.. 5.30 in the morning.. coming back from one of the best New Year's party ever... VIP section of the club, to the presidential suit after party.. it was all good! Riding on the euphoria of a great start to the year, me and bro are talking and my wishful thinking makes me chance upon a prediction..
1. Udit - I think you are going to be with someone real soon man... BAM! he is married within the next 4 month!
2. Arjun - Dude.. lookout.. i give you an year and a half at the max... true to the soothsayers words.. my bro is now fixed up to be married.. it has happened!!
Congratulations man.. to you and Piya.. god bless!
P.S. Just make sure I am the god father.. and you have a room for me in the house where i can grow old! :-)
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Is this all that happens in 40 years..
Client: "... all this is ok.. but what exactly do you mean by Web 2.0"
before we could answer.. over enthusiastic colleague..
"You heard about windows 3.1 going to Windows 3.11 to Windows 97 rite..its the same.. its an upgrade from 1.0!"
Now I am flummoxed as to what my reaction should be.. but this is not the end.. this leads to a debate between the two..
"Yeah that's ok.. but they took 40 years to go from 1.0 to 2.0..?"
.. wtf.. I am headed outta here!
before we could answer.. over enthusiastic colleague..
"You heard about windows 3.1 going to Windows 3.11 to Windows 97 rite..its the same.. its an upgrade from 1.0!"
Now I am flummoxed as to what my reaction should be.. but this is not the end.. this leads to a debate between the two..
"Yeah that's ok.. but they took 40 years to go from 1.0 to 2.0..?"
.. wtf.. I am headed outta here!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Roadtrip...
Doing some online research for a popular weekend getaway made me come across this destination. Further lookups described the town as a cantonment area, sparsely populated and still retaining the colonial charm; boasting about hotels like Grand Maurice and Ros Common which are in all means old school (since the govt. has banned construction of new buildings in the area).
Well the plan was set for the coming long weekend, with the few evenings prior to that filled with cleaning my camera and its lenses, looking for the right jacket in the clustered closed filled with neatly piled winter clothes (with by the way, wasn’t so neat by the time I was done).
As per the trusted and worn out travel guides, the distance was approximately 340 kms from Delhi, which by our approximation would be done and over within 7 hrs with a sparse break thrown in for god measure. Hmmmm.. not at all, it took one hour to just battle our way past the horrendous traffic of Delhi and get on to the famous Grand Trunk Road, now National Highway 1. Once on NH1, things got a little smoother owing to an eight lane highway, where my swift could touch 120 on the meter, however intermittently. Unfortunately, NH1 is being renovated in a big way, with flyovers and toll booths (`Tool plaza’ reads an unfortunately spelt sign) being built.
Traffic at times was maddeningly slow and chaotic. We stopped for half an hour to eat a late breakfast at Murthal. It was quite a challenge initially to get the attention of the all-too-busy waiters, but once I was able to latch onto one of them, the service was stupendous and a non - stop flow of lassi and paranthas followed. We stopped to fill diesel at Ambala where we had to tackle a corrupt cop angling for a bribe, despite all papers being in order. Our next tangle with excitement came at Pinjore, where a huge traffic jam had vehicles lining up for more than 2 kilometers and the crawling at such speeds as would be rivaled by a snail. Add to that the fact that we took a wrong turn and went to Chandigarh instead of turning off towards Kalka from Zirakpur—and it was hardly a surprise we ended up taking a little more than 10 hours to get to Kasauli.
The road started lifting into the foothills of the Himalayas at Pinjore, but even till after Parwanoo, the hills weren’t really what I think of as the Himalayas. These were scrubby foothills, grown over with orange-flowering lantana and not much else. No pines, no cedars, and no interesting birds. After Parwanoo (and a treacherous switchback going up a steep slope towards Kasauli), the scenery suddenly changes. The clouds, grey and forbidding, have been lowering over the landscape, and shortly after we enter our first belt of green pines, the first fat drops of rain start pelting down. It drizzles intermittently for the next couple of hours, but that doesn’t stop us from enjoying the view: misty mountains, pines (and cedars), white-cheeked bulbuls and a tree pie; a barking deer racing across the road and up the hillside; and langurs, all black-faced and with dangling question-mark tails, up in the trees.
Kasauli is a cantonment town, pretty but somewhat strictly run. A toll booth run by the cantonment board sits at the only road up to town. We bought a pass (Rs 65!?!) and waited patiently for the barrier to be raised, only to discover that this was a high-tech barrier, managed by a remote control that’s suddenly gone haywire and was intent on not letting us through. Traffic begins piling up and the remote that’s gone kaput becomes the high point of Kasauli’s evening. Lots of pushing and shoving at the barrier, some desperate racing around, and the remote finally works after ten minutes of much excitement. Hallelujah!
We drive up to Grand Maurice, a very pretty hotel/ lodge built in 1862, whose appeal lay in the old wood paneling and the slightly creaky wooden floorboards. After we checked in, we ordered a pile of food, something that lived up to the hotels reputation and a few drinks to get over the disastrous ride, and then we set off on an introductory walk through town. Our hotel was ten minutes from the heart of town, and the stroll there took us past langurs; horse chestnut trees in full bloom, and pines with the cones fresh and green.
Although previously decided that this was NOT a typical sightseeing trip and I was going to just relax and unwind;. this doesn’t actually happen; the Christ Church is too lovely to resist, and we ended up spending a while inside, admiring the stained glass. We followed this up with a leisurely stroll down the marketplace, the shops selling everything from smart T-shirts and skirts to hand-carved walking sticks, Tibetan masks, and locally brewed fruit wines. A quaint cobbled street (around from the time of the British? I wonder) curves downward, and we follow it diligently till we reach a dead end and have to turn around and walk right back. By the time we reach our hotel, the sun’s beginning to set, painting a nice shade of orange wherever the splashes of light end up setting. A noisy group of middle-aged men who’d driven up from Chandigarh (or somewhere nearby; we didn’t bother to ask) had thankfully left our hotel, I believe god was kind and answered my prayers, so it’s blissfully quiet. A cup of coffee, a look through the newspapers, and I’m ready for an evening of beer and bon fire with my buddies. Tomorrow’s another day, with harrowing ride back to Delhi, and I’d rather not think about it right now.
Well the plan was set for the coming long weekend, with the few evenings prior to that filled with cleaning my camera and its lenses, looking for the right jacket in the clustered closed filled with neatly piled winter clothes (with by the way, wasn’t so neat by the time I was done).
As per the trusted and worn out travel guides, the distance was approximately 340 kms from Delhi, which by our approximation would be done and over within 7 hrs with a sparse break thrown in for god measure. Hmmmm.. not at all, it took one hour to just battle our way past the horrendous traffic of Delhi and get on to the famous Grand Trunk Road, now National Highway 1. Once on NH1, things got a little smoother owing to an eight lane highway, where my swift could touch 120 on the meter, however intermittently. Unfortunately, NH1 is being renovated in a big way, with flyovers and toll booths (`Tool plaza’ reads an unfortunately spelt sign) being built.
Traffic at times was maddeningly slow and chaotic. We stopped for half an hour to eat a late breakfast at Murthal. It was quite a challenge initially to get the attention of the all-too-busy waiters, but once I was able to latch onto one of them, the service was stupendous and a non - stop flow of lassi and paranthas followed. We stopped to fill diesel at Ambala where we had to tackle a corrupt cop angling for a bribe, despite all papers being in order. Our next tangle with excitement came at Pinjore, where a huge traffic jam had vehicles lining up for more than 2 kilometers and the crawling at such speeds as would be rivaled by a snail. Add to that the fact that we took a wrong turn and went to Chandigarh instead of turning off towards Kalka from Zirakpur—and it was hardly a surprise we ended up taking a little more than 10 hours to get to Kasauli.
The road started lifting into the foothills of the Himalayas at Pinjore, but even till after Parwanoo, the hills weren’t really what I think of as the Himalayas. These were scrubby foothills, grown over with orange-flowering lantana and not much else. No pines, no cedars, and no interesting birds. After Parwanoo (and a treacherous switchback going up a steep slope towards Kasauli), the scenery suddenly changes. The clouds, grey and forbidding, have been lowering over the landscape, and shortly after we enter our first belt of green pines, the first fat drops of rain start pelting down. It drizzles intermittently for the next couple of hours, but that doesn’t stop us from enjoying the view: misty mountains, pines (and cedars), white-cheeked bulbuls and a tree pie; a barking deer racing across the road and up the hillside; and langurs, all black-faced and with dangling question-mark tails, up in the trees.
Kasauli is a cantonment town, pretty but somewhat strictly run. A toll booth run by the cantonment board sits at the only road up to town. We bought a pass (Rs 65!?!) and waited patiently for the barrier to be raised, only to discover that this was a high-tech barrier, managed by a remote control that’s suddenly gone haywire and was intent on not letting us through. Traffic begins piling up and the remote that’s gone kaput becomes the high point of Kasauli’s evening. Lots of pushing and shoving at the barrier, some desperate racing around, and the remote finally works after ten minutes of much excitement. Hallelujah!
We drive up to Grand Maurice, a very pretty hotel/ lodge built in 1862, whose appeal lay in the old wood paneling and the slightly creaky wooden floorboards. After we checked in, we ordered a pile of food, something that lived up to the hotels reputation and a few drinks to get over the disastrous ride, and then we set off on an introductory walk through town. Our hotel was ten minutes from the heart of town, and the stroll there took us past langurs; horse chestnut trees in full bloom, and pines with the cones fresh and green.
Although previously decided that this was NOT a typical sightseeing trip and I was going to just relax and unwind;. this doesn’t actually happen; the Christ Church is too lovely to resist, and we ended up spending a while inside, admiring the stained glass. We followed this up with a leisurely stroll down the marketplace, the shops selling everything from smart T-shirts and skirts to hand-carved walking sticks, Tibetan masks, and locally brewed fruit wines. A quaint cobbled street (around from the time of the British? I wonder) curves downward, and we follow it diligently till we reach a dead end and have to turn around and walk right back. By the time we reach our hotel, the sun’s beginning to set, painting a nice shade of orange wherever the splashes of light end up setting. A noisy group of middle-aged men who’d driven up from Chandigarh (or somewhere nearby; we didn’t bother to ask) had thankfully left our hotel, I believe god was kind and answered my prayers, so it’s blissfully quiet. A cup of coffee, a look through the newspapers, and I’m ready for an evening of beer and bon fire with my buddies. Tomorrow’s another day, with harrowing ride back to Delhi, and I’d rather not think about it right now.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sunday Afternoons...
There's a new show in town, playing Sunday noons.. pretty interesting as well, once you get over the mind set; in case you have any. The featured show is: Me, Myeself and I.
Well, there was a time not so far back when I velhemently refused to step inside a movie theatre alone, deeming it to be an act of utter sadness. And Lo Behold! Look at what it's come to now, the tides of time have got everyone involved in their lives, hence, to an extent, the so called "spur of the moment plans" have diminished in numbers so far so, now they can be termes as scrace. Initially, it was a cause of disappointment and loathing even. However, its now settled into a sense of comfort and some quality time with none other than Myself.
So far so, its been two relaxing Sundays, starting with a coffee and newspaper at early noon; i have deliberately missed out the time pre - noon since it would be quite boring to describe how I lie sprawled across the bed, with arms and legs askew deep in slumber.
As the afternoon progresses, the need to step out increases at an alarming rate, making me reach for the listing of various shows across the city. The one good thing that comes out of deciding a movie all alone is the lack of the need to coordinate between various people with their upteen hangups ranging from the choice of movie theatre, the show timings and to the movie itself. In this case, I am man not answerable to anyone, following a system of czarism, where my word is the law and the masses have no say in it.
At the theatre as well, there are advantages of sorts. Usually, one ticket is not a problem, even if the movie is a box office hit. Just make sure to ignore the looks of pity/ symapthy, etc that you might get from other people in the same queue as you, once they hear that you just asked for one ticket. A good way to avoid this would be to book your tickets online. The way I see it, it saves for time as well that one wastes standing in a long winding queue, keeping fingers crossed and praying ferverently that the tickets are not sold out by the time you arrive at the counter. The other advantages range from excessive spendings on friends, lovers, cousins, etc whether it be the refreshment counter or for the movie tickets or the lunch/ coffee thereafter. There's no squabble for the seats as well, just one ticket, needless to say the choices are limited.
The movie experience is enjoyable, you have finally come to see the science fiction that you have been pining for, without having to convince your girlfriend and reminding her about the 100 chick flicks you have been dragged to with her. And alas, when she does agree to, the movie is interrupted time and again with earnest queries as to "What the HELL is happening in the movie?"
Well the movie finally does end, the credits roll on the screen and you already know where you are going to head to. There are no silly arguments on which place to go to or where to chill. GREAT!
The afternoon progresses onto a nice coffee then a trip to the library. I have come to realize that it is quite enjoyable and relaxing to be just with oneself. Life does indeed seem much simpler, even if its just for a lazy sunday afternoon!
Well, there was a time not so far back when I velhemently refused to step inside a movie theatre alone, deeming it to be an act of utter sadness. And Lo Behold! Look at what it's come to now, the tides of time have got everyone involved in their lives, hence, to an extent, the so called "spur of the moment plans" have diminished in numbers so far so, now they can be termes as scrace. Initially, it was a cause of disappointment and loathing even. However, its now settled into a sense of comfort and some quality time with none other than Myself.
So far so, its been two relaxing Sundays, starting with a coffee and newspaper at early noon; i have deliberately missed out the time pre - noon since it would be quite boring to describe how I lie sprawled across the bed, with arms and legs askew deep in slumber.
As the afternoon progresses, the need to step out increases at an alarming rate, making me reach for the listing of various shows across the city. The one good thing that comes out of deciding a movie all alone is the lack of the need to coordinate between various people with their upteen hangups ranging from the choice of movie theatre, the show timings and to the movie itself. In this case, I am man not answerable to anyone, following a system of czarism, where my word is the law and the masses have no say in it.
At the theatre as well, there are advantages of sorts. Usually, one ticket is not a problem, even if the movie is a box office hit. Just make sure to ignore the looks of pity/ symapthy, etc that you might get from other people in the same queue as you, once they hear that you just asked for one ticket. A good way to avoid this would be to book your tickets online. The way I see it, it saves for time as well that one wastes standing in a long winding queue, keeping fingers crossed and praying ferverently that the tickets are not sold out by the time you arrive at the counter. The other advantages range from excessive spendings on friends, lovers, cousins, etc whether it be the refreshment counter or for the movie tickets or the lunch/ coffee thereafter. There's no squabble for the seats as well, just one ticket, needless to say the choices are limited.
The movie experience is enjoyable, you have finally come to see the science fiction that you have been pining for, without having to convince your girlfriend and reminding her about the 100 chick flicks you have been dragged to with her. And alas, when she does agree to, the movie is interrupted time and again with earnest queries as to "What the HELL is happening in the movie?"
Well the movie finally does end, the credits roll on the screen and you already know where you are going to head to. There are no silly arguments on which place to go to or where to chill. GREAT!
The afternoon progresses onto a nice coffee then a trip to the library. I have come to realize that it is quite enjoyable and relaxing to be just with oneself. Life does indeed seem much simpler, even if its just for a lazy sunday afternoon!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Bucket List Part 2...
Yes to be completely honest, I have not been updating my blog as I had solemnly promised myself.. well there is an honest reason for it.. my writings reflect my statements and tend to follow my moods.. not a good thing when all one wants to do is to post random ravings and ranting without any propaganda, hidden or otherwise.
Well, in continuation to my previous post of a wish list that I intend to complete before time does me in; I have signed up for French lessons.. and French 101 starts from tomorrow morning. Quite looking forward to it and hope the motivation lasts for more than just a couple of classes.
Well, in continuation to my previous post of a wish list that I intend to complete before time does me in; I have signed up for French lessons.. and French 101 starts from tomorrow morning. Quite looking forward to it and hope the motivation lasts for more than just a couple of classes.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Simply Overrated...
I've always felt birthdays are overrated. And every time my birthday comes around, like it did this week, I wonder if the enforced cheeriness is warranted.
Thomas Hardy once observed that every year, without our knowing it, we live through our death days. You don't know it yet, but maybe 50 years from now, one day, say on July 5, you are going to die. What would you do if you knew that July 5 is your death day? Would you mourn it every year while you live? Maybe light a few candles instead of blowing them out -- say, about 137 candles? Or will you have a mock funeral service to commemorate your own mortality? Given that birth is an event that is already past, Death Day ought to have more emotional cache for people. But we'd rather not think about death. Forget death, we'd rather not think about growing old even.
I might as well come out and say it: I believe birthdays are a big hoax, and the overpowering obligation to be happy on my 'happy birthday' just pisses me off. The reasons are many. For one, I no longer enjoy blowing candles as much as I used to when I was 7. Then, as a fully grown adult male, I find the entire ceremony of cake-cutting deeply embarrassing. More so if there are people standing around, pretending to sing 'happy birthday to you' while secretly rejoicing in the fact that I have become one year older than what I was yesterday. This means they can all feel collectively younger by one year, thanks to my birthday.
What I don't realize until it is too late is that they are also feeling sorry for me because I can't cut without messing up the entire cake. People can't stand for long the sight of me battling the big birthday cake as if it was Moby Dick and I was Captain Ahab poking at it with an extremely blunt harpoon. Sooner or later, someone saves me from the ordeal by grabbing my hand with the knife in it, effortlessly slicing a perfectly shaped piece, and quickly shoving one in my mouth so I can't protest. Then they all clap so that I forget to feel bad.
But I couldn't forget for long. At least 16 people asked me on my birthday how old I was, and these included not just traditionally age-obsessed creatures such as women. Too many men asked me, and went away with a self-satisfied smile when I told them. Really, I can't think of a better example of hypocrisy than saying "happy birthday" to a person you believe will shortly be deported from the country of youth to the settlement of the middle-aged.
Two things became clear to me on my birthday: First, we have become a hopelessly ageist society. Second, ageism has completely infiltrated our competitiveness. So not only are we competitive in staying and looking younger; not only do we all want to become CEOs, drive BMWs, and brandish umbrellas designed by Yves Saint Laurent, we want to do it all at an age younger than everyone else who is seeking the same thing. After all, what is the point of getting to sit on the Board at an age when you have lumbago, and can't tell your friends how you canceled the meeting with the chief minister because you couldn't miss your Rugby match at the Auckland Gymkhana?
I asked some of my ageist friends what they would do when they turned 40. They all had the same answer: "I would be dead by then." I am willing to bet that all these people promised themselves when they were 18 that they would be dead by 30. Now they are 31 and planning to be dead by 40. My advice to all those who have just entered the reception area of middle-age: if you are serious about saying goodbye to this world before you touch 40, please emigrate to Zimbabwe immediately. Life expectancy there is 37 for men and 34 for women -- even in Zimbabwe, as you can see, women have a better deal.
While ageist hypocrisy is one part of it, another side of birthdays I dislike is the introspective part. For some reason, you are made to think that every one of your birthdays is some kind of milestone you've crossed. So you feel compelled to look back on your life and assess it, as if it was an income tax return. And unless you are someone like Maria Sharapova, who won Wimbledon at the age of 17, or Paris Hilton, who doesn't need to win anything and so has a birthday party on every continent, you feel compelled to pose yourself questions such as: what have I achieved in life except go to work, make money, and have fun? I don't know if anybody else has noticed, but there seems to be nothing to look forward to in life these days except having fun. And of all the days in your life, it is on your birthday that you are supposed to be having the 'maximum' fun. How depressing can that be. Ask me.
Thomas Hardy once observed that every year, without our knowing it, we live through our death days. You don't know it yet, but maybe 50 years from now, one day, say on July 5, you are going to die. What would you do if you knew that July 5 is your death day? Would you mourn it every year while you live? Maybe light a few candles instead of blowing them out -- say, about 137 candles? Or will you have a mock funeral service to commemorate your own mortality? Given that birth is an event that is already past, Death Day ought to have more emotional cache for people. But we'd rather not think about death. Forget death, we'd rather not think about growing old even.
I might as well come out and say it: I believe birthdays are a big hoax, and the overpowering obligation to be happy on my 'happy birthday' just pisses me off. The reasons are many. For one, I no longer enjoy blowing candles as much as I used to when I was 7. Then, as a fully grown adult male, I find the entire ceremony of cake-cutting deeply embarrassing. More so if there are people standing around, pretending to sing 'happy birthday to you' while secretly rejoicing in the fact that I have become one year older than what I was yesterday. This means they can all feel collectively younger by one year, thanks to my birthday.
What I don't realize until it is too late is that they are also feeling sorry for me because I can't cut without messing up the entire cake. People can't stand for long the sight of me battling the big birthday cake as if it was Moby Dick and I was Captain Ahab poking at it with an extremely blunt harpoon. Sooner or later, someone saves me from the ordeal by grabbing my hand with the knife in it, effortlessly slicing a perfectly shaped piece, and quickly shoving one in my mouth so I can't protest. Then they all clap so that I forget to feel bad.
But I couldn't forget for long. At least 16 people asked me on my birthday how old I was, and these included not just traditionally age-obsessed creatures such as women. Too many men asked me, and went away with a self-satisfied smile when I told them. Really, I can't think of a better example of hypocrisy than saying "happy birthday" to a person you believe will shortly be deported from the country of youth to the settlement of the middle-aged.
Two things became clear to me on my birthday: First, we have become a hopelessly ageist society. Second, ageism has completely infiltrated our competitiveness. So not only are we competitive in staying and looking younger; not only do we all want to become CEOs, drive BMWs, and brandish umbrellas designed by Yves Saint Laurent, we want to do it all at an age younger than everyone else who is seeking the same thing. After all, what is the point of getting to sit on the Board at an age when you have lumbago, and can't tell your friends how you canceled the meeting with the chief minister because you couldn't miss your Rugby match at the Auckland Gymkhana?
I asked some of my ageist friends what they would do when they turned 40. They all had the same answer: "I would be dead by then." I am willing to bet that all these people promised themselves when they were 18 that they would be dead by 30. Now they are 31 and planning to be dead by 40. My advice to all those who have just entered the reception area of middle-age: if you are serious about saying goodbye to this world before you touch 40, please emigrate to Zimbabwe immediately. Life expectancy there is 37 for men and 34 for women -- even in Zimbabwe, as you can see, women have a better deal.
While ageist hypocrisy is one part of it, another side of birthdays I dislike is the introspective part. For some reason, you are made to think that every one of your birthdays is some kind of milestone you've crossed. So you feel compelled to look back on your life and assess it, as if it was an income tax return. And unless you are someone like Maria Sharapova, who won Wimbledon at the age of 17, or Paris Hilton, who doesn't need to win anything and so has a birthday party on every continent, you feel compelled to pose yourself questions such as: what have I achieved in life except go to work, make money, and have fun? I don't know if anybody else has noticed, but there seems to be nothing to look forward to in life these days except having fun. And of all the days in your life, it is on your birthday that you are supposed to be having the 'maximum' fun. How depressing can that be. Ask me.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Creativity...
Creativity is the most powerful thing in the world... hmmm.. that makes me want to compete for top spot with superman (no arguments there, he is #1), except for the fact that I am not creative (at least not in the conventional way!) so i would get my ass whopped, but then if I am not creative in the conventional way, does that mean I have struck through and hit mother lode by being unconventionally creative, and if that REALLY is the case, hahahahahahahahahah.. superman bring it on!!
Now I am in the middle of a training session, feeling ultra fidgety and overactive, so here I am being creative (surprise surprise, the session is also on the same subject!) and trying to get rid of my pent up energy. Actually, it is working, my leg has stopped twitching, or maybe its due to the fact that my laptop is on my lap (!) and it would be extremely difficult to type on a shaky laptop!
Now I am in the middle of a training session, feeling ultra fidgety and overactive, so here I am being creative (surprise surprise, the session is also on the same subject!) and trying to get rid of my pent up energy. Actually, it is working, my leg has stopped twitching, or maybe its due to the fact that my laptop is on my lap (!) and it would be extremely difficult to type on a shaky laptop!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Deoderants Banned...
Deodorants are very important in today’s World. In fact, when the first time capsule was buried 50 feet below the ground, during the World Fair in 1937, a deodorant can was one of the items kept inside. It was expected that after traveling a long way the Aliens would take bath, spray the deo and freshen up before sitting down for a dialogue. Just in case you believed me, I am kidding.
While reading this blog post further….think of me as an 82-year-old journalist writing a news item in the year 2057 A.D.
If you are as old as I am, you probably remember the days when one could use deodorants without the fear of being arrested. Back then, parents would gift deodorants to their sons on their 18th birthdays. Or sisters would take their brothers out for shopping so that they could select a good deo for their boyfriends. Or husbands would walk up to their wives and say: ‘Hey, you smell of onions and garlic. Here use this deo!”
If you don’t remember, let this 82 year old man jog your memory. In 2025 A.D Indian doctors identified eight dangerous compounds in deodorants and recommended that its use be banned. At first the Government didn’t take notice of the scientists’ findings…but when the scientists proved that consistent use of deodorants on white mice resulted in infertility, they sat up and listened.
The Government discussed it in both the Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha, where the ban found 100% support. Some traced it to the fact that our MPs raise a stink because they don’t use deos….and perhaps that’s why they didn’t oppose when the bill on banning of deos.
Some of the deodorant manufacturing companies protested, but when the CEOs were asked to use their own brand of deodorants and prove that it wasn’t harmful…they all backed out. One of them blacked out.
Thus in 2030 A.D. deodorants were banned. Life wasn’t really affected much because people moved to perfumes. But in 2033 A.D. Priyanka Gandhi, the new Prime Minister of the country, banned perfumes too. She said she didn’t like Robert Vadra using it.
Ever since that day, Indians have been living a life without deodorants and perfumes. The outside world didn’t really notice, till Pakistan & Bangladesh complained that its citizens living on its borders were being affected. The stench was so bad that some of the kids born in the border areas were born with deformities.
On April 1, 2050 A.D. Pakistan raised a stink about the issue in United Nation’s Security Council and said that the lives of its citizens were being compromised. At first, the Security Council’s members laughed thinking Pakistan’s concern about the lives of its citizens was an April Fools joke. But when Pakistan’s Foreign Minister Iqbal (some say he got the name because he only had one hair on his head) insisted on the severity of the issue, the Security Council members relented and agreed to speak to India’s fourth Prime Minister from BJP party….Rahul Gandhi.
Many Indian thinkers, in jail for using smuggled deos on their armpits as a mark of protest, wrote to Rahul asking him to revoke the ban. The scientific man that Rahul was, he asked his scientists to check if the ban on deodorants had improved the fertility amongst the Indians and the population growth was back on track.
I remember the scientists’ verdict coming in after a fortnight. It said: “The ban on deo usage has improved the fertility of the Indians…but our population growth rate is still going down.”
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Adam and Eve..
Some say that Adam got bored and asked God to give him a companion. Some say, God wanted Adam to sacrifice his one leg and one hand at the altar, if he wanted a companion. And when Adam requested God to give him somebody for whom he will only have to sacrifice a rib, God sent a woman. None of this can be believed.
Here is the truth: God made man and finding himself in good form…came up with a better creation – the woman. (Did I just hear the ladies clap?)
Anyways….I was wondering what would have happened if God didn’t make woman for man. Thus, all men were left to fend for themselves. Scary shit. Think about it….
How will we become fathers? Who will tell us the good news that we are about to become fathers? For whom will we sit outside a gynecologist’s and imagine a conspiracy theory being hatched against us? With whom will we walk in the evenings? Whenever we pass by a bakery, whom will we stop for? For whom will we shop? And the questions go on.
Now for the real Male Chauvinistic Pig part. Who will make tea in the morning and wake us up with a sweet smile? Who will scold us for taking the newspaper inside the washroom? Who will nag us to take bath early? Who will call up the office when we are down with fever? Who will iron our clothes when we are in a hurry? Who will wave at us when we race our bike/car towards the office? Who will be ready with piping hot coffee when we go back home? Who will help us with the washing machine? Who will make that tasty coconut chutney you like with your dosas?
Needless to say, with no woman in this World, life wouldn’t be the same. Imagine living with another man in your house. Scary! We all would be gays…and wonder how the human race will propagate. Perhaps…we would have found out a way to make test tube babies…but even then where would be egg come from? Gorillas? Wouldn’t that make the Human race huge and hairy?
On Saturday nights…the pubs and clubs would be full of men trying to woo each other. The only advantage as I see would be…we wouldn’t have to buy mock-tails, ice-cream and pop-corn to impress!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Change..
Change is inevitable, or so we are led to believe. But no matter sooner or later, whether to liking or not, it does seem to sneak its way through and rearrange all aspects of our life.Change can either happen slowly and steadily giving you ample time to come to terms with how life's leading onto be, or it can come as a raging tornado, unleashing itself in a manner that will leave you wondering at the very least.
Well I am at point in my life when things are moving just so fast that it often makes me dizzy and nauseous forcing me to close my eyes shut and take a deep breath at times. The only think that helps is the fact that everyone seems to be happy with the way things are proceeding, so it must be good; and maybe my over active imagination and the stubbornness to stick to what is comfortable and understood, makes me unable to completely come to terms with the happenings.
I really don't know where I am headed with this particular post, there is no clear direction nor any agenda for posting this. Just sort of an offload... need to get some clarity and perspective...
Well I am at point in my life when things are moving just so fast that it often makes me dizzy and nauseous forcing me to close my eyes shut and take a deep breath at times. The only think that helps is the fact that everyone seems to be happy with the way things are proceeding, so it must be good; and maybe my over active imagination and the stubbornness to stick to what is comfortable and understood, makes me unable to completely come to terms with the happenings.
I really don't know where I am headed with this particular post, there is no clear direction nor any agenda for posting this. Just sort of an offload... need to get some clarity and perspective...
Monday, March 2, 2009
Late night creative spurts..
Oh my god.. i just noticed how long it's been since I uploaded anything on my blog....
It's Monday, 2330 at night and i am in this friggin office sitting in front of the stupid excel sheet for more than 16 hrs now (talk about a Monday Bloody Monday!)... I thought it was the perfect time to let loose the tightly leashed, grudged and disgruntled worker who people have lately been telling to go get a life other than work.. and that's exactly what I had planned for till I heard this song, while trying to find some solace for this gloomy evening... its called It's Cold Outside by Ray Charles and Nina and its been playing in my ears for the upteenth time back to back.
Wonderous has been the calming effect its had on me, the excel sheet also finished off in a breeze (although, somewhat like a sailboat hoping to catch a wisp of a wind in the doldrums).
Now I do have truck loads of information assimilated in this puny grey thing in my skull, I assume its best if I left for home, tomorrow's another day and judging the way this Monday has been I am guessing the coming days are going to be relentless..
It's Monday, 2330 at night and i am in this friggin office sitting in front of the stupid excel sheet for more than 16 hrs now (talk about a Monday Bloody Monday!)... I thought it was the perfect time to let loose the tightly leashed, grudged and disgruntled worker who people have lately been telling to go get a life other than work.. and that's exactly what I had planned for till I heard this song, while trying to find some solace for this gloomy evening... its called It's Cold Outside by Ray Charles and Nina and its been playing in my ears for the upteenth time back to back.
Wonderous has been the calming effect its had on me, the excel sheet also finished off in a breeze (although, somewhat like a sailboat hoping to catch a wisp of a wind in the doldrums).
Now I do have truck loads of information assimilated in this puny grey thing in my skull, I assume its best if I left for home, tomorrow's another day and judging the way this Monday has been I am guessing the coming days are going to be relentless..
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