My tryst with the photographer!

I recently got engaged to the most beautiful girl in the world (yeah yeah, hate the game, not the player!). I had a very good time as part of the engagement function. Though I was a little speculative about this whole Hindu Engagement ceremony, I actually sort of enjoyed all the attention I got.

After the priest declared us engaged, with the kind of attention we were receiving, I wondered if we just achieved something that human kind has never achieved before. I was able to witness our guests becoming happier than us. The way we were wished by people, for a second, made me wonder if we got married already. The photographer was having a tough time trying to frame us all with at least one person not showing their back to the camera. The videographer laid two chairs and three stools, one on top of the other and balanced on one foot, just to get a glimpse of what the hell was going on.

Talking about photography, I know it’s all done for the remembrance sake. But should the groom definitely be smiling with his tooth shown always? During the initial photo shoot, after the first two pictures (where I thought I smiled my best smile by the way), the photographer gently asked me if I can smile a little more. I tried, this time, seeming like a guy who is happy that he is finally getting engaged. Photographer wasn't satisfied. He said ‘innum konjam saar’ ('little more sir'). I slightly got impatient and thinking of being a wise-guy, I mockingly showed my teeth and smiled. He said ‘avlo dhaan saar, hero maadhiri irukkeenga!’ ('thats it sir, you like a hero now!’). I had a brief Vivek’s "this piece?????!" moment and the photographer kept taking a few thousand shots. I wasn't sure if my attempted joke became one on myself or if I truly looked like my photographer's hero. When I came back to senses after being temporarily blinded from the zillion watts flash, I asked him to show me the photographs, which were not too bad after all.

Realizing I had to maintain the smile for the entire evening, (not that I had a choice, as the photographer was very conscious of how my smile varied with time - he must have had a mental graph with smile on Y-axis and time on X-axis!), I continued to do so effortlessly. After a few photographs, I slowly felt a pain in my jaws and realized it was not all that easy to fake a smile. To add to the complexity, my facial components are wired in such a way that if I maintain a fake smile for prolonged time, my eyes tend to close automatically. Awesome. Now the photographer got something else to point to. He said 'saar, kanna moodaatheenga saar' (‘sir, please don’t close your eyes, sir’). I nodded, made sure my eyes are wide open and continued the shoot. In a few seconds, my smile faded away. He stopped and pointed that my smile is missing. I realized, got back my signature smile and he fired a few shots, then requested to me not to close my eyes. My face did not seem to get the hang of the process.

Like a scientist, he suddenly exclaimed 'saar, neenga nallaa sirichaa unga kannu moodikkuthu saar! (‘If you smile hard, your eyes close automatically sir’). As a resort, I explained and later pleaded to the photographer about the "smile-eye" coordination problem I'm blessed with. He innovatively thought of a '1-2-3-ready' technique to make sure my eyes are open and the smile is retained at least for that one split second when the camera shutter opens.

That sort of helped, but not for long. The problem grew further when the bride joined. She knew what kind of a monkey face I can become while facing the camera (compare to behind being one). My open-smile-closed-eye-closed-smile-open-eye syndrome continued for a little while and the pressure was building, as the girl was quite comfortable smiling away to glory. The photographer can't help but compare me to her. He politely said 'avangala paarunga saar, andha maadhiri siringa saar' (‘ook at her sir, try to smile like her sir’). I looked at her. I know she has a Colgate smile and I would look like a happy buffalo if I tried that. I laughed aloud, almost uncontrollably. Looking at all the drama, she joined too. Photographer took that as a good opportunity and fired a few shots. He was either satisfied by then or I got better with time or he felt I was totally hopeless; he never complained about my smile that evening!

But I am definitely looking forward to working with him during my wedding, even if he is not.

Getting acclimatized...a little too much!

Uncle sam's land seemingly influences some of their inherent traits to immigrants so effortlessly, even without one's apparent realization. I see this happen mostly to students/IT professionals, because they seem to interact with more Americans in a day than with desis.

I did not have this habit to saying 'You too' for many things when I was back in India. But this country has taught me enough to do so at least a good 10 times a day. This has become a habit, making me say it, even when not completely necessary.

Couple of months ago, as I was boarding a flight, the flight attendant, looked at my boarding pass and said 'You seat is on the left aisle sir'. I said 'Thank you'. She then added "Have a good flight sir'. I instantaneously said 'you too'. She gave a blank and a puzzled look. I moved on without looking back, feeling slightly stupid.

The other day, during my visit to a temple nearby, the priest offered me the 'crown of blessing' (or satari if you will) and mildly said 'Aayushmaanbhava'. Instantaneously I said 'you too!' He gave me the weirdest of looks, as if to ask 'are you ok?'. I shamelessly smiled back, realizing what a douchebag I was. He muttered something that appeared to me like 'hopeless!' and moved on.

The western traits seem to catch on desis after a prolonged stay in this place (in some cases after about a month or so). And where else is this evident if not in desi temples?! A visit to a desi temple in Uncle sam's land has always made me come home with a tinge of self-smiling humour. The various people I see, the way things are organized, the discipline people exhibit and of all, the priests themselves!

Most priests, either because they stay here for a long time or because they interact with 'American-turned-Desis' way too much, get acclimitized to the US culture so well. They tend do demonstrate some characteristics which one wouldn't get to see otherwise.

The other day, at a temple nearby, an old priest (who looked like he hailed from kumbakonam) asked me, "how you doin'?"

I said "Fine, how are you?".

He answered, "I'm good!".

I doubt if he would have cared as to how I did, if we both met in kumbakonam.

Later, when he distributed prasadham, he asked the person next to me "Are you good or you need more?" That seemed indigeniously American to me. After a while, as I was doing my pradhakshanam, I overheard two young priests talking enthusiastically about Yahoo-Microsoft merger and how it affected their stock prices. wow, I thought.

It's interesting to see how people catch up on local culture and get used to the land. Not that there is anything wrong about it, it just seems a little funny when the 'getting used to' part becomes a little too much at times!

Laugh'aholic!

I was at one of those otherwise dull meetings at work this morning. Today, unusually, the whole environment was sort of active. People were smiling and talks about baseball and what not! There was a lighter conversation and I said something that was slightly funny. The lady next to me churned an explosive laughter that rocked the whole room. I was almost thrown out of my chair.

She continued nevertheless. And more I said anything, she only laughed more. I wasn't sure if she was mocking, but I didn't drill into that thought-process, for obvious selfish reasons. She was definitely LOUD. The other people in the room joined, some cracking more jokes, some laughing uncontrollably and at one point, I even doubted if there was laughing gas being sprayed from the AC vent.

I was almost sure that some people were laughing by just looking at other people laugh. When I come to think about it, it is indeed funny to just look at some people laugh.

I have a friend who starts to sing when she laughs. She'll laugh to her heart's content and then when she is done (when her brain no longer sends the signal to laugh), she'll try to prolong that laughing sound, as if she wouldn't want to stop. It'll seem like she's singing the final verses of a song without knowing the lyrics, yet with high enthusiasm.

One of my friends in college used to look fairly skinny, but when you make her laugh, you'll be surprised at how such a high frequency laughter could come out of such a small body. At times, I wonder if her high-pitched laughter would make one regret cracking a joke in the first place.

Some people burst the first laughter out and then continue it silently, as if they were almost slightly embarrassed of the burst. Some people laugh which might sound as if they sneezed.

In general, I have an unclear feeling that there is a stronger association between fat people and noisy laughter. The other day, I was watching an episode of 'Deal or No deal' (a TV game show) in NBC and a hyper-actively-enthusiastic-cant-control-her-emotions participant (a fat lady) got excited for every single box she opened that the host of the show almost had to close his ears (mockingly of course). I had to lower the TV volume atleast 10 times during the show.

As much as its exciting to get the the joke, at times, one can just look at people who already got the joke and still laugh their heart out.

Laughter, well...I'm telling you...in itself is funny!

How Blogging is like sex?

Beware: PG13.

Blogging can be directly compared to only one aspect of real life - Sex after marriage. I‘m 98.9986978% sure.

When one starts to blog, the inexplicable happiness of expressing and sharing would make one want to write more. Writing good blogposts would make one a delightful person, because of the ‘happiness partaking’ that happens. Like the sex after marriage.

In the early days of blogging, one would want to write a minimum of one blogpost a day or at times even multiple posts a day. Most times, all one would think of is to do nothing but write a blogpost. Like the sex after marriage.

But things don’t seem to remain the same. The priorities change, interests shift and thoughts drift. The frequency of blogpost falls with time. The number reduces from one post a day to one post a week, then to once a month and eventually to 'maybe I should visit my blog and see how it looks'. Like the sex after marriage.

The author is not smart enough to experience the above phenomena yet. But he is smart enough to think!

Update: After the last post, I got a new camera and did a super cool trip this weekend. I'm feeling happy!

An episode at the hospital!

Falling sick is the last thing one wants. And visiting a Doctor is the thing after the last thing one wants. And if the doctor carries a injection, thats the thing after the thing after the last thing one wants. Ok, you get the idea.

Last week I was down with cold and fever for a good 5 days. What started as a mild cold graduated itself into a matured cough-attack which then blossomed into a solid flue-stint and then stagnated itself showing no signs of growth nor exit. 

"I'm a survivor" I said to myself and fought the germs. Evenings they would seem to subside and as I feel better and sleep, they attack with full blow. Those germ bastards.

Attempting to work from (not for) home did not offer the solution. Sleeping in the bed for hours together (alone!) did not help either. For a guy who normally says "Aeemm, I'll rough it out", this fever seemed one of its kind.

I realized I was fighting a losing battle and decided to go see a Doctor (inspite of a well-wishing friend who warned that the doctor most likely say 'It's nothing. Go home and take rest. You'll be fine').

Being somebody who hates appointments (and the gargantuan wait time associated with it), I walked into the Emergency care center at a hospital right next to my apartment. After registering my name, I waited in the reception area for about 20 minutes. I was then ushered into one of the emergency rooms and made to sit in a stretcher. 

A nurse stopped by and asked me 'what do we have here, sir?'. I said 'I have fever and cold that wouldn't subside'. She asked 'Anything else?'. I said 'No'. She asked  'Are you sure? do you have breathing problems or any such emergency?'. I said 'No'. She looked at me a for a moment, as if she was going to ask 'why the hell did you come to ER then?!'. Instead, she said 'A doctor will come and see you shortly sir', and disappeared.

Two hours passed by. Before I fainted with a mixed feeling of hunger, tiredness and angst, an old doctor entered the room saying 'Hi'. I returned the pleasantry. "So, what brings you here today?!", asked the doctor. I offered the same reply for the third time. 'Just fever?', 'Yes'. 'Okay' said the doctor and got into action.

He took a torch with a pointed lens and he inserted that into my ears to see what's happening inside. He jerked out immediately saying he can't see much, but as far as he can see, I was all clear. He moved to the next ear. This time, he did not even enter - he slowly said 'Interesting!'

'What?', I asked. "On the outside rim of your ear, you have a pimple. We need to get rid of that first" said the doctor and walked out. Before I could realise, he came back with a small injection. I freaked out. He understood and said 'No, dont worry - it'll be a small prick'. Knowing that's the universal doctor's language of saying 'you are gonna be punctured dude!', I said 'I hate injections doctor, should we do this now?!'.

'Oh definitely' he replied as readied himself with the torch light and the injection weapon. I closed my fist and my eyes as tight as I could and expected a prick. One hell of a prick it was. I screamed mildly and thought it was done. The doctor attempted again and 'bang!', another prick. I almost called him names, when the doctor mildly said 'whatever is in there doesn't want to let go that easily'. So are you, I thought. 

He then threw the injection into the trash and I saw blood on his hands. F*ck! "Is that my blood?' I asked the doctor. He replied 'yes, but don't worry. I'll go get some bandage' and gave me some cotton to try and hold the blood. My fever was long gone.

Doctor came back with a bandage and put it across my ears as he said 'a slightly awkward place for a band-aid, ain't it?!' He laughed. Damn your humour, I thought. He then said 'your fever is a minor viral infection. It's nothing. Go home and take rest. You'll be fine'.

I thought of my clairvoyant friend, as I walked out of the hospital with a bandage on my ears and my wallet emptied by about 80 bucks.

Seasons greetings...

It is that season where people make spending seem dispensable, by throwing unnecessary money on greeting cards and roses. They drop every single fruitful activity they could otherwise do in the time they think of a present or the type of the flower.

I have never understood the fascination that women crowd possess for flowers/bouquets. Maybe one has to be in 'love high' to even slightly understand the logic behind. Or perhaps, somebody like me, who buys plastic bonsai from IKEA to decorate the center table in the living room, can never understand.

If a guy, let's say is in love head over heels with a girl, he would certainly buy her a present for Valentine's Day. My sources also say that it would be considered a federal offense in the girlfriend court, if the guy doesn't! That's not the point anyways. The point is wouldn't the girl know that a gift is coming her way? And if the girl has set the expectation right, the guy probably is dreaming about the present too.

I wonder what's the fun in knowing they would receive something for sure on a particular day and still associate a 'surprise' element to it. Once again, 'love high' I guess.

Next lamest idea (probably the most ancient technique as old as 6000 years) is buying Greeting cards. And these days there are those "record your voice/music and send your 'love' through paper" cards. How creepy is that?! Wouldn't it just be easier to make a phone call and say I love you?! Atleast we can save the planet by cutting lesser trees.

I believe this is still so true.

Valentine's Day, like most other occassions, is definitely passé.

Motor Pun'ire!

Indian restaurants in the US are strange in more ways than one. Though most of them do a good job in serving the food right, some simply don't. They rather specialize in screwing up things like professionals.

Outside India, most Indians know enough not to compare home food (or even food from restaurants in India) to food in US desi restaurants. Restaurants capitalize on this very idea. They effortlessly let the quality of food slide, but try in despair to infiltrate into other areas.

Maybe the hospitality matters.

Most restaurants make sure the guests half-way through their meal need to be asked 'how is everything'. I wonder what might happen if one says 'the food sucks!! '. Most waiters are uber-confident about the reply that they don't even wait to hear from the guest.

There have been times when I have asked for water and got looks as if I was asking for a good share in the thousand shares of Google the waiter owns.

To get a better feel of the (in)hospitality, one should enter a restaurant at 9.45pm, when the closing time is 10pm. The waiter might expect the guest to decide till the dessert, before even one is shown a menu card.

It eventually becomes a discovery that quality of food and hospitality are perhaps not the only reasons one goes to restaurants. Like most others, I have this habit of not eating the same variety of food in the same restaurant for the second time.

The other day, as I was browsing through the menu at this Indian restaurant, I found something called “Motor Pun'ire”. I almost thought it was a new dish, before I realized the intended name is actually “Mutter Paneer”. Whowould imagine mis-spelling to this extent?! Looking through the other items such as “Alu Motor”, “Chicken Mosolla” the laughter was more satiating than the food in the first place.

One infers the name of the food hardly matters either.

Despite all these, I for one consider going to an Indian restaurant a regular activity - as I believe "eating Indian food is the best thing to happen, especially when one does not have to cook them". I happily let go on a few other things.

Snapshot of one's life...

I sneeze. I drop the phone in my hands. I bend down to fetch the phone and the pen in my pocket slips. Trying to grab the pen, I drop the phone again. I miss the pen anyways. It bounces away to glory only to hide itself under the desk. I get the phone first. I try for the pen next. I crouch, bend and stretch myself to a crazy yoga position and reach under the desk. An abbreviated moment of stretching and twisting later, I find the pen and rise up fast, only to bang my head against the corner of the desk. The reflex makes me bend again, this time with more agility and with cartoon birds flying around my head. Only a moment later I realize that the water cup on the edge of my desk had been tripped by the bang. Trying to save the computer and other accessories from any more inundation than it had experienced in the past, I open the drawer with haste to fetch some napkins. The drawer door hits my knee hard enough to make me squirm with discomfort. The phone rings. I pick the receiver, only for the already entangled phone wire to snarl with the mouse wire. The receiver hesitates to reach my ears. Mouse refrains to let go. The flood on the desk spreads uncontrolled by the napkins. I am on the verge of sneezing again. I sit right there enjoying every moment of it as a habit of mine!

There you go...a snapshot of one's life!!

Seven Pounds...

A heart wrenching, thought provoking, sympathy evoking and a serious movie.

All these to teach one heck of a moral : Do not type emails in Blakberry while driving. Else one would be killed by a Jelly fish in a bath tub. (Sure. No spoilers!)

Being Prodigal - a good deed

I read about the falling US economy in more than one daily. There is not a single news channel that does not mention the job losses and the "financial down-spiral" in the US, as the experts call it. As much as I wish for people's happiness, there is pretty much nothing I can do to save the economy.

Knowing me, from the day I started earning I have been excessively extravagant. As a matter of fact, a stronger adjective than 'excessive' would fit the above sentence better. I always say to myself "There is only one life - I might as well live it the way I like it!" And saying so, I try to master the art of spending and strive to become the 'Lavish Lord of Philadelphia'.

Having said that, I revisit the first paragraph to say "As much as I wish for people's happiness, there must be something I can do to save the economy." That's right.

I spend more and attempt to save the economy.

By virtue of expending more, I'm left with not just a bank balance that's hitting the floor, but also a great mental satisfaction of uplifting the economy (?!). I can explain. The much-needed cash is put into churning the economy. I travel more, I gas up my car more, I buy a lot of clothes, I watch many movies, I buy a lot of electronics. You think I'm doing all these for myself? Not one bit!

All for the economy.

I tell people they should travel more often than they normally do. They should travel by flight and avoid buses and trains. I ask people to periodically change their mobile phones to the latest and expensive ones. I ask people to upgrade their laptops every year. I ask people to stop cooking at home and eat out everyday. I ask them to stop walking and take cabs, even for short commutes.

And by indulging in such activities, people spend more. Because of more money being put to use, more services are needed in turn. More people are employed. More job opportunities. More cash inflow. Increased spending. Increased Rate of exchange. Higher GDP. Saved economy.

My dad always tells my mom "Your son is unbelievably prodigal. He should be more calculative." My mom expectantly replies "Not so true. He is always right. If he does something, there would be some good in it!" I smile.

Being prodigal is indeed a good deed!

Theory of Supportivity!

Women are more supportive to men than men are to women. That indeed makes men seem more blessed than women, in spite of all the efforts that women take to be more supportive than men. With less travails, men being supported makes them seem blessed, but they actually are cursed for they are sought after to take more efforts to be supportive. Yet, men dont take such curses for long by one woman, as another comes in, only to prove the 'supportive' theory in the first place.  

Pets and Door banging!

Animals are one of the those creatures in this world, who can make me happy only when they pose in a wallpaper or be inside the cage. Definitely not when encountered in person. I like watching Animals on TV - I can watch the life history of even a hippopotomus in National Geographic for 4 hours. But when it comes to humans moving closely with animals, it sort of subtly freaks me out. I have this strange habit of being a totally different person while watching animals/pets on TV against seeing them in reality.

And yaa pets...when I see a dog on a leash being walked by somebody and when they come under proximity, a mild tension creeps in uninvitingly. I make all efforts to conceal my fear, or for lack of a better word, restlessness. Yet I resort for a detour. The other day, I saw Chandler saying in 'Friends' sitcom that one can never say what a dog thinks. How true!

Whenever I visit people who own dogs and consider them as more than family members, I make sure that the dog keeps a safe distance from me. Howmuchever they find it difficult to understand, I keep emphasizing 'dogs have to be kept where they should be'. I have a strange feeling that most dogs in this world hate me and somehow or the other, plan on attacking me one day.

One of my friends (while being caressed all over her face by the tongue-lick of whatever-dog-she-has) offers me an explanation. For her, the dog is more than a sibling. The only companion who can identify her. The only comrade who never changes color. The only friend who is loyal, honest and trustworthy. I laugh her out. Considering me, other than the reality that a dog can never talk back, I find nothing spellbinding.

During many of my regular visits to Central park in New york, I have wondered how small a grown-up dog can get and how much of love and affection can it withstand, no matter how small it is. No exaggerations - I have seen dogs smaller than the size of my sneaker. And it is funny when they bark. I laugh at my own joke of imagining telling one of such dog-owners to take the dog out of my way or I might mistakenly stamp on it! As per many of my friends, 'Stamp on it' is considered a blasphemy. Should be 'stamp on him or stamp on her'. It is amazing how much of affinity, love and affections humans show for pets.

And yesterday, the salesman at the guitar shop while talking to me and walking, tripped and fell on the floor. One of the on-lookers mockingly offered a comment that the salesman has the eyes of a cat. He gets up and asks her not to compare him to a cat. Per him, the cats are partially blind. He extends an unsolicited explanation - how his pet (a cat) runs across his living room and the kitchen at lightning speed when there is no need for such a real hurry. And most of the times, he says the cat at such a blinding speed would go bang herself straight on to the door. Not a glass door, not a transparent door - but a plain hard wooden one. BANG! He says he can never explain such a behaviour. One more person joins in saying how his lazy dog would be sleeping in the couch - And all of a sudden, out of the blues, she would toss herself up from the couch and sprint like a lightning.

Such maddeningly-crazy-running-episodes in the house are okay. And so are the annoyingly jarring barks. But there is much more pets can do. As much as they invite incredible love and affection of some people (like these babies do), they lead to the opposite too for others.

Without even their knowledge, pets can easily give one a phobia, one is not born with. Funny. Indeed.

[P.S : Pet lovers, please take this post in the lighter sense, as this is my 150th post!]

Alcohol and women...

Being a teetotaler makes life seem futile. And the conception turns silly when the friends of opposite sex, one goes out with, drink margaritas and vodkas. Asking for a virgin drink in a bar is almost considered a capital offense or so the looks of the waiter/waitress convey. But one does not deter. With self-amusing composure, one rephrases and asks for fruit juice. And it indeed is a little sappy to be sipping cranberry juice, when the tablemates are gulping down cocktails.

But perceived with the truest of the thoughts, one feels a little untold pride. And the haze of being called a 'loser' fades away in the pride. One personally enjoys whenever people invite for arguments centering on the 'beaten-to-death' topic of drinking Vs abstaining. Such arguments are delightful and that too, it becomes all the more funny when the arguing person’s blood is so filled with ethyl alcohol.

Talking about drinkers, the other day I went out with a couple of friends to a local Italian restaurant. I was having regular coke and they were having wine. As soon as they said the wine is just so perfect for the evening, I added saying Coke is definitely better at that restaurant. They didn’t seem to understand. In fact, for somebody who drinks, it’s hard to appreciate the 'kick' of a non-alcoholic drink. One of my friends, for the sake of argument, asks me for one good reason for me being a teetotaler and I tell her honestly that the pride of not having touched alcohol yet makes one a stronger abstainer.

She could not readily agree, my other friend joined her and both of them were enjoying this 'lets-convince-Arun-today' business than the wine in the first place. I was having equal fun, trying to come up with answers for all the 'otherwise-valid' questions. After some 20 minutes of vain attempt, one of them showed a little frustration and resorted back to the wine. The other joined. For me, the pride sneaked in. I smiled.

I have always been the solo non-alcoholic person in a alcoholic group. I accompany folks to bars/hotels and invariably hog at the side-dishes meant for the drinkers. And as soon as the drinking starts, if any of the guys talk, I keep telling them to stop the gibber-talks. And if one of the guys walks to the restroom, I mockingly warn him not to dance along the way or bang the waiter.

As more alcohol mixes with the blood and as the guys get 'high' by the drink, triggering them to unexpected expressions and ridiculing is what makes me high.

In spite of the sporadic kicks and blows one might receive, such attempts of ridiculing a drunkard is the funniest experience one can feel thru. Not even watching all the seasons of Seinfeld in one shot can come close. Of course the side and the after-effects of the 'puke' episodes would be like interrupting ESPN abruptly and switching to Doordarshan.

Yet, what I missed to figure out was why some women have a strange attraction towards guys who drink. Maybe they mistakenly think drinking has got to do with manliness or something. Or that’s what I assumed.

But a few days ago, a few of my friend were saying that their strategy is to 'go out' with guys who drink, who dance, who smoke and who call them 'babe'. But at the end of it, they settle down for a guy who symbolizes 'chamathu' types. As much as that logic is confusingly stupid, it blurs me as I don’t fall in either of the cults. And all this when I'm not drunk.

I'm sure only women can confuse and increase the thinking time of men. Not even alcohol!

Habanadha...!!!

Languages are absolutely funny. So are the cultural differences. That, if looked at with the right perspective.

My boss casually asked me if there is a way to differentiate names of Indian males and females. Her personal experience of embarrassing herself in many a meeting must have prompted her to ask. I thought for a while and told her "Maybe you can understand like this. If a name ends with a vowel, 90% of the times it'd be that of a female. And if not, the name must be of a male". She smiled and said “Oh….that’s easy!” and in 2 seconds she asked "But the guys working at offshore team Hari and Ravi aren’t males? Their names end with vowels" I smiled back and replied "Their full names are Hariharan and Ravichandran. We came up with short ones for you to easily remember and you gotta know that this 'vowels-logic' does not apply for short names" She quickly said "Ohh…ok. I sort of get it now. And I’ll remember that" Appeared like she bought the idea. Good for me. Then, she asked "Hey Arun, what was the new offshore resource you said would be joining us?" I said the name and she inadvertently mispronounced it. No surprise. And I let it go, as most of the Indian names are a little difficult to be pronounced anyways.

One of my other colleagues standing next to me tried to show what a smarty-pants he is. He corrected her by saying how the name should be correctly pronounced. She mispronounced it again and he said “You are wrong. That’s not how the name should be pronounced”. My boss calmly said "Oh, my pronunciation is wrong?! How about the English that you folks speak? Can we talk about that for a while?" I was almost laughing, as I know where this is heading towards. She looked at me and continued "You know Arun, the other day this gentleman here told me that he went to a shop called waaaalmart. I thought this must be a new shop in this area and I told I’ll go check it out sometime. It took more than 5 minutes for me to figure out he was actually talking about Wal-Mart (which she actually pronounced as w-u-a-l-m-a-r-t or to be exact, w-u-a-l-m-a-zh-t)". I know we guys are used to British English and pronunciations in US English are a little different. It was funny how much my boss stressed over the pronunciations of Wal-Mart and other such words.

Of course desis are much better, most can speak decent English. But other Asians amaze me. Especially Chinese people, who get most of their basic education in mandarin (that, if they had their childhood in china), not know a bit of English and still survive in Uncle Sam’s land. Earlier, I used to live in a neighborhood called Flushing in New York and that's almost considered a 'mini china town'. Most of the shops and hoardings will be in Chinese and everything ranging from cuisine to lifestyle would be directly or indirectly related to China. Most of my ex-colleagues would even make fun by asking me if I need a Chinese visa to get into the area. Many a time I have been to shops, where if the shop-keeper sees a Non-Chinese enter, he'll immediately wave both his hands and start 'No English No English' in his own funny way. One can do nothing but smile and step out slowly.

For many days, I thought the old lady in the Chinese eat-out near my house was a little crazy. She always muttered something like "habanadha" whenever I left the place. I thought she was scorning at me, till one of my friends found the secret and told me she was actually wishing me by saying "have a nice day". The old lady indeed was not crazy.

Too many non-English speaking people in an English speaking country make the place a little crazy. That too is funny, if looked at with the right perspective.

Pride!

The pride of not having touched alcohol yet makes one a stronger abstainer than ever before.

One hopes the same logic does not apply for sex. 

Problem in hand...

One spends the evening pondering how to solve the problem in hand - I mean, the problem in real hand. Not for the first time, but for the umpteenth time. After having enough experience in tripping, falling and slipping stuffs from hands, one matures to the next level by dropping a whole plate of just-cooked rice with effortless ease, spilling all over the place. The next half hour is spent diligently and actively cleaning the carpet, to leave behind nothing but an aggravating back pain and an empty bottle of gatorade.

The plate almost would have fallen and broken into pieces, but one sprucely averts such an act at the last moment with some smart juggling act, to end up with the plate being upside down in the hands and whole lot of saadham all over the floor. But hey, the plate was saved. And during the whole episode and holding on to the plates in criss-crossed hands (thanks to the impromptu juggling - seemed like it might take a while to unfold the hands!), one ends up laughing his heart out, as the already confused roommate gets all the more confused not sure whether to help clean the carpet or to cook more rice or to join in the laughter, as such a situation is otherwise considered a repentant one.

Shouldn't one look above and say, "God, yaa You sitting up there, listen carefully - the jelly hands You have blessed me with - first of all, thank you very much for that. And be informed that there is nothing in this world that I have touched and not slipped from my hands. And You better have an answer for every single slip, when I meet you! Alright?"?

No point...

One is so tempted to believe "Other than free-sex-with-liberty, there is no good reason for a man to get hitched with, for everything else is easily available elsewhere!"

Me, the Sleep and the Kaapi...

I, belonging to the cult with the motto "Do nothing if it affects sleep even remotely", find it surprisingly weird that I'm attending the work-conference calls at 6.30 in the morning for the past 2 weeks consistently. Very much unlike me. And I have this habit of doing 99% of activities involuntarily in the first 20 minutes after I wake up in the morning. I call it the ’20-min-zone’. Most of the times I would wonder if I brushed that day, but I'd console myself with the assumption that I should have done that in the '20-min-zone'. At times when I brush in the nights, I'd say to myself 'Oh this is how brushing might feel like in the mornings too!' Aamir khan stole the idea and used it in TZP when Ishanth does a sleep-walk to the bathroom and brush. But that’s not the point. The point is the conference call. And most of the days, I attend the meeting in the cozy confines of the comforter. Half-asleep.

Having found that talking impedes sleep, I try to remain as silent a spectator as possible in the call, but folks offshore are smart bums. In the midst of conversations that might put one to sleep even after a strong filter kaapi (let alone half-asleep guy inside the comforter), one of the smarty-pants would suddenly say "Let's hear what Arun has to say!" The dude would make it seem a casual sentence, as if he didn’t sense that I'm dozing off. Me, being the sleepy head would wait for a second or two and see if somebody repeats the question. If not, I'd slightly recompose, clear the throat and ask slowly "What??" If no luck there, I pause and then continue "The phone line is a little noisy. Can somebody repeat the question please?!" The warriors there would feel triumphant that they succeeded in their mission. This has become a daily happening. Almost.

One dull morning, I was woken up earlier than usual by such an offshore call and the '20-min' zone prolonged longer than anticipated. I reach work at 8am and somehow I have this doubt whether the '20-min' is accompanying me at work that day. Or maybe it changed to '200-min' zone. I resort to a large kaapi, for it’s the only fight I can give against these zones. I go to the cafeteria, grab a large kaapi and walk back to my desk. With random thoughts, I open my draw and before I could realize what I did, I saw hot kaapi flowing like a river all over my desk. I actually should appreciate my dumb presence of mind. I kept looking at the flow and wondering at how it started dripping to the floor from the edges. The iPhone, which I had kept at the desk minutes ago, looked at me glowingly. "Shit!" I cursed. The iPhone swiftly went into my trouser pocket. Then I see the Kaapi River moving north. One more "shit" and I lift the laptop and carry it to the other end of the table.

I look back and I saw beautiful kaapi dot patterns. I admire them for a second and I suddenly realize the dots were formed by the kaapi droplets from the laptop. I lift the laptop and see liquid smudges of kaapi. A third loud "Shit!" followed and I ran to the pantry for paper towels. For the first time, the laptop must have wished it had diapers. In less than 15 seconds, I switched the power off, cleaned the laptop and heaved a sigh. Before I could complete the sigh, the landline phone inundated with kaapi caught my attention. Looking at the sight, I truly wished all the electronics of mine had diapers. It took over 10 minutes and 4 trips to the pantry to clean the mess in my desk. The large cup with no kaapi still stood in my desk like an achiever, conveying its power.

Did not need caffeine that day. I was automatically thrown out of sleep zone. And anything in my desk had this sweet aroma of kaapi. The phone, cables, pen, mug - it all smelled caffeine. After a while, I got used to it, but I was able to hear people sniffing their nose hard while passing my cube. In the evening, I waited till the cleaning lady came and I told her the kaapi episode. She assured it'll all be clean the next day. Day 2, I stepped in and I almost turned into a sniffer. After all, it wasn't that bad. I bend down the desk to plug my laptop cable to the power outlet. There you go. A stinker of 2-day old stale kaapi hit me hard. Real hard. I jerked from under the desk blowing my nose like a rocket. Decided I would never bend under the desk for some days now.

And today, I surpass one week after this kaapi episode. I tell my mom and she smilingly says "You always do that!! When you were a kid, you never missed to trip and pour the chutney or the water-glass in restaurants. And no wonder it continues !!"

From the collective experience, though I initially thought to blame it all on the sleep, I understand it is an inherent quality one is born with.

And by the way, did anyone know that kaapi is like wine? It actually gets stronger with time. If any of you have doubts in that, I'd invite you for a quick tour of "Journey under the desk" here at my workplace. Introductory offer. First 10 lucky customers get a ride absolutely free!

Kabali's research..

Kabali wonders what would be the terminal velocity of one's piddle. Considering the fact that the pee in itself has got no velocity, it obviously lacks self-driving-momentum and falls to the ground solely due to gravity. And for the same reason, one's pee doesn't have a horizontal trajectory, but a half-parabolic one(mostly), aimed towards the ground. It's only the pressure that one gives that drives the pee. When pee'd with control, a drop of pee would reach the ground slower than the flow. It's like opening a tap faster or slower to let water into a kitchen sink.

Calculating the velocity may not be the toughest process, but the experiment itself might be. For eg., We can have X pee from the top of a 10-storied building and calculate the time taken for the first droplet to hit the ground. But not that straight forward. We should also consider the stock X is left with, X's urge to pee, the pressure X exerts and ofcourse, the environmental influence.

Complicated calculation, kabali reckons!

Kabali's Language Conservation Programme...

As a language, English has contributed a lot to the people of this planet. And as creatures who can think, people have contributed equally to the language in return. In the first place, the offer from the language was a medium for us to communicate. Once the language was completely formalized and spread to almost all corners of the world, people started jumping from 'Need to communicate' to 'Easy to communicate'. Circa 1992, a group of people met on the very objective of simplifying the language. And simplifying invariably meant shortening the words. Or in other words, screwing the language. They arrived at a chart similar to the periodic elements table found in a chemistry text book, listing all those alphabets which with their phonetics pertain to a word. For e.g., 'c' can be used in lieu of 'see' or 'y' in lieu of 'why', ‘s’ in lieu of ‘yes’, 'b' in lieu of 'be' and hundreds of different such combos.

Fortunately or unfortunately, voluntarily or involuntarily, most of us belong to the consortium established back then. But just that some of us have not completely soaked ourselves in it, while the rest are totally imbibed where I see no chance of retrieval. And this 'shortened' English became widely popular with the advent of mobile phone SMS and web-messenger-chats. People could no longer talk using normal words let alone writing. One would say 'wassup?' instead of 'what’s up?' which was already coined instead of ‘What is up?". Similarly, 'Lemme do dis' or 'Gimme dat' instead of 'Let me do this' or 'Give me that'. And coming to the worst part, some people use the word 'ma' instead of 'my'. That's the crappiest. They would say/write 'ma friend' instead of 'my friend'. While using such 'shortened' words, one truly wonders how much time such Einsteins save. And that too there is not even a shortening. Just a spelling change. Ridiculous, is what one can say, laughing at such idiocy. Maybe they think its making them cool or something. For those of you, who have the habit of using such stupid replacements, please be informed that it’s no more than a torment to read.

I'm sure there will be some 'ultra-intelligent-souls' who might come back and argue that language is used for communication and who cares as to how the words are spelt. Very smart. But then, before using such English, that too in public medium, please make sure the reader/recipient is comfortable deciphering such super-smart-code words. And one of my colleagues so used to this kind of writing, while drafting an official e-mail to the customer includes a sentence which said something like 'I wud b done wid dis tsk in 3 hrs. U ok wid dat?' I was copied in that e-mail. If I were the customer, I'd have simply replied saying 'Please resend this e-mail in English. I don't know Tulu and such languages'. I see many such instances in blog posts too. And I get totally busted by the time I complete reading most of such posts/comments. Maybe the attempt is to ease up the writer's work, but many a time, it leaves a bemused reader behind. And such usage of language, as common as it gets in today's world might totally change the written language one day. Who knows? We might end up with just 17 or 18 alphabets because of those ‘super-lazy-smart-brains’.

So, unable to bear the smear on the language, Kabali proposes a 'Language conservation Programme'. People who belong to this group and who respect this group shall try to communicate in one pure language - be it English or Tamil or whatever. On and off, it's ok for people to jump to other languages for effective communication (after all communication is the goal!), but they are definitely not encouraged to coin their own words and form a new language, whatsoever. Abbreviations such as 'lol' or 'rotfl' are fine, as long as one does not think of doing a whole communication with just such abbreviations. Kabali also considers everyone who has read this post a part of the programme, thereby mandating folks to abide by the rules. If somebody is found violating any of the aforementioned rules, they'd be sentenced to severe punishments as per Kabali's federal law. 

Don’t dare! And now join me in saving the language!