December 28, 2012

More on doomsday, my birthday

So, the world did not end. Although it means my entire future planning came down crashing, there is a positive side too to the world not ending. Let me make a list:
1. I will live through enough end-of-the-season sales to buy everything I want to.
2. Quite possibly, and probably, I will reach the stage where I won't need to wait for these sales to buy what I want to.
3. I will live long enough to convince myself to wear all the two dozen t-shirts and jackets I've bought over the past three-four years but haven't worn yet because I don't want to spoil their look. (Yeah, I'm weird. I know.)
4. I won't die single. (All my close friends seriously doubt this)
5. I have time to regain six-pack abs and pack in some muscle. Enough of looking like a pickpocket.
6. I always wanted to go beyond the green belt in Taekwondo I had earned in class VIII. Want to be a martial art expert, most probably Taekwondo. I think I'll go for it—black belt, baby. 
7. Just enough time to hone my guitaring skills and vocal chords to be the rockstar I was born to be.
8. All my crushes who turned me down (I asked out only a couple of them) will bang their head against the wall when they see me on billboards, TV, album covers, in all the lists of most eligible bachelors. I'll be smug inside. Success is the best revenge.
9. There's still hope that maybe, some lucky day, I'll get to meet Bipasha Basu. Man, I love her... 

I'm sure there must be more good consequences of the world not ending, but can think of only these ones now. And, I have more to share about my this birthday. This interesting chat I had with a close friend made my day. We started chatting online about 8 pm on my b'day. She didn't remember it was my b'day. Ten minutes after my b'day became a past date of the calendar, I asked her if she had called me. Here's the conversation that followed, for your entertainment:

Me: Btw, had you called me today?
She: nahi kia tha maine
Me: 25 December was my birthday

[I immediately logged out after this and the poor girl sent a string of messages in the next two minutes.]

She:oh fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
She: happppy birthday................
She: i rememberrrrrrrred
She: fuckkk
She: i remembered till 17th i swear//
She: behanchod i am
She: listen i am sorrrrrrry
She: talk to meeeeeeee
She: plzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She: i love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
She: helllo
She: happpy belted bday
She: omg omg omg
She: sorry baby
She: I am sorry.. i am an ass.. but i really love you.. i did not remember your bday at all.. cya
She: hope you had fun..
She: and i am sorry

[After one-and-a-half hour]

: sorrry

[After 18 hours]

She: listen.. talk to me..
She: fuck u
She: why arent u saying 

Hahahaha... First she abuses herself for forgetting, then she abuses me for not responding! This girl, this friend of mine, is an amazing person. Arguably, the most talented person I personally know. The persistence with which the poor thing tried to make nice and apologise... Wow! Who won't love that much attention! And, nobody has ever said "I love you" to me with so many "u"s. She can be forgiven for forgetting, for she has bought a dhin-chaik phone for me a couple of months ago. Also, she can be forgiven because my b'day fell just six days before her wedding.

And you thought we had something going on, eh?

December 25, 2012

No doomsday, so happy b'day to me

I was one of those who believed—or rather knew—that the world as we know it would come to an end on December 21, 2012. I had read some New Age literature, which said that on December 21, the earth would stop spinning on its axis, would resume spinning after three days, and that too in the opposite direction. On December 21, the sun would disappear and come back only after three days. The earth's magnetic poles would reverse and solar flares would irreversibly, completely damage all satellites. It said December 21 was to be the end of the world as we know it. 

Money, property, relations, career... Everything was to become irrelevant. Only those who had evolved were to survive Dec 21 and were to ascend to fourth dimension. I thought that if I evolve, nothing like that. And if I was to be wiped off the face of this earth, that too ended all worries. It was about two years ago that I had read that 100-page booklet, and believed it all.

I was relaxed. Either of the two possibilities Dec 21 offered—evolution and destruction—meant I did not have to worry. My only concern was to evolve spiritually. I get paid peanuts, have no social life, have lost some hair and a lot of weight, but none of it bothered me. For, none of it was to matter after Dec 21.

World's not doomed. I am

Alas, the 'doomsday' has come and gone but the world is intact. And boy, I am a bit disappointed. Now, I need to do something about my low pay, no life, no wife and a lot of things. I did not mind dying as a young underachiever, but I certainly do mind living as one. Have so much to do!

In fact, it was only because I firmly believed in this 'world's totally gonna change' theory that I had said "yes" to my friend when he asked me one-and-a-half years ago if I wanted to start a band.  Launching the band meant we'd be touring most of the time, which meant I'd have to give up my full-time job as a journalist. I thought that if job, money and everything was going to become irrelevant after Dec 21, why not spend the last days pursuing a hobby I'm passionate about! If I knew the world's not gonna change, I'd have thought long and hard about this music thing before committing. Now that I have given my word, I can't ditch my friend. But there's quite a lot of uncertainty. I don't know much about music's nuances and my friend/bandmate has to spoon-feed me. Is this the field I will always be in? What should be the wise thing to do career-wise?

Hard decisions
I have 
a lot of thinking to do. Need to give up the happy-go-lucky attitude. I remember vividly, a year-and-a-half ago I was telling my colleagues that the world would come to an end four days before my 25th birthday. Sincerely speaking, I never thought about future. Because there was to be no future we could plan for. That's what I believed. Just how many lucrative job offers I have turned down, committing myself to a field in which I'm a novice, at best! Sachin Tendulkar had hit his 25th ODI century on his 25th birthday. I was 11/12 years old then and was super impressed. "What a way to ring in 25th birthday," I had thought. I'm 25 and earn less than Rs25,000.

Hemant Gairola, a 25-year-old nobody. Tch tch... When Hemant Gairola was young, nobody must have thought that I'd be a nobody. I used to be the undisputed topper (only till class VI-VII, as being attentive in class was enough for me to secure rank 1; I never studied at home). In co-curricular activities, I was quite something. My claim to fame is my childhood. Haven't done anything spectacular lately. That's not how my life should be. 

And, that's not how it will be. I'm not gonna make any tall claims here. I'm not going to write a blog post about silly resolutions on New Year. I've spent/wasted way too much time being silly. High time I become something. I need to change. I have to be more responsible. For, the world will go on, it seems.

Genuine concerns

Given my disciplined lifestyle, I'll live really long. So I need to arrange for that. I need to have enough money for my children's dry-fit diapers, school fees, uniform etc. Oh, how will children come into existence until I marry! And who will marry me until I get rich! Oh my God, biwi-bachche, too much responsibility. And I thought wisdom teeth were the worst part of growing up.

Oh yeah, but happy birthday to me :)

November 21, 2012

An amazing sex query

Here, I'm going to paste a query that appeared in 'Ask the sexpert' column of Bangalore Mirror, November 20 edition. The tabloid owns the following content and I claim no copyright. It's just so funny! Here, go through it:

Question: I am 19 years old and my husband is 32. We have sex every morning. When he was out of town for a few days, I masturbated with a banana. Once, the cook saw this. I was too excited to control myself, so I had sex with him. His penis was much larger than my husband's, so I enjoyed it. During the process, we got wild and I bit his penis hard. Is there a possibility of it breaking? If yes, is there a home remedy for it? Since his penis was larger, is it possible that my vagina has expanded?
Answer: Your vagina will not expand. You really cooked the cook's penis. Fortunately, there is no bone in the penis for it to fracture.

Hahahaha... It's just so damn stupid and funny! One of those things that really make you LOL, i.e. laugh out loudly. 

And, don't assume that I go through that Sexpert column. Some friends showed this question to me. They claim another friend of ours had sent that question to the tabloid. Now, this friend who reportedly sent this question—this friend, a girl, denies sending it—is famous for her childlike/childish antics. That's why this amazing query gains even more significance if it comes from her. She has been vehemently denying it, but I'm not gonna give her the benefit of doubt. I mean this is heights of vellapanti! Banana, for God's sake! Hahahaha... And cook, biting his member hard, broken organ, home remedy!! Oh my God! Dumb-stupid-wild imagination. Hats off to the writer. Hahahaha... Reportedly, this cute li'l girl who has been accused of sending that query had written a four-page description of the steamy act. I'm trying to get hold of the uncensored, detailed description. Didn't know this side of the baby girl's personality. It's such a revelation! I'm in awe of her. Hahahaha... Amazing creativity!

P.S. It's only the question-writer's creativity and imagination that I'm impressed with. I do not approve of using banana. Or cook.

November 20, 2012

Fair criticism amid undue eulogy

I was so glad, and relieved, to see The Hindu publishing articles criticising Bal Thackarey in its November 19, 2012, edition. As journalists, we have been taught to tell the truth. After his demise, hardly anyone spoke of how he engineered hatred against immigrants. Targeting them, promoting hatred, espousing communal politics... I am not a great fan of these. Be it his anti-Pakistan statements or the routine acerbic articles in Shiv Sena's mouthpiece, Saamna,...

Well, I don't feel free to use the sharp words I'd have used without having to think twice for any lesser man. And I'm so glad that I'm not on Facebook. Had I not deactivated my account, I too might have posted something on the lines of what a Mumbai girl wrote, and attracted the wrath of Shiv Sainiks and police. His fleet of Shiv Sainiks knows it can run a riot, safe in the knowledge that it enjoys total impunity. Bal Thackeray's nephew Raj Thackeray is just carrying forward this hate politics. The strong, intolerance-reeking statements of the uncle and nephew in the media always irked me. Just who they think they are! They are not the government, but act as if they are superior to the government. How else can they say that they won't allow Pakistan cricket team to play in Mumbai! Just who are they to allow or not allow? Shiv Sainiks can run a riot any minute they want, anywhere they want, with full impunity. Shiv Sena and MNS mock at the very concept of democracy.

I can go on and on about this, but I don't have to. The articles that appeared in The Hindu yesterday are awesome. They say everything. One article was on the edit page and another was an opinion peace by Justice (Retd) Markandey Katju on the op-ed page. Another article that appeared today in the paper also presents a more realistic portrait of the man. I'll just paste the links towards the end of this post. I was relieved and grateful to see these articles, for the stream of undue tribute pouring in baffled me. I don't need to say much. I'll just paste the links of The Hindu articles.

The news item: 'Mumbai shuts down due to fear, not respect'
Opinion pieces: A troubling legacy
Why I can't pay tribute to Thackeray
An authentic Indian Fascism

November 13, 2012

Dhoom macha le

Today is Diwali and I'm glad my office is not closed. Hate being alone when everyone else is celebrating. Ummm, that's not the point of this post. I was speaking to a school-wala friend a few days ago and he reminded me how he and I were behind a huge, loud, principal-agitating, student-exhilarating *BOOOOOOMMM* during a morning assembly when we were in class XII. Ah, the sweet memories.

It's baffling that I had forgotten this great deed of mine. Usually, I don't forget a thing, have a razor-sharp memory (which freaks people out, by the way). Until the final year of my college life, I had been nursing the deep regret that I could never muster courage to do BOOM-BADAAM in school. This just goes on to show how modest I am; did an act of bravery and forgot about it as if it never happened. It was when my friend reminded me about it that I realised that modesty, like greatness, is inherent in me. You see, it wasn't immediately that I could recall that I had indeed lit the fuse of the bomb that made the principal blast. My friend had to narrate how he and I had come early that day—with agarbatti, matchstick and a couple of bombs—had gone to the toilet, peeled the paper off the fuse, attached it to the incense stick, lit it and came out with the most innocent expression on our face.

After the morning assembly started, off went the Sivakasi product: *BBOOOOOOOOOMMMMM*. What happened next was so gratifying. The bomb was pretty loud. And that it went off in a small, concrete enclosure ensured that echo added to the sound. A wry smile crept on our faces—my friend's and mine. The collective (appreciative) gasp of the students and the anger on the principal's face told us that we had achieved what we had set out to achieve. We felt proud and content. We felt complete. At peace. A deep sense of satisfaction descended upon us. Now, we were something. No one knew who did it, but there was respect in the air from the students for whoever had done that. Respect. I could smell it. It was wafting, just like the baarood. We were basking in anonymous glory. I am grateful that God let me do this.

What's even better is that our principal thought (he was convinced) that one of our juniors was the one who did it. That guy was notorious for being notorious. The principal kept grilling him for quite a few days. He would tell that guy that he knew it was him and he would not rest unless he got proof. The princi made the guy's life miserable. (That chap is not so innocent; he was behind some other blast.)

Hahaha... I  remember how the principal went ballistic about the blasts. One morning, after we did the routine prayer and took the oath that "all Indians are my brothers and sisters", the principal took the mic. "You people are terrorists! School me bomb phodta hai... Yeh sab kya hai, bhai!" Oh, the anguish-to-melancholy shift in his tone was such a delight!

Oops! I Did it Again
Despite having achieved so much, until the final year of my college, I lived with the inferiority complex of never phodoing a bomb in school. Just because I had forgotten. But it has its own benefits. When I perpetrated the 'terrorist attacks' in my college, I believed that these were my first. Felt the first-time-thrill all over again.

In the third year of my BBA at IMS, Dehradun, we were shifted to a new building. I was behind quite a few blasts, did it with friends. One of the bombs was so strong that it shattered a portion of the commode! Hahaha... And then all the guys who had classes in that building had to cough up a fine of Rs200. Yes, IMSians, I was behind it. Wait! I was behind at least one blast, if not more, in the old building too. When the loudest of those bombs went off, my partner-in-crime and I were crossing the corridor of our juniors. Both of us felt that the juniors could tell from our face that we were the bombers. Maybe our countenance was screaming "WOOOHOOOOO!!" even though we maintained a straight face. Rebel streak has a way of getting noticed.

Last year, I was thinking if it would be a good idea to phodo a bomb in the office toilet, but decided against it. Plus, I've nothing left to prove. This Diwali, I thought aaj kuch toofaani karte hain. I took a bath.

November 05, 2012

My super-infested room

My friend with whom I live here in Bangalore (a guy, FYI) has got a mobile phone with a nice, 5 megapixel camera. I'm glad he has got that, for, now I can tell you stories I couldn't have told you otherwise. Even I owned a camera phone for a short while (it got stolen) and have shot manyyy candid pics and videos. Oh, I love my collection. The point is, it's good to have a camera.

Today, I want to take you to the place I live. Actually, there is something particular about where I live that I want to show you. So, let the games begin...

A colony of cockroaches was breeding under a small stone slab kept near the sink. I was like, "Eeeekss!" Next picture. So, you see, I'm not complaining about a cockroach in my room. I'm talking about the entire clan of the cockroachdom. It's too much, even for a loving and accommodating guy like me.

This is the view of a baby lizard and a cockroach that died a premature death when I, or my friend, closed the kitchen door. The cockroach's body has almost decomposed/fed ants, but the lizard's body is still stuck there. Been a month or more, I guess. I find it too yucky to scrape it out.

It was this cockroach whose death evoked sympathy in me. This dude's leg got crushed when I or my friend closed the door. Think of it, his leg was squashed, but he was alive. What's even worse is that he couldn't move; his leg was stuck, it was not severed. He kept trying to get away for about a couple of days and then, alas, he died. RIP, dear friend. I really feel sorry for you. I couldn't make up my mind—should I severe his leg and set him free or should I crush him and relieve him from pain forever? Before I could decide, he passed away. I really felt sorry.

After seeing the following picture combo, maybe you'll understand why I declared a war against the cockroaches.

Yeah, the biggest picture is of a small, caterpillar-ish worm that was inside a french bean. I noticed it floating on water in the cooker, just before I was about to close the lid and start cooking. Phew! Got saved in nick of time. The next picture, of a cockroach floating in my cooker... GRRR! That was the one that pushed me over the edge. That cockroach was in the packet of red chilli powder. When I sought to sprinkle some chilli powder into the cooker, the cockroach tumbled out. That did it and I decided to annihilate the entire cockroach species in my room.

What happened next was captured on video. There is a small enclosure kind of thing near the sink in the kitchen, cockroaches' haven. When I return to my room after work at night and open the kitchen's door, they'll be there, gorging on my tomatoes, bananas and what not. Nobody steals my food and goes scot free. Beware the fury of a patient man. After seeing too many cockroaches all around, I put some sheets of a newspaper in that enclosure and set them afire. The idea was to suffocate them so that they come out from there and then I was to toss them outta my kitchen. However, looked like I put way too many papers and the cockroaches got burnt. But I don't feel the least bit guilty about it. I didn't object to them living in my room without paying any rent, but I can't tolerate them eating my food. Without my permission. Not that I'd have permitted them had they asked. So, some cockroaches got burnt unintentionally. You could tell some got burnt from the smell. One lucky chap emerged outside, alive. I called my friend. He beat up that cockroach with his slipper. But we were not done. We thought that maybe there are some more cockroaches who are out and maybe they would return later. To send them a message, we took the carcass of that slippered cockroach, put it on a note and put the entire thing in the cockroach's 'home'. Here's how it looked:
Wuhuhahahahaha... (my 'sister' taught me this 'devilish laugh'). Ever since we left this warning note with poor Mr Roach's body in the Roach colony, I haven't come across another cockroach in my kitchen. The plan worked. Offence is the best defence. Survival of the fittest, baby.

Yeah, there still are small cockroaches in my kitchen. Yesterday I found one in the packet of daal and today saw half a dozen of them in the rack where I keep utensils. But I think they haven't left the kitchen because they are too young and can't yet read, maybe that's why they couldn't make out what's written on the warning note. I hope they get lost from my kitchen soon, otherwise I'll have to unleash my fury again.

And if you think cockroaches and lizards are all I have to deal with, you are so wrong. We have shot a video of how a pigeon entered our room last week and patiently stood outside the toilet, which was occupied, for some time. As the person inside the toilet took his own sweet time to come out, the pigeon shit on my friend's white bedsheet, among other places in our room. That's not all. Moreover, pigeons don't just rest on the window pane of our room (it's on third floor), they often enter our room! Just because I feed them rice grains, they are taking such liberties! Seeking to use our toilet, wanting to rest under fan on a hot day. 

And I don't know if I should talk about our suspicion that a snake has died in the drain pipe of our kitchen sink. We are not sure, so I won't speak of it.

October 21, 2012

Will you pleej merry me? :P

An empty mind is devil's workshop. One day, out of boredom I started reading the matrimonial section in a newspaper. I took it up because I love the way people seek to subtly glorify themselves but end up squarely embarrassing themselves. Eh, my kind of people. NO! Maybe. Hmmm... Leave it.

You must have come across the word "homely" in the matrimonial ads, as in "homely girl". I used to think it meant gharelu, until I learnt it means "unattractive". I wonder, are the people who say their daughter is "homely" being honest about her? Or do they actually believe that homely=gharelu?

I went through the profile of every bride-in-waiting and although I did not find even one that could interest me, some of them were quite interesting. Paragon of oxymoron! Here are the profiles (in Italics, followed by my comments):

NAIDU SPINSTR 54 BA Healthy girl seek any well settl any Cast Ok... (Mind you, she is 54 and yet a girl. And "healthy"? You seriously believe I'm not gonna think she's fat, but just "healthy"? Any well settled, any caste is ok. Hmmm... If you take euphemy out of this profile and write it in calling-a-spade-a-spade style, it will read like this: A 54-year-old overweight aunty is looking for a man, any man, so long as he is rich.)

And this 54-year-old 'girl' is not the only little sister of Peter Pan. There are these women too, forever girls, frozen in time:

# ...40 MSc PhD MNC Attractv girl...
# INTELLIGENT BOOK loving Charming Hindu girl 42yrs...

Then there was this ad: ...Marriage enquiries only from unmarried, divorcees & widowers... (You can apply only if you are unmarried, divorcee or a widower! Abe, aur bacha kaun! Hahaha...)

# I found this one really funny: BRIDE 31 OF Interwedded Parents... ('Interwedded' parents! Oh my God! Hahahaha... This is taking 'attention to details' too far.)

Then there was this one: DOCTOR Parents seek Tall, Handsome God Fearing, Professional Grooms with Clean Habits...
(Clean habits? Like, what do you mean? He shouldn't pick his nose? Not piss on a boundary wall when no one's watching? Take bath every day? Brush his teeth every day? Wear socks without holes? Wash hands before eating? I'm telling you, they won't find such a guy.)

Ads on net
Then some ads on internet too rock. Take this one, for example: Wanted a husband: Protestant Christian, social or educational businessman, pastor, missionary, any national, any ethnicity, including Afro-American; must have education.  IF YOU SEND ONLY YOUR EMAIL ID, IT WILL BE DELETED. I have important info there and I expect the same from you. Read the info first and then respond.  Click on the ad and enlarge it.  My life is dedicated to help the poor.  Thank you. 
(This is the only ad where even Afro-Americans have a scope. Was she eyeing a relative of Obama? Btw, the best thing about this ad is that in the body type section, she has written: "More to love". That's quite suggestive, makes my imagination go wild!)

hi this is Gunasekhar.G i done MBA finance and marketing, previously i worked in apsrtc some reasons i left that job, present i am searching the job and i dont have any family i am single.
(It reminds me of a dialogue of Govinda's sidekick in the movie Sajan Chale Sasural: "Ayyo Raju! Main thoda chhota, thoda mota, thoda kala, thoda ganja, baaki main poora hero maafiq!" To this, Govinda says: "Abe, aur bacha kya!" Hahahaha...)

# I looking beautifull bride (The one who wrote this must be a fan of Transporter. Seedhi baat, no bakwaas.)

# want a mongolian looking bride: Hi I am a decent very handsome 31 y old boy from the south. I am looking for a east or south east girl as my bride. If interested kindly contact me.
(Boy, this man sounds like he has a fetish for women from south-east. Oops! I mean north-east. And, the photo of this self-proclaimed very handsome boy tells me he's a frog-eyed baldy.)

Then, I came across these in a compilation of funny matrimonial ads on India Broadband Forum:

hello.... My name Arthi..... I am a good characterized woman. I want to run my life happily. I expect the good minded and clean habits boy to marry me soon.... who may be in the same caste . If anyone want to Marie to me u can visit to my home (Ghar Chale aana........ ???)

I want very simple girl. from Brahmin educated family from orissa state she is also know about RAMAYAN, GEETA BHAGABATA, and other homework (Homework?)

My wife should be as 'Shivani' as in Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki and as Tanwerr as in KSBKBT...... (Ok I haven't seen these soaps but I am sure he must be demanding too much,ain't he?)

I love my partner i marriage the partner ok i search my partner and i love the partner ok thik hai the partner has a graduate ok (I am again clueless but I liked the use of "ok". The person is suffering from "Ok-syndrome" )

I am pran my family history my two brother two sister and Father&mother sister complity marred (somebody please explain in comments section how to get married 'completely' ?)

My name is muhamad and i am unmarried. please you marriage me please please please please please please please (height of desperation! J )

I'm looking out for who lives in Bombay, girl simple who trust me lot should be roman catholic, LOVE ME ONLY. (Now that criterion is a must, isn't it?)

ssc failed three times and worked with private ltd company which not paying salary at present. (Any takers again?)

While I'm poking fun at these ads, I'm not in a cool situation myself. I'll be turning 25 in a couple of months and haven't had even an affair yet. My friends say even the next 25 years will go by like this only if I don't take any drastic steps. Friends are genuinely, sincerely worried. While I'm not gonna take the drastic steps they are suggesting, I indeed need to do something, otherwise I may need to get matrimonial ads published for me. Scary!

August 01, 2012

Important things to discuss

When I was a kid, I had thought about life only up to class XII. That was the upper limit. Had never imagined a life beyond that age. Then college happened, but those three years proved to be an extension of school life. Two school-time friends and I went to the same college; I got good friends there too. But I remember, when I turned 18, I was dumbstruck. Officially, I was an adult now! When I turned 20, I went through a mid-life crisis of sorts. I ceased to be a teenager and hadn't had an affair yet. I was born single and still am that way, even at the age of 24 1/2.

So long as I was under the impression that school life—and then college life—was the be all and end all of life, I thought friends were all one needed. Now I know better. As a kid, I had never thought a time would come when I'd need someone more than a friend. There's just so much to talk! Like when I return to my room at 1-2 am after a long day at work, the only ones to greet me are cockroaches and lizards. I'm still ok with lizards, but cockroaches scare me. In fact, they charge towards me. I had recently read in a book that animals understand our thoughts. So, I mentally requested the cockroaches (mind you, requested; I'm so polite) to vacate my kitchen. They didn't oblige. Looks like they haven't read that book. For long, they have been gorging upon tomatoes, bananas and all in my kitchen. One day, I found a cockroach in a cup of Shreekhand that I had bought! That was it. Beware the fury of a patient man, they say. Now, I want to go for a cockroach genocide. It's either me or them in that room.

See, if I had my life partner, I would have spoken to her about such stuff instead of writing it here. Although I have super awesome friends, who'd listen to me and exhort me to f***. the cockroaches, screw their moms  (you know how gaali-spewing guys speak; I'm not one of them, though) and all, now I feel the need for someone who is more than a friend. There are so many other things to talk about!

For example, how my heart bleeds when I see a new scratch on my bike. Then, the dumb, idiot, jerks who live in the same building as I do perhaps think my bike is their sofa. They'd land their fat asses on my bike's seat and twist and turn its mirror assembly as if it's their dressing table. The day I see someone on my bike, no matter whether the offender is a he or a she or a kid or an uncle, I'll insult the loser so badly that they'd change their way if they see me coming from the opposite direction. Bloody idiots! Then there are are irritating kids in the building, who call me "uncle"! GRRR...

I need to crib about so many things. Like how end-of-season sale is going on and I'm broke. 50% off! 70% off! My purse says, "F*** off!" Had my girl listened to my heart-wrenching tale, she'd have handed me wads of cash and said: "You need not return it. What is mine is yours." I can't expect my friends to pull off such a stunt. Collectively, they owe me Rs43,800. Damn!

And a girl has to have a TV. I'd have gone to her place to watch WWE shows. Tomorrow, WWE Raw telecasts its 1,000th episode and will see Shawn Michaels coming out of retirement for a day to reform DX with Triple H. Brock Lesnar returns after three months to answer Triple H's challenge. The Rock returns. I have missed just so much in WWE as I don't have a TV! Bret "Hit Man" Hart returned after a 13-year gap. DX reunited in 2009. The Undertaker and Kane had a buried alive match! The Rock hosted WrestleMania 28 and then sparred with John Cena for a year. I've missed just so much! All because of her.

Then, it's been four years since I moved out of house and how I miss savouring dishes that sometimes used to be prepared. How I miss having poori after poori, right out of kadhai! Realising my longing, my girl would have made pooris for me. And bread roll, pav bhajichhole, rajma etc. She'd have invited me to her home and made all this every other... Oops! This blogpost presents an incorrect picture. According to it, I need a life partner to: discuss cockroach genocide; bemoan scratches on my bike; crib about idiots living in my building and kids calling me "uncle"; give me money (wads of cash); watch TV in her house; and cook delicacies for me.

Man! This post will only scare girls away. And I'm good at turning girls away, unintentionally and unwittingly though. When I was 20-21 years old and a very close female friend of two months had stopped talking, I'd plead with her to be friends again. I'd tell her that let's be the way we used to be, I'd take you to Scary House and all. I think if she never got back to me, it's partly because she abhorred its implication—having to go to Scary House.

Yeah, so the point is that I'm not as bad as this blogpost makes me look. Whatever I've written here is only about what I seek to get. I won't write about what I seek to give. That's phenomenal, but don't wanna give girls any reason to love me. As the Boyzone song goes: "Love me for a reason, let the reason be love."

June 24, 2012

Missed a wedding, missing it bad

"The best laid schemes of mice and men, often go awry..."  John Steinbeck, you were so right when you wrote that. As per the original plan, I should have been dancing myself wet now. You dance yourself wet when you dance like a maniac, so hard that you start dripping sweat. Also, you dance yourself wet when you dance like a maniac, so bad that people throw cold water on you. Well, there are maniacs, and then there are maniacs. Ugh... Where am I going with this?!

Right now, I should have been in Balco, the place where I grew up, spent the first 17 years of my life. Tonight, one of my beloved friends—and a classmate from my school—marries another friend, who, too, is our classmate. Friend marries friend in the town where we all grew up, from infants to adults. Many of our school-wale friends are there. I too should have been there, dancing in the baraat, like a maniac... Dancing myself wet.

It was four years ago that I last danced in a baraat. Those were the days when I used to run four-six km every morning. Running that long (we used to run pretty fast, non-stop) never made me perspire as much as dancing on that 300-m distance from our home to the wedding point did. That was my brother's wedding, the first in our generation. Today, too, is my brother's wedding, the first in our friend circle. I should have been there, man.

I would have been there. I even had the train ticket booked. I was to reach Balco three days before the wedding, on the day of his engagement. My train journey would have started from Bangalore and a friend was to join me in the train in Hyderabad. From then, the next few days were to be all about friends, friends, friends and friends. My brothers. I love them.

I had such grand plans... To roam in the township like the loafer I had become in class XII. To sit on the pulia (roadside cement bench) and do nothing, which seals one's loaferdom in Balco. To visit my school, of course. Fielding around the house of the girl, a classmate, who had stolen my heart and then sold it in black market (over-dramatisation regretted). To have lassi at Madhuban, dosa at Indian Coffee House, gupchup at thelas. Oh, man! It has been four years since I last visited Balco.

I had called up all our school friends who are working in other cities and threatened them to come to Balco to attend the wedding. I threatened some, blackmailed some (told him that I would tell his mom about his affair if he did not come.. hehe) and managed to convince all of them to come. And it turned out that I myself could not go.

If there was ever an opportunity to meet all friends in Balco, this was it. This, ladies and gentlemen, this was it. But I'm not there. Man, this work-related majboori. GRRRRRR...

February 27, 2012

No ice cream till I'm single

What has one's relationship status got to do with having ice cream? A lot, if you are Hemant Gairola.

In the summer of 1999, when I was an 11-year-old, half-pant-wearing idealistic boy, I decided I won't have ice cream. That was after my father showed me news reports that gelatin (stuff made of animals' bones, tail, ligaments etc, which makes ice cream sticky) was among other bizarre items ice cream is made up of. "No more ice cream," I decided. The strong-willed boy that I was, I abstained. Ek baar maine commitment de diya, phir to main khud ki bhi nahi sunta.

A couple of weeks later, we went to a relative's lavish wedding reception. My father, sitting next to a relative, called me and asked me to explain why one should not have ice cream. After explaining, I went to join my cousins, my discourse leaving the relative introspectively nodding. After about 10 minutes, my father called me again. This time, he wanted me to bring a helping of ice cream for him. I was like, "Whoa! What about walking the talk!" It was a lavish reception and they had that multi-layered ice cream. I never—not on that day, not on any day—felt tempted or that I was missing out on something awesome.

A couple of years down the line, companies started making gelatin-free or vegetarian ice cream. I could have resumed having it, but nah. I made a vow that I shall get back to ice cream only after I find true love in life. I went on an indefinite ice-cream fast, which would end only after my demand was met. And it would end with me having ice cream from the hands of my lover. A brahma-pratigya was made. And I stuck to it. I must have been 13-14 then. Even at that age I had this die-hard romantic in me, who pre-planned celebration of the grand occasion of falling in love.

A couple of years after I made that vow, school got over. The girl I had fallen in love with called me "bhaiyya". Graduation got over, then post-graduation. I remained the prince of bromance but pauper at romance. Got a job, started making money, but had no one to splurge it on. Yeah, all these years, I did make quite a few sisters. Sisters. Even 11 years after I made that vow, I was an eligible bachelor and, thus, not eligible to have ice cream.

Fed up with not being fed ice cream
Then one fine day in the summer of 2010, a friend called me from the UK and asked me to attend wedding reception of his close friend in Bangalore, and take gifts, on his behalf. That was it; I told him I would break my no-ice-cream-till-single vow at the reception. Enough, man! I realised there's no point in abstaining from the taste of ice cream just because girls don't have a taste for me. That's mighty stupid. Finally, I conceded I had been stupid for 11 years. And, on Thursday, June 24, 2010, I wolfed down two (or three) slices of vanilla ice cream at that wedding reception with the vengeance of a jilted lover. Would have taken more ice cream at the party if it were not for the suspicious glances of the guy serving it. Ah, I had waited 11 long years for this moment.

By the age of 22-and-a-half, I had spent/wasted half of my life without ice cream only because... It's the greatest irony of my life: I'm a die-hard romantic yet romantically challenged; so loving yet so loveless. And that's why I was ice creamless for half of my life. Well, had I not broken the vow, I wouldn't have been able to have ice cream even now.

“All you need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.

—Charles M Schulz

February 06, 2012

First anniversary of my dardnaak accident

What happened exactly a year ago turned me into Iron Man. I met with an accident and broke my collar bone. Since the operation, I have a metal plate with six screws on my left shoulder. The plate's and screws' contour is clearly visible on my shoulder and I've flaunted it to almost all of my friends in Bangalore. They gasp in awe.

The accident was my worst, as it happened just a week before Bryan Adams' Greatest Hits concert, for which I had bought ticket by shelling out Rs3,500. My two teeth chipped off; I haven't got them filled yet. The accident was so bad that all the parts of my bike, except engine, had to be changed. Had to spend Rs28,000 on repairing the bike but the insurance company will reimburse only half the amount. Can't forget how my favourite pair of shoes was torn in the accident. After I recovered, I bought another pair of the same design. But this pair got stolen from outside my door. Ah, the sad story of my life...

nother downside of the accident was that I was restricted to my room during the spring season, my favourite time of the year. Couldn't go to Cubbon Park to see how trees become denuded and then lush green in a matter of days. And how can I forget that I had to discontinue gym. It was a Saturday night and on the coming Monday, my trainer was about to increase my dose of bodybuilding supplement. Yeah, I had paid about Rs4,000 for bodybuilding supplement. Had paid Rs10,000 for the gym's annual fees, btw. Had been sweating it out for three-four months and the result was... Oh, man, I had lovely biceps. Now, I'm back to the malnourished-pickpocket look.

It was at a crossing that I had met with the accident. I clearly remember, just before approaching the crossing, I was telling the guy on the pillion: "Man, this crossing is dangerous." And the next thing I remember was that I woke up in a hospital. It's alrite, it's great, actually. Now I have a story to tell. For soldiers, scars are badges of honour.

I don't have much to say today. Actually, I want to write about how the accident kept me away from my bike for so long and blah. That will be a long post, will do it some other day. It will be about how I learnt bike (it was through accidents only). That will be later.

It was after finishing work on the night of February 5 that I had met with the accident. Move the clock a year ahead; that brings us to today. I had promised the pillion rider (his right leg was fractured and he had taken four months off work) that on the anniversary of our accident, I'd take him home on my bike. I should go now. I wonder if he'd come. About a week ago too I offered him drop but he, and all other colleagues who live near my place, made some excuse and shied away. Let me try to persuade him today. (And I laugh a devilish laugh...)