The Latin Sardar

Breaking News: Petrol Pumps In Delhi Become Match-Making Joints

2012-01-25T15:11:00.000+05:30

New Delhi: In what seems to be the latest trend, petrol pumps in the national capital are fast becoming match-making joints, especially for the ladies.

Women in New Delhi have taken to asking men out at petrol pumps, often asking for their phone numbers. Mr Latin Sardar, head of the Latin Sardar Media Network, having gone through similar experiences on more than a handful of occasions, had this to say - "I frequent this petrol pump on my way to work. Having been letched at by women in the past, I'm no stranger to this growing phenomenon of women taking the charge and staring men down, undressing them with their looks in full public view and even asking men out on a date. But this has been a bit of a shocker even for a seasoned player like myself. I have been asked who I am and been requested to part with my phone number on 23 different occasions within the last one year. Not to mention, the 18 odd phone numbers I've received during this period, all from women at petrol pumps across the city. The last time it happened was this very morning."

Experts attribute the rising petrol prices to be the root cause of this change in Delhi women. "With petrol prices at an all time high, women have started to acknowledge the fact that it's not what a man earns every month, it's what he spends on petrol that makes him a man these days," says Dr (Mrs) Aditi Lutchuke, a renowned psych and sexual behavior analyst with a leading city hospital.

The Petrol Pump Owner's Association of Delhi, in a response to the query about this latest trend in the city, says, "We have received information from men in New Delhi about this growing trend among the city women. While most of them are congratulatory notes thanking us, I have to admit, some men have actually been complaining about it too. For example, we received a complaint from one Mr Rajneesh Kapoor who was asked for his phone number by a lady at a petrol pump while he was filling up, on his way to a long drive with his now former girl friend."

There have been rumors about an additional charge being levied on petrol bills for men who are asked out by women at petrol pumps. On being asked, the Association's General Secretary, Mr Khamba says, "Yes, we might think about it in the near future, but it is still very speculative. There is some resistance among the association members, mostly the men."

The sentiment on the street is somewhat similar too. "Why would you levy a charge on me for being asked out on a date by a woman. Don't I spend enough on petrol already? And I don't even drive a fancy car, I have a tattered old Maruti 800," says a baffled Mr Latin Sardar.

2011: The Year That Was

2011-12-27T13:48:00.000+05:30

So, this will be the first of a kind for me, doing a post on how the year went. But I guess, this year has had a little too much to offer, so I guess I owe it to the year that sucked so much.

Since I'm still an Indian, let's start with God. People would've noticed by now, I have a particular hatred for the concept of God. He is a procrastinator, much bigger than I would ever be, sleeping on the job or busy picking on me. A guy with a Mercedes S500 drives up in front of a temple in the middle of a busy one way street in Khan Market, leaves it right there and walks casually inside while cops look the other way and I watch it all, leaning against my M800 (and that stands for Maruti 800, not Maserati 800, just in case you were wondering), eating the cheapest stuff McDonald's has to offer. I wouldn't dare to do such a thing because if I ever did something like that, my car would not be towed, it would be impounded and/or crushed in a junkyard with me inside it.

To sum it up, been feeling a lot like Bruce Nolan, you know the one who feels like "God is a mean kid sitting on an ant hill with a magnifying glass, and I'm the ant."

Then, there have been people bumping into me and for some reason they think I look like Harbhajan Singh, you know, the one who likes to 'make it large'. Believe it or not, I have actually been asked for an autograph by a South Indian father-son duo because they thought I was him. They even told me they loved the way I used to spin the ball at the peak of my career. Well, it figures. We North Indians too think all South Indians look the same and Rajnikath and Mamooty are the same person.

Harbhajan Singh or Bhagat Singh - you be the judge

I got mobbed at grocery stores and I got mobbed at bars. Yes, I do know how to buy groceries. But, digressing. For a long time, I actually hesitated going to a bar. Let's face it, being a sardar, I would inevitably end up asking the bar tender to 'make it large' only to get slapped in the face. Yes, it happened a lot. I have given up the use of the phrase for another reason though, it sounds more like someone asking for help to get a boner.

There have been another set of people who actually think I look like Bhagat Singh for some reason. It has happened on and off throughout the year. Every once in a while, I'd run into someone who thought I looked like him. But things went really crazy when I was told I look like him by three people at three different locations within the same day. I guess, either these people haven't been out of their homes in a while or Rang De Basanti is still popular thanks to a young man named Anna Hazare.

All said and done, given my record of luck, I'm sure 2012 is only going to be suckier than 2011. Cheers and a Happy New Year.

Making Ends Meet...

2011-11-29T17:16:00.001+05:30

Take a steel rod. It has 2 ends, they represent the two ends of your life (income and expense) and the steel rod represent your life itself. Now you know very well, it can get very hard to make ends meet, especially if your life is as tough as a steel rod. But if, somehow, with ease or difficulty, you manage to make both ends meet, you'd be left with a big zero.

And if you think life is not so hard, you can take any other object which is not so tough, like a thread or a piece of bread, but the end result will be the same - make those ends meet and you are still left with a zero.

The Truth Shall Set You Free... Indeed

2011-11-23T22:57:00.000+05:30

All the men out there, ask yourselves, how many hours have you spent trying to figure out women. It is the biggest question haunting mankind ever since the original sin. 99.99% have given up, given in that it's impossible to understand them. The rest are scientists and geeks.

You try be dishonest, they catch you from the moment you open your mouth to breathe before words find their way to your vocal chords. Try anything from than point on and it shall be classified as a lie. Whether you are indeed stuck at office because your boss has no life of his own and wishes you to follow his lead, grating your arse against the seat like swiss cheese, neck deep in work or whether you are at the pub with your friends for a little bit of quiet time and one lousy drink, for that one woman back home, you are a pathological liar and are cheating on her with other women.

You try to be honest and there is a long silence, a pregnant pause. Then you muster up enough courage to dare and ask 'what's wrong, honey?' Try doing that and immediately go for a bungee jump off a suspension bridge, you won't even twitch before jumping. The answer to that seemingly benign question is a seemingly equally benign 'nothing'. But the reality is far from what's visible, or audible for that matter. It's the equivalent of being picked out of the crowd and ordered to march in the middle of the street in Berlin all the way to Auschwitz by someone dressed in blacks with the ubiquitous "SS" insignia on the collar lapels and the stahlhelm, poking you with a bayonet to move faster.

If you are slightly lucky and follow the Dalai Lama on Twitter, you might be spared and the only thing you might get would be 'I'm not your mother, go figure it out!' yelled at you.

Now, I'm not ready to believe anyone who says they have been in a relationship and that sort of thing hasn't happened to them. And if it indeed hasn't happened, it was not a relationship or, let me break it to you this way - that was not a woman.

Trust me, all this madness has a reason and I have cracked the question haunting mankind since Eve picked that damned apple and ate it. Judging by the way we are, Adam must've tried to ferment it's juice and make beer out of it, but we can only speculate about it at this point.

But let's try and stay focused, or as they (the women) would say, switch off the porn for a moment.

Please refer to the picture above. There's Venus, there's Earth and there's Mars. Somehow, the idea that men are from Mars and women from Venus has been perpetuated among all of us - men and women - for quite a while now. People like my friend Abish Mathew have written songs about it too. Let's take this step by step and try to deduce in a very scientific manner why women are like what they are.

This is what we have till now -

Women are from Venus
Venus is slightly bigger than Earth
Venus is also called the Red Planet
Venus is the only planet in the solar system which rotates clockwise

Point #1

Women are from Venus. Fine. Not a problem.

Point #2

Venus is slightly bigger than Earth. So, you are saying, the Venusians moved from a bigger place, which I'm guessing must've been very nicely done up with drapes matching the color of the couch, the walls, the door knobs, the nail polish and the toilet seat, to a smaller place and are made to share it with us Martians. And you expect them to stay leveled? Are you mad?

Point #3

Venus is also called the Red Planet. Do I really have to explain on this one. Okay, fine then. When you have so many of them in the same place, you expect things to remain calm? Get real. They get irritated seeing another one lose half an ounce of weight.

Point #4

Venus is the only planet in the solar system that rotates clockwise, all other planets rotate anti-clockwise. This statement is a self-explanatory fact.

However, all said and done, I'm glad we have these Venusians among us, barring a few exceptions like Mamata Banerjee and Mayawati and the likes.

To The Madrasan, With Regards

2011-10-10T14:50:00.001+05:30

So, this post has been languishing in the drafts for some time. Actually, since the day the Madrasan wrote an open letter to a Delhi Boy. Now, before anyone starts with the 'oh, here we go again', let me be very clear on the fact that I kinda loved the over-the-top-I'm-angry-with-Delhi-boys post of this sister from the countries south of the Vindhyas, you know, that place we used to croak about in morning assembly at school.

Yes, I would call her my sister. And no, it won't be like 'I hear you, sister' because let's be very clear about it, I'm not gay. The story behind this decision goes back to my childhood when my mother used to call my little sister a Madrasan every time she would make a fuss about anything. So, there's the connect that struck a chord with me.

Being a true-blue Delhi-ite myself who lives by only one true law of mother nature for Delhi people - if you drive slower than me, you are an idiot and if you drive faster than me, you are an a$$hole - I felt a strong urge to contribute my two cents, or as you would expect from any self respecting Sardar from Delhi who is still not clear about whether he is from Punjab or from Canada, a few dollars more.

Now, even though I drive a Maruti 800, I agree with her description that most Delhi men are like that, not fed properly as infants and could be best described as Feel-e-Aazam. Yes, they love to feel and grope at everything they like and no, they don't do it because they are visually impaired. They live like they are the direct descendants of Mughal rulers of Delhi and have the birth right to act like that. Yes, they are loud but let's face it, not louder than the shirt of a typical Jignesh Bhai going to a Dandia Night which can drive all the pets in a 3 mile radius crazy with the amount of decibel levels it produces. Yes, IIT's and journalism are somewhat of an achievement, but it's not the only thing in the world. I am in the media line myself now and I can tell you one thing, if life and everything in it was that simple, it would not be called life, it would be called journalism. Life is not a 500 word article which you have to file in before the end of the day for editing before it goes to press. You do need something to strike a balance in nature by having the uber-intellect and the uber-Delhi-ite breathing the same air on this planet. So, if all you can find is Delhi-ites like that, then you are in the wrong company to some extent.

A Delhiite - Mr. Fila (Feela) Ram.
He prefers to feel and grope at anything he likes.

And there definitely are those who are nothing like that. I do remember very clearly the way one of my professors and now a good friend had his ribs broken by a bunch of such guys. Yes, there are people like that who would go to the extent of having their ribs broken to make sure women around them are comfortable and don't have to feel violated in any manner. And let me tell you, there are women, especially a few journalists I know other than you from Madras, Calcutta and Bombay and other places in the south who would rather have Fila Rams around them at all times. For them, it's a sign of being a 'grown up' and if you are not one of the Fila Rams, you are juvenile and immature. As soon as they come across the other kind of Delhi-ite, they tend to lose their balance. And sweetie, there's a very fine line between ego and self respect. Even though they look the same, one is like a Chinese copy of the other.

Hope you find someone better soon enough and keep that hilariousness going.

Regards
Jassi
Not from Defence Callonny

Sunday...

2011-10-04T01:48:00.000+05:30

Ah! Sunday... The one day of the week that used to be fun once upon a time. Getting up late, lazy brunch if you feel like, take a shower when and if you wanted to. Alas, not any more. So in the spirit of a lazy Sunday, comes this post on a Tuesday. This is a bit of a deviation from the usual, but that's how you beat a repetitious day.

And as indolent as it may get, that's where the joys of kitchen experimentation can bring you some relief from the mundane and rather distasteful routine of a Sunday in the Latin Sardar household.

So, with a raging headache which could put a pile of splitting cork in fire to shame, I gathered myself for something to spice up this Sunday morning when The Mother decided to cook up Kadhi Chawal. And cook she can. Although her usual approach to cooking is putting everything in a pan and turning up the heat and leaving the rest up to god, hoping everyone will just shut up and eat whatever is on the plate. But when she cooks, she cooks and that she gets from me. I know, I have a lot to learn about modesty, but please deal with it for now.

Now, it was basically some sort of reverse engineered recipe that I tried out, but like I said, modesty is a bird quite far off and hence I might just add, it turned out pretty damn well. I remember having something like this long ago, and I mean long ago when I was a tiny little kid, less than 5½ feet tall.

A quartet of beet root bulbs languishing in the fridge caught my eye and the experimentation started. Here goes...

This is the only picture I could get. The dish

was devoured in less than half the time it took me to cook.

Beet root - As much as you like. I had 4 medium sized bulbs, enough for 5 people.
Onions - Prefer the white onions, you already have the deep red of beets. One large would do.
Black Mustard Seeds - Half a teaspoon
Whole Dry Red Chilly - One's enough
Green Chilly - One, split along the length. Deseed if you want to reduce the heat.
Curry Leaves - 8-10, fresh or dried, whichever you can find.
Tamarind Paste - One large teaspoon. Add in ¼ cup of water.
Fresh Grated Coconut - Two teaspoons. Even if you have dry grated coconut, don't worry, just soak it in water for a while, that'll do the trick.
Red Chilly Powder - As much as you like
50-50 Mix of Rock and Table Salt
Cooking Oil - One tablespoon is enough. Any type would do, but avoid olive oil. The taste does not go too well with the coconut in my opinion.

Dice the beet root into tiny cubes, not too tiny that it starts looking like tiny slices. Half the onion and slice slightly thick along the long side. Wash the curry leaves, beet roots and onions.

Split the green chilly along the length and deseed if you feel like, I did not, I like the heat sometimes especially if nothing else is as spicy around me. Keep all these ingredients at the ready, you'll need them immediately.

Heat the oil in a wok and add the mustard seeds and the dry red chilly. Let the mustard spit while the chilly turns slightly black, then add the curry leaves. Be careful at this point, when the curry leaves spit, be somewhere else or at least be careful, especially those waltzing into the kitchen for the first time to impress someone. Once the curry leaves settle down a bit, add the green chilly and the onions. Let them glaze up a little. We don't need them to turn soggy and retain some crunch. So as soon as the onions glaze up, reduce the heat to medium and add the grated coconut. Let it roast around in the wok till it browns a little. The coconut will make sure rest of the ingredients already in the pan don't burn up, so relax.

Once the coconut turns slightly brown, it's time to add the beet root and the tamarind paste dissolved in ¼ cup of water. Add the salt mix and red chilly powder as much as you like. Mix well on medium heat. Now, beet root has lot of water in it, so you actually won't need to add more water to it unless you want it to go too soft. And I like it to retain some crunch, a little bit of a bite, so only the water with the tamarind paste goes in and should be enough. Reduce heat and cook till the beet softens up a bit and soaks up some flavors from the curry leaves, coconut, chillies and the mustard. Should not take more than 8-10 minutes. And that is on the outside, keep checking in on the beet root and stir it every once in a while.

And you are done. This is one of those things that bachelors like me use to impress. And was The Mother impressed or what. Only problem was, raag shaadi popped out once again through all this. But who cares about that anymore.

Some easy cooking, some good food, some quality time with the folks, all that in less than 20 minutes and damn, it tastes good.

I really should have one of those cooking shows of my own.

Good Ol' Friends And Some Good Wine...

2011-09-28T19:34:00.000+05:30

What's better than good wine? The company of good friends, of course. So when you get the opportunity, you grab it. A beautiful evening is what you get in return.

It's been a very long time since I did something like this. And I have 4 tattoos to prove it. Yes, I got 4 of them and all of them between the last wine tasting and this one. But don't worry, none of them profess my love for wine. Before I go digressing any further from the vine, let me veer back towards what has me excited all over again.

So, ProChile were at it again, ready to bedazzle with some great wines. And live up to the reputation they did.

Now, call me naive and inexperienced, but I believe every region has that star grape to it's credit. And Carménère is that star for Chile. I know, I've been gaga over Carménère for a while now, but trust me, it is that good when comes to a wine grape varietal.

The evening kicked off to a great start with Viña Cantaluna's Carménère 2010, eager to make a rather bold statement. Some, in fact, most experienced sommeliers (I'm not even qualified to call myself an amateur, I'm just a wannabe) would call it rather rough around the edges, with tannins that leave the undertones of flowery and peppery notes on the palette, something that would go well with the spicier North India fare, particularly the Mughlai or perhaps some good old Punjabi cuisine. But that was not all Cantaluna had on the table. There was the 2008 Carménère Resérva with it's ruby red color, well rounded and smooth, aged in French oak for 12 months. The spicy and fruity notes of the wine seemed perfect accompaniments to the preparations from down South on the Indian coast, particularly Goan food. The cinnamon and white pepper undertones that hit the back of your tongue, made me hanker for some Chicken Xacuti I recently had at a beach shack restaurant in Calangute. That would be the taste to accompany this wine.

But let's not get carried away with my favorites only, there were others in the line, just as eager to impress. The 2010 Chardonnay with its citrusy tones was simply refreshing. A perfect pairing would be with a warmish breezy Sunday brunch, out in the balcony with a couple of close friends and lots of fun things to talk about. Dish out some mildly spiced fritters or perhaps some kebab and hummus and you have a winner with this one.

Next up was the Carménère and Merlot from B&V Melozal. The young varietal (2010 vintage) had rather deep coloration, kind of typical to the grape and then some. The violet red hues entwine within it notes of cherries, blackberries and plums/prunes with undertones of white pepper and coffee (yes, Coffee! And the whole thing works really well for the palette with its well rounded, rather smooth tannins for a wine that young).

The Merlot is quite interesting in it's own right as well. The nicely structured and smooth tannins hold within them aromas of chocolate and ripe strawberries with a rather strongish undertone of cloves and cinnamon. Ask me and I would pair it with some spicy biryani any day for a quiet, laid back lunch.

Now, I've been to some wine tastings and I'm yet to return from one of these without a story to tell. And this being Delhi, there's always that one guy in the crowd asking for 'a shot of red wine' making you wonder where did the world go wrong.

The Caliboro Resérva is an excellent

companion for those spicy meat curries

But then this was an evening with wine and things got really interesting when it comes to the Caliboro Resérva from Melozal's cellars. The deep violet red color bordering on black of the Carménère hides away a rather elegantly complex and eclectic mix of vanilla, blackberries, chocolate and what felt like either green apples or rich, aromatic tea leaves to me. The representative from the vineyard laid to rest this hesitant acknowledgement by affirming that it was indeed the aroma of tea leaves that my nose had sensed. It was rather strange for a wine from South America, but yes, refreshingly elegant for this American oak aged wine. Spicy meat curries would be excellent companions for this one.

The Sol de Melozal is a blend of

Cabernet Sauvignon (60%) and Carménère (40%)

and is a match made in heaven for the smoky notes of tandoori fare

Now, I'm not a great big fan of the blends, but the Sol de Melozal, a 60% Cabernet Sauvignon and 40% Carménère is an exception I'm ready to acknowledge. This elegant and smooth wine had me up in a twist. Aged in new American and French oak for 11 months, it has a rather deep set of red berry aromas for the nose, an eclectic bouquet of blackcurrant, blackberries and plums beautifully complemented by undertones of vanilla, pepper and a smokiness from the toasted oak. This baby had well rounded tannins with a smooth finish that would go extremely well with a barbeque lamb marinated for at least 24 hours in rich Indian spices on a sunny, winter Sunday brunch.

I've been to some wine tastings in the past, but this one was something special, so many wines to sample, it's not funny at all. It almost seemed like a challenge to not let all that vino get to my head, after all, I had to remember all the wines I was sampling through the evening. And never before have I had so much to write. But for the love of wine and Bacchus, I make my humble attempt to honor the High God and his creation.

Los Portones with its unique bottle draws your

attention. But it's what inside the bottle that will intrigue you

Next up was another star performer, the Los Portones Carménère. A well rounded and well balanced Carménère with a rather unique bouquet of young, immature pepper pods and notes of cinammon. The ruby red color with violet-black hues on the edges presents well balanced, smooth tannins to the palette with hints of blackberries, prunes, blueberries and what felt like a subtle undertone of fresh vanilla. A perfect companion for Mughlai-Awadhi cuisine, this is definitely a wine to have in that little home cellar.

Like I said, it was nothing less than a roller coster. For the first time, I had a chance to taste some sparkling wine from a Chilean wine maker. The NVY by Valdivieso, a strawberry sparkler with a pinkish hue is definitely something to write home about. A refreshing sparkling dessert wine with a distinct note of the strawberries can be a party starter. Perfect for an aperitif or to accompany that post-dinner dessert tray.

But the real attention grabbers from Valdivieso were the Malbec and of course, my favorite, the Carménère.

The 2009 (I think.. hey, I was getting a little drunk by now) Malbec was a nice surprise following the little disaster last year. I was almost off Malbec for all this while and tasted this one from Valdivieso just to see if I was right about Malbec. I was, of course, wrong. Humbled by the bouquet of ripe blackberries and blueberries with a generous smattering of prunes, cinammon, vanilla and white pepper and hint of minerals, this particular Malbec is a winner.

Happy times, just after the Malbec disaster and just before

the mother of all disasters - ever

To cap off a perfect evening, you need something that is perfect in it's own right or at least comes close. When the Valdivieso Carménère 2007 Resérva was poured into the glass, that was the cue for the evening. Sure, someone could make something better, but not that evening. An elegant, full bodied bouquet of spices like cinammon and pepper beautifully complemented by notes of dark chocolate, plums, blackberries and cherries. The tannins present a smooth and somewhat of a lingering aftertaste on the palette with amazingly subtle notes of toasted oak. The best thing about this creation of a perfectionist oenologist with a blessing from the God of wine Himself is that the only company it probably needs is a quite afternoon with some good music and just enough people around that it's not a crowd (you get the hint ;)...).

Seems like wine is the cure for all things that are bothersome in this world. Just to clear some things, all that's left to say now is - Cheers!

You Live, You Learn...

2011-05-23T19:22:00.006+05:30

Been a while since I registered my presence anywhere, here or there. Darn, missed so much already.

We are so hopelessly used to living in the fast lane. But there comes a time when you have to slow down, maybe even stop and take a look back at what you just missed. You won't mind if the world is passing by, leaving you behind because for once you choose to be in that place at that time and think about what you've done so far and what is it that you want to do.

Past few months has been a time of some revelation, some introspection, some learning, some change and some disappointment, probably not in the same order, but all of these things for sure and perhaps a little bit more. And it has been about everything around me - work, family, friends - everything and everyone.

The revelation has been the biggest challenge to handle. I have, in all honesty, no clue what's going on, what life is supposed to be all about for I’ve been leading a rather sheltered life. That would mean that I am not what I thought I am. And I thought of myself as a nice person, someone who likes to take care of everyone around him, someone who would go to great lengths to make people around him comfortable, everyone, family, friends, even friends of friends at times. Someone around whom everyone feels safe. The one person everyone would call in the middle of the night if they were in trouble or if they just wanted a ride home from the airport. But I am apparently none of that. I’m not a nice person. I’m just human, I have my flaws and I need to have control over them. If I don’t, they take control of me and I stand to lose myself. And when that happens I would lose everything I hold dear.

It all had to lead to some introspection. What am I if not all that I thought I was? Why do I commit mistakes when I know what I’m doing is wrong? I’ve pondered over these questions for a very long time for the lack of anything better to do.

I have my answers now, I think. Times change and people have to change accordingly. I’ve been preaching that to people around me but seem to have lost the meaning of it somewhere down the line myself. It can be trivial, the way you dress or the way you talk, but it is a part of life. Accept it. Change is inevitable. However, it really is just time wearing a halloween costume. Funny or scary is what we have to decide as individuals. It can happen on its own and at times it might just need a little stimulus. Either way, there’s nothing wrong with it. People around you, who want and would like to see you change a little everyday are usually that stimulus which you need. But you must never let them feel guilty for bringing that change in you for you have to believe and let them know that you want to and are happy with those changes in you. I recall these lyrics from Alanis Morisstte’s song ‘You learn’ through all this chaos.

You live, you learn

You love, you learn

You cry, you learn

You lose, you learn

You bleed, you learn

You scream, you learn

- Alanis Morissette

Life is supposed to be an adventure. That 'something special' everyone around you is talking about, this is it - life. You either have it in you or you don't. It's okay either way, all you have to do is be honest with yourself about it. If you have it, enjoy it, never even dream of taking it for granted. If you don't, don’t bother, you will always find some reason to get yourself a piece of that adventure as long as you breathe. It can be tomorrow, it can be next week or maybe next year. And it could really be anything, a relationship or something new at work. But when you do find it, be very careful, do not let it go. Some may call that being selfish. But let them say what they want to, be selfish for once, hold on, never take it for granted and never let it go. Just be careful, it comes with a lot of responsibility.

Madness, some may say. Trust me, feels like it too. Luckily, even through all this madness, there have been people who stuck by me or at least tried to, giving me something new to learn and making me a better man for it. Sadly, some of them might have been left disappointed by my actions. Again, fault would be mine, for I faked what I was not and they set their high hopes on me which I never delivered. I am done making excuses. If I am wrong, I am wrong and to make it right, the first thing I have to do is to own up to my mistakes. And I have been wrong, more times than I can count. Wrong about what I am, who I am, what I want to be and what I've become, knowingly or unknowingly.

Long ago, someone suggested - 'growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional'. I believe I took it a little too literally. Well, I guess time for me to grow up a little. And to all those I've ever done any wrong, those I lost on the way, left behind or those who simply chose to move on, all I can say is that I shall cherish the memories you've left me, always.

Ranting... yes... Fun...

Romancing The Carménère

2010-12-06T14:16:00.004+05:30

As human beings, we may fight on all things under the sun, but there's one thing that always brings us together - food. This statement is no reflection on my growing any older (who said I'm getting old?), but a simple fact of life. And we may say that we eat to live, especially some of those hot shots who seem to be concerned about your "health", but honestly, it is the other way around, we do in fact live to eat. And the sooner you realize that, the better.

I know, it hasn't been that long since I last wrote about my first time tasting the Carménère varietal wines. And I must've done something right in the past life (I don't remember anything from this lifetime) that ProChile, India and Spot&Tell invited me for yet another fiesta of flavors from half way around the world.

A bottle of 2008 Carménère - you see this anywhere, give it
a try. No disappointments guaranteed.

Needless for me to add, it was the anticipation of tasting yet another bottle of Carménère that drove me and I am one happy man for that. But before I got to the Carménère, there were some others in the line that deserved an equal amount of applause and attention.

First in line was Ochotierras' Cabernet Sauvignon, 2008 - a red wine with rather intense aroma of red fruits, most notably plums, slightly smoky/peppery after notes, a good balance of acidity and well rounded tannins. Now, Ochotierras is another one of those small family owned vineyards which I really love for their attention to detail. They don't make too much (about 50,000 cases a year) but what comes out of their cellars is nothing less than a piece of art. But Cabernet Sauvignon is not the only varietal they have, their Sauvignon Blancs are equally amazing. The one I tasted was rather light colored 2008 with citrusy notes of grapefruit, lemongrass and lemon zest. A very young, light textured wine which I would love to call light hearted, zesty and youthful but I know I would get impaled if a professional sommelier were to read my remarks.

The Sauvignon Blanc (second, bottom left) has a very light
texture and a young, flavorful taste with fruity notes.

The 2008 oak barrel aged Syrah had that distinct wood flavor which seemed to be at war with the hint of plum and blackberry in the undertones to declare its supremacy. But the fruits were in no mood to loose at all and the engagement was quite well balanced. The tannins were rather robust for a bottle so young, but were well balanced by the fruity flavors as the wine goes down the throat. Once the minnows had shown what they could do, out came the Carménère. If you've read my previous post about this varietal, you'd recall that this grape is pretty much indigenous to Chile now and the produce is far more than just interesting. This one on offer from Ochotierras' cellars was a 2008, again aged in oak barrels and had that distinct wood flavor that you would not miss with a balanced hint of plums, cherries and blackberries. The deep ruby red color hides inside it tannins which were well rounded off and made for a far more smoother wine than you would expect from the Limari valley, known for being rather arid for raising grapes. The only sad part is that Ochotierras produced just about 10,000 bottles of this varietal.

The range on offer from Viña Millaman

If I or anyone else thought this was the end of the evening, well, the answer is an emphatic no. I did visit the Italians from Sardinia (no, that's not where the sardines come from), but they were in no mood to speak so openly to anyone unless he was an importer. Luckily, a few more vintners were there, ready to bowl you over with their wines. The most memorable among them was Viña Millaman of Chile. While the entry level bottle of Millaman Condor Cabernet Sauvignon was enough to make one sit up and take notice, what followed was even better. The oak barrel aged Limited Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon and Limited Reserve Carménère were an absolute delight for the senses.

Cherries, grapes, kiwis and apples of Chile Just as delightful
as the wines and the people.

The Condor label is a range of young wines while as the name suggests the Limited Reserve are aged between 12-18 months in French and American, first or second use oak barrels. Condor Cabernet had the under tones of cherries and blackberries and balanced acidity complemented by robust and yet somehow surprisingly smooth tannins.

While the Condor seemed enough to satiate the senses for a beginner, my tongue wanted a taste of the Carménère. And the one on offer from Millaman cellars was in no hurry to show me what it'd got. The glass was poured and rolled to let out the aromas the wine concealed in its dark ruby red cloak. And this was an aged wine, 12 months in an oak barrel. The first notable difference was the color itself. Much darker and stronger than any other so far. One whiff with the nose dipped right into that bell shaped glass and a new world opens up. This aged Carménère had a spicy over tone followed by the fruity flavors of plums/prunes and the smoky, pretty much bordering on toasted oak flavors. The body presents well rounded tannins, mellowed down to perfection by the oenologists at Viña Millaman to produce a well balanced wine.

If I already sound like someone ranting too much about family owned vineyards, well, then I can't really help you because like I said, I find the attention to detail in wine making far more prominent and pleasing to the senses in a family vineyard's produce. And for now, I only hope to get some of these wines in my personal collection soon.

The Moral Insufficiency

2010-11-27T18:37:00.003+05:30

There was news about women beating up a bunch of louts in the Delhi Metro in today's papers. Some of my fellow comics have talked about this issue in recent times. But what really gets my goat is that no one has taken the trouble to dig deeper and get to the root of the problem. I know, we are not journalists, we are just stand up comedians and the only two kinds of people with no real sense of morality issues are politicians and comics. Politicians go about doing all sorts of things under the sun, be it money scams or sex scandals. We comedians can talk about all things f*$@#@! up and god in the same sentence without feeling bad about it. Journalists are a category of their own and I don't want to go into that right now lest I step on Barkha Dutt and Vir Sanghvi's champagne cork. And I think the general public should make their peace with these things because let's face it, it's not going to change any time soon.

But the question remains, why do we do it? Why do we try to grope around and feel the exigency to cross the boundaries of decency whenever we see a white woman on Delhi streets? Why do men in India behave such that to describe them, we've had to invent words that themselves sound ludicrous? No, I'm not turning into a woman, I just keep hearing from my friends about their concerns for security while traveling anywhere within the city and it does make me mad. But the other side of the story is that it is funny as hell when tables are turned on these 'louts' and these 'vandals' get beaten up in public with sandals. After a bit of snooping around, checking up with google and putting my own brain to work, I've come to the conclusion that it's the fault of two men - Morarji Desai and Manoj Kumar.

Let me start with the Frank D. Roosevelt of erstwhile Bombay, Morarji Desai. Many of you must've heard of and been nauseated by his habits. But his biggest achievement was to proclaim alcohol a western beacon of immorality. Under his rule, in Bombay, one needed a 'permit' to drink. This 'permit' could be obtained by writing a letter to the excise department (or whatever) stating that while traveling outside of Bombay, one came under the influence of loose western morals and gave into the habit of alcoholism, so much so that he cannot survive without a daily fix of alcohol. Simple enough for any Tom, Dick or Harshvardhan of Bombay to get what he wanted, a booze fix.

Manoj Kumar made sure an entire generation was raised on a
generous diet of hatred for western immorality.

As if that was not enough, around the same time came another man with a particular hatred for the western immorality, Manoj Kumar, the undisputed king of #facepalm tag on twitter. People dubbed him as Bharat Kumar for his portrayal of India... sorry, 'Bharat Mata' and his brand of patriotism which proclaimed that all western women have a f^%#$*@ up moral compass that does not point north. So much so, that the generation raised during that era was force fed with a high volume of baloney on this matter that they had no choice but to grow up to be the generation that believes it to be their moral duty to punish any westerner they see in their city for all their misdeeds.

So ladies, the next time you run into one of these louts (also known by the alias rapists these days) on Delhi streets, do remember to say a few bad words for these two great historical personalities while you are at it.

Chilean Wine & Food Festival

2010-11-11T18:25:00.011+05:30

"When I grow up, I'm going to South America. It's like America, but south."

Everyone knows - growing old is mandatory, growing up optional. And if you did not, well, now you do. Curious yet?

I'm sure quite a few of you have seen this Pixar movie, Up. Now, I was reminded of Ellie and her South American dreams because I just returned from a Chilean Wine & Food Festival in Delhi last night. And I say 'just returned' because the entire event was such an awesome experience and is still fresh in my mind. If someone were to put a gun to my head and ask me to define the entire evening in one word, well, brilliant.

The deviation from the usual half-baked-funny-fare comes courtesy of this wonderful evening spent among an excellent selection of heady aromas. In all my drinking years, I've tried all sorts of things, from beers to whiskeys, gins and rums, occasionally experimenting with exotic stuff like Raki and Ouzo, finally settling on a few brands of whiskeys, a handful of beers and definitely wine. And through all this drinking, I've learned that since there's no way that wine can be defined or categorized in the same way that beers or whiskeys can be, I find myself looking for new experiences every time a bottle is opened. I still remember when I started off with an entry level Sula Sauvignon Blanc (which very surprisingly is a decently good Indian wine) long time ago and the look on my face with that explosion of flavor engulfing my senses. I was sold.

But wine always has been and always will be associated with an ever so slight sense of being 'off limits'. And like everything else which is considered 'off limits' in some way, like so many others rebellious types like me, I have to try it. And thus began my journey of sampling and learning about wines and cultures associated with different wines. When someone talks of wines, the only reference point that most people can find of is French wines. Surprisingly, I'm yet to meet someone who fully understands a complex French Bordeaux or a Burgundy and who's not French. Personally, I'd say, the French may have mastered the art of wine making, but it all goes past me. If given a choice, I'd much rather spend my time with a new world wine from Australia or the US (really sorry for that remark, Max and Jean). 'But what about the tradition and culture you spoke about', you'd say. Yes! There's a lot of that associated with a simple looking bottle of wine. And last night was all about Chilean wines.

From Left: Maximillien Olio, Jean-François Olivesi and Lourdes Cerezo Lopez with their wonderful
selection of Carménère, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc

Spot & Tell invited me to the event organized and hosted by Pro Chile, India, the Chilean Embassy's trade mission in New Delhi. I was skeptical, I mean, I love my wine and I know what I know about what I like, but this was kinda more serious stuff, with professional sommeliers hanging around in the same room. I did not want to look stupid. But am I glad that I went ahead with this.

The biggest surprise from the evening was definitely a grape I'd not heard of, the Carménère, producing a rather robust, medium bodied wine with a wonderful bouquet of aromas of red berries and rosemary and a strong, deep red color and pretty much native to Chile now. The grape is originally from France and was presumed extinct in the Phylloxera plague of 1867.

"It is almost impossible to find Carménère wines in France today, as a Phylloxera plague in 1867 nearly destroyed all the vineyards of Europe, afflicting the Carménère grapevines in particular such that for many years the grape was presumed extinct. When the vineyards were replanted, growers could not replant Carménère as it was extremely hard to find and more difficult to grow than other grape varieties common to Bordeaux."

Little did anyone know that it had been sitting pretty in the valleys of Chile, mistaken to be Merlot, making a rather exciting wine full of spicy and earthy aromatic undertones that, in my rather amateur opinion, would go really well with most of the spicy and heavily aromatic Indian fare. Best part is, like any other wine from any other region, no two wines of the Carménère varietal I tasted had the same characters.

Marc Perelló Colomer (right), sommelier, at the Miguel Torres stall

Then there was the Pisco, a lesser known cousin of wine, originally from Peru and with a mind of its own. Rather strong on the outside as it is distilled from wine, but retains some of the woody, smoky aromas and an almost white rum/vodka like appearance. The aged and the more expensive varieties usually tend to have a color, strength of which is determined by the duration of aging. I remember watching the Travel Channel's episode on South American traditional drinks which featured Pisco and thinking to myself 'if only I could taste it'. And my wish was granted yesterday. Most people would actually draw a parallel between Pisco and Tequila. I would rather just drink it.

Capel is one of the more widely known and commercially produced Pisco from Chile

Complementing the wines was the food. The salmon, scallops and the clams indigenous to Chile made for perfect accompaniments to the wines on offer. No wonder, with a nearly 6000 mile long coastline, the cuisine is an eclectic sea food fare.

Emiliana's 2010 Sauvignon Blanc holds a promise. The very young wine should be
ready for proper consumption by 2012-13. Quite citrusy with a good balance of sweetness and acidity

The wines I sampled last night were from the entry to the mid level on offer by Chilean vintners which should be available in the Rs.800-1500 bracket, with only a handful of offerings from experienced and much larger vintners like Miguel Torres crossing that mark. Two of the 'must look out for' bottles are Manso de Velasco and the Cordillera from the Miguel Torres cellars.

Distinguished guests from the South African trade commission

Miguel Torres' Cordillera and Manso de Velasco are a real treat for the
senses. A must try, if you are at all serious about your wines.

Can't wait to get my hands on some of the wines from yesterday and all the inevitable kitchen confidential experiments that will follow. In all, a wonderful evening spent with some great wine and making some new friends.

The Annoyance Anomaly

2010-09-23T19:01:00.004+05:30

My good friend and fellow nutcase Nitish wrote about a 'Mr. Clean-on-Crack' annoying him on a fifteen hour flight from Toronto to New Delhi, sniff-snorting and rocking his i-pod so loudly that the cabin crew were forced to reconsider their own levelheadedness and keep a lookout for the pterodactyl that was haunting the Toronto-New Delhi flight.

Now, the reason I'm reminded of this incident with my friend is that I am sitting through a similar situation as I write this post. There's a Mr. Richie-Rich-on-crack sitting in the lobby of IHC not too far from me and making noises that would actually make him the most annoying person in the world.

And adding to his charm is his appearance. He wears a shirt so loud that the decibel levels it produces should be declared illegal and inhumane considering it's ill effects on all the pets in a radius of 3 km. And to top that, the shirt is finding it incapable to hide the mats of body hair which could easily put Sean Connery's James Bond to shame. He has a chain around his neck which I seriously doubt has anything to do with PETA or any other animal rights activist group. His trousers are a shimmering black with pin stripes and his shoes are made from the remains of a dead animal whose spirit would haunt the earth's deepest crevasses to find a place and commit suicide all over again.

So, Richie-Rich-on-crack is apparently 'reading' a newspaper and humming the words as he reads along. And he's accomplishing this feat while wearing a shirt so loud that makes me wonder if I'm just hearing the humming sound of deafness. But sometimes, the humming turns into clear sound of the words he is 'reading' and at others it sounds just like a bumble bee stuck in your head, so I'm assuming that I have not gone deaf just yet. However, I am reminded of a time long ago when I was a kid and was forced to sit through a religious function where a panditji was doing a similar routine. He would be lost in his mumblings for a bit and then all of a sudden, with a stentorian announcement of a few syllables, shake everyone in the room out of their sleep.

And then for some reason, Richie-Rich-on-crack starts to narrate (yes, narrate) the names in the phone book of his expensive looking Nokia phone covered in what looked like a rubber. It was clearly a Nokia e73 which has no resemblance or any kinship to a Blackberry. Yet, Richie-Rich-on-crack insists that everyone sees that he is operating a very complex looking mobile phone with a qwerty keypad.

He tried to strike up a conversation with me when he saw the 'white laptop' I'm working with. I have half a mind to tell him what a MacBook means and how it's not just a laptop painted white but that would give him a chance to keep his piehole open and annoy me even further which I'm determined to avoid at any cost to human kind. So not being a sexist and just to clear things out, not being a Sandra Bollocks (yes, I hate her with a vengeance) fan, I intend to pull Speed on him and exit with my saneness intact.

The Clairvoyance Conjecture

2010-05-31T22:09:00.002+05:30

AOL founder escapes bid on life!

Don't be confused, we are not talking about America OnLine chief Steve Case being pawned off for cash on a craps table in Vegas, the case is of a shot being "fired at" Art of Living founder Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.

You remember the guy, dresses in white, looks like Moses, tells everyone their lives are crappy because he thinks so and because he has so many followers. While he doesn't realize that he should be getting sued for international copyright infringement for using the initials AOL, but then that's what copyrights mean in India - the right to copy. He also tells people to get more of their friends to enroll in to what is actually a very elaborate viral marketing scheme scam where you pay some serious money to learn the "Art of Living". And what is the deal with the double "Sri"?

Any sane person will be clear about the fact that people like that are complete frauds. They live on the fact that most people following them are either ignorant enough or really in too deep with some sort of trouble that they need their connections to get out of it. The best thing about the incident was, however, when he described his escape from the bullet. He claimed that his driver had a vision a few days earlier and that's why he knew what was coming for him. And the fact that some other guy got hit by that bullet is being referred to as escaped with minor injuries is insane. How can someone describe a gunshot wound as a minor injury? Think about the poor bugger who got hit. I don't think he will agree to that.

And as for me, I'm sorry for being a bit rustic right now. You see, someone had the funny bone committed to rehab. Now it's like a junkie going back on crack, it'll be a couple of posts more maybe and then perhaps I'll be doing the same old thing.

The Dark Side Of The Moon

2010-05-27T15:16:00.002+05:30

If you are a Pink Floyd fan and landed on this blog post thinking I'd be writing about the 1973 Pink Floyd album, then you are wrong and yes, I am almost criminally insane. But there's a reason behind all the madness today, or shall we say this lunacy - full moon tonight.

Okay, let's start with something funny that happened not too long ago to be forgotten. You all remember this cowboy ducking the shoe.

Nobody told him that was supposed to be an insult to him and he was laughing after the episode, having successfully dodged not one but a complete pair of shoes thrown at him. It was perhaps his biggest achievement in the two consecutive terms in office as the American President. But anyway, the real loser here was the person who threw his shoe at him. Just think about it -

He lost both his shoes.
He gets jailed for it.
He had to buy a new pair of shoes.
It did not affect the cowboy at all.

So the question arises, what he could've done so that Bush would've realized he was being insulted? Of course, you are in luck today as I'm here to tell you what could've been an alternative for the shoe throwing journalist.

Now, most Americans are aware of the phenomenon called 'Mooning'. It's when a person (let's call him the insulter) shows his bare arse to another (let's call him the insultee). The same phenomenon is also sometimes called 'showing the dark side of the moon'. So in my opinion, what Mr. Al-Zaidi lacked on was his research, very unlike a good journalist. Think about it this way -

He would not have lost what seemed like a good pair of shoes.
He would not have had to buy a new pair of shoes.
He could've argued in court that it was a wardrobe malfunction and he did not mean showing off his bare arse to anyone.
Either Bush would've really felt insulted or the world would've found out that he's perhaps gay.

But my point in writing about all this is that if you really have to go astronomical on someone's arse by calling it the dark side of the moon, why not call it the trifecta of planets, you know - saturn and neptune and that one other planet in between going into deep orbit.

Taliban Learn From Telengana

2010-03-06T01:25:00.003+05:30

In a stunning blow to the spirit of freedom of expression, the Afghan government has decided to ban live coverage of terror attacks by Taliban in the country. But the fate of this seemingly controversial decision hangs in the balance as the Taliban have started a PR campaign against the ban and are threatening to go on a series of strikes of a different kind this time around - hunger strikes.

The Taliban have condemned (or whatever they are trying to say in the picture) this act vociferously. In addition to picketing and marches across the country and in the tribal hills of neighboring Pakistan, the Taliban came out in large numbers at the rallies organized by a group of pro-Taliban non-governmental organizations to oppose the latest edict by the Afghan government. most of these organizations have a very prominent presence in the region and are engaged in providing assistance to the local youth in setting up small businesses like making working replicas of all sorts of hand guns and other weapons in their backyards to make a living

"This is totally f&#$*d up! How can they do something like this to us? We are human beings as well and this is a direct violation of our rights. This totally undermines freedom of the press and expression and cannot be justified by any means," Taliban spokesman Yousuf Ahmadi told an all male gathering of journalists outside his cave hideout somewhere in the hills of Tora Bora.

When asked by some of the members of the press about the time when Taliban ruled Afghanistan, about the oppression of women, ban on television, radio, music and even kites, the Taliban spokesman reading from a prepared statement said that they (Taliban) "respect all those media which are free and independent and support their rights. We invite them to cover all our activities against the invaders. Imposing a ban on free media means the government is trying to cover its failures. They have failed... and are trying to hide that."

However, during the post press conference luncheon organized at another one of the Taliban caves nearby, Mr. Ahmadi lowered his guard and an unofficial session of informal chatting followed in which he unwittingly claimed that keeping in mind the latest developments where using their weapons is not going to be of much use to them, their operatives across the country are all set to launch a series of hunger strikes and planning to hire consultants from across the globe to train them in the art of hunger strikes. He also claimed that even though he's been living in the caves of Tora Bora for a while now with a bunch of men, he is aware of the fact that the best consultants for the job he can hire will be from India. "They have a lot of experience in this kind of strikes, the Indians. I recently heard about a group from some place down south whose leader just threatened to go on a hunger strike and the Indian government decided to give him what he wanted to avoid any confrontation, that's how good they are."

All said and done, this might turn out to be yet another great opportunity for the Indian community to showcase its talents overseas and bring more laurels to the nation.

Holi (S#%^!)

2010-03-01T16:05:00.004+05:30

Yes, it is that time of the year when I head for cover, away from all the little kids and the not so little kids who are intent on soaking me and using me as a canvas for some inexplicable reason. And that too in a manner that could give the likes of Hussain and Gujral a run for their monies. It's never been my favorite festival, Holi, but then I've never been the kind of person who would get paint all over himself and parade around with a bunch of hooligans. So I find it necessary at this time of the year to hide away from them lest someone finds me and puts me up in a gallery for sale.

But even with all these negative feelings for Holi, I do believe that others have the right to like it. And keeping in line with the fervor of the season, I'd like to wish all those who do a very Happy Holi! Also, a very hearty congratulations to the Indian team for beating the crap out of the Pakistani team last night (4-1 victory, nice). But very sorry boys, all you get for now is a pack of peanuts and a bagful of assurances that you'll get ample reward soon. The thing is, hockey is India's national sport and therefore, must remain under government control at all times, with a government approved board full of ex-babus who lack basic reasoning skills and who think "out of the box", not "outside the box". The national sport cannot be allowed in the hands of an independent board on the lines of the BCCI because that'll be the end of hockey as we all know it, mainly because Mr. Pawar would want to be elected president of that board as well. Knowing the man India put in charge of its food and commerce, he would pretty much get done anyway. So, to sum it all up, you are basically screwed. Unless... you get Shashi Tharoor to be your brand ambassador.

Think about it, the dude has quite a bit of experience handling international situations and he gets into trouble for saying just about anything these days (RT @Shashitharoor - "Series of substantive meetings between PM & his key Saudi interlocutors went very well"). Even if he just says that he's in Riyadh with the PM to talk to the Saudi authorities about bilateral issues between Saudi Arabia and India and perhaps sign a few treaties, like an extradition treaty maybe, it is misconstrued (to dumb it down, it means misinterpreted or misunderstood) by the "English media" (well, the Hindi and other local media don't even count anyway) in a country which is officially an "English speaking country" and reported as if he said he wanted Saudi Arabia to mediate between India and Pakistan. And not to mention the intellectuals (people who are supposedly capable of understanding the meaning of the word "interlocutor" or at least look it up in a dictionary) sitting in opposition, especially those with advanced degrees in medicine, literature, law etc., just to name a few, demand an apology for the same. So, this dude has a knack for generating publicity for free and the press literally eats up his words every time he opens his mouth to speak. So what if it it negative publicity, it still gets you noticed. Just imagine, how much PR buzz can be generated if he was the brand ambassador of Indian hockey. If nothing else, it will be good entertainment for a change.

The Marie Barone Juxtaposition

2010-02-18T16:40:00.011+05:30

Been a while that I wrote here, I’d been writing elsewhere recently, getting my geek on, being all dorky. But no matter what some people may think (wink-wink at that), the other blog was not about being someone other than myself to impress some people (wink-wink at that too), it is indeed an honest attempt to write about something that I enjoy very much on my own personal accord. Anyway, the point here is that I’ve been off for a while now and it was high time that I got back to being myself.

So, going back to the time I stopped updating this blog, I am actually going through a phase where my mom has been acting like Marie Barone, you know, Raymond’s mom - overbearing, emotional blackmailer. I would, however, like to clear that I love my mom and that’s why I’m equating her to someone as famous as Marie Barone.

The reason behind all the emotional drama being played out at home day in and day out is the same old thing - my single status. Being in India and surrounded by people who can officially be classified as Indians only (those who do not, under any circumstances, intend to think beyond what they’ve been told and are hell bent on getting everyone married for some reason), I should point out that it is something that I have to endure everywhere I go. And even though I have stopped going to any such place with an off chance of that happening lately, my mother is very particular about attending all such events. That is the bane of my existence as every time my mother goes to one of these things, what follows is at least a 4 week tense standoff akin to what happens on the LOC between India and Pakistan, loud skirmishes followed by eeire cease fires.

I, however, am at my wits’ end. I feel like all my twenty something years (you thought I’d really say that out) wasted without having found an effective way to dodge all the people who keep asking my mom if I’m single or bachelor. I mean, how does one really do that in a country where getting people hitched is a national past time.

I know this post is neither enough Latin nor enough Sardar, but bear with me (help!). I am in a lot of duress because of all these people seem to be running on duracell, keep going on and on and on. The only thing to happen that cheered me up enough to even write this was when the other day the barty asked me for my ID when I asked for a beer.

Retirement Plan For Dictators

2009-10-31T22:29:00.007+05:30

While watching India take on the 'Roos' in a rather boring match in the home town ("Yeah! Woo Hoo" for the home town), I started dwelling on a thought. Now for those of you who don't know, I have an attention span equal to that of the sleeves on Sagarika Ghose's blouse, but luckily I remember this one. A friend had written something on the same topic long ago but (being quite an artist) the lazy bum that he is, he forgot to take a backup when he deleted his blog. He has since reinstated the blog and continues to enlighten lesser mortals like us with his half-arse wise guy wit.

I'm not trying to be Quentin Tarantino here by paying homage to a previous work of art, but it was too good a thought to not have shared with all of you.

The idea was apparently seeded in my mind sometime back when I had a spat with a friend who is rather heavily into communism, revolution and the rebellious kind, people like Che and Karl Marx. Now, in her opinion, people like them are the heroes, the liberators, the dreamers who can fix what's wrong with the world. In my arrogant opinion, on the other hand, they are just terrorists, wanting and trying to fix something that ain't even broke by blowing shit up. They all start off with their ideals and when you hand them the power to rule, they become the dictators that everyone loves to hate. Then all they care about is the shiniest new guns or the biggest new missiles (like guys are ever gonna give up on wanting the biggest equipment). It all becomes about the number of death warrants they sign or the number of women they sleep with or the executions they attend rather than how many schools they should open or how many new hospitals should be made. But even that could be a lot of work. Look at Fidel Castro. The dude is old and weak from doing all that and more for decades on end now, so much so that he's finally decided to call it a day (well, actually half a century would be more like it) and hand over power to his little brother who actually ain't so little after all and looks as vashnigyered as himself.

But the big geshdarned question is - Where the hell do these guys go when they retire? Do they get a pension plan? Does that include dental and medical insurance? What do they do in their free time? Plan another coup to get the new guy?

I think, in all, they get a pretty shitty deal at the end. Their wives (if they have any and that's generally a big if) practically hate them and so does the general population. But they know they have to endure both for the remainder of their days on the rock (earth for the unclued motley crew) and that it would feel like being in a prison where the inmates are the ones they put in themselves as a cop back in the day. They obviously can't get a condo on south beach in Venice (LA, not Italy) because unless you are as big an ass kisser like Mush, you are undoubtedly a foe in the eyes of the US of A. And as for their other allies from the days of yore, they are either as shitty or possibly even worse than their own countries, so the question of just picking up and moving to a new neighborhood is not so easy either. Also, there are no women dictators anywhere in the world and even if there were any, I'm pretty sure they would not be hot. That kinda sucks big time because at official functions like the UN General Assembly or the annual celebration of the dictatorship, all the guests would be other dictators and presidents etc., so no big chance of getting a 'sugar mama' and moving in with her after retiring from office.

With all these things doing the round in my overworked brain, I realized that this perhaps could be the biggest reason for not wanting to be a dictator myself after all. More than loving capitalism or hating communism, I believe it is the fact that I would not want to give up on free health care or social security when I retire which makes sure I would not walk that path even if God appeared to me and asked me to do it for His sake.

Superman Sued

2009-10-24T00:33:00.013+05:30

Man Of Steel Is Clueless

Latin Sardar News Network

New Delhi/Metropolis: The Man of Steel woke up to a rude shock when he learnt that he is being sued for trademark infringement. The Daily Planet website carried this late breaking story from Metropolis where a case in the matter has been filed in the Metropolis District Courts. The complainants claim that Superman and his "fans" have overlooked a very serious matter and have been using a logo that is inherently incorrect and should be immediately discontinued. Superman has, however, been unavailable for comment.

The complainant in the case, Mr. Latin Sardar, owner of LSNN, in a statement made by his lawyers at the Metropolis District Courts, has claimed that the Superman logo is wrong in the way that Superman consists of two words - Super and man and technically, the logo should have had an 'M' for disambiguation. The present logo with simply an 'S' leaves reasons for confusion.

However, some analysts LSNN has spoken to on the matter have an opinion that the whole exercise is a public relations gimmick by Mr. Sardar in view of the speculated launch of Latin Sardar Media Network Pte. Ltd.'s own superhero, SuperSardar. The speculations are given more strength by the fact that in a statement made in court by the lawyers of Mr. Sardar, they have claimed the 'S' logo is what the doctor ordered for a superhero like SuperSardar as the name consists of two very distinguishable words, Super and Sardar, both starting with an 'S'.

Speculations are further strengthened by the fact that LSNN has acquired an exclusive pre launch photograph of LSMN's new superhero SuperSardar. The paparazzo who managed to click this exclusive picture at an undisclosed location which looks like a set resembling the Nuremberg stadium, has been making obscene calls to the media networks asking for more money for the photograph and is apparently being helped by his family and friends in his endeavor.

Publicity gimmick or genuine concern: LSMN's superhero SuperSardar. Superman has not been available for comment on the matter but some of his "fans" have told LSNN that they are absolutely appalled by the circulation of pictures of SuperSardar and are gearing up for a counter law suit against LSMN chief Latin Sardar.

Sugar Rush

2009-10-17T19:14:00.005+05:30

The best part of festivities in India is perhaps the sweets. Now, I'm not gonna say that it 'was' the best part of festivals for me as a 'kid'. Most readers would remember from earlier posts that I ferociously refuse to grow up while continuing to grow old rapidly. So honestly, it would be safe to say that the sweets remain the best part of festivals for me. And in fact, it is perhaps the only Desi part of me that remains. But that's going through rapid changes as well, like I have started to experiment with pairing dessert wines with various 'Indi'-genous sweets. But then that is what evolution is all about, right?

There's another thing about sweets and me that has been a bit of a secret so far. And I guess it's about time for me to come out of the closet. I get a nasty sugar rush and turn into one of them uncontrollable, yankee tots tearing up the joint which you'd often see in the firang movies. Now, I know I'm not supposed to do that, considering my advanced years and the inherent risks that follow, like breaking a hip (the quite so literally types), but in all honesty, it is totally out of my control and I can't do anything to stop it. I assumed the whole thing would pass with age, but if you have luck as rotten as mine, then you can imagine all the things that go wrong with me, I'm pretty much the walking-talking, embodiment of Murphy's Law on the rock. The worst part of the whole deal is that even though I know what happens to me when I get a regular load of my sugar during the festivals, I still try not to abstain from it at all and rather rush into it like a raging bull. And sometimes, the effects are rather severe. For instance, right now, my eyes are burning and I can barely keep 'em open, all because I went to sleep - sorry, crashed into bed (quite literally) at almost 2 in the morning and woke up at 4. I remember a time when I was younger (like physically younger) when I ate so much sugar that my eyes puffed up and I was forced to relinquish my regular intake for the remainder of the season.

And even though, this year I haven't had the regular doze of my traditional sweets due to all the hoopla surrounding adulterated and spurious milk products, I've been getting supplements in the form of chocolates. Safe to say that the sugar rush is here to stay at least for the weekend. Don't worry, the chocolates I got this year won't last longer than that.

Happy Diwali to all...

And The Winner Is...

2009-09-29T22:33:00.007+05:30

No one...

Can't believe no one even attempted to answer the question in the last post. It's really not that difficult only if you let your imagination run riot on the keyboard.

So without much further ado, here's what Megha said to Deepak.

"If you are sure you put it there then you should look under your table again, that's your best bet. And take a flash light, will you?"

"I told you, I did not see anything down there. Why would I need a flash light in the daytime anyway?"

"Well, for the obvious reason, honey. It's your table and दीपक तले अँधेरा, right?"

P.S. - For those ho did not get the last bit in Hindi, the English equivalent of the proverb is "a brighter light casts a darker shadow".

The Proper Way To Look

2009-09-26T19:21:00.002+05:30

It was an ordinary morning, quiet and mundane, like always. There was nothing much to say. Besides, Megha liked it that way. She looked at the wall clock, it was almost time for Deepak to start shouting. He never missed out on that. After almost a year of marriage, it was a daily clockwork routine for her now.

Sometimes she wondered how did he get by at the office, never missing out on a single rupee in the company accounts running into billions of rupees annually. Those thoughts rolling in her head, she stacked up the toasts on a plate and walked out to the dining table. The couple had recently bought the three bedroom apartment in Delhi with a little help from Deepak's inheritance.

The shouting started as she had expected. Unfazed and straight faced, she walked over to the bedroom and there he was, lost in a pile of clothes and papers, looking for something. Why couldn't he put his stuff together at night, she wondered?

"Megha, I can't find my socks and my file," he said.

"Well, the socks would've been easier to find if you leave things in the dresser. As for your files, I have no idea. Try to remember where you left it," she replied and started looking through the mess for his socks.

"I don't remember exactly. It should've been on the table, but wasn't there when I looked."

"If it wasn't there then surely it wasn't the last place you put it. Did you look under the table by any strange chance?"

"No, I didn't see anything down there. And I'm sure I put it on the table last night after I was done with the work," he replied.

"If you are sure you put it there then you should look under your table again, that's your best bet. And take a flash light, will you?"

"I told you, I did not see anything down there. Why would I need a flash light in the daytime anyway?"

Endnote: This is not the end of the story. The way I had it in mind was that the woman has the last word and the last laugh on her typical sock losing husband. But I'm not going to say how it ends until 3-4 of you try it out and let me know what does she say in reply. Post your answers in comments and after I get 3-4 wrong ones (which is quite certain), I will post the correct reply.

Nefertiti

2009-09-22T19:02:00.005+05:30

Among the many dream destinations that I have to visit before I say adieu to this life, Egypt has to be the most significant. I love how ruthless history has been to that place, to the kings and queens of that ancient civilization. The Egyptian civilization rose from the depths of the Nile and reached its pinnacle before being razed to the ground by yet another magnificent civilization, the Romans. Rome is the next on that list, just to say. But, weren't they lost in the sand of time too?

The one thing these two civilizations had in common was their grand construction projects. I'd sound stupid just to say that the Egyptians built the Pyramids, the Sphinx, the Temple of Abu Simbel, the Temple of Karnak and what not, everyone knows that. Their cities were huge, their tombs even bigger. Those guys were brilliant when it came to making sinisterly big things.

The Romans, not to be outdone by anyone, built even bigger things. The Colosseum in Rome bears testimony to the power of the Romans. They built even bigger and better cities with huge buildings. A Roman temple in Lebanon shows the extent of Roman engineering and architecture. All that is left of the temple is the ruins but the magnificence is not lost. Some of the carved marble pillars of the main hall still stand tall and they are more than twelve meters in diameter.

The rulers of both civilizations built magnificent statues and tombs for themselves. They wanted their names to be etched in history forever. They turned proud and arrogant with time and they both eroded away in the sands of time. One of the most significant names that comes to mind is that of Nefertiti, the Egyptian queen, wife of Pharaoh Akhenaten. She was the reason that Egypt turned to follow a single god - Aten, the sun disc. But effectively, she had turned entire Egypt to worship her and her husband. There were huge statues made in their honor, temples dedicated to the first couple, hieroglyphs depicting their divine powers were carved out of stone and put in those temples and what not. But they still died and their cities and temples turned into ruins over time. The goddess queen apparently never even got a proper burial in the valley of kings and her mummy has not been recovered.

The point I'm trying to make with the history lesson is about the modern day Nefertiti of Uttar Pradesh who is busy erecting statues of herself and making pyramids for herself in the center of Lucknow city. And this after being told by the Supreme Court of India that she's "playing with fire", in those exact words. More than ten thousand green trees GONE (and this only in Noida)!! Hectares of land and hundreds of crores razed to the ground, quite literally and thousands rendered homeless to make way for the memorial park of a woman who is alive but apparently unwell. Why is she not behind bars after hooting off the Supreme Court like that???

It's Not Always About Beer & Sports...

2009-09-17T22:21:00.006+05:30

All the women out there who have pretty much turned habitual to complaining that men do not listen or do nothing without being told, well, time to take heart. The trends are changing and I’ll tell you all about it. All you have to do is dial down the chatter for a little while. Too much of anything is not good, talking included. Try to talk less and listen and observe every once in a while.

Some time ago, a friend and I take off to meet with a bunch of other guys and hang out with them for a beer (or two or three or you get the picture) and watch a football match. Yeah, that’s what men are supposed to do on a weekend every once in a while.

Before moving further with the story, let me tell you about the friend. He is about to be married pretty soon. Wouldn’t be the first one to do so, of course. There have been others who are already married and coping with it. So it would not be wrong to say that we have team members with the relevant experience of what happens to men after marriage (okay, just to make sure we are on the same page, this is not a business plan). But through all the darkness and despair, a change is slowly but surely spreading across the men of this generation, at least. Also, some of us can cook and pretty darn good at that. Even I can cook, I cook sometimes when I need a stress buster. And the food is just an extra incentive in all this.

So my friend and I reach the place where we were to meet the rest of the band and the beer started to flow as the match kicked off. The match was good, we could feel the excitement from the pitch spilling over into the room as the two teams fought to score over each other. Soon it was half time and the conversation lightened up a bit. I’ll bet you can never guess what it was all about.

We ended up discussing recipes and kitchen tips. And even though the single-most guy in the room, I’m proud to say I had some nice kitchen tips up my sleeve (not literally). And the best part was that we all knew what we were talking about. Now this change could’ve been brought about by the change in situation for most of the guys, but still, it counts for something. So ladies, take it easy. Things are changing. Just keep in mind, don’t shelter your sons too much and they’ll turn out even better and the next generation will have it so much better for them.

Internet Gone Wrong...

2009-09-04T22:27:00.002+05:30

Couple of days ago, the world (as usual) went crazy to wish Happy Birthday to "Internet". My facebook page was full of people wishing Happ B'day to Internet in their status messages. Don't know if Internet got those messages, but it sure was a great way to fathom who among my facebook friend list is a big twit.

I, for one, with all my cynicism intact, did not feel like wishing the Internet a happy birthday at all. I mean, get real. Internet is not a real person, not even a real object for that matter. Come to think of it, Mickey Mouse is more real than the Internet. After all, Internet has only managed to make life complicated for people. For me, it has done almost nothing except perhaps giving me email, facebook, twitter and blogger. Even these things are so much of an obligation now. I have to email people just because everyone uses email now. If you feel sad, your friend sends you a hug by email. Lots of 'friends' but not a single one to have a cup of coffee with (okay, beer, but anyway you've become so lazy that you'd rather get a picture of a cup of coffee by email and satiate yourself by just looking at it). Flowers by email, emailed cakes, jewelry and pretty sure people will start getting married and having kids too by email soon. And if it's not email, it's facebook or twitter. Playing online games on facebook, or telling everyone on twitter what the hell you are up to (note to some people - stop posting about your hernias and your driving license status, I don't give a damn).

Oh, yes! There are two other things that can't be done away with anymore - online job search and advertising. But things have gone way wrong with both these things which apparently are the only real revenue earners on the web. Just for fun, I had enrolled my name on one of the job search sites and double checked my application before clicking on the submit button. It clearly stated that I am a 'Male' member of the society. But every now and then they sent me offers which clearly stated only 'Female' candidates need apply.

I also fly a lot and have quite a few frequent flyer miles to my name. Even the airlines email me now to tell me about my miles every now and then. And sometimes, they get cheeky and slip in an advertisement or two with their emails. The one I just received was from Kingfisher. Apparently, Dr. Mallya wants to entice me to be a Kingfisher Calender Girl by offering exciting prizes (!). Yana Gupta, Katrina Kaif, Deepika Padukone and then me ;) Wow!!

How To Get Rich And Stay There

2009-09-03T20:19:00.007+05:30

I hardly ever watch a Hindi movie, just can't get myself to watch people running around trees, singing and dancing. But just to keep the universe in balance, following the principal of exceptions once in a while and in the name of the country, flag and the national anthem, I watched a couple of Hindi movies. One was Guru, based on the life of none other than Dhirubhai Ambani. And the other one was Bluff Master, a mix of handful of hollywood movies I'd already seen. Well, honestly, I was let down yet again by these movies.

But like Bon Jovi said, 'this is real life' and real life is a real interesting thing to go through every once in a while. So real life recently taught me a valuable lesson that apparently the Ambanis are a big fan of Hindi Cinema. And I'm not talking about the classics like 'Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron' or 'Chupke Chupke' or 'Buddha Mil Gaya' or the likes. They apparently like the sleazy con artists, running scams on a bunch of regular income working class people, things they showed in Bluff Master (if I'm not wrong, that movie was torture in itself).

Anyhoo, so, the point is that atleast Anil Ambani is a big fan of such tactics. Don't worry, I have proof of it. My monthly electricity bill used to be about Rs. 4000-4500, never more, usually less than that. We used to run 2 AC's at home, only at night for a family of 5 (1.5 and .75 ton), all CFL lighting, no misuse, and being true bred Indians, no wastage either (my dad is a pioneer at that and there'll be more about him later). Since we moved to the rented apartment in May this year, we have been using just one AC out of the 2 that we have, again CFL's all around the house, light weight ceiling fans and the works. Only the fridge is running through the daytime as everyone leaves for work, you get the picture, right? Oh, the 'Shiela' removed a 10% subsidy she was giving us Delhiites for using our appliances (and I hear she'll be raising the gas cylinder prices by as much as 40 bucks). But sadly, I failed to understand the logic when after all the cost cutting on our part and reducing the number of AC's running in the house at night, the electricity bill jumps to a whopping 11 grand - a jump of nearly 250% (and I thought reducing the number of AC's was supposed to reduce the bill, well, doofus me; I guess that's what I get for not getting a fancy MBA like Anil). If that wasn't enough, I woke up to a news report that said many others have a similar complaint against one of the richest men of the country. Apparently, the junior Mr. Ambani has been busy skimming the working class and the retired people by inflating their electricity bills by over 200%.

Note to self: That's how you get rich and stay rich. Con the people making a steady salary and the old, retired people and you can stay rich forever, make over a billion dollars in annual revenues and stay on the Forbes rich list.

Growing Old...

2009-08-31T13:57:00.003+05:30

A great man, another sardar, we all know as Advertisingh, recently blessed us with these golden words of his - "Growing old is mandatory; while growing up, optional". True words, very true. I've always lived like that, growing old and not even trying to grow up. Very recently, I got ordained as a Dudeist priest, becoming a part of the slowest growing religion in the world - Dudeism, thereby officially relinquishing all affiliations with any other religion (like I had any affiliations).

But apparently all good things must come to an end (this blog is not going anywhere, sorry to scare you). So, with a heavy heart, and I mean it quite literally, I decided to write a new blog entry about it after almost a month. I've been busy gorging and guzzling on the most decadent stuff, disregarding that my little heart is bearing the brunt of it, all the LDL and other scary stuff it has had to endure in the recent weeks. I haven't given up on the gymming, just added the heavy, fat laden stuff to my diet for the past few weeks. I ignore the fact I'm no longer ten and at my ripe age of 27 I need to look out for the fat, cholesterol and what not. I don't want to end up dependent on meds by the time I turn 36.

I've been eating fried food, cheating on my diet. And the worst part is, it's hard to quit, really hard. I find myself helpless and weak when I see a cheese burger with fries and a glass full of soda. I need help. Not necessary professional help, it could be just someone, anyone screaming at me and making me stop eating all the terrible stuff I've been eating. So please, someone, anyone, please shout at me, scream at me, but make me stop!! I'm growing old!!

Oh No! I'll Just Have A Li'l Pizza

2009-07-24T22:13:00.007+05:30

Everyone is someone's weirdo, right? And we Indians have a knack for being weird. We like to go after things that "the world" does (really??). The world had Mc Donald's, Pizza Hut, Domino's, Sbarro's and what not. They wanted to come to India to open out in a market of a billion human beings, one sixth of the entire global population, that much lesser effort to reach out to a far larger number of consumers than they could ever have done. And we lapped them up without hesitation.

Now, before you go about switching off your browsers and vow never to return to this blog because it has turned into "some grandma giving out advice blog", you are wrong, please don't be hasty in turning off the browser window and I 'am' getting to the point. Like always, there is a story to it all and it is enchantingly true.

Long long time ago, in a land far far away, I went to a friend's place one day. We ordered pizza, that's what single men do, order pizza if hungry, the kitchen they don't run through. But when the pizza arrived, along came a surprise. Someone from the neighborhood came calling with a request. "Hi, could you please order a pizza for me, my 6 yr old is not well. She has a tummy ache and perhaps a fever too", the lady told my friend.

"Don't worry, you are in luck today. We just ordered more than we need and you can have half the pizza for free ;)", he replied.

"Thank you so much. You are a wonderful young man", she said. My friend gave her half the pizza that was spare and we sat down to eat our share.

A few moments later, the lady from the neighborhood returned. "This is a chicken pizza, dear. Can you please order another one for my little girl, she doesn't want a chicken pizza, she'd like one with paneer."

"Of course", said my friend and called the pizza place again. In less than thirty minutes, the pizza arrived and the pizza man was happy to 've spread so much delight.

The little girl must've had a great time, her mum had made sure she would not whine. But since my friend and I are older, we never could get the idea so wild, why would you give a paneer pizza to a sick child?

The Other Side Of The Table

2009-07-16T16:59:00.016+05:30

I have always considered myself as a pioneer in supporting the cause of freedom for all, men, women and children. There have to be limits of course, but that's not my concern here for this post. What concerns me is the changes it has brought about in people.

Another thing I realize about myself is that I am actually quite ugly, sorry, aesthetically challenged. My amnesia has been better and I have started recalling some of the details of my life before my accident with the ugly tree. I remember climbing it and falling down from pretty high up. But apparently, it wasn't high enough for any permanent damage to the brain. Like I said, I feel much better already and have started recalling some of those old memories.

There's another aspect of my personality which amuses many of my close friends is that I never letch. I don't remember the last time I was actually out "bird watching" with friends and even at that I am sure to always be very discreet. I'm also very good at knowing when someone else is letching at someone in the crowd, trust me. Many a times, I've seen men in their late forties, sometimes even fifties, riding a bike (bicycle, not a Honda CBR) or a dilapidated scooter, half or all the hair on their cranium gone with the wind or white as snow, pot bellies and no hope of making it to the loo in time but slowing down in the middle of the road and turning back to take a look at the svelte hottie walking by.

Combine all these things and you'll have the idea of how nice a guy I am. I mean, I'm a free thinker, I'm ugly AND I'm polite (really, what else would I do).

But quite surprisingly, even with everything actually going against me, I find myself on the other side of the spectrum as a letchee. And I kid you not when I say it has happened more than once. The inspiration to write about this "social evil" came about from yesterday's incident(s). As I walked into the gym, I bump into a girl on the stairs and she gives me "the look". I know this because there was a mirror in front of me which she apparently missed out on (I'm always careful about things like that). As if that was not enough, when I walk out of the gym, I come across a couple of girls walking past and not only giving me "the look" but also making clearly audible remarks (can't publish those, please bring a signed note from your parents to have a look at those remarks and please don't forge the signatures).

But the best one has to be from three years ago. The date was 9th October, 2006 and the place was a Cafe Coffee Day outlet in south Delhi. I still remember the day, date and time, c'mon, I was being letched at for the first time in my life. My best friend for the past fifteen years (pretty much like my other sister) leaves some work for me as she travels to Bangalore with a friend to take a break from work (she met her future husband on that same trip, but that's something we can leave for her to write on her own blog). So she takes a break and leaves all the work on me. Her replacement at the scene was a friend of hers from work, who just so happens to be another big time free thinker. As we nearly finish up on the assignment, I accidentally glance over my shoulder to see this girl giving me "the look" from the far corner of the cafe. I felt weird and in my head I was making a face at myself and saying "WHAT!!??". That was the most amazing look on a woman's face I'd EVER seen. And I don't think I'll ever forget those eyes for the rest of my life. However, I pretty much dismissed the incident as a fluke, things like that don't happen to aesthetically challenged people like me. Imagine my surprise when my sis calls me up as soon as she steps back into her office to joke some more about it. Apparently girls talk and it was all real and not something in my head. There are a few more juicy little details to this episode that I think I should leave out for the sake of my health. You never know who's reading your blog ;).

So, you see what too much freedom of thought can do to people. It can turn the tables. It certainly did on me and I for once, am enjoying the view from the other side of the table while it lasts.

P.S. - A BIG Thanks to all the "letcher" girls for the inspiration to write this post.

O-My-God!!!

2009-07-11T22:23:00.013+05:30

Sitting in front of my computer in the sweltering, humid heat of Delhi, I've managed to do something outrageous again. I'm forced to share this with you because there is no Latin Sardarni with whom I could've shared my thoughts.

Anyway, before the story starts, you must know that I've never been a religious person. In fact, when I was a kid, my mom used to force me to go to the gurudwara at least every Sunday to pray. But as I grew up, I realized there was no need for me to fake it. If there is a God and he can see everything and knows everything, he would see right through me. I believed in science and not something who was called the almighty and yet He somehow managed to get in some sort of trouble since everyone kept telling me that their religion and the very existence of their God was in danger by the presence of another God and they had to fight 'His' followers, defeat them and kill them. Besides, as far as remembering God while going through my day is concerned, I still do that. I say "Goddamnit!!" all the time.

Then I was told a little secret by my mom. Like every other Indian, they prepared my birth horrorscope (nope, there's no typo there). It was written in that tiny booklet, which looked more like an owner's manual to me, that I would have a very pleasant personality (true as far as my friends tell me), I'd be a skilled sharp shooter (morbidly true, I kid you not), very popular with the ladies (true as far as I know, okay, maybe a little 'over-exaggerated') and a non believer (dead on true). So the owner's manual said all these things about me and I guess my mom tried her level best to change that one thing about me she thought was not in my best interest, believing in God. She thought she could handle the rest of it herself. Sharp shooting skills are of no use to her, pleasant personality and popularity with ladies will only help in finding her a sparring partner one day whom she believes she can handle with ease. She failed at the God thing, but not her fault, it's just me. But all these things about me, I knew them even before I got to know someone had predicted it long ago at the time of my birth (!!?).

It made me a little restless and I had indigestion all week thinking about it, how could someone predict what I was going to be like when they had just met me and I was only proficient in one language - gibberish. Without talking to me, without knowing me, some dude just drew up a user manual about me for my mom. And I don't even believe in God, religion and all the mumbo-jumbo associated with it. I wanted to find out how was that possible. What happened to all the science and all the logic that existed with it. But who will unravel all these secrets to me.

Where there's a will, there's a way, of course. So I set out on the internet, looking for "THE" phone number. And then - Jackpot.

I'd found God's own personal phone number. Not the board, but His personal number. As I started dialing the number, my hands somehow started shaking, I was calling God after all. It wasn't PM Manmohan Singh, it was GOD. Somehow, I managed to dial the number - 1-800-O-My-God. The line on the other side rang for about ten seconds before it was picked up by someone with a very kind voice.

God: Hi, this is God. I'm very sorry, my caller ID unit is not working, so could you please tell me who's calling?

LS: Hi, sir. This is Latin Sardar.

God: Oh! Dude! How are you? Long time. I thought you were one of those seeking blessings for a good 'afterlife' once you go out and blow yourself up in my name. Man, I hate that kinda publicity, makes me look so bad. And just so you know, the guy who suggested that PR strategy has been fired. But that bugger leaked out my number to all the call centers in India and they keep harassing me with all the things they are trying to sell these days. Anyway, that's just something I have to deal with. So, tell me, what are you up to these days?

LS: Well, sir...

God: Hey, you can call me "dude", man. So, you were telling me what are you up to these days? No mischief, I hope?

LS: Oh well, dude. Writing a blog, but that's all, nothing more.

God: Hmm... then it's okay.

LS: Anyway, I have had a few questions. You think you have some time?

God: Sure thing, fire away.

LS: First of all, what's with all the religious crazies?

God: I don't know, man. I am still confused whether to give them a little more time to clean up their act or show them what the real fuss over Armageddon is all about. And I'm not talking about unleashing Bruce Willis on them, I'm talking the real stuff.

LS: Fair enough. And can you please explain to me even when I don't believe in you (sorry about that) and things like religion, rituals, horrorscopes etc., how was that dude able to predict things about me when I was born.

God: Oh dude!! Lucky guess, I'd say. Those guys write just about anything and if it comes true they want all the credit and if anything goes wrong, they wanna have nothing to do with it. Besides, I've seen your file, I remember. Your lifestyle is okay by me, really. So don't sweat it and take it easy.

LS: Phew! Big burden off me. Thanks again for everything, dude. Oh, just a thought, have you tried changing the batteries of your caller ID unit?

God: Hey, hey, hey!!! Look who created a genius? Man, I'm good!!

LS: Ha! Showoff!!

God: Oi, thou shalt not tempt the lord, huh?

LS: Mah bad!!

God: Take care, dude. Have fun and live easy.

With all my questions answered and my belief system intact, I drank another beer and went to bed.

Gatorade And Toilet Paper

2009-07-08T20:06:00.005+05:30

The Indian consumer has started to open up to choices, though very slowly but surely. We do have super markets and some hyper markets as well in some parts of big cities like Delhi and Pune and others where the population consists of those who have traveled far and wide and are aware of alternatives to the neighborhood uncle ji's grocery store and also of those who have traveled from far and wide and settled in these cities and towns to be a part of India in their own unique little way.

But even with all this, most of us, in fact a vast majority, would agree that the neighborhood uncle ji is not going anywhere soon. They still are a big part of the grocery shopping experience even today. Sadly, even though they have tried and tried a lot, they still fail to bring the world class products that the modern day urban (okay fine, even suburban) Indian is getting used to. You could go looking for good mozzarella cheese and you'll even get it and a good one too, but it will be pronounced mojorolla cheese. You could find a good pasta and pizza sauce but it will be called pijja sauce.

This post is also inspired by one such incident that happened not more than one hour ago. I go looking for gatorade at the nearby uncle ji's store because I was feeling too lazy to go to the nearby super market. Of course, uncle ji had not restocked gatorade for a while apparently and offers me red bull instead. RED BULL!!??? C'mon uncle ji... those two are two different type of drinks. Gatorade helps, it's a workout or to dumb it down really bad, a sports drink, red bull is not. I sure hope you don't offer sand paper to your customers if you are out of toilet paper...

How To Find Out If You Are A Vampire

2009-06-16T16:08:00.013+05:30

It's not a very easy thing to do, accepting that you could be a vampire and it could actually shoot your social acceptance to hell in a matter of seconds. But since I have always loved all you creatures around me, I thought you have the right to know, it's your life that could be in danger after all.

It's very simple to determine if you are a vampire. You just have to give yourself a series of simple tests. Don't worry, there's no way of cheating on the tests, so you can administer them yourself. You can also use these on others who may not be willing to take the test. You can use these with or without their knowledge, it doesn't make a difference.

1. The Garlic Test: This is one of the most important tests. According to ancient scriptures, vampires hate garlic and can be killed by a lethal dose of it.

However, apparently, garlic is the cocaine of vampire world, so be careful as this is not the most definitive test. Many vampires have taken to garlic as cocaine really doesn't do anything to them. Many are known to get hooked to it. They use it in disguise like in pizzas and pasta, other Italian food and Chinese food etc. so that unsuspecting mortals like you won't even know even if you were looking for it. Anyone eating too much Italian food could be a vampire hooked to the vampire coke, i.e.., garlic. But they will certainly despise it still and let you know that they do. And if you hear of someone who died of eating a pizza, you can be sure he/she was a vampire and died of an OD.

But since this test alone is not definitive enough to determine for sure whether you are a vampire, more tests have to be administered.

2. The Mirror Test: According to scriptures, vampires are not visible in a mirror. So obviously, first look at yourself in a mirror and if you see yourself there, then of course you have nothing to worry about. But if you see someone else standing behind you, then you should be very worried, you could be a vampire. Also, keep your eyes open at all times, keep looking at mirrors whenever and wherever you can. All those who are visible in the mirror are not vampires and all those who are not visible are quite possibly vampires.

But this theory has been negated in popular media and movies. The new belief is that vampires are visible in mirrors. So this test alone can also be put in the doubtful set as results can vary.

3. The Blood Test: No, you don't have to go to the lab to get a blood test. It's about how much blood do you like? You have to ask yourself, how much is enough on TV, in the movies, in video games and other media. If you like to watch a lot of blood, people getting stabbed and shot, mutilated bodies etc. and still find yourself shouting "gimme more" then you could be a vampire. If it inspires you to do the same to your boss, then you should actually start thinking about quitting your job and doing it because you can start to move in the domain of believing that you could really be a vampire. And if you have the urge to drink some of it, well, we're getting warmer.

Again, this test alone is not guaranteed to certify your vampireness. You could just be a socio-, psychopath in desperate need of therapy. But this test gets you very close to being a vampire nonetheless.

4. The Sleep Test: If you love to stay up at night and believe that daytime is for fools, then there's a greater chance of you being a vampire. The easiest detectable symptoms are staying up all night and sleeping through the day, sleeping or wanting to sleep in a coffin and not in a bed (optional), staying at a club all night ordering Bloody Mary's with extra blood and no tabasco.

This theory also covers night shift call center employees. But again, this alone is not enough.

5. The Attitude Test: You have to ask yourself what you think of the people around you. If you can feel their pain and understand their sentiments then you can be certain you are not a vampire and carry on with your life as it was, boring and pathetic.

But if you believe that the people around you have a boring and pathetic life, are good for nothing, that someone should rid them of their misery and they should only be called creatures and addressed as "you mortals", then congratulations! You can be quite certain that you are indeed a vampire.

6. The Sun Test: If you tell creatures you've been hanging out with that you hate the sun because it's hot and showers UV on earth and destroys the environment but in reality you hate it for burning up your skin every time you go out, then you are quite certainly a vampire. Just look at your test answers again and see if you have any other "yes" besides this. If yes, then congratulations, you are most certainly a vampire. Happy hunting tonight.

See, that was simple, right?

Hey, wait a minute!!

I love Italian food, some Chinese with some garlic as well but still I despise garlic. I am visible in a mirror and I have some pictures of me as well on my computer, but then that doesn't make a difference according to the new testament. I love that Saving Private Ryan when they showed the stabbings and blasts ripping open bodies and the machine gun fire slicing creatures in half, but I'm sure you mortals don't appreciate that. I am up late at night and sleep through the day in a cool, dark place. I hate the sun because it burns me up even if I put on sunscreen but I still prefer to pretend in front of you mortals that I hate it for ruining earth's environment with it's UV rays.

Holy crap, I'm a vampire!!!

(Yee-haw!!)

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...

2009-06-12T22:15:00.011+05:30

All I ever wanted was to not get a sunburn and a nasty tan when I ventured out in the sun wearing a short sleeved T-shirt. I wanted to do that since now I can actually think about flaunting my biceps in public. But let me be completely honest, I was also secretly hoping they would make me fairer. No, not a fairy, just a little light skinned so I could also be a little more popular among women as they so emphatically say that I would be. I would've liked to hear girls call out to me "hi! handsome". As it is, my life is in a downward spiral and I've recently joined a club of Awesome People Who Are Single For No Apparent Reason on facebook (I believe I am awesome). Well, story of my life.

I saw Shahrukh tell me that his brand was the best and would make me fair and more handsome. But somehow the words Fair & Handsome were not able to hook on to my confidence and rope me in. Also, the ad showed the man using F&H turning into some kind of a small time womanizer which is just rude, being a teeniest bit quasi celebrity myself, I can't endorse that. And then there was that song that keeps losing it's way around my head and won't get out for a long time like a bird that just seems to get lost inside a house and can't find a way out into the open. And I had only one other real option at that time to what Shahrukh was trying to sell to me. But again, Nivea, even though sounded neutral and it specifically said "For Men", was again something that was only able to jog up those visuals in the memory where a really pretty caucasian woman was applying moisturizer on her body, looking really happy about it. And then the guy who was trying to sell it was trying real hard too, but he was a nobody as compared to a celebrity like Shahrukh. He shows himself as a regular guy who plays football or rugby or something and still uses the Nivea For Men Whitening Cream and gets to be really fair skinned by the end of that 10 second spot. And since it is more expensive than F&H, it fitted perfectly into a "for men only" product category because men always prefer to boast about who has the most expensive sports car or a bike or a yacht or a personal jet etc., you know. And since I also do a lot of gymming, I perfectly fit the target customer criteria.

So I went out and shelled some three hundred quid to buy one of those Nivea For Men Whitening (now are they sure, it's Whitening and not Lightening) fairness creams and get my metrosexy on. I flipped over the pack to see how much would be enough for me to be just the right amount of fairer and not over do it. The last thing I wanted was to look like a caucasian, it's dangerous to be that these days. You never know what silly sod could jump out of don't know where and shout racial slurs at you in retaliation to what's going on in Australia. But there was nothing on the matter, so I decided to use my legendary common sense and applied roughly a couple of small teaspoon size dollops of it on my arms and face.

With a never before confidence that I now looked fairer and would not get a sun tan, I set out in the scorching Delhi sun. To my utter horror, instead of protecting me against the sun, I could feel it burn me up like a fish coated in olive oil cooking on a griddle. Sadly, when I came back home after nearly two hours in the sun, I had nasty sun burns (which still kinda hurt) and a really bad sun tan which I don't suppose will wear off till next summer.

But the cloud has a silver lining. John Abraham just joined the band wagon and is apparently trying to sell me something from Garnier's new men's range. He promises if I use it that I'll be at least two tones fairer and be just like him. He even gives out those shade meter thingys with his products.

Hmm... Let's see, tomorrow is a new day.

When I Saved Earth From An Alien Invasion

2009-06-08T12:13:00.012+05:30

This was the most incriminating evidence against the aliens that they

were indeed planning to invade earth. I recovered this crucial piece of intel

while rummaging through the debris of one of the spaceships I smashed that night.

Yes, that's true. Not many people know this and I've worked hard to keep it that way. But now that the danger is over and since I believe that all of you reading this are responsible adults, I thought I could share this experience with you.

It happened not too long ago. I had gone out with a bunch of friends for a round of beer. Soon the one round turned into don't know how many and we all ended up getting rather pasted. And since I'm a really nice guy, I volunteered to drop all my friends home as they were in no condition to drive themselves. After dropping the last one of them at his place in Gurgaon, I finally turned towards home. The drive was to take me through a rather deserted stretch of road in Dwarka. And that's when it happened. An alien ship landed right in front of me in the middle of the road, making me brake really hard to avoid a collision. Now, that is always the last draw for a Delhi driver, you never mess with his run on the road in his shiny little Maruti 800.

So, getting back to the story, as I screeched to a halt in front of the alien ship on a deserted road in Delhi, the door opened and a bunch of strange looking slimy green men with big eyes, antlers and a 'lost in Paradise (Delhi)' look on their face got off that strange looking ship with lots of bright shiny lights all over it. Now these aliens were fantastic. They had the gall to shout at me in their strange alien gibberish when it was entirely their fault, landing that big ass space ship in the middle of a Delhi road in front of a Delhi Road Devil driving his beloved Maruti 800. Soon enough, as it always happens in Delhi, the argument started to heat up, fueled by the beer and before I could put brakes on that, it was all about their mothers and sisters (hey, they started it).

They are definitely an advanced civilization, having all those gizmos and all those space ships and I'm not being racist at all. But that makes me believe, they must have had access to the internet somewhere (I've had this nagging feeling that someone's been skimming off my home wi-fi bandwidth, must've been them damn aliens). They must've looked it up that what are they supposed to do if they get into an argument with a Delhiite. And they had definitely memorized a few words of earth lingo and were fighting back. Somehow, they must've guessed that I was kinda hammered and must've thought that I was not in my senses.

Suddenly, they started laughing at me. I believe they were not aware that I was not completely out of my senses and could hear them talking about how easy it would be for just one of them to take over the planet by getting all the earthlings very drunk. But they definitely had no idea about the bad trouble just waiting for them to make a move.

So, while they were all busy laughing at me and all earthlings for being such easy targets, I had slipped off into my car, put it in reverse and backed it up a bit. To their horror and even my own surprise, I put the car in gear and hurtled towards their damn space ship which those alien mother f****** (excuse my french) had still not moved from the middle of the road. They scrambled for cover as I rammed my car big time into the space ship, reducing it to alien junk on earth in a matter of seconds. That's when they pulled out the big guns and aimed it straight at my head.

Also, they started making some weird sounds immediately and in a matter of seconds 10-12 other space ships, just like theirs, landed around us and more slimy green aliens got off them. But that, of course, was not to be the end of it. They had cost me my Maruti 800 and I was all up for revenge. I wanted at least 8-10 alien ships destroyed and then have one of them take me home. So I went on an angry rampage on all those alien ships that had landed there. Not giving a damn about their big alien guns, I picked up the wrench from my car's boot and went all ballistic on their alien ships. They started screaming and I even saw some of them cry. They started making those weird noises again and more ships landed. But this time they came with their special forces or something like that. Those special ops aliens rounded up the ones who lay there crying and screaming all around their broken space ships and put them in their own space ships. One squad of 20-30 special ops aliens stayed back to face me, thinking they could take care of me on their own.

But being a Delhiite and a Sardar in true Latin macho style, I could not have let it end there just yet. So, I pointed my index finger at them because that was the only weapon I had on me at the moment, well, that and something else that even they knew was the biggest weapon a Dilliwala always carries on him.

Special Ops Aliens: That's it. We've had it with you, you earthling with that strange hat. You're a dead man.

LS: (pointing finger at the special ops aliens) You have no idea who you're messing with. Don't you know who my dad is? All I have to do is make a phone call and you'll beg for his mercy for the rest of your damned alien lives.

Those were the only two lines exchanged between me and the aliens.

I believe their internet search had provided them with enough knowledge that when a Delhiite says that you have no idea what his dad can do to you, he really means business and it's not a very wise idea to mess with him or his father any further. Unless, of course, you have a daddy who can outclass his daddy.

P.S. -

1. Americans are not the only ones capable of handling alien situations.

2. I came back home in an alien ship that night and that souvenir is now parked in my basement these days.

Dream Or Nightmare

2009-06-06T00:24:00.005+05:30

At midnight, as I sat in the living room, watching Hitman, the lights went out as they usually do on a summer night in New Delhi. Must've only slept a wink when I woke up with perhaps the rudest shock of my life.

Now, everyone reading this blog for a while knows how averse I am to the idea of getting married any time soon. I don't really know if it's the constant nudging from my mother or the Hitman effecting my thoughts. I had a dream, I would like to call it a nightmare, but if you feel like you can call it a dream. In that dream, I was married and it was more like a conversation between me and my 'dream' wife (pun intended). The setting was a wee bit romantic, I had just returned from a long day at work and as far as I remember, we were living happily ever since the wedding. Now, since it was a dream, the happily ever after part could've actually happened, so no need to raise an eyebrow at it.

So, I return from work one evening to find the house with candles all around done very nicely, rose petals on the floor, dim lights, great music and a table for three. I was, most surely, surprised, happy and a little skeptical. My 'dream' wife was not a very good driver (like that's a surprise), so the first thought that crossed me in my dream was that she had banged up the BMW pretty bad and all this was just to ease me into the news. But then I remembered, the car was alright when I walked right past it few minutes ago. The phone bill, maybe? Or, perhaps the credit cards maxed out, all of them? But then I realized, I don't see any new shopping bags and her friends are mostly sending her messages on facebook since they are all busy with their own kids and husbands these days.

Then there were little things all over the place, little boots in a corner (I have a sharp eye and the sharpest brain known to man, I used to be a Super Secret Agent once), little wine glasses, little food portions and things like that, you know. And then my 'dream' wife appears, draped in a black saree and looking gorgeous. We started the evening with a little flirting and small talk and about a half hour later sat down to eat.

LS: So, hon. What's special? (I asked with a twinkle in my eyes)

DW: Nothing big, just had a question on my mind. (she replied, looking drop dead gorgeous and a strange, happy glow on her face)

LS: Shoot.

DW: Do you like kids?

LS: Sure, they are cute and cuddly. But sometimes, they are loud and very annoying too.

DW: You still don't get it?

LS: Get what?

DW: (slightly disappointed, but still plenty in love with me) We're having a baby.

LS: Oh yeah, what kind?

DW: The human kind.

LS: No, I know that. I meant a boy or a girl, 'cause let me tell you right now, if it's a boy and he grows up to be a buffoon, I'll straight off disown him. And trust me, there's a good chance of that happening, I know how boys are, I used to be one.

DW: And then what happened?

LS: I grew up to be a man and got married.

And that's when it hit me. I was suddenly having an epiphany and I believe that's what jolted me out of my sleep. It's not really the fear of getting married that's the biggest problem, it's something else. Let's face it, I'm never gonna grow up, I'll just grow older (ha, technical details). And that's causing me to reflect on that fact that if I get married, one day I'll have kids and I'll be playing with them in the park, taking them to school etc. and other kids will address me as 'uncle'.

Now, the fact is that I'm no uncle material and I would be pi$$ed when kids would call me that. I remember what Freud said somewhere that dreams are a projection of your life and if this is the projection of my life then I finally know what's really bothering me. Good news for my mother perhaps, but bad news for me definitely, well, maybe.

Ten Items Or Less...

2009-05-25T15:54:00.005+05:30

Okay, so I've been tagged by Rajee... Well, now I have to tell ten things about me that are not so obvious (yet).

1. I am the laziest person you'll ever meet. I'm so lazy that I won't go shop for a new pair of shoes until the last ones start to peel off at places.

2. I prefer cold. Colder, the better. If it's freezing outside, I'm okay with that. Cannot tolerate heat at all.

3. I have lots of friends. But to get on that list you'll have to be very patient and very special. Not everyone gets a chance to be on that list.

4. I am not afraid of heights at all.

5. I am not scared of water as such. But I never learned how to swim and the problem is that when I see water, I jump right into it. And that leads to problems. It has landed me in trouble with the sea. Can't keep my cool after jumping into the sea (and I'll definitely jump into the sea whenever I'm on a beach).

6. I absolutely HATE bollywood (especially the dance and song stuff).

7. I HATE people who won't stop meddling with other's business (know a lot of them and can't get them off my back, practically every 9 out of 10 Indian is like that and I hate that about us Indians). I HATE their free advice all the time.

8. I want to have a life full of creativity, color and challenge. Can't live with the monotony of a 9-5 life at all.

9. I'm quite eccentric about my music and food choices. I love Italian, Spanish, Mexican, Portuguese, Brazilian and German food (can't really say the same about French food except for the french fries). Like some exceptionally well done Indian regional stuff as well. And I absolutely cannot stay away from trying new things from all over the world and when someone tells me to stick to Indian and Punjabi food, that's the time when I can lose my temper real time.

10. I am a pretty good cook. (Really, I am. Honest!!)

Tags (yay!!!) - Jagjit, Ki, Riya, Gunmeen, Preeti, Sophie, Harmanpreet

The Iron Man

2009-05-11T14:46:00.003+05:30

Every time I hear or read about Marvel's Iron Man, I'm reminded of two people in real life. And it's primarily the political flavor of the season which has been really draining me off my imagination and legendary wit just like the Dementors would do to a prisoner of Azkaban that I'm compelled to deviate from my morals and write something politically charged.

So about the two people who I consider recalling after a reference to Marvel's Iron Man are - Sardar Patel and my neighborhood dhobi.

Now, all of you know that Sardar Patel was called the Iron Man of India. That may have been for whatever reason and with all due respect to the faithfully departed, I think it's time someone changed that. I mean, considering all the new age colloquialism associated with the name (rather the title) it doesn't feel all that right. Think of it like this, you tell a kid that Sardar Patel is called the Iron Man of India and the kid in all his truthful innocence would be compelled to ask you two questions for sure.

1. Was Sardar Patel really a Sardar, a la, The Latin Sardar? and

2. Did he wear a sheet metal underwear to be called the Iron Man of India.

A lot of people would be curious and would actually like to know whether he did or not to be called that, but as far as I'm concerned, I think I'd pass.

And the second person, who actually is the reason that I am forced to make the comparison with Iron Man, the dhobi. I am forced to compare him to Iron Man because he has an iron and he's happily ironing away someone's underwear just around the corner from my house. He is definitely the real time Iron Man.

It was the smell of the burning charcoal from his iron (and not of the crisply ironed underwear) that knocked me out of my couch and reminded me of a barbecue.

Oh! The joys of a barbecue by the pool on a hot summer day.

The Name Is Sardar, Latin Sardar...

2009-04-27T20:45:00.018+05:30

As I write what would be my debut novel sometime in this century (I'm very confident of that), I am reminded of the times when I used to be a super secret agent, a la the famous Mr. Bond, James Bond. I am also reminded of Mr. Khan, Shahrukh Khan's words from some movie (don't ask me about that, I don't watch Hindi movies) which meant something like "if you really want something/someone very much, entire universe will conspire to bring you to that thing/person.

Coming back to the point, I ran super secret missions from my secret lair hidden somewhere inside the school. I also had one secret lair under my house. In one of those missions, I saved the entire school and the prettiest girl in my class at the same time. I also remember, I carried a couple of 1911's among other weapons, they were my favorite. I also had a couple of Walther PPK 9 mils strapped on my ankles for backup, just like Bond, James Bond and a couple of .44 Magnums (chrome with black handles) in my school bag. Man! I looked cool with those guns on me, tucked in a leather holsters under my coat. There were more backup weapons and ammunition reloads taped under the desks all over the classroom and all through the entire school building, especially at high vantage points. I also had access to the best arsenal with the latest and the best weapons (handguns and rifles) known to man and I could use them all, strip them up, clean them and put them back together in under a minute, I was a friggin' genius with all sorts of weapons. I could take a sniper shot at 1500 yards with a confirmed kill. I carried out missions behind enemy lines, fly in a MiG29 and F16/F18 all the time to get to work, drove tanks, fought battles against entire armies and still managed to have a smile on my face and a funny line, I was so cool. Even with all this excitement in my life, I also managed to get back home for dinner with my family. My true identity was always a secret since the enemy could not have guessed they could get a major ass whooping from a 16 year old. It also meant that my family was always safe from any of the overzealous bad guys who wanted to exact some sort of revenge for all the damage I'd done to their operations.

So about the incident in school. It was a fairly ordinary day and I was going about my life as a normal teenaged school boy, which was also my cover identity. It was early in the morning and the first class for the day had commenced. It was the English class, one of my favorite (I was really pissed off at the bad guys for having disrupted my favorite class). I must admit, I was rather distracted, the prettiest girl in my class was sitting in front of me. That did not happen too often, so it was a great day. They killed the guard and started to move through the cover of rose bushes in the front lawns. Since my classroom was on the ground level, they must've spotted me early on. It isn't too hard for secret agents/mercenaries trained by special forces to spot another secret agent from the other side. So they moved with great amount of stealth towards me. But maybe it was my good luck or plain skill on my part that I spotted the movement. I remember myself shouting at the top of my lungs and telling everyone to get down as I lunged forward towards the pretty girl and pulled her away from the line of fire, all this while firing away with deadly precision at the enemy. They had messed with the wrong super secret agent for the last time in their lives.

That was the day when the line "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" was rewritten as "hell hath no fury like a super secret agent scorned".

Regretfully, after that everyone in school knew I was a super secret agent but the upside was that the pretty girl in class was my girlfriend for the remainder of the school term. Rest of the details, including the name of the agency I worked for and my training are still classified and will remain so till the year 2150.

Oh! And while I was at it, I had also rescued some POW's from behind enemy lines and inflicted major damage to the enemy, decimated a bunch of terrorist camps and disarmed a nuclear warhead too.

Writer's Block And The Snatch Effect

2009-04-20T00:05:00.004+05:30

Yes! It's here again. I'm not talking about the IPL, I'm talking about the sweltering heat of Delhi, complete with hot, dusty winds through the day, filling up the whole house, computers, laptops, TV, music systems (yes, I have one of those from the yesteryears). This time of the year, the city turns into a blast furnace where you can pretty much smelt iron ore. But then there are things that manage to take your focus off the heat, like Mandira Bedi and her off the map cricket commentary as I watch her with wandering eyes (I don't have to use flash cards, do I) as I search for a way out of this writer's block that I've been going through the past few weeks.

I've been off the blog for a while because of all the politics around me, I find myself robbed off my wit and pushed into this black hole where I can't find the right words to go around. And when that happens, people do a lot of weird stuff. Some people like to eat, some go for a walk, some like to smoke a stick etc. I like to clean up my room. What!? It helps me clear up my thoughts.

So, I went about clearing up the living room. But that wasn't too much help. Then, I picked up the glassware and washed that up too, scrubbing off the dried up salt from the tap water that was sticking to the otherwise shiny glasses and ruining them. Now, the point is that the kinda times these are, this kinda behavior could mean trouble for a nice young chap like me. Word could travel that I am a "homely" (don't really get why we Indians use this word, it's another word for ugly and the proper word to be used should be "domesticated") guy who can take care of the house as well. That could spell doom for me as the numbers of incoming proposals from "homely" girls could increase suddenly (you all remember that, don't you).

Anyway, don't mind if things go flying off the top of your head. I am watching Snatch (love that movie) as I write this post. That's the reason for all the Snatch effect here.

A Big HAPPY BUDDAY To AdvertiSingh

2009-04-09T20:01:00.002+05:30

Budday cake!! I hope I'm getting a big piece, I'm a big guy after all...

Going To London

2009-03-28T10:38:00.008+05:30

Once upon a time, there was a young Gujarati boy. He had three brothers but no sisters. He would often ask his mother why he did not have a sister. His mother would always avoid the answer to that question. The boy grew older but the question about not having a sister stayed with him. But as he grew, he realized that everyone tried to avoid answering his question, even his mother.

One day, totally fed up with not getting a response to his question, he confronted his family. They tried to calm him down, but without success. Finally, his mother tells him what they had been avoiding all this time. She tells him that he had an older sister who was separated from the family at the Kumbh Mela long time ago.

The young boy was devastated by the discovery. He decides to search for his sister. He looked for her everywhere. He put up advertisements in the newspapers, talked to the news channels, put up lots of posters all over the country, but no luck.

One day, he returns home from his search mission and tells his mother that he is going to London right away. Everyone is surprised at his decision. They try to ask him why all of a sudden he wants to go to London, but he said nothing and starts packing his bags. He gets his passport and visa and tickets but says nothing why he has to go to London. On the day of his departure, he sits with his family and tells them why he has to go.

He had to go to London because someone told him that Big Ben is in London.

Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with politics of any kind and I'm not affiliated to any political party. Also, I do not indulge in slandering of any particular ethnic, religious or regional groups.

I Like A Boy, But...

2009-03-26T18:55:00.004+05:30

I am a pretty easy going person and stats don't really bother me. So when I signed up for google stats for my blog, website stats was not really on my mind. But today, when I look back at that decision in retrospect, I'm more than happy to have done that.

Thanks to google's webmaster stats, I keep getting at least one good laugh each day. The web and google are, no doubt, the best thing to happen to the modern man (and woman). We can search for all sorts of things on the web whether we are seeking help in school homework or emotional issues or relationships. The undisputed top search query leading on to my website is "upside of being ugly". Glad to know I am of some help to all those like me out there who really believe that they too look ugly (like me) and are yet absolutely cool with it or at least looking for a reason to get a new perspective on their ugliness. I just hope there are many more to join the NGO that I started to help the ugly people, I mean the aesthetically challenged people.

But I was talking about laughs you would say. Yes, I still am. As I look through the search queries that lead to my website, I see this gem of a search phrase - I like a guy, but he's a sardar. And my website shows up as the fifth link on the first page itself. Mighty impressive! Way to go, Latin Sardar!!!

I, on my part, seriously hope this was a girl looking for relationship advice.

I Want To Be The PM Too

2009-03-17T13:11:00.007+05:30

While I sat with a bunch of friends on Saturday evening, getting pasted, loading all things under the sun except perhaps absinthe (I actually don't really remember anymore whether that was there as well or not), I had an epiphany.

Every Tom, Dick and Harriet is expressing his/her desire to be the next Prime Minister of this country. Why not me? I mean, regular readers would know well that I too have a history of thinking for the welfare of the country in whatever I do. And the fact that I workout for three hours a day and can lift more weights that a certain someone (now, it would be really nasty of me to call him names, like baldy-locks) makes me all the more eligible for the post. I have a vision for the country that includes sending an Indian man to the moon (with a tight tab on the costs, we are in deep recession after all) and willing to sacrifice my Maruti 800 for the cause, although not being able to go to the moon myself will be a disappointment as I will be public property after I become Prime Minister, I'll be ok with it for sure. This example also goes to show you that I am a capable financial planner and know how and when to boot strap.

On the professional front, I am a software engineer and also well connected with people from the field of business, medicine, rocket science, aviation, architecture, literature and education gives me an edge over any other candidate in the fray for the post.

This is what I used to lift, 10 kg free weights. I have moved on to heavier weights since (oww!! my arm). Am I not better suited to be the PM?

So let this be the beginning of my political career and please Vote For ME!!!

Differences...

2009-03-07T14:30:00.007+05:30

The world is made on differences. It is these differences that make things happen, make the world go around, makes day and night, hot and cold, quiet and windy. It's differences that also define right and wrong, heaven and hell and of course, the coup de grace - men and women.

Right! So now you know that the post is not about some spiritual crap and I have your attention.

Talking about differences, men and women are different, no doubt about that. Consider a new age married couple (the old ones do not fit into the changing world at all, differences - remember). Imagine a young man and his wife, both working, both independent and all that. And now imagine they are standing on two opposite sides of the street or the mall or a where ever (for any reason, who gives a damn, just follow the story). Now, if the man has to call his wife and ask her to join him on his side of the street or at the mall or where ever, he'll have to call her with the most polite voice that he can find in his throat, make a polite gesture and ask her very politely to come over to his side of the street. He'd go something like, "Yoohoo! Honey, could you please come over to this side?". And then he also has to make sure to gesture with his hand, just so that his wife can be sure that he's not being naughty and pointing at someone else. And god knows, how hard it is to sound polite and do all that, especially after you are married for a while. But in any case, he cannot - absolutely CANNOT - let go of the politeness from his voice (reason will follow shortly). So, basically, a man has to use up a lot of energy in him to call his wife over for anything.

In the same scenario, all the wife has to do is look at him, point the index finger and move it like squeezing the trigger of a gun. That would be more than enough for the man to jump to his feet and run to his wife's side.

Well, now you know about the difference between a man and a woman (I bet you were thinking I was gonna say something else). And I can bet that you are wondering the reason behind this halfothesis*. The reason is simple. It so happens that no matter how many times a married man changes a job or goes to work for himself, he would actually end up with the same boss. And the fact that the boss is not like the General, sitting in an arm chair, signing orders, has a lot to do with it. The boss is pretty much like the Drill Sergeant who will kick your a$$ if you do not follow orders to the letter. (You heard me MAGGOT!!! Drop down and give me twenty, right now!!!)

Dedications

This post is dedicated to all those young men who have been wise enough to not get involved yet and all those who have crossed the line and become otherwise. And especially to all those who hell bent on crossing the line pretty soon. Let this be a word of advice to you all, better step into it with the knowledge that no matter what you do, you are NOT the boss and never will be.

*A Halfothesis is something between a hypothesis and a theorem on which you cannot dwell too much for the fear of transforming the thesis into something totally undesirable, the statement once proven by logic or the lack of it is good enough to be a halfothesis. Nitish Vaid, 2008.

Holy Crap!

2009-02-25T18:49:00.003+05:30

That's a weird headline, I know. But I'm sure that's what you'd say when you are done reading this. That's what I thought when I realized a little fact about my life which had not occurred to me yet.

It so happens that my dad is a big fan of bad guys. I'd like to believe he would've been a gangster but ended up becoming a doctor. But since he could not become a bad guy, he has been a huge fan of movies with larger than life bad guys like Mr. India, Jewel Thief etc. If any of you remember Paul Newman in Road to Perdition when he says - "Natural Law. Sons are put on this earth to trouble their fathers". Well, my father is so much into wise guys, he's practically a wise guy himself. He knew boys are trouble even before Paul Newman said this and the world realized it. He has apparently seen all the cult wise guy movies so far and is so influenced by it that he named his two sons after bad guys. Not his daughter, just the sons.

So, who am I named after? Like I said, my dad is a big fan of the movie Jewel Thief. He has been a big fan of Dev Anand and Ashok Kumar. And almost everyone in India upto my generation has seen the movie atleast once. And everyone would remember that Ashok Kumar's character, the bad guy, the Jewel Thief is named Prince. So am I.

When I was born, my dad named me Prince. And legend has it, he hasn't regretted it yet (I've been a pain in the butt for quite a few people all my life and I take much pride in that). Though, on the web, everyone knows me by my alter ego - The Latin Sardar, everyone in the family has called me Prince since day one. And I just realized the source of the name very recently, much to my dislike. Who cares if it describes me perfectly? It doesn't mean that I have to live with a bad guy's name.

Then came my brother. Apparently, my dad had seen The Godfather around the time he was born. And since Michael would have been a mismatched name for a young sardar baby boy, my dad went for the next best thing he could use. And that's how my brother ended up with the name Sonny.

My brother and I have been a couple of rambunctious kids (well, I was taken in by his company, otherwise I was a pretty good kid) and my dad knew we'd be like this. So he'd already prepped himself for all the trouble he'd be getting into because of us once we were born.

The Most Common Problem For Bloggers

2009-02-20T22:45:00.008+05:30

I'm not seeing or imagining things at all. This is abso-damn-lutely the truth. I mean, so many of them have written about it already. Jagjit has done a post on his blog Advertisingh, Preeti has done it on Onthewingsofadream, Gunmeen has done it on her blog Writer's Paradise and even I've written about it before - My Not Anniversary.

Well, I'm talking about the most prolific problem HAUNTING bloggers of our generation - marriage and mom. Just for the record, my mom is at it again. One of the aunts just called in this afternoon and my mom took the bait. Now I'm going to have to listen to all the dialogues of Tulsi aunty and her clan of Viranis and what nots over the next few weeks.

It so happened that last week my mom forced me (yes, I'm talking about real time emosanal atyachar) to attend a family function where there was a girl, and sadly she was nothing like what I would want to be with. Someone who would make me feel like the complete man. And no, you don't become a complete man by just wearing a Raymond's suit at your wedding. It's about being all that I'm not and more, the real better half of me, someone who makes me want to be a better man. Not someone who spends half her day in the gurudwara and the other half taking care of the in-laws like a dutiful, quintessential "Indian home maker". I want someone who can and will challenge me intellectually, someone not averse to apply some intelligence to her life and definitely someone independent enough to have her own identity which I can be proud of.

I knew it then that something fishy was baking in the oven and it would be on the table real soon. And like always, I was right about it - again. Now, for atleast the next 2 months I'll have to listen to all of those dialogues all over again. When will moms of the world, especially of this country, understand that we can take care of things on our own and don't need their interference in something that is (and supposedly should be) personal to each and everyone of us.

And shouldn't we really be taking a break from getting everyone married? There's more than a billion of us on this planet of about six billion people already.

Moonstruck

2009-02-12T23:17:00.004+05:30

I must say, caffeine may have taken away my sleep for the time being, but it cannot take away my bravado and sense of service to the nation, my will to lay my life at stake for country and flag and my countrymen (and women). As soon as I decided this a few minutes ago, I had an idea of what exactly I can do to make the country really proud.

So, high on caffeine and national fervor, I dialed the number to the Prime Minister's residence. I know he's been ordered to take rest by the doctors, but this is really important and I had to get the message to him asap. Being a sardar helps in cases like this as you all know. The phone rang for a few seconds and then someone picked it up.

LS: Good evening, this is Latin Sardar. I need to speak with Mr. Singh immediately. It is an emergency... of sorts.

PMO: Sir, it is quite late and the PM has retired for the day. May I suggest calling in early tomorrow morning. I can put you on the early morning appointments with the PM. Or better still, if you'd like I can have our office call you at a time convenient to you.

LS: You don't get it ma'am. This is very urgent. I must speak with him right now.

PMO: Ok, I'll see if he can speak with you right now.

LS: Thank you.

Few minutes later, a very soft voice on the other side of the line greeted me.

PM: Satsriakal, this is Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.

LS: Satsriakal, sir. This is Latin Sardar. Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I have a great idea which will be very beneficial to the country and perhaps you would like to recommend me for a Bharat Ratan afterwards.

PM: Oh! Then let's hear this great idea.

LS: Sir, I could not sleep tonight and that set me off to think about various things that could bring pride to the nation. One such thing is the Chandrayan. Great work by the dudes at ISRO. And I suppose the next move would be to send someone up there in the next rocket?

PM: (slightly skeptical) Yes, but what do you wish to do about that.

LS: I'm getting there, sir. See, for the job, I reckon you'd need three thing for certain - a rocket, a man and a moon rover.

PM: Yes...

LS: I know the boys at ISRO are pretty darn good with rockets but are yet to come up with a very cost effective solution to the "moon rover and the man in it" problem. I can provide you with both.

PM: (interested by now) OK! What do you have in mind?

LS: Sir, I'll be the man in the rocket and my Maruti 800 will be the moon rover. I believe a phone call from your office to the Maruti top management will be enough to take care of any additional R&D that may be required with the car, err... moon rover. As for the durability of the suspension and all other parts, I've been testing it for a while and it is just perfect. From where I see it, we don't even have to send a team of space engineers with test prototypes to Iceland etc. People see problems where I saw an opportunity with the bad roads of the country and have already tested the living daylights out of that tiny little car. Don't worry about the looks and all the other things, we'll work on that too. We'll strip it down and modify it to look as good if not better than what the Americans had sent in 1969. But please, do ask them not to fiddle with my stereo system when you call them.

PM: Hmm... Mr. Singh, this actually sounds very good. We could use this kind of cost cutting in the times of such bad recession. Can you please meet me in the morning?

LS: Most certainly, sir. When can I come over?

PM: My secretary will handle the appointment. I'm thinking about putting you in the position of Joint Chief of ISRO, will that be OK with you?

LS: That would be just fine, Mr. Prime Minister.

PM: Fine then. Good night and see you tomorrow. Satsriakal.

LS: Satsriakal, sir. Good night.

Sleepless In Delhi

2009-02-12T23:02:00.003+05:30

Sleepless again! This time, its not the neighbors or some soon to be groom dude outside my house practicing his dance moves. This time around the culprit is the traces of blood in the caffeine running through my veins. Had seven - yes - SEVEN cups of coffee through the day and now I can't sleep. Top that up with the revelation that I may not be as smart as I thought I am. I am sitting in front of the computer thinking what I can write that would be slightly funny and quirky so that people don't hunt me down after reading it, but dear God! Can't think of a single thing...

The Upside Of Being Ugly

2009-02-06T21:40:00.002+05:30

People always believe that life sucks for ugly people and pretty people get the best of life all the time. I was reading a magazine article some time ago. It said that even the scientists, having conducted a research, believe that now. Well, those guys would know, that's perhaps all they can do. When was the last time you heard about a scientist guy or girl being a regular in the club circuits?

Anyway, the point here is that we, ugly people like me that is, need not worry about things so much. I mean, haven't you ever heard of the silver lining in the cloud? There happens to be an upside of everything and being ugly is not all that bad, you know. I mean, I thought I had it quite bad, but then I decided to change my outlook on life and found out there's much more to being ugly than meets the eye. I even had a discussion with a friend of mine about this and even she agrees with me on most of the points I put up.

First off, ugliness knows no bounds. It does not make distinctions between men and women. But women have an advantage, no eve-teasing (quite an expression we Indians have invented, this one), guys on the street don't tease you. And in my friend's words, "you don't really need to go to the beauty parlor, you are ugly anyway and they can try and you can spend lots of your money but no one can really make you look good and no one is gonna date you. Instead, you can go to a pub (but not in Mangalore) and spend your money on lots of booze."

Also, if you are ugly, you get a lot of sympathies from all the nosey aunties, which itself is advantageous especially for a kid. They would perhaps hand you some money every time they visit instead of just giving a really useless verbal blessings which they would not really mean anyway thinking that perhaps you could use that money to get yourself a makeover when you are old enough and eligible for marriage. On your part, you can save up on all that money and blow it on booze on your 21st birthday. You also don't really need to hide your birthday and your age. You are already ugly and no one cares for how old you are. Might as well add a few years to the real numbers to get past security in a bar and get drunk - again.

Notice how everything comes back to drinking? Well, that's the best part of it. Ugly people can get drunk all they want, make a hell of a scene anywhere and no one will remember after some time. Not the case if you look pretty, huh! Just ask yourself, if some really hot babe (doesn't work that much for a good looking guy, girls seemingly get turned off by such guys I'm told) was making a scene in a pub after having one too many from the juice box, would you forget that too easy? No. But if an ugly guy (or girl) was doing the same thing, not only would he (she) be thrown out of the pub but also from your memory almost instantaneously.

So you see, The Upside Of Being Ugly.

P.S. - I am starting an NGO working for the ugly people's rights. We don't call people like me ugly anymore. The politically correct term is aesthetically challenged.

Finally...

2009-01-28T20:04:00.006+05:30

Someone has woken up to the fact that we need to have a right to recall. Those of you who have been around for a while and read about this in a previous post about calling for our right to reject the retards and anal-dwelling butt monkeys who appear around election time really to waste my precious time and vote - rejoice!!!

What's got me so excited, you ask? Well, I just heard it on the move that the Chief Election Commissioner is actually mulling over giving a "no-vote" button in the EVM's. I can't seem to find a web link on any the news networks yet, but I sure did hear it on the news channels and it's as true as the sunshine, day and night and life itself. It's playing in the tickers right now on CNN-IBN at least.

Finally, hopes of a real election where I can actually reject the incompetent idiots who call themselves leaders (?), people like that Thackrey and that ba@#$!^ from Mangalore.

What If God Is A Woman?

2009-01-26T23:36:00.007+05:30

Then not only am I going to hell, I'll never even know why.

It's better to accept the facts at hand and be prepared than getting caught unaware. If you wish to read the last part of that phrase with a different ending that sounds like "with your pants down", you are free to do that. I confess, I've been in and out of relationships in the past, well, mostly out than in. But when you look like me, you actually have limited choices at that.

And then it happened, an unexpected turn in my life. While I was considering staying away from women and relationships, I met Barry. Smart, elegant, captures you with a smile, keeps you going all day, all night. Doesn't stop there, follows you wherever you go. I don't know why, but I was liking this Barry. Barry has buttons, all it takes is a few minutes and you know how to push the right ones and before you realize it, you are in bed with Barry, listening to the sweet music Barry plays for you. Funny thing, I never thought I was gonna fall... well... But this Barry... my god! I've seen women handling him with just as much ease and men fall head over heals, especially the ones with deep-ish pockets. Barry loves the greens I guess.

But before you go any further with your mind in the gutter, let me tell you, I'm just talking about my blackberry. Yeah, I'm crazy about it. Obviously, enough to name it Barry.

The Desi Obsession

2009-01-21T12:58:00.005+05:30

Sad to admit, but true all the way - we are an obsessed lot. The biggest obsession these days being the word Desi. Don't believe me? How about this very old thing for proof...

American Desi - A boy born and brought up in America with the catch that his parents were Indian by birth and naturalized Americans. The dude is miles away from being an Indian in any way other than having Indian born parents. He can relate more to an American way of life than the Indian. He prefers pizza over chicken curry. He uses pick up lines on girls at parties or at the bar (Oh!!! he goes to the bar). Yet, by the end of the movie, he is supposed to fall in love with a quintessential Indian girl, make up for all his "Americanism" and fall back to his roots. Not too bad, but why do we have to make people do that?

This is just one example but I remember, ever since this movie came about, we have used, over used and misused the word Desi so much that it has started to hurt. It hurts coz I've been laughing my a$$ off since I saw this - http://www.desidieter.com. Now this is the height of over usage. Move over Atkins, you can't work here, you ain't no Desi man.

Prelude To The Nobel Prize

2009-01-13T14:26:00.007+05:30

Those of you who have been reading this blog despite your better judgement would be aware of my ambition to get a Nobel Prize. Now I'm not too finicky about the type of Nobel Prize, anything from Physics to Literature would do for me as long as I do not have to stick to the silly tradition of donating all the money away to charity. It's a damn good amount of money and I could use it for some other purposes like a world tour or something more frivolous like getting married. I hope I'll have atleast one person in this world to back me up, another blogger friend - Onthewingsofadream. She's a Booker aspirant and would like to use the money to go to Paris and buy some really nice hollywood movie-star type dresses from there (I'm with you on the matter of the tour, sorry I don't wear dresses but we can make one hell of a noise on the blog about it, don't worry).

While the Nobel committee takes its own sweet time to realize how much I deserve the Nobel, I have news for them. It's been all of three months since I started writing and I've got two blogger awards already. For the sake of manners I'm not going to say anything beyond this. Now, I know I am a little late in saying thanks to the people who have honored me, but better late than never. I've been a bit busy with a wedding, no not mine, someone in the family. After the wedding, I got hooked to Facebook. It became a real problem and right now I'm in rehab already. I know when to stop, just could not. Besides, I'm just late by about twelve days or something, better than the national average I would say (I'm not trying to justify myself). I would, however, like to add that these awards are no less than the Nobel Prize for me (for outstanding lifetime work in literature). All you have to do is let go of your high standards about the money that accompanies the award.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, for the honor call, I'd like to call upon Jagjit better known as Advertisingh and Riya aka the Blogging Doctor. I Thank You both with all my heart for the honor. It's a pleasure and privilege to know people like you. Riya, your blog is a window into a world I was unaware of. I believe you will bring me some real time insight into life through your blog. Something that will most surely help in making me a better person. Jagjit, you rock bro. While Riya gives me something real to think about, your blog has opened up a lateral world, an alternate universe where I have an alter-ego, the evil twin and I just love it.

Shark Tales

2009-01-09T16:32:00.010+05:30

When I was little, I'd get up an eight foot wall just to jump over it. There was a small equipment room on each side of the open amphitheater stage in school. It was also about 8-10 feet high. I used to jump off that too. Then on my way back from school, I used to jump off the rickshaw and run alongside, just for the fun of it and because those were the days I could actually do it, I mean run. It did not matter to me that my parents were spending money during the era when it was a really scarce commodity for me to sit in the rickshaw and get back home.

So, you get the picture - I liked to jump. As I grew up and moved into high school, there were other things to do, like chase after girls etc. and the jumping really interfered with my social agenda. Hence came an abrupt end to my jumping days. But apparently, the desire to jump had not entirely faded away in my heart. I found it out the hard way when on my first trip to Goa, I jumped into the sea. Now, in all this time, it had never occurred to me that I might like to jump into water someday and so I overlooked the one fact that actually made a difference. I forgot to learn how to swim. Naturally, the first dip in the sea was a set of debacles for me and my friends. No, I didn't lose my shorts and to prove it, you are already reading the blog and hence I'm very much alive with an active social life. But there was the issue of the sand in every nook and cranny of my shorts and I could hear Metallica play Enter Sandman in my head. And as for my friends, well, that is a piece of history that we will not forget until our deathbeds. One of us known as KS (NOT KamaSutra) wanted to act like he was a shark in the water. Oh, I forgot, this was after a round of beer. So KS went as far as the rough waves allowed and turned back towards us. He jumps into the water holding his hand on top of his head like a shark fin and starts to drift towards us with the waves.

The main thing that this dude forgot that he was wearing his glasses and his power was nearly (-7) diopters which made him blind as a friggin' bat without them. Poseidon, I believe, liked his dorky glasses though. As soon as the wave hit him from behind (his glasses being in the direction of the waves), they took the damn thing with 'em. That, I'm very sorry to say wasn't the end of it at all. As soon as he realized his glasses were gone, which was a good 30 seconds later, he turns to the rest of us and said he needs help. We rush to him anticipating the worst. But before we could roll over and laugh our a$$e$ off on the situation, came this gem of a statement - "Let's all sit in the waves with our hands spread out so that if, by sheer chance, the glasses were to return with the next wave, atleast one of us would be able to catch it."

Something went horribly wrong, jigged up the wiring in his brain as soon as he hit the water perhaps. But it definitely left a mark on all of us present there. I finally decided put an end to my "jumping into anything" days. Instead I write about these things now.

The Day Mahatma Gandhi Got Mad At Me

2009-01-06T10:59:00.006+05:30

I still remember the day my cousin and her then army officer boyfriend (now husband and henceforth Lover Boy for the rest of this post) skipped training camp, risked a court marshal and his career and came to Delhi just to see her (Lover Girl for the remainder of the post). The day was 2nd October 2004 and perhaps Mahatma Gandhi was angry with the two of them or atleast with LB for hopping camp. Now, since I am an atheist, I would like to believe it was indeed Mahatma Gandhi who put a hex on the evening from his heavenly abode. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong and we ended up with a memory for a lifetime. "We" as in including "me". That's right. Things went that wrong.

The day started very early at about 8:00 am with a phone call from LG that LB just called and said he's coming over to Delhi for the day and I'm required to make an excuse, get LG out of the house on the pretext she's with me and vanish off the grid for the rest of the world's convenience and my own skin's safety. Being a loving and caring cousin that I am, I complied and drove them down to a place where they could have some privacy and I vanished for the rest of the day. At this point Mahatma Gandhi must've been angry with me for being an accomplice and got down to work on me as well because for the rest of the day, I survived on coffee and sandwiches. Things only started to look up slightly when at 4:00 after noon, I got an invitation to dinner with LG and LB. They wanted to thank me for doing everything I did for them that day by taking me out to dinner. They insisted and I said OK, a decision I should regret in retrospect, but luckily I don't.

Except for the excessive coffee and sandwiches, it was a typical Delhi day - beautiful and sunny, without a whiff of a cloud in the sky and a slight breeze. It was supposed to be a very dry season as Delhi usually never gets any form of precipitation during October. I drove down to the pickup point in my gorgeous little Maruti 800 to get LG and LB and off we went to paint the town red. We had forgotten that it was Mahatma Gandhi's birthday and since he despised alcohol, the Government of India had decided to celebrate the day as a Dry Day, a concept that still eludes me after nearly 27 years of existence. Mahatma Gandhi must've felt really bad when we asked for booze at the bar but decided to give us a chance by simply warning us to cut the night short and return to our respective homes. The winds suddenly picked up and they were a wee bit colder than in the day time. Anyway, realizing that we will not find any booze that night, we decided to have some fun in a more noble way, without any booze. So we took off from Saket towards CP and decided to look for a decent eating joint for the three of us. While we were driving down towards CP, it started to rain. Another warning from Mahatma Gandhi to make us stop dead in our tracks and head back home. A perfectly dry day was turning into a really wet day and we were not getting any part of the action.

We were taking the route through India Gate towards CP and suddenly it struck us that we could actually have dinner at Pandara Road. It made sense as the rain was picking up. Not realizing that having pissed off Mahatma Gandhi big time, we were in for a long night, I turned the car towards Pandara Road. By then, we were all getting a sense that someone up there is picking on us. But in any case, like stubborn kids, we kept at it and headed off to Pandara Road to get that well deserved warm dinner. There was a long queue at the restaurant and since we had no reservations, we had to stand outside and wait for our turn to be seated, another warning sign ignored. While writing my name in the register, the maitre d' asked us for our choice of cuisine for the night. Incredulously, I said, non-veg.

To this day, I believe, that's what finally pissed off Mahatma Gandhi beyond control. The man was huge on non violence and vegetarian lifestyle. The rain and the wind picked up big time and we started to rethink our options for the first time through the evening. Finally, we decided to get the food packed and drive back to a friend's empty apartment and have dinner over there. After making the necessary calls, we took off for the said apartment. But like I mentioned, Mahatma Gandhi had already had it with us and the rain had picked up big time. There was flooding in various parts of the city, most notably Dhaula Kuan with its newly commissioned flyovers which had sections more susceptible to flooding. Since Mahatma Gandhi was already pissed with us, there was a lot of flooding there, knee deep water to be very precise. And my little Maruti 800 is not built to take on such a heavy duty torture at all, so it did what it does always in such conditions - it stalled with water creeping into the engine, rendering it completely useless. LB and I had to wade through the knee deep puddle and drag the car out of there. We waited for nearly an hour in the car and finally managed to start her up and drive off to the place we were to call home for the night.

I called home and told my folks that I'm at a friend's house for the night due to all the rain and water logged streets. Next morning, I drove LB to the train station, put him in a train and sent him off to his training facility in hopes of making whatever peace offering I could to the holy spirits pissed off at me.

But apparently, I haven't learnt a lesson from this incident at all. When yesterday, another opportunity presented itself to do a similar thing by being party to asking the cousin of my best friend's husband to get her tickets to Abu Dhabi "canceled", reschedule her departure from Delhi for the next day, call office and say she missed her flight and stay over for an extra day to go out for a similar impromptu round of booze and great food, not only did I agree to it, I tried my level best to convince all involved that it would be a great idea to do something like this. I have no idea who in the heavens above was pissed off by that, but there was no alternative ticket available, so she had to take the one at hand and all the plans were shelved immediately. An alternate plan was formed which did not involve any radical rescheduling of flights and jumping curfew at home. But it was a fun night with some great food, booze and some excellent new friends.

Falling In Love...

2008-12-28T02:59:00.004+05:30

In my hour of extreme agony, I am reminded of a wise man named Steven Tyler who once said, "Falling in love is hard on the knees...".

A man's life can be compared to a golf course fairway, a single man, to be precise. Towards the end of the fairway, where the roughs begin, there's a crater, invisible to the eye of the young man. And right next to the crater is a woman. This crater, boys, is love itself and it belongs to the woman standing next to it.

Now, what happens is that the man sees the woman and is attracted to her. Please remember, he's not "in love" yet. So, he starts off towards the woman with a big stupid grin on his face, arms stretched outwards like sleep walking in a trance and eyes riveted to his leading lady (for the moment) completely unaware of the line which separates the wise and the not so wise, the divot in the fairway just before the line and of course, the crater beyond it, a.k.a, impending doom.

Now, since he is so lost in the thoughts of the woman that he completely ignores the divot, trips in it and falls headlong into the crater of love and hence the term "falling in love".

It is a well known fact that a wise man never falls in love. But when he does, he becomes "otherwise".

It is also a well known fact that some people fall in love and yet it is others who have to pay the price. And this "otherwise" idiot from my neighborhood and his family are still going at it while the clock has already declared war on me and my sleep. It's 03:30 am btw.

P.S. - @AdSingh - The italic text above is an actual excerpt from a book that I am actually trying to write (actually trying to complete the manuscript in the next few weeks) and I've actually got the page numbers already.

My Dear Sleep

2008-12-28T01:03:00.003+05:30

Where art thou?

It's 01:30 am on the night between Saturday, 27th Dec 2008 and Sunday, 28th Dec 2008 (few more hours to go...) and I'm wide awake.

It's been two weeks, with a heavy schedule taking its toll on me from one side and the lack of sleep adding to the agony. And on top of that I have the gym schedule, which I'm told by the instructor, is due for a review and escalation to another higher level of workout. All in all, I'm pretty much screwed. But that's not enough to take away my sleep.

The silver lining for the day is the compliment I got from a bunch of new kids at the gym. They think I look great (ahem!) and they would rather look like me than something like Arnold Scwarzenegger. They even asked ME for workout tips. Strangely, the compliment is not what's keeping me awake either.

With a wedding of a very close friend on the anvil, where I not only have to look as good as my condition would allow me (regular readers would remember the acute aesthetic handicap that I have since my teens) but am also looking forward to actually being a little useful to her by offering my services as a chauffeur while she does the last minute shopping or things like running down to VLCC (or wherever) for that all important wedding makeup, things are looking pretty bleak for a good amount of sleep anytime soon. But this would be, somehow, too much fun which is always welcome and there is never any aversion to something like it - ever, and is not the reason to lose my sleep.

I just got out of a rather serious relationship very recently. It was around the day we Indians were witnessing the so called desi version of 9/11 on television. We were glued to the tube like never before for the entire sixty hours that the encounter with horror went on. When it was all over, we protested, we shouted, but life went back to almost normal soon after. No one listened to us and we were reminded that politicians are politicians everywhere in the world. However, this is also not what's keeping me awake tonight.

So what is it that's keeping me awake?

Answer: The idiot who lives couple of houses down my block and who's getting married maybe tomorrow. His family and friends seem to have had a little too much fun (read drinks) and there's music and drums and bhangra out on the streets. The crowd's going crazy and there's anywhere between 30-40 people outside my house in the street practicing their dance moves.

Happy New Year to everyone!!!

P.S. - (To G and everyone else) If I'm missing at the 31st night party, please don't mind. I might be on heavy sedatives if things don't improve. I need my beauty sleep afterall.

Spot The Difference!!

2008-12-24T08:35:00.003+05:30

I actually could not find a difference... Maybe someone else could point it out for me.

Twinkle Twinkle...

2008-12-17T21:15:00.005+05:30

I don't know where this picture was taken, but the first (and the only) thing that came to my mind was "Twinkle Twinkle Little Sardar". I saw this on my friend's computer and I had to post it here.

Disclaimer: The kid in the picture above is not a related to me in any way.

Story Of A Moron

2008-12-16T13:55:00.008+05:30

About a year after I had graduated, one of my college professors had a run in with a bunch of tough guys from the neighboring college. They beat him up and broke his rib. They did it because he had objected to their behavior towards a girl. She was walking down the street towards the main exit gates of Delhi University South Campus when these boys started following her and making nasty comments. When my professor intervened, he was beaten up by those a$$holes.

I didn't see it happen and I was not even able to go over to the hospital to see my professor after the incident as I was in Hong Kong at that time. But every time I see a roadside romeo like this moron in the orange jacket (riding the bike), I remember that incident. This idiot was about 7-8 vehicles behind me when we stopped at this traffic light. But he saw this girl in the rickshaw somehow and started inching towards her through a maze of cars. He nicked a few bumpers and people shouted from the back at this guy, but he was focused. He kept moving forward. The traffic light clock said there was only about 30 secs to go before the lights turn green. He must've seen it because his speed increased. Finally, he reached his destination, right beside the girl in the rickshaw. I don't know how I missed it, but I wanted to take a picture when he was plain staring at her without even blinking. I mean, I look at girls, everyone does, but people like this guy are SOOOO.. DISGUSTING. You want to look at someone, look at them, don't demean their existence by doing something like this. Worst is when I see middle aged men staring at girls less than half their age, most likely studying with their own daughters. I feel like beating the living daylights out of them.

Of course, this girl too had no option but to ignore this brother pucker. I strongly felt like edging him with my car a little as soon as he picked up speed so that he can taste some dirt and meet with parasites like himself while he was down there. But somehow, I managed to convince myself that it would be too much and I would be in the same league as him. Instead of that, I felt like sharing it here.

My Nobel Hopes

2008-12-12T09:31:00.016+05:30

Like any middle class parents, my parents have always had high hopes from me. My father had always wanted me to be a doctor like him while my mother wanted me to be an engineer and make truck loads of money. I could not figure that part out without my thoughts deviating towards robbing a bank's money van, so I ended up being what I am today, a struggler in business trying to firmly establish the animation business that I started over a year ago.

But I wasn't always like this. I used to be smart and intelligent. I was so intelligent that my school gave me a double promotion from nursery to upper kindergarten within 6 months of school. My teachers were very impressed with my performance and were pinning their hopes on me too. At the tender age of 4, it was a huge burden on my little shoulders. But I tried and I tried and then I tried some more and kept all those hopes alive by getting the best grades in the whole class. When I graduated to first grade, there were even more hopes for now I was in the big leagues. I gave it all I had, evading the distraction of young age like girls and drugs (I was always a pioneer and always ahead of my time) and again topped the grade. My scores were the highest in the whole of first grade. There was even a bit of celebration in my honor at the school annual day function where the school principal and the local MP presented me with a trophy.

Once I had bagged the trophy in first grade, my focus shifted to the Nobel Prize. Apparently, the trophy from school was just to test the waters. So I started the long, grueling session of introspection which lasted all of 30 minutes to see what I could try my hand at to get me the Nobel Prize. Since I liked to blow things up from a very young age (I loved it when things went BOOM!), I thought about inventing a high explosive that would be easy to handle, something that I would've liked to call dynamite. Would've been a great name for an explosive. Alas! Just my luck, that's what started off the Nobel Prize in the first place. There goes the Nobel Prize in Chemistry.

But, there were other fields as well, so there was no need and no time for me to lose hope. So, I turned my attention to medicine. Again, hard luck! Apparently, 5 year olds are not eligible to be doctors. Physics was another option and my theory about things that went up and came down eventually, was a pretty strong contender. But I was told that some bloke named Newton from England had already named the phenomenon as something they now called Gravity and it was 'the thing' these days.

Economics, although not an original Nobel category, still kept some hopes alive. But, again, in 1987, India had not yet opened up to a free economy and open market ideology and the radical ideas of a 5 year old were booed along by the old guys who still hold on to their seats in the parliament even today (2008). Those ideas were implemented later in 1991 by a sardar 'ji' named Manmohan Singh who was said to be the finance minister of India at that time. I lost the court case in which I sued the government for plagiarizing my work and using it to fix the Indian economy without even mentioning me in the credits. No matter what people say, I know I lost because the judges were being controlled by the government.

But the most adverse effect of the court battle was on my Nobel hopes. The Nobel Committee decided not to go ahead with a controversial piece at that time. They were already facing problems with another Nobel Laureate who went out for a drink after receiving the award and created a scene at a local bar. He had won the Peace Prize.

That gave me another idea and I set off to get me the Nobel Prize for Peace. I had never given up and would not have started after all these minor setbacks. So, I set off to resolve the dispute between India, Pakistan and China. After about 10 minutes into that meeting, I realized it was not going to be easy and I might as well use my time doing something else like finding a girlfriend. It was, apparently, a rough patch in my life as I could not get even a single girl to go out with me on a date. The ambition of getting the Nobel Prize was fast becoming an obsession. I had lost almost all my friends. But I did not give up, the thought had never crossed my mind through all this and I soldiered on in my quest to get me a Nobel Prize.

Time passed by, as usual, and I grew up into a somewhat aesthetically challenged young man with a burning ambition of getting a Nobel Prize. And I was in no mood to give up my ambitions or hopes. Then one day, while I was in 10th grade, preparing for my central board exams, I had a breakthrough. I invented a way to calculate mathematical squares of numbers in a much easier way without using the calculator. I showed it to everyone I knew, my teachers and classmates and friends. I proved it again and again in front of noted mathematicians, which included my 10th grade mathematics teacher Mrs. Varahan and my 9th grade mathematics teacher Mrs. Revathi, who agreed that my method was indeed correct and I had proved my theory in the most proper mathematical manner. My joy had no bounds and I started searching the library (the internet was not too popular at that time) to find out if I still had a chance of getting the Nobel Prize.

Heaven be praised! The Nobel Committee recognized work in mathematics as well if it was related to physics. Since it could easily be said that my work was related to physics, I had a shot. Excited by the thought, I set off on getting recommendations from my teachers and other documents to support my claim at the Nobel Prize. With hands shaking out of excitement of being close to realizing my goal, I mailed my application to the Nobel Prize Committee. Two weeks later, I could not believe my luck when I received a reply from them. They had sent me an air ticket to Stockholm and asked me to come down and explain exactly how my work qualified for the Nobel Prize.

I set of on the journey of my lifetime. Standing at the gates of the Nobel Foundation, I knew I was just a few steps away from achieving what I set out to at the age of 5 - getting my own Nobel Prize. As I stepped up to the front desk and told the lady there who I was, they started treating me like royalty and I was ushered into a huge ornate room with a large table where a bunch of people were sitting, looking really intelligent and all that. Once I was seated, they started asking me questions about my square calculation theory. I explained and explained but the message seemed to be getting lost somewhere. Countless numbers of mathematicians and experts were called in to take a look at the theory and try to understand it and present it to the common people in a way that would be understood by the masses.

When they seemed to have had enough, the head of the committee told me that it was as complex as the Theory of Relativity and they were not equipped to handle such difficult mathematical problems anymore. They told me that the days of Einstein were long gone and the people who had adjudged him for the Nobel Prize were educated in a different way than the judges of today who come from public school backgrounds.

With a shattered heart and dream of having my own Nobel Prize, I took off from Stockholm the same evening and came back home. After a few days of sulking, I decided not to give up hope. My life went back to normal and I did exceptionally well in the 10th grade central board exams too.

Now, I'm trying for the Nobel Prize in Literature. I wonder if the Nobel Committee has read my blog, though?

Damn Racists...

2008-12-09T21:43:00.002+05:30

So, I went to a cafe the other day to have a cup of coffee. It's my favorite after-work place where I can have a moment of peace and quite before I head out into the maddening crowds on Delhi roads and finally reach home where I usually have to listen to my very loud family, especially my mom (sorry, mom). She's been a teacher all her life and has gotten into the habit of talking loud as she has to do the same all day with the kids in her class. A big bunch of 9-10 year olds are hard to control, trust me, I used to be one.

I usually order a cappuccino and a doughnut. Sometimes, when I feel really adventurous, I go for a black coffee or a Colombian grande. And the guys at the cafe know this already since I've been going there a long time. But the day in question, there was a new girl at the counter. So, I had to go over and tell her what I wanted. "Just a cup of cappuccino would be great", I said and walked on to an empty table.

It wasn't a very rough day and the cafe was at almost half the capacity. So, even the guys there had an easy evening, which meant I would get my coffee served to me at the table by one of the cafe employees. So, I sat there waiting for the steaming hot coffee to arrive and drown away all of my tiredness from a particularly hard day at work. As the coffee cup started its journey from the cappuccino machine, I could see, it had my name written all over it and would be with me in just another moment. I could hear my heart beat with excitement as the new girl walked towards me with the coffee cup. She approached my table and gently placed the coffee cup in front of me. "Would you like a brownie with that sir?" she asked.

I could not believe my eyes and ears. A pretty girl like that was making a racist remark. Why on earth did they name something so insensitively. A brownie? What's that supposed to mean - brown man's pastry. It really hurts my feelings. Damn racists...

Things...

2008-12-06T20:11:00.010+05:30

Weird headline, but precise and meaningful with respect to what I'm wanted to write about.

I have inserted google adsense banners through my blog, mostly because I had an adsense account that was lying around without being utilized for a long time. Not expecting to get paid or anything, just to make it look good (don't even ask me). Anyway, the point is about an ad I just saw - "5 tips to get a flat stomach". Of course it got my attention since I too have a bridgestone lying around my waist for a long time now.

So I clicked it and tried to make a complete fool of myself (and this when I already knew what I'd get in the end). So I see a page which tells me to click on button 1 if I'm a 'man' and button 2 if I'm a 'woman'. Being a natural, home grown, Indian 'man', I clicked on the Manly button and was taken to a page with the following headline -

You Too Can Discover a Unique Method

to FINALLY Hack Off Your Ugly Belly Fat

and Carve Out Ripped 6-Pack Abs

Scrolling down the page led me to an open letter to the 'Dear six pack seeker' (which I happen to be like countless others). Further reading took me through page after page of information that had been concealed from me by the vicious media and food processing industry for all of my adult life. Here are a few examples -

Did You Know that Survey After Survey Always Shows

That the Body Part Women Vote the Most Desirable

on a Man is His Abs?

You Have Been Scammed for the Last Time!

And by far, my personal favorite has to be this piece of gem...

The main focus of this program is NOT on abdominal exercises... And, better yet, this program consistently get's BETTER results by NOT focusing on abs exercises!

This guy's a genius. Without working on my abs he will give me a washboard six pack and that too for roughly about $200. I wonder what would've happened if I'd clicked on the other button meant for the ladies. But after such an enlightening experience, I had to give in and try to get some well deserved sleep induced by the all the beer I'd had earlier with my friends, thinking what all could I do to get my own six pack.

It's not just experiences like this that make me think what the hell is wrong with people. Ever noticed how most people make a gesture as if they are signing something in thin air without a pen while calling for the check at a restaurant? And how people proudly refer to their blank wrists while asking for time from someone who's wearing a watch? I mean, com'on. Do you really point to your crotch when asking for directions to the johns?

My Not Anniversary

2008-12-04T16:21:00.007+05:30

People around me have suddenly started off on celebrating their first, second, third or whatever anniversaries already. It’s been 3-4 years since the first weddings in the friend’s circle started. First to start was the girls of the group. Then others followed too and now it’s just two of us who remain to be hitched - one of my best girlfriends (a friend who happens to be a girl, not the desi interpretation here please) and I. And only one of us is smart enough to be not in a hurry to do so.

Anyway, the point is about all the wedding anniversaries that I’m being made to attend lately. I mean, don’t get me wrong. These people are my favorite after my own family and practically a part of my extended family and I’m happy about them for having found true love and all that melodramatic stuff (read crap). But the finding a match for Latin Sardar has to stop. The worst are all the uncles and aunties who just won’t let up on my case to find me the right girl, a perfect, quintessential Indian girl who knows all about home making and love making and has nothing to do with the rest of the world. And they happen to be there all the time, at all such events. Well, thank you but no thank you everyone.

So about the Not Anniversary, well, it’s just the opposite of an anniversary where only single people can have all the no holds barred fun they can handle. A place where booze flows like the Amazon (the river, not the online book store), a place full of single men and women with no plans of getting married any time soon, no kids, no responsibilities at all. So how does one get into a Not Anniversary extravaganza.

Be advised, the place will be open only to a select few. The process of application is simple. All applicants will be, however, subjected to a polygraph test and a thorough background check will also be carried out before you can dream of getting your name on the list. For a list of all the qualifying criteria, please refer to the FAQ’s below.

FAQ’s

1. How do I know I qualify for entry to the Not Anniversary of Latin Sardar?

It’s easy. All you have to do is to make sure you are not married. Check with your family, friends and whatever to confirm the same. Any additional documents like a court affidavit is also admissible proof of the same. We can also administer the polygraph at our HQ.

2. I’m married! Can I still apply for the Not Anniversary? It’s been two years and I’m bored with my wife already.

Nice try.

3. I’m married and have a kid. Is it even OK to ask for how to apply?

Nice try again, pal.

4. I’m not married, nor have I any kids. Well, atleast not that I know of. How can I get an entry pass for the Not Anniversary?

First off, make sure you are not married. If in doubt, refer to the top of the FAQ page. Also, you need to make sure you don’t have any kids. Ask your friends and family if they know about any of your offsprings in the neighborhood or if they have ever seen very small people who look like you anywhere. If you can guarantee that (refer to FAQ 1), congratulations! You can apply for an entry pass.

5. I’ve already been to the Not Anniversary last year. Can I apply again this year?

Sure, anytime. Just make sure you fulfill the criteria for acceptance to the list.

6. Is there an age limit? How can I make sure of my place on the list in the future?

There’s NO age limit if you know how to make sure you look good enough and make plenty of money. All you have to do is make sure of the above mentioned points. For the future, all you have to do is abstain from having sex. But seriously, there are easier ways to make sure your name stays in the regular invitees column. 8 out of 10 sexually active adults get pregnant if they don’t use any birth control and with my powerful and potent swimmers, the number is as high as 9 out of 10 or even 10 out of 10. Use one of the following:

- costume for the puppet show (condoms)

- sex eminems (birth control pills)

- outer-course (dry runs)

- VX of swimmers (IUD’s)

- Lord of the Rings (the ring)

Where's My Vote?

2008-12-02T13:54:00.009+05:30

This should've been my third election, but it was my first. I should've voted in the last two elections as well, but I did not. I had not enrolled my name in the electoral list. Partly coz I'm pretty much a lazy bum when it comes to taking care of the important official work. And partly because it's too much of a drain on my precious time.

Yes! My time is friggin' precious. Can you really blame me for not wanting to stand in queue all day in the sweltering Delhi heat of May. It touches 46-47 deg celsius every year at that time and the babus (desi slang for clumsy beureaucrat) make you wait as they take a break after every 10 minutes to sip on a lemonade and smoke a stick while you wait in the sun. And when you finally get to the window to submit your application form, they talk to you as if they own your a$$ or something.

But still, I did it. Went over to the local election office and got myself registered as a voter, hoping that I'd be able to make a difference to my country. There were many more like me in the queues out there. Obama's "change" and "yes, we can" speeches seemed to have brought out the Indian youth out of the 'anti-political' closet. There seemed to be hope left for my country as well. Maybe we'll get a charismatic leader who would not just talk but act on what he promises. Tall order, people!!!

Election day and I wished I had not done all that for 'my country'. First, they screw up my name in the lists and on my electoral ID card. And then, there wasn't a candidate in sight who was worthy of my vote. All school drop outs, all having rap sheets as big if not longer than that of Dawood himself. And that's just the state elections. Kills me to think about the general elections for the parliament. What would happen with that? And to top it all up, the Mumbai attacks. Petty politics over something that should've been sacrosanct. Moronic speeches in the middle of an operation where real Indians were dying to protect others whom they had never known actually drove me to the polling station and cast my all precious vote. I was only hoping against hope that someone in the list of candidates would be worth that precious little flick of my finger when I push the button and the machine makes that sound to register my vote.

High time the Election Commission thought about adding a no-vote button to the machines. I don't want to waste my precious vote and time on these thugs. I want change too. I want to believe 'yes, we can' too. I want better candidates with better records, better education, trained for the office they vie for, trained to handle national security, trained to be citizens, trained to be statesmen. This entire generation of corrupt, self centered, uneducated, unethical idiots should just vanish into thin air. I wish...

Delhi Police At Its Best

2008-11-26T16:24:00.006+05:30

A police check post in front of Venkateshwara College in South Delhi. The cops here were busy fleecing kids, college students who were passing by this point like every other day. The police post was supposed to keep an eye out for anti social elements in view of the upcoming assembly elections in Delhi, but instead, were doing what they are actually good at, asking for bribes for letting these kids go. Notice the senior officer on the right side of the frame in the top most pic, haggling away to glory. The policemen and the check post were gone after about 30 mins.

My camera phone is friggin' crappy, long distance shots are always just plain bad.

I'm The Man, Let Me Drive The Car!

2008-11-20T16:34:00.022+05:30

I've managed to impress people with my learning skills and IQ when I was a kid back in the day. I even managed to get a double promotion in the early years. But when it came to girls, I was a real dense character, I mean real dense.

I've been a pioneer in doing things ahead of my time and managed to get into my first girl trouble at the age of twelve - yes, twelve. That's nothing compared to what kids these days are capable of, and believe me, they are way ahead of our generation. I actually feel like I am really getting old when I think about the kids these days. Anyway, getting back to the story of my youth. So, got into trouble for asking a friend (she was hot, even for twelve) if I could call her sometime and maybe we could go out on a date within the school premises (the options were very limited those days). The answer was an unequivocal no. Word spread among the friends and classmates and actually managed to reach the ears of the class teacher. A little bit unnecessary to say that I had to attend a class of my own. Some silent treatment was also administered by a few friends who considered my feat as an abomination of sorts (don't ask, kids those days were backward, they had not even heard of Friends and How I Met Your Mother wasn't even conceptualized back then).

Anyway, having not learnt a lesson that I had just been spared, I kept at it and went through many relationships of varying durations since that day. And now I am here, with a woman so hot that she makes me wonder how much I would've regretted my decision today if there had been a 'yes' instead of a 'no' that day in school. My present girlfriend happens to be a 'gori mem' if you are wondering. Let's keep the discussion on 'how to get a firang girlfriend?' aside for another day.

Another thing that happened was I fell in love with cars. I love to drive down the highway very fast, actually only just as fast as my Maruti 800 (there's a bit of recession, if you haven't noticed, so I am not planning to buy any new car right now) would go. It is usually a fun drive, especially on the newly commissioned NH8 through Gurgaon, unless you go with your girlfriend/wife/mistress (probably not the mistress, they are usually not so finicky, atleast in my opinion).

Anyway, even though my girlfriend is a firang, she happens to have a fair knowledge of Delhi and NCR, having spent almost more than a year in the city and can actually get around on her own. Good for her, not so good for me.

My girlfriend was in town recently and we decided to drive down to Gurgaon for lunch on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The plan was simple, drive to Gurgaon, have lunch at a nifty restaurant, drive around some more towards the farms and soak in some nature which is really hard to catch in and around Delhi.

So off we went in search of our goals and I, being the lover boy and a very nice person (as I'm told) did everything my girlfriend told me to. We went to lunch at a very hi-fi restaurant, splurged a near fortune while the rest of the world is seeking bailout packages from the governments, drove to the spot in the picture above and back.

Notice the fleeting reference to going back. Well, that's where the problem begins.

Girlfriend: "Hon, why did you take this road, why not the other one?

Latin Sardar: "Oh, nothing sweety. Just wanted to take a road less crowded."

GF: "Ok, but that is a shorter route."

LS: " Yeah (slightly irritated), but... I don't care, just don't want a headache."

Few moments later...

GF: (Shouting) "You missed the turn!!!"

LS: "Relax, we'll take the next one. It's more scenic."

GF: "hmm..."

The scenic road in discussion hosts a B-school which also offers excellent grounds for "bird watching".

GF: (noticing the scenic route) "I get it... so THIS is the scenic route?"

LS: (looking rather incredulous) "What do you mean?"

GF: "Nothing."

Few moments later, after another missed exit...

GF: "What's gotten in to you? Why do you keep missing out on turns? Why the hell are we going the long way around? You are no Ewan McGregor."

LS: (lot more irritated with all the interference) "Me? What's gotten into you? It's like my GPS is having PMS. Let me DRIVE!"

And that was it for the night. Nothing more was said for the rest of the journey back to the hotel. The door on the car was slammed back into the frame upon exit and I went back home for the night to be with my family. I'd already heard of the expression - 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' and my 'GPS with a PMS' remark had already invoked the scary monster which I had no intentions to mess with.

Lord Shiva And The Runway

2008-11-05T17:34:00.012+05:30

For those who don't know this, New Delhi's IGI Airport has a brand new runway, Asia's longest at more than four kilometers. This bad boy was supposed to host the Airbus A380 and the Boeing Super Jumbo 777. But the engineers making the new runway forgot one little thing, this is a country of countless gods and goddesses and you don't mess with the gods, at all.

They (the engineers) discounted the fact that there's a 62 foot statue of Lord Shiva right in the landing/take off pattern of aircraft at the new runway. Lord Shiva is the destroyer, maybe they didn't know that and disregarding Him has cost them quite a bit. Nearly a quarter of the runway cannot be used due to this unusual problem reducing the claim of being the longest runway.

I took these pics while sitting at a cafe right next to the statue compound and exactly opposite the runway in question.

A landing aircraft is visible just above the tree line.

Obama Wins!!!

2008-11-05T14:38:00.007+05:30

Well, thanks to the American people, some sanity seems to be on its way soon at the White House. Thanks to the American voters for making a wiser choice for the whole world. Obama is finally the new American President.

I just hope he would bring an end to the political and financial uncertainty that the US had thrust upon the world under Dubyaman (Bush). The "war" in Iraq and Afghanistan is also a big concern, really hope those young boys and girls would soon return home, unharmed. Hope to see some peace and tranquility in the world after such a long time.

The entire world's hopes and aspirations are resting on his shoulders now, I only expect a new age politician like him to deliver on his promises real soon.

Good luck to US and to the rest of the world for a possible new era in world politics.

The 'Dough' Variety And The 'Cheese' Variety

2008-11-04T22:14:00.018+05:30

On one of the mindless runs through the web, I came across this nugget about mixed race marriages and relationships. Must say, one of the most entertaining and amazing bunch of experiences and views from these ladies.

The latest post talks about Indian food and most notably, the Gulab Jamun. Now, how does anyone expect me to not talk about this king of sweet things. Nitish, if you read this, and I'm pretty sure like any true Indian, this might be a bit of a tearjerker for you, I'm sorry for the trouble bro.

To Chinese Ambassador,

Really enjoyed that post 'Stepping Outside The Food Box', and the comments were even better than the post. I believe CBC is already clued into this stuff pretty good, so the post is mainly for you.

As for the Gulab Jamuns of the 'dough' variety and the 'cheesy' variety, the dough variety is actually the Gulab Jamun while the cheese variety is called rasgulla. This is what they look like. The gulab jamun is good both cold and hot (hot is for winters, awesome stuff on a cold evening with a cup of hot tea or coffee). Don't bother counting the calories and if you do, don't bother getting hooked on to these little guys.

These days, perhaps, you could try locating these bad boys in a supermarket. They come packed in a can and would look like this -

Both rasgulla and gulab jamun have two versions, the dry version and the one with the sugar syrup. The rasgullas are primarily attributed to the Bengali cuisine and are also available in cans. These guys are made from cottage cheese and are lighter in taste and texture than gulab jamun. This is because gulab jamuns are fried and then soaked in the sugar syrup while rasgullas are boiled in the sugar syrup. This gives the rasgullas a very sponge like texture and that's the real fun of eating it. They are best served cold.

An assortment of dry gulab jamun and rasgullas in the plate and sponge rasgullas in the earthen pot

Ok, I guess thank you CA. It's 11 in the night here in New Delhi and I was supposed to go to bed, but now all this gulab jamun talk is actually giving me a really bad feeling. I'm gonna have nightmares till I down some half a kilo of these bad boys in the morning.

Dog Vs. Insect

2008-11-04T16:01:00.015+05:30

Those who really know me, I mean really, really know me, may say this about me that I am a very nice guy, very dependable, very sweet, very kind etc, etc. but somewhat aesthetically challenged (just so you know, we don't call them ugly people no more and I am a member of the society for aesthetically challenged people and we are fighting for ugly rights). Anyway, I am not ashamed of it, just to be clear.

Those same people may also say that even with my handicap, I am some kinda loose character when it comes to women. I hit on a lot of women with a success to failure ratio of about 50:50 in my reckoning. Not bad, eh? I even asked two of my best friend's friends out on a date on the same night to which I got a yes and a no and eventually a complete no when both girls found out about the "date". Chicks!?

With such a colorful rapport among the closest of friends, I've been compared to a dog, an insect, a bottom feeding worm and what not by a lot of women. Personally, I favor the insects and in particular the earthworm. Just found out that the lazy arse slimy buggers have FIVE hearts. Must be quite a feast down in the worm holes, huh? Five hearts on everyone! Imagine, an earthworm dude could look into an earthworm babe's eyes and tell her for real, "baby, my second, err...no, my third heart is for you, only you and no one else, exclusive. I swear" and really mean it for at least five times with five different babes. The earthworm babes would brush off an earthworm dude with something like, "well, I could've adjusted you in my heart number 5, but sorry, I'm actually preparing for the olympics next year and I need all the hearts I can get".

Imagine a party of earthworm teens, all those raging hormones, all those racing hearts, emotions flying and what not. You remember those, don't you; you must've been there, done that. Remember how those parties end up in bed. And these earthworm guys must be strong studs, huh? ;)

Five hearts means atleast five earthworm babes per night. How cool is that?

I mean, I would've loved it if I had five hearts. I could tell five girls "you know babe, my heart beats for you, well, at least number 4 beats for you exclusively" and I could've totally gotten away from the situation with my best friend's friends.

My favorite animal from now on is definitely an earthworm. Move over pigs. Earthworms ROCK!!!

P.S. - Note to all friends, if I ever asked out any of your other friends or cousins out on a date, please don't compare me to a dog any more and please tell your friends/cousins to do the same.

And...They Are Back!!!

2008-10-31T21:49:00.009+05:30

It's the damn bugs. Tiny little ones that have been flocking the lights at night, don't bite but just pxxx the hell out of you. Times of India had said they are a type of leafhoppers, brought about by the high temperature after the monsoons and expected to leave as the temperature drops. I was hoping to not see them after Diwali, considering the fact that a normal Delhi Diwali can actually give a real bad set of lungs to an otherwise perfectly healthy person, let alone get rid of the bugs. But the unusually low levels of pollution (by Delhi standards only) this time around has managed to practically leave them unharmed. They were gone for almost an entire day yesterday. Can't believe they are back. Infact, they brought back some friends like mosquitoes, in large numbers. The smoke, smog or whatever it is and the noise that actually sounds like you have been sucked into a time wrap and pushed back to Baghdad in the middle of the Gulf War of 1991 used to take care of all these bugs in the past, not anymore. They must also be having cable like me, made them numb about the explosions.

They are everywhere again. And the problem is they just won't leave you alone. Even if there's a light in the room, they just haunt you like the memories of a bad dinner you ate long time ago and can never forget for the rest of your life. They just stick to your shirt, hover on top of your head, in front of your eyes, fall into your food and drinks, into your eyes, ears and get sucked into your nose while you breathe.

Call me paranoid, or maybe it's just me, but they seem to be picking on me. Well, can't even blame them entirely either, I am a very bright person afterall.

Awesome Week

2008-10-29T10:41:00.012+05:30

What a week this was. My best friend's birthday, Lord Shiva shortening the new runway at New Delhi, the insane movements in the equity markets and then there was Diwali which even Dow and Nasdaq seem to have enjoyed, they were up by more than 10%.

Things have been so different at our house ever since my siblings and I have taken up the clean and quiet Diwali full of lights deal. We get to put up so many lights all over the place and even the very old house (built in 1964) actually looks good for atleast once in the entire calender year.

What I don't really understand is the need for the loudest firecrackers in the world being set off right outside on the street in the middle of the damn night when others may be sleeping. This kid next door seems to have searched for the biggest and loudest ones in the past year since the last Diwali, just so he could piss me off this time around by setting them off while I try to get some sleep at 1 am.

Insane Law And Constitution

2008-10-22T16:43:00.004+05:30

What a day? That bugger Raj Thakre gets bail even after running riot for days at end and daring the government, courts and judiciary to act against him. Just goes to show that the judiciary, the political establishment and the anti-social elements are hand in glove in all aspects of life and in all corners of the country.

Indeed a black day in the history of Indian judiciary.

Somali Pirates Against India

2008-10-21T22:33:00.012+05:30

While the moron "sena" was running riot in Mumbai, Somali pirates have hijacked another Indian crew in international waters and openly dared India to send its navy in the region to keep guard on the Indian ships crossing the region.

This should've been the issue at hand for now, instead, it's the morons running riot in Mumbai that is catching everyone's eye. All those politicians who cry at the top of their voices that they are the biggest patriots, where the hell are they? Isn't this a bigger national crisis than a bunch of crazy idiots running like wild animals in a city. Isn't the Indian establishment capable or competent enough to take action on the matter.

There was an announcement in the news a few days ago that the Indian Navy will be allowed to patrol the Somali waters. But till date, no navy vessel has set sail for the job. The fate of the eighteen sailors of Stolt Valor still hangs in a balance, their families awaiting the news of their killings. And to add to that insult, the thirteen sailors captured today by the pirates.

Even the almighty media is reluctant to show something that should be a priority for all Indians at the moment. Instead, they are busy showing a bunch of animals from the non-endangered species in the street, running crazy and really deserving a cap in the arse at least. Channels like CNN-IBN that I used to think were slightly, if not completely, different from the rest of them showed this news in between the sports and the weather. What an insult for the whole country?

If these "sainiks" really have so much energy and power, they should be shipped to Somalia to combat the situation there. For a change, they might as well be of some use to the country.

A country like Ukraine sent its navy vessels to Somali waters to get its ship back from there. Where the hell is the Indian military might that everyone speaks of. It seems like only a thing to be written about.

MNS - Maharashtra Nalayak Sena

2008-10-21T21:08:00.008+05:30

It does not even seem right to say anything about this useless bunch of people. This Raj Thakre has really put the entire nation to shame yet again.

Just to take the example of the most recent situation that started it all a few days ago, it was the "Indian" Railways exams and not the "Maharashtra" Railways exams. That nutcase Raj Thakre should try to understand this point if he has the brains to do so.

115 state transport buses gutted in riots, innocent, poor vegetable vendors and daily wage laborers being targeted by the mobs, without even looking whether they are indeed North Indian or Marathis.

People like Raj Thakre should be disenfranchised and put behind bars for violating the fundamental right of freedom and disrespecting the Constitution of India.

MNS = Maharashtra Nalayak (useless) Sena

It seems like a Thakre family tradition of putting the nation to shame in front of the whole world. He has gone a few steps ahead of the rest of his family in pursuing his goals. It is not wrong to say that the Thakre family name is not the most respectable in India anyway and Raj Thakre has topped it all with more muck. What a family full of nuts.

Metro Rail Accident

2008-10-19T10:25:00.005+05:30

A very unfortunate accident at Vikas Marg, East Delhi killing 4 people and injuring nearly 30 early this morning. A heavy-lift crane tipped over and landed on a bus and a bunch of cars passing by on the street below.

Bad start to what could have been a beautiful day.

Down And Almost Out

2008-10-14T12:48:00.006+05:30

So, the posts seem to have dried out only because I'm kinda down with fever for the past 2 weeks now. Still a little drowsy and a big headache, but just felt like updating here what's really going on.

And again this year, the dream of going out to Munich for the Oktoberfest with the guys has gone down the drain, pretty much due to this sickness. Well, maybe next year, but I will go to the real Oktoberfest one of these days before I die or my ghost will roam the earth for all eternity.

Mexican Food

2008-10-06T13:51:00.009+05:30

AWESOME!!!

Just had a brunch meeting with a bunch of people from work and someone suggested to meet at the All American Diner at India Habitat Center on Lodhi Road, New Delhi. Those guys are having a Mexican food fest through October, a must visit if you have ever thought of tasting a few simple Mexican delights. Fajitas, Pollo Almendrado Rojo (Red Almond Chicken), Quesadillas, Enchiladas and lots more to eat and some really nice tequila to wash it down with. Even the side dishes like the refried beans were done with the same amount of attention to detail and authentic tastes.

I've always had a thing for the American Diner for serving really savory food all day long even when the service used to be really bad in terms of serving time only. The food, taste and presentation was still excellent back then, but with the change in service staff the only problem that they used to have has been done away with.

The pangs of rising prices have hit this place as well and food for 2 people can easily cost anywhere close to a 1000 bucks (INR) and this is exclusive of the alcoholic beverages.

The Yankee Elections

2008-10-05T19:42:00.007+05:30

News entertains me so much these days. It's so much fun to watch Sarah Palin fumbling all over the news. If it's not the foreign policy, it's energy (consumption and conservation or lack of it), homeland security, carrying on with the financial and economic debacle that they have already created for the entire world etc. Who writes the speeches for citizen Cain (McCain) and Sarah Palin camp anyway?

One thing that had me rolling off the couch was how colorful a history and family Sarah Palin has. My god, politicians all over the world are all the freakin' same. Lots of taint on their past, present and future is the key to a successful political career is a prerequisite everywhere - the largest and the biggest democracies alike. No first, second or third world story, it is a global story.

And, although, I'd classify myself as a Barack Obama camp supporter even though I am not a US voter (I am an Indian voter waiting to exercise my franchise in the upcoming Indian Parliamentary elections), I can safely say I'm sure after his Beretta remarks, Joe Biden has assured me that Obama/Biden camp is hardly any different except for perhaps their final approach may be useful enough in fixing what the Americans have allowed to be ruined in the last eight years. I really hope that the Yankees have learned their lessons. Surely they remember Ben Parker's words "With great power, comes great responsibility..." to Peter Parker. Remember how he too screwed up with his powers. If the Americans think, believe that they are the center of the universe somehow, and my congratulations to them for having achieved (not earned) that status over the past couple of centuries, they must also know that their actions have consequences even half way across on the other side of the planet and that they need to make more informed and better choices than Dubyaman at least.

Dubya really cooked it for all of us. My sympathy with the American voters for the lack of options on the ballot papers, perhaps just as much as I need to sympathize with my compatriots for their lack of available options.

Seems like it ain't gonna be the meek inheriting the earth, it will be the creep who will do that.