Change is here. Again! No, Obama hasn't won his second term. Not just yet. After having completed my exams for this period the oh-so obvious realization has finally struck me that I am a student again. Officially.
I've always had this anal habit of doing most things different. Like eating with my right hand when everyone's eating with their left, standing right between a circle of smokers and not smoking, mingling with non-smokers and blowing smoke on their faces (I'm kidding), choosing chocolate chip because someone else in the ice-cream parlor is already gorging on butter scotch. I even stopped watching Formula 1 and the English Premier League when all of India suddenly found out they were crazy about it. How many desis can claim to have watched Michael Schumacher's 1999 British GP crash live?
Now that I've successfully established that I'm an anal attention seeking differ-o-maniac, I can get on with this post.
Note to Self - I must try harder to make a better first impression.
Note to Reader - Differ-o-mania is not a word.
Ok so let’s cut to the chase. You now know that I get an almost perverse high from going against the current. If it were up to me I'd not even go against the current; I'd produce my own current, make it flow out of my fingers and run on it. Of course that would have life altering implications -
1 - I'd never have to pay energy bills.
2 - An automatic spot in the X-Men franchise.
3 - USA would invade India to seize control of its newly found natural energy resource.
Note to Self - I really should stop ranting during my posts.
So a few years ago I started looking up possible majors I could take up for my masters. I wouldn't consider an MBA in India since everyone was dreaming of being in or currently was in or was moping that he was not in a B-school. Seriously, if you were to take a pebble and throw it on someone at rush hour at the train station, chances are it would hit someone from a B-school. And don’t for a moment be afraid that that someone would retaliate for the pebbling. No, it's not that we still follow Gandhi's path of non-violence, on the contrary we're further away from it than ever before. It's just that the copious amounts of various kinds of pollution on the streets of India has numbed our senses and possibly mutated our genes; we don't feel shit.
Note to Reader - If you put an Indian in a room full of 100% pure oxygen, he's gonna choke and rush to the nearest vehicle exhaust system for some fresh air.
Back to my anal educational search. I couldn't opt for any medical majors as I shunned biology during my college years. Wouldn't choose engineering again as I was one of 450,000 engineers who graduated in 2005. Being another one of 200,000 in 2012 would just kill me! It just had to be something fantastically different. And of course something I would love doing even if it killed me.
Knowing that I could not/would not pursue anything my homeland had to offer, I started looking elsewhere. Most of my friends/acquaintances that had or were pursuing masters at that time were pursuing it in USA. You guessed it right – this implied a No to my homeland and a resounding no to homeland security as well. You know the stuff I wrote above about the pebble + mutated Indian = B school. That stands for any student stepping out of any terminal of an international airport in India as well. In short, pebble + Indian student at airport = USA. There would however be one difference. The just returned student would probably be hyper-sensitive to touch and would bleed to death on being struck by the pebble. I would replace the pebble with soap bubbles. But would still fire and run for my life, just in case
Note to self - Top of the last para: anal education. HA!
So thus far it was a no to everything I saw people studying around me and everywhere they studied it. This directed my search to more exotic locations - middle east, upper middle east, lower middle east, middle middle east, south east, south west, between south east and south west ..... wait, that's south. Long story short: I researched every major and every geographical location I could. Now Indians have a peculiar sensibility about them. When they really want something hard, they pray like hell to the deity that governs that something. So you have invocations for rain, summer, lightning, lighting striking your boss, the wind sweeping him away to the sea, the sea taking his carcass away to the arctic. I think I've made my point. Of course we love fantasizing and song and dance is part of every invocation. Yeah right! If song and dance would get people somewhere, I wouldn't have two left feet. See the paradox?
Getting back to the shit at hand. Now I believe in just one God (it makes his name easier to remember) and have an aversion to song and dance while praying. But I still have that Indian sensibility to do something that would at least give me a sign or a direction of where to head. So here's how the sensibilities translated in the ever churning fantasy-land that is my brain -
I'm breaking this up into 'Country considered' - 'Stuff I did for God to give me a sign' thingy ->
South Korea - Look at dogs as edible animals
Japan - Do not put chopsticks into your nose
China - Buy old electronics from the dump yard and mummify them
China - Eat Chow Mein with respect
Note to reader - China was never on my map. I just love Chow Mein.
UK - Support their tennis players in the Wimbledon (Even if they're always gonna lose).
France - Make a sincere attempt to like Nicolas Sarkozy.
Italy - Respect Don Corleone. Wait...I already do that.
Spain - Throw all the tomatoes in the fridge on the street.
Canada – Wait. I always thought Canada was ‘Some more America’.
Well I go on and on with this list. Cutting short to the chase I finally settled down almost purely on a gut feel to an MSc in Operations Research in Netherlands. Operations research, for those who don't know, uses math to simplify and optimize real life thingies.
What makes the fact that I'm here so awesome is that in hindsight I always had the signs that said I would be here -
1 - Orange has been my favorite color ever since I can remember.
2 - I always found high school math pointless and questioned my mother how obscure looking formulae could possible be of any practical use in real life.
And here I am. God does have a funny and if I may add unparalleled sense of humor.
Note to Self - I can now eat Chow Mein with disdain.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Sunday, February 06, 2011
The Cupid Mafia
It's shaadi time! (Shaadi = Marriage in Hindi) No moron, not my shaadi. My nephew, a cousin sister and a friend tied the knot recently and guess what - I was there. Yes, me the never-attending-a-shaadi snob has actually started being part of celebrations of conjugal bliss.
And yeah, my nephew IS married...err... TWO of my nephews are married.
And considering India's unblemished and ever improving excited-hormone track record, I could very well be grand uncle before I turn 30. (UPDATE - I am!)
Note to self -
Now I know why Balika Vadhu (an Indian TV serial that deals with child marriage) doesn't come anywhere close to grabbing my attention. I see that kind of stuff all the time - live. OK I admit, I am stretching the truth a little here.
Now when a 27 year old jawan struts into a family shaadi, dressing well and looking the part is the last thing on his mind (Errr... my mind), if he has designs to escape the cupid mafia. I go as late as I possibly can, dress in the dullest possible clothes and make sure my stubble is at least 24 hours old. I can take the easier route out and not go at all, but hey - I'd go anywhere for free biryani and ice-cream! And of course these experiences make for great writing material.
So here's the drill - conversations with the cupid mafia almost always begin with the customary 'How're you doing?' or 'How's the work scene going on?' and move on to the less subtle 'Shaadi ke baare mein kya socha hai?' (What're your thoughts on marriage?)
Or if there's someone who doesn't know you, he'll head to the nearest common acquaintance and go in Rajasthani - 'Bhaaya, ki ka chora hai?' (Who's son is this brother?)
Note to reader -
To get the full impact of this line, imagine Michael Holding's (A Caribbean ex-cricketer with a drawl as thick as expired peanut butter) saying it complete with the drawl and baritone - "Bhayaaaaa, ki ka chora haaiiii?".
Thankfully, there's still enough understanding and tact present in the world in that the mafia will understand if you tell them marriage figures nowhere in your plans at the moment. Although they're going to pass out when you tell them you're 27.
Note to self -
A 100 years ago I would have been a grandfather at this age.
For the more persistent mafia, you can always make impossible demands of a bride to make them shudder, stutter and pass out once again. By the time they come to, you can always grab another one of those ice creams.
Note to reader -
Impossible demands do not equal dowry demands d***head!
So here's the unofficial mini-list of demands to ensure that your impending 'mangni' (engagement) does not happen (at least not any time soon) -
The girl must -
1 - Know national anthems of at least 5 countries.
2 - Know names of at least 5 heads of states.
3 - Must have less than 15.5% body fat.
Note to reader - Don't ask. Personal fetish.
4 - Have read atleast 5 of Shakespeare's works.
4.A. - Watching Vishal Bhardwaj's movies does not count.
End of list.
Note to reader - You expected more? Dude, this is not my full-time job.
You wouldn't have realized, but you can tell a lot about a girl by her range of answers.
1 - If she knows only the chinese, russian and american anthems - she's too badly hooked on to the olympics.
2 - If she only knows the Indian anthem - she probably goes a lot to the movies.
3 - If she gives you a mouthful on patriotism for daring to ask if she knows other country's anthems and ends the soliloquy with "Chain se sona hai to jag jaao" , she's had a fatal overdoes of brazen hindi news channels. Poor soul.
Note to self -
It's time to gorge on the third ice-cream.
Now that the cupid mafia has passed out sufficient times to realize that I am injurious to their health, it's time to turn my attention to the more fun aspects of a Rajasthani marriage.
We're still a little old fashioned and segregation of the sexes is always right up there on the menu. (Like that's gonna deter me.)
There's always some aunt I wanna catch up but spotting one burkha clad aunt among many others is not a task for the faint hearted. It's like stepping into a minefield. If I run into someone who's past puberty and not yet married, I'm going to have to run through my cupid mafia drill all over again. And even if I don't, I still have a zillion burkha'd aunties to get past before I reach my favourite aunt.
Note to self -
I don't need to play 'Call of Duty :: Black Ops'. I play it in person every time I go to a family wedding.
Going back to the cupid mafia, as religion teaches us everything in this world is made in pairs. So for every male cupid mafia I take out, there's always a female counterpart still out there in the wild. And she's always a step ahead of you. She'll covertly point out a burkha clad figure with just the eyes visible and quietly ask you -'Kaho toh baat chalaaoon?' (Whaddya think 'bout that one?). It's one of those situations when you want to scream out 'F*********k' and get the hell out of the place. But instead, I get a harsh lesson in 'what goes around comes around' - I shudder, stutter and pass out.
Note to self -
The protective body-cover, gloves and all, with only the eyes visible - I'm pretty certain the burkha was the inspiration for the robocop costume. (The French government has single handedly killed on screen vigilante justice by banning the burkha).
Having dodged shaadi-walahs, passed out in the process and played my share of black-ops, I head to wish the bride and the groom. There's a long queue to get on the stage. Growing impatient with every second I'm already thinking of ways to cut the queue and get ahead. I contemplate showing everyone my first class railway pass to get ahead of the line. But if I do that people are gonna take out more valuable passes - like the keys to their lexus or bmw.
Note to self -
I'm gonna try the railway pass trick. Someday.
Once on the stage, you realize that India is still shining. The bride has worn enough jewelery to give the king of bling Bappi Lahiri a complex. But maybe all the gold does serve a practical purpose. It's so damn heavy, the bride can't run away even if she wants to. And did I forget to mention the 25kg lehenga? (The dress of choice for most Indian brides)
Note to self -
1 - You can never remake 'Runaway Bride' in bollywood. Our wedding dresses are so heavy just don't lend themselves to make for a successful elope.
2 - The gold may have been borrowed against a tonne of garlic (Jab ghar mein hai lassun toh kis baat ki tension - You know that garlic prices are at an all time high don't you?).
By the time I've had my picture clicked with the bride and headed to the groom, the photographer has already started making him pose in embarrassing poses for the wedding album. The most common pose is the sideways Swades pose, also made popular by Lalit Modi during IPL sesons I and II. I'm embarrassed, but the groom is positively enjoying it. I think he's already been through so many sidey poses, he's just maxed out. It can't get any worse for him.
More customary pictures with the groom and his errand-boy-posse later, I realize I've had clicked enough photographs clicked on shaadis this season to create my own portfolio.
Note to reader -
The errand-boy-posse is the group of young male relatives or friends that always buzz around the groom in weddings. They covertly get him starters when he's hungry and do cigarette ka 'bandobast' for him.
I catch a cupid mafia in disguise speaking with the photographer, giving me a sly smile while she's at it. (I told you the female mafia is always a step ahead).
Knowing that I have to act fast if I don't want my photographs distributed in the weekly community newsletter, instinct kicks in. I grab the camera, rush to the exit, mount the grooms ghodi and rush to bandstand where the camera meets it's watery end.
Note to reader - Ghodi = Female horse. I've always wondered why Indian grooms mount a female horse and not a male one. After all you are getting married you know! What do you need a female horse for!
At the end of the day, everyones happy -
- I've destroyed the camera, my only material nemesis in the fight against the cupid mafia.
- The groom couldn't be happier - his embarrassing poses will never see the light of day.
Epilogue -
The cupid mafia still smiles. They've each grabbed me in their camera phones. Damn!
And yeah, my nephew IS married...err... TWO of my nephews are married.
And considering India's unblemished and ever improving excited-hormone track record, I could very well be grand uncle before I turn 30. (UPDATE - I am!)
Note to self -
Now I know why Balika Vadhu (an Indian TV serial that deals with child marriage) doesn't come anywhere close to grabbing my attention. I see that kind of stuff all the time - live. OK I admit, I am stretching the truth a little here.
Now when a 27 year old jawan struts into a family shaadi, dressing well and looking the part is the last thing on his mind (Errr... my mind), if he has designs to escape the cupid mafia. I go as late as I possibly can, dress in the dullest possible clothes and make sure my stubble is at least 24 hours old. I can take the easier route out and not go at all, but hey - I'd go anywhere for free biryani and ice-cream! And of course these experiences make for great writing material.
So here's the drill - conversations with the cupid mafia almost always begin with the customary 'How're you doing?' or 'How's the work scene going on?' and move on to the less subtle 'Shaadi ke baare mein kya socha hai?' (What're your thoughts on marriage?)
Or if there's someone who doesn't know you, he'll head to the nearest common acquaintance and go in Rajasthani - 'Bhaaya, ki ka chora hai?' (Who's son is this brother?)
Note to reader -
To get the full impact of this line, imagine Michael Holding's (A Caribbean ex-cricketer with a drawl as thick as expired peanut butter) saying it complete with the drawl and baritone - "Bhayaaaaa, ki ka chora haaiiii?".
Thankfully, there's still enough understanding and tact present in the world in that the mafia will understand if you tell them marriage figures nowhere in your plans at the moment. Although they're going to pass out when you tell them you're 27.
Note to self -
A 100 years ago I would have been a grandfather at this age.
For the more persistent mafia, you can always make impossible demands of a bride to make them shudder, stutter and pass out once again. By the time they come to, you can always grab another one of those ice creams.
Note to reader -
Impossible demands do not equal dowry demands d***head!
So here's the unofficial mini-list of demands to ensure that your impending 'mangni' (engagement) does not happen (at least not any time soon) -
The girl must -
1 - Know national anthems of at least 5 countries.
2 - Know names of at least 5 heads of states.
3 - Must have less than 15.5% body fat.
Note to reader - Don't ask. Personal fetish.
4 - Have read atleast 5 of Shakespeare's works.
4.A. - Watching Vishal Bhardwaj's movies does not count.
End of list.
Note to reader - You expected more? Dude, this is not my full-time job.
You wouldn't have realized, but you can tell a lot about a girl by her range of answers.
1 - If she knows only the chinese, russian and american anthems - she's too badly hooked on to the olympics.
2 - If she only knows the Indian anthem - she probably goes a lot to the movies.
3 - If she gives you a mouthful on patriotism for daring to ask if she knows other country's anthems and ends the soliloquy with "Chain se sona hai to jag jaao" , she's had a fatal overdoes of brazen hindi news channels. Poor soul.
Note to self -
It's time to gorge on the third ice-cream.
Now that the cupid mafia has passed out sufficient times to realize that I am injurious to their health, it's time to turn my attention to the more fun aspects of a Rajasthani marriage.
We're still a little old fashioned and segregation of the sexes is always right up there on the menu. (Like that's gonna deter me.)
There's always some aunt I wanna catch up but spotting one burkha clad aunt among many others is not a task for the faint hearted. It's like stepping into a minefield. If I run into someone who's past puberty and not yet married, I'm going to have to run through my cupid mafia drill all over again. And even if I don't, I still have a zillion burkha'd aunties to get past before I reach my favourite aunt.
Note to self -
I don't need to play 'Call of Duty :: Black Ops'. I play it in person every time I go to a family wedding.
Going back to the cupid mafia, as religion teaches us everything in this world is made in pairs. So for every male cupid mafia I take out, there's always a female counterpart still out there in the wild. And she's always a step ahead of you. She'll covertly point out a burkha clad figure with just the eyes visible and quietly ask you -'Kaho toh baat chalaaoon?' (Whaddya think 'bout that one?). It's one of those situations when you want to scream out 'F*********k' and get the hell out of the place. But instead, I get a harsh lesson in 'what goes around comes around' - I shudder, stutter and pass out.
Note to self -
The protective body-cover, gloves and all, with only the eyes visible - I'm pretty certain the burkha was the inspiration for the robocop costume. (The French government has single handedly killed on screen vigilante justice by banning the burkha).
Having dodged shaadi-walahs, passed out in the process and played my share of black-ops, I head to wish the bride and the groom. There's a long queue to get on the stage. Growing impatient with every second I'm already thinking of ways to cut the queue and get ahead. I contemplate showing everyone my first class railway pass to get ahead of the line. But if I do that people are gonna take out more valuable passes - like the keys to their lexus or bmw.
Note to self -
I'm gonna try the railway pass trick. Someday.
Once on the stage, you realize that India is still shining. The bride has worn enough jewelery to give the king of bling Bappi Lahiri a complex. But maybe all the gold does serve a practical purpose. It's so damn heavy, the bride can't run away even if she wants to. And did I forget to mention the 25kg lehenga? (The dress of choice for most Indian brides)
Note to self -
1 - You can never remake 'Runaway Bride' in bollywood. Our wedding dresses are so heavy just don't lend themselves to make for a successful elope.
2 - The gold may have been borrowed against a tonne of garlic (Jab ghar mein hai lassun toh kis baat ki tension - You know that garlic prices are at an all time high don't you?).
By the time I've had my picture clicked with the bride and headed to the groom, the photographer has already started making him pose in embarrassing poses for the wedding album. The most common pose is the sideways Swades pose, also made popular by Lalit Modi during IPL sesons I and II. I'm embarrassed, but the groom is positively enjoying it. I think he's already been through so many sidey poses, he's just maxed out. It can't get any worse for him.
More customary pictures with the groom and his errand-boy-posse later, I realize I've had clicked enough photographs clicked on shaadis this season to create my own portfolio.
Note to reader -
The errand-boy-posse is the group of young male relatives or friends that always buzz around the groom in weddings. They covertly get him starters when he's hungry and do cigarette ka 'bandobast' for him.
I catch a cupid mafia in disguise speaking with the photographer, giving me a sly smile while she's at it. (I told you the female mafia is always a step ahead).
Knowing that I have to act fast if I don't want my photographs distributed in the weekly community newsletter, instinct kicks in. I grab the camera, rush to the exit, mount the grooms ghodi and rush to bandstand where the camera meets it's watery end.
Note to reader - Ghodi = Female horse. I've always wondered why Indian grooms mount a female horse and not a male one. After all you are getting married you know! What do you need a female horse for!
At the end of the day, everyones happy -
- I've destroyed the camera, my only material nemesis in the fight against the cupid mafia.
- The groom couldn't be happier - his embarrassing poses will never see the light of day.
Epilogue -
The cupid mafia still smiles. They've each grabbed me in their camera phones. Damn!
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