No really. I saw this ad in the Sony Entertainment Channel (British/African) broadcast in this part of the world.
It's surreal. This is the moment my parents have secretly been conspiring towards for the last 10 years. All those days as a 15 year old, ogling at school girls walking around and giggling at 'inter-school fests', all those dinners pulling my Reddy friend's legs about the thousand of hectares of Mango plantation dowries, all those endless discussions of 'love marriage vs arranged marriage' by a bunch of guys who hadn't managed to get a girlfriend.. all that has built up to this. It is true. Lalbadshah has finally agreed to bow down at The Altar.
And
41 year old wife of very rich industrialist. Runs in to celebrate victory of battle won by slaves bought by rich hubby. A slave really good at spinning his weapons (all possible puns intended) grabs butt and lifts her up. Witnesses galore.
Something happens after that battle.
Wifey conspicuously absent in the next and final battle. Very funny it is.
Most of us have probably faced this often but never noticed it. You never see it coming. But once you're in it, there is no escape. For a while at least.
All the airlines in India mostly have either the Boeing 737 or the Airbus A320 models for domestic travel which have a single narrow corridor along the length of the aircraft. Sometime around 10 minutes after the flight has settled at a comfortable altitude, the announcement of refreshments being served/sold is made. Now I'm not sure if it's the AC, the word 'refreshments' or simply my bladder muscles reacting to the dizzying heights, I almost always have this urge to relieve myself at that very instant. I look out into the corridor and see that although the doors show green, both ends of the passage are blocked with pretty girls guiding metallic trolleys moving at a painfully slow pace who refuse to move backwards to accommodate my needs.
Several times have I walked into this trap and spent uncomfortable moments looking awkwardly outside the window hoping to be distracted.
Is there hope at the end of the corridor for those who suffer this fate? Yes. Following are a simple set of guidelines which can help you resolve the predicament:
Bundled up on a cycle rickshaw, I watched the evening traffic choke up a relatively wide road in this place called Kadam Kuan. I was returning from a trip to rural Vaishali where I was stopped twice by "Party Workers" on bikes. They had asked me which party I belonged to since only party workers and politicians traveled using white cabs in villages during elections. I get off the cycle rickshaw paying him ten bucks for a kilometer and walk on towards a sleazy hotel I have rented out for two months at 175 a day. It reeks of cigarettes.
The waiter walks in without knocking. A regular feature in this place I notice. I ask if there are any good hotels around to eat and he rattles of names with descriptions that didn't really sound palatable. I asked if there were any Pizza joints or a McDonalds around to which he blinks blankly. "To koi coffee ki jagah hogi na Patna mein?", I ask to which he offers to provide coffee in the room itself. I plead again, "Yahaan koi Coffee Day ki dukaan nahin hai? CCD?". "Ye CCD ka hota hai?".
I settled for a cup of tea that he brought in, switched on the TV and lay on the bed while they buzzed about the latest campaign strategy. The bed is usually drenched with my sweat due to power cuts.
It's been more than a month now and little has changed. Except for three offers by the waiter so far: "Kauno aurat chahiye ka? Aap akele bejaar ho rahe honge.", and an offer by a strange girl to meet up in Delhi after a month for some 'romance' if I could only lend Rs. 10,000 to fund her purchase of a new cell phone now. She even claimed that she is from a family of IAS officers.
13 more days in Bihar and counting.
Just when I had given up on TV shows for their lagging entertainment value, the most electrifying woman on Indian Television is back again! And how.
The idea is brilliant. NDTV Imagine has lived up to its name by producing a show called "Rakhi Sawant ka Swayamwara". She will basically be up for grabs on a reality show where undoubtedly the most eligible bachelors of
"I am looking for a companion who is warm, affectionate, someone who can dance a little bit, who respects women for who they are, and above all who is punctual. Even Sita had her Swayamvara so why not me?"
I agree. The guy next room in my lodge in
"I'm a cultured Indian woman with good values and I have reached a stage where I need a companion with whom I can share my love, joys, sorrows and success."
Sigh. If I could. Then I would. But I can watch. And so I will.
Frank Maus is my new hero. Who is Frank Maus? Honestly speaking, I don't have much of a description. But I can guess.
Frank is the climax of every Anurag Kashyap movie that promises you a real insight into life and ends up in cliches. He is Arindam Chaudhary who dares to think beyond IIMs and even dares to charge fees beyond them. He is Oprah, who makes you concoct fraud soul moving experiences just so you can visit her show and win that car she might give away to everyone in the audience. He is Enrique Iglesias who makes millions by distracting you with 10 hot supermodels while constipating about his Bailamos. He is all this and he ain't sorry about it.
Frank gets laid. Frank even gets paid. That is why Frank is my new hero.
Lalbadshah is a 24 year old Happy-go-Lucky single male. He has been generally healthy all his life except for a few minor injuries and hails from the emerging metropolis called Bengaluru, erstwhile known as Bangalore. Population statistics and demographics of the city are available in Exhibit 1.
He has recently joined a premier management institute called Not-ABC Institute of Management located in the hinterlands of Uttar Pradesh in a scenic village called Prabandh Nagar. The Map of this village marked with the location of the college and local liquor stores named after the ubiquitous fraction, 3.4, is available as Exhibit 2.
Initially, Lalbadshah, henceforth referred to as L in the case, found the place quite charming. The facilities were good and the Mess was a drastic improvement as compared to the food available during his undergraduate days. The weather was not quite to his liking but he thought he could ‘handle’ it.
Soon, the days got longer, the classes more annoying the weather seemed out to take his life. A detailed description of the factors including shattered dreams, incompetent faculty and their motivation to shove articles up his orifices are mentioned in Exhibit X which unfortunately cannot be displayed here. L’s frustration levels grew at a rapid pace as he could neither comprehend why he was being taught the Network Layouts of computing used in the ancient roman empires nor could he understand what professors meant by increasing market elasticity, a term hitherto used only in the context of pyjamas and Nappi Pads.
He is now caught in the crossfire of handling Power and Politics as part of his role in the Student Council and his academic performance issues which continue to bog him down all the time. The stress has led to him being caught napping several times in class and a general sense of despondency in his otherwise cheerful demeanour. His friends complain that he is no longer as awesome as he used to be although there is still no competition even close in sight.
L has mapped his emotions on a scale ranging from “I need a nap” to “WTF am I doing here” and the corresponding graph has been presented in Exhibit 3. His mood is a consistent level of ‘Frustrated’. To add to his pathetic state, there is a general lack of presence by the fairer sex both in his college and his life. The only solace is the presence of a few sane friends who share his pain.
Advise L as to what his strategy to cope with his current crisis should be. Who is to blame? What should have been done and what can be done? Also, discuss what could be the driving factor for him to come up with this post when he has 2 long drawn company forms to fill and 3 quizzes to prepare for. Forms, quiz details and list of other not-so-important activities are not in any exhibit as the author does not think they deserve such undue importance.
PS: Exhibits will be exhibited shortly. Bear it.
I have this thing for figuring out stuff which seemingly has a strong correlation but might not be causal after getting acquanted to Regression Analysis during my MBA. Some of them are:
- Bong and Mallu chicks are known to be hot. Both belong to commie states.
- AIDS has increased at a rapid rate in India and so has Karan Johar's financial reach.
- Random multiple bombings. Presence of IIMs in these cities.
- My departure from bangalore. Increase in female suicide rates in Bangalore.
Any more that you can think of? Do comment..
This often happens to me watching a certain sort of cinema. Let me know if you've felt the same:
You walk out during the interval in firm strides. You have, only minutes ago, witnessed a toned Brad Pitt kill a giant in a magnificent leap and yell "Is there anyone else?". Greek heroes and sword fights galore. Your adrenalin is on a high. Your muscles are tense as you walk towards the rest room. You are walking the walk. You feel like Achilles... Hell! You ARE Achilles.
You glide towards the door marked for Men like a hunting lion on the Serengeti. A quick step in and you face the mirror. You see yourself. Thats when it hits you. It's hard, it's fast and it's painful. It's reality. You face it in the only way 12 years of schooling can teach you. You sprint towards the pot.
You stagger out after an unsatisfactory leak, stumbling towards your seat awkwardly with popcorn in both hands. Your female friends, screaming, :"Awww! Sooo Cuuuute!!" at every half a second, aren't helping either.
That's when you lose it and say, "Brad Pitt is f**king gay!".
These are snippets of actual conversations I've had in the recent past:
-----------------
Old magazine shop owner I've known since my school days: Hey Ali! Long time buddy.. you've grown up and all.. nice to see you. How come you've shaved your head?
Me (With a sheepish grin) : Er.. to beat the heat.
Him: You're losing hair, aren't you?
Me: Yes.
Him: Get married while you still have most of it left. Otherwise... (trails off)
Me (Silently): F**k.
--------------------
Aunt who I met a few days ago: Ali, this some new style?
Me: Yes.
Aunt: Hmm.. losing hair?
Me: Yes.
Aunt: How old are you?
Me: 24
Aunt: Oh.. you look 27 or something.
Me: F**k.
Aunt: You should get married you know. Otherwise...
-----------------
Mom: You should get married you know.
Me: Yeah. Let me guess. Because I'm balding?
Mom(Fake stunned look): Obviously not! Girls don't look at such things.
Me: Yeah. Obviously not.
Mom: I just want to hand over all responsibilities and rest now.
Me: I'll get you a full time maid.
Mom stares.
Me: F**k.
------------------
Bald neighbourhood loser: Hey Ali! Cool look yaar!
Me: F**k.
-----------------
Anyway, it basically boils down to this - People want me to get married not because I'm single, not because I'm eligible, but only because I might have a clean patch in a few years or because my mom needs someone to do the dishes. Awesome, no?
Remember the last time your friend confessed to ODing on Viagra and you didn't know what to say? Or maybe your loss of words when your neighbour's dog died (which you killed). It happens to all of us. I intend to convince you today that "I don't know what to say" is not the only option.
First and foremost: Avoid cliches. Nothing sucks as much as saying "I'm sorry for you/your loss" when you don't mean it 9 out of 10 times. You need to upgrade or innovate. For ease of explanation we'll call the person in need of consolation as the Subject and the event that has pained him/her to be the ..er.. Event.
Upgrade to 'Shit Happens'.
"Shit Happens" is a beautiful and concise explanation for pretty much everything that can go wrong in your life with a flavour of attitude. It is Murphy's law on steroids. You can use it on almost all occasions to make the subject feel good about the general pain that everyone goes through. I use the word 'almost' because while 'Shit Happens' can indeed be a representation of hope for a person suffering from Irritable Bowel Syndrome, it might be slightly inappropriate to use it on this woman.
Innovate:
Give the subject some constructive advice. If your boss complains that his wife hasn't been too active in bed, you could chip in with, "Hmm... Try tying her up. She likes it."
PS : Never try to tell the person that things will get better. He/she knows it never will and it makes them even more depressed. Instead, agree with the subject that they are in deep shit, but so are you. There is nothing more comforting than to hear that people you considered to be better off than you so far, are actually leading lives as messed up or more than yours. All that bullshit you've heard in poems about spreading your joys with others is actually quite sadistic and does nothing more than rubbing in the fact that you're happier. Spread your sorrows. Because, in the end, we're all pretty f**ked up.
I had to submit a story for our college magazine more than 4 years ago about a phone call from Yamraaj. And on the eve of Valentine's Day, with all the love in the air that warms your senses while exiting your rear end, I thought I should share this with you folks. (PS : I was only19. I know the whole story looks juvenile now. Forgive and forget.)
---------------
It wasn’t exactly one of those beautiful days when the evening sun slowly sinks into the horizon leaving behind a golden sky for mortals to dream of immortality. No, it was another day. A day where the grass grows, cars move, some people fall in love, while others, simply die! It was the 14th of February, a Saturday. Sometimes I wonder as to why the sequel to ‘Friday the 13th’ wasn’t called ‘Saturday the 14th: Valentine returns’. Of course! It was Valentine’s Day! That’s right, the day when Cupid (or is it Aphrodite?) is god and love is a religion.
As many other lucky people on this day would do, I did go out on a date. It went well, quite well! After dinner, I took her to an ice cream parlour. And while I was leaving to take her to my place, to watch one of my favourite movies that I had rented, I looked up to the stars and thanked them for such a great evening , little knowing what their mischievous twinkling had in store for me.
The phone started to ring at around ten in the night, just about when the hero is to die after taking oaths of undying love from his wife. It is comical sometimes, the way the irony of fate hits you right in the face, at the right time. I picked up the phone. The drama that unfolded that moment is best described the way it should be, so here is how it went:
ME: Who is it?
VOICE: This is Yamraaj!
It is important to mention at this point about people who have told me that I had the voice of a god. Well, it seems they were right. He sounded just like me!
ME (alarmed): Are you sure?
YAMRAAJ: Is that a trick question?
ME:Where are you calling from?
YAMRAAJ (at least he sounded like yamraaj): Right outside your door.
YAMRAAJ: Why are you standing outside your own door?
ME: Not me, it was you who said that.
YAMRAAJ: Not me but someone else.
ME: But who…
VOICE: It was me, Cupid.
YAMRAAJ: How dare you call me stupid!
It is even more important at this point, to mention that probably all gods sounded the same! The cross connection with an added disturbance wasn’t helping too much.
ME: He didn’t call you stupid. His name is Cupid. Why did you call me? Are you here to take my life?
CUPID: Why do you think I would take your life? I am not evil. You have hurt my feelings!
ME: Oh no, I was talking to the god here.
CUPID: So you think that I am no god. This is an outrageous insult! I shall render thy seeds infertile!
YAMRAAJ: So, a mere mortal would like to challenge me?!!
ME: But that wasn’t me!
YAMRAAJ: Then who was it?
CUPID: It was me, Cupid?
ME: Will you please stop saying that?
YAMRAAJ: Will I please stop saying what?
CUPID: Come on, I don’t have all the time in the world!
YAMRAAJ: Neither do I.
ME: Me neither.
YAMRAAJ: Then why don’t you hang up and let the two of us talk!
ME: Hey, it was you who called me!
By this time I had lost track as to which god was who. What ensued turned out to be A Midsummer Night’s Nightmare!
‘I have come to tell you that you are not doing the right thing.’
‘This is a preposterous accusation!’
‘Taking advantage of a young woman is not right.’
‘But I was here for a man’s life!’
‘Hey I wasn’t going to do that.’
‘You don’t have to do anything to die. I’ll do it all for you.’
‘Die?!! This is unfair. Back up there, they told me that I was immortal! I knew they were tricking me!’
‘I am too young to die!’
‘I must take her away from you.’
‘I don’t think you get it. I take the souls away here.’
‘He is talking about my date, not my soul!’
‘Who is he?’
‘It was me, Cupid.’
‘For the last time young man, traveling on a bull doesn’t make me stupid! You are going to rot in Hell!’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘So...’
‘Who?’
‘It was me, Cupid.’
‘Nooooo!! Die, die you imbecile mortal! Your foolish pride hath incurred the wrath of the god of the dead! No more shall I suffer this ignominy. Your soul is now mine!!!’
My nerves, which couldn’t take any more of this, just managed to make me place the receiver back on hook before my mind slipped into unconsciousness.
The next morning I woke up looking into the worried face of my date who was up all night. Oh no, not with me. She was helping out Mrs. Batra, our neighbor next door, whose husband died of a gruesome heart attack while watching TV at home with his secretary last night. They say his heart simply stopped beating…at around ten in the night.
Mohammed Ali is a student of electronics and communication. True to the spirit of Final Year, he has pulled the necessary strings required to print an outrageous story in this revered magazine. He loves comics which represent true Indian culture like Nagraj and Shaaka. He derives inspiration from method actors like Smriti Irani of ‘Tulsi’ fame and aspires to woo a woman like her someday. Ali also possesses the uncanny ability of fooling you into believing he is ‘posh’ by rambling Tolkien quotes but that’s all he knows.
It surprises me that this topic has never come up in any of my earlier posts. Anyway, better late than never.
Ladies, Gentlemen and Karan Johars, I am proud to publish details of the elite L club that I co-founded with my dear friend Funk on a humid night while preparing for my Digital Communication test the next day late into our 2nd year of engineering. Sometime in 2002 I think. It started just like how all great things on our good earth, such as see-through pantyhose, started.
We were discussing the futility of our lives and efforts because everytime we work hard to get something, dicks like my genetically and socially gifted roommate Mochi would surpass us with effortless ease. Be it academics or social interaction with the lot considered as an endangered species in our college, girls. We always ended up as the guys who, as I so often repeat, "haath ko aaya, mu na lagaya". So, we decided to stand for ourselves. To be proud of what was inherent to our nature. We discovered the inner Loser within us. Being the enterprising young men that we were, we didn't stop at this glorious moment of self discovery. We went ahead to found the most popular club in the history of sports entertainment. Ok, fine.. one of the most popular clubs in our college.
We immediately formed the ground rules for inclusion and code of conduct in The L Club:
1) You MUST be a loser. Achievers, please excuse.
2) The basis for you being a loser could range from absolutely no sensible reason to being the guy who gets 'Lets just be friends' from girls a lot.
3) Once included, you will propagate the ideals of the club by regularly spotting talent during your daily life and then showing an L by holding your index finger perpendicular to the ground and the thumb parallel to the ground. This L could be held out at a distance or formed over your forehead to show a sense of solidarity with the newly inducted loser.
4) When a prospective L has just been L'ed, you make sure he remembers that he has been L'ed. Rub it in.
5) Recruitment is not subject to the candidates willingness to be labeled L. If he refuses, he simply gets promoted.
6) Other than President and CEO (Funk and I), all positions are open and merit based. Positions are arbitrary and not specific to any organizational structure. But uber cool sounding positions like 'Jedi Master' or 'Ninja Master' are not in compliance with L policy.
7) If you are not sure that a person is a candidate, test him/her. Ask the candidate to ask you if you're a tree. When he does, say 'No'. Capture the reaction on his/her face followed by showing him the L. Spread the joy.
8) Although any member can recruit, all decisions made regarding recruitment or promotions by the President and CEO are binding. More so in case of the President because this is my blog and I'm the President.
We have classic celebrity examples: Vivek Oberoi, the could-be / would-be probable-ex-boyfriend of Aishwarya Rai; Jim Corr, who travels with three hot women who are all his sisters, is another classic example. A prime celebrity member is the late Ex-Minister Nagappa who escaped the clutches of the brigand Veerappan only to be shot dead by the Border Security Force who confused him for a member of the band.
As you can see, The L club has an open door policy, unlike some fraudulent uptight clubs that you might have heard of ("You do NOT talk about Fight Club!".. Jeez! Get a life.). You don't even have to apply. In fact, if you've wasted sufficient time to go through this in detail, you've been L'ed. Welcome my friend!
Simply loved this one:
If the person who actually created this lands here, please pass your source link so I can give credits.
Lalbadshah is a stud. We now have evidence. I was featured in The Sunday Times (Bangalore Edition on page 12). Needless to say, me being a humble citizen and all, turned around the conversation which was primarily intended to be between me and the cute journalist, into a general chat about Mensa.
Here's a pic from the article. Feed on the glory of my image, infidels! Yes Yes! Hah! Fame, Power, Money! It will all be mine! *evil Calvinesque laugh*
Watch carefully as I exude charm and confidence while the cute journalist (not seen in the pic) is already swaying due to a certain weakness in the knees. Everyone around me is evidently mesmerised. The very next minute they all bow down and worship me, including the cameraman, which is why there is no photographic evidence for the same. You have to take my word for it. Which you will.
Also note the brilliant product placement of my 'Volga' helmet(certified by ISI and in good shape since 1999) which has been strategically positioned so as to prove my endorsement of safe riding and help troubled teenagers as a better role model to admire and emulate rather than a gay looking topless Shah Rukh Khan.
(Link to the page that carries the article here.)
Contrary to my prediction more than a year ago, The Gowda Dynasty, what with all the switching sides faster than (insert funny simile here), has recently performed a political ejaculatio praecox which undoubtedly marks the end to their regime within a couple of years, whatever be the outcome of the current turmoil. Its open declaration of "Balls to promises, we're just not done swallowing the state coffers yet" attitude has given more weight to my argument that democracy is a farce.
A person who has been the Prime Minister of the country is expected to consider such bitter squabbles not worthy of his attention unless its due to:
a) The onset of senility, which comes rather early to politicians.
b) He forgot to spank a particular Ex-Chief Minister in his childhood.
Both plausible reasons, but still, I see no alternatives, nor hope for a better solution. No elections means that Yedi, who was last seen begging on streets for justice, would pound on what's left of my tax contributions like an unfed mongrel for the next 2 years or so. Elections would require of the Congress to put up someone much more charming than the dead pan Dharam Singh, who has fewer facial expressions than Himesh Reshammiya's behind.
Yet another year has passed as Karnataka celebrates its Rajyothsava today. The roads are still bad, software engineers still complain and I'm still single. As always, the government is to blame.
