Frandship forever

Today is International Friendship Day. A day to remember friends and commemorate friendships. Friendship is not be mistaken for "Frandship”, a word that took birth when Totally Random Indian Guys on Orkut copulated virtually with Every Random Girl on Orkut.  The Totally Random Indian Guys on Orkut (TRIGO) is a large conglomerate of desperate guys who spent approximately 99% of their lives searching for female profiles and sending them 'frandsdhip’ requests. This made Every Random Girl on Orkut (ERGO) to either block the requester or tell him to eff off. TRIGO led to the birth of privacy tools and later to another conglomerate called, ‘Facebook’.

“Frandship’ has redefined friendship. Today you can block your friends on Facebook from viewing your timeline, friends list, photos and much more.  You can even delete their comments or block access to your account while the person remains in your friend’s list.

But how many of us acknowledge the TRIGO brotherhood and their contribution on heightened online privacy and better social networking experiences! No one.

And this raises the question. Where is TRIGO? Did they die a natural death or are they somewhere around working ways to get their frandship request across impenetrable firewalls!

A little bit of digging gave a few answers… and raised a few questions.

The TRIGO is alive and kicking folks… on Orkut. One TRIGO member told me that the ERGO are much more chilled out these days and accept their 'frandship' requests. But they are shy. They do not reveal their photos and the TRIGO’s are fine with that. After all they are girls right? They need to keep their photos from being downloaded by creeps right?

The girls do not mind sharing their mobile numbers too. This has led to steamy conversations and late night clogging of the 2G spectrum. It is happiness all around. But there is a grouse. As one TRIGO told me, girls do not sound like girls these days. I was intrigued. Were they bold. Did they talk ungirly things like ‘you know what’. It was nothing of that sort said the TRIGO. It was just that… their voices are so masculine.

Erm…

So why did I write this post when today is International Friendship Day which is just the opposite of International Frandship Day! Because I want 'Frandship’ to be included in the Oxford Dictionary. It deserves it don’t you think! It qualifies on many levels too, like its extensive abuse err... use, it is used online and well as in print and it has been around since the beginning of time err... I mean since the beginning of Orkut.

However I will dwell on only one which will drive my point across rather nicely to the Oxford Committee members and that is:

Several female members of the Oxford Dictionary Committee were Orkut users and will not forget the harrowing 'frandship' and 'loveship' days.

Nice!

Clueless in uniform

It’s been long folks. I plead guilty to neglecting this space. But in my defiance…err I mean defense, I must say that I was as appalled as the rest of the country at the atrocities against women and the girl child being perpetrated across the country as though an alien virus had come down and infected some Indian men.  While people debated over various TV channels about police inaction and insensitivity, I did a quiet survey of my own and was appalled…again at what I had deduced. Given below is my conclusion about the efficacy of our State police in stopping crimes against women in a few sample states in India. The final results will shock you.  This article is not for the weak-hearted. So please read this “Disclaimer” before you read any further:

Kerala Police:

A girl alights from a bus and waits in the bus stand, calmly listening to music over the earphones. She looks at the watch now and then and looks around a little impatiently. She is clearly waiting for somebody. A group of people start whispering and pointing towards her. The group grows bigger and the people more incensed. How dare a girl stand at the bus stand so long? What was she doing? She must an immoral person or worse, a modern liberated woman. Someone calls the police. The police come sirens blazing. If this was murder case, the cops would take at least three hours to reach the scene. The girl is questioned and her explanations are ignored as she is taken to the police station in the jeep. Fat Kerala Policewomen snicker at her and look at each other meaningfully. The people applaud. Yet another girl is put in her place by the vigilante err... vigilant people of the town. The girls parents are called and berated for not knowing her whereabouts. Their protestations are ignored and the girl sent home with a dire warning that she should not repeat this offense. On their way out you can hear the girl saying “ But you told me to wait at the bus stand!!! I told you that I can come home on my own. *sob*.

Sigh!

Karnataka Police:

A girl alights from a bus and waits in the bus stand, calmly listening to music over the earphones. She looks at the watch now and then and looks around a little impatiently. She is clearly waiting for somebody. A guy approaches her. She gives him the cold shoulder.

Cop1: I bet you ten bucks she will go with him

Cop2: I bet you twenty bucks she won’t.

Cop1:  Deal!

And they watch with great interest as the girl ignores the Romeo and he walks away dejectedly. Cop 1 is crestfallen as he hands over the money to a delighted Cop 2. He curses the stupid girl for ruining his day. Cop 2 pats himself for his astute intuition when it comes to the people of Bengaluru.

Delhi Police:

A girl alights from a bus and waits in the bus stand, calmly listening to music over the earphones. She looks at the watch now and then and looks around a little impatiently. She is clearly waiting for somebody. Guys start approaching her with vulgar offers. She abuses them hoping to deter them. One of the guys slaps her. Two cops who are watching this tamasha come charging in and start beating the girl black and blue. She tries to run but they catch her and put her in the jail where fat policewomen slap her and call her all sorts of names.  She is released after every policeman and woman has taken turns to call her an immoral woman who is hell bent on creating more work for them, till parents or relatives get her out.

Tamilnadu Police:

A girl alights from a bus and waits in the bus stand, calmly listening to music over the earphones. She looks at the watch now and then and looks around a little impatiently. She is clearly waiting for somebody. A guy approaches and tries to talk to her and out of nowhere, a mass of people converge on the guy and beat him black and blue before he could say “Aiyyayo!!”. Cops arrive and part the crowd with great difficulty and take the boy to the police station while the people try to gamely kick him in the groins. Boy learns his lesson, when in Tamilnadu, leave the girls alone.

As you can see from the above examples, the Tamilnadu cops are the most insensitive of the lot. They did absolutely nothing when the girl was being harassed while their valiant brethren in other states were so proactive. Never mind the misdirection of the 'proactiveness'. 

When this journalist questioned a Delhi cop, he said “ I don’t understand these new generation types. They cry when we do nothing and cry louder when we do something”. Poor guys! They do have a  genuine problem.

  

Family khap panchayat

Approximately ten years to this day, she held the tiny sleeping bundle in her arms and smiled at the miracle of creation in her hands. He slept blissfully in her arms, wrinkling his face and stretching, like little babies do.  She giggled at the funny faces he made in his sleep and hugged him closer...a wave of maternal feelings sweeping over her. As she drifted to sleep with her little one beside her, a smile lingered on her angelic face.

Her sweet slumber was broken by harsh voices. They had come for him, her precious little bundle of joy. He was a mistake they said. His father was no good they said. They wanted her to abandon her little one. She clung to her precious bundle fiercely…protesting against the injustice. But no one would listen to her. They took him away and gave him to the old lady who lived down the road in an orchard.

A few years later, she was walking down the road by the orchard when she saw a familiar face. She instantly recognized him, her little one who was so cruelly taken away from her years ago. He was playing blissfully with some kids. He had grown big and strong and handsome.  He stopped and stared at her when he felt her watching him. He looked at her quizzically, before returning to play with the boys in the orchard.

Years passed and one day her feet took her down the orchard road again and she saw him again. He was playing with a little one who looked so much like him when he was small. She felt a rising excitement within her. She was a grandmother!! Her grandson, like his Dad was the cynosure of all eyes. She picked him up and looked at his playful eyes. He wriggled impatiently, like little kids do. She put him down laughing and watched as he bounded off to play.

Next day she took her parents to see her son and her grandson.  She hoped they would feel remorse for what they had done when they beheld their great grandson. The parents looked at the stray dog and his puppy, gamboling around and scratched their heads. They wondered which one of the 568 stray pups they were forced to remove from their stubborn little daughter hands and hand over to maids, car washers, vegetable vendors, security guards, dhobi, meter reading man, LPG supply boy etc etc etc … was this dog and his pup.  The father was sure this was puppy number 431, but the mother felt it was puppy number 315, judging by his age. Then they looked at each other as a startling revelation hit them. It didn't matter which puppy this was, what mattered was they managed to get rid of it. Then they heaved a sigh of relief and slinked away shadily into the sunset.

Seeing red

While cooling my heels at my grandparents home in Kerala during a hartal/bandh, I decided to write a blog post. The blog post has nothing to do whatsoever with the bandh mind you! I was chumma time-passing, just like that. So here is the blog post, another FAQ just like this one, though not related.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The term “commie” used in this post refers to a fictitious group of people. Resemblance to any group, caste, race or political party or ideology is coincidental and unintentional.



Why did the commie cross the road?
Because his leader told him to duh!

What did he do there?
He waited for his next order duh!

What is the best way to prevent a strike call by the commies?
Buy up all the red colored fabric in the city.

What is the favorite color of the commie!
Bankroll Green!

Why did the commie get a Sony television!
Because he had raided a Sony Television shop duh!

What did the commie say when his employer gave him the pink slip!
Thozhilali Aikyam Zindabad!

Why did the commie come late for work?
He came to work? Really? Oh my gawd!!!

What happened when the commie got a really bad performance appraisal?
He was immediately promoted to Senior Comradeship!

How did the commie celebrate his birthday!
I have no idea! I wasn’t invited!

What was the commie’s favorite childhood bedtime story!
Red Riding Hood and the Imperialist Wolf!

Who was the commie’s childhood hero?
Comrade woodcutter who killed the Imperialist Wolf!

How do you make out a commie from a non-commie.
The non commie goes to work.

How many commies does it take to change a light bulb?
None. Changing light bulbs are for the bourgeoisie who work in air conditioned cubicles in Bangalore.

Photocrafty

Age 10: Beg, plead, cry, sulk, beg, plead, cry, sulk, and scream till your parents get you a point and shoot camera.

Click away happily taking some awesome pictures.

Age 18: Beg, plead, cry, sulk, beg, plead, sulk…. till your parents give in and get you a DSLR camera.

Click away happily and realize unhappily that you cannot click away happily till you've learned to set the camera.

Click away unhappily as you miserably fail to get the hang of the ISO, F stop and a trillion other settings.

Look wistfully at the nice-nice pictures you took with your old point and shoot camera.

Look wistfully and wince at the horrible deformities you took with the DSLR camera.

Discard the DSLR camera and go back to happily clicking awesome pictures with your point and shoot camera.

Age: 20: You are still trying to convince your parents that the awesome pictures you took after age 18 were with the expensive DSLR camera and not the point and shoot camera and that the lack of difference in the quality of the pictures was because of their err...amateurish eyes.

That was a blast from my past.

Of course now I am a DSLR pro. All the awesome pictures I have taken are not from Corbis. I swear on my DSLR!!

Poverty whines

Salary days are well....salad days. But salary discussions are well...quite over the top specially when you take your payload home in a truck.

Very well paid exec in our office: If my salary is delayed by one day, there are four cheques that will bounce.

Another disgustingly heavily paid exec: If my salary is delayed by two days, there will be six cheque bounces and I would have got an eviction order (he has his own palatial flat bought in cash).

Another deplorably over paid exec: If my salary comes on time, then all my cheques are paid and by day 11 I am looking for people to borrow heh heh.

Poor me who is disgustingly and deplorably and miserably underpaid : If my salary doesn't come on time, I have my savings *looks around smugly expecting to see the faces round me turning red in embarrassment*

Execs: Wow! Now we know who to borrow from midmonth.
Me :!!!!!!

Note to self: SHUT THE EFF UP!

Tangled webs of familial conflicts

My uncle and aunt are not talking to me. So are my other uncles and aunts. And grand aunts and grand uncles. And other extended family members too *sob*

Well… the extended family members usually talk behind my back, so I am really not bothered about them. But I am heartbroken at the heartlessness of my uncles and aunts and grand uncles and aunts at a teeny-weeny misdemeanor of mine!!!

Ok… the teeny-weeny misdemeanor bought a whole lot of shame and scandal to the family I agree. But I was only trying to help!

It all began one harmless day in February 2012 dear people, when my niece asked me for some help. She wanted my help to fill her college application forms; specifically the column that gives thousands of Bangalore students a compulsory vent for their creativity. Yes, I mean the “reason for applying to this educational institution” field in college application forms.

Now my niece is creatively challenged (I cannot tell lies like you), so she wanted her “highly creative” chechi (elder sister) to help her out with this very important minor detail. I was more than willing to help. This was one area where I can wax eloquent without the teeniest blush or prick of conscience. To be fair, I don’t have a conscience. That died a long time ago answering questions like “So what sins do you have to confess this week my dear girl!” to “Why do you want to join our company!”

For a Brahmin Society run college form I made her write: I love animals and want to study in a college that is run by people who don’t eat them. (She got instant selection in the “untouchable quota”)

For a college run by Nuns I made her write: I want to study in a spiritual environment. (The nuns are still trying to figure this out since they know that she is related to me and I studied here. But she stands a good chance says the helpful office clerk after I gave her a five hundred for coffee and another five hundred for tea and a thousand for lunch. I believe her. She is related to the Sister Superior you see.)

And for a college run by priests I made her write: I want to become the future Pope!

And this is where I landed my niece in trouble. Before we could say “Holy ****” a posse of priests landed up at my niece’s house and told her bewildered parents that she was selected to their college and that they have also got her a seat as a Novitiate ( trainee nun) in a nearby convent. And before the parent’s could say “over my dead body” the priests had whisked their daughter away and got her admitted to the convent. And before her parents could collect their wits and jaws from the floor their daughter was already dressed in a nuns habit saying dawn prayers in the church at 5:30 am followed by morning prayers at 8 am followed by mid afternoon prayers at 11 am followed by a massive groan and rebellion at 12 pm. And before the parents could rush to get her out of the convent, their daughter had removed the nun’s clothes and thrown it on the mother superiors face and to the collective gasp of the convent put on a teeny tiny denim skirt with a spaghetti stringed top and walked out swearing bloody revenge on her by-now-absconding-chechi.

To cut a very long and violent story short, the story spread and my niece is now labeled “the girl jumped the convent wall” which is worse than being called a “woman of easy virtue” in mallu land.

My Bangalore born and bred niece thinks it is cool and has forgiven me. Her parents haven’t. The result: no one is talking to me. The teen brigade in the family is mighty impressed with me though and has officially elected me their mascot. I don’t know whether to rejoice or cry or watch my back. Currently I am doing all three.

With mixed feelings I wish you all a great week from the highly secretive location where I am hiding dear people. My aunt and uncle are looking for me you see. And they don’t want to talk. Their unlicensed gun will do the talking, they have promised the family.

Such ungrateful people! Makes me ashamed to call them relatives! Bah!

Pray for me people! *gulp*

The unsung ungeniouses

We were having coffee with Genius at the cafeteria. We call him Genius for a reason. You will see why very soon. Sunitha, a manager was musing aloud that her male subordinates seemed to have some problems with her because she was a lady manager. Genius who overheard this remark interrupted her with a “No, no no!!!” accompanied by a violent shaking of his head from side to side in disagreement.

‘Well…” started Sunitha defensively, “I am just talking aloud here….”

“No, no, no!” said Genius shaking his head again. He looked like a toy that had jammed its internal mechanism causing it to rotate its head from shoulder to shoulder till the battery ran out. Finally he paused, to our relief and said “It is not like that Sunitha. They don’t have a problem with you being a lady. It is just your perception.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sunitha intrigued.

“See our country manager…what his name…” mused Genius scratching his head.

“Ramakrishnan!” I offered.

"Yes! Ramakrishnan!" he repeated needlessly.

"He is a guy isn’t he!” he asked animatedly. We nodded in affirmation.

“Is there any lady in this organization having problems with him because he is a male manager!”

And then he leaned back in his chair and watched us in bewilderment as we got up and banged our heads against the wall. Genius still hasn't figured out why people react this way after he has answered their queries with his astounding logic.

Salary woes

Secret diary of a first time employee in my company.

Dear Diary,

Today I got my first salary. I am now bankrupt. Amma said I must give my first salary to the temple. Now I have no money but it doesn’t matter as I have borrowed from my colleague to get through this month.

Dear Diary,

Today I got my second salary. I am bankrupt again. Amma says I must buy something for Grandma and Grandpa, Uncles, Aunts, Nephews, Nieces, and Cousins etc. Thank god Tea and Coffee is free in my office.

Dear Diary,

I got my third salary today. Today I had to treat my school friends, college friends, hostel friends, Cricket club friends etc. I will borrow again to get through this month.

Dear Diary,

Living on bananas and bread is tiring. But I cannot afford proper food yet. This month I have to go to our ancestral village and feed people at our ancestral temple. That will be my first proper meal in two months.

Dear Diary,

I got my fourth salary today. I have nothing left after paying for the money I borrowed for the first month. So I am applying for a Credit Card.

Dear Diary,

I am in hiding.

Creative dead ends

Take a look at this outdoor advertisement for a leading cement brand. What do you think the security guard is trying to say?

1. Look! I can lean sideways!
2. Look! My left hand is bigger than my right hand.
3. Look at me you stupid elephant!
4. Jazz hands!!!!
5. All of the above.

Now look at the elephant. What do you think it is thinking?

1. If I ignore him, maybe he will go away.
2. Hope he leans a little further and falls down hehehe
3. Moron!
4. I need to change my agent. This is the stupidest advertisement ever.
5. All of the above.

What do you think the adman was thinking when he made this ad?

1. *blank*
2. *blank*
3. *blank*
4. This has to be my worst work ever!
5. All of the above

Those of you who chose No 5, clap your hands, you just won yourself the reassurance that you are still sane. The rest I am sorry to inform, have successfully been brainwashed into drooling zombies by our advertising agencies. Have a nice day!

Fakebook

In the beginning there was Fakebook.

And Fakebook became a rage and made its dwelling on every PC, Laptop and other such devices. Everyone saw its glory, the glory of the one and only, who came after Orkut, MySpace, Friendster and other such discardees.

The village idiots around the world rejoiced and then joined … en masse.

Then the village idiots began to clamor for privacy.

Fakebook gave them the option to block their wall.

The village idiots rejoiced. Now no one will be able to read what they were never reading anyway.

After some time the village idiots began to clamor for hiding their friends list. God forbid if someone saw their friend’s names. Nothing would happen! Horrors!

And Fakebook gave them the option to hide their friends list.

The village idiots rejoiced.

Then the village idiots realized that their friend’s friends could see their wall and photos. They gnashed their teeth and wailed in despair till Fakebook applied cotton to their ears and gave them the option to block their friend’s friends from seeing their status updates and photos.

The village idiots rejoiced… for some time. Then they began to clamor for more control over their accounts and Fakebook despaired. Their social networking tool was now a virtual network of tightly guarded fortress. It made them cry a little bit. But not for long as the wail of the village idiots were getting louder and louder for more privacy controls.

This time around, Fakebook gave them an additional option under their profile edit page. It was called “Deactivate account” and hoped for the best.

Alas! Their hopes were dashed. The village idiot’s never got the message.

They grumbled and gnashed their teeth in despair and created hate statuses against Fakebook and clicked “like” on others ‘Hate Fakebook’ statuses.

Then they realized no one could read their hate statuses so they created Hate Pages. Then they realized that no one reads their hate pages and made it ‘public’.

Then they realized that they needed to show the people who all were showing solidarity to their “cause” and enabled for the world to see their friends, supporters , affiliate pages and nearly everything else.

And then the village idiots sat back in contentment. Something was missing. But they were not able to put their finger to it. And as long as they could not put a finger to it, they couldn’t ask Fakebook for such an option. Somewhere in Palo Alto, Bark Pucker Berg sighed in relief.

He realized that the monsters he had created had only one way to be assuaged. Give them the privacy to feel safe and the freedom to make idiots of themselves in public.

And after that, he rested... for some time.

It's a mad mad biz world

There is a jinxed little shop near my house. It stands next to another shop that is used by some Christian prayer group for some activities which require a lot of jumping up and down and flailing arms shouting “Alleluia!! Alleluia!!” long Bible thumping sessions, and of course free food. The free food is served last due to tendency of people to vanish after the food.

These two rooms stand on a stretch of round bounded by a vineyard on one side and a private farm on the other side. It is the closest shop to our colony that is at the edge of a reserve forest. But instead of rolling in the big bucks the shop is jinxed with failure after failure.

The first occupants of this shop named it Extreme Freeze. Extreme Freeze had a freezer… and nothing else. It was started by a clueless Tamilian Christian couple from the Gulf who had retired and wanted to start a small business of their own with their savings. On retrospect it was wise to start small, for they never grew beyond small. In fact they grew smaller and smaller till one day they disappeared after downing the shutters. The trouble was with the freezer says the rumor mongers. It had nothing. Yes you heard me right. It had nothing. The clueless couple hoped to fill it someday but found that paying the rent and electricity bills ate up all their monies leaving them nothing to buy for the shop. After paying bills for six months they decided to close up. All that was found in the shop was evangelist literature predicting the end of the world while exhorting readers to convert err… save their souls by praying to the ‘living god’.

The next occupant was a slightly retarded brother in law of a big time Mangalorean trader in our area. He named the shop Pai and Co Industries. The shop opened with much fan fare and plywood shelves and after the initial stocking of Britannia biscuits it sort of fizzled out as the retarded brother in law was too retarded to buy new stock. He sat in the shop drooling over evangelist literature predicting the end of the world and exhorting readers to convert err… save their souls by praying to the ‘living god’ till the last biscuit packet was bought and was thrown out by the Mangalorean trader. The rumors of the jinx continued.

After Pai and Co. Industries we had Moonwalk Café. Moonwalk Café was the brainchild of a large hairy man with long curly tresses dressed in a black leather coat, black tee shirt, jeans and knee length leather boots. He looked like a black cowboy who had lost his marbles. He was actually the useless scion of a rich family who spent his share of the family wealth in the café. He had dreams of becoming an entrepreneur like his brothers and thought that Moonwalk café was the way to the mega bucks.

Now Moonwalk café was neither a café nor a Michael Jackson memorial as people first thought. It had a refrigerator and a tray of sandwiches, a cool beach umbrella on the porch under which some plastic chairs were scattered for people to lounge about. The chairs would be regularly strewn with evangelist literature predicting the end of the world exhorting readers to convert err… save their souls by praying to the ‘living god’. The place attracted his cronies by the dozen and when the sandwiches and sodas ran out, he sold the café and sneaked out of the neighborhood in the dead of the night in striped pajamas and a torn vest to avoid the creditors.

The rumors of the jinx grew stronger and stronger and no one in the neighborhood was willing to take up the shop.

After some time another bakra walked into the landlord’s parlor. This man’s luck in getting bakras was noteworthy. They just walked into his parlor and sneaked out when the business flopped. Landlord kept the rent advance and grew richer by the minute.

The last person to take up the shop was the local butcher. He set up shop one day just like that and started doing roaring business because – you won’t believe this - he knew how to run a business. People were waiting for the jinx to strike but nothing happened, for a year. Last week he shut shop and people looked ominously at each other and gathered in excited gaggles to discuss the jinx … till he opened up again, with a larger shop, after a hostile takeover of the alleluia joint from the evangelists. The poor suckers didn’t know what was coming.

All is peaceful on this stretch of road, except for the infrequent flash mobs that land up in front of the butcher shop predicting the end of the world exhorting customers to convert err… save their souls by praying to the ‘living god’ before scampering away like hysterical mice.

The landlord on the other hand is wondering why his once profitable shop has become jinxed, but has refused the services of umm certain people who volunteered to pray for his shop if he converted and saved his soul by praying to the ‘living god’.

The ugly business

Year 2075, Bengaluru, India

A young lady walks with her head bent down through the narrow steaming gullies between the tall buildings. It is dark and a mild rain spray-mists the air in billowy swathes. The tap tap of her stilettos echoes like tiny shots in the dark. She seems resolute as she heads downtown through the cold deserted alleys.

Through the murky darkness of the night, a figure looms up suddenly scaring her witless. It was the dealer. He had on a cheap leather jacket and a black Stetson. A thick gold chain glinted in the dark dully.

“Do you have it?” she whispered looking around fearfully.

“Do you have the money?” rasped the dealer staring at her face partially covered with the silk scarf. She was beautiful. Her fine cheek bones accentuated her oval face giving it an ethereal beauty. She took out a hand beaded purse that must have cost a fortune and removed a bundle of notes. He grabbed the money greedily counting it again and again. Satisfied, he pocketed the money and removed the precious commodity she was seeking. Her eyes glazed in anticipation and all thoughts of the grave danger and risk to her health and reputation vanished in a cloud of hope. She wet her lips nervously. This was her third day of cold turkey and she had finally managed to steal her mother’s pearl necklace to buy the stuff. Her father had cut her off funds a long time ago when he had gotten to know of her addiction. Selling pieces of jewelry was her only option. Her mother never knew. .. not with the vast collection of jewelry lying unused in her cupboard.

Grabbing the precious cargo from the dealer’s hand she raced home. The dealer stared at her receding back with some contempt. He had seen the worst cases of addiction in his days, but this was probably the worst. Tearing his eyes away from her, he shrugged and retreated to the dark corner of the street to wait for the next buyer.

She reached home and crept up the marble staircase like a wraith. The house seemed to be in deep slumber. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she opened the packet. In the crumpled piece of newspaper, lay the precious stuff. She raced to the toilet and switched on the lights. She looked at herself in the giant mirror and flinched. She looked quite horrible she felt.

She removed some of the white stuff from the container and wiped it gently on her face. Three days of going without Fair and Oh So Lovely cream had made her feel black and ugly and downright contemptible. Her self esteem had taken a beating. She felt useless.

Spreading the cream on her face she thought she would be fair and lovely soon and then she could step out of her home to resume normal life. She did not worry about her next stock up. The dealers were always there, lurking in the dark. It has been years since the government had banned fairness creams. But the underground factories and network of dealers evaded their quest to abolish its manufacture and trade. It’s devastating effects to self esteem and self worth nevertheless; millions of women bought it illegally fuelling the ugly business to dizzying heights.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. She looked radiant she felt. She dropped the tube into the flush tank and walked out of her bedroom her head held high. Fifty grand was worth it if it bought you happiness and a feeling of well being she thought before stepping out to face the world confidently.

Social cocktails

Overhead at the cafeteria today where some 40 something techies (seniors) were having a conversation with a 20 something techie (junior). One senior looked at the junior and said "I love your language Malayalam."

Junior: Thank you!
Senior: *speaks in pure classical Malayalam that only Lord Indra can decipher*
Junior: That was very literary Malayalam. I could not quite follow.
Senior: (Shocked): Bhat!!! Isn’t Malayalam your mother tongue!!
Junior: Err yes… in a way I guess...
Senior: Bhat do you mean 'in a way'. What way were you born heh heh heh.
Junior (nervously): Heh heh!
Senior (frowning): Heh?
Junior: I mean my parents were born and brought up in Mumbai. So was I. So ...
Senior (interrupting): Oh! So Malayalam is your grandmother tongue-aa!!
Junior: What!! :-O Err yes…I guess so… *whew*
Senior (airily): Then you are excused!
Junior: !!!!

Junior got up and ran for dear life.

Existential dilemmas

After Monday, Tuesday has to be the worst day of the week... followed by Wednesday then Thursday and then Friday. Not necessarily in that order akshually. But I must say that Friday is a little better than the other days. I mean Friday is close to Saturday so we should give it the benefit of the doubt.

But I can never ever forgive Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday and Thursday for what do they do to me over and over again!! It is criminal folks. Such brutalization should not be permitted in a civilized society. This is serial slave driving and what is worse!! It is legal. *groan*

If you are wondering what happened to Silverine. Well... Tuesday happened, when I hopefully looked at the calendar thinking that today was Thursday *sob*

Goodbye cruel world. I shall see you when I see you.

The Creature 2

Warning: This post is a horror story. Parts of this story may be disturbing to young readers. Reader discretion advised.

I crouched in fear under the cot in the pitch blackness of the night that lay like a silent shroud around the house. There was no movement for miles. The air was damp and heavy and still. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. It was a low mournful howl. I had heard the howl before, but today it seemed to herald something… or someone. I tried not to shiver. Any movement could give my presence away. The predator had an acute sense of smell and movement. I had seen its devastating effect on the people who lived in the house. They were all gone now. Taken down with the precision that had left no imprint of the struggle or the carnage.

The flapping sound could be heard again. Like a giant winged creature that was struggling to stretch its wings in a confined space of the rooms it was going through with a fine toothed comb. The sound could be heard again. It seemed to come from the first floor of the house. I stifled a sob of pure fear. I was in the ground floor of the house and fear had me petrified to the floor. From under the cot I could see the front door. But making a break for it could be suicidal because the first floor landing overlooked the front door. I wanted to run but I was frozen to the spot. My mind seemed to have had lost control of my body. I closed my eyes. I knew it would be over soon. Pretty soon it would be on the ground floor and it would be seconds before it found me.
I wondered if it would be painful or quick. My thoughts were churning at fever pitch. I hoped it would be quick. I wondered if I could bargain with the creature. Perhaps I would promise not to scream in return for a quick death. I wondered if it would understand my language. A hysterical laugh escaped my lips.

The house seemed to tense.

I had given myself away.

After a moment of a devastating silence I heard the awful flapping sound again as the creature glided down to the ground floor in a giant arc. A soft thud was all that heralded its landing on the ground floor. There was deathly silence and then, the sound of clawed feet moving towards my room. It paused at the entrance sniffing the air like a gourmand. Its keen eyes seemed to be slicing the thick darkness looking for its prey. Then I heard the awful thump of its feet moving towards my bed. The steps were unhurried but purposeful like a predator moving towards its prey. I closed my eyes and my mind blanked out.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” screeched the creature swooping on me.

“Anjaleeeeeeeeeeeee.” It screamed again.

“Oh shut up!” I snapped.

“Are you getting up or not!!” snapped the creature err… my mom.

“You know the answer to that!” I yawned pulling the blanket over my face.

“But of course!” she said yanking the blanket and pouring a glass of water on my face. I got up gasping for air. The cold water had me wide awake.

“Is that water from the tap or Aquaguard?” I asked disconsolately. I didn’t want to catch Cholera on my birthday. Or Dysentery for that matter.

“It’s from the bucket in your bathroom.” She said walking out of the door.

That information gave me the necessary incentive to jump out of bed in a flash and dash to the toilet screaming “ewwwww”. The wolves err... dogs always drank from that bucket when I was not looking.

I was ready in a trice smelly heavily of Dettol and some other cleaning liquid. The other victims err... family members were dressed for Mass and passed out on the living room couches in various stages of sleep like 'fast asleep', 'snoring' and 'out cold'. The Dettol fumes took care of that. They got up gasping and choking for air and kept their head out of the window all the way to the church. I felt mighty pleased with myself. I was turning out to just like my mom, only more effective. Tee hee.

The Creature 2. Hmm... I quite like the sound of that.

All in a day's work

Omm Bubba Chaturrvedi looked deep into the astrological charts laid out in front of him and frowned. A hush fell into the jam packed room. The devotees sat tensely silent with bated breaths and blue faces in a room laid with pristine white mattresses.

"Guruji!” whispered a client. “I ask you again, will Aishwarya and Abhishek’s child be a boy or girl?”

Guruji looked deep in thought. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, looked at the charts and scratched some more.

“I can say with great certainty…” he began.

“Yes????” interrupted the crowd in unison, blue in the face with expectation.

“…. that …”

“Yes????” cried the crowd again getting on their feet.

“…that it will be a boy…” continued Guruji

“Ohhhhh!!!” said the crowd breathing out, nearly blowing Guruji’s turban in the united gale it produced.

“and…..” started Guruji again holding onto his turban.

The crowd gasped collectively, “and what Guruji!!” they asked in unison and great animation.

“And….,” said Guruji again, “and there are chances…!” continued Guruji slowly thinking deeply.

"What chances Gurji!!” cried the crowd hysterically.

“That it could be a girl too!” finished Guruji with a mystical air.

The crowd erupted in joy nearly toppling Omm Bubba Chaturrvedi off his perch.

“It might be a girl!!” said a client and devotee jumping up and down.

“Or it might be a boy” sang another in absolute happiness.

“I sure hope so,” muttered Guruji under his breath hastily collecting the cash kept in front of him. He was getting bored of his success.

As he and his secretary Chintamoney sped away in a motorcycle that was parked behind the building, he was heard remarking, “Astrology is a piece of cake Chintamoney. But the believers are...."

"The believers are what Bubba?" asked Chintamoney.

"...the believers are...” repeated Bubba struggling for words.

"Will you stop with the games already!" snapped Chintamoney

"...SUCH A BORE!!!" said Guruji with a long-drawn-out groan.

Chintamoney’s reply was lost in the wind.

The bulb effect

The Zero Bulb - a humble light bulb that has helped many a generation of Indian children to sleep well in the night, secure in the knowledge that ghosts and ghouls did not come into rooms that had light.

I was an exception though because I would sneak into my parents’ bed in the night and the wise old owls they were would wait till I was sound asleep to sneak me back into my room. Next morning they would tell what a brave little girl I was who slept alone without fear. I would beam with pride and sneak right back into their room in the night.

One fine day I got up in the night and convinced myself that there was something under my bed. A few days later my parents bought the zero bulb. A lot happened between me discovering the presence of something under my bed and my parents buying the zero bulb like my dad coming charging into my room in the middle of the night hearing my shriek to taking a broom and waving it under the bed to show that it was devoid of ogres, ghosts, ghouls, banshees and the boogey man… and calling the priest to specially bless my room… to keeping a rosary under my pillow and …. ok, a lot of preventive measures were taken to quell my fears with no success. I had no faith in rosaries, priests and or my dad’s reassurances. It was the humble zero bulb that finally won the battle for my parents.

But this post is not about me, though I did sneak in some info about my shady past tee hee.

This post is about the immense service the zero bulb has rendered to the Hindi film industry during the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s and still does I suppose. Whole films were supported thematically by the humble zero bulb saving lakhs of rupees in lengthy explanatory scenes and dialogues.

Like for instance:

The operation theater: The red zero bulb on the screen meant we were looking at upper part of the operation theater door. When the light is steady it means a serious operation involving the hero, heroine, father, mother or child was going on. When the light goes out it means that the operation is over and the doctor will walk out to deliver the good or bad news to the anxious relatives waiting outside. The red zero bulb signified anxiety and danger to the audience better than any of those ear drum crushing Bollywood orchestra music. And it cost only 25 paisa in the good old days. Howzzat!

Night clubs: Night club sequences in the movies of yesteryear relied heavily on zero bulbs to pull off the sleaze effect. Lots of red, green and yellow zero bulbs conveyed what an entire scene with dialogues could not i.e. this was a den of vice and low morals (women is short skirts who drank) where people have so much fun and are far happier and at peace than in say… places of worship for instance. Unless it was Swami Nithyananda’s ashram which is a fun place I heard. I wonder if he uses zero bulbs hmmm.

But I digress. Back to our tribute to the humble zero bulb. The lights in the night club scene flickeres on and off to convey titillation, eroticism and promises of forbidden pleasures like - hold your breath - the cabaret dance!!! The audience (male) would as if on cue hold their breath for the arrival of the thunder thighed siren from behind the giant bottle/cage/cave/any another prop studded with zero bulbs and heave and gyrate for three minutes of sheer extravaganza of voluptuousness , whiskey, men with side burns in bell bottom pants and bald men with guns. Sometimes, if you are lucky you will see a few sheiks and blond men too looking clueless like they have walked into the middle of a gay pride parade or cross dresser’s convention.

The villains den: This particular situation in Bollywood movie used zero bulbs most creatively. The villains den is always an underground chamber with a long passageway lit only with zero bulbs. The villain, who wears outrageous outfits like white suits with white shoes and a white hat, will be sitting in front of a panel of flickering colored zero bulbs. This panel is his very own 2G scam a.k.a. private communication system that is linked to the global underworld. Now and then he will pick up a microphone and talk to the flickering light which indicates an incoming call.

Sometimes the villain has a false wall that opens up to reveal an array of zero bulbs flickering furiously on a wooden board. The wooden board and lights signifies a covert communication system. Any minute you would expect the villain to pick up what looks like the night club mike and say ‘Allo Allo’. But nothing of that sort happens sadly. Instead we have a fake foreign accent coming through the zero bulbs chiding the villain of some ‘missed shipments”. The villain for once looks flustered and will say “Yes Sir John. I will have it delivered immediately!!” The zero bulb will go off signifying Sir Johns disconnecting the call with a refined British snort.

Even the Indian police of Bollywood used zero bulbs. The interrogation will be lit with one single red bulb when the hero is being given the third degree, a euphemism for "getting thrashed to pulp".

And sometimes zero bulbs were used for scenes involving the hero and heroine too. But, ahem I don’t need to explain those scenes to you do I!

Bollywood owes a lot to the zero bulb. And it is time they acknowledged they same. Nowadays the humble zero bulb has been replaced with modern lighting effects and the Bollywood denizens of yore are replaced with zero bulbs err... I mean their offspring.

Corny capitalism

"One coffee please" I said to the cafeteria guy.

"What madam, not having two coffees like every day?" he said looking shocked.

I felt irritated at his question. Why can’t he just give me one coffee for gods sakes!!

"No thanks!" I snapped.

"Take ma. You can pay me later." he said understanding my dilemma. I didn’t have enough money to buy two coffees. I took the two thimble sized cups of coffee and walked back to my seat.

Next day I looked at my woeful looking purse. I still didn’t have enough money to pay him. I decided to save some money and pay him back for the double coffee he gave me this week, knowing very well that I may not be able to do it.

Finally after a week of saving and scrimping and tightening the belt, which was the hardest thing I did considering my financial circumstances, I paid him back.

He picked up the fifty rupee note I had kept on the table and remarked. "The extents you go to save your five rupee coins and ten rupee notes is commendable."

"And the lengths you go to ensure you do not give away small change by insisting on exact amount is also commendable." I said sarcastically before walking away.

Another week, another battle won against greedy corporate houses (however small) to whisk away my five rupee coins. Bloody bourgeoisie!

Interviews: then and now

Interviews Then

Interview Time: 11 am
Candidates arrives: 10:30 am
Interview begins: 11 am.

Interviews Now

Interview Time: 11 am
Candidates calls up to inquire if she can come next week: 10:55 am
Candidate says she is in native place and hence got delayed on the way back home: 10:58 am
Candidate asks for another time: 11 am
Interview fixed for next day after furious rescheduling of conference rooms, other interviewers etc : 12 pm

Candidate calls and says she is stuck in traffic jam: 10:55 am
Candidate calls again and says she is still stuck in the same spot: 11 am
Facility manager throws you out bodily out of the interview room: 11:05 am
Then he throws the laptop on your head: 11:06 am
Then he throws the laptop bag, your phone etc in the trash can: 11:07 am
Candidate calls and says that she is stuck in an altercation with the traffic cops: 11:15 am
Interview fixed for next day after furious rescheduling of conference rooms, other interviewers etc : 12 pm

Candidate calls and says she is stuck in traffic jam: 10:55 am
You bite back the epithets straining to get out of your mouth and wreak hell on the candidate and instead lie to the candidate in a sweet voice that the post has been filled up by another candidate “WHO ARRIVED ON TIME FOR THE INTERVIEW!!!!” :12:05 pm
Hear with sadistic pleasure her disappointed "oh": 12:06 pm
You run behind HR for more resumes to fill in the post: 12:07 pm... to for like forever!

A day in the life of a humble IT communications mule.