This morning a few colleagues from office and I were grabbing a quick smoke at the smoke station outside the office premises, while a leaf blower was doing his stuff blowing leaves with a leaf blower all over the place.
Note to self -
Why doesn't a leaf blower have a formal name for his profession? You call the massage dude /dudette a masseur / masseuse, why don't we call the leaf blower a blowsseur or blowsseuse?
The leaf blower was going about doing his job as he must usually but he had five desi voyeurs to deal with. Yeah we desis can be very disgusting when we decide to drop every other thought from our mind and concentrate all our attention on an honest man trying to make a living in the middle of the day. Takes me back to an occasion during my university days when a high speed motorbike whizzed past on the street with a guy and a gal riding on it. The bike was not a ducati, the guy was no hunk and the gal was no chick. It was a creaky yamaha rx 500, the guy had worn a netted banyan and had a mole on his face - probably a butcher from Chapel Road and the gal (the less said the better about her). The point is ten or so desi teens dropped their jaws and cranked up their necks to follow the bike with their gaze till the time it was visible. The panwalah, maalish walah, ear cleaning walah and every other walah followed suit. In a matter of minutes the entire nation was looking in the direction of the biker, so much mental telepathy caused the magnetic field over the country to go bonkers (The high tide talk is plain bull!). Apart from the 10 over sexed desi teens, no one had any idea what they were looking at.
Note to self -
1 - The guy on the bike was probably Rajnikanth in disguise. He probably subliminally hypnotized everyone to concentrate on the mole on his face. I have no other explanation of the continual mass hysteria over him.
2 - Talking of netted banyans: "Life mein aaraam ho toh ideas aate hain" (Punch line of Dollar underwear and banyan).
Back to the leaf blower. With 5 desis shamelessly starting him down I can only wonder what he was thinking at that point. Maybe he thought about blowing all the leaves on us and going 'Who the fuck you lookin' at?' Or maybe he'd aim the blower at us and blow our cigarettes away'. Bad ideas, both of them. If he carried out plan A, the five desis would have taken the rest of the day off citing unsolicited blowing. If he carried out plan B, he would learn the most swear words in a foreign language ever learnt by an American in a day.
Note to self -
This is not a place to reveal my excuses for taking days off work.
My mind wandered to why the leaf blowing thingie should not be outsourced to desis. In a second, rather less than a second, better in nanoseconds I knew why this would be a bad idea. It's got to do with our inherent nature -
1 - We'd blow more leaves on the parking lot than away from it; never underestimate the flow of emotion of a desi in a foreign land with a foreign object in his hand (ever seen us playing in snow for the first time?)
2 - We'd alter our resume to say we managed and operated a biohazard plant when all we did was blow. It's a habit that never goes, we love lying in black letters on white paper.
3 - The blower would be found in every desi home on weekends for blowing leaves that don't exist; borrowing stuff we don't need to never use is a genetic pastime. OK, I won't be so harsh, we'd probably mess our carpets with leaves on purpose just to blow them out.
4 - The blower would be used in desi weddings to shower flowers on everyone. Again a genetic habit, we love employing office stuff for personal use. A more aggressive baaraat would employ it to propel sutli bombs in the air while the saat pheras were in progress. An enterprising gujju would even probably paint it and rent it out on weddings and other occasions.
Coming back to reality, my mind wandered to less insane thoughts - how can the whole process be optimized? Blowing leaves from here to there might be fun, but it sure ain't pretty. Here's a list of probable solutions I propose -
1 - Scientists, G-8 countries and hollywood all seem to have a pretty good nexus with aliens. They could convince aliens to descend on earth and pull all the leaves up the spaceship. (Imagine a dhatura claiming bragging rights over all other trees stating- 'I was abducted by an alien spaceship').
Anyway, I propose the following ideas to seduce the aliens for this task -
a - Natasha Henstridge tapes from Species and Species II
b - Dennis Rodman. No tapes needed, one glance is all it will take.
c - Hrithik Roshan. His extra thumb could be used as a negotiating tool.
May be a bad idea in hindsight; don't want to give papa Roshan ideas
for more shitty stuff.
2 - The leaves could be transported to Lady Gaga for her next outfit. If she can wear a meat outfit, she can certainly wear leaves. Or knowing her, she would only wear 'a' leaf, or three. Best case four.
But we'll still let the idea stand. If the number of leaves in the outfit increases, we'll drop it.
3 - Hire Christine O'Donnell to clean up the mess. If she's a witch, she'll blow out the leaves with just her breath and fly off on the leaf blower. A secret camera can be attached to the leaf blower to give us an insight into what she really thinks about masturbation. It's a win-win situation. If she's a witch the leaves will go, if not we'll get more free prime-time entertainment.
Either way, she's not winning the election. On second thought she just might, it's Halloween time; peak witch-activity season.
If all plans fail, someone go find that broom Arnold Schwarzenegger used in his election campaign for the Gubernatorial election of California and put it to some use.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Return of the Rental
It's 6 am and I'm filling up the tank of a rental SUV that I drove down from Boston to Albany a couple of days ago. I've got to return it by 7 am to the rental guys and then head to the office. Did I mention that this was a Monday? And that the car was a replacement for a fucked up piece of brand new junk I drove to Boston? Like chocolate muffin covered with mousse topped of with a cherry. Only that the chocolate is me with a full bladder that felt seconds away from exploding, the mousse is a dried botch of latte lite I spilled on me an hour ago and the cherry is the hot rental dame that would zap me 20 minutes later at the rental place.
Now the cherry wasn't anywhere close to my thoughts until I met the rental dame . But a dame that groovy totally justifies savagely flicking away your thoughts to make place for a shiny cherry in them.
While filling up the SUV I had my now customary flash! 'The gas dispenser is male and the car is female.' Think about it - there's disrobing to uncover a dark hollow, careful insertion, pouring it in, the deeper it goes the less chances of a spill and whether it's your own or a rental, there's always a charge on your credit card.
Note to self -
1 - Since this was a flash with sexual connotation, Imma refer to it as a hot flash. (No offense ladies. Like I care a shit if you take any! No I'm not talking about you, I'm referring to ladies - the last one died a million years ago)
2 - Now I know what men say when they say in a weak and feeble tone - 'Bahut petrol peeti hai yaar!'
Back to the return of the rental. First a little background - the car I drove in the first leg of my journey gave up on me when as soon as I reached Boston. Long story short - bikers and joggers overtook me every way on the road and I had to haggle 4 freakin' hours to get a replacement.
Note to self -
1 - When bikers overtook me I realized what the English colonel would have felt when Bhuvan beat him with a last-ball six in Lagaan.
2 - Bhuvan is gay. He was always fully clothed when with Radha and the hot English lady (That's the lady I referred to in earlier note). But exposed every time he played cricket with the rest of the guys. (I will never watch cricket again - Fuck you Bhuvan!)
3 - Haggling over the phone for hours was just like home. Totally like the countless hours I've spent fighting with bank guys, telephone guys, electricity guys and the internet guys back home. (Zubaan pe sach dil mein India).
Back to the story. After the filling up I finally reach the rental place and the rental dame greets me. It's the third time I'm doing business with her. You know what they mean when they say 'Been great doing business with you'? That's right, you don't. I'm the only one who does.
Note to self
1 - Get up and fetch your wallet, it's got her business card.
2 - Just did it.
3 - She would have been a 'lady' if the car she gave me wasn't a piece of junk.
She then goes on to ask me how the car was and if I 'enjoyed' the internet radio in it. Yeah right! Like I'd have the time to 'enjoy' the internet radio with joggers overtaking me at every step. Maybe Sarah Palin would. That delusional hockey mom that does'nt drink tea but enjoys tea parties. I bet she'd go - 'You're overtaking me on your feet, but I've got internet radio. It's a symbol of job creation and God Bless Alaska... Russia too because we can see it from Alaska!'
Back to the dame. I go on to tell her how screwed up my trip was and how much hassle I had to go through to get a replacement. She goes on to shower so much sympathy on me it's like murder by saccharin. A minute more of her sweet talk and I would have been convinced that I was an orphan and she my guardian angel. Now I despise sympathy and sweet talk. Hate it. Fucken puke on it. If it were someone else I'd empty out my bladder on them, both figuratively and literally. Maybe that's how the phrase 'Don't piss me off' came into being. Or maybe that's how piss therapy was discovered. (Ok I'll pretend I didn't write that. I'm quite disgusting but p*** therapy is way out of my disgusting threshold. (See - I didn't even write p*** this time).
Note to self -
1 - After about 7 minutes of sweet talk, my anger was easing off and the p*** tsunami inside me aching to come out. (Maybe that's what they mean by hard shell with a soft inside).
2 - Next time I'm bloated with a full bladder I'm wearing a sign that says - 'Do not approach if package is bloated'.
Now here's where things start to get interesting. All the driving, filling up, p*** holding, sweet talk and sympathy was making me hallucinational (Just realized this is not a word). The same way I felt the first time I breathed in clean, non-polluted, unadulterated American air - I almost choked on it.
Note to self -
1 - Bombay is polluted. BIG TIME!
Back to the interesting part (No more digressions... At least I'll try). I know from earlier conversations that 'the dame' (thats what we'll call the rental babe from now) is a vegetarian and a PETBP (People for Ethical Treatment to Birds and Pigs) activist. And I was overcoming an overdose of this funky cell phone game where you put p***ed off birds in a slingshot to kill pigs that robbed the birds' eggs. The way I looked at it this game would be the perfect activity to groove on with the dame. It's like chicken empowerment - the chicken take matters into it's own hands to get even with the pigs that robbed it's eggs.
Note to self -
1 - The 'pigs' usage in the above sentence is an adjective, not a noun. Like calling a bastard a bastard.
2 - I am getting unusually abusive in this post.
So I go into this mini fantasy where I'm having a good time with the dame with the help of some chicken and pigs. (Not on the plate - I only eat halaal meat :) )
She's wearing this grey business suit (she always wears a grey business suit; next time there's a sale in Macy's Imma call her) and what does she do? She gets into a tirade about me not respecting pigs and birds and subconsciously wanting to harm them, manifesting itself in my addiction to the game.
Someone needs to teach my fantasy the law of averages. I am only one of millions that play this game and the dame is perhaps the only grey-suit-wearing-car-rental babe I dig. This is NOT supposed to happen!
Digression to reality - Somewhere between the bashing in the fantasy I come back to reality and tell her I'm not going to pay for the rental for the trouble I had to go through. She agrees. If only she were this affable in my fantasy.
Note to self - My fantasy has a life of it's own. Bitch!
Hoping for some redemption I go back into my fantasy. She's apparently rambled all the time I came back to reality to get my discount and I just caught her threatening me that she'd protest outside my place with the rest of her PETBP gang. I contemplate what to do next. That's right I contemplate in fantasies too. In a matter of seconds I hear footsteps rushing towards my apartment with a PETBP banner on the horizon. I shudder at the thought of what's in store for me - an afternoon in a chicken pen, an evening of forced pig-cuddling or maybe me tossed over the city in a giant size slingshot? I shudder once again and await my fate. 50 or so PETBP chicks (hot chicks) are marching towards me with venom in their eyes and grey suits on their bods. They stop right in front of my window and do what they do best - Strip off their clothes and pose nude in protest of the bird and pigs game. Journos all over start rolling the shutter bugs, I join in.
Poof! Ends the fantasy, I bid the dame goodbye and rush to the nearest restroom.
Note to reader - PETBP does not stand for People for Ethical Treatment to Birds and Pigs. It is a cabal of politicians still supporting BP after the oil spill (People for Empathetical Treatment to BP).
Now the cherry wasn't anywhere close to my thoughts until I met the rental dame . But a dame that groovy totally justifies savagely flicking away your thoughts to make place for a shiny cherry in them.
While filling up the SUV I had my now customary flash! 'The gas dispenser is male and the car is female.' Think about it - there's disrobing to uncover a dark hollow, careful insertion, pouring it in, the deeper it goes the less chances of a spill and whether it's your own or a rental, there's always a charge on your credit card.
Note to self -
1 - Since this was a flash with sexual connotation, Imma refer to it as a hot flash. (No offense ladies. Like I care a shit if you take any! No I'm not talking about you, I'm referring to ladies - the last one died a million years ago)
2 - Now I know what men say when they say in a weak and feeble tone - 'Bahut petrol peeti hai yaar!'
Back to the return of the rental. First a little background - the car I drove in the first leg of my journey gave up on me when as soon as I reached Boston. Long story short - bikers and joggers overtook me every way on the road and I had to haggle 4 freakin' hours to get a replacement.
Note to self -
1 - When bikers overtook me I realized what the English colonel would have felt when Bhuvan beat him with a last-ball six in Lagaan.
2 - Bhuvan is gay. He was always fully clothed when with Radha and the hot English lady (That's the lady I referred to in earlier note). But exposed every time he played cricket with the rest of the guys. (I will never watch cricket again - Fuck you Bhuvan!)
3 - Haggling over the phone for hours was just like home. Totally like the countless hours I've spent fighting with bank guys, telephone guys, electricity guys and the internet guys back home. (Zubaan pe sach dil mein India).
Back to the story. After the filling up I finally reach the rental place and the rental dame greets me. It's the third time I'm doing business with her. You know what they mean when they say 'Been great doing business with you'? That's right, you don't. I'm the only one who does.
Note to self
1 - Get up and fetch your wallet, it's got her business card.
2 - Just did it.
3 - She would have been a 'lady' if the car she gave me wasn't a piece of junk.
She then goes on to ask me how the car was and if I 'enjoyed' the internet radio in it. Yeah right! Like I'd have the time to 'enjoy' the internet radio with joggers overtaking me at every step. Maybe Sarah Palin would. That delusional hockey mom that does'nt drink tea but enjoys tea parties. I bet she'd go - 'You're overtaking me on your feet, but I've got internet radio. It's a symbol of job creation and God Bless Alaska... Russia too because we can see it from Alaska!'
Back to the dame. I go on to tell her how screwed up my trip was and how much hassle I had to go through to get a replacement. She goes on to shower so much sympathy on me it's like murder by saccharin. A minute more of her sweet talk and I would have been convinced that I was an orphan and she my guardian angel. Now I despise sympathy and sweet talk. Hate it. Fucken puke on it. If it were someone else I'd empty out my bladder on them, both figuratively and literally. Maybe that's how the phrase 'Don't piss me off' came into being. Or maybe that's how piss therapy was discovered. (Ok I'll pretend I didn't write that. I'm quite disgusting but p*** therapy is way out of my disgusting threshold. (See - I didn't even write p*** this time).
Note to self -
1 - After about 7 minutes of sweet talk, my anger was easing off and the p*** tsunami inside me aching to come out. (Maybe that's what they mean by hard shell with a soft inside).
2 - Next time I'm bloated with a full bladder I'm wearing a sign that says - 'Do not approach if package is bloated'.
Now here's where things start to get interesting. All the driving, filling up, p*** holding, sweet talk and sympathy was making me hallucinational (Just realized this is not a word). The same way I felt the first time I breathed in clean, non-polluted, unadulterated American air - I almost choked on it.
Note to self -
1 - Bombay is polluted. BIG TIME!
Back to the interesting part (No more digressions... At least I'll try). I know from earlier conversations that 'the dame' (thats what we'll call the rental babe from now) is a vegetarian and a PETBP (People for Ethical Treatment to Birds and Pigs) activist. And I was overcoming an overdose of this funky cell phone game where you put p***ed off birds in a slingshot to kill pigs that robbed the birds' eggs. The way I looked at it this game would be the perfect activity to groove on with the dame. It's like chicken empowerment - the chicken take matters into it's own hands to get even with the pigs that robbed it's eggs.
Note to self -
1 - The 'pigs' usage in the above sentence is an adjective, not a noun. Like calling a bastard a bastard.
2 - I am getting unusually abusive in this post.
So I go into this mini fantasy where I'm having a good time with the dame with the help of some chicken and pigs. (Not on the plate - I only eat halaal meat :) )
She's wearing this grey business suit (she always wears a grey business suit; next time there's a sale in Macy's Imma call her) and what does she do? She gets into a tirade about me not respecting pigs and birds and subconsciously wanting to harm them, manifesting itself in my addiction to the game.
Someone needs to teach my fantasy the law of averages. I am only one of millions that play this game and the dame is perhaps the only grey-suit-wearing-car-rental babe I dig. This is NOT supposed to happen!
Digression to reality - Somewhere between the bashing in the fantasy I come back to reality and tell her I'm not going to pay for the rental for the trouble I had to go through. She agrees. If only she were this affable in my fantasy.
Note to self - My fantasy has a life of it's own. Bitch!
Hoping for some redemption I go back into my fantasy. She's apparently rambled all the time I came back to reality to get my discount and I just caught her threatening me that she'd protest outside my place with the rest of her PETBP gang. I contemplate what to do next. That's right I contemplate in fantasies too. In a matter of seconds I hear footsteps rushing towards my apartment with a PETBP banner on the horizon. I shudder at the thought of what's in store for me - an afternoon in a chicken pen, an evening of forced pig-cuddling or maybe me tossed over the city in a giant size slingshot? I shudder once again and await my fate. 50 or so PETBP chicks (hot chicks) are marching towards me with venom in their eyes and grey suits on their bods. They stop right in front of my window and do what they do best - Strip off their clothes and pose nude in protest of the bird and pigs game. Journos all over start rolling the shutter bugs, I join in.
Poof! Ends the fantasy, I bid the dame goodbye and rush to the nearest restroom.
Note to reader - PETBP does not stand for People for Ethical Treatment to Birds and Pigs. It is a cabal of politicians still supporting BP after the oil spill (People for Empathetical Treatment to BP).
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
In vain
I fear saying what I feel aloud
What is said may be so
But that which is contemplated
Was never meant to be
When a coloured man rises to fight
His fellowmen see inspiration
Others, dissent
Was he just melancholy with God that the night is unaware, obscure
If I walk into a sunset
Would you feel pity
For my ambling steps, the dejected march
Or would you get on the other side and see a smile, the sun shining on my face
Will courage finally hold my hand
Or will I be like those countless heroes
That led revolutions because they couldn't lead their destiny
Those byronic villains that lived in vain.
What is said may be so
But that which is contemplated
Was never meant to be
When a coloured man rises to fight
His fellowmen see inspiration
Others, dissent
Was he just melancholy with God that the night is unaware, obscure
If I walk into a sunset
Would you feel pity
For my ambling steps, the dejected march
Or would you get on the other side and see a smile, the sun shining on my face
Will courage finally hold my hand
Or will I be like those countless heroes
That led revolutions because they couldn't lead their destiny
Those byronic villains that lived in vain.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
The Godfather – A desi software engineer’s tale of woes
Amritlal Banarasiya looked at his face in the rearview mirror of his 1990 Toyota Camry. It looked different, mostly because he hadn't dyed his hair in more than a fortnight. He thought to himself - 'to get the lush night of my hair back, I must go to the Don. Only he can transform me from a graying knight to the dark knight again'. It wasn't that he couldn't order a box of hair die from the nearest pharmacy. It was that like most desis in the software industry, Banarasiya was a penny pincher and did not want to pay the extra quarter for the dye. 'I can get a bottle of masala milk for a quarter back in India', he thought. Salivating at the thought of the masala milk he took the turn that led to the driveway of the Godfathers apartment.
He knocked at the door and obediently waited for the door to open. It was opened by Dildar supariwala. Dildar was always at the Godfathers side. He was never one to work. Instead he spent all his time at work looking up cheap deals on electronics, clothes, coasters, socks and breakfast cereal for the Godfather on the Internet. The Godfather, in return, had all of his workload shifted on the shoulders of Rathi Lampani, his caporegime at offshore. The Godfather was at work on his laptop when Amrit entered the apartment. Everyone was expected to wait for him to finish his work when he was on his laptop. Dildar glanced from the corner of his eye at the Godfather. His face was tense. He instantly knew what the problem was. The client had written an email to the Don whose english, he could not comprehend. In fact Dildar was even sure that the Don did not even know what 'comprehend' meant. 'He's probably chatting with Lampani who is translating the clients email for him', he thought. After a few moments a smile came over the Godfathers face. (Not only had Rathi translated the email, he had also drafted a reply for the Don to send later that night).
The Godfather looked up at his uninvited guest. He knew what he was here for, and had already decided that Amrit wasn't going to get what he wanted without playing a little hardball. Finally after blindly sending out the email that Rocco had sent him to the client, the Don looked up at him. (Finally! Thought Amrit. 'I'm sure I whitened more just standing here')
The Don gave out a subdued belch, a result of the kachoris that his mother in law sent him every fortnight from Jamnagar. The belch nearly took Amrit with it and knocked him out. He somehow gather himself together and started his woeful tale - 'I believe in America. America had made my fortune (before I blew it out in the casino and came back to make it work all over again. I kept my hair in the American fashion. I conditioned it, dyed it and gelled it. But I never let go of my honour; I never stopped using the coconut oil I got from India. Yesterday I went to the pharmacy, and to my dismay the hair dye cost was up by 25 cents. 25 cents! I pleaded and begged for the salesman to sell it to me at the original price, but he wouldn't. Dejected I stepped towards the counter to buy a pack from the new stock at the new price. Just then my eye caught two men buying off the entire old stock at the old price! With an additional 2 p.c. off because they bought the whole stock. I pleaded with them to give me a piece too, but they just smiled at me! Smiled at me! I thought to myself - for the dye I must go to the Godfather.
The Don was happy, but his face betrayed no emotion. Or rather he kept his lips shut because he didn’t want to let out another belch and embarrass himself. Banarasiya, Banarasiya', he replied. What have I ever done for you to treat me so disrespectfully? You don't shop at the same stores as me, you don't have a haircut at the same mall as I do, don't spend time with me on the weekends?'
'That’s coz I stay 27 miles from here' replied Amritlal Banarasiya, (adding a 'You dimwit!' inside his head.
The Don lapsed into deep thought with a serious expression on this face. ('Ah what the fuck! He stays 27 miles away, what use is he to me?')
He turned to Dildar and said - 'Have two bottles of dye delivered to him. And make sure someone with black hair goes to deliver them, the graying ones always take off with the bottles and dye their own hair with it'.
2 - Dildar supariwala
Dildar supariwala was growing weary of the Don. By his earlier estimates, the Don would have been at onsite for not more than a year. He had however spent more than 2 years and there was no sign of him leaving. Dildar was a desperate man and was always looking for an opportunity to ascend as the new Don. He finally sensed one. The godfather used to lend out his vacuum cleaner every week to one team members' families in turn to clean up his home - free of cost. But Dildar knew that the Don never did anything free of cost, he was a man of principles. Only later would he realize that the Don would visit the apartment of the borrower that week to 'inspect' how clean the house was. While he was at it, he would eat a hearty meal at the borrowers home, as compensation for the vacuum. Here is where he sensed his opportunity - he suggested to Fareed (the backup project manager) that the free dinners be stopped. That the vacuum be given out free of cost and the borrowers be told that they should accept the day with the vacuum as a gift. 'Some day, and that day may never come, we shall call upon them to return this favour' he said to Fareed.
3 - Fareed
Fareed was as gullible a manager as they come; he was the backup project manager of the module. The only reason he was at onsite was because he took care of all organizational level activities for the Don, who had Fareed believe that this would move him up the hierarchy. Not that this was entirely untrue, but such was the genius of the Don - you never once suspected that it was his ass you were ultimately licking.
3 - Michael
Fareed brought this topic up at an opportune time with the Don - just after he received his overtime allowance (Extra money always made the Godfather happy). The Don however, was not impressed. 'I cannot let go of the weekly lunch', he thought. 'How can I let it go of it when the rest of the week I live on the free candy at the office reception?' At such moments of desperation, he always turned to Michael. Michael was his trusted lieutenant, the project manager. It took a lot of coaxing for him to get Michael onsite, as he was never interested in the rat race that everyone was in. However, for reasons which Michael himself did not quite understand, he came.
On a lazy Saturday afternoon, the Don took Michael out for (a free)lunch at the community aid center and brought him up to date with the vacuum crisis. 'How can we let the vacuum business die out Michael? It's part of the great American dream. I bought it from my boss for $50. Look how many meals I have enjoyed in exchange for the 50 bucks. It's Gods blessing, a heirloom, and a tradition. A tradition I cannot forego, one you must protect for me at any cost. Michael went into a mini fantasy where he plunged the vacuum into the Don’s ass. He cut his fantasy short thinking of the $25 bucks he would eventually have to pay up to him to repair the vacuum. Not that he minded paying the 25, but hated that he would have to hear the Don whine about the repair cost while having a rectal examination lying on his stomach at the makeshift 'hospital' of the downtown quack. He pulled himself together and told the Don the words he always told him in times of a crisis - 'It will be done'.
Michael however, had ambitions of his own. He sensed his opportunity in the Dons predicament. He always cringed at the Dons way of working and the coterie of yes men he had surrounded himself with. Not only did he decide to help the Don, but also pledged to play his own cards to ascend up the hierarchy as the new Don himself. The one piece of the puzzle that troubled him though was Dildar. He was certain he could take care of Fareed and that the Don would ultimately die choking himself on the free candy he enjoyed at the reception. But Dildar wouldn't be so easy- what if the other software families agreed with his designs for the vacuum? Going against the families was one thing he hoped he would never have to do. And with him at the horizon, it would be impossible for Michael to become the new Don.
4 - The Plan
Pushing all thoughts of Dildar supariwala aside for the moment, Micheal decided to get to work with the rest of his plan.
It was the 2nd Wednesday of the month, which was the day Michael had his calls with every team member. Technically speaking, the teams' grievances were discussed on this call - every team member was subliminally told that if they didn't do the work assigned to them, their grievances would increase. Michael decided to bring up Fareed's case while they were together at lunch at the local foot-long place. Since it was a public place, Fareed would be less likely to create a scene. Not because it was a public place, but because Fareed's brain would be too dumbstruck ogling at the firang babes to say anything.
'Fareed', started Michael, 'Let me get straight to the point. You tried to go against the project. Never go against the project. You tried to undermine the Don. I know he's an asshole, but he's the Don and we never go against him, no matter what. Why don't you take some time off and think about what you did. Go to Jersey on a vacation for a week, it's gonna do you good. And while you're at it, get me a stock of Paratha's from that Indian store there, NYC is too damn expensive.
With Fareed out of the picture, Michael turned his attention to the next phase of the plan.
The Don had put him in charge of all resource related meetings with the client. This was part of his job that Michael hated the most. 'I am a technical guy for Gods sake! This is not my job', he always screamed in his head. But within these sickening meeting invites and murky resource handling practices lay his redemption. And he had enough foresight to recognize that. At the next client meeting, he would put his plan into action.
5 - The Meeting
Michael was present for the meeting 5 minutes before the designated hour. He was never early for these meetings, more often than not he was the last one to come in. His job would be tough and he very well recognized that, after all the economic recession was still in full effect and the client was showing all signs of moving to less expensive vendors. After the mandatory formalities with the client, Michael began what would be, by his own honest admission the most pathetic soliloquy he ever indulged in -
'Dean', he started - 'I'm going to cut a long story short. I know that you're planning to move to cheaper vendors. I know that you're not completely satisfied with the way we're working. I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.
You want to cut costs, you want better performance, and you want more enthusiasm. I'm going to give it to you. Fareed's out - he's absconding since a week and we don't where he is. I'm taking him off the team, he's no good. He's growing fat and spoiling your chairs with his weight. Looking at this balding profile picture on the intranet site, the development team doesn't want him to test any of the codes they write. Whether they don't want him to tear any more of his hair out trying to understand the code, or they just don't like him -I don't know. But why take the risk? In his place, I'm going to give you two resources, one of them free. They'll be younger, flat-stomached, not balding and they're going work well too.'
So engrossed was Michael in this well rehearsed proposal that he didn't realize that the client was on another call on his almost invisible Bluetooth headset all this while. All the client said was -'Cut costs? Yeah go ahead and do that.' Michael was a relieved man. Not only because the client had agreed to his proposal in principle, but also because he was sure he would kill himself if he had to say what he just did all over again. After all, all he had talked about to anyone in the past week was his proposal - to his fiancé over the phone (who switched to writing love letters to him in pptx format hoping that he would mistake it for his proposal and open it), to the office receptionist (who only smiled at him, clenching her fists all the while ready to break his teeth if her patience ran out), he even put it up on his blog 37 times (rumour has it that this post inspired Karan Johar to make 'My name is Khan' where Khan says the words 'My name is Khan and I am not a terrorist' exactly 37 times).
Leaving the conference room, Michael turned to the client and uttered the words - 'And Barzini's a pimp'. 'Who's Barzini?', shot back the client? 'No one', Michael replied, 'I just like that line'.
Michael still had a problem, or rather two problems - From where would he get a free resource? How would he ever get rid of Dildar supariwala?
5 - Going to the Mattresses
To get rid of Dildar, Michael decided to go to the mattresses ('Going to the mattresses' is a phrase used in the IT industry. When the 'ergonomic' chairs of the offshore offices finally crack the backs of the ‘engineers’, they work from home on laptops lying flat on their stomachs on mattresses). As the offshore team went to the mattresses trying to find bugs in codes written in Dildar serious enough to eliminate him, Michael made a phone call to Ashu Nehra. Ashu Nehra was one of Michael’s friends from his offshore days, they would buy a single cigarette between the two and smoke it together and ..... that's about it, they only smoked together. Not because they were good friends, but because the offshore salary was only enough for them to share cigarettes. Nehra had left the project a couple of years ago to pursue an MBA. With the recession hitting in, Michael was sure Nehra would not have another offer letter in hand after his MBA, making this his best chance to swoop in and grab him. A little coaxing, the lure of onsite and an expression of a fake desire to smoke Army Cut cigarettes together was all it took for Nehra to say yes. 'He will bring with him a carton of Army Cut', thought Michael to himself. At $20 an hour multiplied 8 hours a day multiplied by 5 working days a week multiplied by 4 weeks a month multiplied by 12 months a year, these would be the most expensive cigarettes Michael would ever smoke - Ashu Nehra was the free resource.
Cut to Dildar. After weeks of being on the mattresses, the offshore team finally found codes written by him that printed the database passwords in the log files in full glory for everyone to see. Going by the audit rules, this password should never be visible to anyone apart from the onsite team and the 100 odd offshore members that would shout out the passwords every Friday night after binge drinking sessions at their preferred bars. But that was not what would nail the perpetual Don-in-waiting. The passwords all turned out to be phrases that were often used by the client. The client got pissed, Dildar got burned. Flying came Rathi Lampani from offshore to take his place. Michael knew this was not a turn of fortune. He chuckled at the countless times he subliminally hinted Supariwala to use the boss’s catchphrases as passwords. 'It would be easier to remember' Michal always told him.
6 - The new Don
Michael tried so hard to eliminate Fareed and Dildar that he forgot that the ultimate roadblock between him and the Dons chair was the Godfather himself. 'If things we were to go by the book, the Don would be dead by now' he thought to himself. But this tale wasn't going by the book and one day the Don came charging into Michael’s cabin and announced 'I'm off to do a one year MBA, so long suckers!'
'Ah what the fuck!' Michael thought, 'surely his final year business plan would be modeled around a creaky old vacuum cleaner, and this time someone would positively violate him with it's hose'.
With the dust settled on the matter, the vacuum was now up again for free use by the great software families. As Michael wrapped up the team grievances call (and added to the team’s grievances) for the first time as the new Don, he noticed Ashu Nehra chomping on a glazed bun he bought earlier from Dinky donuts. He looked up at Nehra and the kachoris that the Godfather gave him moments before he boarded the flight back home. The gooey chutni oozing out of the kachori made his stomach churn. He looked up at Nehra again and quietly said to him ‘Drop the bun, take the kachori’
He knocked at the door and obediently waited for the door to open. It was opened by Dildar supariwala. Dildar was always at the Godfathers side. He was never one to work. Instead he spent all his time at work looking up cheap deals on electronics, clothes, coasters, socks and breakfast cereal for the Godfather on the Internet. The Godfather, in return, had all of his workload shifted on the shoulders of Rathi Lampani, his caporegime at offshore. The Godfather was at work on his laptop when Amrit entered the apartment. Everyone was expected to wait for him to finish his work when he was on his laptop. Dildar glanced from the corner of his eye at the Godfather. His face was tense. He instantly knew what the problem was. The client had written an email to the Don whose english, he could not comprehend. In fact Dildar was even sure that the Don did not even know what 'comprehend' meant. 'He's probably chatting with Lampani who is translating the clients email for him', he thought. After a few moments a smile came over the Godfathers face. (Not only had Rathi translated the email, he had also drafted a reply for the Don to send later that night).
The Godfather looked up at his uninvited guest. He knew what he was here for, and had already decided that Amrit wasn't going to get what he wanted without playing a little hardball. Finally after blindly sending out the email that Rocco had sent him to the client, the Don looked up at him. (Finally! Thought Amrit. 'I'm sure I whitened more just standing here')
The Don gave out a subdued belch, a result of the kachoris that his mother in law sent him every fortnight from Jamnagar. The belch nearly took Amrit with it and knocked him out. He somehow gather himself together and started his woeful tale - 'I believe in America. America had made my fortune (before I blew it out in the casino and came back to make it work all over again. I kept my hair in the American fashion. I conditioned it, dyed it and gelled it. But I never let go of my honour; I never stopped using the coconut oil I got from India. Yesterday I went to the pharmacy, and to my dismay the hair dye cost was up by 25 cents. 25 cents! I pleaded and begged for the salesman to sell it to me at the original price, but he wouldn't. Dejected I stepped towards the counter to buy a pack from the new stock at the new price. Just then my eye caught two men buying off the entire old stock at the old price! With an additional 2 p.c. off because they bought the whole stock. I pleaded with them to give me a piece too, but they just smiled at me! Smiled at me! I thought to myself - for the dye I must go to the Godfather.
The Don was happy, but his face betrayed no emotion. Or rather he kept his lips shut because he didn’t want to let out another belch and embarrass himself. Banarasiya, Banarasiya', he replied. What have I ever done for you to treat me so disrespectfully? You don't shop at the same stores as me, you don't have a haircut at the same mall as I do, don't spend time with me on the weekends?'
'That’s coz I stay 27 miles from here' replied Amritlal Banarasiya, (adding a 'You dimwit!' inside his head.
The Don lapsed into deep thought with a serious expression on this face. ('Ah what the fuck! He stays 27 miles away, what use is he to me?')
He turned to Dildar and said - 'Have two bottles of dye delivered to him. And make sure someone with black hair goes to deliver them, the graying ones always take off with the bottles and dye their own hair with it'.
2 - Dildar supariwala
Dildar supariwala was growing weary of the Don. By his earlier estimates, the Don would have been at onsite for not more than a year. He had however spent more than 2 years and there was no sign of him leaving. Dildar was a desperate man and was always looking for an opportunity to ascend as the new Don. He finally sensed one. The godfather used to lend out his vacuum cleaner every week to one team members' families in turn to clean up his home - free of cost. But Dildar knew that the Don never did anything free of cost, he was a man of principles. Only later would he realize that the Don would visit the apartment of the borrower that week to 'inspect' how clean the house was. While he was at it, he would eat a hearty meal at the borrowers home, as compensation for the vacuum. Here is where he sensed his opportunity - he suggested to Fareed (the backup project manager) that the free dinners be stopped. That the vacuum be given out free of cost and the borrowers be told that they should accept the day with the vacuum as a gift. 'Some day, and that day may never come, we shall call upon them to return this favour' he said to Fareed.
3 - Fareed
Fareed was as gullible a manager as they come; he was the backup project manager of the module. The only reason he was at onsite was because he took care of all organizational level activities for the Don, who had Fareed believe that this would move him up the hierarchy. Not that this was entirely untrue, but such was the genius of the Don - you never once suspected that it was his ass you were ultimately licking.
3 - Michael
Fareed brought this topic up at an opportune time with the Don - just after he received his overtime allowance (Extra money always made the Godfather happy). The Don however, was not impressed. 'I cannot let go of the weekly lunch', he thought. 'How can I let it go of it when the rest of the week I live on the free candy at the office reception?' At such moments of desperation, he always turned to Michael. Michael was his trusted lieutenant, the project manager. It took a lot of coaxing for him to get Michael onsite, as he was never interested in the rat race that everyone was in. However, for reasons which Michael himself did not quite understand, he came.
On a lazy Saturday afternoon, the Don took Michael out for (a free)lunch at the community aid center and brought him up to date with the vacuum crisis. 'How can we let the vacuum business die out Michael? It's part of the great American dream. I bought it from my boss for $50. Look how many meals I have enjoyed in exchange for the 50 bucks. It's Gods blessing, a heirloom, and a tradition. A tradition I cannot forego, one you must protect for me at any cost. Michael went into a mini fantasy where he plunged the vacuum into the Don’s ass. He cut his fantasy short thinking of the $25 bucks he would eventually have to pay up to him to repair the vacuum. Not that he minded paying the 25, but hated that he would have to hear the Don whine about the repair cost while having a rectal examination lying on his stomach at the makeshift 'hospital' of the downtown quack. He pulled himself together and told the Don the words he always told him in times of a crisis - 'It will be done'.
Michael however, had ambitions of his own. He sensed his opportunity in the Dons predicament. He always cringed at the Dons way of working and the coterie of yes men he had surrounded himself with. Not only did he decide to help the Don, but also pledged to play his own cards to ascend up the hierarchy as the new Don himself. The one piece of the puzzle that troubled him though was Dildar. He was certain he could take care of Fareed and that the Don would ultimately die choking himself on the free candy he enjoyed at the reception. But Dildar wouldn't be so easy- what if the other software families agreed with his designs for the vacuum? Going against the families was one thing he hoped he would never have to do. And with him at the horizon, it would be impossible for Michael to become the new Don.
4 - The Plan
Pushing all thoughts of Dildar supariwala aside for the moment, Micheal decided to get to work with the rest of his plan.
It was the 2nd Wednesday of the month, which was the day Michael had his calls with every team member. Technically speaking, the teams' grievances were discussed on this call - every team member was subliminally told that if they didn't do the work assigned to them, their grievances would increase. Michael decided to bring up Fareed's case while they were together at lunch at the local foot-long place. Since it was a public place, Fareed would be less likely to create a scene. Not because it was a public place, but because Fareed's brain would be too dumbstruck ogling at the firang babes to say anything.
'Fareed', started Michael, 'Let me get straight to the point. You tried to go against the project. Never go against the project. You tried to undermine the Don. I know he's an asshole, but he's the Don and we never go against him, no matter what. Why don't you take some time off and think about what you did. Go to Jersey on a vacation for a week, it's gonna do you good. And while you're at it, get me a stock of Paratha's from that Indian store there, NYC is too damn expensive.
With Fareed out of the picture, Michael turned his attention to the next phase of the plan.
The Don had put him in charge of all resource related meetings with the client. This was part of his job that Michael hated the most. 'I am a technical guy for Gods sake! This is not my job', he always screamed in his head. But within these sickening meeting invites and murky resource handling practices lay his redemption. And he had enough foresight to recognize that. At the next client meeting, he would put his plan into action.
5 - The Meeting
Michael was present for the meeting 5 minutes before the designated hour. He was never early for these meetings, more often than not he was the last one to come in. His job would be tough and he very well recognized that, after all the economic recession was still in full effect and the client was showing all signs of moving to less expensive vendors. After the mandatory formalities with the client, Michael began what would be, by his own honest admission the most pathetic soliloquy he ever indulged in -
'Dean', he started - 'I'm going to cut a long story short. I know that you're planning to move to cheaper vendors. I know that you're not completely satisfied with the way we're working. I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse.
You want to cut costs, you want better performance, and you want more enthusiasm. I'm going to give it to you. Fareed's out - he's absconding since a week and we don't where he is. I'm taking him off the team, he's no good. He's growing fat and spoiling your chairs with his weight. Looking at this balding profile picture on the intranet site, the development team doesn't want him to test any of the codes they write. Whether they don't want him to tear any more of his hair out trying to understand the code, or they just don't like him -I don't know. But why take the risk? In his place, I'm going to give you two resources, one of them free. They'll be younger, flat-stomached, not balding and they're going work well too.'
So engrossed was Michael in this well rehearsed proposal that he didn't realize that the client was on another call on his almost invisible Bluetooth headset all this while. All the client said was -'Cut costs? Yeah go ahead and do that.' Michael was a relieved man. Not only because the client had agreed to his proposal in principle, but also because he was sure he would kill himself if he had to say what he just did all over again. After all, all he had talked about to anyone in the past week was his proposal - to his fiancé over the phone (who switched to writing love letters to him in pptx format hoping that he would mistake it for his proposal and open it), to the office receptionist (who only smiled at him, clenching her fists all the while ready to break his teeth if her patience ran out), he even put it up on his blog 37 times (rumour has it that this post inspired Karan Johar to make 'My name is Khan' where Khan says the words 'My name is Khan and I am not a terrorist' exactly 37 times).
Leaving the conference room, Michael turned to the client and uttered the words - 'And Barzini's a pimp'. 'Who's Barzini?', shot back the client? 'No one', Michael replied, 'I just like that line'.
Michael still had a problem, or rather two problems - From where would he get a free resource? How would he ever get rid of Dildar supariwala?
5 - Going to the Mattresses
To get rid of Dildar, Michael decided to go to the mattresses ('Going to the mattresses' is a phrase used in the IT industry. When the 'ergonomic' chairs of the offshore offices finally crack the backs of the ‘engineers’, they work from home on laptops lying flat on their stomachs on mattresses). As the offshore team went to the mattresses trying to find bugs in codes written in Dildar serious enough to eliminate him, Michael made a phone call to Ashu Nehra. Ashu Nehra was one of Michael’s friends from his offshore days, they would buy a single cigarette between the two and smoke it together and ..... that's about it, they only smoked together. Not because they were good friends, but because the offshore salary was only enough for them to share cigarettes. Nehra had left the project a couple of years ago to pursue an MBA. With the recession hitting in, Michael was sure Nehra would not have another offer letter in hand after his MBA, making this his best chance to swoop in and grab him. A little coaxing, the lure of onsite and an expression of a fake desire to smoke Army Cut cigarettes together was all it took for Nehra to say yes. 'He will bring with him a carton of Army Cut', thought Michael to himself. At $20 an hour multiplied 8 hours a day multiplied by 5 working days a week multiplied by 4 weeks a month multiplied by 12 months a year, these would be the most expensive cigarettes Michael would ever smoke - Ashu Nehra was the free resource.
Cut to Dildar. After weeks of being on the mattresses, the offshore team finally found codes written by him that printed the database passwords in the log files in full glory for everyone to see. Going by the audit rules, this password should never be visible to anyone apart from the onsite team and the 100 odd offshore members that would shout out the passwords every Friday night after binge drinking sessions at their preferred bars. But that was not what would nail the perpetual Don-in-waiting. The passwords all turned out to be phrases that were often used by the client. The client got pissed, Dildar got burned. Flying came Rathi Lampani from offshore to take his place. Michael knew this was not a turn of fortune. He chuckled at the countless times he subliminally hinted Supariwala to use the boss’s catchphrases as passwords. 'It would be easier to remember' Michal always told him.
6 - The new Don
Michael tried so hard to eliminate Fareed and Dildar that he forgot that the ultimate roadblock between him and the Dons chair was the Godfather himself. 'If things we were to go by the book, the Don would be dead by now' he thought to himself. But this tale wasn't going by the book and one day the Don came charging into Michael’s cabin and announced 'I'm off to do a one year MBA, so long suckers!'
'Ah what the fuck!' Michael thought, 'surely his final year business plan would be modeled around a creaky old vacuum cleaner, and this time someone would positively violate him with it's hose'.
With the dust settled on the matter, the vacuum was now up again for free use by the great software families. As Michael wrapped up the team grievances call (and added to the team’s grievances) for the first time as the new Don, he noticed Ashu Nehra chomping on a glazed bun he bought earlier from Dinky donuts. He looked up at Nehra and the kachoris that the Godfather gave him moments before he boarded the flight back home. The gooey chutni oozing out of the kachori made his stomach churn. He looked up at Nehra again and quietly said to him ‘Drop the bun, take the kachori’
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Search
There was once a warrior
With a heart of gold
That yearned for his beloved
Touching her hand
Holding her in embrace
Gave him hope for redemption
And forgiveness for his sins
When they walked hand in hand
The clouds would offer them shelter
From the sun that shone brighter
To protect them from the wind
That by their romance grew in fervour
But the warrior was called to war
And he had no choice
As no warrior does.
As the war reached its crescendo
And blood flew freer than rain
He came a broken man
His valour now trapped in folklore
As the hijr* grew longer
She wondered if the sun ever shone still
Would the elements once again
Quarrel for her attention?
She hoped to once again
Come to life in his arms
He hoped to once again
Live through her love.
When there was no more blood left to spill
The warrior returned, to her doorstep
'O woman', he asked 'I am looking for my beloved'
'She is the very embodiment of life, her beauty knows no bounds'
'O warrior', she questioned back 'I too search for my loved one'
'His valour knows no limits, his presence the reason for me'
'I know of no such man', the warrior said
'I wish for the strength you speak of'.
'Neither have I any sign of your beloved', she replied
'Is it possible a woman as that exists?'
They set off on their paths
Searching for that which was lost
Silently praying in their hearts
That the others search was not in vain.
*hijr - arabic word for separation
With a heart of gold
That yearned for his beloved
Touching her hand
Holding her in embrace
Gave him hope for redemption
And forgiveness for his sins
When they walked hand in hand
The clouds would offer them shelter
From the sun that shone brighter
To protect them from the wind
That by their romance grew in fervour
But the warrior was called to war
And he had no choice
As no warrior does.
As the war reached its crescendo
And blood flew freer than rain
He came a broken man
His valour now trapped in folklore
As the hijr* grew longer
She wondered if the sun ever shone still
Would the elements once again
Quarrel for her attention?
She hoped to once again
Come to life in his arms
He hoped to once again
Live through her love.
When there was no more blood left to spill
The warrior returned, to her doorstep
'O woman', he asked 'I am looking for my beloved'
'She is the very embodiment of life, her beauty knows no bounds'
'O warrior', she questioned back 'I too search for my loved one'
'His valour knows no limits, his presence the reason for me'
'I know of no such man', the warrior said
'I wish for the strength you speak of'.
'Neither have I any sign of your beloved', she replied
'Is it possible a woman as that exists?'
They set off on their paths
Searching for that which was lost
Silently praying in their hearts
That the others search was not in vain.
*hijr - arabic word for separation
Monday, February 22, 2010
Homophobia and the rent-a-car mafia
A couple of weeks ago I had a hair-wave. It was meant to be a brain-wave, but it couldn't penetrate the lush growth of hair on my head that had been unchecked for almost half a year. The wave was an exceptionally powerful one, undoing the efforts of a recently purchased tube of hard hold gel. And I wasn't brave enough to mend the damage the wave(or rather the cruel Albany wind) had done by hand, for I was convinced that 5 months without a haircut was enough for hair to grow a life of its own. Considering that I have been a carnivore all my life, the chances of my hair being vegetarian were minimal which meant I ran the risk of being de-fingered if I got my hand within a foot of my hair.
Notes to self
1 - Years of watching under-sea predators on National Geographic has rendered me phobic of anything that's rooted at the bottom and has a body that sways (including my hair).
2 - I might try feeding grilled honey-salmon to my hair next time I visit a fish place. (Replace the honey with Garnier please).
3 - I would have still ventured my hands into my hair if I had 6 fingers. Atleast there'd be a chance of coming back normal with 5 digits.
Since the wave couldn't reach my brain and simply tangled my hair, I concluded it was a sign to have a haircut(As if the dandruff blizzard on my shoulders everyday and the fact that I was using breakfast time to gel my hair instead wasn't). Since I hadn't had a haircut in months I thought it justifiable to book an appointment at a relatively expensive hairdo place with the works. You know - a svelte dame giving you a hair-wash, talking to you about how you'd like you hair done and having an interesting conversation while she's at it.
Note to self
3 - The haircut isn't as important as the conversation. The conversation is important only if it's with a dame. A hot one. Preferably a brunette. With classy earrings and no heels. I don't want her tripping on the heels and cutting my ears instead.
At the designated time I reached the hair studio to be greeted by a hot blonde receptionist sucking on a candy. She asked me to be seated and that the hair stylist would be with me in a few minutes. Squinting my eyes due to light reflected by the candy resting between her lips, I staggered to the nearest chair.
Note to self
4 - Contemplate opening a candy store on a service area on I-87.
Waiting for the stylist, I thought back on the day I booked the appointment. I had a choice of a number of stylists - Pam, Jenna, Melissa, Joan, Janet etc etc. Since recognizing a brunette by her name is not a gift that I am endowed with, I chose the option of being attended by the first available stylist. What are the odds of having the only male stylist assigned to you when the remaining 12 are females - negligible.
Note to self (and reader)
5 - You might have probably guessed - my hormones were really active that day.
Out came the stylist in a few mintutes - wearing a pair of blue jeans, a black tee, glasses and a tattoo on the left arm. A blonde. A blonde man. A feminine blonde man.
Note to self
6 - What are the odds of having the only mail stylist assigned to you when the remaining 12 are females?
F***! I realized that I had paid a lot of money for this and I would have to go through with this. The stylist took me over to the wash basins to give me a hair-wash. I shut my eyes and concentrated all my thoughts and hormones on the candy-sucking receptionist. I slipped into a mini-fantasy of us alone in the hair-studio and her sucking away to glory on the candy. All of a sudden my stylist comes into the frame and she takes out the candy and puts in my stylists mouth and as a barter puts on his glasses. Damn! Fantasy mein bhi aa gaya sala! In a fraction of a second, I went from hormonal to hormournal.
Note to self
7 - Candy store plan shelved. Fake ray-ban glasses shop outside Bandra station is the way to go!
8 - I've always had something for girls with glasses. So the fantasy was not that bad after all.
As I jumped out of the fantasy, the hair-wash was complete. If only the rest of my time there passes as quickly, I thought to myself.
As we went through the haircut, the stylist kept telling me how he was glad he had a lot of hair to play with as it would let him give me suitable professional look I could take to the office. Play with! Play with!! (I'm not here for you to play with me! I'm here for a haircut! I screamed in my head). As he went on with the haircut, I noticed how he was making an honest attempt to accumulate the fallen hair at one spot under the side-drawer, which was very disconcerting for me. If ever I wanted to take my hair back from the hairdressers, it was then. What if he sends my hair to his pals in the forensics and has my DNA tagged and marks me for attacks by his kind? And why was he not offering any solution for my dandruff? Any hairdresser worth his salt will tell you ways to stop the white blizzard coming out of your head! Something was wrong, very wrong indeed.
Notes to self
9 - Need to fix another hairdo appointment to obliterate the memories of this one.
10 - The haircut wasn't that bad though. The stylist did a good job.
The haircut complete, I bid my adieu to the candy girl (replacing the candy with glasses in my mind as I spoke with her. Candies and anything to do with them completely out of any of my life's plans now).
A week later I was still thinking about what had happened to my fallen hair. Were they sent out to be made as wigs? Were they woven into sweaters as a last ditch attempt by naturalists to save sheep? Were they being used by a supermodel to spread rouge on her cheeks? I thought I would never know.
Then, a discovery! My colleagues and I rented a Ford Taurus 2010 to drive to NYC over the weekend. It hadn't been snowing for the past few days and yet the snow brush lying inside showed traces of snow on it. Then BANG! A flash! The white snow was not snow, it was something else. By relation, it followed that the bristles on the brush were not bristles. As I reached my hand out to touch the brush I felt the connection that Jake felt with the flying predator when he tamed it in Avatar. The black brush was my hair! The snow was my dandruff! So here's how I read this puzzle - The stylist was putting on an act to distract my thoughts so he could cut out as much hair as possible to give to the rent-a-car mafia so they could use my hair to make snow brushes. In hindsight it makes good business sense - They don't have to process the hair since it's already been pre-washed and they don't need to shampoo it again coz shampooing hair makes its softer. And the harder the bristles, the more effectivethey are in clearing out the snow. Elementary my dear Watson!
Notes to self
1 - Years of watching under-sea predators on National Geographic has rendered me phobic of anything that's rooted at the bottom and has a body that sways (including my hair).
2 - I might try feeding grilled honey-salmon to my hair next time I visit a fish place. (Replace the honey with Garnier please).
3 - I would have still ventured my hands into my hair if I had 6 fingers. Atleast there'd be a chance of coming back normal with 5 digits.
Since the wave couldn't reach my brain and simply tangled my hair, I concluded it was a sign to have a haircut(As if the dandruff blizzard on my shoulders everyday and the fact that I was using breakfast time to gel my hair instead wasn't). Since I hadn't had a haircut in months I thought it justifiable to book an appointment at a relatively expensive hairdo place with the works. You know - a svelte dame giving you a hair-wash, talking to you about how you'd like you hair done and having an interesting conversation while she's at it.
Note to self
3 - The haircut isn't as important as the conversation. The conversation is important only if it's with a dame. A hot one. Preferably a brunette. With classy earrings and no heels. I don't want her tripping on the heels and cutting my ears instead.
At the designated time I reached the hair studio to be greeted by a hot blonde receptionist sucking on a candy. She asked me to be seated and that the hair stylist would be with me in a few minutes. Squinting my eyes due to light reflected by the candy resting between her lips, I staggered to the nearest chair.
Note to self
4 - Contemplate opening a candy store on a service area on I-87.
Waiting for the stylist, I thought back on the day I booked the appointment. I had a choice of a number of stylists - Pam, Jenna, Melissa, Joan, Janet etc etc. Since recognizing a brunette by her name is not a gift that I am endowed with, I chose the option of being attended by the first available stylist. What are the odds of having the only male stylist assigned to you when the remaining 12 are females - negligible.
Note to self (and reader)
5 - You might have probably guessed - my hormones were really active that day.
Out came the stylist in a few mintutes - wearing a pair of blue jeans, a black tee, glasses and a tattoo on the left arm. A blonde. A blonde man. A feminine blonde man.
Note to self
6 - What are the odds of having the only mail stylist assigned to you when the remaining 12 are females?
F***! I realized that I had paid a lot of money for this and I would have to go through with this. The stylist took me over to the wash basins to give me a hair-wash. I shut my eyes and concentrated all my thoughts and hormones on the candy-sucking receptionist. I slipped into a mini-fantasy of us alone in the hair-studio and her sucking away to glory on the candy. All of a sudden my stylist comes into the frame and she takes out the candy and puts in my stylists mouth and as a barter puts on his glasses. Damn! Fantasy mein bhi aa gaya sala! In a fraction of a second, I went from hormonal to hormournal.
Note to self
7 - Candy store plan shelved. Fake ray-ban glasses shop outside Bandra station is the way to go!
8 - I've always had something for girls with glasses. So the fantasy was not that bad after all.
As I jumped out of the fantasy, the hair-wash was complete. If only the rest of my time there passes as quickly, I thought to myself.
As we went through the haircut, the stylist kept telling me how he was glad he had a lot of hair to play with as it would let him give me suitable professional look I could take to the office. Play with! Play with!! (I'm not here for you to play with me! I'm here for a haircut! I screamed in my head). As he went on with the haircut, I noticed how he was making an honest attempt to accumulate the fallen hair at one spot under the side-drawer, which was very disconcerting for me. If ever I wanted to take my hair back from the hairdressers, it was then. What if he sends my hair to his pals in the forensics and has my DNA tagged and marks me for attacks by his kind? And why was he not offering any solution for my dandruff? Any hairdresser worth his salt will tell you ways to stop the white blizzard coming out of your head! Something was wrong, very wrong indeed.
Notes to self
9 - Need to fix another hairdo appointment to obliterate the memories of this one.
10 - The haircut wasn't that bad though. The stylist did a good job.
The haircut complete, I bid my adieu to the candy girl (replacing the candy with glasses in my mind as I spoke with her. Candies and anything to do with them completely out of any of my life's plans now).
A week later I was still thinking about what had happened to my fallen hair. Were they sent out to be made as wigs? Were they woven into sweaters as a last ditch attempt by naturalists to save sheep? Were they being used by a supermodel to spread rouge on her cheeks? I thought I would never know.
Then, a discovery! My colleagues and I rented a Ford Taurus 2010 to drive to NYC over the weekend. It hadn't been snowing for the past few days and yet the snow brush lying inside showed traces of snow on it. Then BANG! A flash! The white snow was not snow, it was something else. By relation, it followed that the bristles on the brush were not bristles. As I reached my hand out to touch the brush I felt the connection that Jake felt with the flying predator when he tamed it in Avatar. The black brush was my hair! The snow was my dandruff! So here's how I read this puzzle - The stylist was putting on an act to distract my thoughts so he could cut out as much hair as possible to give to the rent-a-car mafia so they could use my hair to make snow brushes. In hindsight it makes good business sense - They don't have to process the hair since it's already been pre-washed and they don't need to shampoo it again coz shampooing hair makes its softer. And the harder the bristles, the more effectivethey are in clearing out the snow. Elementary my dear Watson!
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Monday, February 01, 2010
12:06 am
8:00 pm - 3 idiots
10:30 pm - 30 mile drive
11:45 pm - Veggies + paratha + juice
12:06 am - This entry
10:30 pm - 30 mile drive
11:45 pm - Veggies + paratha + juice
12:06 am - This entry
Sunday, January 31, 2010
2:33 pm
Just had lunch
Stir fried vegetables, rice and curd
The beginning of my detox diet
No meat. Only veggies, eggs and fish from now
Stir fried vegetables, rice and curd
The beginning of my detox diet
No meat. Only veggies, eggs and fish from now
Saturday, January 30, 2010
1:59 am
Just wrote two complete poems and erased them.
Would have been the silliest lines I ever published.
Would have been the silliest lines I ever published.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
First Kiss
Growing up I fantasized
What the first kiss would feel like
Would it be magical
Like the sunshine peeping through a rainy day
Would it awaken a hidden synapse
Causing a chill run down the spine
Would it uncover still life from within
Falling out from the eyes, drop by drop
Would it be an everlasting moment
Life on one scale, its sensation on the other
Nothing would prepare me
For my first kiss
It was all of the above
And much more
Rhonda planted it on my cheek
The day I met her
They say she's not going to make it
Her kiss said otherwise
It wasn't a kiss of resignation
Neither of despair nor of regret
It was the kiss of life
She will live in it, long after I am gone
What the first kiss would feel like
Would it be magical
Like the sunshine peeping through a rainy day
Would it awaken a hidden synapse
Causing a chill run down the spine
Would it uncover still life from within
Falling out from the eyes, drop by drop
Would it be an everlasting moment
Life on one scale, its sensation on the other
Nothing would prepare me
For my first kiss
It was all of the above
And much more
Rhonda planted it on my cheek
The day I met her
They say she's not going to make it
Her kiss said otherwise
It wasn't a kiss of resignation
Neither of despair nor of regret
It was the kiss of life
She will live in it, long after I am gone
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Whisper
As I lay asleep on my bed
Motionless, unsuspecting
A beam of light
Comes through the window
It carries off with it
A part that is yet awake
And shines on words
In books undisturbed
On words yet not contemplated
Neither written nor read
They have no choice
But to go off with the light
Whispering in my ear
"Get a Life BUM!"
Motionless, unsuspecting
A beam of light
Comes through the window
It carries off with it
A part that is yet awake
And shines on words
In books undisturbed
On words yet not contemplated
Neither written nor read
They have no choice
But to go off with the light
Whispering in my ear
"Get a Life BUM!"
Monday, January 04, 2010
Friday, January 01, 2010
Closer
Maggi on the stove
Doughnut in hand
An inch closer to lardy opulence.
Deceit on my mind
A lie on my lips
A sin closer to satan.
Diet coke in one hand
Jack in the other
A sip closer to nothingness.
Energy bar on my mind
Dance bar on my roommates mind
A step closer to unanimity.
My fingers on q-w-e-r-t-y
Spilled lemonade on a-s-d-f-g
A keystroke closer to geekdom.
My legs squatting under 70 pounds.
The mind reeling under Janet's perfume.
One rep closer to adolescent infatuation.
Marlboro between my fingers
Closer on my mind
One drag closer to Closer.
Doughnut in hand
An inch closer to lardy opulence.
Deceit on my mind
A lie on my lips
A sin closer to satan.
Diet coke in one hand
Jack in the other
A sip closer to nothingness.
Energy bar on my mind
Dance bar on my roommates mind
A step closer to unanimity.
My fingers on q-w-e-r-t-y
Spilled lemonade on a-s-d-f-g
A keystroke closer to geekdom.
My legs squatting under 70 pounds.
The mind reeling under Janet's perfume.
One rep closer to adolescent infatuation.
Marlboro between my fingers
Closer on my mind
One drag closer to Closer.
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