Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Reasons why you should listen to your parents

Respecting parents is something that was taught to us way back in primary school in those poorly animated charts. *Gets up early in the morning* *Salutes Parents* *Insert other too good to be true stuff*

As we started growing up, getting up early in the morning became increasingly difficult, and saluting parents was, by default, out of question. The only greetings you exchange in the morning are about how late you are and how they ended up raising a lazy beanbag. Once this cycle starts repeating everyday, you turn a deaf ear to the early morning ritual. I recently realised I should listen to them more often.


1. They haven't given up on me so far. Despite being the laziest, absolutely good-for-nothing loser of the family, mother will always prepare lunch for me, without fail. I may be 25 years old, but dad makes it a point that my wallet never runs out of money. This is probably because mommy knows how bad my cooking skills are, and daddy knows earning 25k a month is never going to be enough for me. I went for B.Sc instead of B.Tech, M.Sc instead of MBA, writing instead of research, but their displeasure never stopped me from doing what I wanted. Now that I have made an absolute mess of this joke called my 'career', they're still more than happy to have a loser daughter.


2. Experience. Both of them were once my age. Life was probably a little tougher for them since they had no internet back then and have had more face to face conversations than the number of FB conversations I've had. So they once told me how I was wrong and I told them they had no idea how things work now. Needless to say, they were right. But this wasn't followed by any mud-slinging, which is something that would have happened if I replace them with some other 'wise' friends.Plus, figuring out life on your own never works well.


3. Patience. It took them really long to watch me walk, talk, write, and prepare me for exams. I don't have the patience to teach daddy how to use a smartphone. He managed to find his way through it himself. Some of his questions are really amusing, but then I remember how I foolishly must have asked him stuff like why cows don't fly and birds don't bark. So yeah, a little bit of patience is never harmful.


4. Relationships. I'm guessing they have accepted the fact that there's nothing very charming about their daughter and nobody in their right minds would fall for a fickle-minded, self deprecating girl who has very little self respect. Hence, they will end up finding someone who has no idea about any of these outstanding qualities. In case nothing works out, you can always blame them for fixing you up with the wrong person. Till then, let them play Cupid-Cupid.



5. Simply listen. Mommy, the domestic Google search, will always tell you where she is safely keeping your clothes, wallet, bags, documents etc. If you just listen to her, you'll most likely know which corner of the house you should head to while looking for stuff.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

I want an auto

I have this habit of reaching everywhere at least half an hour before I'm expected. So I make it to work sharp at 9 am, only to find empty blue chairs greeting me with the same blank expression everyday. The time table that I am, I leave work sharp at 5.30 pm, and take an auto on days when I'm too lazy to walk to the metro station.

There's nothing amazing about an auto ride back home, except on days when the auto-wallah seems to be possessed with the spirit of an F1 racer and clocks 12 minutes for a journey that normally takes 20 minutes. Last evening when I took an auto, I almost skipped a beat on finding a 4 year old kid sitting inside already. 'Bhoot!' - the first word my sub-conscious mind could form.

'Madam, ye mera ladka hai. Aaj bola papa ke saath chalunga to main le aaya,' the auto-wallah clarified reading my expression.

'Oh! School jata hai?' I asked him slightly amused.

'Abhi naya naya shuru kiya hai!' he beamed.

The shy boy kept swinging his feet and looking out of the auto as we drove through the Noida expressway. I nudged him a little on the way. He looked up and flashed a smile that was a combination of excitement, enormous delight, and shyness. I raised my eyebrows to ask him, 'Wassup', but he looked down and shrugged, which probably meant the customary 'nothing much!'

The kid's face spelled pleasure and happiness as the wind ruffled his hair and stroked his cheeks. He looked outside at the fast cars speeding away, but I am sure the kids sitting in the AC cars weren't enjoying their ride half as much as this little one. A few minutes later his eyelids couldn't take it any more and started to droop.

'Neend aa rahi hai kya?' asked the Daddy.

He nodded.

'Acha, so ja fir.'

The little one hopped on to the luggage space and spread out. He closed his eyes and drifted away to the land of complete bliss - sleep.

Sigh! What a life. Someone had once told me that you must spend a lot of time around grandparents to get all the answers to your how's and why's and the rest of your time around kids who can barely speak to observe how to express yourself better and learn things the simpler way. The routine ride back home taught me how I was missing out on the simpler joys of life, feeling the cool breeze, watching the trees sway, and not missing the AC!

I knew I had to tell my dad about this. As soon as I got home I told him, 'I want you to buy an auto rickshaw'...
... which he conveniently dismissed as another incident of a dimaagi keeda biting me.


Friday, September 6, 2013

Because the kid said so

The past few weeks have been a little strange. I've never been very social in real life, but I do have a few friends who coax me into meeting them every now and then. Mostly, I've successfully managed to come up with excuses to not meet them, after which they usually stop prodding me to see them again.

Lately I've been receiving calls from friends who had never called me before. They want to check if I've been doing well. My biggest crush messaged me to tell me that I had been ignoring him! He noticed that I haven't been poking him on FB and I haven't been sending him forwarded messages on Whatsapp. My mother has been too kind even when I reach home past midnight. I should have felt special with all this love being showered on me without a reason. However, that wasn't the case.

I've spent the last couple of months longing to go back home - Dehra Dun. Technically I don't have a home there any more because we sold it before shifting to Delhi, but there's no other place in the world I can call home, not even this house I stay in. I've only been to Dehra Dun twice since 2006 for 2-day trips. When I scroll through the beautiful pictures I see on its Facebook page, I remember every cold morning, every torrential downpour, every morning sun and every star I've counted in the night sky, clearly. I remember looking around to find the mountains fixed in the frame everywhere, running up to the terrace to see where it had snowed on the hills, escaping to Rajpur Road to the best bakeries I've ever seen, basking in the sun whenever it showed up, watching the clouds turn orange to pink to the deepest blue as the sun set completely. That's about everything I do not get to see in Delhi.

While coming back home from work today I was almost confident that I was going to quit work soon. My work hasn't been the most interesting thing in my life of late. I could earn more than the meagre amount they pay me by taking up three interesting freelance assignments, and move to the valley for good. For once it seemed like a great idea. 'That seems feasible, doesn't it?' I asked myself. I didn't realise I had been walking on the wrong side of the road until a car crossed me. This little kid in the back seat was almost leaning out of the car waving at me and smiling happily. He kept waving and saying 'Nooooo' in a never ending sing-song voice.

'But why?' I wanted to ask him. Why should I not go back home? Why would you stop me? I looked ahead and saw that I walking in the wrong direction. I had crossed the main gate already. I shook my head, smiled to myself and walked back home.

#deepshitthoselastthreelines.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Bollywood ke bhaiyas

Raksha Bandhan is one of my most favourite Indian festivals. It's all about brothers paying the price for having a sister. LOLJK. Although they do spend on sisters on this day, some willingly, while most other cringe, the best part about siblings is that they've known you since birth, will hurt you (emotionally and physically) and yet get away with it because they're too precious to let go of, will make you laugh, tease you, fight with you, complain about you, love to see you get scolded, stand by you when the situation gets out of hand, will be your friend and guide, will be an annoying pile on, will always care for you, will always have your back.

Raise all these emotions to the power of three and you get a perfect filmy sequence. I'm not a movie buff, but the bhai-behen Bollywood sequences are easy to find on every movie channel on this day. There are these sequences that you can almost never forget - either because they're too good or overly melodramatic.


1. The quintessential Andhi-maa-vidhwa-behen. So the hero is most likely Amitabh Bachchan, the mother is most likely Nirupa Roy, the widowed sister has the supporting role. The father hangs framed on a wall, or left the family to become a villain when the kids were in diapers. The brother is the head of the family, takes care of the expenses and gifts saris to the sister while she sings behna ne bhai ki kalaai pe pyar baandha hai type songs. Then he gets fired from the job, goes to jail while saving sister's izzat, has a supportive gf who fights the case and gets him out of jail, and everything else is fine in the end. Keep calm and thoko salaam to Bhaiya.

Because Bhaiiiyaaaa is here.

2. Andhi maa apahij behen. Replace widowed sister with handicapped sister in this one. The brother is an anmol ratan and the sister wouldn't want to trade him for anything in the world. An almost similar action and drama sequence happens. The brother is diagnosed with a life-threatening disease. Yes, I'm talking about Majboor. But he eventually gets cured because apaahij behen ki duayein and all worked. Now that everything is bright and sunny, the handicapped sister will eventually learn how to walk and get married to the hero's best friend. Have no fear, when Amitji is here!

You just don't kill the hero bhaiya.

3. Bichde hue bhai-behen. Separated as kids, the bhai behen in Hare Krishna Hare Rama gave us the national anthem for Raksha Bandhan - Phoolon ka taaron ka sabka kehna hai. It's all happy and beautiful for the siblings until family drama unfolds and they move continents apart. The sister becomes a hippie, the brother becomes a pilot. Pilot brother wants hippie sister to get rid of the bad habits. Eventually, the sister commits suicide. No happy ending here.
Dem feelz


4. The Twins(?)! I've watched Josh, okay? SRK and Aishwarya were not just any other siblings, they were twins, probably from different mothers. Because, Bollywood. The colour of their eyes was the same. LOL. There are gang wars. The sister falls in love with the brother's enemy. Love for brother is strong too. Fear of the brother is stronger. That's what I think. They really didn't act a lot in that movie, so I'm assuming it was either fear or love, but then again, everything is alright in the end.  I'm sorry I wrote about this, but this is one pair of forgettable siblings that I'll probably never forget. Also, Shashi Kapoor and Amitabh Bachchan were twins in Suhaag. LOLOLOLOL. I don't even...



5. The real brother-sister love. It was scripted, fake and hard to digest until Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na happened. Prateik Babbar spoke too less and had a very short role, but the movie had some of the most natural and believable contemporary bhai-behen scenes. Simple and sweet. That is all this bond is about!
I love bhaiya!




Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Are we ready to Eat Milk?

Utterly Butterly, delicious Amul. The chubby little girl in the red polka dotted dress manages to humourously twist any event without offending anyone, unlike contemporary humour. The Amul girl made memes cool decades before the term and concept of meme officially came into existence.

On your 100 gm butter or the newspaper, the Amul ads will never fail to make you smile. Although it's just about butter, which is only one of the products that the milk industry giant offers, when you say Amul, the adorable girl is the first image that flashes in the head.

 Last Sunday, Amul went overboard promoting the Eat Milk campaign in the Times of India. My brother was flipping through the numerous ads when I happened to notice one of these. 'It's a meme! Is that an Amul ad?' I exclaimed, 'and it's actually a representation of the socially awesome meme,' I told him with a little less enthusiasm as before, 'and it is in the newspaper... wasn't it just a Facebook/9gag thing to gain likes and stuff with such memes?' I thought to myself. 

It was over a short discussion with the Dude of the office the next day, when we both realised we weren't really impressed this time. 

The thing about Amul is, when they've created something like the Amul girl and 'Piyo glassful doodh', you wouldn't expect their ads to be missed easily. Maybe, they thought they could go a step ahead with the meme-approach in the newspaper to grab eyeballs.

The Eat Milk campaign
The Eat Milk campaign is borrowed heavily from the Got Milk?' campaign. You can say that because of two obvious observations - the milk moustache in both the ads and the aim to increase the sale of milk/milk products. That isn't bad really, considering Got Milk only spoke about the 'goodness' of milk and wasn't very humourous with the content. What bothers me is that for a company who set the bar so high with the Amul girl, suddenly decides to take the extremely commonplace meme route where the memes kind of lack punch. The idea is commendable, the execution, maybe not that much.

The Got Milk campaign

From among the people who noticed the campaign in the newspaper, some seemed to like it a lot, while most others trashed it. I wouldn't want to sound biased here, but my brother who is an ardent fan of the Amul girl for as long as I remember and my father, who doesn't miss the little girl's ads in the newspaper, both saw the ads but did not seem to register them for long. By long, I mean they turned pages without really stopping to read the ads. It was pretty evident that the ads had very little impact on them.

Piyo Glassful Doodh!

Hope the campaign gets a little more interesting in the future - if they plan to continue with the memes, that is. Otherwise, Amul is synoymous with 'awesome' for me where the advertisements are concerned.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Social network diary - 2

Dear Diary,

This isn't about what happened on Twitter or Facebook today. This is about what happened in the Delhi Metro. It was after really long that I decided to travel to the other part of the Universe - from Noida to Rajouri Garden. On my way back, I was stuck between two females who were constantly fiddling with their phones.

Female 1 was calling someone called Vishu Baby. Yes, I'm the girl you'll find peeping into other people's phones. The conversation was oh so exciting. Vishu Baby was Female 1's fiancee from the past one week. The discussion was about which picture to choose as the profile picture on Facebook.

'Aap to pata nahi kahan dekh re the poora time.'
'Nahi, us photo mein main kaisi kaali si hoon.'
'Nahi na, aap kaun si photo dekh re ho, isme mera mooh khula hai, aisi photo kaun lagata hai?'
'Acha suno, aap ke baal us photo mein ache lag rahe the jo aapne shaadi ke liye bheji thi Singapore ki. Ab aapke baal jhadd rahe hain kya?'
'Arey, aap ko wo picture nahi mili jo maine mail ki thi? Usme mere photos ache the.'
'Haan wo greater noida wale bhaiya ne naa saare photos FB pe daal diye. Ye kya baat hui, sagaai meri aur excitemaant unko ho gayi.'
'Acha to aap select karo na kaun si upload karni hai picture.'

Female 2 on the other hand, was scrolling through her FB timeline like a maniac. She occasionally enlarged any picture of her male friends. A few seconds later she was checking out memes but not laughing. She probably didn't get the jokes. She kept scrolling down until she reached a female friend's birthday album and zoomed in and out thrice at every picture. This was followed by a quick call to another female friend. 'Ewwwww, what was she wearing?' which was followed by a long post-mortem of her dress and character and other friends she had invited.

Diary, Facebook is a great way to waste your time offline by discussing about it.

Never create an FB account for yourself, diary.

I love you,
Oinkoo.

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Social network diary - 1

Dear Diary,

Twitter contests will be the death of twitter.

From 'Why twitter contests? Why are brands hi-jacking trends?' to 'What the hell, you're also playing these stupid twitter contests?' to 'Eww, I don't talk to people who play these contests.' to 'Fake hai ye contests, their own people are winning, it's fixed!' to 'Oh shit! Look, a racist won.' to 'Oooh, they've roped her in to promote it.' to 'OMG! SHE CREATED FAKE ACCOUNTS TO WIN!' I think the next step would be 'She stole the stuff that girl won online by hacking into her account and giving them her own address.'

What is this happening to twitter? Wasn't it all about observing people and exaggerating situations to make them sound funny in order to gain followers? I was here to share obnoxious stuff I couldn't tell people to their face and be a coward and tweet them instead. In between all this some people found it funny and started following me and re-tweeting me. Then came the pressure to be funnier and the hunger for more followers. A little disappointment over unfollows and tweet-chors and pretty DPs gaining more popularity and followers than me.

Diary, this post is going no where. Let's not lose sleep over it. Nobody knows about any of these issues in the real world except a couple of thousands of us. I can't discuss it with anyone else. Hence, I write to you.

I love you,
Oinkoo.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Don't want to turn 25

You know 25 is a curse when your mother starts blaming you for everything that goes wrong in the house and never forgets to add your age to it.
'You're 25, you don't even know how to cook an entire meal.'
'You're 25, you should know we need to go grocery shopping!'
'You're 25, at your age I was married and had a kid!'
(I could do that without getting married too. *chuckle chuckle*)
'You're 25, and all you do is sit with a laptop and a phone. No human interaction!'
'You're 25, I plan to get you married off next year and look at you. You just lazily lie there like a fool, ignoring me.'
'You're 25, you need to start taking care of us old parents.'
And when there's nothing to blame:
'You're 25. Do you realise you're 25?!'
(Okay mom, and your point is?)

There are still 18 days to go for my 25th birthday, and I'm so not excited about turning 25. I don't know how 25 is any different from 24, except that it's neither early 20s nor late 20s. How does everything that I need to know suddenly get connected to my age? Does 25 come with an invisible dose of maturity? Does 25 mean I need to suddenly get rid of my phone and laptop and start interacting with random relatives so that they know I'm 25? What's with that rule where 25 becomes the best age to get married? What if I cannot cook for the rest of my life, will I not qualify to turn 25 then? Mom, you need to stop fretting over my age. Keep your BP under control. See, I care about you, my old parent. I'm 25 and I realise I'm 25, because 1988 was the year when I was born. How growing up has anything to do with the year of birth, I fail to understand.

I still feel like a careless 16 year old. I want to do everything my mom doesn't want me to. I want to grab a beer with my friends over weekends and not worry about an over-possessive husband or a house that needs my attention. I want to sit and talk to my friends in the U.S over the Internet. I want to read books online and whatsapp my friends. I want to work and probably not care about coming back home at all. I want to travel. I want to make mistakes and learn. And I want to turn 25 only when I feel old enough to turn 25, which may or may not happen at all. Momma, you're not wrong, but this is one of those grey areas where I don't think I'm wrong either! :D

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Ad-dress-ed To You

Why can't you be mine?

Why do you have to look so lovely with her and not me?

Why is it that every time I want you, I can already see how you're just not made for me?

How can you be so shallow to go with her just because she's thin, attractive and rich?

Why don't you understand how much I love and want to be with you?

I'm shattered.

I'm broken.

You leave me feeling like a fat, worthless piece of outdated furniture.

I have no hope of being with you or anyone remotely like you for the rest of my life.

I hate you.

Yes, I hate you, you over-expensive, size 0 little black dress that's not available in my size and will never look good on me because I'm overweight. :[ I hate you. Go fit those skinny girls who starve to death. 

Friday, May 3, 2013

How will I die?

NOTE: Optimistic people can keep calm and hit 'Back'.

There are few ideas that keep cropping up every time I think about how I could die.

1. Road accident: I was crossing the road this evening. There was absolutely no traffic. Halfway down the width of the road, my thoughts spiralled down and imagined a scene out of a movie where a car loses control and rams into someone crossing the road. The person flies across the road to the other side and dies on the spot. When I snapped back to reality 5 seconds later, I was safe. Life is no Bollywood movie.

2. Suicide: So you have a boss who just doesn't like your work. You try hard, and fail. Gradually, you get used to failing. Unknowingly, you keep failing again and again. Demotivated, you give up hope and plan to commit suicide. That could be one plan of action, but I guess I wouldn't want to hurt myself that much. I would rather deal with Monday Blues from Friday evening itself. And then cri lyk nethn.


3. Supernatural death: 11.30 pm. Mother switches off the lights. You've been staying in the same house for 5 years, but who knows when you provoke the aatma of the ex-inhabitants of this place. Maybe this place was built over a kabristan. So you're happily watching a horror movie on your laptop and in a parallel track, the same stuff is happening in your house and two skeletal hands appear out of nowhere and choke you to death. You don't even scream. That doesn't happen to me. Because I don't watch movies at all.


4. Heart break: Oh baby, I love you so much, I'd die without you. *Insert deep meaning poetry and all that jazz*. Love keeps blossoming and you still remember that first line throughout the relationship. Melodramatic love and shit. And then one day, he moves on. You're left alone. You still remember that first line. Slit the wrist, die for louue. Nope, that can't happen to me either. Forever alone.

5. Cold/Cough/Fever: Okay, maybe I'm not the only one who prefers to die than suffer with a blocked nose and fever and bad throat. While I lie in bed at night, I wonder philosophically if I'd ever wake up. When I wake up after a bad throat and high fever, I still wonder if I'd make it through the day. Sadly, I always do. I know what medicines to take to get rid of fever. Damn.

Shit. I guess I'm going to survive without a purpose in life. So be it.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

What do you watch on TV?

I was 3 years old when two men with long and thick wounded cables started fixing our television at home. My 10 year old brother was happily scampering about the drawing room. Being the younger sibling, I kept running after him, clueless. My father took those two men to the roof and then they started fixing the antenna for some reason. When we came back downstairs to the drawing room, there was something about the television that put a broad grin on everybody's faces. We had a cable connection!

It was pretty rare to have a colour TV with a cable connection back then. My brother would take charge of the remote controller while I'd sit beside him and try to understand what those 15 odd buttons meant. We slowly moved on from Byomkesh Bakshi to shows like Grihalaxmi ka Jinn and Rajni on Zee TV. There was about half an hour they dedicated entirely to the recent Bollywood hits. I picked up most of the songs from there. 'Oh Julie Julie Julie tu ladki nahi mamooli' became 'Oh Julie Julie Julie tu ladki hai ya mooli', thanks to my limited vocabulary.

Now our cable guy was quite the God of all cable-wallahs in Dehra Dun. He'd print the entire programme schedule in tiny booklets and distribute it to every home at the beginning of the month. So my brother would carefully teach me how to find the shows worth watching under the respective channels with the correct time. We'd highlight important shows like WWF, Tom and Jerry, Dennis the Menace, Small Wonder, The Three Stooges, Different Strokes, Hum Paanch and the likes and important movies like Hatim Tai (starring Jeetendra), Jurassic Park and other new Sunny Deol movies, primarily because my brother was a huge fan of his and remains one till date. Thankfully, we now have Tata Sky that saves us the trouble of memorising the TV schedule in addition to the textbook rote-learning.

My mother found it rather interesting that she could call the cable guy any time and ask him to show one of those old Rajesh Khanna movies (her childhood crush) on the local Prime TV channels. They'd both decide the time and my mother would watch all the movies of her choice everyday when she was free. All this with no extra charges as opposed to Tata Sky's Showcase.

As we grew older, Sony stopped airing the shows we liked, Star Plus started off with the famous saas-bahu saga which meant that the remote now remained snugly tucked under the grandmother's pillow. Arguing for the remote was a lost cause now. We sat with her daily, dealing with problems like 1000 crore business deals between suited and booted business men who seemed to spend more time with their love interests than at work, mental conversations between banarsi saari clad women bathing in gold, polygamy, vamps and gradually lost our childhood to them.

I became a couch potato again with shows like Shri Sifarishi Lal, Yes Boss and Office Office on SAB TV. Suddenly there was Sarabhai vs Sarabhai on Star One. Healthy comedy was back and how! And then the wise man's words came true again. All good things came to an end. We were reduced to watching scripted reality shows, more reality shows, family drama, more family drama, some more family drama. So much so, that music channels became entertainment channels and started airing unreal teenage shows. Cartoon network and Disney were hijacked by Japanese characters that had a common superpower of getting on your nerves within nanoseconds.

I still watch TV. I don't even know if I can call that watching TV, because I barely look at it. I only turn it on to provide background music while I'm on the laptop downloading torrents to better shows so that the silence doesn't creep me out.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

I can haz valentine

"I know a plenty of guys, just tell me what do you look for in a man? I'm dead sure I'll find you someone," she said very promisingly.

I placed my elbows on the table, rested my palms under my chin. My mind went whirl-winding deep down to somewhere really low when the heavy fog started lifting. "Okay, I know exactly the kind of guy I want. You know, the kind of person who'd hold the door for me as I walk in. He should be strong, well-built and protective. The kind of person who knows his responsibilities well and never shies away from them. I've noticed there are times when I think too much, I want someone who can stop me exactly when I go beyond the limit. There must be someone like that, no? There will be people who would want to influence him and lead him to do things that he's dead against. He should be able to say no and stand by his word. I mean, I want the ideal definition of those last to last century's macho men who are self-righteous and all. That..."

"Hold on, hold on!" she exclaimed with a glint in her eyes. "I know what you want!"

My heart skipped half-a-beat. My cheeks had begun the countdown to turn pink when she gave away his name.

"A door-stopper. That's what you need!"

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Forever Alone

It was over a quiet lunch by the window that I realised I should have Forever Alone stamped on my forehead. There was nobody on the floor, because it was lunch time and socially active people choose to sit over lunch with the entire staff. I usually avoid socialising with a lot of people, after they fail to acknowledge my presence, of course.

 There have been times when I've initiated conversations with a group of people. By the end of the 5th minute, I magically find myself outside the little circle they create while they're engaged in lesser interesting topics to waste the strength of their vocal cords on.

Lately, I've understood that I'm probably the supreme case of Forever Alone. There are a few reasons why I believe so:

  • I was sitting at Mc Donald's and watching a kid's birthday party in progress. Suddenly I spotted something weird in a little girl's hand. It looked like a box that was packed in a bright pink glittery paper. 'A gift? People still do that shit? Take gifts to birthdays?' I asked myself. 'I'm sure they do, what would you know of gifts and parties, have you ever been invited to any? Have you ever been out with another human form in the last 3 years except yourself? Oh wait, you look like two people already!' myself retorted. Okay then, I'm fat and forever alone. End of conversation.
  • The other day somebody at work lightly tapped me on the shoulder and asked me for a charger. 'I'm sorry, I don't carry it with me,' I replied, at my polite-est best. 'You don't need a charger with a smart phone?! Are you serious?' and she walked away, rather amused. Okay, so my friends never call/text me, neither does Vodafone. Not entirely my fault, but that does entitle me for the Forever Alone of the year trophy.
  • I've taken to online shopping now. It is more convenient. Okay, who am I fooling, I have no friends in this city who'd accompany me to the mall and offer me a second perspective on what should be bought. So I chose that lady on Shoppers Stop's website as my best friend, the one who poses in those dresses. At least I know what those clothes are going to look like on a human form.
     
  • Today, I offered a relationship advice to the 539th person I know. I analysed the situation and it worked for both of them. About a few months ago, when I analysed a similar situation for myself, I was rejected, friendzoned, and bro-zoned. I took a leaf out of my female friends' diaries and threw the Never-ever-talk-to-me-again bomb at him. Ideally, it must be interpreted as just the opposite. However, yours truly was unfriended and blocked on not only social networking sites, but also the real world. So be it. Fail and forever alone like never before.
  • It was Friday yesterday. It felt like a Tuesday. It is a Saturday today and the only reason why it is exciting is because I downloaded the torrent for The Vampire Diaries' last episode and I'm dying to watch it right now. I know of a few girls who're probably getting inside their party dresses. I'm getting inside my warm blanket, ready with my headphones and laptop.
  • The last time I updated my Facebook profile picture was way back in June 2012. That was the last time someone clicked a picture of me. Since then I have posed in the mirror a million times and deleted all those pictures because the shampoo bottles in the background would give it away. Yes, I may be forever alone, I may not have people around too judge me, but I'm still conscious about my image on Facebook.

I have about three more points, but I'm not going to include them here because this post is too long already. Also, I don't want to divulge the details of my twitter crush who chose to unfollow me while the Valentine's week is on. I want the three people who're going to click on this link to reach the end. The other forever alone-s in the house, put your hands up, stretch, yawn, and switch the tab now.

Friday, December 21, 2012

The Black Dots

Have you ever had second thoughts about travelling in a bus? Have you looked suspiciously at every man in a bus and imagined how you were going to counter these men if they tried to misbehave with you? I have. And trust me none of those black dots in your display pictures on Facebook, Twitter, Whatsapp and BB are going to help me get over this feeling.

We're all equally outraged with the brutal assault and rape of a 23 year old girl in a moving bus in one of the busiest and most posh areas in Delhi, but sitting in the cozy interiors of your house and changing display pictures is not what is going to help. I have often come across women who ignore eve-teasers because taking them on apparently invites trouble. Sadly, that doesn't do the trick. It only makes their resolve stronger. 

When my sister first grabbed a lecherous man by the collar and threatened to drag him to the police station, an elderly passer-by on an evening walk asked my sister to let go of him for her own safety. The lecher apologised called her 'Sister' instead! Those are the morals of an eve-teaser. It is only when you grab them by the collar that you become their family. The elderly man praised my sister for defending herself bravely but he asked her to avoid roughing up men like that. That lecher was a daily wage labourer if I remember correctly.

The 6 men involved in this gangrape incident: Bus driver, conductor, fruit seller etc. I don't understand how we're ever going to educate that class about respecting women. I don't understand how the police are ever going to able to control a segment from committing crimes when most of them derive most of their monthly income from that class. What I understand is, if you're lucky you will come back home alive everyday, unharmed.

Just a couple of days after this incident, about 10 other rape cases were reported from different parts of the country. We've heard buffoons tell us about how women should wear proper clothes, follow the Indian culture and not get out of their homes after dark. It is ridiculous and funny at the same time that we still assume we could be a superpower with such brilliant ideas of preventing rapes. We have a police commissioner who claims hunting down 370 buses was an uphill task and says routine checks are only possible theoretically, calling this case a blind case when he had witnesses. Yes, this is the police that claims to take care of us.

We have no idea who's going to fall prey to another group of men again. What can we do to protect ourselves? We need to be alert, carry pepper sprays, pointed objects, rods and everything that can keep us safe from men. Make-up kits are passé. Before trying to look good, we need to concentrate on being safe and alive. Let us first prevent our lives from being scarred rather than just protecting our faces from them. It is sad, but maybe this is what it has come to.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Lose weight now. Are you asking me how?

I've been obsessed with weight-loss for over 4 years now. Idly, I'd type 'Weight-loss from the face, losing weight from the butts, reducing arm fat, how to tone my legs better' into the Google search bar. It would open up a list of videos, articles, blogger tips, ORDER NOW pop-up windows about some pills that always had a Before-After corner where both the pictures belonged to different people. Anyway, I was obsessed only with the idea of weight-loss online. Once the laptop was turned off, I'd go back into the world of fat, sugar, carbohydrates and the calories would come running in to to hug me.

My history with fat:
Fat and I go back a long time in history; 13.07.88, the day I was born, to be precise. I was born fat. When I went to play school I weighed 3 kgs heavier than the tiny kids and was taller by an inch. Most of my grand parents' friends would visit us every month and ask me the same question: "You've grown so tall and heavy, which class are you in now?" I'd give them the same reply every month. My grand father's friend once asked me: "Which course have you taken up in college?" "College?!" My eyes popped out at that thought. Didn't I tell  him last month that I was in class 9? "Uncle, I'm only in class 9," I smiled and served him a glass of water politely. "Oh, in that case you must lose some weight beta! You look older for your age." I could have either thrown water at his face and asked him to leave or just do something about my weight. Honestly, I did nothing of the two.

There was a time when girls in my class weighed 24 kgs and I weighed 27 kgs, gradually they put on weight and weighed 42 kgs. How could I be left behind, I went on to weigh 72 kgs. And probably 4 inches taller than the rest of them. I reached an all-time high of 80 in class 12. But it was baby fat and it would go, most of my relatives would tell me, okay the only relative who said that to me was my mother.

When I entered college, I stayed in a hostel and learnt how I had to be attractive to make more friends. I'll tell you about how I lost 13 kgs in 8 months without ever going to the gym:

  • My daily diet was the watery daal for lunch and the African continent-shaped rotis. It was the first time I was away from home, so I tried to save money by not buying chips/chocolates/biscuits. Dinner was the same. 
  • My room was on the 4th floor, so I'd climb stairs at least thrice daily.
  • I walked all the way from my PG to my college which was about a kilometer away from my PG. I'd also walk back home from there.
  • There weren't washing machines, there was no mommy to wash my clothes. Every weekend, 2 hours were spent in a battle between dirt on my clothes vs Surf and my hands. I'd be dead tired by the end of that exercise.
One day, I noticed that the space between my jeans and my waist was enough to carry two people my size. Everyday people would ask me how I was losing weight, sadly, I didn't realise what I was doing to lose weight! I'd shrug my shoulders and they thought I was hiding my secret diet from them. Sigh.

It has been 3 years since college and I haven't gained half-a-kilo since then, but I haven't lost weight either despite putting in a lot of effort. I keep reading articles about Yoga, gymming, the correct exercises to lose weight from specific parts of my body, acu-pressure, liposuction, ayurvedic/homeopathic/unani medicines. I've read them all, tried them all and haven't lost more than 10 grams.

 What I haven't done is what I did back in college - Junk food replaced the watery daal/rotis, no climbing stairs, washing clothes only in the machine, but I walk, and I walk a lot, which is why I'm stuck at where I stopped. While writing this down, I realised what works for me and what doesn't. The four bullet points work; Google, although very supportive throughout my obsession, didn't quite work in my favour!

Monday, October 22, 2012

I Came. Saw. Shopped. And Dropped!

"Oye! It's Ramya's birthday in 15 days!" screamed Snigdha. "Venue will be her place only. No more outings on birthdays. That's becoming increasingly boring now!" Phew! I heaved a sigh of relief. We didn't go through any gruelling voting sessions this time. We'd vote, only to vote again and again and then choose the best of 3, followed by best of 5 and then finally giving up on deciding the venue! Sorted.

"You guys, what are we gifting her?!" That damned question. Sigh. We've been friends for 5 years now. The first year we met in college I remember gifting her a photo album. Bad choice plus bad gift. Why? Here's why: 

  1. Nobody really needs photo albums when you have a digital camera and all your photos are already on Facebook. 
  2. I forgot to remove the price tag.
  3. I packed it very nicely and she thought it was a wooden case where she could keep her paint brushes.

Oopsie!

The next year we all got together and gifted her a lot of stationery items since she was so fond of it. The following year we took her shopping and asked her to choose something for herself. (The best year ever!) The next year we decided to gift her clothes. And this year was not very different from the first. The worst part was that we knew her well enough to know exactly what she didn't want, not so much what she did.

Mission find-her-a-gift-or-die-of-shame began the very next weekend. Snigdha, Shoili and I met in CP and quickly rushed to a CCD nearby. Snigdha was the most organised of us all. She took out her notebook and started scribbling: 
  1. Clothes- Done
  2. Chappals/Shoes- Maybe not. If she doesn't like them, nope, we didn't want to be GeorgeBush-ed.
  3. Earrings - She doesn't wear any. But what the hell, we can gift it to her. If we like it, so will she. In case she doesn't, we'll take them back for ourselves.
  4. Stationery - Given her enough already.
  5. Bag - She just bought one last week.
  6. Ganesha idol? - She has way too many of them at home already, moreover it's her 22nd birthday not her 50th!

"That's it guys, there's nothing else that we can gift her," she analysed the list carefully again. "Yes, that's about it. She has all of it, there's nothing we can gift her." 
I looked at Snigdha with a You-Cannot-Be-Serious expression. "What do you mean there's nothing we can gift her?!" She shoved her notebook at me, "Look! Do you see that list?" A cursory glance and I realised that we had indeed put down everything that made 'Ramya' on that piece of paper. You might have heard of dead ends, but this was going to be the dead-end of our friendship and our lives if we didn't find anything!

One cup of cappuccino and we were pumped to go out and raid the Inner Circle! Shoili was Snigdha's junior from her hostel. All she knew about Ramya was her face. "Gift her a dress! Or maybe cool electronic items." We both turned and asked her to just shut up and walk like she was invisible to us. Shoili could have best been used as a hanger for our shopping bags. Juniors are made for that kind of stuff.

In about 45 minutes, we had completed one 'Parikrama' of the Inner Circle. A pleasant September morning turned into a scorching June afternoon in an hour. There we were, back to Block B. We started walking again without speaking a word. Janpath. Obviously. On our way, we came across Tantra. Right outside on the window was a T-shirt that said 'State of my mind' with clouds and a broken TV. "That is so Ramya," words flowed out of my mouth as I gaped at the shirt. "Of course, that has RAMYA written all over it!" exclaimed Snigdha. "No wait, that has 'State of my mind' written on it," chuckled Shoili. "Shut up, I know that's what you're going to tell me, so guess what, I'm not talking," and she finally shut up.

That was just 200 bucks. Our budget was 1k. Happy with our discovery, we set off with a spring in our steps to see if we were going to be lucky again. Janpath was, well, very Janpath. I don't know why we thought we'd unearth some rare artifacts there! Half an hour more, and that was the end of Janpath. Experiment failed.

We were walking back like Zombies. Our legs hurt, but our futile efforts pained us more. We spoke little or nothing on our way back and stopped by a corner to catch our breath and satiate our throats with water. Out of nowhere Snigdha had a crazy idea. With a determined look on her face she spoke "I'm buying a CD!"  A CD? Like a movie, music, what? CD? Before I knew, she had already bought one. A blank CD. Errmm.. okay.. "I'll make a movie out of our pictures!" Now THAT is exactly what we should have thought of before starting that Dandi March to Janpath. Anyway, it was a super idea.

But hey, that was her idea. What was I going to do? I thought a little and I beamed. Snigdha knew that I had come up with something more. She gave me her Tell-me-what-you're-thinking-or-I'll-hit-you-hard-right-now expression. "I'll bake her a cake!" I exclaimed. "Brilliant!" High-fives were exchanged, half-hugs shared and poor Shoili felt used and abused.

The entire shopping fiasco ended up like a fairy tale. Ramya's birthday was one blockbuster birthday. We cut the cake that I baked, watched the movie that Snigdha created and Ramya quickly changed into the T-shirt we had bought her. Her mother and sister thought we had ordered a customised version of that shirt specially for the crazy birthday girl! We ate, drank, laughed at her, laughed at ourselves and finally realised that the end is always happy.

This post is a part of the contest at BlogAdda.com in association with Badhai.in

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Diwali, Y U NO come sooner?

There is one question we ask people at work in August, every year: Is Diwali falling on Thursday-Friday or Monday-Tuesday? God cannot be unkind, it cannot fall on a Sunday. Priority task for those staying away from home: booking seats on IRCTC and eventually being able to get reservations in the 5th attempt, if you're lucky, and you're set for grand festivities!

Come October, and the only discussions over lunch at work are probably about how many days are left for Dusshera/Diwali. However, the preparations for the festival over weekends are like Physical Education classes in school. You always thought of them as 'free periods' while the PE instructor physically tortured you with exercises till you dropped dead in the heat. 

When I woke up this morning and opened one eye to check the time, it was 6 a.m and also a Saturday. Saturday, as soon as that word popped up in my head, I automatically fell asleep. I was woken up 3 hours later by mother's shrill voice. I thought it must have been her daily attempt to please the Lord, but no. I could hear Utho beta, 9 baj gaye! It was only 9, on a weekend, and I was expected to be awake for God knows what! Mother's reasons sometimes fail me.

I didn't like the idea of waking up so early, but I eventually did. It is almost impossible to sleep with a shrill voice piercing through the walls of your delicate ears. The table was laid. A big glass of milk with Bournvita and a slice of chocolate cake that I had baked for myself last night. Whoa, this was a new development. Any way, I brushed my teeth and sat for this one-of-a-kind breakfast. My mother sat beside me checking out Kareena and Sara in the Daawat-e-Walima pictures in Delhi Times. "Amazing daughter Saif has, she looks too pleased that her mother's ex-husband, who left her, is now getting married to his latest girlfriend!" "They're all used it Mommy," I replied relishing the cake.

We finally got down to the main issue. "You're tall enough to reach the tiles on top in the kitchen, right?" asked my mother nonchalantly. Of course, I am. You are my mother and you know that already. The breakfast on the table made it impossible for me to tell her that. I nodded my head in agreement. With another sip of milk, I looked up at the fan. Dirty. It wasn't going to end with just the kitchen. As soon as breakfast got over, Mommy handed out a duster to me. 

I was told to go out and dust the kitchen windows. Then wash them with detergent soaked dusters followed by a dry wipe. Ditto with the main door and the back door and the third entrance to the house. I was done with all of it in 1.5 hours. Dishevelled, I was making my way back through the front door when my attractive neighbour magically stepped out of his house. There I was in my ugly PJs and 2 chocolate brown dusters on my shoulder, gazing at this man. A short chat followed. Yes, getting the home ready for Diwali. How are you? Where have you been? ( Like seriously, where were you when I was wearing pretty clothes throughout the week?) He told me how he was the pilot of that plane that carried Kareena, Saif and the family from Mumbai to Delhi. (Highlight of the conversation. I've been very interested in that wedding, though asking him if he took autographs would be a stupid question. He didn't tell me that he did. It meant that no autographs were taken.)

I entered the kitchen and VOILA! There stood my mother with 2 more dusters and a ladder. It dawned upon me that a modular kitchen is not worth the money if it cannot clean itself. One corner to another, I watched dusters change colour with every wipe. I had started at 9. It was 1 when I got over with the cleaning. I saw my nails, they didn't look like my hands. I looked into the mirror and I could spot a cobweb on my head, dust on my face, grease on my shirt. Lovely! I looked like I was ready for a Halloween party.

I told mother that I wanted to rest. She didn't deny me that. So I lay on my bed and I soon dozed off. I woke up half an hour later and quickly took a bath. Lukewarm water. I could have slept in the bathroom. By the time I was out, it was 3 p.m and lunch felt like it was insufficient for the 4 stomachs that I seemed to have grown. I don't remember when I hit the bed and fell asleep again. A peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

When I woke up, I felt like I could have slept for another few weeks until Diwali was finally here. How I wish I could do that. Sigh, I already have a list of everything that has to be done tomorrow. Sunday, there you go, down with the cobwebs, to the naali.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Glad It's Over!

We know what teenagers are like.  We’ve all been through that stage where our hormones trolled us into believing we were adults. Infatuation, crushes, minimal forces of attraction were terms that only meant one thing – LOVE! Ironically, love was something we didn’t really know of back then.

Rachna was just another 13 year old. Fretting over pimples, trying to fit into her 18 year old sister’s shoes, clothes, social circle etc, comparing whether her Math text books had more problems than her best friends. And, Rachna was crazy about her class teacher in school. He looked all right, but when Rachna compared him to the scrawny boys in school, he looked nothing short of a Greek God.

He wore the correct shoes with the correct clothes. Every girl in school was madly in ‘love’ with this teacher already. Dimples and nicely cut hair, clean shaven and eyes that would shine every time his students needed help - what more qualities does a teenage girl seek in a crush? Rachna felt her desperate attempts to seek his attention were overshadowed by the smarter chicks who strut around confidently around him. In a bid to be one-up on them, Rachna decided to write him a love letter.

How does one proceed to write a love letter? She picked up a letter-writing book and ran her finger through the index looking for a love letter, unfortunately, there were no sample letters. Her love story started with a shy Good Morning – on most other occasions her jaw would drop so low that it was impossible to utter anything coherent. She wrote what she saw people write in the movies – she poured her heart out, just like some actress in some movie had, some clichéd nonsense about how they were going to make it till the end and all that jazz. It seemed a little too perfect to her, but then that's how she wanted her love story to be! She blushed and did not write her name in the end at all. If they were meant to be, he would find out. A few little hearts danced around her head with a few glittering stars.

She carefully placed her letter on his desk the next morning, in between the attendance register. She kept her fingers crossed, hoping she’d get what she had always longed for, a fairy tale love story, her prince charming. When Mr. Prince Charming entered the class, Rachna crossed her fingers so hard that they could have almost broken her metacarpals. 

As soon as she saw him open the letter, everything around her played in slow motion - her heart sank a little lower to her stomach, the sleeping butterflies in her stomach woke up with a stir in response, cold sweat beads formed on her forehead. She saw his expression go from good to bad to ugly to worse … until he finally tore it apart into little pieces and dropped it in the dustbin.

15 pieces of her love letter multiplied by a million - exactly the amount of pieces her heart broke into.

Tears welled up in her eyes but she had to show no emotion. Her friends would probably disown her, laugh at her and do everything a teenager did to make another teenager feel miserable. Of course, he was her class-teacher; he knew it was her handwriting even though it had no name.
Lessons learnt: Never write down a love letter in your own handwriting, especially when your teacher knows what it looks like and your class has only 22 students.

She couldn’t study well for his paper due next week - final exams! She plugged her iPod into her ears and wailed for hours listening to the saddest songs and downloading even sadder songs that she could manage to find under 'Heartbroken couple songs MP3 download', 'Cheated in love songs MP3 download', 'Love songs  Sad MP3 download'  on Google. She filled up her personal diary with paragraphs after paragraphs about how she had to show that heartless beast that she was doing great without him. The very next moment she felt she couldn't fall in love again. She switched on the TV and saw Kajol sobbing uncontrollably to Rifat Bee 'Mujhe mera pehla pyaar nahi mila..'. It was getting worse by each passing day. She didn't speak to her friends at all, none of them bothered either because it was exam time. The entire next week she tried to avoid eye contact with him, she couldn't just leave school, that wasn't even an option for her. Okay, she couldn’t concentrate.

 A quick calculation showed that she needed 55% in his paper to clear the hurdle on to the next class. She studied enough to secure 55%, wrote enough in the paper to score that much too.

When the report cards were finally being given away to the parents, Rachna was only worried about Prince Charming’s paper. It was awkward to be in love with someone and then fail their paper. That morning she kept her fingers crossed for a good 30 minutes. Failing his paper wouldn't just ruin her reputation before him, but would also mean a grand lecture from her parents at home. It felt wrong to be standing in front of him; it suddenly struck her that she was beyond foolish to have done what she did. She was WRONG, so WRONG!

She couldn’t pay attention to the conversation between her parents and Prince Charming. Her fingers were still crossed because she didn’t want him to complain to her parents about her absurd behaviour. She peeped into her report card and saw a 56 against his paper. She didn’t know whether she had earned it for herself through what she did to him or if she had really studied only that much. There was just one thing she could write in her diary that night: Why must everything have a happy ending? Why can't we just be glad that it's over?

PS: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental, except maybe a few instances where Rachna was Yours Truly. 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Friday, September 21, 2012

A Day in Bhangel

I do not remember when and how I adapted myself to this little village. I was scared of crossing the road because I'd been hit twice by people coming from the wrong side on a one-way road. Today, I just have to anticipate the speed at which the cars/bikes must be approaching me from around the bend. I raise my hand without even looking up at the vehicle and cross like it's cake walk. Cake walk in two ways, the figurative one and the literal one where you step on the cake the cow decided to leave on the side walk.

The cattle will find you anywhere. Most of the time when you're wondering why there's a traffic jam on a one-way road, it's a cow or a buffalo who just planned to take a little break, chewing endlessly on some imaginary gum, ignorant to the incessant honking behind her. The cattle here are cool like that. I guess they have the Gujjar blood running at 87263920139437238 kmph in their veins.

The Gujjars are both cute and absurd. Cute, because I've seen young married couples holding hands and strolling happily. You almost want to ignore the man's white shirt gone dusty-brown with a collar that's probably been sewn a dozen times so that it stays like that for another few months. His chappals may be covered in dust, but he never leaves his wife's hand. The wife is all colour-coordinated in red and bling! More bling and red that's just so red that it could hurt your eyes. She smiles all the way. You naturally end up appreciating the couple because he doesn't seem like the man who'd beat her up unlike the rich Indian doctors settled in US who turn into wife-beaters because they weren't paid enough to wed. She doesn't seem like those women who'd even have the hots for another man.

The really absurd Gujjars are the ones who travel with me in the bus. They'd fight with the conductor because they want to pay just 5 bucks for 15 kms. Absurd. Then they also manipulate the conductor's words and turn him into the culprit, get into a fist fight and end up breaking their skulls over 5 bucks. Absurd. Though there are a few nasty conductors, but I'm partial to them because they never misbehave with me. They always give me this cute smile and I always get my change before the others. They're my friends.

Amazingly, all this doesn't bother me any more. They could be the best or the worst people, I give a damn. The fact that none of those men make dirty passes at me in local buses as opposed to Delhi is more than comforting. There are Audis, and then there are cart pullers, there are HIG apartments, and then there are little tents right outside your building that houses a family of 15. I had never lived in a place full of paradoxes in my life, ever!

While I was in school, I was picked up by my father's army jeep. My college has been stereotyped as the house of the posh, bitchy, elite women who travel in nothing less than the Delhi Metro. And here I am, travelling in a broken, local bus, listening to Snow Patrol on my phone while most others are probably still stuck to Pardesi, Pardesi jana nahin.. My co-passengers never finish a sentence without using expletives. They'd probably hold your collar faster than lightning could strike you. A lot of these instances have put me off the materialistic pleasures of owning a cool laptop or a smartphone because I'm trying to be a part of this crowd. They don't look like they cheat on their women, though they might cheat on their Workshop owner or wherever they work. They'll fight for every penny because they know how hard it is to earn to be able to afford a one-way travel worth 10 bucks. I might not have liked this place at all initially, but I wouldn't be wrong to say that it has indeed taught me to remain closer to reality.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Action. Masala. Entertainment

I was busy chatting with my mother over a cup of cold coffee when I looked up at the clock. It was 8 already. I was late by 5 minutes and I knew my regular bus must have left. I grabbed my bag and rushed towards Bhangel T-point. About 100 metres away from the T-point, I could see my bus disappear around the bend. Luckily there was another PS Choudhry bus right behind it.

I hopped on to the bus. The stoppage time (nobody decides how long that is) is generally about 5 minutes. Since there weren't too many people at the bus stop today, the driver decided to wait a little longer. 2 school kids in crumpled shirts and dirty shoes took the second seat. Impatient 15-year olds who have spent their lives in this tiny NOIDA village and think very highly of themselves.. yes you could also call them your typical Dilli ke ladke, that's how I would describe them.

About 3 minutes later one of them threatened the driver, "Chalta hai ki nahi?"

Now drivers don't take these warnings very seriously. This is something they get to hear 3437237 times in a day. He kept looking out of the window trying to get more passengers.

Shabby school kid: Aakhri baar pooch raha hoon, chalta hai ki nahi?

Driver: 4 bus aur ja rahi hain, itni jaldi hai to utar ke doosri le le.

School kid leaves his bag on the second seat and goes and sits on the first bench.

*Action sequence begins*

School kid: Kya bola tu?

Driver: Jaa shanti se baith, chal rahe hain.

The bus roared to a start and we finally made a move. In the meanwhile, something got into the school kid. He got up and slapped the driver thrice in a completely filmy style. An old lady who was quietly watching this scene got up to speak. "Kyu maarte ho beta, school jate ho, padhte likhte ho, ye sikhate hain? Wo itna bada aadmi hai.. usko maaroge?"

What do Bhangel-bred school lads know of morals? He signalled the driver to stop about half a kilometre later. This boy and his friend were about to get down when he went to the driver and slapped him again. Now this last one was your *CHATAAAK* slap right on the driver's left eye. His eye instantly turned red. The driver looked at the boy for a good 3 seconds and waited for him to get down. In the rear view mirror, he saw where the boys were going.

The lurking tiger behind that driver's pitiable face was exposed within nanoseconds. He crouched and leapt out of his seat, caught hold of a wooden laathi and ran out of the bus in a rage.

I quickly looked at my phone to check the time. I was horribly late, but did it even matter when there was live action unfolding right before my eyes?! I got down from the bus and my eyes started following the driver. The speed at which he was following the boys, he'd surely have put a few Olympic athletes to shame. I saw him hit one of the boys on his legs. I saw that boy fall. In response to this adrenaline rush, I actually wanted to clap and scream, "You go man! Get the other one, KILL KILL!"

I looked around and saw the others pretty worried. I quickly converted my grin into a morose face. When I turned to look at the crime scene again, a bus was blocking my view. The conductor screamed, "Aa jao, City Saantarr, City Saantarr! (read: Noida City Centre)" All right, it was time to get back to the monotony of real life. I took the bus and thanked the Lord for a lovely kick-start to this Friday morning!