The expletive lesson

What am I going to do? How’s he going to respond? Will he call my parents? Will I get suspended? Oh man I’m screwed.

Standing outside his office, all kinds of thoughts about an impending doom passed through my mind. It was the 8th standard and it was all started by Alex. And look at him, happily sitting inside the class and enjoying. Speaking about Alex, the guy was very vocal plus he had an extremely good vocabulary of swear words in English; in fact, I first heard the F word from him. So you can’t really argue with Alex, he will strip you down with his ear-ripping language.

It was another of those days when I got involved in an altercation with Alex, and as usual he just excoriated me and made me speechless. Mortified, dejected and depressed, I meekly went and sat beside Maximilian. An empathetic Maxi advised me that if I ever want to retaliate against Alex, I need to work on it. How? For starters, he said, one should go to the library, take the Tintin comics and search for all the dialogues of Captain Haddock. Seeing a ray of hope in Maxi’s words, the next interval, I ran to the library, took out a piece of paper, and filled the whole 2 pages with absolutely hair raising beautiful words such as ‘cachinnating cockatoo’, ‘blue blustering barnacles’, ‘gibbering anthropoid’, ‘macrocephalic baboon’, ‘thundering typhoons’ and the likes. Feeling completely satiated I went back to class and started memorizing all those words, coz next interval I’m going to pounce on Alex and annihilate him. Now, I was sitting in the corner right next to the window; the corridor ran next to it; and while I was juggling between memorizing the expletives and writing down what the teacher was writing on the board, a hand barged through inside the window and snatched the paper with me. The hand belonged to our Vice Principal, Fr. Edassery.
Me: "It isn’t…..I didn’t mean….that is, it was…..yak yak"
He carefully glanced through the paper, folded it, kept it in his pocket and walked away after asking me to meet him in the interval.

Standing outside his office, all kinds of thoughts about an impending doom passed through my mind. What am I going to do? How’s he going to respond? Will he call my parents? Will I get suspended? Oh man I’m screwed. The brief period of wait outside his door seemed like an eternity for me; well, Einstein's theory of relativity is true after all I guess. 

As soon as I entered his room, I begged, I apologized, I pleaded to spare me this time, and told I will never repeat this ever again. I almost fell into his legs. After hearing all my melodramatic histrionics, Vice let a deep sigh, removed his specs, slowly wiped it with his kerchief and said,

"It’s not blustering barnacles, it’s ‘blistering’ barnacles."

Yet another journey

Kerala Express was crowded by the time I boarded it at Ernakulam. I entered into a compartment in the back and hopped into the next ones trying to find a seat. After almost 20 minutes of hopping, I reached somewhere in the front of the train and I saw paradise – a compartment with a plethora of empty seats. Tired and sleepy I went and sat down near a window seat. Opposite to my seat was this tall and lanky man in his mid thirties…….with an unusual smile…….in fact his face always sported that smile. After a while, this guy started some chitchatting with me, but overcome with fatigue I didn’t want to entertain anyone…….no, not even if it was a smashing looking young lady in his place……seriously! ;) When the train reached Kottayam, this guy takes his small black bag and places it beside my seat and requests me to look after it while he’ll be back in a jiffy. To my dismay, the man didn’t come and the train had started moving. I lied down on the seat trying to catch some sleep, keeping that bag near my head…….but thoughts started revolving round my head – either the man missed the train or he purposely left the bag in the train. Why? Errrr, bomb? Hmm, thinking about it, the bag is of perfect size to fit a bomb, and there’re scores of people in the train……But……Nay, highly improbable. But still………..The train passed 2 more stations and by now I almost became paranoid, imagining a tick tick from the bag. Realizing that my head is very close to the bag, I got up and put the bag in the upper berth, and lied down again, now really trying hard to sleep. I made my mind to hand over the bag to railway police at the next stop.

It was sometime during my little nap that I heard a commotion; while getting up I saw the man that disappeared in Kottayam station, making a ruckus in the next section of compartment about his bag. I immediately got up and called him and showed his bag in the berth.

What had happened to him? Well, this train when it reaches Ernakulam changes the position of its engine. That is, the front of the train becomes back and vice versa. So this man boarded somewhere in the front of the train at Ernakulam and after he got down at Kottayam to stroll for a while, he asked someone where the front was (which was now the back) and entered the train only to find me and the bag gone. Later realizing the mistake, he hopped from the back to front searching for the bag.

Well that’s the story. But the punch of the story lies in the man’s dialogue after he sat down near me with his bag,

"Ho, bag-inte akathe ente lungi-yum baniyan-um ondaarunnu. Atha enikke tension aayathe."

Yet another pun

So I was attending this wedding and my cousin Mathan was talking to Appappan about his studies and stuff.
Appappan: Mon padiche veliya nilayil ethanam.
Cousin: Padiche padiche ippum naalamathe nilayil ethi.

Cousin is a civil engineering student now doing his internship in a construction company. Appappane kaaryam click cheyyan kurachu time eduthu.

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.

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”

“What?! Burger!! Chathan? Here? IMPOSSIBLE!!”

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!!)

Revenge, thy name is woman. 

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. 

Me: blink blink

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.

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. 

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. 

My Law

There’ll be at least one good chick to board the train/plane/bus along with you, but chances are they won’t be seated next to you. 
-- My Law a.k.a Tom's Law (copyright protected) 

Man, she was hot! I had glanced at her a couple of times while loitering in the airport. To cut short the descriptions, she redefined the concept of 'dream girl' for me. But then, I remembered that dreams will always be dreams and that 'My Law' had always applied to myself in my entire life. But hey, at least I got the window seat. So with no more pipe dreams I boarded the plane and made myself comfortable when all of a sudden she came walking down the aisle. 

“No chance, she’s not going to be seated beside me”, I told myself.  

But no, I was wrong, 'My Law' was proved wrong. She came right in, brushed her hair and sat next to me. 

“Impossible! This must be a dream!”, I thought. 

But no it wasn’t. I was living my dream in fact. 

Come on, come on, think of something to start a conversation. 
Hi, how’re you? – Too clichéd 
Hello Madam – Too boring 
Hey baby! – Naa
Howdy girly – Naa
You look supercalifragilistic expialidocious – Okay stop.

Finally I made up the perfect plan. I would take the newspaper, would uninterestedly glance through the news, and then would say something like,

“Damn it! Global financial markets collapsed. How will I ever become an I-banker now?? How will I ever make it big in Wall Street? How? How? How?” 

I took the newspaper when all of a sudden,

She: Hi excuse me
Me (with a 1000 watt smile): Yes 
She: Would you mind doing me a favor.

Oh boy! Oh boy! Anything for you darling! Does your body ache that you would like me to give you a massage? Are you scared that you want to hug me when the plane takes off??

Me: No problem. 

She: Actually, my boyfriend is seated over there in the front. Would you mind exchanging your seat with him?

*Boom**Thud**Crack*

And she points to her boy friend. He waved at me.

Me (the 1000 watt bulb just blew up): No problem.
She: Thank you. Thank you very much.

Bloody ass. Get lost.

Me: My pleasure

If My Law doesn’t act on you initially, it’s going to come back in a much virulent form. 
-- Modified My Law

And I got up and moved over to that duffer’s seat. It wasn’t a window seat, darn! Now wait a second. That duffer is her boyfriend??!!! What the bloody F?? 

Now this is another of those universal mysteries. You rarely come across a beautiful couple. Either the girl looks good and the boy doesn’t (this constitutes majority of the cases) or the boy looks good and the girl doesn’t (minority). In the latter case, either the boy is a complete fraud who uses the girl to get some favor done or he’s very much mature who has transcended the concept of physical beauty and has overlooked something beyond it; they'll make a good couple. Anyway screw all that, it’s not applicable to the most eligible bachelors like me. 

I hoped that at least there’ll be some gorgeous air hostesses. Wrong again! Man, how unlucky can a person be?? Forget gorgeousness, there wasn’t even an air hostess. There were only air hosts!! Darn! Darn! Darn! God, why me?? Why of all people, me?? 

I sat there dismally beside a grumpy old man who was busy reading the newspaper when all of a sudden, 

“Damn it! Global financial markets collapsed"

Rise 'n' Shine. Oops!

I opened my eyes languidly. The clock hands show it’s 6.15; the sun is rising. How come I opened my eyes at this odd time? (Now, the term ‘odd’ is completely subjective, for your information.) Anyway, it was a nice dream! Got up, went to the bathroom; took my toothbrush. And tried to recollect the interspersed pictures of that now-fading dream. Boy, that girl was hot! (Since college is over and I haven’t been out of house lately, it’s been a while since I’ve seen any ‘real’ hot girls. But as they say, hakuna matata; no worries, my dreams compensate for that.) But it’s this unusual jetlag I’m having. Did I sleep too much? Maybe, I woke too early. 

I trudged myself into the living room; folks are glued to the television. Hmm, these people started watching the idiot box in the early mornings too! 

Me: What’s for breakfast?
Dad: ??
Mom: ??

Ha! Folks thought I was a lazy bum who could never wake before the sun started blazing. Puzzled they are; they should be. Dear folks, I’m flexible, you know. Off I walked towards the kitchen. Nothing made! No food!! What the heck?? I walked back to mom. 

Me: WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST??
Mom: What’s the problem with you? All you do is Eat, Sleep, Eat, Sleep. Let me get this straight. Food prices have soared, consumption is to be lowered. There’s no enough food for you in this house. You ate a truckload of food at noon and now you need breakfast at dusk? Shoo, go away, get lost. 

Dusk?? Oh! Alright, alright, I get it. I slept at noon I guess; for 5 hours straight; and when I woke up I mistook dusk for dawn. Darn! No wonder I had a jetlag. But looking at the bright side of things, I needn’t brush my teeth in the morning again, Yee Haa! But still, Drats!! The sun wasn’t rising; it was setting! 

Chatters & Cheaters

This happened quite some time back. There was this sophomore girl in our college with whom I was pretty acquainted with and I used to lend my past semester’s books to her. We used to chat on the internet and during one of those chatting sessions I showed her some of the recently taken photos. Seeing one of my pics,

She: You look like a zombie in that pic.

(Zombie???)

Me: Actually, that’s not me. That’s my twin brother. 

(A fiendish smile appears on my face)

She: You’re kidding.
Me: No, absolutely not. That’s Sam, my bro; he’s 4 minutes younger to me.
She: Seriously???
Me: Why should I lie about my bro. Anyway, I don’t care whether you believe it or not.
She: Oh! I believe you. You’re so lucky to have a twin bro. What’s he doing?

I make up volumes of lies, and meanwhile created a fake profile in Orkut with the descriptions I told her. Then I messaged some of my friends who were online to quickly add that profile to their friends list, to avoid any suspicions. I sat back and patted my head thinking about my ingenious creativity and the inherent gullibility of the fairer sex. Seeing my profile, I mean my bro’s profile, 

She: Oh boy! He looks almost like you.

(Almost??? Man, I was clutching my stomach trying to control my laughter)

Me: Ya, I told ya.  

(The “girl” species is indeed a dumb lot) 

Me: By the way, who do you like more, me or Sam? 

(Now this is when I call myself a genius; as you can see, this is mostly a win-win situation for me)

She: Hmm, Sam! 
Me: Ok 

(I was literally rolling on the floor laughing by now)

Me: But, you know, he’s not your kind of person. Has all those bad habits.
She: Bad??
Me: Ya, he smokes and drinks.
She: I don’t think that’s too bad. I’m pretty ok with that.

(What the F??)

Me: You know, he has numerous girlfriends too.
She: You mean friend girls, right?
Me: No you dumbo, girlfriends!!
She: Hmmm, that’s bad. Maybe, I like you more

(Finally, *phew* )

She: Hey I need some text books. Class notes are of no use. 
Me: Ok
She: You don’t mind giving books to me right?
Me: Actually, I do. But since you’re shameless and blatantly asks for my precious books, and since I’m a noble gentleman with a kind heart, No, I don’t mind.
She: Ok fine, then don’t give.
Me: Just kidding. I’ll give the books to JuniorX. You collect it from him.
She: Thanks a lot. Gotta go now. 
Me: Ok, bye.
She: Bye, take care.

Man, I should say this, I never laughed and guffawed so much in front of the computer, and never thought I could make her believe all those lies (well-crafted lies they are though). Now, JuniorX is her classmate in college, who happened to be my junior at school. Next day, I saw JuniorX at college bus. Upon seeing me,

JuniorX: How’s your twin bro? 
Me: !!!
JuniorX: You know what, as soon as you told her about the twin bro, she messaged me asking whether it’s true. I told you’re a big fat liar. Anyway, she said she was going to play along with you and have some fun. And after chatting with you, she phoned me and said that you’re too gullible to ‘believe’ that others ‘believe’ you. However, she was impressed by the fact that you sweated out creating a fake profile and adding friends in a flash of a second.
Me: Blue Blistering Barnacles!! I want all my books back! 
JuniorX: She also said she had never laughed so much in front of the computer. 

“!!!!!”

Moral of the story, anyone??

Understanding the Misunderstanding

This post by Silverine reminded me of something that happened 4 years back. I was chatting with this girl (no no, I wasn’t flirting you bozos, I was just chatting), who was a family friend of ours (kind of a conservative, sensitive girl) and that’s when the doorbell rang. I peeked through the window and saw my neighbor, who had come to collect the key to her house. I immediately typed,

“Neighbor came, will be back after a sec” 

And went to give the keys to my neighbor. As I returned back for chatting after some 2 minutes or so, she had logged out, without even saying a ‘bye’. Just then I noticed something on the chat window. It read,

“Neighbor came, will be back after sex” !!

N.B. Be careful while typing ‘sec’. ‘X’ lies adjacent to ‘C’ on the keyboard. My humble piece of advice. 

P.S. I wasn’t particularly embarrassed by the incident; maybe she was; so I apologized to her later and made her understand the ‘misunderstanding’. 
P.P.S. I don’t know whether I’ve done worse than Silverine, as she asks in her post. But, hmm, on a second thought, maybe not! ;) 

Presentations, Tribulations, Trepidations

If anything can go wrong, it will.
                                   -- Murphy’s Law

If Murphy's Law can go wrong, it will.
                                  -- Silverman's Law

The 7th semester in engineering was replete with project design, synopsis, intermediate reports and yes, presentations. Well well, presentations bring back a lot of memories; no, not fond memories, but nightmarish ones. 

The presentation titled “Dielectric Resonator Antennas” was meticulously prepared by the four of us, that is, Rohit, Chatti, Chottu and I. But fate giving heed to Murphy’s laws, made Chatti’s pen drive inoperable just before the H-hour and there were no backup CDs. So off we rushed to Chatti’s house to copy the files from his PC. 

Problem: Chatti had no blank CDs with him and so we looked for some unlocked CDs to copy our files. 
The Real Problem: The only unlocked CDs with him were "pr0n" CDs. 

Since we could do nothing about it in the eleventh hour, we searched for an appropriate pr0n CD; that’s when we were amazed at the variety of Chatti’s seksual fetishes. Title cover of some of the CDs:
The Bare Bitch Project
Good Will Humping 
Lord of the G-Strings
Shaving Ryan's Privates (gay pr0n??, naa, I don’t want to think so) 

And that was just a sample collection. Anyway, we decided to go with ‘Good Will Humping’. Copied everything and rushed back to college. The CD was put into our teacher’s laptop; meanwhile Chottu masked the projector, just in case, you know, if it autoplayed. All of us took our presentation, teacher seems impressed and everything went fine. After seminar Chottu jokes,

“Maybe we should have shown the class, the other “educational” files in the CD and got some extra marks for that”

Chatti: “Yeah right, and you can do a live demonstration too”

Chatti gets a thwack in his head. Everyone laughs. We part. And the 4 guys lived happily ever after. Happy ending?? Well, not really. Suddenly we realized that while basking in the afterglow of a successful presentation (albeit the audience were yawning and sleeping), we forgot to retrieve the CD back from teacher’s laptop. Rohit flutters, Chatti faints, I tremble, while Chottu asks,

“Wonder how she’ll put the marks for the presentation”

An infuriated Chatti: “I’m going to lose my entire reputation in front of her and you’re concerned about some effing worthless marks, you moron!”

Off we rushed to teacher’s room; she’s in there and the laptop is on her desk, turned OFF though, luckily. We stood at a distance from the room waiting, in fact craving, for her to leave the room ASAP, so that we could retrieve the CD. Meanwhile, I, being the brave, intrepid macho man, okay fine, ‘trying’ to be the brave, intrepid macho man, confides,

“Why should we be scared? We’re 21 years of age. There’s nothing illegal in it” 

Chatti: “Shut your piehole. 21 years, my foot! And for your information Mr. Smart-ass, pr0n is illegal in India, no matter what the age is”.  

Me: “Errr, ummm, Welly well, whose CD is it anyway, Mr. Dumb-ass??” 

Chatti: @#$%!@#$

At last, teacher goes out of her room, all of us jumped and hopped into her room; switched ON the laptop. Chatti waits at the door keeping a hawk eye. Darn, teacher is coming back; we need a few more seconds. Chatti runs to her, stalls her and asks,

“Teacher, we’ll be using double stub tuner to match our antenna to the load for flexible adjustment and greater range of impedance matching and by adjusting the positions of the shorting plugs attached to the stub lines the length of the stub will be changed thereby achieving tuning”.

Teacher: Ok, but why are you telling me this.

Chatti: You taught us only about single stub tuner. So I just wanted to tell you about the alternative method.

Tecaher: Ugh!

Chatti: Thank you ma'am.

Tecaher: !!!!!

Meanwhile we retrieved the CD and fled away from there; thanks to Chatti’s technical enlightenment. Well, now it’s a happy ending except for a battered and bruised Chottu, who later asks Chatti,

“Mind if I borrow that CD for a day??”

The French Connection (Gone Awry)

           The college looked desolated today and it was just a coincidence that I walked past the CGPU building when the Placement Unit head came and asked me whether I could attend a seminar at Hotel Classic Avenue. He said that the seminar was conducted by a group of French delegates from various universities in France for the purpose of awarding scholarships to Indian students to study there. Since I was just lazing around and had nothing much to do I agreed to attend the seminar. So I reached the Hotel with 4 of my classmates with the hidden intention of meeting some hot French ladies. The seminar was halfway through when we came and as I just got seated, I noticed this beautiful, blonde girl with a ponytail sitting in the 2nd row. She was cute!! The seminar got over within some time and it was time to meet the delegates of various universities. Now, each university specialized in certain engineering branches and we had to go to the delegates accordingly. The unlucky duffers with me told their area as Electronics and got appointed to some old French guys. I saw this beautiful, blonde girl sitting beside a table and I found that her university’s main area was telecommunications. I tactfully told the coordinator that I was an electronics engineering student specializing in telecom. Got appointed to the blonde girl and without wasting any time I went to her.

Blonde: Hi, Good morning!!
Me: Comment allez vous! (English: How are you?)
Blonde: Aah!! You know French?
Me: Not much. Just know itsy-bitsy pieces of French. (Yay! First impression made perfect)

          She told me that she was from Jean Monnet University at St Etienne and explained to me the core research areas of telecommunication and the availability of scholarships in her university. In fact she is a student in that university as well its international relations coordinator. The topic deviated from internships and job offers and green card to her life in France and her town and how she enjoys cooking. A little while later, I realized that I was flirting and in fact I was pumped up by the very thought that I was actually flirting with a beautiful blonde French girl. Actually, I wanted to deviate the topic to French kiss and how it got its name, but for the sake of decency I refrained from it. Man, I should tell she had a tantalizing smile and her teeth were so white.

Blonde: I’m sorry; I forgot to ask your name.
Me: I’m Thomas.
Blonde: Oh! My son’s name is also Thomas. He’s about your age.
Me: !!!!! (Boom!!! End of story)
Blonde: It’s pronounced as “Thomaa” in French with a silent ‘s’.
Me: (Ya, ya, whatever)

I walked out of the hotel with a broken heart and a crushed soul.

A Piece of Advice:

           Always remember, French women look way much younger than their real age. Don’t jump into conclusions. Also, don’t be misled by the fact that these are university students. Many of them come back to college to pursue their studies at their mid-ages. Aah! I learned so much today!

Metamorphosis From Phobia To Mania

           People have different kinds of phobias – arachnophobia (fear of spiders), acrophobia (fear of heights), claustrophobia (fear of closed spaces), and so on. I don’t know when it all started, but I was scared of going to hospitals right from childhood. The smell is nauseating, the needles are petrifying and the masked surgeons are intimidating. And it’s of late I came to know that it’s technically called nosocomephobia (fear of hospitals). So I try to avoid hospitals as much as possible by doing some self medication and fortunately I haven’t had any acute diseases or wounds or fractures so far. But the sore throat that has been nettling me for the past few days had no signs of mitigating despite all my self prescribed medications. In fact, tinges of chocolate colored blood started appearing in the mucous. That’s high time I realized it’s time to visit the long forgotten place - the hospital.

     

          Without wasting much time I reached the hospital, went to casualty, got appointed to an old doc. He took my pulse and blood pressure. The BP was an impressive 120/80 mmHg, the perfect figure for a resting, healthy adult. Then he asked me to go to the lab and take a blood test. It took about 1 hour for the result and I headed back to the doc. As I opened the door my eyes beamed, my jaws dropped, my spine chilled. In the place of the senile doc is, what do I say, an absolutely gorgeous devastatingly beautiful young lady doc. It was her shift of duty then, I suppose. “Thomas Sebastian”, she uttered while looking at my patient record. The way she called my name was in an absolutely sexy accent, stylizing every syllable in it. Told her the symptoms, did an initial checkup and then she took out the sphygmomanometer, held my hand and started taking my BP. 140/90 - that’s the figure.

Doc: Hmm, that’s weird; the record says 120/80, taken just a while ago.
(She then held my other hand and checked my BP again. 150/90- steady increase.)

Doc: Maybe you are having some anxiety now.

Me: Ya, I was kind of scared of the blood test, that’s why. (Oh come on doc, you know why, after all I’m a red blooded young lad)

She prescribed some medicines and asked me to come after 2 days if the symptoms still persist. The symptom will persist after 2 days, that I’m sure, guaranteed.

I came to realize from the vicissitudes of my BP that I’ve yet another phobia – venustraphobia, which is literally fear of beautiful women. Or is it? Maybe it’s venustramania. Or maybe I’ve a fetish for lady docs or maybe I’ve a fetish for women in white. Who knows? Anyways, looking forward for the next appointment. Nosocomephobia?? - No more!!

P.S. Blood in cough was due to some abrasions in throat, which was misunderstood by me, but it did lead me to a very special rendezvous.

The Rookie Bargainer That Is Me

"Here's the rule for bargains: Do other men, for they would do you. That's the true business precept."
                                     -- Charles Dickens

          I've always wanted to improve my bargaining skills and i got the perfect opportunity for that when i went to b'lore with my chums. Well, i was planning on a shopping spree plus an opportunity to booze up. Shopping spree just means hunting for cheap t-shirts and fake watches. The only branded thing i wear is my beloved nike shoes (but that too, one i bought at a discount from the factory outlet). Yup i'm not a sucker for brands, i look for cheapness and utility, a trait that is passed on to me from generations. But, unfortunately, yours truly doesn't exhibit good bargaining prowess. So for the benefit of the posterity i decided to improve upon it.

DAY 1:

I went to this place called commercial city. There was a plethora of shops juxtaposed in that long never-ending road. Saw a young chap selling fake esprit and diesel watches. His seemingly innocent face made me want to attack him. I scanned all the watches and put up a mature face with an omniscient look.

me (taking the esprit watch): kitna?

young chap: 220

me: nahin nahin, 200.

young chap: 200, leeloo.

me: uh!! (damn it, should have told a 100)

Nevertheless, i bought the watch.

DAY 2:

After a not so succesful barganing attempt , i went to this cool dude, who is a self proclaimed maestro in bargaining. He took me out to some corner of the city, planning to buy a watch for himself (fake ofcourse). He picked up a seemingly good old man, senility seemed to have taken the better out of him.

cool dude (picking up a watch): ye kitna ka hai?

not-so-cool old man: 225

cool dude: 25 ko dedo

not-so-cool old man: @#$$#@$#@................@#$%$@##$@

Though i didnot learn much about bargaining , i definitely learned a few "good" hindi words.


P.S. The watch i bought for 200 bucks still works perfectly without a single complaint so far.

When 'Unluck' Strikes

"Everything that can possibly go wrong will go wrong"
                                                                 --Murphy's Law

Day: August 9 (A bright sunny morning which suddenly got overshadowed by funny looking clouds)
Event: The dreaded Communication Engg lab exam
Problem: By hearted almost all the circuits for the exam. Resister values, capacitor values, pin numbers and what not (using my special memory aiding mnemonics and repetitive cramming). No clue about how the design is, no idea about the working, no idea about the application (Yes, I'm labeled electronics engineer, sigh!). But that was the last measure taken by an incorrigible procrastinator.

Reached college by 10; my slot was scheduled at 11. Heard that the external was a draconian martinet who found pleasure in castigating the students. I had to study one more circuit (AM modulator using differential amplifier, to be exact). By hearted that one too, but not so well. Slot came, entered the lab, took the question sheet, opened -- Qn: Design and setup an AM circuit for frequency 500 KHz using 2KHz sine wave and demodulate it. Fuck! Wasted all my memory and got this scewed up question I studied in the last minute. I quickly jotted down all the compnent values in the answer sheet as I did not trust my short term memory. Drew the circuit , made up a 'never heard before' design using the memorized values, that's what I call reverse engg (usually its the other way round, you get the values by designing, but come on, these are desperate measures). Showed the circuit and got approval. Hastily collected the required components, assembled the circuit, switched on the supply and voila!! There lies my B-E-A-yootiful amplitude modulated sine wave in the CRO. 10 minutes is all it took and here is me, the arrogant (temporarily though) lil genius with my sexy AM wave. Got up, held my head high, called the external (he's like 'evan aareda'), and I proudly showed him the CRO screen. Wait a sec, the screen is blank (Shit does happen).

ext: Evideyaado o/p?
me: (frantically turning all the knobs) Saar, o/p ippum kittiyethaayirunnu.

(ext staring at me)

me: sir, one minute, ippum o/p undaakki tharaam.
ext: undaakkikondu thaan thanne avide irunnaal mathi.

(And he walked away saying something like 'raavile ooronnu irangikkoolum' )

Me still turning all the knobs. God, why is this happening to me. I havn't raped any girl, I havn't hurt any kid, still why?? After 2 hrs and 30 mins and a lot of adjustments, voila!!, again I got the o/p. Not sexy anymore, but deformed at parts. I didn't see the external anywhere near, so called the internal and showed her the o/p. O/p verified. Finally!!. I dismantled the circuit and waited for the external, ready for viva.

ext: thante o/p njaan kandillallo.
me: ??.......saar, I showed the internal.
ext: athonnum sheruyaavoolla, I want to see the o/p.
me: saar, I disassembled the circuit.
ext: ithonnumalla procedure. (Browsing through my answer sheet). Edo, thante demodulated o/p verify cheythittillallo.
me: deeemodulator!! (Fuck! I forgot that part)
me: (speechless)
ext: aaa, placed aayo?
me: yes
ext: evide?
me: XYZ Corp  
ext: nee okke avide pooyittu enna undaakkaana. (+ a lot of things which I don 'member & which I don’t want to 'member)
ext: ninaglokke electronics padichittu enthinaanu s/w field il pookunne. Valla MTech inum pokkoode.

(Yeah rite, I should go for MTech, end up as a lecturer in some screwed up college, go as external in some other screwed up college, and take the curses of all the overfed, ill begotten students over there)

After 5 minutes of verbal lashing (luckily I don't think anyone heard anything), my self respect was not just destroyed, it was annihilated. And after some not so impressive viva session, I walked out of the lab with head low, dilapidated self esteem and a sweat stained shirt. I hit the bed immediately after reaching home & woke up at 10 at night. And I "wished" everything was a bad dream. But wishes are just wishes. Sigh!

Update: Heard that though the external was hotheaded, he cleared those who got partial o/p. Kudos to him!!