Ab2Flab

I have been showered with lots of complimentary adjectives since I was born, but sadly, well-built was never one of them. Every time I used to meet a relative after a few months or years, I heard the same exclamation,

‘You have remained as thin as the last time I saw you!’

Or

‘You have become even thinner!’

I mean, it wasn’t as if I was a walking talking 170 cm pen refill. I am pretty sure that had I been a girl, the same relatives would have been telling their daughters,

‘Look how Ayana maintains her figure. You should cut down on all those pakodas if you want to be like her.’

But alas! That wasn’t the case. It got to the point that even Mom, who was pretty cool about the whole lean, mean, studying machine look, got worried about my appearance and took me to a doctor. Thankfully, nothing of the nature of reverse-liposuction was suggested, and time and plenty of food were recommended as the only remedies.

Now all this attention even got to me and I began to love winters even though they made my hands turn blue and my fingers swell. You see, in winters, all my embarrassing, spindly appendages were fully clothed, giving me the appearance of having a higher BMI (that insidious standard which labeled me ‘Underweight’).But summers were bad. And my sister made it even worse. She used to wrap her thumb and middle finger around my bicep (for lack of a better term) and make them meet, to my utter chagrin.

Drastic measures had to be taken. It was time for action. Enough was enough.

So I went and bought one 5 kg dumbbell.

After a few weeks of religious workout, I was rewarded just like a hen is at the end of the egg-carrying period – with two eggs (on my arms). I kept looking at them again and again in the mirror till the power of positive thinking made them look as big as Sylvester Stallone’s. Convinced that I finally qualified to classify my body as ‘physique’, I rushed to my parents and proudly showed off my newborns. They seemed to be impressed.

I realized later how adept parents are at suppressing giggles when I showed off my newly acquired assets to my friends.

Since then, things have changed a lot, and how. From being complimented on my new found bulk in final year(which came about as a result of my being dragged along with my gym-freak neighbour to the college gym every other day) , I was recently christened Golgappa by a good friend. Thankfully, I cut down on my consumption of rice just in time (which is very difficult in a south Indian city – rice rules) and avoided getting burdened by this grotesque nickname.

Be that as may, I still envy my washboard abs which I had once upon a time. Getting it back seems like a task in futility. And the teleshopping ads with the Hindi voiceovers which come late at night on a variety of channels right from religious ones to Discovery, don’t help at all. Have you seen the ridiculous animations in which flab gets reduced to abs in a matter of a few seconds? And that vibrating belt which the models wear under their shirts while at work? Just imagine this conversation with your junior, Robin.

‘Robin, can you come over here?’

Robin walks over. (Buzzzzzzz)

‘I am sorry to say, Robin that your performance in the last quarter was not at all..’

‘What is that sound?’

‘Oh, that is my ab-reducing vibrating belt. As I was saying..’

‘Your what?? Ooo-hahahahaha’

‘How dare you….’

‘Hahahaha…(holds his tummy)..Hey Sunil! Boss here wears the ab-reducing vibrating belt to work!’

Now Sunil walks over.

‘No way! (hears the sound and then sees the belly vibrating under the shirt). Ohh boy! Hahahahaha…Neeta! You gotta see this!!’

Pretty soon your entire team is in splits. One of the guys even takes a video shot of your embarrassed belly on his camera phone and rushes to upload it and mail it to all his friends which you also will soon get with the title ‘Fwd: Jelly Belly…really funny!!’

In the meanwhile, you realize that getting angry isn’t going to help at all. You try to switch off the damned vibrator. But to do so, first you unbutton your shirt and fumble inside for the off switch. That really brings the house down. But you somehow manage and the laughter subsides and people return to their places. A stray laughter suddenly erupts from somewhere as the person opens the forwarded mail or just reminisces about the whole scene in his mind. This is taken up by another, then another, and pretty soon, things are back to square one. You have no option left now. You quickly write a mail to your boss asking for 2 weeks leave and rush to the exit door. But the outline of the belt beneath the shirt makes all those in the office laugh who didn’t get to see the earlier show and your humiliation is complete.

So my dear readers, I ask but one thing of you – if you know of any reliable method of getting those nascent evil lipids away from my belly before they make it their permanent home, and which does not include wearing a corsette (like Malaika Arora did after her child birth), then feel free to write in.

Adios!

HUAACK!

Have you ever wondered, if we cud vomit at will ( I can actually - stick a finger at the back of my tongue), then how easy so many things wud become?

Say u r at a party and chatting with Mr. Sujit Jindal. He addresses u thus,

"So you see, when the stocks of Arient Technologies were down, I bought them for 50 bucks a piece. But according to insider reports, they were shortly going to go up, to around 120 bucks!! Can you imagine it? So I called up my broker and asked him to.."

HUAACK!!!

He hurriedly tries to brush the vomit off with his hanky, but instead, merely spreads it like cheese spread on bread. He departs hurriedly to the men's toilet and you continue your evening in peace.

Or say, you just pushed the villain over the cliff for he just tried to murder you. But just before going over, he grabbed on to your hand for support. He is 50 kgs heavier than you and you know you will be dragged down with him. You start shouting, ‘Chhod mera haath kameene! Chhod! Chhod!’ (just like the bollywood damsels in distress), but the villain has more work ex than you and doesn’t pay heed to your advice. What do you do then? Exactly!

HUAACK!! Yet again!

By some weird logic of the brain, he becomes more concerned about getting the vomit off his face than saving his life. In the end, he does neither.

An unconventional use of this unique talent can be when you are trying to break some particularly bad news to your parents. Imagine yourself to be gay (if you are gay, then imagine how different things wud be if u tried this method when u came out of the closet [ if you havent yet done that, read on!!]). Today is the day when you have decided to break the news to your staunchly conservative parents. But how to do that? You dont hv the guts to just say it directly. You know Dad will say 'Thats disgusting!'. Suddenly it hits you! You go to your parents, and

HUAACK!

straight into your cupped hands. Then when you have collected two handsful, you gulp it right back. Your dad says,

'Thats disgusting!!'

'Dad, I am gay.'

'Ya, ok. Just get out!'

Easy, wasn’t it?

Now picture this: Imagine yourself to be a lady (if you are a metrosexual, shouldn’t be that hard). The guy you were dating for sometime has asked you out for a dinner at an expensive restaurant. He looks unusually fidgety and keeps giving you nervous smiles.

Then, as soon as you order, he says,

‘Mona, I want to say something to you.’

‘You love me, eh?’

‘Wha..What? Umm.. yeah. Yeah, I love you more than anyone else in the whole world.’

‘And you would do anything for me?’

‘I’d give my life for you.’

‘You are not kidding, are you?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Hmm…’

KHACHACK!

The fork makes its debut inside living flesh.

‘Aaaaaaaahhhh…you stabbed me!! Ahhh…ohhhh…’

‘Well, my last boyfriend said the same thing but he left me for a pair of artificial mammary glands, so I had to be sure.’

‘But you killed me….oh gaaaawddd…!!’

‘Haven’t you seen Mohabbatein? Love never dies, lovers do. You were a true lover. Adios, dear! Guess I better cancel your order.’

To put it mildly, a bit of a severe test of a man’s love for his lady, isn’t it? However, the only problem with this test is that dead lovers don’t make for a great romance. So how to overcome this hurdle? Lets look at the previous scene again, but with the necessary changes.

‘Mona, I want to say something to you.’

‘You love me, eh?’

‘Wha..What? Umm.. yeah. Yeah, I love you more than anyone else in the whole world.’

‘And you would do anything for me?’

‘I’d give my life for you.’

‘You are not kidding, are you?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Hmm…’

‘Hey!! Watch out! What do you think you are doing?’

You, caught in mid-plunge with the fork, check yourself.

‘Oh….just a thought. Anyway, your dying is of no use to me. I haven’t yet bought that Rohit Bal suit. So just drink this and prove your love.’

‘Drink wha…’

HUAACK!

Straight into the wine glass. A few patrons at neighbouring tables, witnessing the drama, lend moral support to you, albeit involuntarily, by replicating your act.

You witness another strange logic of the brain. Apparently, committing suicide seems easier than consuming your partner’s vomit – even though you have heard the oft repeated adage – ‘Jhootha khaane se pyaar badhtaa hai’.

Of course, using this technique might result you in not finding true love for a long long time. But when he does come along, rest assured, he will be THE man. And he will definitely not have any problems in changing nappies either, and you can be sure that food will never go waste in your house – digested or otherwise.

I invite readers to spill out any more ideas (pun obviously intended) which they have. As the leading air sickness bag manufacturer Puke (pronounced pu-kee, just like Nike) says,

‘Just Vomit.’

Travails of the male mind

“Wake up! We have to leave in 10 minutes!”

Aditya slowly wakes up, all groggy, and pushes the blanket aside.

“Get dressed quickly.”

“Dressed? I am already dressed.”

“But you are wearing the same clothes you slept in!”

“So? Who else knows this apart from you?”

“But they are not even ironed!”

“Who cares? I went out wearing ironed clothes for twenty years. Still I am single. If wearing ironed clothes would have got me anywhere, I would have done it.”

“That’s all you think of – girls.”

“And why not? See, all living beings have just one basic function – that to reproduce. And so it is with humans. Humans…”

“Oh please! Not again. Stand behind me and see how my hair looks. Hope its not looking like a cock’s tail.”

Aditya goes and stands behind his sister, Madhubala. Her hair looks exactly like a cock’s tail.

“It’s looking great.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course!”

Relieved that his lie was believed and he won’t have to see different variations of a cock’s tail, he proceeds to go out of the room.

“You haven’t combed your hair.”

“Oh ya, thanks.”

He stands in front of the mirror, ruffles his hair and prepares to go out again.

“You are not going to comb it?”

“Nah. The ruffled look looks good on me.”

“The hell it does. Anyway, get my clip from the next room.”

Aditya goes, finds an orange clip on the table, and brings it to her.

“Not this one! Have you ever seen me wearing it? The black one!”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“Oh ho! You are an idiot. Just get the other one.”

He shrugs, being used to her ways, and gets her the clip she wants. Then he proceeds downstairs where he finds his parents waiting for Madhubala to get ready.

“Is your sister ready?”

“Ya, she’ll be ready in 5 minutes.”

After an hour, they finally manage to get out of the house and head for the market in the car. He has no idea where they are headed or why. He knows he can buy a black tee from anywhere. Suddenly, his mom utters the ominous words,

“Stop in front of Gupta’s Saree Center.”

A low, hopeless groan escapes his mouth.

It is going to be a long day.

“Groan all you want. You will have to do the same for your wife and then for your daughter.”

“What would I not give to fall in love with a tomboy…”

“Keep dreaming. Mom and I are going to find a wife for you.”

“Animals never marry. Why do I have to?”

“Get out. We have reached.”

They enter the sari shop. Such a bright explosion of colors all around him would normally have made Aditya perk up to no small extent. But experience is a good teacher. He knows that they are going to be in there for at least an hour, maybe two, and all this time, he is going to be completely ignored. Aditya lapses into a reverie, thinking, amongst other things, when will Bani be voted out of the MTV Roadies show. The swayamvar of saris begins.

“Show me the green one. Below the red sari.”

The salesman obeys and spreads out the neatly folded sari.

“Nah! The fall is too thick. Show me that one.”

“Fall is too thin.”

“Don’t like the embroidery.”

“Hmm..ummm…mmmm…well this seems ok..”

Aditya suddenly jerks out of his reverie. His mom actually liked a sari 10 minutes into the ordeal? This might not be so bad…

“But mom! Isn’t the color the same as the one you had worn to Laaltu Mama’s wedding 4 years back?”

(“Darn it! How the hell does Madhubala manage to remember what all of us wore to each function over the past 5 years??”)

“Ya, you are right! How could I not remember? Bhaiya, take this back. Show me that pink one..”

And so it goes on, interminable minute after interminable minute. Aditya’s daydream is broken from time to time by the sight of the occasional nymph passing by the door of the store, but that’s about it. Suddenly,

“Hey Aditya, how does this sari look?”

He starts in surprise. Madhubala seems to be, he can’t believe it, asking for his opinion!

“You are asking me?!!”

“Ya.”

He looks at the sari. It’s a bright pink sari with silver embroidery on the fall and the pallu – something which is called kanjeevaram. He always had a thing for girls in pink.

“Its great!”

“But isn’t it a bit too pink?”

“A bit too pink? Umm…(what on earth does ‘a bit too pink’ mean? )..well…”

“And the embroidery. Isn’t it a bit too loud?”

He looks at the embroidery. It looks magnificent, royal, majestic.

“It looks magnificent, you know. It’ll make you look like a queen.”

“No it won’t. This will look like I am desperate for attention.”

“Why did you ask me then?”

“I forgot you are an idiot. Do me a favor. When you feel like gifting me a sari, just send the money across, ok?”

“A sari? The way you are hogging, the only thing you’ll fit in is a room.”

“Hogging? I am dieting, you oaf. And secondly, you should practice the backtalk with your girlfriend….ohhhh…I am soooooooo sorry, you don’t have one.”

“Hmph.”

He sulks in silence. He then looks at his Dad. Dad looks at each new sari calmly. Mom asks for his opinion now and then and Dad actively considers the color combination, the width of the fall, the loudness of the embroidery, scans his memory for Mom’s sari collection, and then gives his opinion, which, surprisingly, Mom accepts more often than not! Aditya guesses that with experience (meaning saris Dad lovingly gifted to mom but which mom never wore), he might also become a trusted confidante to his better half.

(“Wait a second!! What am I thinking? Actively consider bleeding myself financially over these damned saris? I’d rather give all my money to the Eunuchs Association of India. At least, then they wouldn’t bother me at traffic lights and in trains.”)

But he can only ponder over the state of his non-existent bank balance for so long. Soon, he again lapses into silence, and stays that way for the next hour, wondering why on earth he came in the first place. Finally, the wait is over. His mom and sis buy one sari each, a positive bonanza for the shopkeeper and a relief for the salesmen who now have to fold the fifty odd saris neatly again before the next mother-daughter duo descend to wreak havoc on them.

Aditya walks out, with a spring in his step, and with his red tee shirt, looks for all the world like little red riding hood prancing away to her grandma’s cottage. He starts prancing towards the car when he hears his mom call out to him,

“Aditya! Where are you going? Come this way. We are going to buy Salwar Suits for your sister.”

He stops dead in his tracks, the prancing beaten out of him as surely as Bangladesh’s drubbing by the Australians. He looks at the car as a dying man looks at a piece of floating wood. Extremely reluctantly, he turns around and follows his mom.

It is going to be a really long day….

Sir Mr.Iyyan Kumar

Sample this:

The scene is that of inside a software company. A hushed silence envelops the entire bay with a few murmurs to reassure everyone that no one has died. Suddenly,
“ooooohhh….yeaaahhhh, baby….ooooooohhhh”. Repeated twice.
Guy fumbling with his jeans to get the damned thing out (the cellphone, not wotever else u were thinking).
“Shit! Should have changed the ringtone.”
The young crowd has suppressed giggles written large on their faces. The senior guys are scandalized.
Guy finally manages to hit the call receive button. Boredom and sanity–for the youngsters and oldies respectively, return.

“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Mr. Iyyan Kumar?”
“Umm..Yeah”
“Good morning sir! Sir, I am Nisha, calling from ITITI. Sir, we are offering you a lifetime free gold credit card sir.”
“Really?? A lifetime free credit card? Wow! Awesome! Just the thing I was looking for!”
“Sir, are you interested in it?”
“Of course I am! This is probably the best thing that has happened to me in days!”
“So Sir, may I send over our representative to you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Why so late? You tell me his address and I’ll come over right now! I hope he is not diabetic?”

Or this:

“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Mr. Iyyan?”
“Ya.”
“Good morning sir! I am Disha, calling on behalf of Chitty-chitty-bang-Bank. Sir, you are using our credit card, is that right?”
“Ya.”
“Sir, as you are our extremely valued customer, our bank has pre-approved a loan for you till a maximum amount of 5 lakhs!”
“Extremely valued customer? Oh boy! I am touched. Finally someone has recognized my true worth as an individual. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I felt I was suffocating in this sea of living machinery, you know? It was as if my life had no meaning until and unless I did something wrong – that was the only time someone knew I existed. It was like..”
“Sir so you are interested in taking this loan?”
“You know what? I am so happy that I’ll take the entire loan amount and go splurge on your credit card. You made my day, Disha. I am so happy that I can cry..(sob) .”
“Umm..uh, well..thank you sir.”

Dear reader, if you are working in a call center, I know Iyyan Kumar seems like the dream-come-true bakra/customer. However, if are about to press alt+tab and search for Iyyan Kumar in your never-updated database, then I would strongly advise you not to for two reasons – firstly, there is no Iyyan Kumar, and secondly, he is not your dream come true customer.

Rather, the conversations he has go something on these lines :

““Hello?”
“Hello, is this Mr. Iyyan Kumar?”
“Umm..Yeah”
“Good morning sir! Sir, I am Nisha, calling from ITITI. Sir, we are offering you a lifetime free gold credit card sir.”
“ Fire!!! My clothes are on fire!! Helppppppp..I am going to die!!!! Aaaaaaa….aaaaa…..aa…...a…(big gasp)….…(smaller gasp).….(last gap).…(silence)....”
“Sir? sir?....Oh my god!! Hey Tina! Help!! My customer died on me!! Oh my god!!….”

A bit dramatic but might just prove to be effective if they are not in the habit of calling up dead people.

Don’t get me wrong (get me chocolates, if you can). I have nothing against call centers. My friends can forget me and stop calling me but these friendly voices will always remind me that there are people who care about me…..being neck deep in debt or overspending. Just kidding, u call girls…oops..i mean call center girls :D

Contrary to popular perception, call center girls are not ‘loose’, both literally (wink, wink) and behavior wise. Recently, a bong girl called me up and tried selling me medical insurance. We had a nice chat in Bengali which also included my marriage plans. Anyway, pathetic as I am at Maths, I asked her to call me the next day and explain the plan in detail. That night, a casanovic (it’s a wonder its not in the dictionary) friend of mine boasted about how easy it was to get the cellphone numbers of the call center girls who call you up. Just say u r busy and ask for the number saying you will call them at that number when you are free. He said he already had 5 numbers. I was suitably impressed and suitably blind to the fact that he had a way with girls which I could never have. So fuelled by this thought, when she called me the next day, I did just what he had told me to. Imagine my surprise and hurt when she coolly said that that wont be possible and instead she will call me again when I was free. I was never free after that.


Well, now that you have come so far, you must be expecting some sort of a conclusion to the whole call center affair (pun unintended). Like, what is my opinion on the whole industry, right? Wrong! If you have read my first blog, then you would remember what I had said I would do – waste your time. If you want news, views and loose screws (pun unintended again), go watch some news channel where all the news is broken or just use your head.

“oooooohhh mama!!.......ohhhhhhhh yesssssss….oooh yeaaaaaahhh….”
Shit! Still haven’t changed the ringtone…

Maalamaal, Mall, Maal

Suppose you are with a girlfriend – preferably yours (and not a girl who is a friend – the difference is vast) and have 200 bucks(I’ll spare you a sad pj involving actual bucks) with you. You have just had your lunch, paid your mobile bill of 500 rupees (4000 if you have a girlfriend) and transferred your HSBC credit account to your SBI credit card(but realized later on that the cheque was issued in your first and middle name, not your full name, so it was invalidated and now you have to pay the resultant penalty of 10k) – in short, you don’t need to spend on anything for the moment. So what do you do? Take a leisurely stroll in the park, munching on popcorn or ‘budhiya ke baal’ and chat away to glory (meaning – listen to the girl going on and on about Sharma Aunty and nod in an understanding manner coz u have read that girls dig good listeners)?
If you do so, you are out of your mind! Wake up, you un-cool couple! See the glitzy mall just around the corner? That’s where you should be headed! Why? Because that is where all the ‘kewl’ people meet. So now, after you have contemptuously dropped the idea of lazing around in the park (“What was I thinking? Parks??!! How boring!”) and embraced the hip dude in you, you enter the hallowed portals of The Mall.
After walking aimlessly for half an hour looking at all the grotesque mannequins (trouser displays with the body cut in half, t-shirt displays with head, arms and legs lopped off and the watch displays with a dismembered negroid hand wearing a glittery watch), the growing lactic acid in your legs warns you of an imminent cramp. You look around, hoping for a bench or an empty seat. After all, in a place teeming with hundreds of people, surely you can find a decent place to just sit and recuperate ( and seemingly gaze off into the distance when actually you are admiring the midriff of that hot girl on the escalator wearing the halter neck top and low rise jeans)? And after hunting around for sometime, you do find just the place. You sit and chat (by this time, the talk has moved on to a very different topic – Galgotia Aunty and her daughter, both of whom are big show offs), while the auto-scan feature in the male brain moves the eyes here and there for NSSP (Netra Se Sukh Prapti).
Suddenly, a couple appears and asks if you are not eating anything, do you mind getting your lazy asses off the chairs? You look around and realize that you are actually sitting in the food court of the mall where you can sit only as long as you are eating something. Those who know this fact, buy a bottle of coke, get two glasses, pour the coke and sit there just occasionally sipping at it. However you, being a fresher, hurriedly get up with an embarrassed look on your face. But you are still feeling tired. She suddenly comes out of her monologue (which by now has moved on to more serious topics like why she thinks Aryan Vaid should be the one to return to the TV show Big Boss) and says ‘Hey, lets go to Barista’s!’ And you jump at the idea, totally forgetting the old adage ‘Check the flush before you piss’, glad to take a break from the constant nodding and hmmm-ing which you were doing.
You enter Barista’s, see mostly couples sitting with their heads close to each other and their bums sticking out (the auto-scan goes on a hyperdrive at this point) and think ‘This, is my kinda place. I can just sit and talk mushy-mushy stuff over a hot cup of coffee.’ This pleasant reflection lasts for a mere minute. The moment you glance at the rate list, an outraged scream rings out in your head ‘ Bloody hell! Coffee for 50 bucks??!! Is this the blasted Waldorf Astoria or what?’. At the very instant this dampener on the jovial spirit makes its entry in your mind, a nonchalant look makes its own appearance on your face as if you had expected nothing else and have been having coffee at Barista’s for as long as you remember.
You coolly ask her ‘So, what would you like to have?’, all the while hoping desperately that she will pick Cappucino – the cheapest of the lot. But, just like love,( if you want it badly, you will never get it), your wish is not fulfilled. She goes for the jugular - Moccachino with Irish cream flavor along with a black forest pastry. There is no escape now. It is your turn to order. There is no way you can go for that Cappucino (whose cost seems like peanuts by this time) because if you do, the girl will
1) think you are a cheapo
2) feel embarrassed by the fact that she placed such an expensive order and by her embarrassment will make you feel like a cheapo.
Either of these outcomes is not desirable now, is it? So you order an even more expensive coffee, but being a man who thinks on his feet (weird expression – as if the rest think on their hands) politely decline a pastry saying ‘I have diabetes’. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius, I must say. With these three magic words, you ensured that she will look upon you with respect (“Wow! That is some willpower this guy has.”) and sympathy (“Poor fellow! He’ll have to hop around blind and on a wooden leg.Aww..” For your sake I hope she stops the last thought at “Poor fellow!”
) and say the three magic words every man loves to hear “I hate shopping!”..well, if she says that along with “I love you”, then that will just be the lemon juice on fish curry( as you are diabetic, I refrained from the icing-on-the-cake phrase…oops! I didn’t!), wont it? I am sorry if you had to re-read the previous sentence over and over again. I’ll try to get over my fetish with brackets (but that will be hard coz I am always reminded of this emoticon (I) I used them again! Darn it!).

Anyway, now you finally sit down with the mug of coffee and take a sip…splutter!phlup, phlup!yuck! The coffee doesn’t have sugar in it! You are about to blast the guys behind the counter when you see her opening a sugar sachet and pouring the contents into the mug. Just in time! She looks at you and asks
“You ok?”
“Oh yes! Nothing. Just a bit hotter than I expected. Can you pass me the sugar?”
“But aren’t you diabetic?”
(“Shitty shit shit!! Damn her!”)
“Oops! Ya. Old habits die hard.” (Sheepish grin)

And so you sit, inwardly sulking, outwardly relishing every sip, cursing your thinking-on-the-feet brain. The double ordeal of consuming that bitter liquid and watching her gorge on the Black Forest pastry takes a toll on you. Your auto-scan feature shuts down and all you can think of is to get the hell out of there. Finally, it is over. You trudge out, heading for the Mall exit when she says,
“I am hungry. Lets go to Pizza Place.”
You stare at her. You feel trapped for the second time. You know you can’t let it happen to you again. It is time for some desperate measures. You beg your brain to forgive you and come up with something. Your brain, though feeling insulted, nevertheless thinks “Oh what the hell! I have been with this guy for a long time. And come to think of it, wasn’t it I who had been commanding his mouth to curse myself? Weird! I have to look into this programming bug right away.” and comes up with a brilliant plan. You find yourself saying thus,
“I think you should rather go to the gym.”
(“Brain!! What the heck are you doing??”
Brain – “Shit. The programming bug is acting up again.”)
“What??!! You mean to say I am fat?”
“Ask your jeans.”
(“I’ll kill you, you Bastard!”
Brain-“This is going beyond control. I am actually saying I want to kill myself and calling myself names! Have to get that new debugger program from downloads.com which Sixth Sense was raving about.”)
“That’s it! I am going! Bye.”
“Enter your home sideways, lest you get stuck! Bye!”
(“Now you are really in for it, you ungrateful pig!”
Brain – “Why is the download taking so long?”)

You stare at her retreating figure, trying to find some justification for what you just said. Alas! You realize that she would have been a strong contender for Mrs. India. You drag your feet out of the mall, vowing never to set foot there again. Suddenly, you see Mita, your buddy’s girlfriend entering the mall.
“Hi there! How are you?”
“Hi Mita! You are looking nice.”
“Thanks. Hey, I want you to meet Neha, my friend.”
(“What a babe!!”)
“Hi Neha!”
“Hi! We are going to Barista’s. Coming?”
“Sure!” (Groan..)