Actually I was praying”
Me: For what?
Sis: I was praying to Lord that “IF” I ever reach the church, I would light a 100 candles and chant ‘Hail Mary’ a 1000 times.
Me: !!
Sis: Oh, and I originally planned to pray for getting good marks in exams. But no, I’m very much grateful that I can now ‘at least’ appear for my exams.
Now how I got the driving license is a different story in itself. Why I took it is another story; and which may be partly because showing your passport as an identity proof is, trust me, a pretty embarrassing thing (Voters card is an entirely different thing altogether with all those spelling mistakes and the consequent hassles in trying to convince the authorities that I’m not a Greek Tomasi Sabastyani but a Nasrani Thomas Sebastian.)
So last day I took my dusty driving license from some cobwebbed corner of my room.
The reason: I decided to drive my family to church.
Why?: Coz it was a Friday late night mass at church.
So?: The traffic on the road will hopefully be very less.
HA!
Now whenever I drive, my parents go into a tizzy. See some excerpts from en route to church:
Dad: Turn left, turn left; Indicator you idiot, indicator, fast!
Mom: slow!
Dad: Now 3rd gear; fast fast!!
Mom: slow!
Me: Whaaaa
Dad: Just hit the pedal you idiot!
Mom: Don’t yell at him, it’s making him nervous. Go slow Thommu.
Dad: No no, don’t listen to her you idiot. Don’t slow, this is highway!
An angry biker (yelling): Which idiot taught you to drive?!
Me: Dad, I think he called you an idiot.
Dad: Shut up and drive!!
Dad: Left left, keep left!
Mom: Right right!
Me: Whaaa?!!
Mom: Right turn from here I mean.
Me: (eethu neerathaano ee kuntham oodikkaan thoonniye)
Finally after a lot of tussles and scuffles with the different equipments of the car, I managed to land at the destination. And while everyone got out and headed for the church (me with a sweat soaked shirt though), I noticed that my 15 year old sister was all placid and unperturbed. I went up to her and said,
“I’m glad atleast you had faith in my driving. You didn’t scream or yell at me. High Five Sis”
And I raised my hand for a high five when all of a sudden she quipped,
“Actually I was praying”
Me: For what?
Sis: I was praying to Lord that “IF” I ever reach the church, I would light a 100 candles and chant ‘Hail Mary’ a 1000 times.
Me: !!
Sis: Oh, and I originally planned to pray for getting good marks in exams. But no, I’m very much grateful that I can now ‘at least’ appear for my exams.
Me: blink blink
May 9, 2009
Pics down the memory lane
An assorted collection of photos from my vault, taken at widely different places at widely different points in time:
Suchindram temple, Kanyakumari
Abbey falls, Coorg
Lotus temple, Delhi
Patnitop, Jammu
Khilwat clock tower, Chowmahalla Palace, Hyderabad
Basilica of Bom Jesus, Old Goa
Tea plantations, Munnar
Dolphins spotted from Valiyathura pier, Trivandrum. [All right, this rare pic was snapped by Rahul. (Happy now you idiot?) Although all he did was push the button on the already set camera]
And yet another beautiful evening (some place I don't remember)
P.S. I'm off to bsnl telecom training centre, mysore and then to b’lore for factory training, and after that going on a drinking binge. Will be back when I turn sober; hopefully. So long guys, gills and mighty monsters. Ciao. :)
May 7, 2009
Catstatic!
The protagonists in this post are 3 of my feline overlords – Pachu, Chikku & Cuckoo. Pachu is big kitteh and Chikku & Cuckoo are tiny kittehs.
Do u haz six packs?
PJ kitteh cracks blonde jokes
Peeping tom kitteh ish very naughty
I hope it dushnt land on kitteh pr0n sites
Dush it tickle u?
Logo kitteh - ur doin it right!
Post inspired by http://icanhascheezburger.com/ (my kittehs’ favorite site!)
May 5, 2009
Who's weird?
Einstein was a weird guy in our batch in college. Weird in the sense that he doesn’t think properly. Doesn’t think properly in the sense that he doesn’t think like an average red-blooded college student. Thinking like an average red-blooded college student means thinking about the 3 cardinal Bs, viz. bikes, babes & booze (in any order). [If you mention the ominous B, that is books, then you’re out of the league and you don’t qualify]. Most of the time Einstein will be thinking about why the electron jumped to the other side of the diode or why there’s no non-linear distortion due to magnetization in class AB power amplifier and sometimes he goes to the very basic but profound questions such as why the sun rises in the East or whether we all are real people or just programmed to live in a Matrix (if you ‘member the story of the movie ‘The Matrix’), and endless stuff like that. But that’s not the only reason why we call him Einstein, it’s also coz of his weird looking hair which makes us wonder whether he received an electric shock or something, plus his absent mindedness.
D-babe: Hi.....long time.....how you doing.
Einstein (with a straight face): Who are you?
(I wonder if there’s anyone other than Einstein who hasn’t ogled at D-babe in college. Well, his reply was a big blow to D-babe)
D-babe: !!! You don’t know me! I was your classmate!
Einstein: Where? In school?
D-babe: College!!!
Einstein: Oh, computer science batch; oh ya I now remember.
D-babe (raising her decibel): NO! Electronics! 2008 BATCH! Your very same class!!
Einstein places his index finger on his chin & looks upwards .
D-babe (almost at the verge of shouting): We were in the same class for 4 years!!!
Einstein (now getting a bit scared at D-babe’s tone): Oh hai. How’re you? What’s up? What news?
D-babe: Oh yeah? What’s my name?
Einstein: You don’t know your name?
D-babe: Not that you idiot; I’m asking YOU whether you ‘member my name.
Einstein (now starts sweating profusely): errrr...Mu...Mu...Muthu Lakshmi?
D-babe: Muthu Lakshmi your @$#%&#&!
D-babe walks away grumbling and murmuring.
Einstein: Girls are really weird these days.
Now who’s weird?
May 3, 2009
Quips, Snaps, Beaches & Beer
During Easter holidays last month, four of us long lost college buddies, that is Chottu, KP, Rahul and I decided to meet up and it was agreed upon to spend the evening in Kovalam beach and have a beer. Chottu came after a long stint in A’medabad, Rahul after an all India trip, & KP and I, very much alive in Tvm.
Some snippets of dialogues exchanged:
Chottu dresses in an executive style, comes to pick me from my house in his bike,
Me: Enthu veeshamaade ithu? Inganayaano beachil pookunne?
Chottu: Entha, madaamma maarke ingane simple dress itta purushanmaare ishtamalle? Don’t they like?
En route to KP’s house (where Rahul & KP will be waiting for us), Chottu observes the buildings and side walks,
Chottu: Tvm inu maattam enthenkilum sambavicho?
Me: Ninne poole ulla waste materials ividunnu pooyappam naadonnu clean aayi.
Chottu: Eda, yesterday I saw a girl; I think she studied with me in school. Aval thanne aano ival ennu enikkoru doubt. Pakshe, aval enne mind cheythathu poolum illa. Usually, girls enne eppozhum nookkunnathaanu; pakshe ival….
Me: Ninne mind cheythilla alle. Appum enthaayaalum ninne parichayam kaanum.
Suddenly he spots some hot chicks by the road,
Chottu (surprised): eh, Tvm il inganeyum piece ukalo?
Me: Ninne poole ulla alavalaadi vaaynookkikal naadu vittappol pennungal veettinu veliyil irangi thudangi.
Chottu: Ente bike inte purakilirunnu anaavashyam paranjaal vazhiyil irakki vidum njaan.
Chottu sees the road being raised at a turn,
Chottu: Enthonne aade athu, pokki vecheekkunne?
Me: Eda manda, athaanu banking of curve.
Chottu: Oho, ividuthe civil engineer maarku vivaram vachu thudangiyo?
Me: Ippum athokke 12thil tuitionu padikkunnathalle.
Chottu: Verutheeyalla.
We waited outside KP’s house, while Rahul and I had a small chat; when a cow passed by mooing.
Rahul: KP iyude neighbour pashu aane athu. Avanumaayitte nalla companiya.
Me (shouting out to KP): Ede KP, ninte neighbour pashu kollamallodey, nalla thadichu kozhuthu irikkunnu.
When all of a sudden, kp’s fat neighbour lady passes by staring at us with a contemptuous scowl. All of us hastily left the place for Kovalam (me struggling hard to wipe the sweat off my forehead)
On reaching Kovalam,
Chottu: Vellathil irangaan plan undo?
KP: Illa, vellam nammude vayattil irakkaan plan unde.
Chottu: cash thikayumoonne nookkatte.
And takes his fat wallet full of 100 Rs notes.
Me: Ninte kaiyil van cash aanallo.
Chottu (sighs): Veedanikkunna koodeeshwaran.
Some snippets of dialogues exchanged:
Chottu dresses in an executive style, comes to pick me from my house in his bike,
Me: Enthu veeshamaade ithu? Inganayaano beachil pookunne?
Chottu: Entha, madaamma maarke ingane simple dress itta purushanmaare ishtamalle? Don’t they like?
En route to KP’s house (where Rahul & KP will be waiting for us), Chottu observes the buildings and side walks,
Chottu: Tvm inu maattam enthenkilum sambavicho?
Me: Ninne poole ulla waste materials ividunnu pooyappam naadonnu clean aayi.
Chottu: Eda, yesterday I saw a girl; I think she studied with me in school. Aval thanne aano ival ennu enikkoru doubt. Pakshe, aval enne mind cheythathu poolum illa. Usually, girls enne eppozhum nookkunnathaanu; pakshe ival….
Me: Ninne mind cheythilla alle. Appum enthaayaalum ninne parichayam kaanum.
Suddenly he spots some hot chicks by the road,
Chottu (surprised): eh, Tvm il inganeyum piece ukalo?
Me: Ninne poole ulla alavalaadi vaaynookkikal naadu vittappol pennungal veettinu veliyil irangi thudangi.
Chottu: Ente bike inte purakilirunnu anaavashyam paranjaal vazhiyil irakki vidum njaan.
Chottu sees the road being raised at a turn,
Chottu: Enthonne aade athu, pokki vecheekkunne?
Me: Eda manda, athaanu banking of curve.
Chottu: Oho, ividuthe civil engineer maarku vivaram vachu thudangiyo?
Me: Ippum athokke 12thil tuitionu padikkunnathalle.
Chottu: Verutheeyalla.
We waited outside KP’s house, while Rahul and I had a small chat; when a cow passed by mooing.
Rahul: KP iyude neighbour pashu aane athu. Avanumaayitte nalla companiya.
Me (shouting out to KP): Ede KP, ninte neighbour pashu kollamallodey, nalla thadichu kozhuthu irikkunnu.
When all of a sudden, kp’s fat neighbour lady passes by staring at us with a contemptuous scowl. All of us hastily left the place for Kovalam (me struggling hard to wipe the sweat off my forehead)
On reaching Kovalam,
Chottu: Vellathil irangaan plan undo?
KP: Illa, vellam nammude vayattil irakkaan plan unde.
Chottu: cash thikayumoonne nookkatte.
And takes his fat wallet full of 100 Rs notes.
Me: Ninte kaiyil van cash aanallo.
Chottu (sighs): Veedanikkunna koodeeshwaran.
That ends the quips.
_______________________________________________________
Now starts the snaps; it's 'say cheese' time. Views from inside and atop the lighthouse --
Through the tiny window of lighthouse we peered................into the abounding blessed ocean that lay ahead.
And off we climbed to the very top of the tall lighthouse and gazed down to see the Arabian Sea splashing herself on to the big grey rocks.
Then we looked East, and saw the coves abutting the blue green sea; the sea that sparkled across her own ripples.
Then we looked West, and saw that small mosque at the edge of the land, and stared at it like Kant at his church steeple.
And one small sail crawled towards the gentle sea with its wings moved against the blue cool limit of the sky.
And we climbed down from the tall tower and walked towards the beach when the sun shone in bright orange as earth lurched away from it making a golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.
And we hit cheers. Sipping that icy cold beer facing the sea and watching the sun go down the horizon, the sensuous touch of that balmy breeze enfolded my body in its soft close embrace, and it was, as DeLarge puts it “gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh”. It was bliss...............and the darkness of night started creeping in................and the evening slowly whispered away.
April 30, 2009
Taggedelic!
I’ve been tagged by Belt Mathai. Don’t you know Belt Mathai, the rowdy who was banished to Hamburg by the locals in Trivandrum for brandishing a Malappuram kathi and coercing poor souls to gobble down the experimental food he concocts. The fed up authorities sent him to Hamburg in hopes that he’ll re-invent his culinary skills and boy! look what happened. Not only he metamorphosed into a master chef but he also started a cooking blog, which seems to be a hit with the gourmets and gormandizers alike; plus he started another blog where he concocts rib tickling posts and this seems to be a hit with the humour loving mortals of blogosphere as well.
The tag says I’ve to write 10 honest things about myself and then pass it on to 7 other bloggers. Actually I don’t mind talking about myself (there isn’t much anyway), but I don’t want to bore anyone with it (which I’m sure you will be). So I, for one, would not even contemplate blaming if you’ve thoughts of skipping this one.
Here goes the tag:
(1) In a class, the first benchers and last benchers are the popular lot, the former for their academic studiousness and the latter for their pranks and mischievousness. I belonged to the breed of those pedestrian mid benchers whom no one would even barely notice (for most of my school and college life). We were like almost non-existent in class. I still remember the first time I tried to talk to Jes, my neighbor plus my classmate in college - about 2 months after we entered college, one fine evening, en route to home, I caught up with her and tried to spark up a conversation.
Me: Hi Jes, I heard there’ll be strike in college tomorrow.
Jes (with a quizzical look): Are you in my college?
Me (completely taken aback; ego shattered; self esteem humbled): I’m in your class!
Jes: Oh I see. Don’t remember seeing you in class.
Me: I think it’s high time you start wearing specs.
Jes: Where do you sit in class?
Me: Somewhere in the middle.
Jes: Aah. That’s why.
(2) I was a fan of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew and Goosebumps when in school. In fact, those were the widely available books in our library then. I guess there’s hardly any Loyolite in my generation who hasn’t read Hardy Boys.
(3) I hardly had any friends until 6th grade or so. Then came Abe and Rohit. Abe who was a lil stout and I who was skinny, were known as Laurel and Hardy in class.
(4) I like lolcats. (Don’t think that just because I like lolcats I’m a sweet lil childish boy; my knuckles are fucking hard you know; better keep that in mind.)
(5) My handwriting is really small. And I never drew margins in my notebooks.
(6) I occasionally make lemon tea, keep it in fridge and drink it at midnight; a habit that developed recently.
(7) I like jokes with sexual innuendos but not downright dirty ones.
(8) I like Stanley Kubrick, Padmarajan and Siddique-Lal movies. And my favorite actor is Sreenivasan.
(9) Jes says I’m mentally backward; I said she’s dentally forward. KP says I’m nuts; I said he’s balls. Chottu says I’m pig; I said he’s chicken (a.k.a. kozhi or poovalan in Malayalam).
The tag says I’ve to write 10 honest things about myself and then pass it on to 7 other bloggers. Actually I don’t mind talking about myself (there isn’t much anyway), but I don’t want to bore anyone with it (which I’m sure you will be). So I, for one, would not even contemplate blaming if you’ve thoughts of skipping this one.
Here goes the tag:
(1) In a class, the first benchers and last benchers are the popular lot, the former for their academic studiousness and the latter for their pranks and mischievousness. I belonged to the breed of those pedestrian mid benchers whom no one would even barely notice (for most of my school and college life). We were like almost non-existent in class. I still remember the first time I tried to talk to Jes, my neighbor plus my classmate in college - about 2 months after we entered college, one fine evening, en route to home, I caught up with her and tried to spark up a conversation.
Me: Hi Jes, I heard there’ll be strike in college tomorrow.
Jes (with a quizzical look): Are you in my college?
Me (completely taken aback; ego shattered; self esteem humbled): I’m in your class!
Jes: Oh I see. Don’t remember seeing you in class.
Me: I think it’s high time you start wearing specs.
Jes: Where do you sit in class?
Me: Somewhere in the middle.
Jes: Aah. That’s why.
(2) I was a fan of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew and Goosebumps when in school. In fact, those were the widely available books in our library then. I guess there’s hardly any Loyolite in my generation who hasn’t read Hardy Boys.
(3) I hardly had any friends until 6th grade or so. Then came Abe and Rohit. Abe who was a lil stout and I who was skinny, were known as Laurel and Hardy in class.
(4) I like lolcats. (Don’t think that just because I like lolcats I’m a sweet lil childish boy; my knuckles are fucking hard you know; better keep that in mind.)
(5) My handwriting is really small. And I never drew margins in my notebooks.
(6) I occasionally make lemon tea, keep it in fridge and drink it at midnight; a habit that developed recently.
(7) I like jokes with sexual innuendos but not downright dirty ones.
(8) I like Stanley Kubrick, Padmarajan and Siddique-Lal movies. And my favorite actor is Sreenivasan.
(9) Jes says I’m mentally backward; I said she’s dentally forward. KP says I’m nuts; I said he’s balls. Chottu says I’m pig; I said he’s chicken (a.k.a. kozhi or poovalan in Malayalam).
(10) I don’t have any spectacular hobbies, just some usual reading and movies stuff. So when I used to attend job interviews during placements in college, I used to bluff that I had a crystal collection. I would study all about crystals - different types, properties, color, texture, uses et al. Then in interviews I’d mention my hobby and the interviewers invariably asked about it and at this point I’d route the interview in my direction. This technique always proved successful with zero failure. (I’m least interested in crystals but even if they asked to show the collection, I wouldn’t falter, coz I know a person who really has a crystal collection – my dad)
Ok that's it. Now you can wake up from your half sleep state. :|
I tag Praveen, Philip, Hari, Sakeeb, Jane, Thoorika & Devil incarnate. Hey I don’t want the tag to be a burden to anyone and it’s completely your discretion to do it. No hard feelings if you want to skip the tag. :)
April 3, 2009
Don’t try to teach the pope how to make the sign of the cross
I’ve written 59 posts so far in this blog out of which 25 are labeled ‘character assassination’. Now you might think why I’m such a callous and merciless Mephistopheles in flesh and blood when it comes to mocking my friends and pulling their legs. But I was molded like this by my very own friends; and believe me, I’ve been at the receiving end more times than you can ever imagine. So you see, I’m a product of my circumstances; thanks to school and college buddies; been a victim of innumerous pranks and mockery over the years; and pretty much seasoned by now. Now why I told you all these is coz I received an sms last night. It said,
“Hi Thomas. How are you? I don’t know how to say this to you in person, hence this message. I really like you. It’s been a while since I’ve been noticing you and I’ve a feeling that you’re the perfect guy for me.”
Don’t ask me why but this message doesn’t look girlish, not by a long shot.
The following exchange of sms ensued:
(Hum is me and Tum is the person at the other end)
Hum: April fool was yesterday. You missed the date buddy. Well who’s this?
Tum: Today is April 2nd and this is real ok. I’m a secret admirer. Had to sweat out a lot to get your mobile number.
Hum: Interesting.
Tum: I saw you yesterday waiting at the bus stop. The white shirt with black stripes really suits you. I liked that.
Hum: Oh really. What else do you like?
Tum: I like your smile.
Hum: That’s funny.
Tum: Funny man, you want to meet me?
Hum: You think I’m that desperate and lonely to meet people? Nice.
Tum: If you don’t want, ok then.
Hum: Ok, have a nice day.
Tum: It seems you’re not as nice as I thought you were.
Hum: No mention please. BuBye.
*End of conversation*
Now I called Navy to check whether he knows anyone with this mobile number.
“Any idea whose number this is?”
“Let me check my contacts”
“Make it fast”
“Man where did you get this number from? This is a girl named Riya. She is in my class at TIME. Stays near your house I suppose”
(Impossible! Considering that the dude is an incorrigible liar when it comes to girl issues, I can never take his words at face value.)
“Hmm ok”
“Why?”
“Nothing, see you tomorrow. Bye”
“Ok bye”
After a while I just casually browsed my call-log in mobile to see if I received any call from this number. Down down down………..Bingo!
March 28th, 11:50 AM……….The same number. Now where was I on that hot sweltering Saturday noon? Bank! Yes, bank. And who called me at that time? Who? Who called me asking whether I’m coming for movie that evening? Who changed his SIM 2 weeks back? Who hasn’t shaved in 3 weeks?
One name – Abhi! One and only Abhi!
Well well well. All the equations are solved and the values to the variables are found. Trying to be the bloody prankmaster huh. Playing with me? Well you think a guy can come like *snap* that trying to fool me and walk away unharmed? No, there are consequences to be faced. There’s blood to be shed.
Next day, I publicized all the messages that he sent me. Bang! Abhi got showered with a plethora of nicknames on a single day. Some samples:
1. Brokeback Kuttappan
2. Homo kallan
3. Daffodils (If anyone ‘members the lines of the poem ‘The Daffodils’ -- “A poet could not but be ‘gay’, in such a jocund company”)
Now whenever we pass by Abhi, we say,
“Don’t look at us like that. We’re not that type. Beat it”
“Hi Thomas. How are you? I don’t know how to say this to you in person, hence this message. I really like you. It’s been a while since I’ve been noticing you and I’ve a feeling that you’re the perfect guy for me.”
Don’t ask me why but this message doesn’t look girlish, not by a long shot.
The following exchange of sms ensued:
(Hum is me and Tum is the person at the other end)
Hum: April fool was yesterday. You missed the date buddy. Well who’s this?
Tum: Today is April 2nd and this is real ok. I’m a secret admirer. Had to sweat out a lot to get your mobile number.
Hum: Interesting.
Tum: I saw you yesterday waiting at the bus stop. The white shirt with black stripes really suits you. I liked that.
Hum: Oh really. What else do you like?
Tum: I like your smile.
Hum: That’s funny.
Tum: Funny man, you want to meet me?
Hum: You think I’m that desperate and lonely to meet people? Nice.
Tum: If you don’t want, ok then.
Hum: Ok, have a nice day.
Tum: It seems you’re not as nice as I thought you were.
Hum: Well, appearances can be deceptive.
Hum: No mention please. BuBye.
*End of conversation*
Now I called Navy to check whether he knows anyone with this mobile number.
“Any idea whose number this is?”
“Let me check my contacts”
“Make it fast”
“Man where did you get this number from? This is a girl named Riya. She is in my class at TIME. Stays near your house I suppose”
(Impossible! Considering that the dude is an incorrigible liar when it comes to girl issues, I can never take his words at face value.)
“Hmm ok”
“Why?”
“Nothing, see you tomorrow. Bye”
“Ok bye”
After a while I just casually browsed my call-log in mobile to see if I received any call from this number. Down down down………..Bingo!
March 28th, 11:50 AM……….The same number. Now where was I on that hot sweltering Saturday noon? Bank! Yes, bank. And who called me at that time? Who? Who called me asking whether I’m coming for movie that evening? Who changed his SIM 2 weeks back? Who hasn’t shaved in 3 weeks?
One name – Abhi! One and only Abhi!
Well well well. All the equations are solved and the values to the variables are found. Trying to be the bloody prankmaster huh. Playing with me? Well you think a guy can come like *snap* that trying to fool me and walk away unharmed? No, there are consequences to be faced. There’s blood to be shed.
Next day, I publicized all the messages that he sent me. Bang! Abhi got showered with a plethora of nicknames on a single day. Some samples:
1. Brokeback Kuttappan
2. Homo kallan
3. Daffodils (If anyone ‘members the lines of the poem ‘The Daffodils’ -- “A poet could not but be ‘gay’, in such a jocund company”)
Now whenever we pass by Abhi, we say,
“Don’t look at us like that. We’re not that type. Beat it”
And as for Navy who conspired in this failed scheme (Navy and Abhi stays in the same rented house; that explains his involvement), it seems he still hasn’t learned his lesson from this. But take heart, I’m there naa, lessons will be taught. Soon. Very soon. (What can I do if people don’t allow me to be a good boy)
So buddies, behave nice with me.
March 19, 2009
The girl with a sweet voice
“Avalude voice itrayum sweet aanenkil kaanaan engane aayirikkum? Just imagine”
says Navy, my fellow trainee in telecom class.
It all happened yesterday. Navy, while withdrawing cash from an ATM, finds a mobile phone by the side of the counter. He takes the mobile, goes home, searched for “Home” number in its contacts and gives a call. A man picks up the phone.
Navy (in RamjiRao style): Ningade mobile nammude custodyil aanu. Number 99xxxxxxxx.
Man at the other end: Ente moolde number aanallo athu. Ayyo! ningal avale kidnap cheytho? How many moneys veenam thirichu kittaan??
Navy makes him understand the situation and says his mobile is safe with him and will return it the next day. After a while the man’s daughter contacts him and thanks him, says it’s hard to find good-hearted people like Navy these days (Oh Puleez, gimme a break). And they agree to meet at evening the next day to hand over the mobile.
The next day:
says Navy, my fellow trainee in telecom class.
It all happened yesterday. Navy, while withdrawing cash from an ATM, finds a mobile phone by the side of the counter. He takes the mobile, goes home, searched for “Home” number in its contacts and gives a call. A man picks up the phone.
Navy (in RamjiRao style): Ningade mobile nammude custodyil aanu. Number 99xxxxxxxx.
Man at the other end: Ente moolde number aanallo athu. Ayyo! ningal avale kidnap cheytho? How many moneys veenam thirichu kittaan??
Navy makes him understand the situation and says his mobile is safe with him and will return it the next day. After a while the man’s daughter contacts him and thanks him, says it’s hard to find good-hearted people like Navy these days (Oh Puleez, gimme a break). And they agree to meet at evening the next day to hand over the mobile.
The next day:
Our Romeo arrayed himself in his finest clothes, sprayed 3 different kinds of perfumes, polished his shoes and most importantly, had a bath (finally!). All day long in class he has been dreaming about the ‘girl with the sweet voice’, charts out his entire life with her, plans his honeymoon destination, decides which school to send their children to, and the bungling bird brain he is, looks down upon us as ‘losers’ who never got a phone call from any ‘girl-with-a-sweet-voice’. He spoke in lengths of the frequency, tone, bass, pitch etc etc etc of her voice (slightly turning out to be a psycho, I know) and says how unlucky the rest of us are who doesn’t have the chance to meet her at evening.
“After meeting we might go for dinner, then most probably we’ll spend the night together. Will be too tired to come for class tomorrow. Please daaan’t misunderstand me, unlucky fellaas”, says Navy with a wry smile.
Evening:
After a while comes the ‘girl with a sweet voice’, the girl of Navy’s dreams. She’s a sweet, pretty, cute, innocent.............13 year old school girl.
*Boom**Crash**Thud*
“Thankyou uncle”
March 5, 2009
A 3 way attack
“Today an elephant ran amuck near my office”
says mom animatedly to everyone in general.
Sis who was busy doing her homework suddenly looks up and quips,
“Wow! Even the elephant got scared seeing mom!!”
I, who was busy playing with my cell-phone, adds,
“Oh that’s nothing. The times when we visited the zoo, even the lions went back to their den seeing mom.”
Sis and I hi-fived each other, when dad chips in,
“Oh that’s nothing. I’ve been in my den scared for my life for the past…..errr….err…..how many years? 27?
Sis: 23
Me: 25
Mom (in a loud thumping voice): 24!!
Dad: Right!
Smoke fumes out of mom’s ears and nose while sis and I were literally ROFL.
says mom animatedly to everyone in general.
Sis who was busy doing her homework suddenly looks up and quips,
“Wow! Even the elephant got scared seeing mom!!”
I, who was busy playing with my cell-phone, adds,
“Oh that’s nothing. The times when we visited the zoo, even the lions went back to their den seeing mom.”
Sis and I hi-fived each other, when dad chips in,
“Oh that’s nothing. I’ve been in my den scared for my life for the past…..errr….err…..how many years? 27?
Sis: 23
Me: 25
Mom (in a loud thumping voice): 24!!
Dad: Right!
Smoke fumes out of mom’s ears and nose while sis and I were literally ROFL.
February 25, 2009
Save me an explanation
The new caption of an old neighborhood restaurant:
Then what if I eat nuts!
P.S. An old joke I know :D
[Link]
February 18, 2009
The mystery behind the practice
What does an average demented Indian do when he’s 17 years old?? That’s right, he goes for tuition, slogs and prepares for entrance exams. Now, those people who were enlightened and smart enough not to go for engineering, medicine, mosquito killing, bug bashing et al, please excuse; I was referring to the not-so-fortunate hapless souls. Our gang of demented, undernourished, ill begotten young teenagers thrived in the tuition classes hurling paper rockets and gawking at girls. Learning, studying, cramming and other socially acceptable activities were done during the precious moments snatched in between sleep. Inky pinky ponkying on the OMR sheet and randomly bubbling on it became a mundane affair. And hitting rock bottom marks became as routine as brushing our teeth (yeah we did brush our teeth, seriously!). But all of a sudden, Mundan Pakru started scoring astronomical marks for mock tests. Rumors started spreading that Pakru is burning the midnight oil cramming volumes of information and that Pakru’s mom now feeds him gallons of vitamin tonics and Dabur Chyawanprash. We were amazed at Pakru’s sudden metamorphosis into a brilliant, studious chap and when asked about it he smugly gave some unsolicited advice:
“Practice man practice. Practice makes perfect; perfect like me.”
One day, we went to Pakru’s house to collect some notes; Pakru wasn’t there and as we waited for him to come, we had a casual talk with his mom. Somewhere in the midst of the talk, his ‘too naïve’ mom says, “It’s quite strange. Pakru has been writing alphabets all the time. Always writing ABCD on pieces of paper.”
Writing alphabets?? ABCD??? Pieces of paper??!!!
A little investigation into the case disentangled the mystery behind the sudden rise of Pakru’s marks. Our tuition class had various batches at different timings and all batches got the same question paper for tests. What did that smart-ass of a Pakru do? He simply borrowed the question paper and the keys from the previous batch and Voila!! A brilliant student formed out of thin air. Later we confronted Pakru and quipped,
“So this is what your ‘practicing’ was all about eh? Practicing ABCD??”
only to see the big wide grin of Pakru (showing his big yellow teeth. No, we didn’t believe he brushed his teeth).
“Practice man practice. Practice makes perfect; perfect like me.”
One day, we went to Pakru’s house to collect some notes; Pakru wasn’t there and as we waited for him to come, we had a casual talk with his mom. Somewhere in the midst of the talk, his ‘too naïve’ mom says, “It’s quite strange. Pakru has been writing alphabets all the time. Always writing ABCD on pieces of paper.”
Writing alphabets?? ABCD??? Pieces of paper??!!!
A little investigation into the case disentangled the mystery behind the sudden rise of Pakru’s marks. Our tuition class had various batches at different timings and all batches got the same question paper for tests. What did that smart-ass of a Pakru do? He simply borrowed the question paper and the keys from the previous batch and Voila!! A brilliant student formed out of thin air. Later we confronted Pakru and quipped,
“So this is what your ‘practicing’ was all about eh? Practicing ABCD??”
only to see the big wide grin of Pakru (showing his big yellow teeth. No, we didn’t believe he brushed his teeth).
February 14, 2009
Snippets from ol' school
The most wonderful thing about blogging for me is that I can pen down all the trivial things that has happened around me. Everyone remembers the big big things and turning points in their life, but those trivial things, I believe, are the diamonds in the dust heap. Some years down the line, when new aspirations start replacing old memories, I can sit back and reread all these moronic stuff and relive all those bygones for eternity.
Some long lost memories from the high school period:-
Joy Sir: What’s the disadvantage of using phase changer?
*silence pervades in the class when all of a sudden*
Dutt: Sir, it’s hard to turn the knob!
Joy Sir: Come here, I’ll show you how to make it easy.
Sir makes a live demonstration on the twisting and turning of Duttan’s ear. (Dutt is actually right; it’s indeed hard to turn that knob you see in the phase changer of your house; a very innocent answer)
Jithin lazily enters the class after the break and walks slowly towards his seat.
An irate Titus Sir: Can’t you walk a bit faster??
Jithin: Sir, slow and steady wins the race.
*Jithin gets chucked out of the class*
Joy Sir is about to pinch Bejoy’s ear for not doing the homework.
Bejoy: Sir please, not my ear!
Joy Sir: Why?
Bejoy: Sir, ear bone fracture!
Philipose Sir castigates Subin, says “I can’t believe there’re such idiots in this class”. Hearing that, Alex starts guffawing wildly. Without batting an eyelid, Philipose Sir: “And that includes you”.
This is one of the best translations of an English proverb to Malayalam I’ve heard. Don’t ‘member whose idea it was, but it goes like this:
English: Aim for the sky and you’ll at least reach the treetop.
Translation: Aakaashavum nookki nadannaal avasaanam thenginte mandayil kayari irikkaam.
Pimply is perhaps the most voracious reader I’ve ever known. He reads in bus, in class, during lunch breaks, during games period, during assembly; any given day, any given time, always has a book in his hand. And he has been thrown out of class numerous times for reading books during class time. The way he picks books from the library is the most amusing thing to watch. He goes straight to the shelf, picks a book, starts reading the book right there, standing. After finishing more than half of the book, he closes the book, says, “Che! Eee booke kollathilla”, keeps the book back in the shelf and walks away.
Aleykutty Madam is intensively teaching Hindi when all of a sudden Rohit, my benchmate, jumps from his seat and runs to Madam; says something and runs out of the class; Madam runs behind him. Everyone is perplexed as to what happened just then. Later it was revealed that Rohit accidentally swallowed the cap of his cello gripper pen; he was taken to the hospital, x-rays and all those numerous scans were taken, but unfortunately the cap couldn’t be located. Finally, doctor’s advice: “Eat lot of fruits…..and be easy when you go to toilet”. To take care of himself if history repeats, he decided to become a doctor. Last year I met the doctor-in-the-making and we reminisced about the salad days of school life when he spoke about the thoughts that were running through his head in that Hindi period.
Rohit: Eda, I thought I would die that day!
Me: Too bad! I wonder about the plight of the patients coming to you. At least they would’ve been saved.
Rohit: Oh yeah! Come to me when you get some AIDS and you know what I’ll do, I’ll ask you take an appointment, then without an iota of sympathy, I’ll charge you an exorbitant fee for consultation, then I’ll give you some quack medicines.
Me: Don’t worry. I won’t come to you. I fear for my life.
Rohit: HA! So you accept you’ll get AIDS!
Me: You’re still pathetic.
Rohit: So are you!
Well, rumors are there that the cello gripper cap is still there in Rohit’s stomach.
I know I've missed a lot of things in this space and I'ven't done justice in penning down everything that had happened, blame it on my memory. But, Rohit, I, Jithin, Pimply, Alex and all those goofs, I believe, will still, if given a chance, jump into those black pants and white shirt with a water bottle around the neck to match and hit the benches and desks to live once more those wacky silly nutty days. Anytime.
Some long lost memories from the high school period:-
Joy Sir: What’s the disadvantage of using phase changer?
*silence pervades in the class when all of a sudden*
Dutt: Sir, it’s hard to turn the knob!
Joy Sir: Come here, I’ll show you how to make it easy.
Sir makes a live demonstration on the twisting and turning of Duttan’s ear. (Dutt is actually right; it’s indeed hard to turn that knob you see in the phase changer of your house; a very innocent answer)
Jithin lazily enters the class after the break and walks slowly towards his seat.
An irate Titus Sir: Can’t you walk a bit faster??
Jithin: Sir, slow and steady wins the race.
*Jithin gets chucked out of the class*
Joy Sir is about to pinch Bejoy’s ear for not doing the homework.
Bejoy: Sir please, not my ear!
Joy Sir: Why?
Bejoy: Sir, ear bone fracture!
Philipose Sir castigates Subin, says “I can’t believe there’re such idiots in this class”. Hearing that, Alex starts guffawing wildly. Without batting an eyelid, Philipose Sir: “And that includes you”.
This is one of the best translations of an English proverb to Malayalam I’ve heard. Don’t ‘member whose idea it was, but it goes like this:
English: Aim for the sky and you’ll at least reach the treetop.
Translation: Aakaashavum nookki nadannaal avasaanam thenginte mandayil kayari irikkaam.
Pimply is perhaps the most voracious reader I’ve ever known. He reads in bus, in class, during lunch breaks, during games period, during assembly; any given day, any given time, always has a book in his hand. And he has been thrown out of class numerous times for reading books during class time. The way he picks books from the library is the most amusing thing to watch. He goes straight to the shelf, picks a book, starts reading the book right there, standing. After finishing more than half of the book, he closes the book, says, “Che! Eee booke kollathilla”, keeps the book back in the shelf and walks away.
Aleykutty Madam is intensively teaching Hindi when all of a sudden Rohit, my benchmate, jumps from his seat and runs to Madam; says something and runs out of the class; Madam runs behind him. Everyone is perplexed as to what happened just then. Later it was revealed that Rohit accidentally swallowed the cap of his cello gripper pen; he was taken to the hospital, x-rays and all those numerous scans were taken, but unfortunately the cap couldn’t be located. Finally, doctor’s advice: “Eat lot of fruits…..and be easy when you go to toilet”. To take care of himself if history repeats, he decided to become a doctor. Last year I met the doctor-in-the-making and we reminisced about the salad days of school life when he spoke about the thoughts that were running through his head in that Hindi period.
Rohit: Eda, I thought I would die that day!
Me: Too bad! I wonder about the plight of the patients coming to you. At least they would’ve been saved.
Rohit: Oh yeah! Come to me when you get some AIDS and you know what I’ll do, I’ll ask you take an appointment, then without an iota of sympathy, I’ll charge you an exorbitant fee for consultation, then I’ll give you some quack medicines.
Me: Don’t worry. I won’t come to you. I fear for my life.
Rohit: HA! So you accept you’ll get AIDS!
Me: You’re still pathetic.
Rohit: So are you!
Well, rumors are there that the cello gripper cap is still there in Rohit’s stomach.
I know I've missed a lot of things in this space and I'ven't done justice in penning down everything that had happened, blame it on my memory. But, Rohit, I, Jithin, Pimply, Alex and all those goofs, I believe, will still, if given a chance, jump into those black pants and white shirt with a water bottle around the neck to match and hit the benches and desks to live once more those wacky silly nutty days. Anytime.
February 12, 2009
Of fans & tails
Bijo is a sweet and simple guy in my telecom class at Keltron. Bijo is from the north of Kerala. For the uninitiated, the people to the north are ardent fans of Mammootty and those to the south are ardent fans of Mohanlal. Also for the uninitiated, the locals of Trivandrum (ya ya it includes me) are perhaps one of the rudest lot in the State. Altercations between the fans of both actors are pretty common in the city. So much by way of introduction.
Last day Bijo decided to see a movie (starring Mammootty of course); he hires an autorikshaw and goes to the theatre. As the rikshaw approached the theatre, the auto driver peeped his head out, looks at the Mammootty poster, turns back and stares at Bijo. The stare gradually turns to scorn; driver opens his mouth; theri abhisheekam begins.....FLASH! FLASH!....Ninakkonnum veere oru cinemayum kaanaan kittiyilla alleedaa....FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!!!.....Bijo barely escapes from the scene.
Next day Bijo comes to me and says,
“Enthuvaada eee naattukaarude prashnam. Aaa auto driver enne thalli illaa ennee olloo; kashtichu rekshapettu. Njaan ithrayum pulicha theri ithu vare keettittilla.”
I grinned and said “Welcome to Tvm. Our motto is ‘Live and let die’."
P.S. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
Last day Bijo decided to see a movie (starring Mammootty of course); he hires an autorikshaw and goes to the theatre. As the rikshaw approached the theatre, the auto driver peeped his head out, looks at the Mammootty poster, turns back and stares at Bijo. The stare gradually turns to scorn; driver opens his mouth; theri abhisheekam begins.....FLASH! FLASH!....Ninakkonnum veere oru cinemayum kaanaan kittiyilla alleedaa....FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!!!.....Bijo barely escapes from the scene.
Next day Bijo comes to me and says,
“Enthuvaada eee naattukaarude prashnam. Aaa auto driver enne thalli illaa ennee olloo; kashtichu rekshapettu. Njaan ithrayum pulicha theri ithu vare keettittilla.”
I grinned and said “Welcome to Tvm. Our motto is ‘Live and let die’."
P.S. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
February 7, 2009
Axe effect gone Ox effect
* No: of years since I’ve been using Axe: since before Noah’s flood
* No: of Axe bottles bought: countless
* No: of different flavors of Axe tried: umpteen
* No: of 100 Rs note Unilever oozed out of my pocket: I better not think about it
* No: of girls fallen (figuratively): 1 (rounded to the next highest integer)
* No: of girls fallen (literally): 1 (thanks to banana peels)
* No: of girls fallen (totally): Aargh, next question please.
* No: of infatuations (unrequited, obviously!): innumerous
* No: of Axe bottles bought: countless
* No: of different flavors of Axe tried: umpteen
* No: of 100 Rs note Unilever oozed out of my pocket: I better not think about it
* No: of girls fallen (figuratively): 1 (rounded to the next highest integer)
* No: of girls fallen (literally): 1 (thanks to banana peels)
* No: of girls fallen (totally): Aargh, next question please.
* No: of infatuations (unrequited, obviously!): innumerous
An inside view of my cupboard
Corollary:
* Money spent on Valentines Day: Not Applicable
* Money spent on romantic greeting cards: Nil
* Money spent on sweets, chocolates, ice-creams et al: Nil
* Money spent on cell phone recharge for romantic conversations: Nil
* Money spent on petrol to reach romantic spots: Nil
* Time spent in understanding female psyche: Nil
* Peace of mind attained: Infinite --- Quod Erat Demonstratum
To borrow the words from the blog of a senior at school as well as college:-
It’s ok. There’re always arranged marriages for losers like us.
--- Jiby
Anyway, an advance Happy Valentines Day! (to whomsoever it may concern)
February 3, 2009
A flawed cover-up
The driving goof ups of the fairer sex, as described by Mathew, invoke certain memories from the backyards of my mind. It’s nothing much but I decided to pen it down anyway.
About 10 years back, (the times when my mom contributed generously to the exponential increase in the road accidents in this city), dad was out of town for a few days giving stern instructions to mom not to even think about touching the ‘just repaired’ car. But as they say, ladies will always be ladies; mom hit the pedal of the car minutes after dad was gone. As usual, she came back with scratches and patches on the car door; but this time she came back with some cheap paint and a brush along with the ‘bruised’ car. With meticulous perfection as that of a consummate artist, she dips the brush in paint, she strokes the brush on the door, she slides the brush along the edges. And after a while she leaves the garage with a contented smile.
Dad comes back, glances at the car, raises his eyebrows, squints his eyes, looks at mom and says,
“There’s something bizarre about this door of the car.”
only to see mom’s faint smile (you didn’t have to go to Louvre museum to see the mysterious smile of Mona Lisa; you just had to look at mom’s face). The volume level of the TV reached its apogee as certain conversations transpired between mom and dad. Ya I know, conversation is a euphemism here.
About 10 years back, (the times when my mom contributed generously to the exponential increase in the road accidents in this city), dad was out of town for a few days giving stern instructions to mom not to even think about touching the ‘just repaired’ car. But as they say, ladies will always be ladies; mom hit the pedal of the car minutes after dad was gone. As usual, she came back with scratches and patches on the car door; but this time she came back with some cheap paint and a brush along with the ‘bruised’ car. With meticulous perfection as that of a consummate artist, she dips the brush in paint, she strokes the brush on the door, she slides the brush along the edges. And after a while she leaves the garage with a contented smile.
Dad comes back, glances at the car, raises his eyebrows, squints his eyes, looks at mom and says,
“There’s something bizarre about this door of the car.”
only to see mom’s faint smile (you didn’t have to go to Louvre museum to see the mysterious smile of Mona Lisa; you just had to look at mom’s face). The volume level of the TV reached its apogee as certain conversations transpired between mom and dad. Ya I know, conversation is a euphemism here.
January 28, 2009
Familial Conversations
Snippets of conversations from inside the family:
Mom: eppazha avide pookunne?
Dad: pookumbam pookum.
Mom: Babychen enna thirichu varunne?
Dad: varumbam varum.
Mom: party engane ondaarunnu?
Dad: angane okke thanne ondaarunnu.
Mom: eda, Friday evening Sheila aunteede veettil njaan pookunnunde. Nee varunno?
Me: Friday evening njaan oru vayaruveedana expect cheyyunnu.
Mom: neere chovve enikke utharam thannillenkil athinu mumbe thanne ninakku vayaruveedana expect cheyyaam.
Mom: eppazha avide pookunne?
Dad: pookumbam pookum.
Mom: Babychen enna thirichu varunne?
Dad: varumbam varum.
Mom: party engane ondaarunnu?
Dad: angane okke thanne ondaarunnu.
Mom: eda, Friday evening Sheila aunteede veettil njaan pookunnunde. Nee varunno?
Me: Friday evening njaan oru vayaruveedana expect cheyyunnu.
Mom: neere chovve enikke utharam thannillenkil athinu mumbe thanne ninakku vayaruveedana expect cheyyaam.
Homework: Does it mean she’s gonna cook me bad food or is she gonna punch me in the stomach?
January 24, 2009
Beware of Sex! I mean the Opposite one!!
People don’t pay heed to my advice when it comes to issues regarding the opposite sex. Such people learn life the hard way. Botsu was one such person.
In the penultimate semester of college, when we were asked to form groups for the main project, I had time and again reminded Botsu that it would be better if he formed a boys-only group. I had my own reasons for that:
1. You don’t lose your concentration due to the presence of the fairer sex.
2. Time is not unnecessarily wasted due to flirting.
3. You’ll not be prone to proximity infatuations.
4. You don’t have to find yourself eavesdropping their chittering and chattering and gossips.
5. They are of no use when it comes to the transportation of equipments.
6. Late night discussions at one’s place are not possible.
Etc etc etc.
So I tactfully formed a boys-only group to stay away from unnecessary troubles and travails. But despite my constant warnings, Botsu was blinded by the sweet words and guileful tactics of Jam babe and Shubs that he ended up being in their group.
The last words I said to him were, “As you sow, so you reap, but don’t weep”.
Botsu: “You squirmy little squirrel, I know that you’re jealous of my macho looks and sex appeal. And I know that you want me to end up a loser like you. But cut it out, it ain’t working buddy.”
To each his own. I didn’t even bother to reply.
Now let’s wind the clock a few months forward.
“KILL ME!! Somebody please kill me!”, Botsu’s voice echoes in the hallways of college.
“My project is a mess, my life is a mess, and errr my hair is a mess. Why O Why, Lord, didn’t you give the right sense to follow the precious advice of Thomas”
Botsu had to face a multitude of problems with Jam babe and Shubs in addition to the fact that the girls did zero work. Altercations! Arguments! Blaming! Finally it was decided that the girls would prepare the project report.
Botsu’s sense of relief was shattered two days prior to the D-day of submission of the report when he heard that the girls haven’t even started typing the report. Jam babe assures Botsu that she types super fast and will complete the report the next day and they’ll submit it without any delay.
The next day, Jam babe and Shubs goes to the internet café to type the report (as her computer had some problems). By evening, the girls phone Botsu, says they completed all the work, and returns home. After some time Botsu gets another phone call.
Jam babe: “errr, Botsu, there’s a small problem”
Botsu: “Are you sure it’s small?”
Jam babe: “Ya ya, don’t worry. We forgot to copy the files to the pen drive”
BZAAT!! Botsu has a heart attack.
Jam babe: “I’m gonna go right to the café now and copy the files. Problem solved. Now be a smart boy and come tip-top tomorrow to submit the report”
After some time Botsu gets yet another phone call.
Jam babe: “I’m at the café now. There seems to be another problem”
Botsu: “What? What? What?!!”
Jam babe: “I can’t find the files in this stupid computer. I think……...I think I forgot to save the files!”
Swooooooon. THUD!! Botsu faints.
Epilogue:
The next day, Botsu tries to convince the teacher how his dog ate his 150 page project report and how a lightning struck his computer destroying the soft copy of the report, but to no avail. Finally he had to plead, beg and fall onto the feet of the teacher to extend the date of submission. Botsu says it’s a lesson he learned the hardest way, that,
"Never trust your life or project report in the hands of a woman"
In the penultimate semester of college, when we were asked to form groups for the main project, I had time and again reminded Botsu that it would be better if he formed a boys-only group. I had my own reasons for that:
1. You don’t lose your concentration due to the presence of the fairer sex.
2. Time is not unnecessarily wasted due to flirting.
3. You’ll not be prone to proximity infatuations.
4. You don’t have to find yourself eavesdropping their chittering and chattering and gossips.
5. They are of no use when it comes to the transportation of equipments.
6. Late night discussions at one’s place are not possible.
Etc etc etc.
So I tactfully formed a boys-only group to stay away from unnecessary troubles and travails. But despite my constant warnings, Botsu was blinded by the sweet words and guileful tactics of Jam babe and Shubs that he ended up being in their group.
The last words I said to him were, “As you sow, so you reap, but don’t weep”.
Botsu: “You squirmy little squirrel, I know that you’re jealous of my macho looks and sex appeal. And I know that you want me to end up a loser like you. But cut it out, it ain’t working buddy.”
To each his own. I didn’t even bother to reply.
Now let’s wind the clock a few months forward.
“KILL ME!! Somebody please kill me!”, Botsu’s voice echoes in the hallways of college.
“My project is a mess, my life is a mess, and errr my hair is a mess. Why O Why, Lord, didn’t you give the right sense to follow the precious advice of Thomas”
Botsu had to face a multitude of problems with Jam babe and Shubs in addition to the fact that the girls did zero work. Altercations! Arguments! Blaming! Finally it was decided that the girls would prepare the project report.
Botsu’s sense of relief was shattered two days prior to the D-day of submission of the report when he heard that the girls haven’t even started typing the report. Jam babe assures Botsu that she types super fast and will complete the report the next day and they’ll submit it without any delay.
The next day, Jam babe and Shubs goes to the internet café to type the report (as her computer had some problems). By evening, the girls phone Botsu, says they completed all the work, and returns home. After some time Botsu gets another phone call.
Jam babe: “errr, Botsu, there’s a small problem”
Botsu: “Are you sure it’s small?”
Jam babe: “Ya ya, don’t worry. We forgot to copy the files to the pen drive”
BZAAT!! Botsu has a heart attack.
Jam babe: “I’m gonna go right to the café now and copy the files. Problem solved. Now be a smart boy and come tip-top tomorrow to submit the report”
After some time Botsu gets yet another phone call.
Jam babe: “I’m at the café now. There seems to be another problem”
Botsu: “What? What? What?!!”
Jam babe: “I can’t find the files in this stupid computer. I think……...I think I forgot to save the files!”
Swooooooon. THUD!! Botsu faints.
Epilogue:
The next day, Botsu tries to convince the teacher how his dog ate his 150 page project report and how a lightning struck his computer destroying the soft copy of the report, but to no avail. Finally he had to plead, beg and fall onto the feet of the teacher to extend the date of submission. Botsu says it’s a lesson he learned the hardest way, that,
"Never trust your life or project report in the hands of a woman"
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