ayanonymous

2009-09-22T09:21:00.000-07:00

Hellish by Design

2008-10-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

IIM – it’s a dream which almost every graduate in India hopes for, even if he/she doesn’t actually prepare for. And those who prepare for it, know how damn tough it is to get into one. Hell – I tried for three years before I sneaked in under the radar! My first coherent thought after knowing that I had got an admit from IIM Indore was – ‘Ha! Fooled them! Finally! I should cross the road! My specs seem to be dirty!’ I was so excited that I was thinking everything in exclamation mode. Not until later did I realize that the process of selecting people into IIMs was very similar to how we choose a basketball – it should be full of air with a hard exterior so it can bounce back time and time again . I sometimes seriously think that the fetish with the word ‘Hel(L)’ in IIM-L has become a self fulfilling prophecy. Some sado-masochist early on in the history of IIM-L must have coined this variation of the institute’s name, and because it felt cool to be known as the ‘Devils from Hell’, the entire insti decided to literally transform itself so as to match the nickname. So much so, that people who have spent a year here actively defend the rigorous schedule here! Its like a child going up to its mother and saying – ‘Mom, please spank me for no good reason with a iron rod because I know it will only make me tough – and make sure the rod is spiked….and red hot’. And the Mom actually does so – with relish.

Its painful at the top

2008-09-07T07:56:00.000-07:00

I know, I know - your first reaction would have been - "What an artist!". But I implore you to look beyond the magnificent simplicity of the stick figure and appreciate it for what it truly is - My first attempt at cartooning :)

High 'pressure' lives of future managers

2008-08-08T03:10:00.000-07:00

Every time a friend calls me, there is a high probability I might sound like I am involved in heavy duty, umm, ‘action’. In this high pressure environment, there is a lot of emphasis on meeting deadlines, so I am constantly rushing from one place to the next, and so, whenever someone calls me, I tend to pant a lot. Now ordinary people would assume that its probably because I was rushing. But given that they are MY friends, they naturally assume the more optimistic option. Now whether I disappoint them all the time, is a thing best kept between them and me ;)

As I was saying, ‘Deadlines are Sacrosanct’ and there is a lot of ‘pressure’ (you will get the pun very soon). There are so many tasks to do, but none more important than the one, which if you don’t do, your ‘gross’ (pun OBVIOUSLY intended) efficiency (ratio of output to input) would become zero. If by chance you miscalculate and get the parameters like the ratio of water : food wrong, you might end up being late to class. But that’s not the worst that can happen. What can happen is this. If your body decides to spread the unpleasantness evenly between the hostel and the academic block, you might get locked inside the toilet in the academic block when the class is just about to begin. Yes, it’s a true story. And it happened to me. Today. Because of the wet weather, the doors become extremely difficult to close. But that’s fine, coz you can slam your shoulder against them and shut them. And there lies the catch. You can slam your shoulder against it, but not in favour of it. All you can do is pull the door handle hard….and watch in silent horror as the handle bids farewell to the door and ends up in your hand. But that’s when you realize how wrong your mother was to scold you for watching all those Jackie Chan movies instead of studying. Two minutes of pathetic acrobatics later, you realize you should have remembered all the stunts which Jackie Chan movies show in the end where Jackie boy gets hurt and you keep shouting ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ in pain, little realizing the irony in it. Thankfully, no one is there to shoot YOUR video.

That’s it. I know you would love to hear the ending where the Director had to call in the guards to break open the door in front of all my concerned classmates (concerned that they should not miss out on a spectacle like this). What pervs you are, seriously! Not one ounce of sympathy for the suffering protagonist? You deserve the ending which actually happened. I shouted for help, and a classmate heard and pushed open the door from outside. And no, I didn’t barely make it to class in the nick of time with my pants all wet. Ha!

Dincharya - Pratham Bhaag

2008-08-07T02:21:00.000-07:00

Blogging is futile. And so are exams. But I take exams. And so, I blog...or used to..been many months now, as you would not have noticed. Things happened - I got off the Accenture bench and sat in front of a ZS computer for a year before landing up in IIM Lucknow.

Just came back from the mess after having attended an hour long lecture on what was supposed to be Operations Management but turned out to be a Lecture Series on Motivation, Whats wrong with India, Whats wrong with the managers of India, 21st century - the age of women. Kudos to SSS for not bothering with the syllabus one bit! I actually made a note which went like this 'Geeta, Chapter 18 adhishthaanam tatha karta... Success via God's grace, resources,effort, top boss support'.The enlightened soul looks exactly like the very opposite of Yokozuna, is as young as a 1 day baby is not, but teaches with the enthusiasm of one. He was unassuming to the point of actually stating that he is outdated! And rumor goes that he allows students to correct their grades in the end if they feel they dont deserve it! I am not religious, but I never said I wont erect a temple if the right god comes long :)

As for Gods, the one in charge of Rain seems to have developed a urinary infection and run out of diapers at the same time. Most of us had to write our BIO exams (BIO=behaviour in organization and not biology) in totally wet pants. Though would have been a real time saver for someone who was getting late for the exam and had to take a leak ;) FYI - I reached 30 minutes before the start of the exam so the last statement was purely my imagination!

Well, time to practise stress management techniques for an hour. Long day and night ahead with the grand finale being a grand AOE match starting at midnight in which there are high chances of me complaining under Section 375 of the IPC.

I know this was probably the high point of ur day, but there is no need to feel lost after reading this. You can do something equally exciting like remove dandruff from ur head (dont tell me u dont like doing it!) :P

2007-08-06T04:57:00.000-07:00

if monica lewinsky had kept a blog while in white house, how wud she have labelled it?

lay-bill!

wanna frandship

2007-05-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

A peek into the mind of a frandship seeker:

Waau! What hote photu it is her! Look as shilpa shetty. She will beutifull in real life too, sure sure. I will scrap her and want frandship of her.

Hot_ramesh: hi monica nice name......
sounds very pleasure.....
may I be frand for you?

(clicks on one of monica’s friends who had put up madhuri dixit’s pic)

Waaaaau! Sexy monica has sweet look frand! If monica no shows interest, I make frandship with priya!

Hot_ramesh: may i be chat with u

(Suddenly Ramesh spies competition. And a strong one at that. He sees the following scrap competing alongside his eloquent query: )

Raja: hi priya .im raja from kolkata. want to make a frndship with u. if u agree then reply me.

(This is no time for half measures. He digs deep into his art collection and digs out this gem, and scraps it to the unsuspecting Priya.)

111111´´´177777771´´´1
ooooo17¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶71o
777711¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶$¶¶¶11
7777´$¶¶¢ooo7o¶$$$¶¶¶¶´1
7777´¶¶øoooo71$øøø$¶¶¶ø´7
7777´¶¶¢ooo71oø¶¶$$øø¶¶17
77771¶¶¶¢$¶$o¶ø¢ø¶$ø$¶¶o17
7771´¶¶¶¢¢¢$oø¢711ø¶¶¶¶$´7
7777´$¶¶ø11¢o¢¢¢ø¢o$¶¶¶¶´7
7777´¶¶¶¶o7$ø77øø77ø¶$¶¶´7
7777´ø¶¶¶¶o7¢o¢o7o¢¶¶¶¶¶´7
7777´¢¶¶¶¶¶¶øo71o¶¶$$¶¶$´7
777717¶$¶ø¶¶o$$¢¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶11
777711¶$¶ø¶¶7oøø¶¶¶¶$¶¶¶ø´
77771´$¶øø$¶77ø¶¶$o¢ø¢¢$¶o´7
7771´´$¶øø$¶ø$¶¶øøo7ooo¢¶¶77
77711ø¶¶ø$¶¶¶$¢7¢o77ooo¢ø¶17
777ø¶¶¶¶¶¶¶$øo7¢øooo¢ooo¢$$´1
771´´¶¶¶¶øooo7o¢oooo¢ooooø¶¢´7
71´¢¶ø¢oooooooo7o¢ø¢oooo7oø¶7´
71¶¶øoooooooooo¢ø$øøøo¢o7o¢ø¶71
71¶øooooooooo¢¢¢oooo¢øo¢oooo$¶71
71o$¢7oooo¢oo77oooo¢ø$$øoooooø¶71
77´1$o7oooooo¢o77o7o$ø1¶øoooooø¶71
777´¶øøøøø¢ooo¢¢øoø¶ø1´7¶øoooooø¶71
777´¶ooooo¢o7¢o77oø$11717¶øooooo$¶11
7711¶oooooøoooo¢øøøo´77711¶øooooo$$´
77´øøooooo¢o7oooøoø7177771´¢$ooooø¶¢1
77´¶¢ooooo¢oo¢øø¢¢$17777771´¶¢o7o¢ø¶
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Now Raja, from Kolkata, the land uich gabe baarth to saach(which gave birth to such - for those rustics who don’t know the propaar pronunciation of these uaards) heroes of the maathaarland like Shaami Bibekaanondo and Netaji Shubhash Chaundro Bose, isn’t one to take such a direct challenge lying down. He counter-attacks with this heart melting message to the much wooed Priya.

______*CUTE*______
__*CUTE*__*CUTE*__
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*___________
_*CUTE*___________
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
__*CUTE*__*CUTE*__
______*CUTE*______
__________________
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*____*CUTE*_
__*CUTE*__*CUTE*__
______*CUTE*______
__________________
_*CUTE*CUTE*CUTE*_
______*CUTE*______
______*CUTE*______
______*CUTE*______
______*CUTE*______
______*CUTE*______
______*CUTE*______
______*CUTE*______
__________________
_*CUTE*CUTE*CUTE*_
_*CUTE*___________
_*CUTE*___________
_*CUTE**CUTE*_____
_*CUTE**CUTE*_____
_*CUTE*___________
_*CUTE*___________
_*CUTE*CUTE*CUTE*_

I’ll now make a seemingly unrelated statement. I loved J.P. Dutta’s L.O.C. Kargil. Those who watched it (or think they watched it, as most of the audience was half asleep during the movie), would remember that as the preparations for an attack on a mountain peak were about to reach a climax and the soldiers were on the verge of mounting a daring assault (and some in the audience half opened their eyes to see whether the credits had started or not), the scene used to cut to a couple on their suhaag raat bed about to do naughty-naughty when the doorbell rang and Major Sunte-Ho! (who, like most Indians, was a virgin till his arranged marriage and was about to have his first visual confirmation of all that he had seen in movies like ‘Sharaabi Raatein’ and ‘Mastaani Hai Jawaani’) was summoned to the frontier.

Similarly, I’ll also move away from this absorbing battle and focus on a certain Mr. Oberoi. Mr. Oberoi had recently hit the proverbial Yahoo Messenger Jackpot. For the uninitiated, its when you meet the woman of your dreams on yahoo messenger and both (and this is the most important part – BOTH) of you fall for each other. Yes, Mr. Oberoi had struck gold. For weeks they discussed everything under the sun, and things got so mushy that their friends who were single, started avoiding them like the plague.

Then it happened. Ms. Rai, the to-be Mrs. Oberoi (hey! There’s one hell of a coincidence! Reminds u of Aishwarya and Vivek, doesn’t it?) got an invitation to join orkut. She joined, and the first name she searched for was Mr. Oberoi’s. She went to his scrapbook, and her jaw dropped. She was too stunned to speak. So all this time….. “What a sick mind! Why did he do this to me?’

A few days later, as they were both celebrities (ok ok, I know the chances of this are too miniscule but who gave u the idea that this is a true story?) the news of their breakup hit the newspapers.

The headline in the Daily Noon was:

“Sundarya Rai breaks up with Priya Ranjan Oberoi”

Yes, that was his name. Priya. And he was a big fan of Madhuri Dixit.

Bench - A social disgrace

2007-04-19T04:07:00.000-07:00

‘(‘Mrs. Kumar! Pati ka permotion kya nahi ho gaya, ye to andekha kar deti hai aajkal. Chakhaati hun mazaa’)Arre Mrs. Kumar! Zaraa idhar bhi dekh lijiye kabhi kabhi. Aap to humein bhool hi gayi hain. Na koi phone, na kabhi milna…’

‘Arre Mrs. Sharma! Aisi koi baat nahi hai. Agle hafte mere yahaan kitty party hai na, isliye thodi busy thi. Maine party ka theme rakha hai Kahaani Ghar Ghar Ki. Isliye beautician ka appointment lene gayi thi VLCC mein.’

‘(‘Moti kahin ki. Parties mein jaake aadha khaanaa khud khaa jaayegi to aur kya hoga? Koi VLCC make-up ke liye jaataa hai? Mujhe ullu samajh ke rakha hai?’) Badhiya hai. Aur sunaaiye – Pinky aur Billu kaise hain? Kitna percentage banaa? Meri Radha ne class top kiya hai.’

‘(With a smile which looked more like a grimace) Mubaarak ho! Pinky aur Billu ko exam ke just pehle viral ho gaya tha isliye dono ka purrfaarmens achcha nahi tha.’

‘(‘Haan haan, kyun nahi! Ye kyun nahi kehti ki tere dono bachche nikamme hain?’) Oh ho! Bechaare...zyaadaa serious to nahi tha na? ’

‘ Bhagwaan ne bachaa liya. Hum Apollo le gaye dono ko. Teen din rakha wahaan par. Thankfully dono ko kuchh nahi hua.’

‘(‘Haan haan! Viral fever ke liye Apollo! Ghar mein sulaa ke paracetamol diya hoga. Jhooti kahin ki’) Bhagwaan ka lakh lakh shukar hai ki dono sahi salaamat hain. Agli baar exam zaroor achcha hoga.(‘Meri Radha ka. Tere bachche waise ke waise hi rahenge. Agli baar pakka kahegi ki Jaundice ho gaya tha dono ko.’)’

‘Aap bataaiye. Mr. Sharma abhi bhi Connaught Place office mein hain?’

‘(‘Khud to iska pati paanch din pehle head office mein gaya aur keh to aise rahi hai jaise saalon ho gaye’) Haan, wahin pe hai.’

‘Oh. Mr. Kumar aaj kal head office mein jaate hain. Kehte hain kaafi aalishaan hai.’

‘(‘Permotion ki baat na bataaye to raha nahi jaataa hoga aajkal isse. Zabardasti ab mubarak kehna padega. Hmph!’) Arre Mr. Kumar ka promotion hua na abhi abhi?’

‘(Smiling proudly) Haan.’

‘Mubara Ho! To woh ab Senior Manager ban gaye hain?’

‘(The smile totally wiped off, replaced with a glare) Senior Manager??? Wo to paanch saal pehle the Senior Manager. Abhi wo Deputy General Manager ban gaye hain.’

‘(Mentally laughing a.la Kaumolika and the vamp brigade) Maaf karna. Yaad nahi tha.’

‘Hmm. Aur Mr. Sharma abhi kaun se post…’

‘Arre chhodiye in office ki baaton ko. Hum housewives ka kya lena dena. Aur sunaiye, koi nahi khabar?’

‘Umm…kal Mrs. Ghosh se mili. Unke ladke ko pehli baar dekha. Zyaadaa kuchh poochhne ka time nahi tha. Woh market jaa rahi thi ladke ko lekar. Ayan naam bataayaa. Kaun si class mein hai?’

‘Class mein? Arre nahi. Woh to Bangalore mein naukri karta hai.’

‘Naukri?? Itna badaa hai? Dekh ke to bilkul nahi lagta.’

‘Par maze ki baat ye hai ki aapne usse kal dekha. Maine dedh mahine pehla dekha tha. Tab bhi yahin tha. Mrs. Ghosh ne kaha tha ki chhutti pe aayaa hua hai. Company kuchh kaam nahi de rahi par pagaar de rahi hai, isliye woh ghar aa gaya tha’

‘Kya? Dedh mahine se bina kaam kiye pagaar? Bhalaa aisa kahin hota hai? Mujhe to lagta hai ki usse koi naukri nahi mili hogi aur naukri dhoondne gaya hoga bangalore. Par naukri mili nahi aur waapas aa gaya aur yahin pe baitha hai.’

‘Hmm..ho sakta hai. Par Mrs. Pal unhein kaafi saalon se jaanti hain. Keh rahi thi ki Mrs. Ghosh ka ladka padhai mein achcha hai.’

‘Ab school mein to kaafi log achche hote hain, par baad mein kya pataa(Jaise tere bachchon ka haal hoga). Agar itna hi achcha hota to call center mein to naukri mil hi jaati na?’

‘Haan, wo to hai. Ab kya bataayein – aaj kal ke bachche. Kahaan maa baap ka sahara banana chaiye inhe aur dekho, kaise bojh ban jaate hain. Padhai likhai mein to aajkal kissi ka dhyaan hi nahi rehta. (‘Siwaaye meri Radha ka. Tere bachche tujhe le doobenge.’)’

‘Haan. Naseeb mein jo likha hota hai, usse kaun badal sakta hai? Achcha Mrs. Sharma, mujhe abhi jaanaa hi hoga. Tommy ke khaane ka waqt ho gaya hai. Phir milti hun. Aap aanaa hamaare ghar.’

‘(Bachche to sambhaal nahi paayi, kutta kaise sambhaalegi? Show-off kahin ki)Zaroor zaroor. Bye bye! Phir milte hain!’

When babies attack!

2007-02-09T12:06:00.000-08:00

"Auyone, come see your baby sister!"

I froze. I had, with great skill, managed to stay clear of the coochie-cuddly group of aunties. It involved, amongst other things, taking the dog out for his daily walks and when he came close to his shitting spot, praying that he will have the decency to face his butt away from me, but always seeing (literally and ugh-ily)my prayers unanswered .
But now, six motherly pairs of eyes, full of motherly love, and absolutely
devoid of the knowledge of the panic attack which had seized me, gazed
upon me expectantly.

"Umm..hmm..ya I can see her from here. I am wearing my specs, Aunty.'

"Very funny. Come come. Look how she is laughing."

Now I had meant it in dead seriousness, nothing even remotely funny
was intended in my statement. I looked around desperately, hoping for
someone to ring the bell , my cellphone to come alive, or simply, someone to fart noisily so that I could hold my nose and rush out.

Nothing. There was no electricity, so no bell. The banks were closed, so no phone call. As for the fart, well, I could have pretended someone had farted, held my nose and ran out, but performance under pressure(pun unintended) had rarely been my forte. I was well and truly trapped.

I stared at the source of my fear – my cousin sister (okay, okay, all you linguistic purists, there is nothing like ‘cousin sister’ but it makes an awful lot of sense so I am going to stick with it). She was laughing while some aunt was tickling her and speaking to her in some language which she thought the child understood, but of course, the child knew she was talking crap and was laughing at her stupidity.

The fact that she was laughing was good news – I could just hold her,
give a big smile and then scram. Emboldened by this, I started walking
towards the group slowly. Just when I reached them, the laughing
stopped. I stopped. The aunt apparently wasn't a great extempore
speaker and had fallen short of things to say, and so the kid had also
stopped being amused.

"Why did you stop? See, Tultuli has stopped laughing. Come, make her laugh."

Gulp! It was as if indigestion had just turned into a fart-symphony.

I moved like a doomed man moves on the gangplank, the encouraging
looks of all the aunties aimed at me like the muskets of the pirates.

She was placed in my arms amidst "Support the head", "Be careful",
"She hasn't pee-ed in 3 hours, hee hee", "And she has diarrhoea, ha
ha".

I looked at her. She looked at me. I cleared my throat like I was
about to sing Bon Jovi's Always. Her eyes looked me over, settled on the conclusion – “His words might yet redeem him.”, and waited for my recital.
I began,

"Hellooooo, how are youuuuuuuuu (a broad nervous fake smile)??"

She kept staring at me. She was sharp, she knew these weren't the
starting lines. I could see it in her eyes. She seemed to say,

"You idiot, sing properly! I am tried of hearing this same crap over
and over again! Jeez! Can you guys get more boring?"

But I had no option – to break into an actual song would have
certified me as stupid. So I carried on,

"Coochie coochie (I began tickling the soles of her feet, desperate to
see her laugh)… coochie coo"

To utter these silly and foolish words in a matronly manner in front
of everyone made me feel extremely stupid - I was a fully grown,
strapping young man, mature and wise with my words, and yet, I was
reduced to acting like a complete imbecile in public. However, the
aunties seemed to love my performance. The cousin began to laugh. But
I could again see what she wanted to say,

“Of course I am laughing, you sicko! Try getting your feet tickled with your hands tied. Can’t you tell me a Little Johnny joke instead?”

I was aghast! Where on earth did she hear jokes of that kind? Come to think of it, what made me think that she was thinking all that?

Just like the Bon Jovi song, any plans which I might have harboured of narrating a non veg joke to my 2 month cousin were smothered by that assemblage of baby experts. Left without any other option, I began again,

“Coochie c..”

I saw the contempt in her eyes before I felt the warm liquid trickling down the front of my shirt.

“God! You are an absolute moron, you know that, bro?”

Her mom quickly took her away from me.

Bhurrrrrrrrr!

Someone farted.

Everyone looked at me and held their noses.

As Alanis Morissette sang – ‘Isn’t it ironic?’

Ab2Flab

2007-01-31T01:09:00.000-08:00

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!’

‘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!

2007-01-21T21:18:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-10T23:24:00.000-08:00

“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

2007-01-05T03:24:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-02T01:29:00.000-08:00

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..)

I.T.(is on the)ROCKS!!

2006-12-29T11:07:00.000-08:00

The IT sector is booming. People are getting recruited at fantastic salaries left, right and center (and being put on bench also at the aforementioned places). All the top companies are proudly quoting the headcount they expect to have in three years from now just like the Indian Association of Meat-sellers(I don’t know what it is called exactly, but this seems pretty logical, doesn’t it? A wonder if they haven’t named it thus) must be proudly boasting about the headcount of goats and sheep. Thankfully, cannibalism isn’t part of our culture, else ‘being axed from the job’ might have taken a whole new meaning altogether.

The rise of IT is indeed impressive. Kudos to all the computer engineers who made it possible! Screeeeeeechhhhh…..Wait a second! Did I just say computer engineers? I am sorry, I meant mechanical, civil, chemical, metallurgical, electrical engineers. Now there can be three reactions to this piece of news which I’ll list below:

An IT professional : (No reaction. Waiting for the next sentence)
Lehmann..I mean, layman : Hmmm….
An American Client : What the %$%#!! They make the software??!!

Thankfully for all of us non-comps IT people, I don’t suppose any American client is going to read my blog (except maybe if I get sick of my project and want it cancelled).

I think we, the ones who thought s/w was, at worst, all about writing a C Program on how to generate the Fibonacci series, are the ones who have benefited the most from this boom. I mean, can you imagine an automobile manufacturing company taking an English(Hons) graduate in their R&D team which is going to come out with a brand new clone of its close competitor? But IT is simply great. IT(t) didn’t ask me a single question on computers and gave me two job offers from the top 3 IT companies in India! And unlike in the previous scenario, where the English(Hons) graduate, even if he somehow managed to get into the R&D team, will only be used to correct the innumerable mistakes in official e-mails, here a mechanical engineer can be easily put into coding in C/C++/Java after a training spanning just one month. And what a training it is! Even the guys who used to staple chits to the inside of their pants in college and were the first to reach the exam hall, not because of any excitement but purely to ‘make notes’ on the wonderfully cluttered drawing boards, get a shock.. For here, co-operation is virtually officially sanctioned. Sample a scene in the classroom during a test :

Ayan : Hey Sonia(for want of a better name)! Log in to the test site, start the test and we can all help u with the answers. Then we can simply copy all the answers.

Sonia: Shh…Ma’am is still in the class.

Ayan: Exactly. Even our class genius Mohan will know only 5 answers. From where do you think we were going to get the rest?

Ma’am: First of all, don’t call me Ma’am. My name is Sree Devi(I am not kidding – there were quite a few madhuris and sreedevis for our batch). And please don’t make so much noise. Your training lead can come anytime. Do it quietly. And Sonia, the answer is D, not B.

Ayan: Sreedevi, I’ll go out and have coffee. Will be back in 15 minutes.

Ma’am alias Sreedevi: Bring lemon tea for me, ok?

And so were the so-called tests cleared, and I became a trained Datawarehousing professional, ready to unleash upon my future team and client the full force of the havoc known as complete and utter ignorance.

However, things didn’t turn out so bad at the end of 6 months in the project – simply because we(me and two others of my ilk) weren’t made to work on anything for the first month and for the next 5, well, lets say that being born required more skill than what we did.

From time to time, the devil in my head (it’s a hot chick wearing a green noodle-strapped blouse and saree [a-la mandira bedi…btw, studying for MBA teaches you some new things…like which bracket to put inside a round bracket] and pouty lips just like Jolie) tries to get me to apply for a mechanical company, but thankfully, sense prevails (meaning – I get cold feet) and I refuse, realizing one thing. If there is one place which demands nothing from my brain, except that it control my fingers, and instead, lets it rot away writing blogs which only I am going to read (and maybe the occasional Client), then that place is IT.

Amen.

Ayanony'mouse'

2006-12-27T10:11:00.000-08:00

The workplace in a software company is a place where cleanliness pervades. All the surfaces are shining, no garbage lies around and the white lighting gives one a feeling, when one first enters the bay, of being in heaven ( the one with all the fairies,saints and clouds - all draped in white and totally aimless; not the beaches,girls,wine and riches one). The feeling soon fades away when the person realises that instead of everyone being contented and just lazing around, all of them are hunched forward in their seats, staring at the monitors and hammering away at the keyboard as if some wild orgy is going on and they are controlling the proceedings with their fingers! But when that person, whose name is one, realises that all they are looking at are just rows and rows of lines text, thats when he gets thoroughly nonplussed. But leave Mr. One for now.

So, when in this haven of all that is immaculate and spotless, one finds a mouse doing highly advanced aerobics, viz. leaping from the ground straight onto the top of the drawers, one doesn’t feel like clapping and hooting so much as themselves doing aerobics of no mean sort by leaping a clean 3 inches from the chair at the spectacle. This, I shamefully admit, was the case with me. Though I have killed two mice in my lifetime – both receiving a direct hit from one of my slippers as they were climbing the curtains, and thus, were silhouetted against the daylight, I let out a squeak just as a mouse of my dimensions might have emitted. But thankfully, I wasn’t made to feel ashamed of my reflexive behaviour by my team members. I think they were just glad that it was I who got to witness the egregious event, and not they.

The worst angle to this whole issue is of course, when a specimen of the species mus musculus6 chooses to expel his/her last breath in the vicinity of one’s workstation. Why they should chose to do so, I don’t know. If I had to guess, I would think a celebrity assassin’s mindset at work here ‘If I couldn’t become famous in life, I will become notorious in death.’ The point being, the brown creature’s last breath makes it difficult to take even one breath for sensitive noses like mine. So what do I do then? Call up facilities and services of course. The guy arrives promptly, armed not with whatever people are armed with to remove mice, but a room freshener can. And then, he proceeds to spray the noxious fumes all over the place, making the mild stench of the decomposing diminutive mammal almost welcome. On the brighter side, the development of this foul atmosphere gives me a perfect excuse to slip away for a refreshing cup of hot chocolate in the break-out area.

I wonder why it is called a break-out area. The two things which come to mind the moment one hears the phrase ‘break-out’ are a jail break and an outbreak of some disease. The presence of the furry little animals makes one wonder whether it is not just the first meaning which is intended.

But to be fair to mice, they don’t trouble us a lot. They are in general shy creatures, shunning any publicity and generally keep to themselves. Though I do hope someday they take a liking to the vast network of plastic vines crisscrossing the entire complex. I would gladly change the name of my blog from ayanonymous to ayanonymouse on that day.

P.S. Please see the first comment on my blog for shashank’s sake.

Flying loo

2006-12-26T08:12:00.000-08:00

The flight to Bangalore took off at the scheduled time on the 30th day of May, 2006. I was traveling with Jindal to join _____(can't reveal the name of the company, coz tho' plea bargaining has begun in India, I am still not a big fan of soothing body acupressure by the lathis of the gallant upholders of the law) , the company I had fooled into taking me on board. But more about that later.

A few minutes into the flight, nature started calling me incessantly, but thankfully, she didn’t turn up at my doorstep. From my previous experience on a plane, I was thinking that we would be allowed to unfasten our seat belts some 10 minutes into the flight. But 10 minutes came and went. Then 15 and then 20 and then 21, then 22….you get the picture. I was counting the minutes. . A stage appeared when I realized that nature was gonna get really angry and decide to mess up the neat and clean, non-natural interiors of the plane. At that moment, I decided to drown my dignity in a bowl of my foulest smelling juices and asked the air-hostess whether I could get rid of those plastic shackles and head straight for the 4 square feet of paradise which was beckoning me like a newly wed bride beckons her newly wed husband. The husband cant wait to be with his wife but has to free himself from friends who know only too well the reason for his desperation and so , are even more enthusiastic in their display of camaraderie with their fallen comrade. Sadly, my dignity didn’t die a martyr’s death. The air-hostess told me what I already knew – that till the light on top and in front of my seat didn’t turn off, I had to remain seated. Tho’ no one looked at me, I was pretty sure what the others around my seat were thinking – ‘Another gawaar in his first flight’. However, the gawaar had the last laugh, not because he didn’t get the joke, but because the moment the light went out, he bolted like the fabled horse who had bolted before the stable door could be bolted, straight for the promised land. And it did keep its promise. A flood of relief came over me when I released the flood within me. And then I spent some time admiring my profile in the mirror while all the gawaar-accusers stood outside in the aisle, advertising their bloated bladders to all who cared to notice. After I had got enough of an ego-massage, I emerged, at peace with all the world, save for a smirk for all the people in the aisle who would have given their credit cards to have exchanged places with me. Thus sated, I relaxed but my bowels didnt and I continued on my sojourn...

2006-12-26T07:21:00.000-08:00

Well, hello! First off, I think there are better things you can do than read my blog. But I guess you know that already. So inspite of the fact that you know that you should be doing something worthwhile,you still persist in reading this? Great! Just the sort of absolutely vella person I was looking forward to. For, trust me, I have serious doubts whether anything in any of my blogs will change your life in any way. You know the famous smoking fact - every cigarette you smoke reduces your life by 5 minutes. But one never knows for sure, does one? I mean, you dont get a sms notification the moment you smoke a ciggy showing your outstanding life, do you? I digress. My point being that smoking a cigarette might reduce your life by 5 minutes, but reading this blog will for sure reduce it by much more than that. Oh, and btw, it has already reduced it by a couple of minutes....just thought I should warn you before you trudge bravely on. Now I intended my first blog to be a sort of introduction to my future blogs but to even attempt to do that would be a lie coz I dont have the foggiest idea what they are going to be on. They can be on anything - right from the effect of reptilian erotica on chameleons to a complete dissertation on the open zip.

Alrighty then! Without any further ado, I leave you at the mercy of my blogs...