Sunday, August 29, 2010
Out of the frying pan...
Colleague to new colleague (NC) an ex roomie: Where were you working before you joined us?
NC: ABC Pvt Ltd.
Colleague: What were you doing there?
NC: Same thing as here.
Colleague: Why did you leave?
NC: You referred me here. That's why! heh heh
Colleague: Any openings in your company for a similar post?
NC: My post is still open...
Colleague: Great! I will send you my resume. Please send it your Manager. I hate this place!
NC: :-O :-O :-O
Have a nice week folks!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Elephantine problems
Flash News: The All India Domestic Elephants Association (AIDEA) has declared a one day bundh tomorrow to protest against the injustices meted out to their tribes by the tourism industry. A spokesperson for the association, Pampady Rajan told reporters. “Earlier we ferried tourists and blessed them for money. Life was good. But now we have foreign tourists coming and scrubbing us during bath and that is taking things a little bit too far!"
"We love our daily scrub, but once a day please!" pleaded Kunjiraman an eight year old elephant working at the Wild Life Sanctuary. Kunjiraman is allegedly squeaky clean. The allegation may well be true judging from number of foreign tourists applying for the cultural experience of scrubbing an elephant.
Ithithanam, an AIDEA member from Thrissur-Kerala agreed that getting scrubbed by tourists was a pain. He gets scrubbed about 150 times a day and looks like a nerd he feels. "There was a time I looked for ward to my weekly bath and scrub. Now I have developed a phobia of water," shuddered the pachyderm in sheer terror spraying the reporters with copious amount of water
"And what is worse is getting fed about a dozen times a day by these tourists!” complained Kandan Koran, an AIDEA member from Guruvayoor chewing on a bunch of bananas thoughtfully. He spat it out immediately when he realized that he had already eaten 12 times that day.
“I have put on so much weight" sighed Gajaleksmi. "I have to eat for every tourist. And most of the time they get the angle of the shot wrong and I have to eat again" she said looking at her once round now grotesquely bloated belly.
“It is high time our grievances are addressed” thundered Guruvayoorappan in a bad temper. Guruvayoorappan suffers from acute stomach problems due to the vicious circle of feeding and immediate bathing. His mahout has been sacked for calling him a ‘gasbag’.
The Animal Welfare Minister has promised to look into the elephants problems. A meeting with the protesting Pachyderms went horribly wrong when the Minister was picked up by an irate elephant and hurled into the Pampa River.
He was heard shouting to his Secretary as they ran for their lives, "Next time you come up bright ideas like carrying a bunch of bananas and a scrub down as a peace offering for elephants, I will personally kill you, you #$@%#%!!!!"
The Minister, who is in good shape considering the manhandling he went through, has agreed to look into the elephants demands. Speaking from his hospital bed he told reporters, "That was a close shave! Phew!"
"We love our daily scrub, but once a day please!" pleaded Kunjiraman an eight year old elephant working at the Wild Life Sanctuary. Kunjiraman is allegedly squeaky clean. The allegation may well be true judging from number of foreign tourists applying for the cultural experience of scrubbing an elephant.
Ithithanam, an AIDEA member from Thrissur-Kerala agreed that getting scrubbed by tourists was a pain. He gets scrubbed about 150 times a day and looks like a nerd he feels. "There was a time I looked for ward to my weekly bath and scrub. Now I have developed a phobia of water," shuddered the pachyderm in sheer terror spraying the reporters with copious amount of water
"And what is worse is getting fed about a dozen times a day by these tourists!” complained Kandan Koran, an AIDEA member from Guruvayoor chewing on a bunch of bananas thoughtfully. He spat it out immediately when he realized that he had already eaten 12 times that day.
“I have put on so much weight" sighed Gajaleksmi. "I have to eat for every tourist. And most of the time they get the angle of the shot wrong and I have to eat again" she said looking at her once round now grotesquely bloated belly.
“It is high time our grievances are addressed” thundered Guruvayoorappan in a bad temper. Guruvayoorappan suffers from acute stomach problems due to the vicious circle of feeding and immediate bathing. His mahout has been sacked for calling him a ‘gasbag’.
The Animal Welfare Minister has promised to look into the elephants problems. A meeting with the protesting Pachyderms went horribly wrong when the Minister was picked up by an irate elephant and hurled into the Pampa River.
He was heard shouting to his Secretary as they ran for their lives, "Next time you come up bright ideas like carrying a bunch of bananas and a scrub down as a peace offering for elephants, I will personally kill you, you #$@%#%!!!!"
The Minister, who is in good shape considering the manhandling he went through, has agreed to look into the elephants demands. Speaking from his hospital bed he told reporters, "That was a close shave! Phew!"
Monday, August 16, 2010
Hotline to heaven
A dear old aundy in the family was in shock, Her only living brother, a 176 (approx) year old apoopan called Varghese Chacko Alphonse Joseph Kurian was in the hospital. Doctors had given up hopes and suggested to the relations to donate his body to the nearest fossil museum.
But Aundy would have none of it. “He is only 176 years old” she wailed. "So young!!" she wailed some more. "How can he die!!!" she wailed again looking at the heavens, while we stuffed cotton into our years.
“We can only pray..." murmured the relations surreptitiously passing around the cotton.
"But the Potta prayer group would be closed now!!!" aundy wailed again while relations held their ears and groaned.
"It is true." my brother M whispered to us i.e. Mom, Dad and Me. "God would have gone to sleep by now." If looks could kill, M would be in heaven right now playing Hard Rock music on the Lyre.
"I think I know someone who might help!" said Elsie, aundy's daughter-in-laws, daughter-in-laws youngest daughter-in-law.
Everyone looked at her relieved. Aundys wailing and crying was getting on everyone’s nerves and people were now stuffing anything in sight into their ears.
"I will call my cousin Susan, She knows someone in Potta." said Elsie dialing a number on her mobile. Everyone looked at her admiringly. Having "connections" in Potta is like having connections in heaven. People nodded at each other knowingly and looked at her with a new respect.
"Ok! Susan will do it!" declared Susie after talking to Susan briefly.
After what seemed like an eternity but was actually ten seconds, Aundy's Son in Law's, Son-in-Law's grandson spoke. (He is 55 years old in case you are wondering). "What is happening Elsie? It is ten seconds and the news from hospital is still bad."
Before Elsie could say anything M looked at Aundy’s Son in Law's, Son-in-Law's, grandson and said solemnly "They are talking to God right now Appacha.”
"Oh." said Aundy's Son in Law's, Son-in-Law's grandson mollified. “Let us all go to sleep then.”
While the relatives rushed out of the house trying not to look too eager to leave, a certain gentleman and lady were seen beating a hasty retreat pushing their hysterically laughing daughter out of the house. The gentleman fought hard to keep a straight face until at least they reached the car.
M in the meantime had the air of a firefighter who had single handedly defused an emotional conflagration. He looked rather proud of himself.
Latest news: The family is still waiting for God's decision. In other words, apoopan is still alive.
But Aundy would have none of it. “He is only 176 years old” she wailed. "So young!!" she wailed some more. "How can he die!!!" she wailed again looking at the heavens, while we stuffed cotton into our years.
“We can only pray..." murmured the relations surreptitiously passing around the cotton.
"But the Potta prayer group would be closed now!!!" aundy wailed again while relations held their ears and groaned.
"It is true." my brother M whispered to us i.e. Mom, Dad and Me. "God would have gone to sleep by now." If looks could kill, M would be in heaven right now playing Hard Rock music on the Lyre.
"I think I know someone who might help!" said Elsie, aundy's daughter-in-laws, daughter-in-laws youngest daughter-in-law.
Everyone looked at her relieved. Aundys wailing and crying was getting on everyone’s nerves and people were now stuffing anything in sight into their ears.
"I will call my cousin Susan, She knows someone in Potta." said Elsie dialing a number on her mobile. Everyone looked at her admiringly. Having "connections" in Potta is like having connections in heaven. People nodded at each other knowingly and looked at her with a new respect.
"Ok! Susan will do it!" declared Susie after talking to Susan briefly.
After what seemed like an eternity but was actually ten seconds, Aundy's Son in Law's, Son-in-Law's grandson spoke. (He is 55 years old in case you are wondering). "What is happening Elsie? It is ten seconds and the news from hospital is still bad."
Before Elsie could say anything M looked at Aundy’s Son in Law's, Son-in-Law's, grandson and said solemnly "They are talking to God right now Appacha.”
"Oh." said Aundy's Son in Law's, Son-in-Law's grandson mollified. “Let us all go to sleep then.”
While the relatives rushed out of the house trying not to look too eager to leave, a certain gentleman and lady were seen beating a hasty retreat pushing their hysterically laughing daughter out of the house. The gentleman fought hard to keep a straight face until at least they reached the car.
M in the meantime had the air of a firefighter who had single handedly defused an emotional conflagration. He looked rather proud of himself.
Latest news: The family is still waiting for God's decision. In other words, apoopan is still alive.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
One way ticket to hell
One fine sunny yet not too warm and perfectly temperatured day, I decided to take the bus to work. Full of good intentions and absolutely proud of myself for taking the bus, I stepped into the bus and offered a ten rupee note to the conductor as fare. A little smile played on my lips as I thought about the good deed I was doing for the environment. I am sure a halo twinkled around my little head too, but I was too modest to check.
The conductor, a tall strapping young man who looked like he had been feasting on human blood the whole night and chewing the cud for breakfast, snatched the note brusquely, pushed his finger into his mouth, swabbed a generous amount of paan stained saliva on his finger, pried a ticket loose from the tight wad he held in his hand with the same finger and pushed the ticket into my hand before I could scream “Nahiiiiiiin” like Hema Malini in the movies. It all happened in a second. I had no time to react. The crumpled ticket with blood red saliva lay in my hand like a Maghai Paan House flavored bus ticket. The smell was overpowering.
I looked at the ticket in horror and then at the conductor. He was gone; to the rear of the bus to sell more paan flavored tickets I presume.
I gingerly lifted my hands and tried to throw the ticket into the bag. But it wouldn’t budge. The conductor has ensured that passengers will never have to worry about losing their tickets and paying fines by - you wont believe this - eating sweet paaan!!! Yes dear friends, the industrial strength sugar syrup in the paan ensured that I could do any thing...like Kung Fu or Karate, or climb a mountain "and" award a few Common Wealth Games contracts on the side without having to worry about the ticket falling down, EVER! Amazing.
I decided to look at the bright side. Suppose the bus turned sharply, rolled over a dozen times and then fell slow motion into a deep ditch like in the movies, I could secure myself by sticking my hand on any part of the bus!!! I would perhaps be the only one standing!!
But it was hard to be positive when there is a terrible stench emanating from your hand. Yes dear friends, by this time the paan syrup had started decomposing and my hand smelled like a morgue. Extending my hand in front of me and covering my nose with the other was an impossible task I achieved due to sheer nausea and great repulsion.
I got out of the bus with great alacrity and sprinted to the office toilet like someone suffering from diarrhea who has seen a toilet after a really long time. After washing the hand a hundred times and being refused the phenyl a hundred times (No dear, you don’t need phenyl to sterilize your hands. Soap is just fine)I walked to my seat, a changed person. The old Silverine was dead. In her place stood a female mutant bus ticket hating ninja turtle err girl.
Nowadays, when the conductor hands me the ticket, I no longer gasp and act like I am being handed a severed human head. I merely hold up an eyebrow tweezer and pluck it straight out of his hands. The ticket is then dropped into a plastic bag that is promptly thrown into the dustbin when I reach office. I do get strange looks from some conductors, but most of them are fine. Because they are too busy wetting their fingers with saliva for the next passenger, to notice.
The conductor, a tall strapping young man who looked like he had been feasting on human blood the whole night and chewing the cud for breakfast, snatched the note brusquely, pushed his finger into his mouth, swabbed a generous amount of paan stained saliva on his finger, pried a ticket loose from the tight wad he held in his hand with the same finger and pushed the ticket into my hand before I could scream “Nahiiiiiiin” like Hema Malini in the movies. It all happened in a second. I had no time to react. The crumpled ticket with blood red saliva lay in my hand like a Maghai Paan House flavored bus ticket. The smell was overpowering.
I looked at the ticket in horror and then at the conductor. He was gone; to the rear of the bus to sell more paan flavored tickets I presume.
I gingerly lifted my hands and tried to throw the ticket into the bag. But it wouldn’t budge. The conductor has ensured that passengers will never have to worry about losing their tickets and paying fines by - you wont believe this - eating sweet paaan!!! Yes dear friends, the industrial strength sugar syrup in the paan ensured that I could do any thing...like Kung Fu or Karate, or climb a mountain "and" award a few Common Wealth Games contracts on the side without having to worry about the ticket falling down, EVER! Amazing.
I decided to look at the bright side. Suppose the bus turned sharply, rolled over a dozen times and then fell slow motion into a deep ditch like in the movies, I could secure myself by sticking my hand on any part of the bus!!! I would perhaps be the only one standing!!
But it was hard to be positive when there is a terrible stench emanating from your hand. Yes dear friends, by this time the paan syrup had started decomposing and my hand smelled like a morgue. Extending my hand in front of me and covering my nose with the other was an impossible task I achieved due to sheer nausea and great repulsion.
I got out of the bus with great alacrity and sprinted to the office toilet like someone suffering from diarrhea who has seen a toilet after a really long time. After washing the hand a hundred times and being refused the phenyl a hundred times (No dear, you don’t need phenyl to sterilize your hands. Soap is just fine)I walked to my seat, a changed person. The old Silverine was dead. In her place stood a female mutant bus ticket hating ninja turtle err girl.
Nowadays, when the conductor hands me the ticket, I no longer gasp and act like I am being handed a severed human head. I merely hold up an eyebrow tweezer and pluck it straight out of his hands. The ticket is then dropped into a plastic bag that is promptly thrown into the dustbin when I reach office. I do get strange looks from some conductors, but most of them are fine. Because they are too busy wetting their fingers with saliva for the next passenger, to notice.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
A little knowledge of Hindi is a dangerous thing
Mallus and Hindi are as similar as Roti and Puttu. And every other day some mallu or the other rams home that point with vehemence, just in case you have been lulled into an artificial sense of security that mallus have mastered Hindi. Today, one on my mallu colleagues reached the zenith of Hindi blooperism.
Mallu and couple of colleagues were discussing something very animatedly but in hush tones. It was obvious that they were gossiping. Another colleague walks past, glances at them and asks "Kya ho rah hai!"
A perfectly innocent rhetorical question that Mallu should have left alone.
But Mallu looks up and says "Gupt gyan* ho raha hai!"
Don’t judge him too harshly folks. The word "confidential information" is not easy to translate into Hindi. Anyone could have made that mistake.
Now let me go and continue rolling on the floor laughing my a**e off. I took a small break from LMAO’ing to blog this. Ciao.
p.s. Mallu was overheard saying "The word is 'gopneeya'! Dammit."
* loosely translated it means... s** education
Mallu and couple of colleagues were discussing something very animatedly but in hush tones. It was obvious that they were gossiping. Another colleague walks past, glances at them and asks "Kya ho rah hai!"
A perfectly innocent rhetorical question that Mallu should have left alone.
But Mallu looks up and says "Gupt gyan* ho raha hai!"
Don’t judge him too harshly folks. The word "confidential information" is not easy to translate into Hindi. Anyone could have made that mistake.
Now let me go and continue rolling on the floor laughing my a**e off. I took a small break from LMAO’ing to blog this. Ciao.
p.s. Mallu was overheard saying "The word is 'gopneeya'! Dammit."
* loosely translated it means... s** education
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