Romy

It's been 2 weeks since you left me, but it feels like a lifetime of emptiness
A heavy veil of sorrow shrouds the mountain of joyful moments we shared
I hate to say R.I.P., but those who know you would read it as Running in Paradise
I miss you big fella, I miss you as much as you loved me.



Super mama, ready? One, two, three, snore!

Something's got to be said about public transport. Every ride is a reminder that there’s some random fella out there ready to inject your life with a shot of craziness. By default, these entities are gifted with strong vocal cords for reaching out to a large, forced audience.

Last night I took a bus starting from our good ole Bengaluru. I got settled in pretty quickly with just one thought – Boy, the seats look so small. Yes! Spoilt are the rears that have travelled on Olivea, the super luxury bus, the joys of which deserve a separate blog dedication. As I fiddled with the A/C vent, a voice that had complaint in its DNA entered the bus. “You are not going to sit next to me, your bluddy snoring spoilt my sleep last night, mavanae (means son in Tamil)” I traced the (un)sound waves to a figure that can be best described as a shrunken Shrek. A grinning sidekick emerged from behind Shrek and tried to fit his bag in the storage area. “Bluddy naansense snoring. Your wife will ‘dye-verse’ you. I curse you, see if you want. She will leave you.” Grinner widens his grin. Shrek goes on “It is a public nuisance. Nobody complains. Our people are too patient. They are like buffaloes.”

Seems like patience ain’t in the running for the post of virtue any more. Shrek has a point though. People are patient…else you’d have the crowd holding him down in front of the bus and the throttle-happy driver would have been more than pleased to introduce him to the much advertised 'Multi-Axles.'

Just when the buffaloes thought that Shrek would zip it, he issues a public service announcement –“Smokers and snorers are both bluddy nuisances. Smokers are a health hazard, snorers are...(long pause) a sleep hazard.” Not much advantage coming from the long pause as far as vocabulary is concerned. Also, shame is a sparingly used arrow in Shrek’s quiver of emotions, so he continues “It is a physical disorder I say. Although you are unconscious when you do it, it is still your fault.” At this point, it’s easy to choose the grinning snorer over Shrek. Not the one to give up, Shrek belts out a dire warning, “Mavanae, inniki koratta vitta mooka vandu adachiduvenda, mavanae!” (Sonny, if you snore today, I’m gonna come and block your nose, sonny). Hmmm…seems like Shrek is a little confused about the origin of a snore. In any case, the visual of his stubby fingers riding up Grinner’s nose is not something that would lead to a good night’s sleep – even with all the extra axles thrown in. After a few more statements, Shrek finally settles down…or so I thought until I hear “The neckkk is the mosttt impaartant part while sleeping!” What?? What?? Whatever!

Time heals everything, and the Volvo engine drowns Shrek. I don’t recollect when I fell asleep, but I do remember when I jumped out of the seat. “MURUGAAAA!” MURUGAAA!” Deafening name of the Lord taken in pain it seemed. This was how the considerate driver wished us all a very good morning. The speakers were on full blast to signal that we’d reached Chennai. Curses all over drowned out the enthusiastic Muruga voice. “Inda kodumaiya niruthungada! Koyambedukku serthu tolaingada!” (Please stop this torture da. Take me to Koyambedu and …get lost da) shrieked Shrek. After muttering a few other expletives, our man Shrek reaches for his bag. Grinner is a morning person as is evident on his face. I pray to Lord Muruga for no further violations until the door opens. Koyambedu, at last! Time to break free…Super mama ready? One, two, three…and Kolaveri played in my mind until I got home.

4 laned wisdom

Hola! Blowing dust off the blog, we hit the Bangalore-Chennai highway right away. I’ve been driving up and down this road every two weeks, most often by myself. You know that when I’m left to me, the psychedelic lens comes out in a jiffy. The drive can get painful at times, and I fear that my already flat rear might head concave with this overdose. Hmmmm, moving on, something’s got to be said about the thought-provoking signs on the highway. I remember a few of them –

“Don’t mix drinking and driving” – It’s noon bozo, don’t tempt me.

Here’s one presumably from the same poetic genius who came up with Speed thrills but kills: “Fast Drive, Last Drive”

“If you are married, divorce speed” – Dude must’ve spent the previous night on the couch.
“If you drive like hell, you’ll get there soon” – Not a bad one. Surely not an in-house line, more likely a borrowed line/public contribution.

“The safety gears are in your head” – wha?? Surely you’ve been mixing drinking and painting.

This one surely takes the cake: “Death is nature. Don’t cause it." - Certainly not a fan of Dr.Kevorkian.

Closer to home, there’s a sign posted at the entrance of a lane “No way” – Not a believer, obviously.

So much for the signs. I’ll upload some pics if I remember to click the next time around. In the meantime, it is business as unusual. Ciao!

Lemons, Lingerie and Litigation

My bro got married last week. As the post-wedding activities dwindled down to waving goodbye to the last guest, the aunty union was in fervent search of a new project. I was relaxing on the couch when the union got its aha moment – target spotted! Not wasting any more time, they quickly brief me about an all powerful neighbourhood ‘Guruji’ – a soothsayer with the strike rate of Andrew Symonds in T-20.

“You have to consult him. He will make sure that you win the court case,” comes the voice of the union, and with it the collective confidence in his powers. Hmmm... so this Guruji not only predicts the future, but also makes sure it is favourable...presumably even overruling the high court’s decision if need be. Good stuff! But I think I’ll pass.

Reluctant to leave the comfort of the couch, I give the aunty union 15 reasons as to why I don’t think it is a great idea to see the Guruji, but they shoot it down with 16 high-pitched reasons. So, I end up going to see his holiness, the neighbourhood Guruji...the likes of whom Gandhi Bazaar had never seen before.

For some odd reason, the Guruji doesn’t stay put in one place. Being the mobile cat that he is, a few calls had to be made by the aunty union to track this man down. The union quickly hands me his coordinates and pushes me out the door to come back a wiser man, a man who knows where he is headed – or where the Guruji wants him to head, as the case may be. I look out for the aura of his holiness to guide me, but no such luck...or maybe my spiritual quotient isn’t that high to spot one. Anyway, I follow directions and get to the master’s camp for the day – a store on DVG Road.

I double-check the location (and double-gulp) before stepping in, ‘cos the store in which the Guruji had camped had a distracting display of lingerie. Clean thoughts, clean thoughts...I requested my mind, clean thoughts for the love of God, clean thoughts. Holy cow, but clean thoughts in a lingerie store?

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

The Guru is not in the trademark saffron or white garb, as one might’ve expected. But hey, not everything was going as per normal expectations. He was sitting towards the back of the store, where you’d probably find the really expensive, ‘imported’ items to arouse the hairy, middle-aged men of Gandhi Bazaar. As I head towards the Guruji sitting in the backdrop of a dozen posters of lingerie models, he points to a chair. I quickly take a seat and try hard to stare at the one thing that’s least interesting in the store – him. He asks me a couple of questions regarding the litigation and starts praying. Excuse me, but the only prayer in a lingerie store is ahem...forgive me Lord, for I have sinned.

He asks me a few more questions about other things in life, and shuts his eyes again. A few murmurs are uttered aloud, mostly for my benefit I think, for the setting might lead one to believe that the dude ain’t praying. After a long pause, he opens his eyes and says “You will win the case, I’ll get it done for you.”

I’m like “What? Excuse me sir, you’ll get it done? Thank goodness! I’d have made an expensive mistake if I’d hired Ram Jethmalani. Thank you Guruji.”

Not stopping with the prayers, he hands out 5 lemons to me with specific directions on which ones to consume, which ones to put under the pillow and which ones to slice up and squeeze into my eyes.

This is it! How could I’ve missed it? This miracle citrus fruit will solve everyone’s problems. Who needs legislations and lawyers when we have lemons. Go on vitamin C, save the world!

As I step out of the store, I can’t help but think that if has decided to send out powerful messages and magic in a fruit, then at least he could’ve handed out melons and done justice to the lingerie models...geez!

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned!

Buckets

People are funny. And then there are funny people.

There’s this gentleman at work, the kind who goes around spreading cheer, and once in a while strews around his pearls of wisdom. I ran into him on the stairway the other day, and he decided to give me one of his pearls –

“Mr. M3, do you know that there are 2 kinds of effects in this world?”

I’m obviously impressed with the Bachchan-esque simplicity in classifying the entire freakin effects the world could possibly have in just two buckets (Remember “Is duniya mei do tarah ke keedein hote hai...”) My eager eyes gave him an open invitation to floor me with his philosophy.

“First, there is the ‘Saree’ Effect and then there’s the ‘Mike’ Effect!,” he says, unable to withhold the hurricane he’s been brewing in an oyster shell. At this point, I’m all ears.

“Saree effect is when people lose their senses on seeing a lady...and end up saying things they don’t mean. They show off and project an exaggerated image of themselves!”

I thought to myself...hmmm, man does have a point, though I’d have gone for the ‘Mini skirt’ effect given the fact that we’re ten past the millennium.

“Similarly, the Mike effect, Mr. M3. The mike effect is when you hand somebody a mike, they start being someone else. They say things that sound good, even though they don’t mean it at all.”

Aha! Seems like the two buckets are in fact one. Thanks for embellishing the truisms so! If only Prof. Ulfat Sultan from FM94.3 were around, his punch line “Iski bina handle ke balti mafik!” would’ve made perfect sense.

Karma and iFakers

Back! After a long break. Just wanted to make sure my login still worked. While I’m at it, here are a few happenings that I’d like to share...as usual. Fatherhood is the latest thing in my life. It’s been about 6 weeks since Neel Aryan came into my life and every time I look at him I can’t help but think to myself “I need to grow up before he does.” I really do!

I am getting some work done on my car, so she’s away for a few days. I do hope bad karma catches up with the SOB who hit my car and didn’t bother to leave a note. Speaking about karmas, I have an interesting, rather thought provoking episode to narrate. I have been taking a rick to work these days. The “Rickies” are an interesting bunch. They always have some breaking news for you, or some mid-sentence comment on current affairs. Not deviating from the norm, the rickie who dropped me home yesterday was not very nice towards Chief Minister Yediyurappa’s mom. But when the conversation moved towards his own family and the grand plans he had for his kids, I was moved. More so when I got to know that his youngest one was adopted. When I got off, I paid him and said “Keep the change. Good guys like you are hard to find.” I said to myself “Dude is stocking up on good karma. Good, good karma.”

Earlier today, I took a rick hoping to get my daily dose of politics. Surprisingly the rickie was in silent mode. Before I could figure out the reason for his silence, he turned slightly. I caught a glimpse of his finger so up the nasal cavity...like on an expedition to tickle his eyeballs. I know!! Yuck!! Most of you must be trying to keep your last meal down at this point. I prayed for the man to find his gold soon and get out of there. When I got home I realized that I had no change. I quickly paid the man and said “Keep the change” ...cos I didn’t wanna touch anything that had been on the expedition. I guess karma goes out the window when the finger goes up the nose. Anyway, moving on...

There’s a dude at work who’s a compulsive liar. The fella just can’t help it. The other day he walked into my room, showed his iPod touch and asked me if my phone was the same as his, a “3G”. I was like “What?” He goes “Not 3G? Ok, 2G is not bad. But the problem is that our phones don’t have decent reception inside the office. It’s tough to make a call.” It was a herculean task not to smile while I thought to myself “Decent reception? Yo faker, just quietly slip the MP3 player in your pocket and walk out, or else my foot might be tempted to force an indecent reception on your lil lyin’ ass! Tough to make a call? BTW, I guess you tried to call folks on your ‘playlist’ – Aguilera must be first, I reckon? Too bad she doesn’t pick up calls from unknown iPods!”

Mani Ratnam’s Raavan – When will good prevail over evil?

I have always been a big fan of Mani Ratnam. Quite possibly and inconsequentially, I could still be a fan if only I could somehow erase his recent experiment - ‘Raavan’ from my memory. Walking into the theater ten minutes late is the only positive thing I remember from last night’s experience. I patiently waited for some story to unfold, but Mani just kept hitting me with a picturesque backdrop, incessant rains, rock-climbing amphibious outlaws who smear themselves with a magic paste that presumably makes up for their lack of acting skills. Still waiting my man, hit me with the good stuff Mani!

Nice work by the cinematographer, but he has to graduate from capturing a dew drop falling off a leaf in slow motion to something more concrete, I think. Ok, try other things…but hold the camera still for a second I say! An hour passed, yet no story, only more rain. Interval is a welcome respite. But I didn’t leave my seat for a popcorn break because I wasn’t too sure I could fight against my saner self if he decided not to return. So, I planted myself firmly and hoped for a miracle in the second half.

Second half commences, and I only wish my saner self were more dominant. The small B acts once in a while, only when he gets bored of putting up a mean, scary face. His weird bhak-bhak-bhak (or was it chak-chak-chak??) was not too different from the audience reaction. Ash has performed remarkably well in some parts. Those parts are the ones in which she keeps her mouth shut and stares into the distance with a fake tear drop that is a tad too viscous to flow down. Vikram is wasted in the movie, and quite understandably wants to hide his emotions behind aviator sunglasses. A.R. Rahman tries his best to save the movie once every 15 minutes, but then again the melodies get washed away in the rain. The real Raavan, as I recollect from my mythological learnings, was a very respectable badass. Such a vain attempt to piggyback on his legacy may not sit well with him. Hypothetically - if the real Raavan dude were buried and could in fact turn (quite a herculean task, given the large turning radius that comes along with 10 heads), I’m pretty sure he’d go for it.