Monday, March 25, 2013

Dinner - I

Earlier this year (details of my rant here) I decided that once every month I must dine with someone I had not dined before or met only recently. This supported by the rationale of my mind that people unveil their true selves or sometimes reveal the true 'you' to yourself during such encounters, is something that I have managed to pull of rather successfully.

The people I have dined with are as follows and I shall continue to update this list in posts hereafter as a continuation of this detailed word rant.
  • Mr Silent Assassin - A fellow colleague who speaks less, eats more than he speaks and whose excellence at work is directly proportional to the amount that he speaks while he eats is the first person to make it to the list. Dining with him is a pleasure since he attacks norms that brands follow, shares work learning's and loves films. I too reciprocate in the same way. Why is he good to dine with? He makes you realise that ideas are worth every bit of rejection. Even if they are rejected or not worth it at that time.
  • Ms Etc - I cant say where I met her. She might be reading this piece. She is a rant high on a cocktail of  adrenaline and drugs. Random and over the top, she made me finish my meal finish faster than she could open the takeaway lid that covered her share. I learnt nothing but the art of swallowing hot spaghetti faster than you can say......
  • Ms Mumbai -  She came, she danced, she conquered. We dined, exchanged notes and I felt blessed to be in the company of such people. The kinds who don't give you time to settle down into a formal code that must not exist when people like them are around. 
Meanwhile the dining bit continues...

Friday, March 22, 2013

Gods whom I know

Grandparents work miracles…
Mine do….

Sunday, March 17, 2013

The Fine Art of Toothpick disposal.

Apart from common challenges such as getting the non-veg platter serving steward to make frequent rounds towards your gathering of stags or even getting a table closest to the bar there are few others tests that an Indian may face as big as disposing the toothpick which has no meat or any other vegetarian fare wrapped to it. Now if only they were a cigar that you could wield with the dexterity of a Swedish masseuse in your fingers things would have been different.

Fear not, for I have keenly observed how several other stags dealt with the same managerial issue. My keenly observant self-rushed to document the same with an eye as keen as an Infosys project manager documenting processes at an offsite deployment.

Here are the 2 ways that you can combat the issue of the bare food stick at any gathering:

Equated Monthly Instalments or the Goat dropping style: No, finance companies have not got anything to do with this and neither do goat droppings; it’s just the disposal of the toothpick that is quite similar to how these two functions work. You feel sad when you pay instalments and you feel happy (if you are the goat that is feeling lighter) after shooting out fume heavy pellets of such amazing design similarity that can make an Italian car designer go grey or closer home a Bengali Art director resign. The feeling here is the former.

  • Step 1: Flip the toothpick between the index and the fingers on its either side.
  • Step 2: With a slight compression on its centre of not more than 1 PSI the toothpick must break into 4 parts.
  • Step 3: Walk to the closest table which has the loudest members of the opposite sex seated (they tend to gather together). Drop a few compliments and a few shreds of the toothpick too. (Get the goat dropping bit now? Yeah, you sly smiling lucky bastard)
  • Step 4: In case you still have a few of the pieces remaining walk up to the nearest wall. Stand against it (don’t face it; that would be plain idiotic) as though looking out for someone. Quickly discard the remaining balance in your account and wave to that imaginary soul. Now walk towards him with open arms and fingers. You’re free.

Jo Mera hai who tera honaich padega: This is one sick cheap method. We all have friends who look at the snack stewards like kids from a draught plus disaster plus famine struck geography. Now these guys try and stab at least three meat balls or harabara kebabs (it’s this veg dish that tastes like soaked sponge to a non-vegetarian like me) which can make it to a Guinness world record but won’t for records like this one are rejected there and taken in by Limca book of world records. So these dudes always love a favour relating to food and their toothpick wielding back stabbing friend stabs and extra one with his spare toothpick.

Now am all cool with recycling but this friend picks only the additional snack on his platter and not a separate toothpick.  Yep, he uses the same old toothpick he had spent time with between his fingers and teeth while it swirled in wait for another snack of choice to come by. When it did not, it was passed on like gifts from an old lover. It also paused and rested on his lips to take a second while someone made a point and he pondered like a pseudo art critic at a gallery in South Mumbai.

Bloody tooth prick friend.

Never ever grab a snack from someone else at a party. Ever.
Unless it’s me. 
I follow the code.

Sunday, March 10, 2013


Cntrl + Alt + Del
Does not work always.
Nor does Esc.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Please Mind the Gap

The New Delhi Metro Co-operation is bringing people closer like never before. 

If 'Connecting People' was not a Nokia statement this mode of transport would surely have  associated with the line in terms of the how it carries people in it or into it. Even the unsuspecting ones, who stand near its doors at Rajiv Chowk trying to peek into the ladies compartment from the outside.

None the less, this post is not about the service or how it has efficiently transformed the city and its appeal to those who needed a much needed system in getting from Place A to Place B. Its about prediction. Yes, you read correctly - prediction. I am going to simplify and tell you the 5 kinds of specimen of the homo-sapien race that you are sure to find within the metallic canisters that have doors waiting to pinch the skin off that fat uncles rear. This, no matter how many layers of clothes he will pile on and no matter how far ahead he has to descend it his duty to stand near the door and sway to the burgeoning mass of the paratha bred race.

So here goes:
  • The Preeti: Do lay stress on the 'eeeeee' between the 'Pr' and the 'ti'. This name can also be interchanged with Shikha, Niharika or even Priyanka. If cylinders are being rationed now, a major bunch of  testosterone and oestrogen high couples in the early 90' had few names to select from. Not that they were recreating lifestyles in North Korea but still. (Okay, I am digressing) So this bunch of women will always have the brightest footwear that is horrifyingly matching the colour of their cellphones. Not only that. Wait. There is more. These kids have the amazing capability to have their headphones plugged in and yet be able to completely discuss how their madam did not explain a theorum or chapter correctly in class that day due to a possible marital issue which had her hurry out from the college premises that day. They make conversations like birds roosting at sunset with a frequency to switch conversations only to be rivalled by telephone operators in classics from the 70s. Also, they will always break the rare silence that may prevail in the metal can occupied by you with more giggles than a beep sound in an Eminem track on DD1 (if that were to happen).
  • Pole Uncle: Who cares how many contacts your father may have. This one has his body strung across the pole in more points that the number of contacts your father has. Meet the Pole uncle. The silver stands that are meant for the unfortunate shorter variety from our race but are always found supporting those with the crucial cell phone message or those stuck on Angry Birds stage 5 level 91. Now how they stand is a piece of art too. Since some son of a bitch invented the touch screen that needs one hand to hold the damn piece of technology and the other to engage in digital foreplay for it to produce sounds and hums, the crevices and crannies in the bodies of their beholders comes to their rescue. This may be graphic but the bear with me. The pole that you hold onto for your dear life may have reached into the far depths of (not what you are thinking) this uncles hairy cleavage or even his 85 day old chin stubble. Believe me, I once saw a Pole Uncle hug the god dammed pole with his neck and chin alone. He had to play Angry Bird level 4 stage 56 four times is a fact that we can ignore. But he did it. I am leaving this here. The other crevices that have been used to stand straight are not beyond you comprehension now.
  • Pappu Promisewala: This dude is a rock star. On the appearance of the Preeti type (refer point one) his appearance that is as expensive as the metro token in his sun bleached fingers and 'Nicky- Just Do It' tee on his size 18 chest will catapult beyond your least wild dreams. His depiction of how he told his Boss to 'go climb a tree' on being asked to come to work on time or even how he got his friends 'matter' solved at the cop house will make you think that the most worthwhile thing you ever did in your life was try and ride your scooter cross legged in that state of drunken stupor as a teenager. Not only does he speak about his claims to fame like kids trading WWE cards in the mid 90's but his eyeballs dart towards the women seeking the slightest form of attention about his half pound existence at 90 times a minute. And god help him if the 'Preeti' smiles. His day is made. He may even get off from the wrong side of the metro station and have to cross the busy street below twice over but still - his day is made.
  • Closet Couple: Nope. Not what you are thinking.Their love is out in the open but they do not think so. Forming a 90 degree angle with their bodies they face the corner of the door that wont open at any station to form a closet. Get it? Ahh Smart you are. Good. Now within this closet they discuss everything that they fantasise about doing in a closet or in a room that might have one. The girl giggles coyly or the guy may continue to look straight into her eyes like a goat at a slaughter market that knows that its screwed. So all it does is chews the grass in front of it staring in one dead direction. (What form of romance is this anyway) Never mind, moving along, the minor jerk from the starting or stopping of the train adds to this Yash Raj rom-com that is possibly being produced on a string less shoe budget. The incandescent blush on the faces of the two couples can bring to life a dead rat who has possibly passed away a week ago thanks to the fumes of sweat soaked passengers in the same metro wagon. Am not judging but the spotting of the couple such as this can save you 35 rupees of the hindi novels that sell at Wheeler & Co on a two platform railway station in India.
Needless to say, the characters in the above are purely non - fictional and can be encountered by you in any line on the metro. Be it red, blue or yellow, they are bound to leave you red in the face or green in envy. It depends if you see yourself in one of them. I truly haven't and ever wont.


Guess, Mario Miranda knew what I was talking about.
Long live the Metro - I love it.