If you got IT, flaunt IT !

The IT COM ( now rechristened IT.IN ) will soon be upon us and I remember the very first such event I attended in Bangalore a couple of weeks ago. Just a fresher in college, quite wet behind the years and to make things worse I was doing Internship for an IT company! Now working for an IT company is great.....but during IT Com , I wish I could take a sabbatical, contract typhoid, Chicken Pox or whatever else it will take to keep me away from office during the run up to the event and for the duration of the event itself.

It is at this time of the year that most departmental heads suddenly get very creative and start dropping by my cubicle ‘oh-so-casually’, with ideas, suggestions and brilliant brainwaves that if implemented would definitely get us the “Most Grotesque Stall” award for the year 2005.

Consider this:

RK: Why don’t we have a waterfall and pool in the stall?
Me: Sure and I guess you want all of us to lounge around the pool in string bikinis too?


AN: I say we have thermocol cutouts of our products all around the stall.
Me: Sure and when a visitor wants a demo, I guess you will make the sputtering noises for that device?

SK: The testing team needs to be adequately represented at our stall!
Me: Ok, how about your entire team standing in the stall dressed as bug exterminators?

PP: Now Customer Support is a vital function and should be highlighted this year at our stall!!!
Me: Sure give me the list of all those customers you avoid and I will send them a personal invite.

And the suggestions never stop. Thank fully there is a centralized decision making team that makes the final decisions like how many passes each one of us will get and who gets to go around checking out the guys/gals at the other stalls, who gets to go for the free dinners and lunches and who gets to shred the resumes that pile up etc etc.

This is also that time of the year that my team and me are told, not to waste our time doing anything other than Exhibition work. By anything, I mean time wasting activities like breathing in, breathing out, blinking, eating, thinking, diggin nose/crotch ( whichever applicable), going home, sleeping etc.etc. In fact I am told that these qualities are very necessary to become a manager in my company. You should see my HR manager. He looks absolutely breathless all the time!!!! And my Big Boss looks positively blue in the face 24/7.

Now Resume collection and shredding is a vital function at all IT exhibitions. Resumes are collected with gusto by a pre selected person who looks as sincere as Dharam Singh promising to do something about Bangalore’s crumbling infrastructure. This person will take your resume like he is being handed the Bible/Gita/Koran and place it with reverence in a box. At the end of the day, each stall compares the number of resumes collected and the winning stall gets dirty looks and the losers prepare to look even more sincere the next day so that they could be the next winners. The collected resumes are then shredded to make way for the next day’s collection. So I request all employment seekers to exhibitions, especially freshers to please stick your resume with gum that is if it has more than one page. STAPLE PINS AND OTHER METAL PINS CAN DAMAGE PAPER SHREDDERS!!!! So please be careful.

Another vital function of people manning stalls is to answer important questions with aplomb! Check these scintillating conversations out.

Visitor: So you make software
Me: Well...yes....
Visitor: So, how many softwares do you make in a month?

Visitor No 2: So what do you make?
Me: We make Enterprise Solutions, Government solutions, Communication Network, other Products and Services......
Visitor No 2: Wokay, wokay thank you, where is the toilet?

Visitor No 3: So how much does your software cost?
Me: er....what line of business are you in sir?
Visitor No 3: I am a contractor
Me: So you undertake turnkey projects? In which case I would suggest you speak to.....
Visitor No 3: naah, I am a labour contractor.
Me: er... so what do you want to do with a software solution?
Visitor No.3: (shrugging) Oh nothing, chumma I asked.

And all this after you have prepared a good two months for the event and have stood for hours in the stall with every muscle in your body aching and screaming for rest.

I am so not looking forward to the coming IT.In :(

Oh brother!

It’s that time of the year when I have to go through the pain of filing my taxes and as usual I am late. I finally get my Income Tax statement from the accounts department and am very happy to see that my IT deduction is in manageable figures. This means that ‘me’ the severely Income Tax challenged person has done all the right things this year. I show the statement with a touch of pride to my eldest brother. He glances through it and frowns. “Something is amiss here. Why are you paying so much tax?” He asks quizzically. My smile dries up.

Suddenly from nowhere my nemesis, also known as second elder brother (SB) scoops up the statement from my unsuspecting eldest brother’s hand and gleefully glances through it, his smile growing wider and wider with each column he surveys. He gleefully turns around and says loudly for everyone in the vicinity to hear.

“You know what? You forgot to claim depreciation for your brains!!!!”

grrrrrrrrrrr

Now a word about this creature I call my brother. I am supposed to call him ‘chetan’ (elder brother) as he is three years elder to me. But I have steadfastly refused to do that since childhood because that honor is reserved for my eldest brother ONLY!!! And that is because he has earned that honor by NOT pulling my hair, sneaking spiders / cockroaches into my study table drawers, scaring the hell out of my friends by suddenly jumping out of nowhere wearing a gorilla mask and being a major pain throughout my growing years. So, much to my SB’s chagrin I made it a point to call him by his given name. Of course we ( me and friends) had devised other names for him too, which I shall reveal not here, in case there are children below 12 years reading this post. I don’t want to get into trouble with the Expletives Censor Board.

Of course like most hardened criminals ( read ‘annoying elder brother’), he too has his moments when he felt a twinge of repentance and sorrow for the horrendous crimes against humanity ( read ‘younger sister and friends’ ) At such times he would remorsefully try to make up for his misdeeds by treating me to an icecream, or to a ride on his precious motorcycle seriously jeopardizing his love life and my limbs. Of course my suggestion that I print a short message on the back of my T Shirt announcing that I am his sister to clear the doubts of his adoring fans (read ‘gals who don’t bother to look at him’) was greeted with enthusiasm. His enthusiasm soon dried up when he saw the caption.

“I am the sister of the bozo driving this junk”

As me and my friends grew up, so did his pranks. Consider this.

School Graduation Day!

Seven girls in the my house trying on the ugly purple saree that Sister Principal had made mandatory for all of us to wear for the ceremony. Of course being girls we decided to start getting ready at least three hours before the event!!! Not that tying an ugly purple saree requires three hours, but gals will be gals I guess. Finally mascara’ed, powdered, lipstick’ed, perfumed and saree’ed we were ready on time. SB gallantly offered to drop us (I must have lost my senses to have accepted his offer)

We get into the car one by one, gingerly picking up our sarees and sitting down carefully so that we arrive mint fresh at the school auditorium. Suddenly SB’s phone rings. He pulls over, gets out of the car and talks leisurely for a good ten minutes. Then, ignoring the anxious stares of seven pairs of eyes gets into the car casually and we resume our journey. Then he pulls over again. This time to check non-existent punctures on the tyres. After a thorough check of ten minutes or so of our precious time coolly ignoring the frantic pleas of his passengers and hyperventilating sister, he again gets into the car and we are off. We check our watches; we are going to be 20 minutes late!!! My friend Nina suggests to SB that he step on the accelerator to make up for lost time. He does …….and we start crawling at 30 miles per hour!!! I look at him horrified. However SB is unmoved. He says there is something wrong with the car. This was no occasion for a joke, besides we were horribly late and I could imagine an auditorium full of girls and the faculty sitting grimly waiting for us to arrive. I feel tears pricking my eyes. The urge to call Mom and bawl was too tempting.

I suggest that we take an auto. The suggestion is turned down, as the thought of sitting in a windy auto and keeping our appearances and sarees intact was a physical impossibility. Finally with a car full of wailing, cursing and groaning passenger SB drives into the college a good half an hour late! The girls pour out, pick up their sarees to make a dash for the auditorium, when SB remarks casually:

“ Oh by the way…..Sister Ann called. She said the Graduation Ceremony is delayed by one hour, due to VIP movement on your college road!”

I leave the rest to your imagination dear bloggers. Of course the car was already reversed engine running, driver in seat with leg firmly on accelerator before he let out that earth shattering revelation!

This guy is Marquis De Sade personified. I mean even the good Marquis would be proud of the refined and painful torture that we were put through that graduation day. I mean no blood, no gore, no broken bones or other grisly sights that you see in torture scenes in movies. Just plain, undiluted, sadistic, torture for the years we let out air from his mobike tyres, complained about him to my Dad, stole his hair gel, CDs, keychains, mobile for furtive SMS’s, sneaked about him to mom etc. etc. etc.

Today is this descendent of Hitler and Goebbels's birthday. And on his birthday I would like to say:

Happy Birthday Cheta!!

However having said all that I must admit, that carrying my pink school bag with matching water bottle to the school van everyday during my Primary School years, takes lots of guts. And teaching me to swear in Malayalam and Kannada also takes lots of guts. Because when Dad heard me saying “Poda patti” (dog!!!) he wasn’t amused. But then the very next day you taught me to say “nayinde mon” ( son of a dog).

Never say die right? ( that's his credo)

Entertainment Taxed

Ok, it is official.

I saw my first Hindi movie (Sholay) in five years. (Amongst my friends, who have fainted after hearing this news, please read this blog after you recover from the faint. I am not gonna sprinkle expensive mineral water on you)

And for those of you who made those jokes on a certain person going to watch a Hindi movie, I have only one thing to say.

“Saale, Kuthe!!! Mein thera khoon pee jaonga !!!”

Disclaimer: Being a South Indian I don’t know the meaning of the above words, but Dharmendra looked suitably incensed while mouthing these words in ‘Sholay’. All disputes arising out of my usage of Hindi learned from Hindi movies will be heard in a Bangalore/Chennai/Hyderabad/ Kochi High Courts in chaste Kannada/Tamil/Telugu/Malayalam only.

And those of you, who would like to cut and paste the “Disclaimer” please go ahead. I have a hidden Cut and Paste Counter installed in this blog, which tells me that it has already been cut and pasted around 40 million times. Now that’s the approximate population of South India. What a coincidence I say!

'Sholay' is a thoroughly entertaining flick. I didn’t understand a word of the Hindi dialogues. However knowledge of Hindi is unnecessary as action speaks louder than words in most of the scenes.

The story of ‘Sholay’ is very simple. Two guys who are apparently very good friends leave for Bangalore, in search of a suitable IT job. However due to the vagaries of fate they miss ITPL (International Tech Park Ltd.) by almost 100 kilometers and land up at Ramnagaram (Sholay was almost entirely shot in Ramnagaram on the outskirts of Bangalore). Like most freshers they ride an old motorcycle and love eve teasing village belles (I know I am gonna get lynched for this). And like most newcomers to Bangalore, they too search for shared accommodation in this sleepy village. And like most homeowners in Bangalore, the villagers too greet the young men with glee by converting their homes into hostels with bed and board. For the hospitality shown to them they promise to Wi Fi the village soon. In fact one of them even climbs the village water tank , to survey the area to be Wi Fi’ed but is too drunk because it is Friday night. He finally realizes that the village has no electricity and climbs down.

Hema Malini is the love interest of one of the young men. However she shows scant interest in him. She is fed up of the constant harassment by the Income Tax Department to cough up more of her hard earned money for non-existent roads. She is apparently a Consultant in this film who declares her professions as a ‘Horse Carriage’ owner, which the Income Tax people can’t quite believe. This makes her the target of frequent Income tax chases on the non existent roads by horse borne IT officials. Once they even catch her and use Third Degree like making her dance on glass shards to reveal her exact income. However the gutsy gal refuses to be cowed by such dirty tactics by making a song and dance of the whole situation. Bravo!!!!

The Income Tax Collector for Ramnagaram Mr. Gabbar Singh is a frustrated individual. The villages under his jurisdiction are poor and he hardly makes any money from the poverty stricken villagers. Which is why he doesn’t shave and lives in a cave. He is however duty bound to collect taxes and therefore leaves on his horse (remember he is poor) with his officers (also poorly clad and unshaven) to raid the villages under his jurisdiction. He even shoots his officers who fail to collect arrears. His dedication to duty is commendable.

Into this scenario appears a handicapped man ‘Thakur’ with a daughter who wears only white sarees to fool the IT department into thinking she is poor. Now the Thakur had to give an arm and a leg er.... I mean both his arms to pay his Tax dues. Since then he has been unsuccessfully been applying for the ad hoc deduction of Rs. 40,000 under Section 80U given to the Physically Handicapped without success from the overworked, underpaid IT office of Mr. Gabbar Singh. He sort of takes a vow to fight for his Income Tax rebates and goads our two young men to join him in his fight. The young men, who have just got their first salaries, take one look at their IT deductions and readily agree.

The mammoth war between the salaried guys the handicapped guy and the Income Tax department is the climax of the film. In the end the IT department is sizably reduced thereby considerably reducing their salary expenditure for the Govt. who promptly declare on TV news that there will be more Tax breaks on the common people in the next budget. The people have a hearty laugh providing the much-needed comic relief in this out and out action thriller.

Like all epic battles there are some casualties in this fight too, and one of the salaried guys succumbs to his Taxes er....I mean injuries. The handicapped man is vindicated and the remaining salaried guy and the consultant then leave town in Ramnagaram Express to Chennai, now the hottest IT destination in India. (it gets hotter in summer I heard)

(This post was written after I had buried, as is the practice in the beginning of every month the mortal remains of my butchered Salary Slip in the nearest waste basket)

Password travails

My travails with passwords started when I registered for my very first Yahoo Mail ID. I wanted to use my given name as the Username but apparently there were many people by the same name. After trying various combinations without success I finally hit upon ‘masaladosa’. After chewing on ‘masaladosa’ for a while the registration window spat it right out, informing me that it was already taken. However like the waiters at Shanthi Saagar, Yahoo too gave me an option.... ‘‘masaladosa700’ was available!!! With a sigh, I accepted the proffered name and it got adopted. Apparently the 700 is some sort of cyber chutney taken with ‘masaladosa’.

I selected a simple but cool password ‘chick’ so that I will have no problem remembering it. But apparently five letter words are as inappropriate in Cyberspace as three letter words are in the civilized world and it was outrightly rejected. I was tersely asked to choose a password with six or more characters. Thinking frantically as my Rs. 60 an hour Internet time was coming to a close, I added the word ‘hot’ to ‘chick’. I think the Cyber Moral Police was suitably mollified and ‘hotchick’ became my very first email password. (Cyber morals beats me)

After the Registration, a message appeared advising me to change my password often to protect my acccount. Now back in High School my mail box would typically get 10 odd mails a day. Mostly jokes forwarded by friends, some gossip from friends, lotsa news on who is seeing whom and who is broken off with whom and who is going steady with whom kinda mails. Ok that’s a lot of gossip I know, but High School gals generally don’t talk about The Green House Effect, The NYSE Index and or the General elections. I didn’t think it necessary to change my password often as no hacker could get my Dad’s Credit card numbers or India’s nuclear installations blueprints from my mailbox flooded with mails with subjects like these:

· I think I have a pimple :(
· Raveena is a bitch!!!
· Guess who Rita is dating ;)
· Pictures of George Cloony ;)
· Shoppers Stop Red Tag sale is on :))
· Check out the new chemistry teacher wotta babe ;)
· Friday bunk classes go for Stuart Little ?

Those days we shared passwords so that friends could read each others mails.

Then one day the inevitable happened!!! The greatest and most shameful act of Internet misuse by a school kid happened!!! A friend SP used another friend MD’s mailbox to do some match making. SP wrote a real mushy love-mail from MD’s mail box to a guy in St. Joseph’s. When we heard about it we were gleeful, fearful and tearful in that order with the resultant turn of events. After that incident we collectively decided ‘not’ to share passwords and each of us went our separate mailbox ways. We grew up a little in Cyber Space that summer.

Now to my travails. I have always had problems with passwords. I have always wanted something simple that I could remember plus I had a mortal dread of alphanumeric passwords. Especially since I had so many Yahoo ID’s like ‘vadasambar’, ‘chapathi99’, 'revlonlipstick’ etc in those carefree days. The only alphanumeric password I could remember was my birthdate… a dead giveaway ( I know that by experience because we used to try and open each others mail boxes with birth dates, parent’s anniversary dates, BF/GF birthdates etc.) It was also very easy to guess each other’s passwords. Let’s face it. High School kids are not very original when it comes to passwords. A sample of password sources in High School is given below

1. Your dogs name
2. School House name
3. School name
4. Class teachers name
5. Favorite movie
6. Favorite Toon star
7. Favorite Rock/Pop/Blues/Jazz star (for fans)
8. Boyfriend / Girlfriend’s name (if you had one) etc

Nowadays I have heard that school kids have become more innovative and keep complex alphanumeric passwords like:

1. jimmy22
2. greenhouseisno1
3. baldwinssucksbigtime100
4. ihatesistermary / ihatefatherjohn / ihateprinci
5. collateralisno1
6. tomandjerry2005
7. avrillavignerocks
8. rameshisahunk4me / priyaisadoll2…… etc.

As a ‘complex password challenged’ person I have finally hit upon a solution. When I sit down at my comp to change my password, I look around carefully and take inspiration from my immediate environment. Some of the thus inspired passwords are given below as an example.

1. hpprinter
2. servostabilizer
3. Samsungfaxcumprinter
4. yellowpages
5. ibmthinkpad
6. creativewebcam
7. ajanthaclock
8. crocintablets
9. seagateharddisk( I still have the cover)
10. brandy ( my dog if he sitting as usual under my chair)
11. lakshmi ( my maid, if at that precise moment she is cleaning my room) etc.

I know I know…..originality is not my middle name. But now I am in the big league of ‘complex password’ churning geeks ;)

A unique tag

Jagan has tagged me. This is a unique tag. Required a lot of thinking from my side to pen it down. Here are the seven things that I have to reveal about me in all honesty. So here it is……

Seven things you plan to do before you die!!

1. Quit my job in my 30's and become a full time naturalist / birder
2. Start my own ad agency
3. Learn to fly
4. Travel around the world
5. Fall in love!
6. Teach kindergarten kids!
7. Buy a cottage in Ooty


Seven things you can do!!

1. Get back to advertising/copywriting
2. Visit school more often and keep
in touch with the gals who studied with me.
3. Get back to piano classes
4. Read more often
5. Continue birding during weekends
6. Get serious about photography for above purpose
7. Give more time to my hobby “cooking”and "gardening"


Seven things you can't do!!!

1. I can’t flirt
2. I can’t stop being brutally frank
3. I can’t take life too seriously ( I look at the funny side of every thing!!)
4. I can’t stop sobbing while watching sad movies
5. I cant ignore a beggar.
6. I can’t do without my Mom
7. I can’t do without talking to my eldest brother at least once a day( he is my agony aunt and punching bag)


Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex!!

1. Sense of humor
2. Maturity
3. Loyalty
4. The ability to advise without imposing his views
5. Smile
6. A guy who treats a girl as a lady irrespective of who she is.
7. A guy who is not jealous and clingy


Seven things you say most!!!

1. Jeeeeeeeeeeesus Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiist!!!
2. Ok, fine
3. For Gods sake!!!!
4. Vendado
5. Poda / Podee
6. Oh my God!
7. Will do


Seven celebrity crushes!!!

1. Tom Selleck
2. Tommy Lee Jones
3. Harrison Ford
4. Bill Pullman
(sigh..they dont make them like these anymore, I mean the above 4)
5. Emraan Hashmi
6. Arjun Rampal
7. Mathew McConaughey


Seven people you want to take this quiz.

matterofchoice
Jiby
Leon Cyril
Jake
George
Neil
flaashgordon


All that I have revealed here is true to the best of my limited knowledge. Thanks Jagan, this tag made me think really hard and introspect. Didn’t realize it would be this hard to pen down only seven facets of my multifaceted life ;)

Wish there were more than seven hunks to be listed in the celebrity crush list. Mebbe 10 or maybe 15 or maybe umpteen ???? I have wandering 70 mm cinemascope eyes for Gods sake!!!! :)

In the cold

I have a cold and the flu too due to some unwelcome organisms inhabiting my person. They are actually welcome to stay if they are willing to follow in house rules like 'no wanton multiplying' and other obscene stuff. Now dear friends the ‘cold’ is not actually ‘cold’ in the thermal sense. It is actually a term that has been coined to describe the absolute helplessness faced by General Practitioners in curing the said condition. In other words, the ‘cold’ bacteria or virus has left the GPs in the ‘cold’.

I am now taking a break from work and enjoying some ill deserved rest at home. Mom is making sure I do not miss the stress and tension of office by her constant commando style raids to my room to check on my meds. The decreasing number of tabs is carefully noted to ensure I am actually swallowing it. I hate the cough syrup prescribed by my doc. I prefer the sweet and mentholly Vicks Formula 44, but the doc has prescribed some icky, chemically, nasty, sleep inducing stuff. And to add to his sadistic pleasures, he advised my mom to ‘ensure’ I drink it down. I am gonna change my doc if I survive this illness, but cannot get rid of him completely like the ‘cold’ because he is my cousin…. grrrr.

To make sure I don’t miss the office cafeteria atmosphere my mom is making some of her own cure all decoctions that 'mallu' moms are so fond of making. The smell of the decoction is all-pervasive and I can see a steady stream of cockroaches leaving the kitchen. I tell her that she will make a pile of money if she could only sell the recipe to some MNC insecticide maker. Her sharp glance cuts off any further hopes of talks with Bayer India Ltd.

I am missing the peace and quite of my cubicle and the sonorous snores of Subbu from the next cubicle. Having said that, I need to go to the nearest Greeting Card outlet and buy a ‘Missing You” card for my Boss, my Big Boss, my HR, the Cafeteria guys and my entire department.

Tomorrow I shall go to work a changed person with some noble resolutions.

I will appreciate every corny joke, every 6:30 pm call for a meeting just when I am ready to go home, every vendor call and the 2366th design change to the website. I will take every call asking me if I am ‘Housekeeping ’ and transfer the call with a sweet smile to ‘Housekeeping’ instead of HR/Applications Team/Testing Team as I usually do. I will swallow the cafeteria food if I have to forcefully wash it down with water and offer a gracious thank you to the lunch caterer instead of asking him if he was a prison cook as I regularly do. And lastly, from now on I will avail my medical reimbursements by checking myself into the nearest hospital next time I get a cold!

And I owe all these changes in my attitude towards work to my Mom. Thank you Mom. Because of you I just can’t wait to get back to work.

Btw the cough syrup….. do I have to take a bottle three times a day or a teaspoon three times a day? Damn the doc’s illegible handwriting!!!! (hic)

Work Perils

I am sitting in a cubicle surrounded by gently flowing water, landscaped gardens, chirping birds and typing a very important letter to the Big Boss. However MS Word is giving problems and certain features have become unavailable. I do not have the time to get it re-installed as the network may be disconnected due to some work going on around me. I typed the letter without the help of “some features”. My letter is an example in ‘organizational efficiency with limited resources’. Any way, here is the mail I sent to Big Boss.


Mr. Big Boss
Dot Bust Corporation
Bungler ( read ‘Bangalore’, my spelling sucks and spell check is not working, but the cleaning lady Muniyamma from housekeeping has kindly consented to proof check)

Dear Big Boss (delete ‘Dear”. Delete function doesn’t work)

Sir,

I hate this internship! (Delete the entire sentence).
I hate you ! (delete this line too)
I hate my cubicle ( and this too)
I hate cafeteria food ( yup this one too)
I need a whopping big raise (and... this one too)

This is to bring to your kind notice (delete ‘kind’) that I am slogging my arse off in this corner from time immemorial ( ‘arse’ is underlined in red. I dunno what to do and neither does Muniyamma).

In case you haven’t noticed, the building around me has been pulled down and they plan to make a swimming pool where I sit. I have complained to the Facelift Manager (read 'Facility') and he has very kindly consented to dig around my carbuncle ( read cubicle) so that it remains as an island in the swimming pool. However due to lack of funds he will not be able to provide a bridge to my cubicle. I will apparently have to swim to my cubicle every morning, but HR says that a swimsuit will not be appropriate for office wear. I am in a tizzy now and plan to learn walking on stilts. However the good news is that during winter I will be able to walk through the pool to my cubicle.

The Netwreck Madman( read 'Network Admin' ) met me during lunch break and informed me that he will have to remove me from the network soon. However he has promised to network me witlessly (read ‘wirelessly’).

Since my access card is not accepted in the other buildings, I am forced to eat my food at the road side food cart and drink the piped water used for watering the plants. I am unable to attend meetings and my salary is dumped on my desk in fifty paisa coins. I am still counting last month’s salary, which HR says will keep me gainfully employed this month. While counting and recounting the coins (as the noise of the bulldozer is quite distracting) I have realized how lucky I am to have a job. Therefore I will not ask for a raise. (I can only count so many coins in one month and Muniyamma agrees.)

Gratingly yours (delete and replace with ‘Gratefully Yours’)

Silverine

The Big Boss never replied, even after three months of counting 25 paise coins (since my mail they have been paying me in 25 paisa coins and I have become very thin). Last evening I heard the Facilities Manager remark to the contractor that as soon as my cubicle vacates he will convert it into a floating bar. I am hopeful now, as this could mean that I will shift into the other buildings with the rest of the employees. The BMTC bus conductors do not accept 25 paise coins so I am forced to stay back in the cubicle in the night. But the frogs are friendly.

I am afraid this Internship is turning out to be lot more difficult than I thought. Perhaps I should try the Housekeeping Department as HR had suggested when he interviewed me for this post in the first place. I’ve heard that mopping the floor and cleaning toilets does not require MS Word or even a computer!!! Wow!

(This post is a result of a boring afternoon when MS Word wouldn’t function and I was covered in dust and grime due to some redecorating work going on around me. Those of you, who think I have been benched, may please wipe the smirk off your faces. But... if my HR gets hold of this post, then you may reapply that smirk again)

Friends, philosophers and guides

I have been book tagged by fellow blogger Neil,
And so here an account of my journey into the world of books and their influence in my life.

One summer holiday I stumbled upon an old wooden trunk in the attic of my grandparents home in Kerala. It was a treasure chest and this is no fiction. All I am about to reveal is true. I opened the trunk and saw several dusty books covered by the dust of time ( Ok I am getting a little carried away here). I picked up a book from the top and saw it was “The Keys of the Kingdom” by A J Cronin. On turning the page I saw my grandfather’s name written in neat cursive letters with an ink pen. This treasure chest was the sum total of my grandfathers travels around the world for the UN. I sat down in the gloomy attic and began reading in the half light of the one glass tile of the tiled roof. I finished this book in 12 hours. The story was so gripping. I will not spoil it for you by giving you a review but it is a must read. The next day I picked up ‘The Nuns Story’, which is adapted from a movie. Another 12 hours and the elders were getting curious about my disappearances into the attic. My uncle came to investigate and I came back home to Banglore that summer with the treasure chest sitting proudly on the cars’ roof.

Total number of books I own: Plenty at last count. All time favorites however remain all book of James Herriot, Gerald Durrel and Betty MacDonald’s hilarious classic‘Onions in the Stew’. I think Betty MacDonald has influenced me most in my writing though I don’t see even an iota of that class reflecting anywhere in my writings! A personal thank you to her for shaping my views on life. I think I read her ‘Onions in the Stew’ in Class 6th (yeah guys I did go to school). I was amazed at her ability to scrape out humor from the driest of situations in her life. And since I read her book in my formative years, I was able to laugh through most of my teenage years when rebellion and doubts and frustration at parental restrictions were at an all time high.


Last book bought: ‘Blood, Brains and Beer” an autobiography of David Ogilvy.

Last book read: Dave Barry in Cyber Space. I am not gonna apologize for this. After a tough week in the office I was in no mood for “Song of Ice and Fire” however it is highly recommended by fellow blogger Jake and I will get down to reading it soon! . Dave Barry in Cyber Space will keep you chortling and is not recommended for reading in public areas.You might risk incarceration in a mental asylum due to the demented laughter that will burst from within your person from time to time. The digs on Microsoft and Customer Support will catch you off guard.

Books that mean a lot to me:

1. All the Fairy Tales I read in childhood: These books are the trigger that made me take up reading. It lead me to fantastic lands of fairies, elves, wizards, witches and helped my imagination take wings. These books also made childhood a very happy place indeed.

2. Oliver Twist: This book led me to read almost all the works of Charles Dickens and also flagged off my journey into English novels. This is the story of Oliver Twist a pauper child who runs away from the ‘workhouse’ only to land in the dragnet of a criminal gang. The entire narrative is gripping and reveals facets of the English society where the lot of the poor was indeed grim. The book ends on a happy note but if Dicken were alive today I would definitely walk up to him and say “ Please Sir can have some more.”

3. Treasure Island: How many kids have embarked on treasure hunts after reading this book? Set in the days of pirates and sail ships this book is about the buried treasures of Captain Flint an infamous pirate. Robinson Crusoe: Another adventure in the sea. Yes the sea and pirates fascinated me after Treasure Island and so it was natural that I picked up Robinson Crusoe. This book is considered to be the first English novel.

4. The Mahabharatha: The entire Mahabharatha especially the many tales of the Pandavas in exile is perhaps one of the best Indian story books I have read.

5. Anne of Green Gables: Anne Shirley the protagonist became a sort of role model for generations of girls since the early 20th century. This classic is still a hot favorite with school and college girls in India.


6. A Farewell to Arms: This book by Hemingway is an account an American ambulance officer's disillusionment in the war and his role as a deserter.

There are so many more, but lack of time forces me to cut short my remiscences.I am supposed to pass on the book tag. Therefore with malice towards none here are the lucky ones. (Wow that rhymes)

matterofchoice,
flaashgordon,
Zimblymallu,
Jake,
Leon Cyril

Teaching a guy to cook and other horrors

Teaching guys cooking is like pulling your tooth out without anesthesia.

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After successfully teaching many a cousin brother to cook and explaining to them for the 284762468 th time that “No”my mom wont be a better or more patient teacher than me, I think I have found a fool proof method of teaching guys cooking. Here are the necessary ingredients to make a successful guy-cook.

1 guy (preferably willing to learn to cook)
1 clean kitchen
1 tape recorder (to record everything that happens during the class in case you need to defend yourself in court one day)
Several Calmpose tablets
One or 2 bottles of strong liquor incase the Calmpose doesn’t kick in early enough.
(If you can’t get the Calmpose without prescription, bribe the pharmacist with promises of marrying his daughter/son. It always works)


Now get out of the clean kitchen as fast as possible and set up a gas stove in an open area preferably a football ground, but far away from schools, hospitals and military installations. Make sure the guy has medical insurance, vehicle insurance and life insurance. The medical insurance will take care of his medical bills after he eats what he cooks. The vehicle insurance will make sure he doesn’t make excuses to come late for classes like, ‘I got caught by the cops because I had no Vehicle Insurance”. Of course this clairvoyant cop has a personal vendetta against this particular cousin and so on every cookery class day catches him without fail. The Life Insurance will make sure that his next of kin get back his college tuition fees in case of his unfortunate demise due to food poisoning. Make sure he doesn’t have an engineering degree. Among my cousins the engineers are the worst cooking students. They argue too much, use expletives like “I’ll think I will watch while you cook first” and “I will have a beer while you demonstrate” or worse “Why don’t you cook and we will tell you how each dish turned out”.

Among my students I remember a cousin, Suresh a first year MBBS student in St Johns Medical College , Bangalore. Suresh wanted to learn to make omelet or fry an egg for breakfast. He had an electric stove and a non stick pan which he mostly used to keep his bike keys and other miscellaneous articles. After an unfortunate accident though he had to discontinue cookery classes and rely on the Hospital canteen. I still remember the day:

Suresh: I have bought you some spirit from the lab. Very good for removing nail polish my Chechi (elder sister) says.
Me: “So sweet of you.”
I liberally apply some on my nails. Quite effective.
Me:“Da listen, how much did you have to pay for this? I don’t want you spending your pocket money on purchasing stuff for me ok?”
Suresh: “Oh it’s free Chechi, I just filled up this bottle from the tank”.
Me: Tank?? What tank?
Suresh: “The tank where they keep the dead bodies.”
Me: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

Six months after the incident, I still use fork and spoon and knife to eat. Of course I had to temporarily give up cooking for some time too. But there were plus points. The stray dogs now look at me with a lot of respect. Though I don’t know why they drop their tails and slink away the moment they see me. Anyway no more medical student cousins I have decided. I think I will let a more experienced Mom handle them.

Ok so here are some facts I have learnt after teaching a motley group of cousin brothers the basics of cooking. I hope you gals find it informative and migrate to the US or marry a chef or take up transcendental meditation instead of trying to teach a guy to cook.

· You can teach guys to cook however you CANNOT teach them to clean up after them.

· You Must enlighten them that it is necessary to have a stove to cook.

· And also that it is necessary to have utensils to cook.

· You have to listen with sympathetic understanding when they say that they never noticed the above two points at home.

· After every culinary success the guys will say “Cooking! It’s so easy. It’s like Chemistry. You have just got to put the right ingredients and its ready ha ha ha.”

· After every culinary failure they throw their arms and the cutlery in the air exclaiming, “If I want to eat home cooked food I will get married hmph”

· Before every Sunday cooking session they will have beer, which they will buy at the eleventh hour and then insist on keeping it in the freezer and ‘waiting’ for it to chill.

· You have to gently point out that Beer is not recommended when you are learning to hold a knife for the very first time.

· You have to firmly tell them “You CANNOT put whiskey into every non veg dish to ENHANCE the taste.”

· You must repeat for the 284762468th time or longer that washing hands is not enough; you HAVE to wash the vegetables too.

· You have to emphasize that it is not wise to turn the gas on and then sprint across to the grocery store to buy a matchbox.

· You also have to emphasize that while he is at the grocery store it would NOT be a good idea to stop and have a smoke before he gets back to the kitchen.

· And that if he does have that cigarette at the grocery store and then gets back to the kitchen, then it would be very wise to wear fireproof clothing before lighting the matchbox.

· You have to explain that going for a movie while the chicken is cooking is not a good idea.

· You have to also explain that asking the girl friend to learn cooking can be potentially dangerous to his relationship or lack of it.

· You must assure them that they need not be formally dressed to cook.

· And that they don’t have to be in a state of near undress because the cooking is a hot and sweaty job.

· And that blaring music louldy will drown out important instructions like "Your shirt is on fire"

· You have to remind him that he MUST put water into the pan if he is trying to boil the egg.

· Also remind him that he cannot pass off your cooking as his when the fiancée is visiting because she knows that he cannot even boil an egg.

· You must smile and say “I know Chetta that inserting the lid on the Hawkins pressure cooker is tricky.” Don’t yell “ THEN WHY THE HECK DID YOU BUY IT WITHOUT ASKING ME?”(Because you know the answer to that one. The sales girl was pretty)

· Give him a hint that making jokes to his friends on the mobile on how he is trying to humor his little cousin sister by pretending to learn to cook can be dangerous, especially if that little cousin sister is in the vicinity holding a very sharp knife.

· And that Fish fry is good, but you have to clean them first. And ‘NO” he cannot send them over to your house to be cleaned ( and preferably cooked).

· Tell them patiently that they can’t call you every time they have to put salt in a dish. Last time I had to make an entire group of people on a teleconference wait while I patiently explained that two teaspoons of salt would be too much for one fried egg.

· You have got to teach them that egg shells don’t walk themselves into the dustbin and that the stink in the kitchen is not a dead rat but the egg that had fallen under the refrigerator last week and is now peacefully decomposing under the fridge.

· And ‘NO’ having a dog will not take care of aforementioned problems.

· Let them know that leftovers can lead to high attrition rates among maids.

· You must tell them that the printouts of recipes you email them can get smudged if you use them to wipe hands.

· And that laminating these printouts would be a very good idea indeed.

· You have to bite back that expletive when he tells you flippantly that he is going to get married anyway and then in all probability he will not have to cook, after you have taken him step after laborious step of making a Biryani. Don’t wail “Then why oh why did you waste my precious Sunday????” (Because you know the answer to that one too. Saturdays are for nursing hangovers)
Pity I don’t get Mondays off to do the same because after that remark I feel like washing the Calmpose tablets down my throat with the strongest available liquor.

· Tell them strictly that calling you ‘kunjumole’* and 'chakkare'* will not get them off the hook after they had burnt the biryani you asked them to watch over because they and their pals suddenly felt like a game of one day cricket at the BCC ground next to Bethany School. Let them know that a bottle of very dry white wine will make you feel indulgent enough not to empty the burnt biryani over their collective heads.

( * mallu endearments used to placate supposedly stupid cousin sisters after you have done some act of $#^@&(#%@ stupidity yourself).

· You have to let him know that not having his mom/sister in Bangalore is no excuse for forgetting a cousin sister’s birthday. Especially since she is on the verge on mental breakdown teaching him cook. And that a potato peeler is a not a very good idea of a belated birthday present.

Friendship Day

Saturday was my Uncle Ronnie’s birthday. As usual the family gathered at his and Susan aunty’s place in Basavangudi. Uncle Ronnie is an entrepreneur and his charming wife Susan aunty is my mom’s second cousin. The youth after the usual pleasantries drifted to the verandah , our favorite haunt. As cousins we do get along well and soon the jokes and leg pulling started. One cousin ( lets call him Jose), a brilliant recanteur kept everyone in splits with his jokes and an account of his visit to the movies with his fiancé on Valentine Day. He had noticed quite few ‘Uncles’ and ‘Aunties’ at the theater and made quite a few digs at the pot bellied uncles and fat aunties who were watching the mushy romantic fare at the theater that day.

I felt it was soooooo sweet that these couples with teenage kids would take the time out from their busy schedules to watch a movie together on Valentine Day. All the girls agreed with me emphatically. Some of the guys of course had a different opinion. My aunt Susan who is always welcome at the youth ‘enclosure’ as she terms it was privy to this conversation. She is a vivacious person, with a sparkling personality and wit to match. As the hostess that day she could not devote much time with us as but she kept meandering into the verandah to join in our conversation. For most of our family gatherings (which are many) she is usually found with the youth keeping us in splits with her witty anecdotes. She is in her early forties with a 14 year old six footer of a son and a gorgeous 12 year daughter. Her rapport with her children and relationship with her husband is amazing. I couldn’t help but notice the deep friendship that they shared and the pleasant atmosphere in the house.

“Well Jose, you are going to be an ‘uncle’ soon” she remarked to my cousin Jose. His smile dried up instantly. And the cocky attitude gave way to an uneasiness, we had never seen before.

”Scary, isn’t it?” continued aunt Susan. “You are not going to be in your 20’s forever you know. Soon you will be 30, then 40 then…..”

Jose had the grace to look a little ashamed. I was thoroughly enjoying his discomfiture.

“What matters is that when you become an “Uncle’ you and your fiancé will be able to go for that mushy romantic movie on a Valentines Day.”

So saying she walked back to into the house to attend to her guests. A simple sentence, but you could hear that proverbial pin drop in the silence she left behind.

I watched her recounting her husband’s frequent attempts to diet to an appreciative audience inside, and felt a strange sense of happiness. If there is a God I prayed please fast forward me this instant into her shoes, with a loving husband, one or two kids and contentment I am sure she worked hard to bring into her home. But life aint that easy is it? Guess I will have to slog and work at my relationships and be content if at aunt Susan’s age I will be half as happy as her.

So this Friendship Day I wish all the Aunt Susans and Uncle Ronnies in this world “Happy Friendship Day”. Frankly I can’t think of any other people who deserve this more.

(Also Happy Friendship Day to my mom and dad for remaining such good friends till today. They can still sit and talk till the wee hours of morning.)

And Happy Friendship Day to all of you!

Miss Communication

This attrition levels in the IT industry is creating havoc. I mean till the day before the day before yesterday I minded my own business i.e. helping the marketing team in all their communication needs. There was peace, bliss, contentment and job satisfaction.

Then out of the blue the Public Relation guy resigns and as is wont for some strange reason I am asked to take over the portfolio till the next incumbent walks in. Today the Corporate Communication gal quit and of course this portfolio is also handed over to me. And all this because the term communication is an appendage to my designation.

Now the web defines public relations as “the acts of communicating what you are to the public.”
To equip myself for the important task of PR (since the PR guy was leaving the next day) I followed him around diligently the whole day. Evening I was witness to a brilliant PR exercise at the BWSSB ( Bangalore Water Sewerage and Sanitation Board) canteen.

PR: So how much do you want to let our sewage pipe into the Kaveri?
Govt Employee: One lakh saar.
PR: (calling the finance manager): Mr Moneybags? He wants two lakhs!
Finance Manager: Excellent! Excellent! Well within our budget!!
What? He won’t give receipt? Hahahaha of course not you silly this is a bribe ha ha ha.
Don’t worry about the receipt.
Please come and collect the cash.
And do it fast. The smell is unbearable.


The web defines Corporate Communications (CC) thus: “Corporate Communication is the management tool, which tunes all intentional forms of internal and external communications in a way the organization creates and keeps an image towards its major target groups.”

I think I succeeded in this objective in an interview with a reporter I handled the day the CC gal left.

Reporter: Is it true that your company is letting out sewage water into the Cauveri?
Me: Duh!
Reporter: Just as I thought! Is it also true that your big boss is being sued for s***** harassment by his male secretary?
Me: Huh?!
Reporter: Thank you. One last question, you have been so helpful. Is it true that your company uses pirated software?
Me: er….um…hmmm( scratching head)

Reporter: Thank you!!!!!!! That will be all. We will be giving you exclusive coverage in tomorrow’s edition. Watch out for the headlines.

Wow that was easy. I didn’t give out any misleading information. I feel proud. Afternoon the ex CC gal mails me.

Dear Miss Present Incumbent

Given below are some the terms (and it’s meanings) that you must avoid while talking to the press.

Duh: (means) Oh yes, yes, yes, it’s true
Huh?!: (means) I admit he did it.
Er…um…hmmmm:(means) Yes I admit it and we are proud of it!

p.s. Scratching your head makes you irresistibly attractive to journalists.

Warm regards,

Miss CEECEE

Next day 9:30 am the phone rings. It’s the big boss.

Big Boss: Miss Present Incumbent, there is this article in the newspaper. It says that I used pirated mail software to s******y harass my male secretary who jumped into the sewage pit and tried to commit suicide. Did you have anything to do with this?
Me: Duh!

Today while going home the big bosses car careened wildly missing me by inches. Poor man was so upset that he nearly killed me. Last time I saw him he was banging his head on the car and kicking his car tyres over and over again. Nice man.

I think I will move to PR.

Bride Seeing Part II

(Those of you who are reading this for the first time please read Bride Seeing Part I before continuing any further)


After the native detective service gives a clean chit to the prospective bride and groom the PKC ritual commences fuelling the economy of Kerala. This is why despite labor problems, every MNC worth its salt is setting up base in Kerala and diversifying into Black Halwa, Talcum powder, Jaggery production etc. I have heard that the Lipton jaggery is quite a hit in North Kerala while the Microsoft Talcum Powder (Version 1) is slowly being accepted in the State. Version 2 which will be an antidote for Version 1 will enter the market in December. Maggi Black Halwa and Intel Banana Chips now sit proudly on all supermarket and Chai Kada shelves and preparations are in full swing to market Honeywell Brandy before the Onam season. News has just come in that Dunlop Tyres have entered into a JV with a local Achchappam manufacturer. This is an unconfirmed report though. Please watch this space for further developments.

A word about the origin of PKC. PKC originated in 9th BC when nubile nymphets were sacrificed at the altar of the pre historic God Marriageappan. Now Marriageappan is an especially hard to please God. So the pick of the mallu gals namely in their twenties, with good educational qualifications and looks were chosen. The not so good-looking and not very well educated gals are also sacrificed although the sacrifice is accepted a bit reluctantly. Please don’t underestimate the powers of mallu parents while negotiating with God himself when it comes to sacrificing their daughters at the altar of Marriageappan. Now Marriagappan is the only God with a fierce Mom who makes life hell for him and so he makes life hell for PBs parents. It’s a vicious cycle!


Before the PBG’s entourage set out from home the PB’s friends gather excitedly to ‘dress her up’. A word on PBs friends. These nubile nymphets are also PBs much wont to merriment and excessive laughter at the sight of any member of the male species.

Now the most important step that a prospective mallu bride takes in her life is the one with a loaded tray in front of her prospective in-laws. She is thoroughly coached in this art by her mom from the day she turns 18. This gives her a training period of approximately three years. When she graduates with flying colors her father celebrates with Honeywell Brandy and Intel Banana Chips.(I have heard that Indian Airlines is tying up with the Kerala moms to provide training to their Air Hostesses in the art of serving beverages without spilling.)

The PB steps out smartly balancing the tray of hot steaming Kanan Devan Tea wearing the Jayashree silk saree ,Alapatt Jewelry and the now fast caking Cuticura Talc. But she does it bravely with a chaste Revlon Hot Babe smile on her face and a faint Lakme Summer Passion Blush spreading on her Lacto Calamined cheeks. (Please note male readers that the Revlon Hot Babe and Lakme Summer Passion are shades of cosmetics) Her graceful Bata steps tread silently on the Kerala Coir Board mats also bought specially for the occasion. As she walks into the living room she surreptitiously checks to see if her Baush and Lomb contact lenses are snugly in place (remember the detective service is unreliable at times).

The PBG looks up in anticipation his hernia belt forgotten (another intelligence failure). As he takes the proffered glass of Kanan Devan Tea he gets his ten seconds to make an informed and intelligent lifetime decision before she sashays back to her room. Nowadays the PBG and PB are allowed to meet for a few microseconds (do I hear gasps?) Yes the times they are a changing. A typical conversation between a PB and PBG when they are allowed to meet goes something like this:

PBG: er… what’s your name?
PB: tee hee ABC
PBG: My name is XYZ
PB: tee hee

And after that profound discussion on their likes and dislikes, hopes and aspiration, dreams and ambitions they decide to tie the knot or not.

The good news/bad news is broken to the respective parents and the entourage straining their ears behind the door and there is much merrymaking or much cursing of ancestors and talks of dubious family lineage according to the good/bad news. The thought of the impending marriage or another PKC puts the PB’s father in gloom. However a quick swig of Honeywell Brandy takes care of all mallu dad's problems till the bills arrive.
Honeywell Brandy and Intel Banana Chips and Microsoft Talcum Powder Version 1 are a lovely combination I hear (that is if you are an aspiring human bomb)

With that the PKC comes to an end for some lucky couple. Of course the PKC causes much heartburn, anxiety and anxious moments leading to much merrymaking in the marketing offices of Gelusil,Digene and hundred other products that are directly or indirectly involved in this ritual. However this exercise should be commended for its thoroughness in pre marital preparation.The PKC saga will definitely roll on for another hundred years but with changes I hope.

Bride Seeing Part I

Bride Seeing or Pennu Kaanal as it is popularly known in Kerala is not unique to our state though the Kerala version is very unique. The Pennu Kaanal Ceremony (PKC) is a solemn ritual wherein a prospective bridegroom goes to the prospective brides home to give her a look see. On a predetermined date and time after much consultation with the TV guide in Malayala Manorama the prospective bridegroom (PBG) sets out with close family members to see the prospective bride (PB). Much dusting of Cuticura Talc precedes the PKC and the whiff of its fragrance due excess use is the first sign to the villagers that there is a wedding in the air. The happy villagers rejoice!! A typical Syrian Catholic wedding lunch leads to much mirth and unnecessary laughter. Of course the more ‘kallu’ ( toddy or liqor) is served more the unnecessary laughter. I haven’t worked out the exact ratio though.

The scent of a wedding in the air also serves as a wake up call for Mallu mothers of unwed daughters across the length and breadth of the earth to start preparations to showcase their respective daughters. It is at this precise time that the collective groans of unwed mallu girls rant the air leading to the local legend of the “Yakshi’ a kind of a Mallu Banshee. For long it was thought that the ‘Yakshi’ was a female spirit wandering the coconut groves and backwaters. However recent research by Kerala State Pollution Control Board (KSPCB) has revealed that the ‘Yakshi’ wailings were actually the moans of mallu gals in their twenties with well-paid jobs, articulate, independent and unwilling to take on the additional job of glorified housekeepers. Of course the KSPCB is also probing the local legend of “Maveli” who was actually a gatecrasher at wedding receptions! After much gate crashing he declared one day that this was indeed “Gods Own Country’ because of the numerous wedding feasts and merry making that he mistook for heavenly revelry.

Anyways to come back to the narrative, there is much anticipation in the prospective bride’s home as she is gently teased about her impending marriage and flight to US if Boby likes her, and to Europe if Thomas approves of her, Dubai if Johnson likes her , and Delhi if Capt. Mathew fancies her , and to Pathanamthitta if Kuriachan is smitten by charms etc. etc. The list is endless to the places a Kerala bride can go.

The prospective Bridegroom is now on his way to see the prospective bride sandwiched between Ammachi, Achchachan, Mathaiachchan, Susan Aunty and Jinu, Minu, Shinu and Renji. The ‘marriage broker’ a quaint sub species of Homosapiens much won’t to merrymaking and bill making also squeezes in to show the way.

The Cuticura Talc has one draw back, it cakes due to the humid weather in Kerala and therefore has to be dusted and re-dusted driving up sales and much merrymaking in the Cuticura marketing offices at Kochi, Thrissur, Thiruvananthapuram.etc. Which drives up the sales of Brandy which drives up the sales of duck fry and so on. It would be a vicious circle but for the brandy and duck fry. And the merrymaking continues and fuels the legend of ‘Gods Own Country”.

Much before the prospective groom leaves his house, the price of coconut oil, diesel taxi’s, Kissan Squash, jaggery, ducks, pork, beef and Cuticura goes up considerably. Leading to much merry making in marketing offices of …well you get the idea by now I guess.

The prospective bridegroom sets out of his house after his mom has recited three ‘Hail Mary’s, one ‘Our father’ and thirty two curses because Renji spilled chicken stew on his pants.

The culinary preparation in the prospective bride’s home for the PKC usually commences one-month before the prospective bridegroom father hires the Ambassador taxi. Some of the traditional items that are prepared to entice the bridegroom’s mother are:

· Vattayappam (a steamed dish sweetened with jaggery)
· Achchapam (rose cookies as they are known in Bangalore)
· Jackfruit Chips
· Banana Chips.
· Black Halwa
· Assorted Biscuits
· Tea
· Coffee
· Orange or Pineapple Squash

Of course the fact that the prospective bridegroom prefers Tandoori Chicken and Honeybee Brandy doesn’t matter at all. It is always his mommy dearest who has to be pleased. We celebrate ‘Mother’s Day” every Pennu Kaanal day in Kerala. (Excuse me while I wipe a tear).

The PBG arrives in good shape from his journey at the prospective brides “Tharavaad” (ancestral home, so called because the ancestors built it before the Wright brothers could say “ma look at that bird”)

The bridegroom’s entourage alights from the taxi and is met in person by the prospective father-in-law who immediately ushers in the guests and seats them on the shiny new rexine sofa set specially bought for the occasion. The buying of the rexine sofa signals the fact that his darling daughter is all grown up and he surreptitiously wipes his eyes. He has just been to the bank and his bank balance made him shed tears too.

I shall not dwell upon the merrymaking in the marketing offices of Alapatt Jewellers, Jayashree Silks, Cuticura Talc etc. after the bridal shopping spree by the prospective bride’s parents. But I have heard that the revelry could be heard far and wide leading to widespread panic and tensions on the Indo Pak border. Well…. a Mallu drunken revelry is often mistook for a Joint Indian Military exercise in full swing.

This informative narrative would be incomplete without giving due mention to the Kerala’s own native detective service; This service is usually used for ‘pre marital information gathering’ ( or snooping in simple English). Nothing evades the eagle eyes of the native detective service. Information gathering, storing, embellishing and spreading are part of its large menu of services. The marriage broker, numerous relatives and friendly and helpful neighbors staff the detective service. Of course friendly neighbors are the most forthcoming when divulging information that even the snooped upon families did not know existed. And it is to this agency that the families of PPG and PB’s turn to in their hour of need. They deliver fast and reliably too. Though the claims of their reliability are quite unreliable I hear.

( to be continued in next post)

Mallu Whispers

Ever played Chinese Whispers? Well, we Mallu’s play it all the time. With equally interesting results! Of course the ‘Mallu Whispers’ are strictly confined to the family and the whispered message is usually some scandal that a family member gets embroiled in, wittingly or unwittingly.

Take the case of TJ. A middle aged respectable gentleman. The poor man was on his way to Yeswanthpur market on his Kinetic Honda when he hit a middle aged vegetable vendor. She kicked up quite a fuss gathering a huge crowd. TJ had to part with a sizable amount of cash to stop her screeching obscenities to ten generations of our ancestors. A perfectly innocent incident but for the fact that it was observed by a relative from a distance. And it became a scandal.

Now a scandal is something a Mallu family like us, fears more than the plague, famine and pestilence.

‘The Scandal’ in my family comes in three categories:

Class I:

Somebody (in the large extended family or lef) elopes with somebody
Somebody (lef) leaves priesthood / convent
Somebody (lef) leaves the faith
Somebody (lef) marries outside the faith
Somebody (lef) has an extra marital affair etc.

Class II:

Somebody (lef) is disinherited
Somebody (lef) kills somebody
Somebody (lef) is a teetotaler
Somebody (lef) was caught in a scam etc.

Class III:

Somebody’s (lef) fly was open at church, marriage or other public spaces
Somebody (lef) made eyes at the neighbor’s daughter / son / wife / husband
Somebody (lef) rooster mistook the neighbours duck to be a er...hen!!
Somebody (lef) voted for the communists….. and other trivial matters


TJ's case was also scandal material though of Class III category. It reached Kerala in two weeks time. This happens with most Class III scandals. Class I scandals travel via STD only and Class II via email or word of mouth through sudden visits to relative’s homes in the guise of looking them up. Class III scandals travels at leisure without much hurry to reach its destinations. I shall not describe the arterial roads and towns or aerial routes to keep the narrative short.

The TJ scandal took the NH 7 and NH 17 (most of the time) to reach Kerala. From Bangalore it went to Hosur ( a wedding) then to Dharmapuri ( the brides wedding reception) and then to Salem ( relatives to the brides reception went to visit relatives in Salem ). After a days rest it took off again to Coimbatore (an uncle’s death and another potential Class I and II Scandal as he had willed his chicken farm to his daughter because his son had married a Jacobite). I shall not describe the journey of this scandal, due to lack of time.


At Coimbatore the TJ scandal took a break as relatives stayed back to help / console / gossip with the bereaved family. From Coimbatore the scandal resumed its journey resting in between stops and finally it reached my home town and spread like wild fire. From thereon exhausted and tired and worn it went by email to Europe and the US and the English did embellish the facts a little bit (just a wee lil bit mind you!). And when news was delivered abroad, it went something like this.

• TJ was carrying a young and nubile vegetable vendor on his bike
• His bike skidded and he and the luscious vegetable vendor ended up in a heap on the road.
• As he and the curvaceous vegetable vendor picked themselves up from the road the villainous husband of the sexy vegetable vendor arrived on the scene.
• The enraged husband of the gorgeous vegetable vendor then thrashed TJ.
• TJ had to part with a lot of cash to assuage the wounded pride of the ravishing vegetable vendor’s husband.
·TJ still meets the hot vegetable vendor

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Nirvana !

Life is good and bad. You know it can never be
perfect and that it never have been, and you're
fine with that. You still feel it's important
to live life since it can end any day and not
sulk because of some little failure in life.
You are often a happy person, still you don't
laugh all the time. You have a somewhat calm
aura and most people feel comfortable around
you.


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Bangalore Traffic Police Academy

I have heard so much about the much maligned Bangalore Traffic cop that I decided that it is high time someone took up for the fine men in White and Khaki. To begin with the Traffic Police Academy makes sure that they recruit the best available talent from the unpolluted halli’s and ooru’s around Bangalore. This ensures longevity and quality of service. After they are drafted into service these guys are given training for three whole weeks. The training period is divided into three trimesters and each cadet has to pass in all trimesters to be able to don his cap and uniform. I shall briefly take you through the three trimesters and the training syllabus.

First Trimester:

The cadets are made to stand in random order in the middle of not so busy roads like Guttahalli Road and Main Guard Cross Road etc. At the end of the day, the cadets who are still standing are returned to the barracks for a well deserved meal and the dead ones are sent back unceremoniously with a remark on their non performance in the discharge slip. The next step is slightly busier roads like OPH Road, Coles Road etc. The process of separating the men from the boys is repeated. For the final exam of the first trimester the cadets (the handful that is left) have to stand on Richmond Road, Victoria Road, Koramangala 100 Feet Road , Airport Road, etc during peak hours. By the end of the day the successful cadets are given a handshake by the Dean of Academics himself and considered passed.

Second Trimester

This trimester is important as the cadets are taught the basic and advanced courses in checking Licenses, Insurance, Breath Analyzing etc. etc. The first part of this trimester is sponsored by “Kool Guy Cooling Glasses Pvt. Ltd.” Yes the very people who supply those cool cooling glasses that make the Inspectors look so distinguished. The cooling glasses help the cops’ assess you without prejudice and decide on the ‘fine’, which the cadets are taught to take with their arms rigidly held to the sides with the palms turned upward. Cadets are also taught to shake hands while smoothly transferring the money from the offender to their palms. This training is carried out with real money. Of course due to the extensive syllabus the cadets never get to see a license or an insurance paper in training school.

The breath analyzer training is sponsored by Arracks Contractors Association. The olfactory nerves of the cadets are fine tuned during this session to detect the faintest traces of IMFL (Indian made foreign liquor, the branded stuff). By the end of this session the cadets are able to detect only IMFL vapors. The bottles of IMFL is then donated to the Dean of Academics for his own personal ‘refresher’ course.


Third Trimester

Training during the third trimester is held in special gas chambers donated by the Truck Owners Association, KSRTC and BMTC. The cadets have to sit in the special chambers where short burst of Sulphur Dioxide, Nitrous Dioxide and other noxious fumes especially collected from Bangalore roads are pumped in throughout the day. The quantity is gradually increased till their body is able to comfortably handle the toxic fumes. When they show a tolerance level of 92.56 mog/m per day they are declared ‘graduated’ from the academy!.

Due to the large number of ‘drop outs’ the Dean of Academics announced at a press conference today that they intend to increase the number of recruits per academic session. This is to ensure that higher number of good traffic policemen pass out of the academy and relieve the already overworked traffic policemen on Bangalore roads.

( I think you will all agree that we owe an apology to our well trained and hard working traffic cops after this enlightening article. By the way, the Dean of Academics informs me that apologies will be collected in cash and kind.)

Coffee in heaven :)

You'll be greeted

by a nice cup of coffee

when you get to heaven

and strains of angelic harmony.


But wouldn't you be devastated

if they only serve decaffeinated

while from the percolators of hell

your soul was assaulted

by Satan's fresh espresso smell?



John Agard

Fathers Day!

This Fathers day was our third because it was around three years ago that we heard about Fathers Day. It’s not your typical mallu festival but we modified it so that our hardworking Dads would get a well deserved break from the joys of fatherhood.

So after many hush hush meetings with cousins we decided that the best gift we can give our Daddies was…….a day away from our mommies!!!!!!.

And boy! Did they hasten to agree with our philosophy! One of my ‘ungles’ even broke down when he heard that. The poor mans wife is a housewife you see!! He is also an advocate for Marital Annual Leave and Marital Casual Leave and Marital Sick leave for which he unsuccessfully campaigns at every family gathering.

So Sunday morning dawned partially cloudy with the Met office predicting that “it may rain or it may not rain”. After breakfast my mom was gently chided to hurry up and pack up for the day. We needed her out so that we could stuff the freezer and the fridge with the beer. Showing unnatural tardiness in getting dressed for her big outing we finally managed to push her out of the house where a car full of highly curious ladies waited for their ‘exciting trip’ to somewhere.

With the ladies outta the way and the beer cooling their heels in the fridge we gave the men the green signal to start trooping in. And they came in… in all shapes and sizes , fat, thin, tall, short, bald, hairy, corporate types and the not so corporate types, one chronic bachelor ( his excuse was that he was celebrating on behalf of his dad in heaven!!!) all united in the singular purpose of enjoying the day to the hilt. And enjoy they did….drinking like dehydrated fishes, singing ribald songs in Malayalam and cracking risqué jokes when they thought we girls were not around …(some of them even got prompted by us to complete the punch line ,which they didn’t notice anyway.)

The food was strictly bachelor fare…..meat, meat and more meat with enough fat to clog up M.G. Road for one whole day. “Boys’ don’t eat carbs” they sneered,” that’s strictly for the women.” The only saving grace for the “tiger hearts” was the green salad which they seem to enjoy with the meat.

The alcohol revealed hitherto hidden talents as the men (unsuccessfully) tried to demonstrate the art of Kalaripayattu and Kung Fu and Kathakali ending in drunken heaps on the floor. We heard hitherto untold stories of college crushes and about Saramma with the lovely hip length hair and reminiscences of one Nair kutty who held an entire college enthralled for the whole academic year and then broke a hundred hearts by getting married to some rich Gulf returnee. Tales of hunting for wild fowl at night and getting thrown in the slammer for participating in college strikes and many more that sounded like fantastic fables. Tears were wiped as the little boys within them came out unabashedly to enjoy youth one more time.

By evening as we said our goodbyes we had forgotten the original purpose of the gathering, i.e. celebrating ‘Father’s Day! But the day had served its purpose judging from the camaraderie it generated in a small group of Mallu men who had left their home and hearth many years ago to seek their fortune.

Weekend is a beach !

The long weekend stretches ahead of me like the undulating sandy beach where I am standing. The sand feels warm and cushiony under my bare feet. I stretch out under the cool shade of a coconut palm. The salty sea breeze wafts away the stress and strain of the week.It feels fresh, free and so full of joi de vivre!

My eyes glazes over and I sink into blissful oblivion .

The cool waters beckon and I step into the water that looks like crushed sea green jelly , my feet sinking into the soft wet sand. The wavelets tickle my feet and the deeper waters beckon invitingly. I step forward gingerly, and then wade into the dark blue water. The ink blue mesmerizes and I swim forward in delight. No traffic jams here, just miles and miles of blue expanse. I am far away from the shoreline. I stop and close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the sea and the waves.

A primal instinct stirs in me and I turn to see the reassuring shore. A cold chill washes over me. The shore is far away, frighteningly far…… I gulp and look back at the sea, the never ending sea and then, my eyes searches for the shore again! It has disappeared!! I have ventured too far into the sea. I search desperately for palm fronds that will give me a clue to the direction of the beach. But there is an inky silence all around……


Then I hear the sound! A coughing, as if someone is trying to attract my attention. And then a voice says “Looks like you had a late night.” I open one bleary eye and see my Boss looming over me. I am instantly awake. He smiles amusedly and walks off. I look at the watch. Yipes!!! Its 12 ‘o’ clock…I have slept through the better part of the day!!!

“Never again” I swear, will I watch those late night travel shows on TV.

Working Relationships

A couple of weeks ago I was married in a simple ceremony. After the paperwork I was given unceremoniously given a ‘Thaali’ and I stepped into my husband’s house at the auspicious time of 9:30 am. Things were good in the beginning. My husband was very kind and considerate. Then things began to change. I was given a lot of work to do. My husband became a cold unfeeling task master and I was made to work the whole day and even late evenings. I had no respite on weekends too. I was given a small amount as pocket money which was barely enough to keep my body and soul intact. Even holidays when everybody was enjoying the break, I worked like a dog. I longed to go home in the evenings and I called my parents when I could take it no more. But my parents like most Indian parents advised me to keep trying to make the relationship work. My friends were sympathetic but many were in a similar situation. And whenever I could steal the time I would meet them and we would weep on each others shoulders.

After a some time I got the courage to walk out of the relationship. I threw away the ‘Thaali’ and savored my new found freedom for a whole new month. Friends and relations were aghast as my husband was a well known person. And then the gossiping about me sitting in the house and all that. I started to feel the pressure of the society. And soon I fell headlong into another relationship…. and another ‘Thaali’.

I guess God felt pity on me because this time my husband was a nice man, who treated me with great respect. He encouraged me to study further and even gave me a better stipend so that I could be independent. Slowly under the guidance I became more confident as a person and began to grow professionally and personally. I was allowed to go home in the evenings and during weekends and I looked forward to getting back to his home every Monday. I am still married to him.

I display my ‘thaali’ (access card) proudly around my neck as I am proud of this relationship (just completed two months of successful Internship in this organization). And the result of this loving union is the big bundle of joy I am holding in my arms now (I just got a raise!!! ).

Moderation is the key

Monday morning and mail from HR. There is going to be meetings (ominous tidings). The whole co will be divided into 10 member groups and a moderator (a senior manager of course) will chair these meetings. These meetings will be called “Awaaz’.

Essential gear for these meetings:

· At least 3 new viable product or service ideas.
· At least three new suggestions to improve our working life,
· At least three wasted hours when we could be chatting on various messengers.

My turn came this Friday at 3 pm with 9 other ‘Einsteins’. We meet at ‘Everest’ (the conference room), which is on the ground floor because ‘Godavari’ which is on a higher elevation is occupied.

Moderator: KG, so what product or service suggestions have you thought for us?

KG ( a sales guy): “I was thinking…and thinking and thinking whole night. I thought we should have a sensor for car drivers !!! ( he exclaims triumphantly). Every time the driver falls asleep the sensor will beep.”

Moderator ( sarcastically): Ahem… in case you haven't noticed we make components and not sensors, and anyway what parameters will these sensors work on?

KG: “ When the drivers head leans to the right… the sensor will go BEEP and when the drivers head leans to the right the sensor will go BEEP. And when the .........

Moderator( quickly):NEXT

VS: okay. But I won’t get into trouble naa? Promise? Okay! Why don’t we make something that will help in the detection of hidden Video Cams? I mean when I go to pee I am always afraid someone is observing me.

Moderator: Ahem… interesting suggestion (a little desperately) NEEEEXT!!!

BB: Why don’t we make devices that will check adulteration in wheat flour” I mean these #^%$#% traders are always mixing rice flour with wheat flour!

Moderator: NEEEEEEEXT!!!

MM: My wife always burns the toast so why don’t we.....

RK( interrupting him): Oh no not the toast whine again!!!!!!! For Gods sake why don’t you hire a guy to blow a whistle when your toast is ready? Cheaper than buying a new toaster I say!!!!

MM shuts up.

Moderator: People...people....please calm down...


CS: How about a component in a mobile that uses the power of another mobile to send messages?

HC: Ha Ha Ha . That’s what I call power theft in broad daylight. Ha ha ha.

CS glares at HC who oblivious to CS is SMS’ing his girlfriend with the joke.

Moderator dialing 110: “Glory? Please get me on the train to Delhi tonight ! I MUST leave tonight.

Meanwhile MS is desperately trying to peep into the Moderators laptop where he is entering our ‘suggestions’ for the record.

He manages to get a peek and and turns to us in glee and whispers hoarsely, “He is playing Solitaire!!!!

The Moderator glares at MS.

Tuesday morning and mail from HR: “Due to unavailability of the moderator, who is proceeding on long leave, we have to regretfully terminate the ‘Awaaz’ programme. Thank you all for your delighful suggestions!”

World Environment Day!

One weekend I received a package by courier. It was a tastefully packed wooden Cosmetic box with ‘Natural’ cosmetics guaranteed to make me look like Mother Earth er...I mean Miss Earth. The dainty bottles were laid on a bed of ‘specially made’ straw. There was a note inside which said that I had won these soul pampering goodies for the best "Letter to the Editor” mail I had sent to a women’s magazine god knows when. I gingerly placed the box and its contents on a table. I had visions of pampering my feet with the Eucalyptus Salts, washing my hair with the ‘gentle’ shampoo made from Himalayan Pine and then anointing my face with the Chamomile Cream. All guaranteed natural of course. I left for a friend’s house in the afternoon blissfully overlooking the fact that the house was jam packed with brats, side effects of cousins from the ’native’ staying with us.

When I came back in the evening, I saw my precious wooden box lying on the floor, with all the bottles broken and the house smelling a like a phenyl factory. The brats were of course stomping on the box and still running around. Clenching my teeth I took the remnants of the box and threw it into the trash bucket outside.

Fast forward one month: My maid delivers the news one morning that a squirrel’s nest had fallen off the tree. And inside the nest were a two baby squirrels still alive after the fall. She had picked them up to avoid my dogs from making a mid day snack of the tiny creatures. The babies looked cute and smelt like ……..Himalayan pine, Eucalyptus and Chamomile!!!!!!! Strange…. I smelt them again. It was definitely Himalayan pine, Chamomile and Eucalyptus. Now either I had a nasal abnormality or this creature’s Mommy had won a prize too from the same woman’s magazine. Then I remembered, that mommy squirrel had made her nest from the straw that was inside the cosmetic box. That explained the smell.

By afternoon the babies were looking sick and the vet was called in a hurry. He said that babies were showing all signs of toxic poisoning. And his surmise was that the now foul smelling babies had either fallen into a cauldron of toxic chemicals or had eaten some pesticides laced berries. He advised me to leave them be so that they could die in peace.

Fast-forward two weeks: The squirrels babies are now competing with the brats (still in the house) to break, smash and shake the house to its foundations. They definitely smell better. The Vet was surprised that they had survived and remarked facetiously that I had raised a bunch of rodents who were now resistant to toxic chemicals! He mournfully recounted his battles with new generation bacteria’s and viruses that were so chemical and antibiotic savvy that they could actually teach our poor laboring scientists a thing or two!

So, on this World Environment Day I dedicate this blog to all those creatures and germs who were lost to environmental pollution (the good ones) and to those who survived (the bad ones). And to the brats in my house who rescued me from an unnatural death / disfigurement by using the ‘Natural’ cosmetics that I had gotten as a prize for writing about Environmental Pollution (now I remember!).

Pitcher perfect friendship

A few days back, I checked into to this company on the first day of Summer Internship. I was assigned a cubicle and a Compaq that refused to run on Windows! I was asked to meet the administrator regarding my comp, in the server room. So off I went in the general direction of the server room and yanked opened the door.

This would be the last time in my short life that I open a server room without knocking. The scene before me was horrific. Leaning languidly against the wall was a tall and strappy young woman kissing a man who seemed halfway down her throat. She was pretty engrossed in chewing him but soon noticed my presence. She stopped mid chew, regarded me with great interest and spat out the poor guy who wobbled out in a jiffy. I retreated from the server room ashen and shaking.

1 pm: My computer was now behaving like a good comp and I was busy with the half done tasks of the last incumbent. Suddenly a blow landed on my back and I was eyeball to eyeball with the keyboard. I have never been so close to the keyboard, in fact I have never been so close to anyone. I collected my breath and looked up fearfully. The ‘server room woman’ was regarding me with an amused expression on her face.

“ Hi, I am Sunitha from Q&A . You the new Communications Intern?” Her face was friendly and I reluctantly nodded my head in affirmation.

This is how I met Sunitha two months back. Two months, that was to change my life so drastically that I once attempted……..immigration.


Sunitha was ( I am sure) a Texas cowgirl in her last life. She was part Coorgi, part Punjabi and part man-eater. She rode a Yamaha (or was it a Bajaj or a TVS?), weighed 150 pounds and was bright eyed and bushy tailed even after dunking a couple of gallons of beer. She lived life kingsize and smoked the same brand too. Sunitha drove at a break neck speed of 100 or 120 kmph on Bangalore roads. And red lights would see her sail effortlessly into the rear window of a BTS bus or the lap of the nearest software techie on bike. She would then flutter her lashes and act like the ‘maiden in distress’.

She became my self appointed guardian and friend and nicknamed me ‘billi’ that’s Hindi for ‘cat”. No, I don’t have blue eyes but a light brown that she said reminded her of her cat back home in Madikeri !

Friday nights turned to nightmare as she regularly landed at my room to drag me Pub hopping. I had trained my friends to thwart her when the door rattled at 7:30 pm every Friday night.

Knock Knock
Friend 1 tremulously: Who’s there?
Sunitha! Where’s billi ?
Friend 2: Gone to Kerala
Friend 3: Gone to Commercial Street.
Friend 1: Gone for a walk.

Sunitha would snort in exasperation and push open the door and glare contemptuously at my brave friends cowering like frightened mice behind the door. And I would be dragged willy nilly to the nearest pub. Over a period of time I kept a scarf and dark sun glasses near the door that I could grab while being dragged out. At the pub, Sunitha would demolish pitcher after pitcher of draught beer while I took tiny furtive sips from my small glass of beer. I would of course be wearing the scarf pulled low over my eyes and the dark sun glasses kept my identity a secret.

She would roar as I made ads describing the 'challenging environment" my company offered to prospective employees, and chuckle at the brochure I designed describing our spectacular first quarter growth and would roll on the floor laughing when I made product brochures that expounded their superiority over the competition's!

An outrageous flirt, she could have the best of ‘em weak on their knees and did her best to ‘fix’ us up with what she thought were ‘good bets’. The good bets were smooth, urbane and immoral creeps.
“But what the heck yaar, at least they won’t insist on getting married.”
Her wisdom beat me hollow and she soon realized that she would have to choose between friends and match fixing. She chose the former.
“What the heck yaar, I prefer friends to one night stands.”
To this day I haven’t understood what she meant.

Sunitha is flying across the seven seas to a job in the west and we are going to miss her vivacious presence terribly. Life seems much duller somehow.

I am going to Heaven ;-)

Your Deadly Sins

Greed: 40%

Sloth: 40%

Wrath: 20%

Envy: 0%

Gluttony: 0%

Lust: 0%

Pride: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You'll die in a castle, surrounded by servants.

How Sinful Are You?

Yet another compromise

Another friend, another story. What is it with us girls? Gluttons for sob stories. This friend of a friend of mine has an elder sister. I shall call her A. She met and fell in love with a guy called B. They decided to get married. Now A and B follow different religions. After marriage A went to live with her husband and in laws. She was forced to follow B’s religion leading to tensions and an eventual walkout. B was not willing to live separately too. I was flabbergasted when I heard the story. Didn’t A and B think this through before marriage?

A was six months pregnant then. Her son is now 12 years old and she is working in a leading software company on Airport Road.

Last week, he lands up at her place begging to be taken back. But too much water has flown under the bridge and A has burnt her bridges (apologies for the corny clichés).

I want to throw the zillionth question into the arranged vs love marriage maelstrom. Does a girl marrying a boy from a different community realize that SHE will have to make the compromises if she will be living with the In Laws? Has anyone given a thought to this aspect of intercommunal love marriages in our country? I have nothing against love marriage or arranged marriage. Both are fine with me. But when two people of different faiths meet and fall in love, shouldn’t they take the conscious decision to live separately to nurture their relationship?

Mothers!

My mom is the most incorrigible and loving person I know and I am not going to elaborate with paeans of mushy prose. But the world is a better/worse place for having lost her talents to motherhood.

What I mean to say is that my mom could have been:

· A CIA agent, but then CIA agents do not like their hair combed into submission and teeth brushed before they set out on covert missions.
· A RAW agent but she would have indignantly refused to pry into the neighbor’s affairs.
· A cop but she would have used her infamous neem drinks and prayer sessions as third degree and gotten the police force a bad name. ( I mean no one is known to have survived these sessions).
· A Doctor, but then she would have advised patients against surgery, anti-biotics, cesareans, unnecessary tests.....
· A librarian, but then she would have shredded expensive books she thought were bad for young people.
· A soldier but then she would have killed the arms industry by dragging the enemies by their ears and making them kiss and make up.
· A Nurse, but she would have driven away patients with her nasty,smelly home-made cure-all brews.
· A bar tender, and driven away patrons by insisting on “delicious and healthy ”alternatives like hot milk and cardamom tea.
· A traffic cop, but she would have rapped negligent drivers on their knuckles with a ruler and made them do sit-ups in full public view.

And the list goes on. The world’s loss is our gain.

Happy Mothers Day Ma!

Hostile planet

My friend Aruna had a break up with her fiancé. This was their umpteenth breakup and I treated it as such. This time the reason was a tiff over having babies!!!!! Her fiancé “J” wants children after marriage. But Aruna is adamant that she was not going to bring children into a miserable, waterless, forestless, futureless earth. I have to accept that she is right. However having been appointed the official referee for this duel, I have to be fair and hear both sides out.So Monday evening we set out to Cubbon Park for the face off. Aruna swears that this meeting will decide once and for all her future with “J”.

Both parties have their say, but I am sympathetic to Aruna’s views. “J” her fiancé is not backing down. He wants children. I ask him why? He replies that they would be a little piece of him to leave on the Earth.

Now … “J” has changed four jobs last year. Aruna asks him if he would want the same for his kids. The struggle to get admission in school, pass exams, struggle for college admissions and then the struggle for a good job. The struggles for a home, food, water, clean air, time and the struggle to grow old in dignity and to live your old age in dignity. “J” has no answer to her queries. He is sullen. Maybe the primal urge to procreate makes him blind to the ground realities.

The whole issue makes me ponder. Are we doing the right thing by bringing children into this world?