I do not know whether sigh was in response to his rugged muscular body and a face that has clean-cut features or whether she’s having breathing problems. I’d put my money on the latter. Her knowledge about the health concerns is immensely vast and mostly accurate but she seems to be having a problem applying all of them in her own practical life. She’s still under 30, has cholesterol, sugar, constant pain on her knee joints and in my opinion, has some serious psychological issues. I mean, it’s pretty easy to lecture anyone if you ask me. It’s really hard not being a hypocrite.

“Check who all are playing for India”, she ordered me.

What she meant was to check the player list for “Kerala Strikers”. This was a CCL match and she supported Kerala Strikers in this one. Whatever team she’s supporting is always called India. You could imagine my shock when I heard that India and Germany had a draw match in the last FIFA world cup.

“You mean Kerala…” I corrected her, for the 16th time. I counted.

“Stop correcting me and do what I asked you to do.”

She’s ignorant. But the thing is, she never acknowledges her ignorance, which makes her more ignorant. I hate that air of hers. I can bet she was a spoilt brat as a child. Perhaps that’s why we never hear of her friends from college or childhood. Maybe she was so resentful that she probably never had any. Ok, that was very mean of me.

I looked at my uncle sitting quietly beside her, eyes glued on the screen rarely letting any word out. This guy is making me lose my trust in the institution of marriage. Maybe that wasn’t very mean of me after all.

I tried out to carry out the order and opened a new tab on my google chrome and googled for infos. The process seemed to be taking really long time. I looked over my laptop and saw her surveying me, waiting intently for a response. When I did not give any, her face showed an emotion of disgrace. I closed my Hotmail tab hoping that it would speed up things a bit. But the search was still ongoing with zero hits showing me a blank web page.

God, why this kolaveri?

I had people online on facebook. Given the popularity of facebook; at least 30+ people are online on facebook at all times. Out of them, there were always some 3-4 who I really wanted to talk to. I mean, those facebook friends and the friends who could text me and call me are the only ones who I could share something normal with when I’m in here.

I still can’t figure out why I come here in most weekends. The obvious answer would be because of my grandma. But the thing is, even though she’s the one I speak with the most in here; the conversations are really topsy-turvy because she has a small problem hearing what I say. When I say Banana, she hears bandana. The only upside I see in coming here are food three times a day. I eat barely 2 times a day when I’m the hostel. Probably that’s the reason for my drastic weight loss when I’m in Mumbai. These frequent fluctuations in my body weight could do only harm to me, reminds my Aunt. And she does that consistently. But I get a feeling that it’s not because she actually cares about it.

Another reason I come here is that I could get my laundry done. And perhaps most important of all, I get to use laptop whenever I want and even get internet access (strictly ration) to get me updated on what’s happening around the world; my world.

“He’s probably chatting with some girl on facebook or something, this guy can never get any work done…” said my aunt.

My first thought: Get some M-99 into a syringe. Apply it on her to get her unconscious. Get her into a plastic room, tie her on to a table and wrap her with more plastic and the take a knife on to her; preferably a slice knife, stab it through the aorta and windpipe causing immediate death, slice her into pieces, put them 3M garbage bags, tie them, take them into the middle of the ocean and dump them. Hopefully they’d end up somewhere in the Antarctic.

I really have to stop watching “Dexter” episodes back to back. But sadly, life is not an episode from “Dexter”, where you get to kill some bad person and get rid of all the evidence. There’s this little bitch called reality. This is life; there are practical ways to deal with it.

I closed the facebook tab, regardless of how many people over there wanted to speak with me before I said, “I’m not” to my aunt’s previous implication and shoving the laptop screen on to her face.

“The net’s pretty horrible, it’s not even opening.” I reasoned, gesturing towards the screen.

“The net’s slow?! But we just got it fixed last week..!” she said.

“I dunno, this seems pretty slow to me…” I said.

“Now, this is what happens when you sit around a lot with internet modem switched on 24/7. I mean it always works fine until you come in.” said my aunt.

Maybe I should consider life as a “Dexter” episode.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about aunt, the modem may get heated up but the internet rarely slows down, even if you use them 24/7. I mean, our modem in Dubai is never switched off when I’m there and it has always worked fine.” I said.

“You can’t convince me with that, I think we should start forbidding you to use internet from ours altogether. Right, ikka?” she looked towards her husband for support for her hypothesis.

I looked towards him for some support for my sanity. Where do I get some M-99? Do they sell them in pharmacies?

“Yeah, she’s right chichu. The modems in India are not like the ones in Dubai. They may not have the same quality. So caution and measures must be taken while we’re using them here. Understand? And yeah, about you using this laptop; I know it’s yours, But you’re stuck with this thing at all the times when you’re awake. You sit at night in the dark to watch movies in them. I’m not saying it’s all bad, but you’re way of using it can give your eyes an expiration date. Why don’t you go down to the ground floor and take a walk or something. At least get up from the couch; you’re always sitting there and it has made the couch look like a couch version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.” said my uncle.

Ok, I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that my uncle is pissed at me. Although being Sherlock Holmes in the 21st century would be pretty cool. *sigh*. Can’t believe I actually thought my uncle would give me some support for my sanity against his wife.

“Ok, this doesn’t seem to be working. I’m closing it.” I said.

And I hastily locked my laptop, kept it in my bag and left for the ground floor.

Ok, so let’s summarize. I have an uncle and aunt who really don’t appreciate my way of living and they’re going to take away the main reason I like staying here. The night-outs with my laptop.

And all of this started because of Rajeev Pillai and the CCL matches.God save them.

I really should consider doing some other hobby when I’m here. How about killing bad people?

OK. That’s it. No more “Dexter”.

I needed some fresh air. And more importantly, I needed some human connection. I reached the zero floor where they have this immense garden like stuff that the society people have built where people from all the towers in this Rustomjee Ozone building could come down and enjoy their leisure time.

I’m not an anti-social element. But this society socialize wrong. I mean, after all, my aunt says she feels “at home” in this place. There’s got to be something wrong with it then. So, I try to blend in. But the best I could try is to pretend I’m a part of it, hating their guts deep inside.

I and Dexter Morgan have so much in common.

I know the spot in here where people don’t go much. The habit of observation came naturally after countless readings of Sherlock Holmes. For a person who yearned for human connection, I was searching for the loneliest spot in the area.

Only young couples went there mostly. To make-out or for having some other kind of hand to body or body to body conversation. Having one lone creepy looking guy walking into the area is enough to make these paranoid and testosterone and estrogen charged people flee from the spot.

I sat there with the cool evening breeze brushing against my face. It already started giving me a nose block. But that’s pretty much alright. I’m used to having nose blocks all the time.

As the evening progressed, the cool evening swiftly progressed into a cold night. I noticed that I wasn’t properly dressed for the occasion when a cold chill ran up and down my entire body. And with a trimmed head, I could sense the direction to which the wind was blowing.

With the train of thoughts keeping my mind busy, it never occurred to me what I wanted. But when I had nothing else to think of other than how cold the weather is; I decided it’s time to talk with somebody. I took my phone and gradually started checking people in the alphabetical order. My close friends are not the people I want to talk to just because I felt lonely. I called the first name I read properly and we started talking.

Surprisingly, I felt really good talking to her; so good that I went back to my uncle’s place immediately after we hung up. My Uncle seemed less irritating and my aunt seemed less, well, whatever things I thought she was.

From that day on, I made a point to make sure that I call that person every night at exactly around that time. So much that now, when I don’t, I feel incomplete and the world seems like a less happy place.

I know you make it a point to read my blog. You seem to be one of the few hopeless readers of this blog. (Wonder why mostly only girls read my blog. :/)

So, here’s me telling it to you; I feel really good talking with you. I don’t know how you do it, but it makes my problems seem less problematic. And with my whole heart, I thank you for that.

5 years ago. It was the living room of a quiet villa in a Sharjah. Seated there, at the edge of their seats, were three young guys in their early teens. The tension in the room was palpable. Their eyes were glued to the TV. As an outside observer, I know the reader has questions. What is so gripping about the old-fashioned girl-on-girl porn they are watching? Are these teens anxious to find out whether the older girl is able to properly teach the younger girl how to satisfy her boyfriend?

Interrupting the enchanting pop sound-track of the movie, spoke guy_1, “Do you think we will be able to finish the movie before your parents return?” Guy_2 chimed in, “Yeah, do you think we should fast forward a bit?”

Guy_3 pointed to the women on TV, who, by that time, were moaning at a pitch attainable only by Vampire bats, and said, “The movie can’t be much longer. It’s only 8:50. Mom and dad wont’ be back before 9. We will have enough time to finish the movie and have a shawarma from Sarab before they arrive.”

Noticing the discomfort on their faces, Guy_3 explained his master plan. “Listen, If I hear them at the main door, I will run and intercept them. I will buy you enough time to retrieve the DVD and hide it in my room. It’s as simple as that.” Reassured they went back to watching the tangle of limbs on the screen and trying to figure out whose hand is doing what to which body part.

The reassurance lasted for about 5 minutes until the TV screen went blank. As darkness descended in the room, their hearts stopped with the realization that the power just went out. “Holy shit!” shouted one of them, “How the hell are we going to get the DVD out?” Another guy chose a stronger swear word, more appropriate for the occasion, and proceeded to repeat it with different stress each time. “Fuck fuck fuck…”. Finally he found a question to ask, “Why the hell would the power go off in a frikkin gulf country…? I could’ve stayed back in India if I wanted any more of this shit!”.

Out of this chaos boomed the nonchalant voice of Guy_3, “Guys, let’s not panic. We are thinkers. We are geniuses. We are Mallus. We are going to be great engineers one day. Our brains are programmed to produce a solution to any worst case scenario. We can take the DVD player apart in 2 minutes and get the DVD out.”

At any other time Guy_1 and Guy_2 would have sat Guy_3 down and discussed:

1) How wrong he was when he said “we are going to be genius engineers” when there are red marks appearing all over their progress report.

2) How opening up DVDs is not even remotely connected to the engineering curriculum or any other curriculum they are familiar with; and

3) How they would love to kick Guy_3 in the nuts for not panicking.

But they didn’t, because opening the DVD was the best idea at that time.

With impressive speed the DVD was opened. It didn’t take them too long to figure out that DVDs are not like candy boxes which you open and grab whatever you want from them. In fact, the “Star Whores Episode IV: A new hole”  DVD was locked in some intricate mechanism which was difficult to study in the mobile light.

At which point Guy_1 asked, “Guys, don’t you think it would look more suspicious if we are caught with an open DVD? How would we explain it?” With this new insight into the situation the DVD was assembled back.

After half an hour, the power did not come back but the parents did. The three guys nervously wandered around the living room hoping the power would be restored before the living room was locked from inside for the night. The power was restored soon after but with one glitch. Guy_3’s mom was immediately heard saying, “Oh good the power’s back. Let me turn off the TV so we can go bed.” Guy_3 sprang to action shouting, “Mom can I talk to you privately in the kitchen?”

It is inconsequential what irrelevant matter Guy_3 discussed in the kitchen or the fact that his mom was heard saying, “OK, but why do we have to talk about it now?”. Nevertheless the DVD was transferred to safety before it automatically started playing and before the discussion ended.

Different people react differently to the same situation. Guy_1 didn’t stop trembling for a week. Guy_2 asked later that night, “Those girls were amazing. Do you think we can manage to see it again tomorrow?”. Guy_3 blogged about it 5 years later.

Now that you’ve smiled at least once, it’s your turn to spread these crazy facts. (and God love that pig!)

The visit to Mumbai was always, in fact, ambidextrous to me. Partly because I liked Mumbai. Mumbai keeps throwing mixed messages at you. It’s a city that has something for everyone, I guess. There are huge glass buildings, there are small tarpaulin covered slums. There are huge posh malls, there are average wicked street vendors. There’s the smell of freedom flowing through the air, there’s also the smell of horse manure and pure garbage. And partly because this city has a part of my family. Even though I am not a huge fan of Karan Johar, I have to agree with the tagline of Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Ghum. Oh, and that reminds me, Mumbai is also the capital of Indian Cinema, and home of Bollywood…!

And the one reason I dislike the city is simply out of the questions thrown at me by my Aunt.

Oh, what’s so much to dislike about that, you may ask. Let me make this clear to you: Have you ever underwent through a seemingly straight but manipulative interrogation…? Well, meet my Aunt. She’s the best at it. I sometimes feel that she should come with a warning sign so that anybody who would meet her get a heads up. “WARNING: You have the right to remain silent. Any word you speak may speak against you”.

I mean, I cannot say she’s a bad person. But this problem of her’s makes her a very irritating person. She tries to manipulate you and make you her puppet. I simply give her the impression that I fell for it so that she’d leave me alone.

She tries to force us to question ourselves, our decisions; on what we have done with our life and what others think of us. She does all this with such relish, with an expression of such fake sincerity on her face. It bugs me. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s good to have somebody question your every move. But only, if it helps you to become a better person. But every thing she wants to know gives me such negative aura about everything. It creeps me out.

As I was picked up from the airport by my Uncle and Aunt and their kids, the first 20 minutes of the drive towards their home was a haze. I was figuratively bombarded with questions. I was tired, I felt sick; honestly, I felt like crying. Once we reached home, you could imagine my relief. I was pretty happy to get away from her and closer to my grandmother.

There was the first of its kind “Kadala Biriyani” for dinner. When I heard that my aunt was the one who made it, I was stupefied. Well, firstly, because she was never really known for her, uh, good cooking. And also,  it turned out pretty good. Suddenly, she didn’t seem that irritating anymore. Talk about “You’re eyes will see what your heart wants to see.”

Way into the night, I watched the city hurl and drift by beneath me from the balcony while everyone else slept. I really lost track of how much time I’ve spent out there simply making pointless observations. But I felt at peace.

I got up late the next day regardless of the fact that I had an exam. But since it was at 2 pm, I was saved. The exam measures your drawing abilities. I may get into the merit seat of any college depending on how good and creative I was. Since there are really no wrong answers in drawing, I do not know how I did in it. It’s almost like writing a Functional English Exam.

After the exam, I called up Shaaz to let him know I’m in town. I wasn’t really hopeful in meeting up with him, but at least, its worth a try.

One other thing that bugs me out when I’m in Mumbai is my Hindi. Well, my Hindi is just OK, when you measure standards. But when I’m in a majority of Hindi speaking crowd, I feel that I suck at it even more. The words simply just doesn’t come out. I think I’m suffering from Selective Mutism. There was this one particular time when I had to inquire to a girl about where would I be able to get some reasonable explanation to my queries. When I figured that she could not understand my English, I tried to speak Hindi with her. I just left her there open-mouthed when I tried to talk and no words came out. No, this has nothing to do with the girl.

This one other time, my uncle caught me trying to read a board which was written in Hindi. I read “Sayanth Payas”. It was written in front of  an institution. Payas literally has to mean a sweet dish. What’s Sayanth..? Is that a brand name for a time of Payas. Or wait. Could this be totally something else? So what was the institution for? How are these related? The Sherlock Holmes inside of me sprang into action.

My Uncle patiently listen to hear all my grand deductions to point to the English version of the board which had the words “St. Pius” scribbled across it. How depressing.

Yesterday, I received my first monsoon rain after I reached here. It was pretty good as me and my uncle went for a drive early in the morning. This was not just some random drive in the rain either. We went to check into some of the colleges I was hoping to get into.

Road Trip was always fun. I loved watching people as they hurdled across traffic, rickshaws etc. I saw a couple with their head covered riding on a Royal Enfield. Man, that looked Majestic. There was a person in a brilliant blue shirt and rough blue jeans who sped away in his Pulsar 220 which was registered: MH- 04 K  2314. I noticed he was wearing a converse and not wearing a helmet. I envied his agility.

We tried to eat breakfast form Panvel, but since most restaurants were BAR attached, me and my uncle decided to drop the idea. An hour later, we were speeding our way to Rasayani, a part of Navi Mumbai, when the rain started to pour down again. As we went a little farther, the rain eased and finally stopped.

After sometime we reached near a toll gate, where we noticed some commotion on the road. There was a 14 wheeler parked on the side of the road. There was a bike collapsed with parts here and there and a person lying motionless with his arms and legs twisted in a weird angle. My uncle slowed his car. The person’s head was covered with a cloth. Most of the rest of his body was red with blood although we could see hints of blue through some of those red. There was a traffic police officer and a couple of drivers who stopped to take out their camera phones and take pictures and videos of the person. Such pervs. But as I looked more carefully I found that they were not taking his pictures. They were just clicking away on something pale red pinkish stuff that were lying on the ground near the guy’s head. And then it dawned upon me. It was-

“Brains, yes. Sick sight, na?” said my uncle.

I had a sudden lurch in my stomach. This was almost like watching the Saw Movie Marathon. Uugh.

As we very slowly stared speeding up I noticed the registration number of the bike near its fallen back tyre. The tail lamp suggested that the bike was a Pulsar 220 and it’s registration number read: MH-04 K 2314…

Moving on, let me update the hopelessly few number of readers of my blog on what has happened with me. For the past year I’ve undergone entrance coaching for engineering.

“Wow, Seriously?”

Anybody who knew me well enough would have a similar response to that. But what I really was doing the past entire year was that I simply, was running away. From what, I really do not know. I guess it’s from my past. Or I really would not have given up blogging. There’s so much of me and my high school year in this blog that I cannot bear going through.

But recently, when I really had some time to myself (actually, loads of time to myself; I was practically so bored that I actually started to reflect upon my thoughts) I considered this question: What was I running away from?

As I lay down in my dark room of a very subtle apartment in Dubai unable to sleep for the 4th night in a row whilst my parents and younger brother slept peacefully in the adjacent room; I could find flashes of answers. Well, it seems I was technically running away from the last 2 years of my school life.

11th grade started with me being unsure of a choice of stream. Well, it never was possible for me to think for myself. That’s perhaps why I’ve had such an unusual record in school. I was in commerce, but gradually changed to Science due to the reasonable score I achieved in 10th boards. But nevertheless, during those times, I was carefree, careless, blissfully happy, ignorant, confident and immensely appealing. Anybody who have met me back then would agree with what I said. I had my best friend by my side; we were practically working together on a novel; I was not doing good in school and was surprisingly not bothered. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? The Answer: Everything.

I guess that first wrong move from my part was letting her close to me. Oh, how I regret every second of it!

She was already in a relationship with another guy; and technically, that should have been my first clue.

But no, I was a dickhead and fell for the fiasco. I was practically wasted. I became a sore thumb for my friends, family and almost everyone I know. How sad.

Towards the end of 12th grade; I started feeling the prick of being alone. I did not have to debate myself anymore. I suddenly lacked the ability to place emotions. I could not get my attention to anything. Everything was falling apart for me. I did not know who I was anymore. To make things worse; I could not sleep.

Insomnia was taking its death toll on me. I was half awake when I was asleep and half asleep when I was awake. I could not keep track of things. I could not remember where I was all of a sudden. I was having blackouts. When matters got worse, I googled immensely for self-help tips to eradicate insomnia. Some of them, like counting sheep, was simply pointless. But then, I did devise a new method myself that served for multi-purposes. It eases tension as well as makes you sleep. That worked wonders. But still was not wonderful enough.

I really don’t even remember how I wrote my exams. I could not even remember what set I got for God’s sake.

But all those eased when I got a spiritual awakening. I went for a pilgrimage to the holy cities of Makkah and Madinah. It was the most clearest and purest 2 weeks of my life. I could say that I could see things like I’ve never seen before. I could understand things like I never did before. This visit to the God’s palace, helped me to master myself again.

I did really try to mend my ways of the past. I called up the people who I thought I owe an apology. Even though I never disclosed any details about myself to most of them, I was glad to know that at least with some of those people; I was still somebody worth keeping in touch with.

That was when I figured. We really do spent a lot of time in our own heads that we just forget what it is out to be in somebody else’s head. It simply slows us down and that in turn will not do you any good. I could have done what I did a long time ago. But I waited for months to make a decision. True Story.

If you think I’m sending mixed messaged here. Think again.

If you think my writing skills have tarnished with time, I just need some time to get it polished.

If you think this was a really pointless post, know this: I did not post this to entertain you. I posted this because I wanted this to be posted.

And, hence, this confession arrives to a conclusion. And as a concluding message, here’s what I have to say:

“We often gain wisdom from failures much more than we do from success. And often, we figure out what we really want, by figuring out what we really don’t want.”

Write that down.

May God’s peace and blessing be upon all of you.

One of the biggest stars in Tamil movie industry, is famous for his larger than life roles and action sequences. His name, is Rajnikanth. That is the one name that could bring about a tamil arousal in any local tamilan. There would be times in movies where they portray his as the next thing to God.

With all this hullabaloo about him going around, just for fun, I made up some facts about Rajnikanth.

• Rajnikanth doesn’t need a gun because he can reach the enemy faster
• Rajnikanth won the Madras marathon. He started in New Delhi.
• Rajnikanth is not above the Law. He is the Law
• When Rajnikanth wants ice, he makes it snow
• Baby Rajnikanth didn’t eat Gerber mashed foods. He crushed his own apples
• Rajnikanth never used braces. He straightened his teeth with his tongue
• Rajnikanth uses a lawn mower to shave
• Rajikanth will tell you if the oven is hot enough by touching it
• Rajnikanth doesn’t like to handle diamonds because he keeps accidentally crushing them
• Rajnikanth can impregnate a woman on a long distance phone call
• To calm down Rajnikanth when he was a toddler, his mom used to play “Raja”
• When Rajnikanth carries around a cell tower as a precaution against out of coverage areas.
• Rajnikanth doesn’t need a gun because he can throw the bullets faster
• Snake bite is a common cause of death near Rajnikanths’ house. He bites a lot of snakes
• In their wilderness survival classes, Mountain lions, tigers, boars and elephants learn how to identify Rajnikanth.
• When Rajnikanth walks into a bar and says “The usual”, bartender shoots a bunch of people
• Rajnikanth can piss with both of his hands in the air
• Rajnikanth can shorten the day by speeding earth rotation, by one full day!
• Rajnikanth can burn the sun with a match stick.
• Rajnikanth can shit all over Pluto and make it as big to be called a planet.
• Rajnikanths’ nails are used by Kohinoor Diamond miners to cut diamonds.
• Rajnikanth doesn’t need a cigarette lighter, his stare burns through most materials known to man.
• Ninjas can’t see Rajnikanth coming.
• Cancer is afraid of Ranjnikanth.
• Rajnikanth counted to infinity – twice.
• Rajnikanth can slam a revolving door.
• Rajnikanth’s calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd; no one fools Sir Rajnisir.
• Rajnisir sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled talent. Shortly after the transaction was
  finalized, Rajnikanth wrestled the devil to the ground,locked him in his Kungfu death grip, and knocked the devil out with his tooth brush. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn’t stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.
• Rajnikanth toothbrush is made of organic plastic.
• The only time Rajnikanth was wrong was when he thought he had made a mistake.
• When Rajinikanth does division, there are no remainders.

Feel free to add your own facts. Have fun!

All they talk about is the baby, every picture they take is about baby, the same dude who said his biggest joy was gambling around 8 months ago would say that his biggest joy was when he became a father. And its not just the couple who’d be happy, the joy spreads to the people around too. Until the kid starts developing.

Let me explain it to you with a little story that happened to me some weeks back. Do you know why you shouldn’t call close people who have kids in the age range of 12-24 months?

I called my cousin sister recently. She has been extremely busy after she had had her baby. So we didn’t talk in a long time. I will let the conversation transcript speak for itself.

After some conversation.

Me: How is your son doing? He should be close to 18 months right?

She: Ya! He is very talkative these days! He’s been grabbing the phone from me. Here say hi to him.

Me: What!? No, wait wait… (Silence on the phone)

She: (Distant voice) Say hello Uncle Awesome…!

Baby: (Silence)

She: (Distant voice) Say na

(Vague sound of a wad of saliva landing on the mouthpiece and a tongue picking it up)

Cousin sister, who took the words “Don’t give up on your children” to heart: (Distant voice) Say hello Uncle Awesome

Baby: ga ga gaa ga

She: (Distant voice) GOOD JOB! Did you hear that, Awesome?

Me: (Stunned Silence).. Uhh.. Yeah.. Can’t say how happy I am!

She: (Distant voice) Say something back to him Awesome

(Silence)

Me: Give the phone to your mommy

After a few minutes of this lively dialog between the child and me, my cousin takes the phone back.

She: He really likes talking to you!

Me: Ya, it will be a delight talking to him when he learns a few more words

She: No, no he can say a lot of words. He can say all ABCs. Munnu, here say ABCs to Uncle Awesome

Without checking if I was a consenting adult, the phone was handed back the child.

Baby: (Silence)

She: (Distant voice) Say ABCs

Baby: ga ga ga gaa

She: (Distant voice) You for got C munnu. Say C, D, E

Baby: ga ga gaa

She: (Distant voice) GOOD JOB!

I will spare you rest of the alphabet. I hung up soon enough, promising to get her some information she needed. I called her back a week later with the info. But this time I was careful enough to call when the kid would be asleep.

You can imagine how happy I was when I got hold of her on chat. Chat must be safe until her son learns to type. Except…

Cousin: Hang on, Munna is all over the laptop

Me: Ok

Cousin: He wants to say something to you

Cousin: .z..,zxcnv..a.,x

Me: Oi, i think there’s some sort of network problem. Let me just fix it alright..? Brb.!

Master of Manipulation has just signed out.

*Phew*

Everybody has problems. When people have problems they struggle through them and finally find a solution. But if you are too lazy to solve your own problems, there is a plethora of agony aunts and slef-help gurus who offer perfectly middle-of-the-road, utterly politically correct and hence completely useless advice. However, to rival the Dear Abbys and Dear Margos and Ananthan Ajnyathans of the world, there is a new star in the advice column scene. It is none other than our own Bollywood! Who better can advise people than Bollywood with decades of experience in life’s problems.

I have been fortunate enough to obtain the first set of the questions and answers from the brand new advice column, “Dear Bolly!”. It’s featured in a magazine called “I-Whackya!”

Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a proud grandmother of a handsome boy who is now living in the city. I want him to come back to our village and fall in love with this girl. But he refuses. How do I get him to come back to the village?
Answer:
A simple telegram that says “Grandmother serious. Start immediately.” will do the trick. When he comes back expresses shock upon finding you in the pink of health, let out a hallow guffaw and tell him “I will not die until I play with my great-grand children.” The girl you mentioned will take care of falling in love part, with brass beats and slutty songs.

For references, watch: 70′s, 80′s and early 90′s bollywood movie.

Question:
Dear Bolly, I would like to disguise myself. Any suggestions?
Answer:
A completely unrecognizable disguise can be worn by simply wearing black sunglasses and a slightly different hairstyle. Not even your mom will be able to recognize you. Or rather, you could still use a change of attire from casual to punk and  lose your unnoticed moustache and stop wearing your geeky glasses. It has been proved that not even the wife who you live with will be able to recognize you. For references, see: “Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi”

Question:
Dear Bolly, Urgent! A snake bit my girlfriend. What do I do now?
Answer:
Fret not. Snakes can not only inject venom into human bodies, but they can suck the venom out as well, just like sucking juice out of a juice box. The trick is to make a compelling argument to the snake to take the venom back. This can be achieved by climbing up on a hill and singling a melancholy filled song. When you sing the song, the snake has two options to make you stop singing. It can bite you and take you down. Or it can take the venom back from your girlfriend. Stay as far away from your girlfriend as possible, because, then the snake would take the quickest way to put an end to your song and suck the venom back.

Question:
Dear Bolly, My girlfriend is in a girls-only hostel. I want to get into the hostel and meet her. How can I do that?
Answer:
One of the original intentions of burqa is to help men get into women’s hostels. Do not worry if you are a 6-footer or have hairy legs and hands showing through the burqa. Nobody will notice it. Strategically placed balloons (sold separately) are known to enhance the effect.

Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a pretty girl and a sister to a handsome, hero-like, guy. Astrologically, what birthstone should I be wearing to get married soon?
Answer:
It doesn’t matter what birthstone you wear, you will soon be raped. The rapist will refuse to marry you until your brother makes him see the error in his ways, by beating him into a pulp. So the answer to your question is, you will be married soon. So be happy.

Question:
Dear Bolly, my car stopped all of a sudden on a rural road. How do I fix it?
Answer:
There is only one solution any kind of car problem. Pour water in the radiator. Grab the empty can from the trunk, which never fails to be present, and walk in a random direction until you chance up on a lake and a pretty girl taking water from it.

Question:
Dear Bolly, I just had a serious accident and am unconscious. Will I recover?
Answer:
People seldom die from accidents. No matter how you are hurt or what bones are broken, what you immediately need is an operation. The doctor will tell your family exactly how much the operation will cost, which, in most cases, is 1 lakh (100,000) rupees. Don’t worry. Stay peacefully unconscious. You will soon wake up with a bandage to your head and rest of the body unscathed. Please remember that it is good etiquette to ask, “Where am I” upon waking up.

Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a pretty and young girl. What is the proper way of taking a shower?
Answer:
Even in utmost privacy, girls must wrap their torso in a sari or towel while taking a shower and soap only uncovered parts.

Question:
Dear Bolly, I am poor but for a brief period I need to make people believe that I am rich. How do I do that?
Answer:
The key to your success lies in obtaining the right kind of a glittery, slivery long coat that has the right mix of garishness and cheapness. Which should be topped by an equally appalling hat. Other accouterments include shiny shirts, crocodile shoes and large glasses. A possible source of such costume would be Las Vegas pimps. Speak in a weird “foreign” accent. Carry two suitcases and tell people that the suitcases are full of gold. That’s it. Everybody in the world will believe that you are extremely affluent.

Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a five year old boy and talk like a 16 year old. I want a baby brother or sister. How do I get one?
Answer:
I am sorry that you are slow in development. 5 year old boys should be talking like 19 year olds. In any case, you might try an advanced technique to achieve your means. You start by asking your mom and dad to kiss you on either cheek. While their faces are in forward motion, with lips extended like suction cups, you slide your head out of the way. Completely oblivious of this change, your parents will continue the forward motion like two brain-dead zombies, to meet in the middle, causing a kiss to happen. A kiss on the lips is known to spontaneously produce a baby.

There you go, solutions to all your problems. Why do you think bollywood is gonna be such a hit..?

“They think I am weird,” said Awesome, “and I want to find out…”  She didn’t let him finish the sentence.  “Who are they?” she interrupted.

“I should have chosen a male psychiatrist…” Awesome muttered to himself.

“My blog readers,” said Awesome

“You have a blog? A real one with real readers?  Not imaginary?”  She inquired.  Dr. D’Souza seemed convinced that Awesome was off the rocker from the get go.

“It’s a real one!  I am not that nuts yet.  You can check it out at semicharmedlifeinc.wordpress.com”

“Semi Charmed Life Inc.?  That’s a wacky name.  Why did you choose that name?”

“Because that’s my name”

“You call yourself Semi Charmed Life Incorporated?”

“No, not Incorporated.. SCL, at times.. It’s my new blog, you see”

“What was the name of your previous Blog..?”

Awesome hesitated.

“Um.. Pakka Idiot…”

Dr. D’souza surveyed Awesome through her glasses.

“I see… Interesting.  What other Aliases do you have Mr. Awesome?”

Awesome hesitated again.

“Awesome, Dj Mallu, Random Bastard, Pakka Idiot…”

She scribbled in her pad, in plain view.  “Likes to be identified as abnormal,” she wrote.

“It would help me understand you better if I saw your blog.”  She opened the blog and she immediately was taken aback.

“Men like Porn.. ?”

“No, no.  It is just a humorous article on 10 things girls should know about guys…”

She paid no attention and scrolled down quickly glancing through the articles.  “Another article on girl-guy thing.. hmm..  and here’s another one with ‘Steps to Identify a Bimbo in a Crowd’…  and  here’s a new one about ‘Men in Burqa’… Tell me Mr. Awesome, how many times did you write about these kind of topics in the recent past?”

“A few times,” Awesome said meekly.

“Man having fun at Women.  Dirty topics on a Public Site.  Let me ask you,  does Bimbo, Porn and Men in Burqa turn you on?”

“WHAT? What the …”

“Are Bimbos, Porn and Men in Burqa your fetish?

“Bimbos and Porn, yes. But NOT Men in Burqa..!”

“Are you a pervert, Mr. Awesome?”

“Are you Gay, Mr. Awesome? Are you interested in cross-dressing?

Awesome sat upright, horrified.  “NO!” he shouted, “ARE YOU?? Now, how the hell did you make that inference?”

She said nothing but scribbled on her pad again: “Topics about his sexual orientation is an emotional subject for patient.”  Without lifting her eyes from the pad, she spoke sternly, “Please don’t read my notes.”  She put a hand on the notes to hide them.

She continued the interview.  “So your readers, do they have similar interests?” she asked, carefully selecting the word “interests”.

Irritated, Awesome lashed out, “Don’t insult my readers.  Most of them are girls with self-respect.”

Dr. D’Souza said nonchalantly, “Are you saying they were all bimbos at one time?”

Awesome found no words to respond.  He buried his face in his hands and stared at her vacantly.

She continued, “Are you attracted to your readers?”

Waving his hands frantically, Awesome shouted, “NO NO!, Now just stop, alright? Just stop..”

It was as if those words never reached Dr. D’ souza.  She continued, “It seems their accusation of your being is weird may not be completely groundless.”

She scribbled something in the pad.  As she put the pen back, she dropped it on the floor.  It presented a good opportunity for Awesome to read the notes when Dr. D’souza bent down to retrieve the pen.  As he stood up to read the notes, Dr. D’ souza suddenly looked up.  Her face turned red.  She clutched her blouse closer and shouted, “Are you checking out my maternity bra?”

Awesome dropped on his knees and begged.  “Dr. D’ souza, I don’t know how to convince you.  My writing about bimbos and porn means nothing.  It’s just an easy topic to write humorously.  At least read rest of the blog.”

She seemed a little convinced.  She let go of the paperweight she was holding and proceeded to read rest of the blog.  She read for a few minutes, her face very serious, which in itself was an insult for what was purported to be a humor blog. To add injury she asked, “Do you use any illegal drugs?”

“No,” answered Awesome.

“So you produced all this while you were completely conscious.”

“Yes”

“All those Just Kidding, Advice for First Night, Screwed up Indian Names, Indian-Spider man, Pregnancy advice and rest of the, um.. humor, you wrote consciously and willingly?”

“Yes”

Dr. D’ souza spoke with a surprised look on her face, “I have seen so many people in my career.  Boy, you are the weirdest!”

Awesome sighed in relief.  Weird is so much better than pervert.  He asked, “All I want to know is, if I will ever be normal”

She said, with a sympathy filled tone, “Mr. Awesome.  Looking at your work so far, I am sorry to say there is no hope for you.  You will be weird for the rest of your life.”

Awesome beamed with delight.  “Thank you! that’s all I wanted to know. I can blog forever.”  He walked out a relieved man, and published a post on it 3 hours later titled ‘Awesome Forever’.