Blogger confesses to blogger's block

BOMBAY (Jan 10) I realized that for the past few months all my posts are about either half-marathons or passenger announcements on the Delhi-Mumbai-Delhi air route [We welcome you all to the Mumbai domestic airport blah blah]. Then I realized that this is nothing but an acute case of blogger's block. Ok ok, I admit that every living creature with an ounce of brain can write a blog, so why can't I?

And the answer, my great readers, is as follows. Over the past few days I have been thinking about a slew of earth-shattering topics and I cannot decide which one to pen down in a burst of my mediocrity. This impasse is intolerable and it is tearing me apart. So to do justice to all of them, here is a list of all the issues I had started writing about, but lost steam midway:

1. The futility of the middle urinal in a men's toilet. I am a vociferous advocate of the island-urinal theory. The theory states that all urinals must be atleast 3 feet away from each other -- which makes each urinal like an island. Not only will this provide ample privacy to the users, but also help in avoiding the '505' situation [This happens when there are three urinals and there is a queue of five people each for the first and last urinals, with the middle one being unoccupied].
2. How FBI solved the case of the mysterious gas in Manhattan. They finally attributed it to the BO of the hordes of desis living across the Hudson river in the Indian ghetto called Jersey City. Apparently it was so cold on 6th January, that all desis (only males mind you, females somehow manage a daily bath) decided to skip their shower and showed up at work in Manhattan armed with only a whiff of the Brut deodorant (Economy Pack).
   
3. How India is fighting hard with Zimbabwe and Bangladesh for the 11th rank among the list of 12 cricket playing nations. And if the present Indian performances in West Indies, Champions Trophy and South Africa are any indicators, India would soon have to slug it out with Holland and Canada to even qualify in the World Cup.
4. What on earth were the inventors/discoverers of beer and paneer thinking? The beer guy must have thought aloud -- "Umm let see, this drink totally sucks ass, but let me drink it another 10-12 times and see if it grows on me". And the paneer guy -- "Just for fun, let me add some lemon juice to this boiling milk and see what happens. Oooh! I get this amorphous stuff, let me try and give it some shape and eat it with peas and onions anyway".
5. Short of a sex-change operation and wearing lipstick, what should I do to get as many comments as some of the female bloggers. Even if they sneeze, their "Aaachhoooo" gets a lot of insightful comments of the kind -- "LOL! That was a funny post", "ROFLLMAO! You have an amazing sense of humor. Any chance I can get you into bed now?", "Your sneeze has raised very important questions. The air pollution in this city has grown beyond the limits of tolerance. Let us hold a discussion in the comments section now" and my personal favourite -- "Your freedom to write such a sneeze post shows us all that we are indeed living in a free-market-libertarian-agnostic-left-leaning-right-twisting-moresuch-dumbass-buzzwords democracy."
   

So you see, my hyperactive brain has been thinking about all these problems that the world is riddled with. I just don't have the time and energy to put it down anymore. Maybe I will just outsource it all to one of them Chinese guys named Sean Wang or some such.

Farewell and hello

Its that time of the year again. With a heavy heart, I must say bye to a lot of things --- good food, my dhanno (i.e. Zen), the fog, fundoo winter with all its perks (garam chai, razaai), long drives. And say hello to vada pao, locals, the humidity, cold showers and long walks in the campus.

Delhi, here I go. Mumbai, here I come. If only for three months but what the heck!

Seems like Delhi has everything to offer, but then Mumbai has atleast that one admirable trait --- fundoo bindaas girls :) And suddenly everything seems worthwhile.

Hope to see most of you on 21st in the Mumbai Half Marathon.

Going the family way

A single man's life is a waste. I say this because till recently, I was a single man. This holiday season, I decided that enough was enough and that I would find true happiness by the year end. I couldn't have been truer.

For you see, today I met someone. It has been called 'the thunderbolt' or 'love at first sight' but whatever the prose, the poetry remains the same. I am in love. Let me offer a feeble attempt at describing my true love.

Thin and slim, light as a feature, with a fragile figure that redefines the word "delicate". And what a complexion! With Just the right hue, the skin sure has a magical glow. And that soft touch! A mere brush with the finger is enough to send shivers. And before I get too consumed by the physicality of the thing, let me just say that I have never met someone so easygoing and friendly. A personality that is sophisticated yet not fussy.

I have just one teeny-tiny complaint though. I wish my new iPod cost the same in India that it does in the US. Well, as they say, "har kisi ko muqammal jahan nahin milta..." (you can't have a cake and eat it too).

PS: We have decided that we will only have two cherubic 512MB iShuffles and no more.

Reports reveal every Indian part of three mobs

DELHI (Dec 1): Recent surveys have finally confirmed a long standing suspicion --- every Indian is a member of an average of 3.1 mobs at any given time of the year. The survey was done on an international scale across continents, with the sole aim of gauging the 'group dynamics' prevalent in various countries.

With 3.1 mobs per capita (mpc), India leads the tally, leaving its nearest competitor Iraq far behind with just 1.2 mpc. Pakistan, Somalia, Serbia and Rwanda were awarded the joint third prize with 1.1 mpc each. The usual suspects --- Finland and Norway, brought up the rear with an mpc of 0.001, that arose because of a fight during a football match between the two countries.

The survey also tried to find the reasons behind such phenomenal Indian success. It appears that while the Middle Eastern and African mobs focus only on Sunni vs Shia conflicts or Military vs Civilian fights, the Indian mobs have cleverly avoided putting all their eggs in one basket. They have successfully diversified into Dalit vs non-Dalit, militant feminism, Ganguly-haters vs worshippers , Kaif vs non-Kaif, idolizers vs idol-desecrators, pro vs anti-reservationists and so on.

"And this is in addition to our major offering --- the classic, good old fashioned Hindu vs Muslim clash, which alone guarantees five carnages every year", gushes a high powered official at the Vishwa Hindu Parishad.

In an order to maintain their world supremacy, the Indian mobs have started thinking about their future already. Taking a leaf from the corporate books, they have started exploring hitherto unknown avenues.

"We cannot reveal all our business plans at the moment but here is one that is in the advanced stages of development. Take, for instance, the airplane toilets with their fancy western commodes. Now what is my Uncle from Jaunpur, who has squatted all his life, supposed to do? Besides, adhering to western standards clearly reflects poorly on our great Indian squatting tradition!!", reveals another animated character from Bangalore division of the Indian Mobs.
"To counter this, we are planning a mass burning of atleast five airplanes, along with 20000 litres of aviation fuel, so that they get our message!", he adds.

Heart-rending indeed. And with such ambitious plans in civil aviation, retail, manufacturing and agriculture, the mobs will need enormous manpower. Luckily, India is the second most populous nation (another shining distinction), with one gullible sucker born every second.

We talked to the chief recruitment officer (CRO) here in Delhi.

"Inside every civilized man, there is an animal waiting to set free. One who wants to burn, destroy, rape, pillage, plunder and in general, enjoy life to the fullest. As an individual, all his dreams will perhaps go unfulfilled. But at Indian Mobs, we let him get in touch with like-minded compatriots and re-educate him. Remember, over here, cowardice is not an affliction, its a god-given gift.", said the CRO, echoing the manifesto of Indian Mobs.

We also got in touch with the CEO of Indian Mobs and asked him what he felt about the 3.1 mpc mark.

"Measly 3.1 !!!! How dare they?? My estimate was atleast a 3.8-3.9. Those damned survey companies!! We'll show them! Two hours of stoning and burning their offices should increase their count to 3.5 atleast", answered the CEO, visibly agitated and getting into character.

"But even with 3.9, we have a long way to go towards our 2010 goal of 5 mpc", he sighed.

Indeed, from the Quit India Movement of 1942 to the Quit Muslim Movement in Godhra 2005, Indian Mobs have indeed so evolved beyond recognition, that it brings a tear to this reporter's eye.

Pardon my self-indulgence

But I was bubbling to say this. This weekend was spent at Hyderabad, and the aim was to run the Hyd half-marathon on Sunday. The stay was very comfortable, courtesy the wonderful hospitality of Raghu's parents and extended family.

Although both Raghu and I were scared because the starting time was 6am and we only had three hours of sleep the previous night, but we somehow made it just five minutes late. The marathon itself was pathetically organized (bad medicinal+water infrastructure), but the run itself was great and there were only 200 odd runners in the half-marathon, with no Kenyans/Ethiopians to spoil the party.

Both of us managed to vastly improve our personal best, clocking 2 hrs 9 mins each. As Raghu rightly mentioned, we managed to finish within twice the winner's time, and thats a mean achievement!

I will stop now before I lose any more readers.

Only in India

For every smart person in this country, a hundred morons are born to level the equation back to zero.
Consider this hypothetical situation. A guy takes his 10 year old son to a multiplex. But mistakenly, they enter the wrong theatre where the movie has already started. Soon, a couple of adult scenes come up on the screen. Now after the usual reaction of shock and awe, much publicized by Bush in Iraq, the father has the following options:

a) Sit through the movie as if nothing has happened.
b) Walk out of the movie with his son, and ignore this incident.
c) Sue the multiplex for letting a kid enter an auditorium that is screening R-rated movies.
d) File a case with the authorities, asking for the immediate termination of the multiplex as it is showing content that goes against the 'great' Indian heritage.

Now a bold father would go for (a) (I wish my dad was this cool), and a sensible one would go for (b). A slightly firebrand father would accept (c). And remember the moron I talked about earlier? Yes, idiots of those kind would go for (d). I hope that you would agree that anyone who opts for (d) is a Darwin-award qualifier for surviving evolution inspite of nowhere being the smartest.

Now let us replace the hypothetical situation with a real one. Replace 'multiplex' by Orkut, 'movies' by Orkut communities, 'adult content' by an obscure Anti-Shivaji community, and the moronic father figure by this wonder of evolution called 'Subodh Balsaraf'. Yes, he discovered the said community, and has filed a PIL in the high-court, seeking immediate banning of Orkut in India. More details here.

In the not-too-distant past, the Indian government matched such an act with a flawlessly stupid performance of their own --- blocking blogspot for a few days. So this has me worried, because the fate of my 12554 'frenship' requests now hangs in a delicate balance.

I will not go into the details of the dozens of fallacies in Mr. Balsaraf's case. They are too many and too obvious --- freedom of expression, obscure community, low Orkut penetration, American website, state-sponsored censorship and so on.

Just makes me think that is Shivaji's stature so fragile that nincompoops like Mr. Balsaraf have to constantly defend it using such means? Sadly, it seems so.

Of tippers and tippees

Ok ok I admit the last word is made up. But I am talking about one of the great pillars of the Indian cultural heritage --- bakhsheesh a.k.a. 'tip'. Like every good son, I too celebrate Diwali at home with my family. Now, my folks live in Lucknow, which is pretty much a provincial town, the new Pijja Hut and Cafe Coffeeday notwithstanding. Ya ya, I know, a metro doth not a Cafe make, but I guess you know what I am trying to say. The bakhsheesh syndrome (BS) is in full swing in such towns during such occasions.

A few days before any major festival like the D-day, there is palpable BS in the air. Hordes of wannabe and veteran tippees start popping up all over the neighbourhood, like dengue cases in Delhi. They come in all colors and shapes too. You have the postman, the garbageman, the bai, the 23 peons in sarkari offices (my dad is a bank manager in a nationalized bank), the driver, the Blue Dart courier delivery kid, the watchman and so on. Every year, I find a whole new genre of tippees showing up at my folks' house.

Now as all of you know, the tipping process is a three-way handshake. First, the tippee initiates the courting process, where he/she sends out pheromones to allure the tipper. The second phase is when the tipper acknowledges that he/she too feels the same way and the third phase deals with the negotiation and transfer of the tip.

The courting phase is usually almost silent, with all signals exchanged aankho-hi-aankho-mein. I say "almost silent", because, usually phlegm is always involved. For example, the postman shows up to deliver a greeting card from my relative, and then lingers, all the while coughing his lungs out in order to convey his desire for the tip. I part with some of my money, just to keep a safe distance from him. The courier kid is pretty savvy in this aspect. He acts coy, flutters his eyebrows, smiles and tells me that he has come 200 metres out of his way, in the afternoon, just to deliver my junk mail. This ploy always works with me, because I get all weak-kneed and get entangled in throes of passion with him, also involving a 20-rupee note.

The garbageman and the watchman usually do not believe in a silent exchange of vows. They show up at the door and go "SHOW ME THE MONEY!!" (politely ofcourse), as if the Lord himself has chosen them to be tipped on the holi day. Nothing wrong with that, its quick, simple and effective. But lacks that element of romance and elusion, the playing-hard-to-get feeling, which is very essential in a relationship between a tipper and a tippee. It is very important for love and money to co-exist, if you ask me.

Then comes the mothership of all tippees -- yes, thats right! The bai. Unlike the watchman and the courier-kid, this one doesn't have to indulge in any foreplay or dirty-talk to get her tip (Ya I know what you are thinking, you SICKO!, it doesn't mean that). It is tacit that the day before Diwali, she is going to get a big load of gifts from my mom. This time, I was fortunate enough to witness the holy transaction. It involved a saree, two boxes of sweets, a packet of almonds and some trinkets. The goodwill, the bonhomie was too much for me to handle and I had to turn towards my computer-game, lest they see my tears of joy. A happy home is definitely one where the parents and the bai live in perfect symbiotic harmony.

Apart from the fine gentlemen and ladies who comprise the class of tippees, we have the extortionists who take undue advantage of the situation (ya i know, the word "undue" is unduly used). These are usually members of some vague mandir committee, who wish to construct a western style toliet in the temple compound, for the squatting pleasure of the priest. These people show a matter-of-fact attitude, as if my wallet really belongs to the Lord (Hindus say there are 84 crores of them, so which one?). Then begins the stare game, where I try to act macho and unyielding, but something about the triple-stripe tilak on their foreheads convinces me that they will break my bones if I don't pay up.

The other kind of extortionists usually consist of some people representing an orphanage, who soul-stirringly explain how the orphans will celebrate a dark diwali unless I fork out fifty bucks. All fine and good, except that the orphanage's name has three spelling errors, and there is no register, which makes me suspect the entire operation. Sometimes they do end up taking my hard earned dough, but mostly, I too give an Oscar-winning performance on the lines of "Aapke sahyogi [colleague] aaye the, unko hum de chuke hain. Diwali ki shubh-kaamnaayein".

The final kind of tippees comprise of the lucky ones, who usually are not looking to get involved, but circumstances throws them into the relationship. Allow me to elaborate. In the few days after Diwali, somehow there usually is some electrical and/or plumbing problem with the house, which requires minor repairs. The repairmen show up and do their task diligently. Now before they leave, and here comes the good part, my mom usually shows up with a box of cashews for them to take home. Strictly, this is not a tip, because they don't ask for it, and we don't grudge giving it. But the sight of a quintal of dry fruits and a ton of barfis as gifts is enough to break the strongest of us. Strong enough for my mom atleast.

I hope I have convinced you of the rich cultural heritage we carry, and as a sign of being patriotic, I hereby request you...ahem! ahem! (cough)....to shell out a buck or two whenever you read my blog.

Asterix
PS: I thought I had seen it all, but a week after Diwali, my Delhi-waala garbageman showed up for a tip. It was also the first time he had offered to pick up the garbage of my house. I told him that I am flattered, but I am already seeing someone. Fidelity is important to me.