Survey - Questioning your answers

What asks you a volley of pointless questions, wastes your time, makes you lie a lot and makes you feel bad? That’s right. Your girlfriend. Some would say surveys do too.

I love surveys -especially the ones taken right after they give me something to eat.  Once this girl who looks like the poster girl for bad makeup with an onslaught of rouge, glitter and mascara(No. Not Lady gaga) thrust a bowl full of a condiment explosion they called “mixture”. I wasn’t sure why they picked me but it might have something to do with the fact that I am a dashing young man or because I was in the store at 9 on a Saturday night with nothing better to do than to buy the "new and improved Domex". Back, to the test subject. It was supposed to be more “Indian” but tasted like the 10 rupees munchurian (chikan manchooryan- as they wrote) you get outside Dadar station. After I made a contorted face saying the obligatory lie “I loved it and I can’t wait for it to hit market”, I started filling the feedback form - “Make it taste like Beef. I will buy it.”

On one side I have these surveys which incentivize me to be mean and on the other there are those which are plain mean to me. The ones which tell me that I am good but not good enough and could be better but maybe not. Or that I am not a good husband or lover or hotdog vendor. The ones which tell me my passion is good but it will cloud my judgment.

And I wonder, can they map me out in just a dozen questions? (Gallup survey would say it can. But then again, no one cares about gallop scores but for the ladies in HR.)  What if we were all good enough? We all were the best we could possibly be? What happens to all these people who feed of other’s insecurities? What happens to the perfect recipe of perfection?  Well, I could make a survey with all these questions but I will rather not. Because I know there would be one smartass just like me who would write “Make it taste like Beef. I will buy it.”

Rain Rain!!! Please go down the drain!!!

This is the time of the year when half the wall(the facebook one ofcourse) is drenched with news about rain. “Its raining in Ghatkopkar /thotanatukara/Mailaduthurai”. “Sipping coffee, listening to megadeath and watching the rain”(how original), playing football/kabaddi in the rain(how non-cheesy right?) et cetera. Even when one tries to call ones parents who live in the land of perpetual monsoon(read: Kerala), there is nothing to discuss but the rain. How much it rained, when it rained, where it rained, how long it rained, how long it will rain, why the train got delayed(yes. You guessed it right. The rain) , how the neighbour’s dog got a cold cos of the rain and a rain of other topics.
I stay at Mumbai. The rumours of rainfall from lands, far and beyond, started pouring in about two weeks back. And a couple of drizzles (whats milder than a drizzle btw?) here and there, triggered false alarms. And one fine yet grey evening, when one is least expected, PSSSSHHHHHH!!!!!(I know it doesn’t really sound like the rain, but make do for now).
The first shower was supposed to be a small trailer before the actual showdown. But no. Not in Mumbai. The clouds just didn’t want me to be high and dry. Not let me explain to my supersmart readers about my clever pun.
High- it was my bday and it is customary on the bday boy’s part to get drunk beyond senses along with his friends who would have a gala time watching the bday boy do the chicken dance and later sleep on the table of the closest McDonald’s . The mystery of how the bday boy gets to his bed and why there is a green bucket right next to it, still remains unsolved. Rain however spared me the entire ordeal.
Phone calls one receives for ones bday also revolve around rain.
Me: Hello.
Frnd: Hey!!! Happy Birthday Man. 
Me: thank you.
Frnd: So is it raining there?
ME: yes.
Frnd: Okay. Enjoy. Be in touch.
Me: Sure.
I remember myself looking at the sky while my colleague asked me, “Do you want an umbrella?”
I looked at the grey sky and said a very confident NO. Come on. I stayed in KERALA for God’s sake!! As a veteran monsoon specialist that I am, I knew there was no way it would rain in the next one hour. I could bet my life on it.
And I would have lost. I found myself stranded in the rain. No taxi and no umbrella. And let me tell you why Rain is not fun.
1.There is nothing which stinks more than a leather wallet after it gets wet.
2.I take my last statement back. There is nothing stink-ier than a pair of wet socks.
3.One takes the utmost care to not step in a puddle of mud but the driver of the vehicle passing by sure as hell doesn’t care about your shoes.
4.When you get the window seat in the bus, you almost always get the window which doesn’t close, or as in my case, no glass pane. (Interesting info: Indian Airlines have window seats with no window. Again, I was the lucky passenger. Yeay!!)
5.Rain always adheres to Murphy’s law. It inevitably rains harder when you step out.
6.Even if your electronic gadgets say they are water-proof on them, and you use them in the rain and eventually gets spoiled, Warranty doesn’t cover defects due to water.
7.And the best, Ones underwear and socks never dry fast enough.

Rain doesn’t give a dramatic effect but it sure does brings out the drama queen in all.

My name is Edwin Daniel and I am a MALLU

Agreed. Lolakutty and her sequined lungi wearing sidekick are funny. Her curly hair drenched in coconut oil looks like the aftermath of a ruthless humidity attack. But COME ON!! Mallus are, subtly put, different.

Lately, as I have been sent on a lackluster all India trip to the “Top 10 places you will never visit unless compulsorily sent by the company” , I have come across a handful of people who would take one look at me and go O_o . “You don’t look like a mallu.” Dear faithful reader,(especially directed to my readers from US and UK. Yes. My stat says, I have readers from US, UK and USSR. Who knew people were jobless there too?) mallu is a slang term for people hailing from Kerala who speak Malayalam.

This post was set into print after yet one more such incident today morning wherein a 25 year old who introduced himself as SS Nair, whom I met for the very first time told me that I don’t look like a mallu. This incident was preceded by another mallu guy telling me that I look like an NRI.

After a round of research, Mr. Sir Castic was able to pin point the prime cause of this comment. Here are the top three reasons why I don’t look like a mallu. Hold fast to your seats.
*Drum roll*

On number three: “You have straight pointy hair”

Justification: I am from the land of coconuts, coconut oil, coconut chutney, coconut pickle, coconut furniture, coconut cookies, coconut blah blah and blah. But I do not use parachute oil to plaster my unruly hair to my scalp. Right now I am sporting a very professional looking Mohawk derivative. Humidity is not nature’s curling iron. Damn you, Monica Gellar for that very misleading Monica to Medusa transformation in the Barbados.
PS: For nice smooth hair, use a mild fortifying shampoo every 2 days followed by gently rubbing a soft conditioner on the scalp and rinsing it off thoroughly. Soak your hair dry and brush your hair 100 times with a soft bristled roller brush. Everyone knows that. Don’t you too?

On number two: “You don’t wear pink floral print lungis. You dress kind of stylishly.”

Justification: Part1: I may not dress right out of a vogue catalog. But I do know that pink floral print is for little baby girls and for fat guys in Hawaii. Apart from being flawlessly designed for ventilation and ease of use while going potty, a lungi doubles as a bed sheet and triples as a curtain. Unlike Kareena Kapoor’s saree in Chameli, lungis are very much gravity susceptive.

Justification: part2: Thank you but no thank you. Ever since my freshman year when a girl commented that my tee looked “gult”(Trans: Something flamboyant, gaudy ..in short YUCK), I have been ultra cautious with my selection. Weighing the pros and cons everytime I picked something off the rack. Of course there were misses between the hits. Especially, that florescent yellow sweat shirt which I wear only in the privacy of the four walls of my room. I think I was drunk senseless when I bought that tweety bird costume. Anyways the point is, Mallus can dress well and be style icons. John Abraham, Edwin Daniel..don’t you see the trend?


And on the Number One spot we have : ”You don’t eat Idly.”

Justification: I was food abused as a child. Everytime mom’s brand new table top grinder started munching those grain, my stomach Morse coded a “yelp” to my brain. Eating Idlies for breakfast, then lunch and at times in the evening just to finish the batter, for three whole years, I was at my breaking point. Later I found a shortcut to the entire process.
Cook--> Serve --> Eat --> Poop --> Flush
To
Cook --> Serve --> Flush
Those little white saucers behave like buoys. Just when you think, its all down the drain, Plop!!! One pops right back. And one inopportune day, the pop up came to my Mom’s notice and we haven’t made Idly since.

Sambar, rasam et cetera are NOT mallu. I repeat. NOT mallu. They are Pandi/tambi. For Pete’s sake. I eat Beef. Don’t go all HOLY COW now :O. We don’t eat cows. In a way mallus are like highly literate cave men. Sweaty, hairy human beings who kill and eat almost everything that walks or flies or swims or crawls or… you get the drift right.

Like actress Nayanthara or power politician Shashi taroor or sex bomb Shakeela or the evergreen MGR who are often mistaken to be from states other than Kerala, my identity was also mistaken. Its just sometimes difficult to fathom that something so remarkable could be from that part of the world.

So people, Remember.

I am Edwin Daniel and I am a MALLU. Deal with it.

SEXpert ?

DISCLAIMER: The excerpts of the following might sound very similar to people, places and situations in real life. That is because they are. Let the words go to your brain and not to your heart. Peace.

Why is the word sex such a taboo?
Why does a family watching TV go mum when a condom ad comes on?
Why do co passengers give us the burn-in-hell stare when we utter the word fuck?
These questions are just replacements for the more innocent questions we used to ask earlier.
Why can’t we buy that packet of noodles(pointing at the “Whisper” pack)?
Why is that dog on top of the other?
Sex. The first time I came across that word was in my 5th standard. It took me another 2 years to find out it could be used as a verb. But then again I had no clue what it was. Innocence. Or was it just plain ignorance?
How babies came into the world never struck me as a huge mystery. Being a proficiency prize holder right from first standard, I was fairly sure what was involved. It took me 14 years on the face of the earth to figure out that my entire hypothesis was a load of crap.
Scene: 8th standard Hindi class
Mood: A tense discussion on “Boys vs Girls- who is better?” The air, filled with passion for their own kind. An hour into the debate, it was a ticking bomb. Our own hindi teacher Mrs. Sumathykuttyamma was pitching in for girls. At the crescendo of it all, a boy stood up and played his master stroke.
Boy1: whatever it is, there is no way girls can have babies without guys!!!
ME: What stupidity??!! Girls get pregnant on their own. They don’t need guys for it.
Mrs. Sumathykuttyamma had the most peculiar smile across her face. Was my statement futuristic and feministic? Or was it just plain ignorance?
Mr.Sir Castic’s hypothesis was this: Girls are like Hens. They come from an egg. They hatch overnight. (when I was young, I mean younger, I used to check a slightly cracked egg kept in the fridge thinking it might hatch soon. 5 days later it did and it was a fine omelet.) They never hatch in daylight. Its the sunlight which turn the yellow pale chicks to colorful hens. And they eat and grow and they lay eggs. For that again, you need to keep them in a coop or catch them and put it under a basket and wait. Similarly a girl, when she turns 20 or so, gets pregnant automatically. (I should hold the church responsible for this misconception- bloody immaculate conception scam- refers to the series of events in which Mary got pregnant with Jesus without having sex). So they find a guy to take her and keep her in house until she lays the egg. You know she is going to lay an egg cos you see a huge bump on her stomach. And one fine day, when we go to visit the girl the bump is gone and there would be a tiny moving lump wrapped in a blanket right next to her. I assumed it just takes lesser time for human baby’s to hatch out of their shell. It perfectly fit into my theory of why dowry is given. The guy has to feed the girl until she lays the egg and make sure the egg is safe. Duh. Common sense. It also explained why married people always kept their locks on. The hen needs to be coop-ed.
What was a mystery to me? Sanitary pads. Girls from my class were once taken for a secret lecture and they returned with goody bags. Little black bags the contents of which they didn’t share. I was so jealous then that I didn’t get one. Once when I had asked mom regarding the same, she answered in a single line. ”It’s like a diaper for girls”. While one mystery seemed partially solved, the reason why women in their 20s who endorsed the product had to use diapers, racked up on the shelf of unsolved cases. And then eventually condoms. And their counterpart, a female condom. and then the unsettled affairs of Morning pills, dildos, homo-sexuality and what not. By the time I bid adieu to Sumathykuttyamma’s school and joined a new one, my head was a simmering cauldron of questions.
Within 48 hours of joining the new school, I unearthed the secret of life. The new light of knowledge blinded me. My hypothesis went right out the window. Mrs.Sumathykuttyamma was not smiling at me. That was silent mockery. Sumathykuttyamma’s smug smile henceforth was etched into my mind as the face of the teacher who never corrected the wrong.
Towards the end of ninth standard, I saw my first porn movie. Unlike James bond classics in which the super spy smooches the hot blonde and struggles towards the bed while the camera shifted to the fireplace, the cameras stayed spot on. From mildly arousing to erotic to shocking to disgusting to filthy to boring and finally to nauseating, that was the longest 23minutes and 38seconds of my life. It didn’t look like a pleasurable experience. I could discern that from the woman’s high pitched screams interspaced with “OH my god!!”. Was that rape?
Guys, for years atleast till you get your license(read Marriage), you keep driving your vehicle in and out of your garage and finally one fine day, you are asked to take it for a spin. That’s unchartered territory. So it would be easier if you read the manual and equip yourself with a GPS system to navigate yourself. You don’t want to get lost or blank out. Do you? Maybe it is the fear of the unknown that turns people gay. *mentally adding that to the pile of unsolved mystery*
Being over the minimum age to be having sex, (You aren’t??!! stop reading. NOW) do we know it all? Or are we ignorant?
Do you think the organ you use to pee is called kidney?
Do you think you could get yourself/your wife pregnant if you lay on the bed side by side, fully clothed?
Do you think condoms are like Nike socks? One size fits all.
Do you think a pad has special attachments to hold itself in place?
Do you think that when a dog humps for the first time, it knows what it is doing?
If the answer to any of the questions is YES, then it’s high time that you turn to the ultimate sex teacher. Not on “how stuff work” dumbass!!! Google. Type away.

A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. Trust me. If you don’t, read the above again.


PS: If you didn’t understand the dog bit, let the Sir explain it to you. On one of my friend’s dog’s first time, the dog kept humping a bitch but didn’t have a clue where to put his thing. There could be an analogous scenario in some of your cases although these days anything goes(anywhere). They had to get a “placement officer” to guide his penis to the target. I mean holding it and shoving it inside. Don’t picture it. Too late huh?

Presentation(S)kill

66 days. That’s how long I had to work in TATA to attend a real presentation. No. Not like the ones they gave us earlier pertaining whose grandson’s adopted son’s Dad is Novel Tata or where the assembly point is in case the 32,000 tonne LPG storage tanks burst. I Never really understood the point of the latter. Wouldn’t everything in 2km diameter burn to ashes? Anyhow.. coming back to the point. So this was a 2 day workshop to enlighten some officials about BS III norms.
So we all arrive in style in our vintage blue bus(1957 first edition) to the TATA management building. I was excited because this was the very first time we were being considered at par with high grade officials. Unlike Pune where we donned the role of trainees/stenographers/carpenters/mechanics/painters more than Assistant managers, this place was treating us way above our level.
Even though I was all hyper about this official lecture, my game plan was still the same.
1. Find a seat where I won’t freeze to death.
2. Ensure all the seat adjustments work.
3. Make sure the underside of the desk is completely covered so that I can text.
4. Doze off.
To my dismay none of the tables had any sort of covering in the front. So my brilliant plan to text went right out the window. "MOBILES IN SILENT MODE" was written across the board. Within minutes people started pouring in. I buried myself in the racy novel I had with me. While Ben Myers was struggling to take off Amanda’s sweater, the speaker enters escorted by a very manly woman(Lets call her Plumpelina). She started with “ Good afternoon. All of us assembled here know Mr.Speaker. But I will give a brief introduction about him as most of you don’t know him”. May be she is more like Dumbelina. Oblivious to the silent mockery from Sir Castic, Plumpy started reading from the paper she held…”Mr.Speaker graduated from MIT….” Don’t bother holding your breath. Its just Madras Institute of Technology. “…in 19-something and worked for Tata motors for 33 years….” What a loser.…”and is retired now”.
Suddenly Plumpy switches gears from weight lifting to air lifting mode. “ The fire exit is on the right side of the room. Usage of tobacco in any form is prohibited. Please keep you cell phones in silent mode and do not pick calls.” I was expecting her to go on with “In Tata we put your safety first. Thanks for choosing Tata. We look forward to working with you again. The temperature outside is 22 degrees. Enjoy your stay.“
Even after all this, Mr. Speaker had a grave expression on his face. Why so serious? Did someone die?
Mr.Speaker: I was going to cancel this presentation.
Me: that makes me feel so special
Mr.Speaker: One of my relatives passed away today.
Me: Damn!! I could be making a fortune writing horoscopes and reading tarot cards.

Click. Click. Opens the 411-slides short PPT.
Slide one….. “Engine:vehicle=heart:body”
Groan. It was going to be a long long long afternoon. While Mr.Speaker was explaining to us What CI and SI engines are, both my mentors from the department were fast asleep. While the tall teacher tried to keep his heavy eyelids propped up, the short scholar(I am not referring to myself :P. And yes. He is shorter than me)kept his specs on the table and peacefully started dozing off.

Slide 21: Piston rings: they have Ni-iron casted piston ring rest.
Smartass from the back row: What are the piston ring rest made of?
With employees like them, how is Tata still managing to be in business? Must be some BKD. (BKD=Baap Ki Dayas= guys who take their father’s Job like a family heirloom).

"ting ta di tang ti gi ting ta di tang...." No one ever keeps their mobiles in silent mode. Do they? Back to sleep.

After an hour, I woke up to see people getting off their chairs and stepping outside. My happiness was short-lived. The lecture wasn’t over. It was just the tea break. I look at the screen. Slide:43. Groan.
Tea wasn’t a strong enough stimulant to counter the hypnotic sleep inducing lecture. My eyelids gave up without a fight. Someone was right when they said the hardest thing to lift is ones eyelids after lunch.
As I started counting sheep yet again, it dawned on me that no matter how old one gets or how many ever presentations one attends sleep always prevails. No wonder my seniors got the taxes done or updated their blogs or watched the series they downloaded the previous day in this precious time. I shouldn’t be complaining. I am getting paid approximately Rs.4.33 per minute to sleep. Maybe BS III stands for Bull Shitting – Irrelevant Information Input. So the next time I will be ready with gadgets and tasks to keep me busy.
Slide 99: Cam shaft features.
Groan. Some lessons you learn the hard way. 99 down. 312 to go.

The spirit of friendship

I was startled by the heavy banging on my door last night. I woke up from my deep slumber with a shock. My mind rebooted to reality. It wasn’t part of a dream. I could hear people chattering outside the door. I heard the slams and someone yelling out my name. As I unlatched the door, it swing open and four guys charged in like wilder beasts and I was the poor gazelle unfortunate enough to be on their path of destruction. They pounced on me knocking me over. Then ensued a rapid fire question session coupled with man handling. My colleagues were drunk beyond conscious control. Thankfully I got out scratch-free. Taking pictures of them playing football at 12 in the night and creating a comic scene with people piled one over the other on limited number of chairs in the dining hall just made my day.
The next few hours took me back to a time when life was free of tension. No responsibilities. The time was in our hands and the decisions to be made could always wait for tomorrow. Everyone you wanted to be with was just a door or a call away. Just the thought put a smile across my face. But what really caught my attention was that alcohol was involved in almost all the moments I could recall. It centered around some booze party or someone being drunk beyond his senses and puking all over the place. Has booze really become such an integral part in friendship?
The way I see it, being comfortable enough to booze with someone and losing control over ones inhibitions, spilling out ones darkest secrets is the utmost act of trust. Maybe alcohol is the catalyst which triggers it all or maybe it is the glue that holds it up.
The deepest of thoughts, the sincerest of emotions and the most touching of gestures are on the backdrop of a spirit rain.
I remember the person who drank for the very first time and delivered a 7-hour long sermon which would have put Vivenkanda to shame.
I remember the person who guzzled bottles of beer and ran like a dog in the middle of the state highway.
I remember the person who had a lil too many drinks and puked his guts out from the top of the terrace.
I remember the person who crawled up like a shrimp on the seat of mechatronics lab cos he was too drunk to walk.
I remember the person who kept threatening to hit the girls in the class but ended up hitting me half a dozen times.
I remember the person who laughed like a madman cos he couldn’t help himself from not doing it.
I remember the person who reminisced on the good old times with his girl cos he couldn’t keep those feelings bottled up inside.
I remember the person who opened up about his insecurities releasing those malevolent spirits.
I remember the person who drank so much that his abnormally large liver shrunk into a normal sized one.
I remember the person who peed in front of the Head of Department’s office just to prove a point.

So, the next time someone drunk calls you at 4 in the morning, remember that when his thoughts were clear you were the only one whom he saw and the only one with whom he wanted to share the moment with. So if you are the fortunate one to get my call in the days to come, pick up. Rejoice, for you are remembered.

My first time (with Tatas)

Lot of people have been asking me about the new job, the new place and what i do and yada yada. So i have come up with this ground-breaking idea to write a blog about it after narrating it the 16th time. Lets start from the very beginning. Shall we..

Start. Camera. Action.

*Cue music*

Scene: black and white frame

Date: 16th dec

The Tata Motors Limited PPT just got over.

Friend 1: Seems like a good company to work for. Package is also good.

Me: Did u see the PPT? Bad quality video. A slap on every video director's face.

Friend1: The Package is attractive too.

Me: The HR guy sucked big time. Doesn't even know proper english. Why can't he wear a belt?

Friend1: I should brush up my knowledge asap about their recent ventures.

Me: A person who joins this company should be a idiot.

8 hours later, I became one of the 3 idiots were recruited.

*Scene fades*

On august 2nd, i joined TM at a place named Pimpri. Paid 350 Rs for rickshaw. Over charging Bastards. Now getting back to the name. Pimpri. Yes. Thats the right spelling and it is pronounced Pimp-ri. It's not a red light area and i haven't found a brothel here. But strange guys on the road have offered me free lifts (which i politely declined. Thank you for your concern). The mystery behind the name still remains unsolved. For people who want to know where the brothel is, contact Jai C Shah. He seems to "stumbled" across one. The rumors about Pimpri having liquor shops which sell 3 beers for Rs 100 is yet to be verified. If you thought Pimpri sounds bad, I stay 2kms from "Bhosari".

I got the acco on the first day. A building painted the same shade as the surroundings. Some weird camouflage green. A 2BK apartment. Some basic amenities were provided. A bed which squeaks everytime you sit on it, an almirah so unstable that every time i swing the handle i am more likely to suffer an injury from the strategically placed iron box kept on the top shelf than grabbing my shirt, a matress which floods memories of fresh fungus on bread and a black hot plate(which on a later day i discovered after 30 mins of scrubbing was infact silver in color). We even have our own pet mouse whom we call Piku. He/she is on some healthy weight watching diet wherein he/she eats only quarter of a tomato under the sink.

The induction process was drab. One sleep inducing lecture followed by another. Some observations made during those 9 days..

1. Women should choose their Bras carefully. A bra size too less can give one an impression of a 4 pack hidden underneath.

2. If you believed the person who said writing notes will help you stay awake, you are a dumbass. He just wants you to write notes while he counts sheeps.

3. The biggest corporate distraction is NOT money but a the hot chick in the HR dept. *wipes the drool of his face*

4. Constantly repeating something you believe makes you doubt it. Eg. Tata is the most ethical company.

5. Even the top officials can be plain dumb. Quote: Indica, Vista, V2, Indigo, aria etc looks very different from each other.

6. They never have enough beer in any open bar party.

7. Nobody really cares about Tata's family tree.

8. People who complain about mess food, be wary. It can get much worse. Ever had just mixture(that namkeen thing you munch with brandy) for breakfast?

9. HR guys think just cos they know the phrase "per se", they are free to use it in every other sentence.

Some interesting things about Tata

1. Tatas means breasts. Atleast now do you get the pun in the title dimwit?

2. Tata takes inspiration from PSUs when it comes to work schedule

swipe in at 8 30. 4 hour classes. 2 hour tea breaks. one hour lunch break. one hour for rest. and we are free to go by 4 30.

3. The weekly off is on thursdays. While the rest of the world is under midweek crisis, we would be enjoying the weekend and vice versa.

4. The canteen prepares food only once a month. Same gravy. Different vegetables on different days of the week. The highly anticipated special lunch which is once in 2 months has paneer instead of veggies. Seniors tell me i am blessed to be here at the right time. I even got to have a gujju delicacy. shrikandh *Puke*

5. There are taps which read normal "raw" water and dustin bin which reads "100% Pure virgin. USE ME."

6. The shuttle buses are named Maruti.

7. The canteen workers act as if they are operating NASA single handedly.

8. The age old art of sticking ur tongue in the lower set of cheeks is very popular here.

As for me... I am doing fine. Money and I don't go hand in hand. I have understood that i am awesome spender and a bad investor who wants to do an MBA in finance. I have been romantically linked to 2 girls and 3 guys in the last one month. Have discovered that i do like beer. Got my first stretch mark. Yes loyal reader. I am going to the gym now. Learning to cook, clean and take care of Vinay. Now isn't that very house-husbandry of me? I haven't got the tattoo yet. My entire group is PJ illiterates. So educating them with help from Rahul and GG. As for the new friends i made here, truly one of kind. Will write about em in another entry.

Thats about it for now..

Gay Go Lucky ;)

The Name Game

By:
Aabhas Sharma
B*Tch
The writer is an emeritus prof on perversion and has taken several inter-course with students in various Universities. (Or so he likes to believe)


Disclaimer:

Not for the weak hearted or clean souls. May lead to permanent inclinaion to perversion. May lead to stimulation of a previously untouched and unknown part of the brain. And all the bad humor is an outcome of Aabhas and Aabhas only.
This post shall not be copied in part or whole and if required should be done only after the perversion (oops permision) of Edwin Denial.



It all started centuries back when a group of virgin ass palaeontologists wanted to get laid. From the age of being named Homo Erect Us to the homos we are today, the human mind had always found a way to be "pervy".
So here is what we, the backbenchers analysed while our IC engine profs rattled on and on about gas crisis in Afghanistan. And guess what its a small pervy world after all.

Subject 1.Lingam Reddy(Read: lin-gam-reddy)

Well for the folks who dont know what Lingam means, refer to the link



Who would want their child to be a dick all their life?
Oh wait. A lot of Americans do. And certainly the English makeover doesnt sound the least bit appealing. Lingam Reddy becomes Dick Ready.

Subject2: Bhaskar Jyoti(Read: Bas-kar)
Well his parents were confused since he didn't evolve properly as u can see.


So they played it safe (well after having him of course). His dad told his mom "Enough!! Bas Kar!!"
All said and done, the man boobs and the hippo hips are still misleading.


Subject3: Gayathri Menon(Read:Gay-Three-menon)
As if two werent enough.
When she moved to AP, the college made it Men-on-gayathri. Well she was not the first victim. There were men-on-radhika and Men-on-vishnu who btw are married. No. She is not Men-on-men-on-Radhika.

Suject4: B.Radikha(read: Bra-dhika)
to get her naked all you got to do is...."say my name baby".

We now enter the ugly baby names.
Subject5: Sayak Ghosh(Read:So-yuck-O-Gosh)
Yes. Those were everyone's first words after seeing him.

Subject6: Gaurab Sunder(read: Go-rub-sunder)
His name came with an instruction. Go rub sunder Dutta. There is nothing better to boost the self esteem of a child than to give him/her a beautiful middle name. Atleast that way, even the ugliest could say. "Yes. I am sunder" without having to lie.

Now some parents always have Money on their mind..

Subject7: Manikam (read: money-come)
His parents believe in the saying "kids are an investment". And of course they expect returns.
Subject8; VATsal and DhayVAT
yes..they are gujjus. Need i say more?


Subject9: B.Praveen Kumar
When kids grow up, their parents say you can be the president or you can be a doctor. (Makes one wonder whether they wanted one to be an engineer). But no. His parents wanted him to B(e) praveen kumar.

Subject10: Ishita singh(Read: I-shit-a-singh)
No offense honey. But thats one big asshole. :P


Subject11: Nitin lakhotia(read: Nit-in-lakho-tia)
Some say ones destiny is scripted in ones head. But his were future was on his balls. NIT(W) in lakhotia. And so he did drag his balls to an NIT. For the Hindi-illiterates : Lakhote=balls

Now don't u think its a pervy world after all?

nitWits - capsule 2

Scene: Nescafe, NITW
Open upon a time when pigs(Not a metaphor) roamed freely around college, Haritha and I were sitting, sipping a cup of coffee. During the casual conversation, she suddenly drops the bomb.
Haritha: "You know what eddy?"
Me: "What?"
Haritha: "You look sooo cute."
Me: *Blushes* " well i was thinking more like sexy. But cute works too :D"

After a few more minutes, we start walking around the campus. We see a filthy black pig with half a dozen piglets. Haritha's pitch increases 2 octaves.

Haritha:" Pigs butt is sooo cute"

"Pigs butt=my face=cute?!@#@??? whats wrong with gals?"

nitWits - capsule 1

Scene: Food court, City center, Chennai.

Me: "So what do u want?"
Surya: "I like porn and kiss."
Me: *rewinding in the head*
Surya: "Its my favorite."
me: "What?"
Surya: "I had it with Shriya last thursday too. And today also i will have the same."
Me:"where?"
Surya: "In the subway"
Me:"porn and kiss?"
Surya: NO DUDE!! Corn and peas!!
Me:"Aaah!!!" *dodged a bullet*

Trekking for dummies - An Episode from Author's life

When one is in a college like mine, there aren’t many things around to keep one busy. That’s the precise thought which was going through my head when I said a solid YES to my seniors who asked me whether I would like to go for a hike. Now for people who don’t know me, let me just paint you a picture. I am just over 5 feet tall, weigh less than 50kilos and possess the stamina of a sexagenarian. Never have I defeated anyone in a running race. I have never even attempted climbing a tree. (there..now you know why I have never jumped over the LH wall). Time for a story from the time capsule. I bought a 5kg dumbbell shelling out 500 bucks last year thinking that I would use it everyday. Not only did I not work out but I carried that piece of metallic trash all the way back to my home which is over 1500kms away. After keeping it under the bed for 3 long months, I was sure it would be futile to carry it all the way back to the college. And guess what…. I didn't . Instead I came back and bought a new one and to date it remains unused.

Coming back to the trek. I was glad someone asked me to tag along for their expedition. For a person who always got picked last in a football game, I was on cloud 9. I had no clue what to expect when I went for the trek or to be more precise for rock climbing. There were two other guys with me. I couldn’t be more different from them. The first guy(Mr.Muscle) has incredible athletic abilities, bench presses 30 kilos everyday and does stunts which I have seen only on circus du soleil while the second(Mr.D) was a jack of all trades and one was yet to see what he couldn’t do.

I was under the impression that it was a standard rock climbing exercise like the ones we see in the movies where one is strapped to all the harnesses and there is no risk to life. The first bubble bursts. It was a rocky and seemingly unconquerable mountain against a non equipped and maladroit me. To make the best of it we bought eatables from a shop nearby. After circling the mammoth creation we found an opening to climb. As I was the noob, I went last on the trail. I held the water and food as I tip toed over the small blocks kept to cross a small pool. As I grabbed the back of a rock for support, I felt something against my palm. It all happened in a flash. Buzz buzz buzz. Bees stung me left and right while I ran in the other direction screaming, trying my best to not drop anything.

Lesson 1: Watch what you grab.

When I reached the other side, I thought to myself that it wasn’t that bad. I only got stung 5 times and I didnt lose balance and fall into the pool. As I circled the pool this time, I was sure no bees would sting me now. Running on the rocks wearing a pair of dance shoes was not one of my finest decisions. I skid and my leg slipped into the pool. “Shit”. That’s not an expression. I literally fell into a pool of shit.

Lesson 2: Dance shoes aren’t substitutes for trekking shoes.

With whatever little dignity left in me, I got up , took of my shoes, strung them together, tied it to my belt and started to climb. D and M sprinted up the hill while I clambered. It took me a good amount of time to make it to the top of the hill. I had reached the height of my fear of heights. Every look to the bottom gave me a stroke. Thoughts ran wild. I started imagining myself stuck in one of the pits and then the fireforce , army and police will come to rescue me. Then again I realized its Warangal. There is absolutely no way I would get out alive.

Lesson3: Rock climbing is not an acrophobe’s cup of tea.

Reaching the top of the rocks called for celebration. Like a mountaineer who conquered the Mt Everest, I broke the seal of the bottle as if it was champagne and drank. And had the food. Mr.D who told us that he had climbed this hill earlier, assured that there is a temple on the other side of the rocks and journey downwards would be simple. So we started moving to the back of the hill along the sides. All he had to do was identify a big rock being balanced by a small one and the route would jolt back to his memory. Lucky for us, we found it in a few minutes. Unlucky for us, we found another moments later. And then another. Anyhow we made to the back of the hill and found the temple. Mr.D was right. He seemed to forget the minute detail that temple was 40 feet down a vertical rock.

Lesson4: One rock among a million similar ones is not a landmark. Get a guide.

It was time for us to make backup plans. Suggestions came flying. Follow the powerline.(If we were spidermen that would have worked). Calling up our friends.(again we had no clue where we were). Voila! I got a plan. I saw goat crap on the top. Lets follow that. And Mr.D(a 9-pointer) and Mr.M(got one of the highest paying jobs from his branch) followed my brilliant plan. Five minutes later, I find myself looking at an ocean of goat crap. It would have been easier to find a needle in a hay stack.

Lesson5: Shit doesn’t help in any way.

We gained pace and reached close to the where we began . We could barely see anything at this point. Mr. I-know-the-place-inside-out screamed for help. A man responded downhill. And within moments he climbed up and brought us on to safe grounds. We thanked him and left. I got into the auto and sat on the usual seat- the one to the right of the driver. I thought about what happened in the last few hours. I promised myself not to go for another trek. A cold feeling swept me. It was particularly cold in the crotch region. It took me a few minutes to realize that my jeans were torn. Not like one of those small finger size holes. But an entire split down the pants. If I wasn’t embarrassed or humiliated enough, this just did it. I just did a free show for the crowd.

Lesson6: Tight is not right.

So for all the people who are yet to go for a trek, you know now what not to do.

Real engineering life and life in 3 idiots

If you take an icky Indian novel like five point someone and micturate all over it, its hardly surprising that the end result is a piece of mangled trash we now know as 3 idiots. The movie was no doubt an unendurable trumpery with little entertainment and drama but rich in cheap internet downloaded humor. The movie is replete with infernal nonsense. Criticisms aside, did the movie portray a slice of the real college life? The answer is a plain NO.

Lets start with the characters. The prime protagonist is one we tag as a “fundoo”. One brush through the pages and the data is processed, stored and flexibly applied in real life. By real life scenarios I mean, sucking the crowning baby out of your sister in laws birth canal using a vacuum cleaner on a table tennis table and performing wizardry(aal iz well baloney) to bring back the dead. An engineering graduate degree taken anywhere in the world doesn’t prepare one for that.

We have Chatur, whom we can classify as “frustoo”. In the movie there is one each of the above and that too in one of the best colleges in the country. Are those numbers credible? We most definitely have a zilch count on former and dozens on the latter.

Then the hideously implausible caricature of the director with Vajpayee’s lips and Corleone’s pout behaving like the escapee form the local asylum, referred to by his acronym, walks around to dry you out of any interest in learning. . Where are the good guys? The ones who motive you to be a better engineer of tomorrow like every college doea without fail? To savor the bollywood masala, this small clan was comfortably forgotten.

Now we turn the spotlight onto the prime topic of the movie which got media bustling-Glorification of ragging. Portraying ragging as nothing more than a couple of acting tasks and adding a humorous twist to it doesn’t alleviate the grave situation. Ragging in a government college teeters on the border of BDSM. A synopsis of the actual college ragging goes something like this- slaps tolling to a few hundreds amounting to innumerable blood clots, vicious kicks to the glutious maximus which sends shocks up your spine pushing the human endurance to the limits, the forcible intoxication which does irreparable damage to ones future, stripping one off clothes and dignity, missing of multitudes of meals and sleep and et al. At times a prison holding for third degree murder is better off than the life of an engineering college student. The innumerable hours spent under pressure and dread of seniors was not captured even to the minimal extent. Instead it eclipsed the truth and shone light on the volatile topic as nothing more than a brief entertaining interaction. The message it sent was wrong. With the sky rocketing success of the movie, the idea propagated spread like wild fire. The movie shows the junior student electrocuting the senior. The climax of that episode in the movie- junior sleeps like a baby. In real life- junior is two feet in the air held by his throat while others whip him with belts. Then rushed to the emergency room where he conceals the cause of injury.

Positioned as a screed against the current system of Indian education that prizes rote cramming over creative thinking, the 3 Idiots script careens all over the place and is hopelessly inadequate. In the movie the unbearable pressure forces a student to end his life on the noose. The prior statement has two faults in itself. First, the unbearable pressure is infact bearable. The curriculum may not be designed to craft a scientist or an astronaut but it is not even in the vicinity of heavy. When every student can study for just a day and clear exams with flying colors and finish the pending project by surfing the net for an hour or two, the questions rises. To act as the ingredient of formula for success was a non existent situation introduced? Secondly, the suicides. There are much more students dying every year because of reckless activities, love failures and of course ragging. This goes a step further to prove that all that mattered was to weave a story which would bring in the big bucks and not to unmask a social evil. Though the movie shows that education system is very heavy, even the weakest student gets a job. Paradox or just downright gaga?

The future of a kid is in his/her own hands. Parents may have dreams but whatever those maybe be, in the India of today, the child is the thread puller. The kid may be stuck in a stream he may detest in the present days but its nothing but a consequence of his bad decisions. Limning parents as insensitive being who place their interest first is an insult to the entire parent community.

Self-seriousness in the times of Rakhee Sawant won’t fetch you even an art-house seat. The writers of the script know it. Ergo the movie is disproportionate mix of their softheaded imagination and tiny slices of real life, set in a college which is at the other end of the spectrum of truth. Not convinced yet? Just ask yourself. When was the last time a girl came drunk to your dorm room in inebriated condition leave alone the directors daughter? When was the last time you went to the directors den without being interrupted by even one security guard? Have you proved a professor wrong in front of the entire class and got away with it(trans: passed with a grade above P).And the grossest of all- When was the last time you had a soapy number on the bathroom floor?