Zingered!

Sometimes in this world we like something and just cannot live without it. No matter what happens, that something can bring you all the happiness in this world. It could be anything. It could be the love of your life or something as small as a KFC Zinger burger.

One of my colleagues in Jo'burg loved to eat the KFC Zinger. I remember a week where we had driven to a KFC 10 miles away every single night just so that he could have his burger. I resented it. I have a philosophy that one should broaden one's horizon and try new different things. One needs to get out of his comfort zone and experience life. Its a price you must pay to reap the benefits of what this good earth has to offer. 

For me, to get out of my comfort zone was to drive. Its not that I hate it but my inexperience freaks me out. And the car which  I am driving is usually not mine and this always adds to my troubles. So it was a beautiful afternoon and we had decided to go to Suncity, me and two of my colleagues. Since we were going to take the highway, I thought that this was a good time to get out of my comfort zone. I snatched the keys from the KFC-loving colleague and informed that I was going to drive today. I wondered why he seemed so uneasy. I have a valid driving license. But then again so does my Mom. 

As usual the other two picked up zingers from KFC's drive-through and we headed towards the beautiful Suncity (Atleast we think its beautiful!). We were very excited. The KFC-lover was excited to visit Suncity's KFC. I was even complimented for driving well. It was a breeze I thought. 

We left the city behind us and took the R115 (that’s the highways name). It was a single lane highway for both sides. The speed limit was 100 Kmph. And I was following it obediently. It being a single lane, the incoming traffic at 100 Kmph made me a bit uneasy. This resulted in a tendency to drive a little towards the left. This was just the beginning of my problems. The road narrowed suddenly and I realized that my left wheel had gone off-track. Following my natural instinct to correct this, I turned the steering towards the right but in attempting to do this, I over steered (Inexperience!!). What happened next was anybody’s guess. I lost control of the car but did not let go of the wheel. The car swerved on the road, hit the bank on the right side, somersaulted twice in the air, bounced on its roof, and finally landed on its wheels on the grass off-track.

I was still holding the steering. I looked at the others. They seemed to be trying to get out. I followed suit. We were out in seconds. I noticed nobody was bleeding. But the other two were hurt. One of them was almost unconscious. I had escaped without a scratch. I was worried for them.

I stood in the emergency room nervously. The two of them were undergoing check-ups. My seniors took care of the paper work. The doctors had said that they were going to be fine and they were only making sure that nothing had gone wrong. More than that, I was worried to face them. They were in this shape because of me. I could almost hear them say, ‘we told you so’. Then one of them caught my eye. He gestured me to come towards him. I did. He wanted to say something to me. I had to lower myself because he was unable to lift his head. I brought my ear closely and to this day I cannot believe what he said to me…

“Did you manage to pick up my Zinger from the car?”  

Swim Away to Glory!

Since my childhood I have been very fond of sports. Its an altogether different story that I have never been good at it. But there have been countless occasions when I have put on my headphones, played the song 'Dil Chahta hai', and dreamt of being the first one to cross the finish line in a 200 meter race. I always chose a 200 m race for my dream because I liked the idea of having a slow start and then accelerating at top speed in the last 100 meters leaving everybody behind and presenting a exhilarating win to the applauding crowd. But I was always the kind of kid who would rather dream than practice. I took up many sports and gave up most of them. I have taken Taekwando lessons (I am green belt by the way so don't mess with me), cricket coaching, basketball coaching, swimming lessons, and finally 6 years of tennis coaching. I can play these sports well but could win in almost none. So during my childhood I always had this dream of winning, especially living with a brother who was a champion in cricket.

Our colony would annually organize a sports competition and all the kids/adults would participate. They even had a cricket competition in which you had to participate as a team of 11. I was always picked last or only because of my brother who was usually the captain of one of the teams. I hated it. A chance to bat would never come or whenever it did I would get out on the first ball as per everybody's expectations. It was during this game of cricket I had heard that the swimming competition was also being held that very day. Somehow this excited me as this was an individual participation and I had really not known how competent I was in swimming.

It was a 25 meter race. All the participants were at the starting line. All except me were ready to dive. I was going to take push from the swimming pool wall as I had yet not mastered the dive. But this did not dampen my spirits. I was confident. The whistle blew, people dived, I took a strong push from the wall. 25 meters does not sound much but when you are a 10-year old and swimming, it felt like the English Channel. But I was not going to lose hope. I pushed the water back with all my might. That day I was out to prove something. The race ended. I had come third.

At the day of the prize distribution I was smiling. My name was soon announced and I climbed the stairs to receive the cash prize of Rs. 20 for securing third position in the under-10 swimming competition. Soon friends and aunties came up to congratulate me. But that was not why I was smiling.

I never had to tell anybody that there were only three participants in that race :)

Hey Taxi! Hayeah!!

Mumbai is one of the safest cities I know. Well I speak as if I have stayed in a number of cities but in comparison to Delhi/Noida/Gurgaon, Mumbai is heaven. Well if you must know I was mugged once in Mumbai. But even then I consider it safer (it was a one of case). In Delhi I have been pick-pocketed, blackmailed by a number of autowalas, slapped (by a policeman), left stranded (at 9 pm), seen my driver get beaten up, witnessed eve-teasing, and been roughed up (again by a policeman). Sorry I got carried away. What I was trying to say was that in Mumbai it feels safe. So safe that my Mom would always let me and my brother go to school by ourselves. Or atleast when we had reached secondary school.

Now there were three ways to reach our school. On foot (it was like a 1 Km from our place), by bus, or by taxi. When I just entered secondary school (grade 6) my brother was in grade 8. I, my brother, and a couple of his friends always traveled to school together. Since a bus ticket would cost Rs. 3 each for my brother and his friends, and Rs. 1.5 for my ticket (Thats right! Half-ticket) it made more sense to just take the taxi which cost us just Rs. 13 (In your face, Delhi!) for the trip to school. Now even when the city is safe and the people are really friendly, as a child you always have a fear. The fear of getting kidnapped. I mean the taxi-driver could drive us anywhere. We were just kids. We did not also enjoy the idea of jumping from a moving taxi. So before hiring a taxi, we would always have a plan. A simple plan of words. The following is the one conversation repeated everytime I travelled in a cab with my brother and his friends to school:

Sagun (My brother): So Shalabh....How are your Karate classes going on?

Shalabh: Great! I just earned my black-belt! My teacher says I can beat up anybody!

Me: I finally gave my test for yellow belt. I have really improved my kick.

Abhishek: You guys should come and see my boxing practice.

Reached the school. Instilled fear in the taxi-driver that these kids can bring pain. Mission accomplished!

Hes Probably Gay!

I was recently having a discussion with an office friend. She was telling me how her close boy friend (two separate words) reacted when she told him how well her ex-boyfriend (single word) was doing in Paris. Surprisingly for her, her friend reacted quite irrationally by saying that her ex was most probably lying. Listening to what she was saying got me thinking and weirdly enough I could relate to this friend of hers. If there's one thing men cannot tolerate (actually there are many) its praise for another man coming from a girl you are close to. The best part is the reaction to this praise. Given below are some real life snippets:

Girl: Did you hear he got placed in McKinsey?
Boy: Its Mckinsey Knowledge Center. We do the same thing. And I have heard they make them work like dogs

Girl: Did you hear he's got a package of 8 lacs?
Boy: Thats CTC. They have probably added medical insurance to this. In hand its probably the same 30-40K

Girl: Ooh. Did you see his new car? Isn't is great?
Boy: Bah! Spending his dad's money. Whats so great in that? (My God! Lucky bastard. Look at those wheels!!)


Girl: Oh did you hear the poor guy got 60% this semester. I feel so bad
Boy: You feel bad for that loser? If he would have studied like me he would have got 80%

Girl: Did you hear he got 80% in this semester?
Boy: Ghissu Saala!!

Girl: Did you hear hes studying sincerely for GMAT?
Boy: And whose gonna pay 50 lacs for his education. Its a foolish dream

Girl: Did you hear hes studying sincerely for CAT?I think he'll crack it...
Boy: Let him crack it. I don't believe in Indian education anymore. I am going for GMAT

Girl: Oh my God!! He's so cute!!!
Boy: Yeah....hes probably GAY!


This one's my favorite:

Girl: Hes so witty. I mean hes so funny. I had such a great time
Boy: Ha Ha!
Girl: What? Whats do funny?
Boy: No nothing. Just remembered he has a small d**k

What are you gonna do?

Has it ever happened with you that at times you find yourself stuck in awkward situations and you must find something to do? (Well you may not find situations so awkward the way I do but still!) Lets take a simple example. You agree to meet a friend at a cafe. Your friend is already at the cafe and you make eye contact with him from a distance. You wave to acknowledge the aforementioned eye contact. It is this distance that I need to travel that kills me. What does one do while covering this distance? You can't obviously keep making eye contact. That will just freak him/her out (What you don't think the person I am meeting can be a 'her'?) You can't always look away because its not polite. There are a number of things that you can do actually. I usually use my cellphone as an object that has me occupied. I pretend as if I have just received an important message which I must attend to. In fact I have seen a lot of people do the same thing. Another one of my tricks is to pretend as if I just tripped over an imaginary stone and must watch the ground closely to avoid any future such clumsiness. (What? I am sure you have your own tricks). If I am the one sitting in the cafe and have spotted my friend then I have a neat trick that I am proud of. I'll just pretend that I haven't seen him. I'll just keep looking randomly at people or places and acknowledge the person only when hes inches away. Oh! When did you come?? (I must tell you that I have run into a lot of problems when I randomly 'pretend' (totally intentional) to 'observe' (checkout) 'people' (girls) when I am waiting for that 'her' friend that I was talking about).

The worst is when the friend you are with runs into her long lost friend and it is imperative that she must catch up with this friend at that very moment. Ofcourse she introduces you but then what? You can't speak because there is nothing to say really. You just have to listen to their tales of how they tried contacting each other and smile in an understanding and i-am-totally-interested way. A phone call at that time is God sent. Even if its one of those bloody customer care executives you'll listen to them patiently as if you were getting paid for this.

There is another situation which somehow happens a lot to me. So by now you must have realized how conscious a person I am. You must also know that I am very shy. I have what you call stage-fright. And the world is a stage. So I kind of rehearse my lines a lot especially when other people are speaking their lines-in real life. So when my friend introduces me to her friends and I must introduce myself at the end this is how it goes:

Friend 1: Hey, Ravi* (Me: I am Gautam)
Friend 2: Hi, I am Siddharth* (Me: I am Gautam)
Me: I am Gautam (No clue what either Friend 1 or Friend 2 said)

*Real names not disclosed (Don't know the real names)

And sure enough a time comes when you must repeat these names. What are you gonna do?

Lets paint the Wall red

A very brief conversation at the office today made me raise an eyebrow (Actually I went like WHAT??). I now completely understand why they say that half knowledge can be dangerous (or embarassing..whatever). All this may not make too much sense but the end result is that I have decided to change the name of my blog. I have decided to name it the 'Red Wall'. Well this name has no magnificent history or story behind it. Its just that one of the walls in my room is red (Naming is tough! My kids will be called A and B).


Talking about walls and colors, have you ever thought that you'll paint your apartment or atleast your room? Well I did (I didn't actually do it. I just thought about it). Its sounds fun doesn't it? You think about this great weekend you'll have where you'll invite all your friends, spread old newspaper all over the floor, have pints of cold beer, order pizza when you get tired, make graffiti before the first coat, accidentally paint over your friends (female) nose who'll obviously be wearing mini denim shorts and climbing ladders to reach that missed spot on the ceiling etc etc. Bullshit. It just proves that I have been watching too many Hindi movies. Its a tough job which takes a almost a week to complete requiring four full time professional painters.

Take my red wall for instance (which now looks fabulous by the way). First, you have to scrape off the old paint and chuna which leaves you looking like a spooky ghost. Most of the time you are just gasping for breath (I am just passing on the experience of the professionals we hired. I hardly entered the room). Then comes two coatings of 'Birla white putti'. In my dreamworld the weekend is already over. Mixing of the paint is also a tricky part because they hardly ever turn out to be the ones you chose from the brochures. Pizza?Beer? You'll end up fighting with the hired help because you think they take too many tea breaks.

The worst happens after three coatings of nice red paint when your mom begins to feel that the lighting fixture should be at the centre of the wall. Such irregularity in the position of the fixture is totally unacceptable. Apparently the irregularity in the timing of such a realization is totally acceptable. The painters watched in horror as the fixture was removed leaving a long white stretch of old white paint. It took a lot a red coating to fix that one.

Point is that in a way our life can be like the red wall. We may try to paint it the way we want but we'll always get a different color or be left with an unwanted white mark. 

P.S. The picture is for representation purposes only. That is not my room. 

Show me light

The things that aren't spoken
Don't think its all broken
Give me some time
I bet everything will just be fine

I understand you like always
What was will always stay
You are my friend my affection
A bit of me, my hearts section

Time has completed a circle
Its time to begin
Its time to be myself
Let me commit no sin

Give me your word my friend
Show me my real self
Make me believe in me once more
I am not who I used to be for sure

Give me love Give me pain
Let my life go not in vain
Show me light, the right way
For I am dying day by day

Bandura's Four Stages of Learning

I don't know if you are aware or not but there exists a theory by the name of "Bandura's Four Stages of Learning". Bandura says that there are four stages to learn a skill. They are 1) Unconscious Incompetence 2) Conscious Incompetence 3) Conscious Competence 4) Unconscious Competence. Let me explain with an example.

You wish to ride a bicycle. When you look at other people doing it you think its easy and can be done (Unconscious Incompetence or Ignorance). When you try yourself and fall on your buttocks you realize its not so easy (Conscious Incompetence or Realization). You keep trying it again and again (Conscious Competence or Practice). And now you can do it flawlessly without thinking too much (Unconscious Competence or Skill). Bandura was so right. It applies to other skills such as driving, swimming (provided you don't drown during the first stage. You would really get stuck in the unconscious stage), effective communication, business writing etc.

What I was thinking was 'Is Bandura always right?'

Lets take 'Sex' for example. Well obviously everybody goes through the ignorance stage. Men think they are James Bond and women literally are in the 'Ignorant' stage. The second stage would be the most embarrassing I would say. I would rather fall on my buttocks a 100 times (from a bicycle...refer to above!!). The best stage would be the third one. The practice one. Conscious competence (  :p ). What I wonder is what if you reach the fourth stage?Unconscious Competence. What then? You would be able to do it without thinking or any bloody realization (pun unintended). Might as well ask Bandura to do it.   

Bandura obviously didn't know what he was talking about. Take farting for instance. Think what would you do to yourself in the second stage and what would you do to the world in the fourth stage

Facebookly Photogenic!

Sorry about the word 'Facebookly". Facebook is so popular these days I could almost feel that the word could be used as an adjective with a little bit of tweaking.

Does it happen with you that when someone clicks a picture of you having a ball in a bar, all you can think of is "Wow! That ones going up as my profile picture!" Some people will even forget that they are drunk and will pull out their fancy Blackberrys and iPhones (I have a modest e71) to upload the pictures right away. Others will pester you to send the picture immediately using bluetooth as if its a race of who can get to the wall faster. Or does this happen that you are in the middle of a raft (Rishikesh baby!!) and your friend takes out the camera and then you can expect to hear what has been heard a million times before "Facebook picture please?"

I know of a friend who is dead scared of heights and jumped from a cliff (Rishikesh Baby!!) twice just because his picture did not come right the first time.Sorry I forgot to mention that he was jumping into the Ganges and is still alive. I wonder what was going on in his mind the second time he jumped "Is he getting the right angle?Is this stupid helmet blocking the view?I hope it looks like I am pro?Oh no!Will I have to do this again?" Its funny what all things can give you courage.  

Does this phrase often cross your mind when you read a notification that you have been tagged in a photo - "Shit!Which photo?" And when you open it and it turns out to be this hideous image where you have been captured which your mouth open and looking totally demented. You frantically look for the "Untag" link but somewhere in the corner of your mind you still know that the picture exists on the world wide web (Which is Facebook these days by the way!). A thought also crosses your mind that maybe if you hit the "Report Abuse" link a 1000 times, the Facebook people might remove it because you had read something of this sort somewhere (probably on facebook). I don't know what the big deal is? (Please don't put any of my photos). Okay so sometimes we do it too. Okay I do it all the time.

Confession: We paid the snowmobile guy at Rohtang Pass 50 bucks so that we could get a picture on the beautiful machine (We couldn't afford the 1000 bucks ride fee).

A Nail Biting Affair

During my childhood I once rammed my left foot into a pot (obviously the one with plants) while cycling and ever since I have faced a lot of problems with my left toenail. It grew into my skin everytime and I had to get it removed every year. This year when it started to happen again I sought for a permanent cure. It turns out its a simple procedure where they would kill the nail bed under my skin where it resides and after that my nail would grow where it should. Well its only afterwards I found out that the simple procedure consisted of 4 injections, cutting my skin, removing flesh, chipping off half my nail and two stitches.

Its 1'o clock on friday and me and my dad are waiting outside the operation theatre (Thats right. This simple procedure was done in a proper operation theatre with a red light I have seen only in movies. My last nail removal was done in the dressing room of an OPD). So this young girl with surgery clothes and a mask walks up to me and hands me an operation gown. "Make sure you remove everything". "Everything?" " Yes, Everything." (Was I getting a heart transplant? What has my essentials got to do with my bad toenail?)So I am in the changing room and I knew my sorrows were only starting. This gown was like a green wraparound only with all the tying strings sewn on one side. Only one was available on the other side. I tied that one and was wondering if the other strings were to be used to tie me to the bed or something. This gown was weird. It kept slipping from the shoulder because it hadn't been tied in that area (Stupid tailors of the hospital). I now knew how girls felt wearing one pieces. Damn they are brave. I also felt like a jackass wearing this thing and sitting outside the surgeons office with my dad who by the way could hardly contain his laughter. Soon I was escorted to the operation theatre. It was like one of those you see in movies where the doctors are removing bullets from the hero's chest.

So here I am lying on the bed and covered with a number of green sheets so that only my foot and my head was visible. Turns out the young girl surgeon would be assisting the doctor surgeon in this operation. They were ready to give me Anasthesia so the doctor warned me that the injections would hurt. They gave me the first one and I almost ate my lower lip. "Did it hurt?" (Well of course not. I come from Jupiter. Why don't you try again??)I then thought it would be best to be brave and bear the pain like a man. Be expressionless. I thought of Jack Bauer from 24. The other three injections went smoothly and I showed no signs of pain even though it did. I was proud of myself.  Its only later I figured that I was supposed to show signs of pain so that they could give me adequate anasthesia. Fortunately the anasthesia worked well and I could sense the two doctors busy on my toe. Although it was the questions he kept asking to the nurses that were troubling me. "Do we have silver nitrate?" "Do we have any hydrogen peroxide left?". (What the heck?) Aren't you supposed to ask these kind of questions BEFORE you begin tearing my toe apart?

The operation was successful and as they were dressing my toe I asked them the dreaded question not feeling so brave now "Will it pain when the anasthesia wears off?". This is the reply I got "It won't be a severe pain but it'll be like ...umm....a throbbing one. What? Aren't they like synonyms?

Logic and Emotions

I have been told that I am stubborn when it comes to my decisions and I rarely change them. My answer to that is that if you can give me a logical explanation why I should change my decision then I will. But what about emotions? What does one do when emotions are involved? There is no logical explanation why one likes the colour red and the other orange. How does one take a decision in such a case? It is apparent in such cases one has to think emotionally and not logically. But how does one know when to think logically and when to think emotionally?

I believe when one has to think logically he should know the difference between right and wrong, the difference between 1 and 0, the difference between true and false. It hardly matters what I think or what you think. But when thinking emotionally I think it is important to know both the individuals before taking the decision. You cannot buy blue curtains just because you like them. You have to consider the colour pink too. One might ask what if you are thinking logically but the other thinks emotionally. You are in deep trouble then my friend.

In such a case its best to neither think with logic nor with emotions. Its a good idea to adopt another value such as Sacrifice. Believe me its the logical thing to do :)

Bon Voyage

Have you checked Delhi's new terminal 1D?Its fantastic. Reminds me of the Great Hong Kong Airport. (Thats right. I have been to HK. For a good six hours). Its a good thing I reached three hours early. It gave a lot of time to check out what Delhi had to offer. I must admit Delhi ( & NCR obviously) has shown a lot of signs of improvement (read Bad signs). But later about all that. What I am here to discuss is how I have noticed a weird change in attitude in people (Ok. I am talking about myself) when they come to Airports.

Its not because of the people (Though you'll be able to find every kind possible. Even a sadhu. Especially a sadhu actually. God does invite you to places.) Well its because of the environment. The amenities they provide. Like suppose internet. You must have not checked your email for days but you'll suddenly feel the urge to do so at the Airport. Maybe its because you have to project yourself as an important person who has to keep up with his email every minute. That is why they give us these amenities don't they? How about the cafe's? The prices would be reaching Mt. Everest but NO. We are at the airport. We can afford all this. You'll never buy the paid meals on cheap flights but you'll pay heavily for stale food at the airport. Maybe its something to do with the ambience. You know people are watching and you better be doing something meaningful. You can always see people removing laptops from their hand baggage and waiting in line for the only charging point available.

The best example I would give to prove my point would be myself. I have already spent 200 bucks on crappy food. Paid extra for KFC's hot wings. I have grabbed the only charging point at Costa Coffee (Yo Boy!) and am blogging - something I hadn't done for three months. :)

What's in a name?

Have you ever passed through the phase in your childhood when your close relatives give you weird names? You already have a nickname but somehow it's too common and boring for people. Take my name nickname for example: Sonu. Every third person in India has that name. Especially in Punjab. Well actually for Punjab I'm glad I got a decent name. Otherwise they give you names like Piku, Tiku, Pappu, Pintu...It won't be surprise if these are their real names.

I remember getting the name "Thanda Garam" from someone from my Nani's house. Apparently I got this because I was never satisfied with the temperature of the milk that was given to me. Another name I got from my Nani's house was "Mirchi". Apparently I was too thin and bony in my childhood (I know its hard to imagine). I even remember some aunt's telling my Mom that even if she fries me in hot oil I'll not become fat (thanks a lot!).

I also got a chinese name from my cousin sister: Ching Fung Li(That's right my chinese name even had a freakin middle name). She still calls me Ching Li by the way (I know its catchy).

In school also I was given a lot of nicknames. Though they were mostly modifications of my real one. Gau, Goti, Gomzi (Thanks to Kyunki Saas bhi Kabhi Bahu thi), Gaumata. In college I was happy to get a decent nickname. My initials: GG. Although some of them have gone back to calling me Gau. Some of them an extended version of Gau i.e. Gauuuuuu (reminds me of some hybrid between a cow and a wolf).

The point is now that my life has taken a little turn :) and with the blessings of Goddess Parvati I get a new nick name almost everyday ;) .  

Oh Crap!

That's exactly what I keep blurting out these days. Why? Somehow my stars (read carelessness) don't match with certain things for example :- Important Documents. My CAT was scheduled on December 6th. I had no idea where my voucher was. Actually I had this faint belief that it was in my desk's top drawer. Has it ever happened with you that you have this terrible feeling that it might not be there but you never check because you don't want to shatter the only tiny thing that you have : hope. So naturally (now that I have explained) I didn't check before the 5th. And when I finally did: "Oh Crap!!" Now where the heck did it go. Did I ever put it in here? Is it in the folder where all my other important documents are (if there are any left i.e.)? Now I was looking at the prometric's website looking nervously at the FAQ'a. Can you believe it? Nothing remotely related to a lost voucher. My friends had a convenient explanation for the incomplete FAQs. "Dude! Nobody's that stupid." The call centre number was of no help either (I blame daytime office hours). So I went to sleep thinking that maybe Prometric would later understand.

Now do you believe in divine intervention (I heard this term first in a PDP session at CL). I actually dreamt that night where my voucher could be. I remembered that my drawer is usually very full and that I had trouble sometimes just opening it. I saw two possibilities that either my voucher had got stuck on the upper wall of my drawer or it could have fallen into the cabinet below. The first thing I did when I woke up was to check the cabinet and there it was lying there (All izz well!)

Now coming on to XAT (which by the way was today). I took extra precautions and took the print out of my admit card a day before. I woke up early and I am the center at the exact reporting time. I was looking around amidst the crowd to find people I know when (Fortunately) I thought of checking my admit card before I went in. The 3rd point under important instructions read "Bring original ID proof such as Driving Licence, Passport, Voter's Id etc".

Oh Crap!!

Sutta Friends

Everybody has friends (well almost). They could be School Friends, College Friends, Locality Friends, Gym Friends (I'll have those soon enough), Work Friends, Girlfriends, Boyfriends etc. But in my four years of college I have realized that there is another breed : "Sutta Friends". This is the easiest type to make. Its cheap too. All you have to do is ask for a match and there you go. You have just made a friend. Undoubtedly you are going to meet him almost everyday at the smoking hangout places (i.e. Sutta point. Every college has one).

Whats interesting to note is that the little high makes you forget the usual channels of making a friendship. If you see two guys sharing a cigarette they are probably best friends already. Soon the group increases and before you know this group hangs out everyday, goes to eat dinner everyday (at the local dhaba ofcourse), fights together (believe me they'll bleed for each other), study together (well they need each others help now more than ever). They even go vacationing together (places like Rishikesh for rafting). You can hear them shouting at 3 in the morning when they find out that one of the blessed souls has a 'sutta' left. They have terms like "Taxi" and "French Kiss" which are techniques of smoking together (Do not try this at home).

Whatever problems they may have with each other it takes but a Rs. 5 marlboro light to take that away. Kudos to such friends.
(Tribute to : Raju, Gulati, Tou, Kabra, Chotu, Goli, Johnny(who by the way is entering a different breed altogether), ketu, ronjan.....(its endless actually)..)

Puff away my weird friends...

Head Chef @ New Year's Eve

Thats right. I was spending New Years Eve all alone. Even my parents had gone clubbing (Actually the The Railway Club Ball). My brother had already shipped himself to Goa. My mom tells me he and his friends are putting up at some cottage near Anjuna Beach (Its not fair!). I mean people go to visit Anjuna but to live in Heaven itself (Unfair!!). So I decided that I would spend my New Year's Eve cooking. Well obviously my mom did not approve of the idea but had to comply (Best weapon: Flattery). It was a tough job dishing out all the old recipe books from the bookshelves. After a dusty affair my mom conveniently handed me the October's edition of Tarla Dalal's "Cooking & More". Have you ever gone through cookbooks before? They are hilarious. The names of the recipes makes you wonder whether its food or investment strategies. For example one of the recipes I chose was "Veg. Glycemic Index Biryani" (What the heck is Glycemia? Sounds like a disease). The other recipe I chose was "Brocolli, Cheese & Chilli Qeusadillas". Doesn't that sound cool. Cooking a what seemed like a Mexican Dish at home. But those who have a little bit of knowledge would know that this is Brocolli, cheese and chillies stuffed between two Makai ki rotis. Thats right. Quesadillas are Makai ki rotis. (Bloody Show Offs!) "Oh I would like some plain Quesadillas with Spinach Sauce". Punjab has been serving that for years now.

Now you must be wondering why I call myself the Head Chef. You think my mother would let me destroy her tidy kitchen with my clumsiness. She appointed my maid and servant to help me (or bear with me). The truth is they did all the cooking, blanching, kneading (i got all these terms from the magazine. I had to use a dictionary). I was only directing them (Hence the term Head. If they ever read this they'll probably laugh).

Well everything turned out well. We had added extra stuffing to our Quessadillas. Just Brocolli and chillies? (Yech!!) We threw in some onions, tomatoes, pasta and extra cheese. (What? Isn't that typical Indian mentality. We want more in less. Have you ever picked Onion & Capsicum Pizza from Veg-I category at Dominoes. You always go for the Farmhouse you greedy Bastards!). The glycemic biryani was ok. (How can it be? It was diseased). I lit some candles (Check the photo if you don't believe me). I used pomegranate seeds for garnishing. I even used one of my Mom's expensive wine glasses for my Diet Coke (I like to do things with style except the fact that it was just diet coke and not actual wine).

After the picture was taken I blew the candles,picked up my plate, rushed to the TV room and got back to watching what Victoria had in store for us while my assistants replenished the good food periodically.

New Year Special: Happy or Crappy?

All set for the New Year's Bash tonight? Or are you going to spend it peacefully at home because you don't believe in it (meaning those who couldn't find anybody or anyplace and those whose parents won't allow them). Personally I enjoy a good party myself. But don't you think we become too conscious when it comes to New Years? It just has to be perfect. We start planning days ago. We keep asking friends about their plans. People have this sudden need to run off to Goa (No offense!I am just jealous). Don't you think we raise our expectations too much from a single day. How many times have you actually enjoyed it? (Not how many times you have conveyed it to people that you had a BLAST!). The best new year I had was in 2006 when I went out with my brother and his friends to Phoenix Mills (Ha Ha MUMBAI!!). I had no idea what we were going to do that night. Maybe that made all the difference. Any party can be fabulous if there are these : friends, ambiance and booze (I have none right now). Somehow people need the feel to go to Concerts and Stage shows with Celina Jaitley presenting a number. (Well actually I could never afford one of those so..Hey..who said 'sour grapes'??) Point is I don't have any plans for tonight and I am hoping it'll go well (that's what happened in 2006. Damn. I'll probably end up watching Victoria's Secret Show tonight. Yeah its a New Year Special).

Happy (Crappy) New Year!! Go have a blast you Morons!!

Bad Hair Day?

We had just reached Mandu and checked into our 3-star hotel. We were on our Social Studies tour to Indore-Mandu-Maheshwar (Or was it Maheshwari? Its the riverside place which has the famous Saas-Bahu temple). This was when I was in the 9th grade. (I like to use 'grade'. Doesn't it sound better than 9th standard). So I open my stuff and Cyrus raises an eyebrow and asks me "What the heck is that?". "What? These are my hair supplies" (Hair Supplies: I got that phrase from John Stamos from 'Full House'. Cyrus smirked and continued to whatever he was doing.

What? Why can't a guy take care of his hair. So what if I had two combs(narrow teeth, broad teeth), a bottle of hair oil, anti-dandruff shampoo, brylcreem, 2 tubes of hair gel (strong hold, wet look; they didn't have hybrid type in those days) and a portable foldable comb-cum-mirror thing. I am sure everybody carries such stuff (at the same time). Don't you? So I am a little particular about my hair. But I have my reasons. Have you ever had a stupid haircut? The one your parents love to give you. And then you are mocked in school for looking like a buffoon. You can't even get rid of it. Its hair. It takes time to grow. What? I am asking you. Who said I went through this hell. (Sniff!) People come with Rs. 25 haircuts and they mock me because I paid Rs. 150 for mine. (Its a thing with engineering colleges. There's competition in almost everything). I believe in professional treatment. But bah!! What do they know?

Tip: Never apply brylcreem/oil with your palm. Always use your fingers. And never apply only to your hair. Rub it on your scalp. (I got that from John Stamos too. Believe me its effective) Who said TV is bad for kids?

Tell me your Dreams

Its a really shady room and it has a single cane chair in the centre. The door to the room is slightly ajar. I am sitting in the chair wearing a checkered shirt not sure of what I was doing there. Then suddenly someone I know enters the room looking elegant in her own way. She walks towards me closing the door behind her. She gracefully sits on my lap facing me and places a light kiss on my lips.

The next thing I remember is looking at my hostel room ceiling feeling stupid. Has it ever happened with you before? Have you had dreams about certain people and immediately felt guilty about it? As if it was a taboo. You are feeling guilty but you want to run it again and again in your head until it dies out in a few days. But why the guilt? Its not as if you have any control over your dreams. Do we? People say dreams are a direct representation of your own deep thoughts. Whats even worse is that this person tells you the same day that she dreamt about you last night. It turns out it was something about a tight slap. Talk about getting punished even if its in the subconscious. And what timing. The point is maybe there is a connection with your own thoughts and your dreams. The right interpretation is what matters the most. I personally believe the dream has something to do with my being a sour. That makes more sense doesn't it? ;) Now you tell me your dreams.

So where are you from?

This could qualify as one of the most cliche conversation starters. "So where are you from?". What suddenly you'll know everything about me once you know where I am from? So if I say I am from Punjab do people form a mental picture of me drinking Lassi and eating Paranthas with white butter (Well people will get that from my tiny paunch anyways which I intend to get rid of soon enough). Well I am usually not so judgmental about people its just that I like avoiding this question. Till a year ago my typical response would be "I am studying in Delhi but my Dad is posted in Guwahati though I have lived most of my life in Mumbai although we are originally from Punjab." Who in his right mind would expect an answer like that? Its as if I have give him a multiple choice answer from which he can chose whichever place he likes(personally I would go for Mumbai- Heard they are opening India's first Starbucks here in 2010). Thats right. I like to be called as a guy whose from Mumbai. Not that is changes who I am but because I have spent some of my most significant years here. My friends anyway deny that I could possibly or remotely be related to Punjab in anyway. Why is that hard to imagine? I have dreams of going to abroad too. And believe me I am closest to being related to Punjab now more than ever ;) So now that I have this thing cleared "Where are you from?"