| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid Personality Disorder: | Low |
| Schizoid Personality Disorder: | Moderate |
| Schizotypal Personality Disorder: | Moderate |
| Antisocial Personality Disorder: | Low |
| Borderline Personality Disorder: | Low |
| Histrionic Personality Disorder: | Moderate |
| Narcissistic Personality Disorder: | High |
| Avoidant Personality Disorder: | Low |
| Dependent Personality Disorder: | Moderate |
| Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: | Moderate |
-- Take the Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Info -- | |
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Personality test!
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
The Streak, Ganguly and Vada Pav : A business proposal
Dedicated to TJ. (No, it's not a dead person. Can't one make a dedication to someone alive? Sheesh!)
A couple of days ago TJ and I were having a casual chat on life and other stuff. Our conversations, as is now a custom, start off with the normal 'Hi-s' and 'Hows it goin Dawg', move on to discussions about street food and gourmet desserts, take a pit-stop on the desi bashing station and ultimately end with a crazy business idea or two that we know will change the course of history if it were ever to take off.
Note to reader - By 'change the course of history' I mean change the course of our history. We'd probably end up bankrupt and in huge debt if we carried out our ideas. But there's always an escape plan ready - fake your death and start a new life in mexico. Why mexico? - I don't want the 4 years I spent learning Spanish to count for nothing.
Ok back to reality. So during the conversation yours truly has a brain wave and decides that a Netflix type service for desis would be a good business plan. To which TJ retorts - 'Ok, How will it work?' I am tempted to say - 'Decades later when my autobiography is out, it's gonna have a chapter that describes how it worked'. In fact I even have a draft of the chapter ready. Here's how it goes -
Chapter xx
For 7 days he worked his ass out.
On the 8th day he rested.
On the 9th, he had to escape to Mexico.
However better sense prevails and I conclude that such a service would never work. Desis are a stingy people and hate paying for anything! We are born with special bargaining chromosomes in our bodies and they're pretty darn resilient! It took me years of core strengthening workouts and abstinence from spicy Indian food to get rid of them.
Note to reader - Spice Indian food has no connection whatsoever with the bargaining chromosome. It just doesn't go well with core strengthening workouts.
However I have had some time to reflect on this business idea and think I may have just found a way to implement it and not have to escape to Mexico after all. But before, a short lesson on Indian geography and social structure. India is a country where people have a very strong regional identity. Regional identity however always needs to piggyback on a catalyst to thrive. And this catalyst needs to change at regular intervals of time so as to keep the regional identity fresh and kicking. In the early post-independence era this catalyst was language. After all the Indian states were divided on the basis of languages. Over the course of years this catalyst has taken different forms. Such as -
- Food: Believe it or not a regional party (ahem) in Bombay centered its civic body election campaign around setting up Vada Pav stalls in the city. Never mind that most of the stalls they setup were illegal. Not to be left behind, one of the opposition parties centered it's campaign around kanda poha. City welfare and development be damned!
- Actors: In a country obsessed with celebrities and movies this should not really come as surprise. South India is particularly obsessed with its actors. There were riots in bangalore when thespian actor Raj Kumar died in 2006. I shudder at what's gonna happen when Rajnikanth dies. I wouldn't want to be anywhere down south when that happens! Lest I forget, actors with embarrassing bit parts in Tom Cruise action flicks also count. Unfortunately.
- Sportspersons (Which in India is equivalent to cricketers ): Want to know how much regional/national pride we associate with cricketers? Take a look at this (it's one of many!) It's no wonder that banners of other countries' sports fans are much more imaginative and cheeky - exhibit.
-National monuments: Yes sir! You got that right! We'll defile 'em and scam on 'em but don't get us wrong! They're part our heritage and we loooove 'em.
- Scientists/ researchers/ astronauts: Never mind that a lot of them are not even Indian citizens. The fact that they have desi names and are of Indian origin is reason enough for the population to go ballistic and call up TV studios to wish them happy birthday on a special one hour episode dedicated to their lives. Oh and yeah, the birthday wishes just flash on the TV screen. They don't really reach the intended recipient.
Having given you an idea of the extent of desi regionalistic pride, here are a few ideas that can catapult the desi netflix proposal to dizzying heights of profitability and fame.
- Superimpose Rajnikanth's face on every cricketers body of every season of the Indian Premier League. Charge a 100 bucks for streaming a full season. Early birds get to watch the whole season with original players faces for free. Before you know it, the whole of southern India would have paid for all your future vacations.
- Ever heard of the streak? Replace the Undertaker's face from all his Wrestlemania matches with Sourav Ganguly's and his opponents with Greg Chappell (For a bit of background, read this). Stream every match at 50 bucks a piece and you'll probably be made honorary mayor of West Bengal.
- There's a ton of pictures of Barack Obama eating stuff on the internet. Photoshop all the foods with vada pav and sell the posters at 50 bucks a piece. Not only will Obama become Mumbai's poster boy and be christened honorary Marathi Manoos (dweller of Maharashtra) by a particular right wing regional political party (ahem) but you'll also probably make enough money out of it to buy a studio apartment in Bandra.
Note to reader - Oh Bandra! Home sweet home!
You're probably thinking I'm taking my tirade too far and am being more than just a tad offensive to make my point. But I haven't even made my point yet! Over the course of the past few days I have realized that a large chunk of the world population and very large chunk of Indians lives it's life through others. For some odd reason we derive more satisfaction from actors fake-beating thugs on screen while flashing their digitally enhanced abs, from cricketers smashing a last ball six or even from foreign dignitaries sampling our local cuisine than we do from our own lives.
So here's my point - Get a life. It's probably the best thing you'll ever do.
A couple of days ago TJ and I were having a casual chat on life and other stuff. Our conversations, as is now a custom, start off with the normal 'Hi-s' and 'Hows it goin Dawg', move on to discussions about street food and gourmet desserts, take a pit-stop on the desi bashing station and ultimately end with a crazy business idea or two that we know will change the course of history if it were ever to take off.
Note to reader - By 'change the course of history' I mean change the course of our history. We'd probably end up bankrupt and in huge debt if we carried out our ideas. But there's always an escape plan ready - fake your death and start a new life in mexico. Why mexico? - I don't want the 4 years I spent learning Spanish to count for nothing.
Ok back to reality. So during the conversation yours truly has a brain wave and decides that a Netflix type service for desis would be a good business plan. To which TJ retorts - 'Ok, How will it work?' I am tempted to say - 'Decades later when my autobiography is out, it's gonna have a chapter that describes how it worked'. In fact I even have a draft of the chapter ready. Here's how it goes -
Chapter xx
For 7 days he worked his ass out.
On the 8th day he rested.
On the 9th, he had to escape to Mexico.
However better sense prevails and I conclude that such a service would never work. Desis are a stingy people and hate paying for anything! We are born with special bargaining chromosomes in our bodies and they're pretty darn resilient! It took me years of core strengthening workouts and abstinence from spicy Indian food to get rid of them.
Note to reader - Spice Indian food has no connection whatsoever with the bargaining chromosome. It just doesn't go well with core strengthening workouts.
However I have had some time to reflect on this business idea and think I may have just found a way to implement it and not have to escape to Mexico after all. But before, a short lesson on Indian geography and social structure. India is a country where people have a very strong regional identity. Regional identity however always needs to piggyback on a catalyst to thrive. And this catalyst needs to change at regular intervals of time so as to keep the regional identity fresh and kicking. In the early post-independence era this catalyst was language. After all the Indian states were divided on the basis of languages. Over the course of years this catalyst has taken different forms. Such as -
- Food: Believe it or not a regional party (ahem) in Bombay centered its civic body election campaign around setting up Vada Pav stalls in the city. Never mind that most of the stalls they setup were illegal. Not to be left behind, one of the opposition parties centered it's campaign around kanda poha. City welfare and development be damned!
- Actors: In a country obsessed with celebrities and movies this should not really come as surprise. South India is particularly obsessed with its actors. There were riots in bangalore when thespian actor Raj Kumar died in 2006. I shudder at what's gonna happen when Rajnikanth dies. I wouldn't want to be anywhere down south when that happens! Lest I forget, actors with embarrassing bit parts in Tom Cruise action flicks also count. Unfortunately.
- Sportspersons (Which in India is equivalent to cricketers ): Want to know how much regional/national pride we associate with cricketers? Take a look at this (it's one of many!) It's no wonder that banners of other countries' sports fans are much more imaginative and cheeky - exhibit.
-National monuments: Yes sir! You got that right! We'll defile 'em and scam on 'em but don't get us wrong! They're part our heritage and we loooove 'em.
- Scientists/ researchers/ astronauts: Never mind that a lot of them are not even Indian citizens. The fact that they have desi names and are of Indian origin is reason enough for the population to go ballistic and call up TV studios to wish them happy birthday on a special one hour episode dedicated to their lives. Oh and yeah, the birthday wishes just flash on the TV screen. They don't really reach the intended recipient.
Having given you an idea of the extent of desi regionalistic pride, here are a few ideas that can catapult the desi netflix proposal to dizzying heights of profitability and fame.
- Superimpose Rajnikanth's face on every cricketers body of every season of the Indian Premier League. Charge a 100 bucks for streaming a full season. Early birds get to watch the whole season with original players faces for free. Before you know it, the whole of southern India would have paid for all your future vacations.
- Ever heard of the streak? Replace the Undertaker's face from all his Wrestlemania matches with Sourav Ganguly's and his opponents with Greg Chappell (For a bit of background, read this). Stream every match at 50 bucks a piece and you'll probably be made honorary mayor of West Bengal.
- There's a ton of pictures of Barack Obama eating stuff on the internet. Photoshop all the foods with vada pav and sell the posters at 50 bucks a piece. Not only will Obama become Mumbai's poster boy and be christened honorary Marathi Manoos (dweller of Maharashtra) by a particular right wing regional political party (ahem) but you'll also probably make enough money out of it to buy a studio apartment in Bandra.
Note to reader - Oh Bandra! Home sweet home!
You're probably thinking I'm taking my tirade too far and am being more than just a tad offensive to make my point. But I haven't even made my point yet! Over the course of the past few days I have realized that a large chunk of the world population and very large chunk of Indians lives it's life through others. For some odd reason we derive more satisfaction from actors fake-beating thugs on screen while flashing their digitally enhanced abs, from cricketers smashing a last ball six or even from foreign dignitaries sampling our local cuisine than we do from our own lives.
So here's my point - Get a life. It's probably the best thing you'll ever do.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Locus of our existence
Yesterday a man named Sachin Tendulkar (an Indian cricketer) created history by becoming the only individual to have scored a hundred scores of a hundred or more in international cricket. For those on whom the magnitude of this achievement is loss, let me just say that I don't see this record being broken in my life-time or the next.
The occasion was met by a barrage of coverage on news media websites, congratulatory tweets, facebook status updates and a general sense of overwhelming euphoria.
Many of the facebook updates I saw told a story of how the the updater has waited with bated breath for over a year for the record, how it has given him genuine happiness, how his belief than Sachin is 'God' is now stronger than ever and even how watching Sachin bat on the cricket field helps him overcome a hard day at work.
Pure selfless happiness, anyone?
It's great to see that truly genuine and pure happiness still exists in perhaps the most material age the world has seen. It's a travesty that the locus of this happiness, like many other emotions that define us as humans, is miles outside our inner selves.
Social media has created a very flat parallel world structure where every spontaneous emotion that we experience and share in the digital world is laid out for potentially everyone else to see. A brief survey of these emotions tells a story of how disconnected with ourselves we have become as a individuals.
Humans are a passionate race. Some of us are overtly passionate, others passively. But no one is without passion. A sweeping glance at the peoples' lives as laid out for all to see by the powerful social media juggernaut shows how misplaced and misdirected our passions have become. One is very likely to find exclamations of happiness and joy like "woohoo!" , "yay!", "booya!" and "overjoyed!" in response to sporting events and records like the one mentioned above, the release of an eagerly awaited piece of technology or even perhaps the announcement of the latest version of a PC game. The opposite end of a spectrum is almost a mirror reflection. Exclamations of lament, anger, sadness and disappointment will very likely be posted in response to events like the defeat of ones favourite sportsperson/team, a piece of technology one owns not getting any future updates, a PC game being discontinued by the studio or even the cancellation of a revered sitcom.
Happiness. Joy. Lament. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Emotions that form the locus of human existence invested on objects, things and events that are fleeting by their vary nature. Houston, we have a problem!
A cause-effect analysis throws up many possible explanations for this trend. Like negligent advertising, misplaced patriotism, an increasing material view of one's success, decrease in ones level of social skills, ever-reducing opportunities to pursue ones aspirations to name a few. This however is in itself a deep topic that demands a collective introspection followed by a sincere attempt at individual and collective change.
Human nature however is quite perverse in its own way and any effort at identifying and remedying the causes for our increasing distant locus of existence will invariably take a tangential turn for the worse, possibly branding one asking these difficult questions unpatriotic, a heretic or maybe even plain loony.
A more practical path to tread would be to in a sense 'manufacture' your own motivations in life. A motivation that arouses your individual happiness, joy, lament, anger, disappointment and sadness more deeply than anything else ever can. More often that not, you will realize that such a motivation lies much closer to your self than a sports event a hundred miles away or a PC expo in another continent.
So the next time you see someones facebook status read "booya!" on a non newsworthy day, stop wondering. Perhaps he has found his very own locus of existence. It's about time you do too.
The occasion was met by a barrage of coverage on news media websites, congratulatory tweets, facebook status updates and a general sense of overwhelming euphoria.
Many of the facebook updates I saw told a story of how the the updater has waited with bated breath for over a year for the record, how it has given him genuine happiness, how his belief than Sachin is 'God' is now stronger than ever and even how watching Sachin bat on the cricket field helps him overcome a hard day at work.
Pure selfless happiness, anyone?
It's great to see that truly genuine and pure happiness still exists in perhaps the most material age the world has seen. It's a travesty that the locus of this happiness, like many other emotions that define us as humans, is miles outside our inner selves.
Social media has created a very flat parallel world structure where every spontaneous emotion that we experience and share in the digital world is laid out for potentially everyone else to see. A brief survey of these emotions tells a story of how disconnected with ourselves we have become as a individuals.
Humans are a passionate race. Some of us are overtly passionate, others passively. But no one is without passion. A sweeping glance at the peoples' lives as laid out for all to see by the powerful social media juggernaut shows how misplaced and misdirected our passions have become. One is very likely to find exclamations of happiness and joy like "woohoo!" , "yay!", "booya!" and "overjoyed!" in response to sporting events and records like the one mentioned above, the release of an eagerly awaited piece of technology or even perhaps the announcement of the latest version of a PC game. The opposite end of a spectrum is almost a mirror reflection. Exclamations of lament, anger, sadness and disappointment will very likely be posted in response to events like the defeat of ones favourite sportsperson/team, a piece of technology one owns not getting any future updates, a PC game being discontinued by the studio or even the cancellation of a revered sitcom.
Happiness. Joy. Lament. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Emotions that form the locus of human existence invested on objects, things and events that are fleeting by their vary nature. Houston, we have a problem!
A cause-effect analysis throws up many possible explanations for this trend. Like negligent advertising, misplaced patriotism, an increasing material view of one's success, decrease in ones level of social skills, ever-reducing opportunities to pursue ones aspirations to name a few. This however is in itself a deep topic that demands a collective introspection followed by a sincere attempt at individual and collective change.
Human nature however is quite perverse in its own way and any effort at identifying and remedying the causes for our increasing distant locus of existence will invariably take a tangential turn for the worse, possibly branding one asking these difficult questions unpatriotic, a heretic or maybe even plain loony.
A more practical path to tread would be to in a sense 'manufacture' your own motivations in life. A motivation that arouses your individual happiness, joy, lament, anger, disappointment and sadness more deeply than anything else ever can. More often that not, you will realize that such a motivation lies much closer to your self than a sports event a hundred miles away or a PC expo in another continent.
So the next time you see someones facebook status read "booya!" on a non newsworthy day, stop wondering. Perhaps he has found his very own locus of existence. It's about time you do too.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Salsa Flavoured Death
A couple of days ago I walked into the kitchen to carry out my daily midnight-snacking ritual. This time it was a couple of dorito chips that I hungrily munched on to satisfy my eccentric and clockwork-like punctual hunger pang. Now I've always held that fast food giants use some form of addictive chemicals to get us hooked on to their food. It was perhaps a said additive or my own gluttony, but I almost swallowed a whole chip and for a split second choked on it so hard I thought my throat would explode.
Note to reader - Read my lips: I am not dead!
If I were I wouldn't be writing this post! Although I think with Steve Jobs on the other side, Moses will soon have an upgraded tablet and ghosts their very own range of Macs, blogging platforms, broadband options and cloud services to choose from. And with no competition around, Stevie J will probably be as loved up there as he was down here. Ahem.
Now after a near death experience a normal person might have a life altering epiphany, would perhaps have his life flash before his eyes, might want to make a final phone call to a loved one or perhaps want to shred the latest draft of his will in which he left everything to his dog coz his family pissed him off (Woof Woof!). But we're talking normal here. So that's obviously not what happened to me.
Note to reader - Steve Jobs life probably didn't flash before his eyes. He hated flash.
As I recovered from a salsa flavoured almost death neither did I have an epiphany nor any of other stuff I just mentioned above. I coughed out the guilty piece of chip that almost took my life, looked intently at it for a second, decided the flavour was too precious to waste, put it back in my mouth and instinctively walked up to my laptop to update my near death experience as my facebook status while munching on it.
Yes. Update-my-facebook-status.
Now there're one of two paths that I can take from this point on in this post. I can write about how social media and an increasingly 'connected' world has ironically led to a breakdown of meaningful communication and is breeding a society bereft of real social skills. But I'm not going to do that. I'd rather not dwell on the inevitability of the undesired consequences of our short-sighted creations.
On the contrary, let's talk about first instincts. What would your first instinct be if you had a near death experience, if at all?
Disclaimer -
If you expect this post to carry you through an inner journey of self-realization ultimately ending to a discovery of great and absolute truth, forget about it. Not gonna happen. Not because I'm incapable of such journeys but because absolute truths no longer exist. What we're sold as absolute truths in this world are a bunch of lies wrapped over with our own fears, insecurities and prejudices that we're bound to perceive as truths simply because we that's the way we want to perceive them. The mere idea of challenging our perceptions stirs up an almost mortal fear in us. We have a natural aversion to questioning the ideas and beliefs that we have grown up accepting as true. And we'd do anything to keep it that way. Anything. It's a dangerous precedent and one that needs to be reversed yesterday! If ever the world needed a reboot button, it's now. But if it did exist, I'm sure attempts to conceal/destroy it would not only be made, but be very successful.
Note to reader - Now that I've suckered you into thinking about life altering stuff and possibly pushed you into a journey looking for reboot buttons in all odd places, I'm gonna get on with what I intended to write about in the first place.
First instincts.
With the advent of social media our first instinct these days very often is to write about our experiences as our facebook status update, check-in our travels on four square, tweet our latest political stance on twitter, to name a few.
Ever thought what someone's first instinct would have been in say the middle ages? Or during the cold war?
Disclaimer 2 - This time I'm serious. Don't expect life-altering earth-shattering stuff from now on. I'm done suckering you!
Let's roll!
Circa 320 BC -
The actors -
-Emperor Chandragupta Maurya (Maurya dynasty, India)
-His teacher 'Chanakya' - A complete BadAss. Perhaps the most awesome political strategist ever. Think George W Bush; Chanakya was everything Bush is not, a million times over.
If Chandragupta Maurya choked on a Dorito, Chanakya would probably have added Doritos to the arsenal of all designated female assassins. (I told you he was a BadAss! A pioneer of using females as political spies / assassins in India). That would've probably made all forms of chips a taboo food in India, but we still wouldn't be a fit nation. We love eating crap, and would probably find something much worse to munch on!
Note to Reader - Of course one can argue that doritos wouldn't have existed in 320 BC. To that I'd say - Boooo! Where's you're sense of creative freedom player?!
Circa 1575 -
The Actors -
- Emperor Akbar (Mughal Dynasty, India)
- His Grand Vizier 'Birbal' - Really Smart. Like Albert Einstein plus Sigmund Freud minus Albert's crazy hairdo minus Sigmund's crazy mojo
If Akbar choked on a Dorito, Birbal would probably have turned the incident to a source for some wise pearl of wisdom for which he would have been rewarded with land equivalent to what is now New Delhi. Hundreds of years later, it would have totally ruined all my Dorito eating experiences. Turning then from excessively salty and flavourful gastronomical death morsels into soul searching morsels of divine contemplation. Tragic, just tragic.
Note to reader - "Wise pearl of wisdom" is just bad English, ain't it!
Circa 1800 - Napolean Bonaparte chokes on a Dorito.
The sun-uv-a-gun would have died on the spot! His tiny frame wouldn't have had the energy to cough it out!
Circa 1935 - Mahatma Gandhi Chokes on a Dorito.
Wait, he fasted half the time he was alive. The odds of him choking on a Dorito are just too minuscule to consider.
Circa 2000 - Bill Clinton chokes on a Dorito.
- A couple of years after the incident he would hold a press conference completely unrelated to the choking and declare - "I did not have sexual relations with Dorito".
-Hillary would then hand him a note asking- 'You laid our puerto rican maid?'
I could go on and on, but I'm just sleepy and have to wake up early for class tomorrow. To sum it all up, I'm just glad that I live in an age where choking on a chip will seldom have implications beyond my passing to the other side!
Note to reader - Read my lips: I am not dead!
If I were I wouldn't be writing this post! Although I think with Steve Jobs on the other side, Moses will soon have an upgraded tablet and ghosts their very own range of Macs, blogging platforms, broadband options and cloud services to choose from. And with no competition around, Stevie J will probably be as loved up there as he was down here. Ahem.
Now after a near death experience a normal person might have a life altering epiphany, would perhaps have his life flash before his eyes, might want to make a final phone call to a loved one or perhaps want to shred the latest draft of his will in which he left everything to his dog coz his family pissed him off (Woof Woof!). But we're talking normal here. So that's obviously not what happened to me.
Note to reader - Steve Jobs life probably didn't flash before his eyes. He hated flash.
As I recovered from a salsa flavoured almost death neither did I have an epiphany nor any of other stuff I just mentioned above. I coughed out the guilty piece of chip that almost took my life, looked intently at it for a second, decided the flavour was too precious to waste, put it back in my mouth and instinctively walked up to my laptop to update my near death experience as my facebook status while munching on it.
Yes. Update-my-facebook-status.
Now there're one of two paths that I can take from this point on in this post. I can write about how social media and an increasingly 'connected' world has ironically led to a breakdown of meaningful communication and is breeding a society bereft of real social skills. But I'm not going to do that. I'd rather not dwell on the inevitability of the undesired consequences of our short-sighted creations.
On the contrary, let's talk about first instincts. What would your first instinct be if you had a near death experience, if at all?
Disclaimer -
If you expect this post to carry you through an inner journey of self-realization ultimately ending to a discovery of great and absolute truth, forget about it. Not gonna happen. Not because I'm incapable of such journeys but because absolute truths no longer exist. What we're sold as absolute truths in this world are a bunch of lies wrapped over with our own fears, insecurities and prejudices that we're bound to perceive as truths simply because we that's the way we want to perceive them. The mere idea of challenging our perceptions stirs up an almost mortal fear in us. We have a natural aversion to questioning the ideas and beliefs that we have grown up accepting as true. And we'd do anything to keep it that way. Anything. It's a dangerous precedent and one that needs to be reversed yesterday! If ever the world needed a reboot button, it's now. But if it did exist, I'm sure attempts to conceal/destroy it would not only be made, but be very successful.
Note to reader - Now that I've suckered you into thinking about life altering stuff and possibly pushed you into a journey looking for reboot buttons in all odd places, I'm gonna get on with what I intended to write about in the first place.
First instincts.
With the advent of social media our first instinct these days very often is to write about our experiences as our facebook status update, check-in our travels on four square, tweet our latest political stance on twitter, to name a few.
Ever thought what someone's first instinct would have been in say the middle ages? Or during the cold war?
Disclaimer 2 - This time I'm serious. Don't expect life-altering earth-shattering stuff from now on. I'm done suckering you!
Let's roll!
Circa 320 BC -
The actors -
-Emperor Chandragupta Maurya (Maurya dynasty, India)
-His teacher 'Chanakya' - A complete BadAss. Perhaps the most awesome political strategist ever. Think George W Bush; Chanakya was everything Bush is not, a million times over.
If Chandragupta Maurya choked on a Dorito, Chanakya would probably have added Doritos to the arsenal of all designated female assassins. (I told you he was a BadAss! A pioneer of using females as political spies / assassins in India). That would've probably made all forms of chips a taboo food in India, but we still wouldn't be a fit nation. We love eating crap, and would probably find something much worse to munch on!
Note to Reader - Of course one can argue that doritos wouldn't have existed in 320 BC. To that I'd say - Boooo! Where's you're sense of creative freedom player?!
Circa 1575 -
The Actors -
- Emperor Akbar (Mughal Dynasty, India)
- His Grand Vizier 'Birbal' - Really Smart. Like Albert Einstein plus Sigmund Freud minus Albert's crazy hairdo minus Sigmund's crazy mojo
If Akbar choked on a Dorito, Birbal would probably have turned the incident to a source for some wise pearl of wisdom for which he would have been rewarded with land equivalent to what is now New Delhi. Hundreds of years later, it would have totally ruined all my Dorito eating experiences. Turning then from excessively salty and flavourful gastronomical death morsels into soul searching morsels of divine contemplation. Tragic, just tragic.
Note to reader - "Wise pearl of wisdom" is just bad English, ain't it!
Circa 1800 - Napolean Bonaparte chokes on a Dorito.
The sun-uv-a-gun would have died on the spot! His tiny frame wouldn't have had the energy to cough it out!
Circa 1935 - Mahatma Gandhi Chokes on a Dorito.
Wait, he fasted half the time he was alive. The odds of him choking on a Dorito are just too minuscule to consider.
Circa 2000 - Bill Clinton chokes on a Dorito.
- A couple of years after the incident he would hold a press conference completely unrelated to the choking and declare - "I did not have sexual relations with Dorito".
-Hillary would then hand him a note asking- 'You laid our puerto rican maid?'
I could go on and on, but I'm just sleepy and have to wake up early for class tomorrow. To sum it all up, I'm just glad that I live in an age where choking on a chip will seldom have implications beyond my passing to the other side!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Serendipity, Anyone?
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.
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.
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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