Posted in Mann ki Blog

Mann ki Blog #8

Hello everyone. How are you doing? Did you miss me? That is so sweet of you. But please understand that contrary to popular opinion I do have a life and on rare occasions, that life keeps me busy. Hence the delay. I hope everyone is safe. Times are tough due to the pandemic and tougher due to the news media. Try not to be infected by them.

Dear readers, today I am going to share some of my feelings with you. For the past few weeks, certain thoughts have kept me awake at night and occupied during the day. Some truths are present right in-front of your eyes but there will be an overwhelming feeling of uneasiness because you need something more than the evident truth. You need reason. Yes, my dear readers, you guessed it right (or not, I do not know). I am talking about why people seemed to have stopped smoking pipes.

I am absolutely clueless trying to comprehend the reasons for this unfortunate development. I have checked and verified that there is no statutory ban or anything on smoking pipes. Why did people simply stop? Everyone is smoking cigarettes (both normal and rhea varieties), cigars, hukkas (hookas), beedis etc., completely forgetting the beautiful, regal, elegant, suave and sophisticated pipes. While it is true that I do not smoke and have no intention of taking up the habit, I do admit that smoking makes ordinary people look cool. But pipes, my dear readers, pipes are another level only.

Picture great personalities such as Mark Twain, Bertrand Russel, Albert Einstein, Jean Paul Sartre, Elvis Presley, Joseph Stalin, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, Sherlock Holmes, Popeye (the sailor) and Juno. Yes, the last three may be fictional characters but that only substantiates my contention. I stand by the opinion that smoking pipes is and remains to be most appropriate way of smoking and it is a shame that the practice is not as prevalent as it used to be. If you still need more proof, look at the pictures below:

Pipe smoking Pranab Mukherjee
Normal Pranab Mukherjee

If this does not convince you dear readers, I do not know what will. Assuming that we are all on the same page here, my proposition is this – kindly bring back pipe smoking into the mainstream. Pipes are not even that costly. They can be reused and are eco-friendly. Well, smoking does cause cancer and death but this is basically being eco-friendly with extra steps. I mean if you are anyway going to cough your way into an early death, why not do it in style?! Am I right or what?!

Moving on from pipe smoking, I have to acknowledge my dear readers that I have not kept my promise of sharing my brilliant idea for a mobile App with you. In the last two editions of the Mann ki Blog, I teased that this is a super hit idea but now I have understood the downsides of my idea and accepted that it is not great idea after all. But this is platform where I share not just my genius but also my failures. I am also a human being like you and even I err sometimes, rarely but certainly.

See, the idea that I had was developing an App for dogs/cats to find suitable partners/mates. My intension was to develop an App similar to Tinder but for dogs/cats instead of humans. I thought that it could be used for cows also but then I immediately realised that it was against our culture. As far as cats/dogs are concerned, my App – Tender (like Tinder), I hoped would place the power of selecting or declining a potential mate in the hands paws of the canines/felines. However, I could not then foresee the disastrous outcome of this idea. 

Apart from the possibility of the cute paws of the animals scratching your mobile screens while swiping left-right, the disastrous outcome I could not foresee initially was how Tender would simply be a platform used by the owners to choose the partner/mate that they find suitable for their pets giving little (or no) freedom to the animals themselves to choose. This, my dear readers, is the exact opposite to the outcome that I had envisaged when I came up with the idea for Tender. In fact now that I think of it, Tender would not be Tinder for pets. It would be Bharat Matrimony or Shaadi.com, with owners (parents) making all the decisions.

This is the reason my dear readers I have not shared my App idea with you. I sincerely apologise for disappointing you. However, I can assure you that I am coming up with a new App, the idea for which is still being finalised. But since I do not want to keep you waiting this time, without delving into details, I will simply state that this App would help in calculating the exact amount of money that you can give to a beggar by simply scanning his/her face. The powerful algorithm takes into account various variables including the age and sex of the beggar, whether or not their limbs are intact, how much salary you earn, how many days are left till you get your salary, have you done any sins that need atonement etc. I am still working on these variables and a concrete proposal for the App would be shared free of cost on a future edition of Mann ki Blog. It would be glad if an Indian company develops the App because I want to see our great nation win the global Alms Race. Hehe.

That would be all this time my dear readers. Once again I request you all to please try and bring pipe smoking back into the mainstream. It is not an impossible task so please do not feel that it cannot be achieved. Like they say, there is always a can in cancer.

Posted in Mann ki Blog

Mann ki Blog #7

Hello my dear readers. It’s me again, just checking in on you. How are you? Times are tough. I hope you are taking care of yourselves. If you have read the previous edition of Mann ki Blog (#6) and by chance if you remember what I said at the end, I have to apologise because I will not be sharing my million dollar app ideas today. That will have to wait because there are more important things that I have to address here. 

For those of you who do not know me personally, let me just say that I am not known to be a very friendly person. Some have even called me silent and brooding. But that is not true my dear readers. I only appear like that because I do most of the talking in my head and spend significant amounts of time judging others and then analysing that judgement. That is what I want to talk today my dear readers. But before I go any further, this edition of Mann ki Blog has some references to flatulence and releasing of intestinal gases. So if you are someone who is repulsed by such things, please stop now and go back to whatever non repulsive things that you are doing/watching on the internet.

Aah, so you decided to stay. Great!

It all began last weekend when I was at the mall. More precisely, when I was in the washroom at the mall. Just to clarify, I did not go to the mall for going to the washroom but that could very well be a reason to go to these malls. Because they have fancy washrooms. So, when I was in the washroom washing my hands after taking a leak, an elderly gentleman stepped in and walked to a stall near the corner. He seemed to be around 50 years of age. He kind of resembled Ravi Shastri. We did not exchange any glances but we both were aware of the presence of the other. Then, without a slight hint, he farted! It wasn’t anything worthwhile. Just a casual fart. If that fart was a birthday greeting, it wasn’t an Archies or Hallmark card. It was simple ‘HBD bro’ message on WhatsApp.

Before going any further, let me just say my dear readers – When I started this blog more than a decade ago, I never thought that one day I would be describing a stranger’s fart to you all. Life is really strange. Anything can happen. 

Anyway, after the Ravi Shastri looking uncle let go of his bottom burp, for a brief second there was absolute silence. Like how you must be feeling after reading this, I was absolutely disgusted. I waved my hand in front of the tap sensor so that the water would start again but it did not. More silence. He then came silently towards the taps, washed his hands and left. I was left there stunned. Stunned not at the uninhibited manner in which he baked the air biscuit, but at my own self. Why was I so disgusted? Why did I react like that instinctively? As the stinker cleared from the room, so did the clouds in my head. My whole perspective on life began to change my dear readers. I began to think clearly.

I began to de-construct my thought process and simultaneously put my self in his shoes. First thing I realised – he was apparently holding it in for quite some time. He managed to hold it in until he reached the washroom. That was indeed heroic. It was Martin Luther King Jr. who said: “The time is always right to do what is right.” (At least according to brainyquote.com, that is what he said) The Ravi Shastri looking uncle did the right thing. My disgust instantly turned into respect.

Had he farted inside some restaurant, or a book store, or in a shoe store or even a saloon, that is a different story. But he was kind enough, generous enough and considerate enough to hold it in until he was in the washroom. Even then I had the nerve to judge the man. I felt ashamed. Ravi Shastri uncle must have worked hard in his life, raised a family, paid taxes and still got screwed by his boss, his family and life in general. Shouldn’t he at least fart in peace in the washroom without being judged by assholes like me? Of course he can. He is worthy of it. He earned it. That little fart is a call for freedom and a tribute to mankind.

The world needs to change my dear readers and I decided to start by changing myself. But like our PM says, he cannot change the country all by himself. He needs the support of each and every one us. In the same way, I need everyone’s support. Everyone should come together and support the cause: #StopFartShaming.

You know what is amazing my dear readers. By Divine intervention, the climate seems to be ripe for this campaign. People are already mandated to wear masks everywhere. This is a blessing in disguise. What better time to slowly transition into a world where Ravi Shastri can fart in the washrooms as and when he wishes without the fear of being judged. The next time I hear someone fart in the washroom, I will take a moment to show the man some respect. I might even salute the guy. Hell, I might even fart back to display my approbation.

Moving on from Ravi Shastri, I would like to share my thoughts on how this COVID-19 pandemic, accompanied by the lockdowns and restrictions exacerbated the divide in our society. The rich & the poor, pseudo-liberals and nationalists, Mukesh & Anil so on. The demarcation of the borders between groups have never been clearer my dear readers (Note: Not applicable to the LAC). However, these unforeseen challenges were turned into opportunities by certain groups, who were looked down upon until now, who showed the world what they are really made of.

In this context, I would like to take a minute and tip my hat to one group in particular which proved to be a ray of hope at a time when no one else was able to deliver. No my dear readers, I am not talking about the medical professionals or the sanitation workers. I am talking about a group that I call the perverted paparazzi.

Remember the world before COVID-19, when ordinary paparazzi used to flock the airports, gyms and other celebrity hangouts to take candid pictures of up and coming actresses? These paparazzi people were compared to vultures and rats, often accurately. However, after the onset of COVID-19, most of them went into the burrows because they had nothing to do. As the actresses began wearing masks and oversized sunglasses, even those ‘vultures’ who were out in the open failed to identify the true identity of the person behind the mask. It was at this juncture my dear readers that the perverted paparazzi entered the field, separating the men from the boys, or should I say, the perverted men from the normal men.

They are now objectifying identifying actresses left and right (also front and back) even though their faces are covered with masks, sunglasses, hats etc. Jealous rivals have even started a rumour that these perverted paparazzi are using some kind of an algorithm for this. But only God knows that it is just old school perversion. Remember how everyone looked down upon them when Deepika Padukone made a big hue and cry about tabloids sharing her cleavage photos. Now they are the only ones who are able to identify her, obviously not by her face. Not just her, they are able to accurately identify actresses like Ileana, Ayesha Takia, Urvashi Rautela while their entire faces were covered. I recently came to know of an actress called Anveshi Jain whom these people have identified while she was wearing a hijab. When people say “Talent knows no bounds” this is what they are talking about. Must respect.

That is all for now my dear readers. Before I end this edition of Mann ki Blog, I have to say that I am a little disappointed in myself. I promised to you that I will share app ideas but I could not. So I want to leave you with at least a decent business idea which I feel is definitely profitable. It will also encourage local manufacturing in consonance with PM’s new “Atmanirbhar Bharat Mission.”

Listen to my pitch. There is some study proving that COVID-19 could also be transmitted through air. This is possibly why we are made to wear a masks to cover the mouth and nose. But as you know, like Ravi Shastri had shown in the washroom, there are other places in the human body that would need proper covering. Therefore I present to you my dear readers, the idea for N95 underwears.

You are welcome.

Posted in Mann ki Blog

Mann ki Blog #6

Hello my dear readers. It is me again. Just checking in on you. I hope you are all safe. I am very frustrated this week my dear readers. India is now in third place globally in the number of registered COVID-19 cases. I cannot believe that we let this happen. This is what happens if we forget our culture and ignore the lessons that hundreds of years heritage had taught us. It was all so simple but the authorities failed miserably. All they had to do is follow the basic two step approach. First, ensure social distancing. Second, isolate the people who are infected. I agree that they did indeed aim for this to happen. But they could not get the message across to the public. This type of information should be spoon-fed to our people. You have to tell them in a way that would make them clearly understand what is to be done.

I know it is a little late now but let me share my two ideas in this regard:

One, tell everyone to treat everyone else the way we have treated Dalits for all these centuries. This message would make it easy for every one to understand what social distancing is. One tweet from the PM on these lines and the entire country would go, “Ohh..so that is what social distancing means. Why did not you say this earlier?” There is a reason our tradition and culture had the concept of untouchability. But still, we failed to make use of it, the one time we really needed to. Centuries and centuries of practice wasted. Sigh.

But is is still okay my dear readers. Our tradition and culture is so farsighted that we have another option ready if the above idea fails, like it actually did. What to do when someone unfortunately tests positive for COVID-19? You have to isolate them. But how do we get this message across to the people? Simple. My second idea:

Tell everyone to treat infected persons the way we treated menstruating women. This is pretty much self-explanatory. No? You still need explanation? Okay, what I mean is, make them sit in an isolated room or some corner of the house and do not let them do or touch anything. We were basically home quarantining them before we even knew what that meant.

It is never too late my dear readers. Share this message with as many people as possible. Not for more site visits for my blog but for the sake of our country. I beg you.

You might feel that my message about Dalits is a bit insensitive. But do not worry readers. I am allowed to make such statements. It is like black rappers using the ’N’ word – NI**ER in their songs or Germans using the ’N’ word – N*ZI in their literature or Balakrishna using the ’N’ word – NANDA**RI in his speeches, dialogues, songs and everything else. 

Anyway, we all need some inspiration during these testing times my dear readers. That is why I started reading about Malala Yousafzai. Remember her? Yes, that little girl. SWAT valley, Pakistan, Taliban, girls education etc. She is now 23 years old my dear readers. Can you believe that? She excelled in academics, graduating from some prestigious UK University. Obviously!! 

While that is indeed commendable, I have to admit that I have a feeling that she did get some indirect help from her history. I am not saying she was given free marks by her lecturers but still dear readers, you imagine being Malala’s lecturer in college. Wouldn’t you give her few extra marks in her internal exams and vivas. She is a terror attack survivor, author of an international bestseller, world renowned activist for girls education etc. and you are the one judging her work and grading her papers? Would you ever fail her? I don’t think so.

If you think that Malala’s lecturers have a tough life, imagine being Malala’s boyfriend. I mean, like I said, she is 23 years old now. Try to imagine being her boyfriend. How can anyone not be intimidated by her. You know what is worse? What if you get into a fight with her? Couples do fight sometimes right? Even Naga Chaitanya and Samantha fight sometimes, probably over Siddharth. My point is, couples fight! What if Malala and her boyfriend fight and break-up? How can he ever live in this society?

He: We used to fight sometimes.

Society: You mean you fought with her?

He: No, I mean we both fought with each other.

Society: You mean you FOUGHT with her??

He: No, we both foug….

Society: SHE HAS A NOBLE PEACE PRIZE YOU ASSHOLE!!!

He: …..

Is there any way that guy can ever find another girl? He cannot simply put the blame of the break-up on his ex-girl friend – in this case, Malala Yousafzai. I mean what can he even say on a date with a new girl?

New Girl: Tell me about your ex-girlfriend

He: She’s…. sometimes we fought

New Girl: That’s common. It’s natural for couples to figh…

He: Her name is Malala Yousufzai

She: **throws coffee on face and then throws the coffee cup also**

I think I should now stop reading about Malala and thinking about her hypothetical boyfriend’s problems and worry more about my own issues. 

That is all for now my dear readers. I have a couple of App ideas that can make you millionaires. I will share them next time. Tata.

Posted in Mann ki Blog

Mann ki Blog #5

Hello my dear readers. Did I ever tell you the reason why I do not use elevators anymore? Wait, did I even tell you that I do not use the elevator? Okay, I will tell you two things today:

One, I do not use elevators. Two, why I do not use the elevator? This however, involves a story. A story involving a small town, a pirated dvd rental shops, Easter Sunday and plain music and by plain music, I mean plain music. If that music was a soup, it would be clear soup. Get it?

If you had ever lived in a small town, you know that it is an entirely different ecosystem. A self-sustaining life source that offers so many things. Little things that fill and fulfil the soul. But one thing, a small town does not offer is PRIVACY. Of course it does not offer so many things like Metro Rail System, Universal Health Care, Casteless Society, Homeless Shelters etc. But those things are not relevant to my story here. I am only talking about privacy. Especially when I was an adolescent teenager, there was always a risk of getting caught by my parents or someone who knew my parents. Not that I was always doing things that had the risk of ‘getting caught’ but still. It was the early 2000s. Come on!!

During that time, I became a regular customer of a pirated VCD/DVD rental place. Shrek 2, Matrix, Laxmi Narasimha etc. But the most fascinating section of the store was undoubtedly the corner where the owner, Mr. Govardhan kept his collection of Malayalam movies. For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about or those of you who are pretending to not know what I am talking about, these Malayalam movies I am talking about are movies starring feminist icons like Shakeela, Reshma, Devika and others who, if you ask me, were way ahead of their times in the new wave of the feminist movement, waaaay ahead. These movies also had hairy chested, men but you instinctively edit them out of your sight (and mind) while watching. Now that I have explained what you people are already very aware of, let me also point out that these movies usually have the worst, by worst I mean plain, random and generic music. If that music was a bakery item, it would be milk bread. You would want to consume it only if it is toasted and accompanied by peanut butter or jam. Got it? No? Okay so if that music is the name AMIT, it would not be worthwhile unless accompanied by the second name SHAH. Otherwise, it is just a generic North Indian name. I think you are getting it now.

But what does all this have to deal with me not using elevators, you might be thinking my dear readers. I will tell you. One day I decided to watch one of those feminist movies. But since it was a small town, the rules do not allow me to simply go and buy/rent such movies. What if Mr. Govardhan was my friend’s dad? Or worse, what if he was my dad’s friend? So after pretending to browse the collection for sometime, I took a VCD of one of those movies and put it inside my pants without anyone looking. But since I was a decent Christian boy who knew stealing was a sin, I took out Rs. 50 from my pocket and gave it to Mr. Govardhan and told him that I found it amongst the VCDs. He was so impressed by my sincerity, at that moment I actually hoped that he should be my friend’s dad. Or better, he should be my dad’s friend. Anyway, just to avoid any kind of suspicion I also rented the movie ‘Deep Blue Sea’ for exploring Jessica Alba the… deep blue sea. What can I say? I was a curious teenager.

For the next few days, and nights, I got a peek into the lives of those inspirational feminist women. Truly inspirational. However, unbeknownst to me, that music, that plain music got incepted into my mind. If that music was a viral infection, it would be common cold.

After few months while visiting my uncle’s place for Easter in a city nearby, I got into an elevator for the first time. They lived on the 8th floor of an apartment building. As soon as the elevator door closed, the music started. It was the same music. The music that was incepted in my mind during the most formative years of my life. That plain music. If that music was a beverage, it would be tap water, at room temperature. Some circuits in my brain got activated by that music leading to unforeseen outcomes. The human body is a strange thing indeed and let’s just say that by the time I reached the 8th floor, the elevator was not the only thing that had risen. No, I am talking about Jesus Christ, the lord and saviour.

Several years had passed after that Easter Sunday. I moved on from that small town to smaller cities, to a state capital and then to the national capital. Everywhere I went, in every city, it was always that stupid music inside the elevators and every time, I had the same problem. It was especially awkward and embarrassing when there were people in the same elevator. It was not just embarrassing but was becoming highly risky, considering the #MeToo incidents. What would happen, if I was arrested for some kind of harassment? There was no way I could explain what was going on with me in a court of law. I could ask the judge to play that music and see for himself/herself but that would be humiliating to say the least. So I began to wonder if I should give up on using elevators once and for all. Then on one fateful day, I took that decision.

Like I said earlier, I moved to a national capital. My new office was in an iconic/colonial monument. The building has a history of close to 90 years having seen the downfall of an empire and the birth of the largest democracy in the world. On my first day in the office, due to some renovations, I had to take the elevator to reach my room. Otherwise, I had to walk across to the other end of the corridor to take the stairs. So, the elevator I had to take, and my dear readers, what a blunder it was. When the doors of the elevators closed, it was that damn music again, the exact same music – the clear soup, the Amit, the common cold and the tap water. Just as I was feeling sort of relieved that I was alone in the elevator, the doors opened and in walked my boss, who happens to be a Malayali woman. Karma is a Hound of Baskerville. That moment, I regretted my decision to watch that feminist movie and apologised to Mr. Govardhan telepathically.

It was all because of that damn music, the stupid plain music. If that music was a dosa, it would be, well, it would be plain dosa, without chutney or sambar.

Posted in Fiction

Shame Shame Puppy Shame

Disclaimer: All the characters and events in this story are FICTIONAL!!

Grand ideas that later became turning points in Human Cultural evolution cannot always be mere accidents. Making ever so subtle changes, one little chip at a time, like the gentle handy work of a sculptor, TIME has made us what we are today. Thoughts that changed the world, are nothing but years of culmination of small yet strong ideas. This may be the case but there are exceptions. Some powerful ideas that shaped and pivoted the path in which civilization had progressed, were simple accidents. This story is about one such accident.

It was around 2500 years ago, on a bright sunny summer day, a young ascetic was busy in his hostel room reading some texts he found in the village library. He was preparing for his first big presentation on the topic ‘Religion: Is it time for some updates?’ at a local college. He had not always been an ascetic though. He was in fact a prince. Yes, years earlier, he was a prince, of a mighty kingdom and was brought up in all the riches that one can imagine. Beyond once imagination actually.

His father loved him so much (frankly speaking: ridiculous levels) that he shielded the young prince from all the suffering and ugliness of the outside world. The young prince was offered all the pleasures that the king could provide. He eventually grew up in that make believe world, where pomp and glory were all that he knew. By the time he was in his youth, he already had sex made love (consensual) with almost every woman (of legal age) inside the palace doors. No incest though. He was not a Lannister.

One day, he and a bunch of his vagabond buddies, decided to escape from the palace and attend the village fair nearby in disguises hoping to score with the ladies of the country side at the recording dance programme. It was the young prince’s first visit beyond the palace walls. Once outside, he was exposed to the crude realities of life such as old age, death, people spitting pan on roads.

He returned to the palace, not before scoring with the ladies of the country side, and vouched to renounce the life of a prince and to travel the world seeking the truth and purpose of life. Little did the young prince know that day, that he was going to change the world, in more ways than one.

Back to the sunny summer day. He was still reading the strange texts that he found in the village library. His own ideology was very different from that of the Karakinkaras. However, he admired the ideas. For a moment he even thought that he could plagiarise few ideas here and there, but decided against it.

“Dude, its almost time for lunch. Are you coming?” His friend knocked on the door. He was completely engrossed in the fascinating texts by then. He comepletely lost track of time. Those were texts written at different times in history, by 33 Karakinkaras, mythical spirituals beings, speaking about radical ways to not just change, but to entirely topple and rebuild the existing social order. It was a mere coincidence that he came across them. The prince, now an ascetic, was in search of truth ever since he left the palace. He came up with several ideas of his own. He was going to make some ground breaking announcements at the presentation in a day. Ground breaking, like the announcement of the iphone or the ipod only a couple of millennia ago.

“You go ahead. I think I will stay for some time and read.” He yelled out feebly.

“What a nerd!!” His friend thought and left.

When the sun was setting that evening, the ascetic finally decided that he would go to the river for a swim. The evening weather was particularly pleasant. He took his favourite pink towel and went to the river. He undressed few yards away from the river bank and walked towards the river with the towel wrapped around his waist. Leaving the towel on the river bank, he dived into the river. He had no idea what was going to happen.

By the time he reached the bank, he noticed that his towel was missing. “Those stupid monkeys” his thoughts continued, “But this should not perturb me. Life IS suffering. The only way to escape this suffering is by dispelling worldly cravings and by following my six fold path.” The Six Fold Path is one of his many ideas that he was still developing. He kept adding and deleting folds from time to time.

His clothes were a few yards away from the bank of the river. Since it was almost entirely dark, the ascetic, after checking once to see if there was anybody around, decided to just go for it.

“Shame shame puppy shame. Shame shame puppy shame.” There was a sudden eruption of laughter. The ascetic looked around. For a moment he thought that he was just hearing things.

“Shame shame puppy shame.” This time the laughs were evident. It was a bunch of young college girls who were out for an evening stroll. Three of the five girls were really pretty too (other two, not so much).

The ascetic froze, completely nude, while three pretty and two not so pretty girls made fun of him. The girls were ruthless. The fact that the water was cold did not help his cause. He did not know what to do and so he simply froze. They made fun of him (and his), for some more time and ran off giggling. He then took his clothes and ran away from there. For several hours he ran naked into the woods. After settling down near a banyan tree, he got dressed up and sat in deep contemplation. He needed to find a way out of this mess. His reputation was at stake. He sat there deciding stubbornly that he wouldn’t get up until he finds a middle path through which he can avoid being remembered as the naked guy near the river. However, he fell asleep almost immediately. He was tired from all the naked running afterall.

The next morning he woke up when a singing bird, instead of singing, shit on him. As he opened his eyes in disgust, he saw a swarm of young boys and girls sitting around him. He checked to see if he was clothed and felt secure when he realised he was. But then the questions started:

“Are you the naked swimmer?”

“Are you on keto diet?”

“Is that your hobby?”

“Hehehe!!”

“Are you single?” and so on.

A rather naughty young girl even asked, “Will you come today also?”

The young ascetic felt utterly overwhelmed, moderately humiliated and slightly flattered. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. He then spoke, while still closing his eyes, “That handsome, well built young man, might be resembling me. But I assure you my friends that it is not me. However, I had met him, as he came this way, running naked and spoke with him for several hours.”

“What did he say? Will he come today also?” It was the same girl. The young ascetic paused, blushed a little and continued,

“He is a 34th and the last Karakinkara, who is the greatest of them all. He came to consolidate the existing knowledge in the ancient texts and present a new faith to the world.”

“Why is he naked though?” the naughty girl was very persistent. Her priorities were in different areas.

“Because young girl,” the ascetic continued make things up as he went along, “that’s just the way he is.” Then he got the idea, “He is showing the world, a way of renouncing material possessions. He achieved victory over the earthly desires and conformities. He is a great hero in that sense.”

“It felt like he just froze infront of us. If he such a hero, why did he not punish us?” Another girl, who saw the ascetic’s naked body from a distance asked. She was one of the unattractive ones. The ascetic had to think fast now.

“Because young lady, his philosophy is entirely based on non-violence and forgiveness. That’s just the way he rolls baby.” He dodged that bullet (Even though bullets did not exist back then)

They seem to have believed what he said. He was off the hook. Or that is what he thought until a rather stout young boy stood up as asked,

“How do you know all this? Who are you?” He seemed sceptical of the whole thing. “How do we know that you are not the same person.”

The ascetic thought about punching the young boys, voluptuous belly, but decided against since he was also proponent of non-violence.

“I am not the same person. I am here to make a presentation at the religious conference.” He stumbled a bit. The naughty young girl pounced on this opportunity.

“Then I’m sure that naked guru would be there too. Otherwise, why would he be roaming in this part of the country at this time.”

Everybody looked at the ascetic now. He was in a tough situation. He thought for a moment and realized that he bit more than he could chew. All he wanted to do was detach himself from the embarrassment, blame an imaginary guy and move on. However, he now had to prove publicly that they are two different people and not the same.

Thus began the genesis of two of the most revolutionary faiths that to this day and age, had made lasting impressions on human society.

That day, the young ascetic made not one but, TWO presentations. As himself, with clothes that is, he presented his draft thesis after adding and deleting some of those folds. Members of certain royal families who were present in the audience, immediately found themselves drawn to the ideas the ascetic presented. They endorsed him. He won the people’s choice award that night. The critics, who mostly were from the creamy layers of the existing social order, hated his guts.

After his presentation, he ran back in to the dressing room, changed his hair style, tying it into a bun of sorts, dis-robed entirely and came out on to the stage. He was received with thundering applause (both from men and women). There was some whistling also, perhaps from that naughty girl. As the naked ‘hero’ he presented the ideas that he had read from the texts of the Karakinkaras. It was mostly about being non violent and vegetarian. There were some random thoughts about not brushing teeth and not bathing regularly but the crowds gave his disgusting looks.

Apart from that, the presentation went well. Huge gatherings of rather hefty and wealthy communities in the audience liked what he said. They immediately made him sign contracts. Even though he pleaded them not to, they took him around and introduced him to everyone in their housing colony. He was nude the entire time.

That is story of how, on that fateful day, the young ascetic, who was once a prince, became the founder of not one but TWO faiths. Faiths that would stand the test of time. One might wonder how all those people were fooled? But, that’s how disguises worked in olden days. Pretty basic stuff actually. Go and watch any black and white movie if you want.

Note: Legend has it that there was a secret society that knew of the secret of the ascetic and his double role. For generations, they kept the secret alive by keeping it a secret in total secrecy. However, in the year 1998, a member of this secret society by the name EVV Satyanarayana, made a documentary titled ‘Aavidaa maa aavide’ loosely based on the story of that young prince who later became an ascetic and two GODS.

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Posted in Mann ki Blog

Mann ki Blog #4

Hello my dear readers and welcome to another edition of Mann ki blog, where I talk about unimportant things and waste your time. In case you are wondering why I have not been active on this blog lately, even though I am feeling little shy, I have to tell you that I am trying my hand at writing a six-part fictional series. I will post the first part as soon as possible. In this edition, I would like to talk about an incident that made me question (for the millionth time) what morality is and wonder pointlessly about my own morality.

My boss was absent to work that day and I came to know from my colleagues that his mother had passed away the previous night. He is one of the the kindest persons I have met in my life and undoubtedly the best boss I ever had. I genuinely felt bad for him. I might be socially awkward but not entirely apathetic. Please keep in mind that I will not try and justify my actions. I do not even know if there is anything to justify. At the same time I cannot lie to myself. As I said, I felt genuinely bad for my boss but immediately, like always, began to calculate his mother’s age to compare it with the life expectancy of the country. I some how feel that the volume of grief should be proportional to that ratio. That day however, something unusual happened.

Part of my job then was to prepare the Structural liquidity statement (SLS) of the bank everyday. Even though I prepare several other reports and notes, SLS was what I was famous for. On that particular day, I did not feel like doing it. Maybe it was because the news of death ignited thoughts about life, pushing me down an existential crisis, making me question how the bank’s liquidity position for the day will add meaning to my life or may be I was plain bored. I do not know. Whatever the reason was, I decided to do something. I suggested to my colleagues that we should all go and visit my boss at his home. Everyone liked it and even appreciated me for coming up with the idea. Did I do it out of concern for my boss? Was it just to escape work? Yes and yes.

There is something magical about leaving work (or school) on a working day. By the time we reached, there were already so many people. They have not taken the body away yet so some people were still crying and some people were making arrangements. Some of my seniors went and spoke with my boss who looked very tired. I stood at the back of our group and did not say anything to anyone. We stayed there for about half an hour and returned. I did not feel like going back to the office. I wanted to stay a little longer.

As soon as I began working on the liquidity statement, a thought came to me. It made me wonder. Wonder what was wrong with me. I was willing to spend time in a group that was mourning, near a dead body, listening to people cry, instead of being at my desk working. I was even willing stay a little longer. What the hell is wrong with me? Is it because I hate my job so much? Or am I immoral? Do I feel guilty about it? Was I disrespectful to my boss?

Morality is confusing in that way. It is a strange thing. Ethical relativism says that the so called ethics and values are dependent on time and space. They cannot be applicable universally. Then there are those ethical nihilists who basically do not give a fuck at all. However, moral high ground, from my limited understanding, comes from the position that you are in rather than what the incident is. For example, one of you readers could be an animal rapist, a kidnapper or a wife beater but you can still take the moral high ground while deciding that what I did was immoral.

Elaborating on that, if someone arrogantly blocks the road with their vehicle causing a traffic jam, everyone stuck there would definitely blame that person irrespective their eligibility. A child molestor, probably still molesting a child in the car will still take the moral high ground while judging the guy who caused the traffic jam. I am not saying that it is right or wrong. I am just pointing out that it is what that happens. There are no degrees and levels.

“Don’t these people have common sense?” the child molestor might even say.

What is the lesson from the whole experience? Nothing really. I did however waste my time, first thinking about it and then writing about it. As if that was not enough, I wasted your time by making you read about it. But to be fair, events like these demonstrate time and again how complex things can really be and how nothing can be evaluated on their face value. They make me better appreciate the simpler things.

Before concluding, I have to tell you this: later that night, my boss texted everyone thanking us for visiting. Such a true gentleman he is. It is that text message which made me write all this.

So that is all for this edition my dear readers. My apologies if you find this boring and pointless. I hope to see you next time. Leaving morality for moment, here is a great advice for you,

If you ever feel like testing your activity-tracker/step-counter, ask a guy in a wheelchair to wear it for a day. If it is an accurate device, by the end of the day, it should show zero steps.

HahahahaSorryhahaha…

Posted in Memoirs

Almost famous

Hello there. Before you continue reading, let me first tell you that this piece is a small story from my school days. This happened when our Principal sir somehow decided that our school needed an advertisement in the local City Siti Cable channel. His enthusiastic idea eventually turned out to be a forgettable venture for me. But apparently, I couldn’t forget it. Not that I didn’t try. I just couldn’t. Therefore like most of such things, I decided to write about it. I hope you find it interesting.

 

Let me start with my school. St. John’s English Medium School. It is in every way more than just a school for me. Even today, I consider it my home. I studied there from LKG to 10th class. It was were I grew up. Literally and figuratively. Everyone and everything there remains to be a part of my life. This advertisement story took place when I was in my 9th class, 2003-04.

One afternoon, few kids from 9th and 10th classes were selected and made to sit in the computer lab. It was not for a class though. It was for shooting a promotional video for the school, the first ever in its history (My school was established in 1972) and so we were the chosen few. Our Principal sir was going to direct the entire video along with a professional camera man. Rather than taking montage shots (with desi voice over) of studying children and teachers clarifying doubts, he had decided to make the students say some one liners about the facilities in the school. I still remember some of them.

Example:

Gang leader: We have all round personality development…. *proudly*
Gang members: Only at St. John’s!! *loudly*

You get the idea right? Out of the box in those days.

So back in the computer lab that day, the first shot featured my senior, a 10th class girl named Ramya (very pretty) who had to turn to her left, look into the camera and say,

“Audio visual media help us in understanding our lessons better.”

She was told her line by sir and within five minutes, her shot was done. She did it with such grace and poise, one might think she was a professional actress.

Meanwhile I was sitting in the lab with a couple of my friends, making fun of the proceedings. We thought we were back up junior artists. Eye candy, like those bikini girls behind Dons in South Indian films. But no. After Ramya’s shot was over, Principal sir came straight to me. Oh God!! Why me?! Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a shy fellow back then. I was one of the popular kids (mostly because of my seniority there and also because of my unusual name) I was a good student, I got good marks, I participated in all events and won several prizes in most of them. Dances, quiz, debates etc. Like I said, the school was home to me. It is only natural that sir wanted me to be in the video. But unfortunately, what happened then was his miscalculation doing lungi-dance right infront of him.

I still remember and I perhaps will never forget what happened. My instructions were simple. When sir says “Action,” I have a turn back, look into the camera and say,

“We are provided with excellent graphic and animated computer software, to support our curriculum.”

In my defense, it was the lengthiest line of the entire project. It was the “Yemantivi yemantivi..” of our video, or so it felt. I admit I was at first confident that I could do it easily. Afterall,  I was a born artist. Then it began, the Downfall. My first take went horribly wrong. It happens right? But things went downhill from there so fast. If the dialogue was right, my voice wasn’t loud enough. If it was loud, the pronunciation was wrong. If the pronunciation was right, he dialogue was incomplete. Things became so awkward, it was not even funny like those blooper reels. Even after innumerable attempts, I was unable to even finish my line. With every wrong take, I could sense the  growing tension and uneasiness in the room.

Senior girls, including Ramya, started to giggle and not for the right reasons also. Some of the other kids began practicing my line and it made me more nervous. Even though Principal sir was kind enough to let me go on for a while, I knew that he was feeling sorry for me. Kind man. But I kept going, like Manchu brothers and their movies, with one failed attempt after another,

We are provided with excellent software computers..

We are provided with excellent computer graphics..

We are provided with animated computer that supports our curriculum… 

You might be laughing at me now but I tell you, it was not that easy. As I sat there while my utter humiliation was being recorded, my respect towards every actor ever began to grow by leaps and bounds. The entire debacle was more cringe worthy than watching Pawan Kalyan speak in his fake american accent.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally got it right. My voice was loud enough and I managed to complete the entire line. It felt as if the entire room was secretly celebrating the end of my fiasco. They were evidently more relieved than me. Even the camera man was like, “Thank God!! Now kick this fellow out!!” It was not even a digital camera. I don’t want to know how much of the cassette I had wasted. My ordeal was finally over. No wait, there is more.

After a couple of days of shooting, the video was completed. We were told to keep watching City Siti Cable during the 9 ‘O’ clock movie. My family sat infront of the TV waiting eagerly while I was feeling a little embarrassed and shy. Then the advertisement finally started. After some nice montage shots, some small children sang how much they enjoyed playing, those Gang members said that their personality developed in an allround fashion and when Ramya spoke about Audio visual media, my heart began to pound. But as you might have guessed by now, I wasn’t there in the video. They edited me out. The final attempt wasn’t successful. They just wanted to finish and leave. My mom felt so bad for me. Even though my dad told tried to console me, I knew he must’ve been laughing inside. I was only glad my mom did not tell all her friends, or did she? I don’t want to know also. In all the bad experiences anyone can face in school, this I believe is the most tragic. Okay if you leave Malala’s experience, this is the most tragic.

Oh boy. I cannot believe I told you this story. I have to admit, even though it was humiliating and awkward for a day or two, it did not matter after that. It was school, where things didn’t matter much once the final bell rang. The advertisement became a thing of the past. Today as I sit back and think, I fondly remember that incident as the time I was almost famous.

Hey talking about being almost famous, do you want to see something cool? Check this out,

 

 

If you look  closely (not at Mohanlal but at the two handsome young men in the back ground,) that is me sitting behind my brother. I am looking sexy in my shorts as I carry two boxes of chicken momos.  I am however not sure how to feel about this. Anyway, this is my tragic venture into showbiz that ended even before it started. That is all for now my dear reader. See you next time. Tata 🙂

P.S. The next year, they decided to make some changes to the video. As if last years humiliation was not enough, I was cast as one of the gang members that had to shout, “Only at St. John’s!!” Kill me please.

Posted in Fiction

Forsaken melody

Rudolf walked into the living room drenched and shivering. He had never seen it rain like this before. It seemed to him as if mother nature was trying to cleanse the country after all the sins that were committed in the past few years. Thousands of people were killed mercilessly. People were betrayed by their own leaders. Rudolf wasn’t one such leader.

“Where is the kid?” he said standing in the middle of the room as he left a puddle of rain water dripping from his over coat. The old wooden floor squeaked as he walked around inspecting the family photos.

“Downstairs sir.” the servant came running and took Rudolf’s jacket and hat and offered him a towel. Gently rejecting the servant’s offer, Rudolf walked towards the basement door and held his breathe before holding the cold door handle. He was burdened by heavy guilt and began to feel judged already. He said a small prayer, took a deep breathe and walked in.

Ten year old Benjamin Franklin was the last one alive in the family. The family that lived in the same house and managed the entire estate. In broad day light two weeks back, the men in uniform barged into the house and killed them. The family was in the attic going through old photo albums while Ben was in the basement feeding the firewood into the furnace. Only Ben as alive by the time they left. His sister, a smart 12 year old was shot in her neck when she tried to protest. The attic floor soaked in the family’s blood. Ben was found two days later by a local farmer who worked in the estate. He was too scared to take him home so he left him in the basement and contacted the secret society that was helping people leave the country.

Ben was writing his journal sitting near the furnace when Rudolf entered. He did not turn back thinking that it was the servant. The basement was warm because of the fire. Rudolf could listen to the rain outside. It had been raining for the last three days. The walls have become damp and the air was moist.

“Hello Mr. Frank.” Rudolf said after clearing his throat. Ben looked over his shoulder without turning back.

“I am Rudolf. I am here to help you leave the country.” Ben did not say anything but turned around and waited for Rudolf to continue. He did not recognise Rudolf. Not many people knew what the brother of the ruler looked like.

“That is, if you are willing to trust me. I am going to do all that I can to help you.”

“Help me?” Ben spoke for the first time in several days. He felt calm. Rudolf seemed like a good man. He needed someone to trust.

“Yes Mr. Frank. It is not safe here. I insist we leave right away. There’s a secret passage in the woods towards the southern river and I have my men waiting there with a boat. It wouldn’t be long before the dogs know about you. If they do, they’ll be here within a day.”

“But it is raining Mr. Rudolf.” Ben said pointing at the ventilator whose glass window was soaked due to the rain.

Ben’s sharp eyes reminded Rudolf of his younger brother. As a child, he was gentle and kind. Now, now he had become a monster to say the least. Power had corrupted him. He and his group of trained killers, the dogs as they were called, were solely responsible for all the cruelty that was going on in the country. They were also responsible for the killings of Ben’s family. That is also why Rudolf wanted to personally see to it that Ben was sent out of the country before the dogs found out that he was alive.

“How can we go now? It is raining heavily.” Ben said snapping Rudolf back to reality.

“It would help if the rain had stopped but we don’t really have a choice Mr. frank.”

“Please call me Ben. That’s what my sister used to call me. My mom called me Benny.” he said leaving a lump in Rudolf’s throat. He wanted to tell Ben that he was the brother of the person who was responsible for his family’s death. He wasn’t afraid of being hated. He hated himself more than anyone else. He was only afraid that the kid would no longer trust him and that he wouldn’t be able to save him. Guilt is often too heavy to bear.

Rudolf and a group of his students from the university decided to save as many people as possible and help them leave the country by sea before his brother, and the dogs caught them. As soon as he came to know about Ben’s situation, he wanted to personally assist his escape. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before the dogs come back. The rain could only delay them.

“Ok Ben. Get your things now. We must leave immediately.” Rudolf said trying to change the topic. He did not want to remind the kid of his family. This kid doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. Lives are at stake. Rudolf did not care about his own life. It was the kid’s life that he wanted to protect.

“You know my mother used to sing for me when ever it rained. I wasn’t allowed to play in the rain because of my pneumonia.” The kid said without making eye contact.

“Oh.” Rudolf did not have anything to add but he knew they had at least till sunset to leave and it was only noon. Even though it was dangerous, Rudolf decided to stay and talk. For the next couple of hours they sat on the chairs, looking at the fire inside the furnace and talked. Rudolf mostly listened as Ben spoke about many things. He was very smart for his age. But he was a very stubborn kid. He kept insisting that they could leave only when it stopped raining. Strangely he believed that he could control the weather.

“You just have to ask it.” He smiled. Rudolf looked at his smile and felt the urge to protect the kid at any cost.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah but it won’t listen to everyone. You need to have a good reason.”

“Who told you?”

“My mother.”

Rudolf wished it was that easy. But it was getting late and they had to start. Just then the servant walked in and informed them that the belongings were ready and packed. Rudolf looked at Ben and saw a scared little kid. He had to do something now.

“Aren’t there any raincoats and umbrellas in the house Benny?” Rudolf asked.

“Did you just call me Benny?” The ten year old started to cry. He was alone. All alone. Rudolf realised that Benny was how his mother addressed him. He was mad at himself for making the kid cry and immediately hugged him. Ben was shivering. He must survive. He must leave the country.

“Okay Mr. Frank. I have never done this in my life, but since you think it is that easy, let me give it a try.” Ben looked up wiping his tears. It was still raining. Rudolf walked towards the glass window of the ventilator and for the first time in his life, began to sing,

“Rain rain go away…
come again another day…
Little Benny wants to play….
Rain rain go away….”

Within the next half an hour, after three days of continuous downpour, the rain finally stopped.

*****

Aftermath:

Benjamin Franklin managed to escape that day and managed to lead a life in exile in Pakistan. He converted from one Abrahamic religion to the other (Judaism to Islam) and called himself Basha. Basha Farooq. His journal was published later as “The dairy of a young man” but it was not a best seller like his sister Anne’s diary which was published as a book.

On the day Ben was sent away in the boat, Rudolf was caught by the dogs and his younger brother Adolf sent him to a concentration camp where he was the subject of several experimental drugs. Rudolf often sang the song in his prison cell. He died later the same year.

Posted in Mann ki Blog

Mann ki Blog #3

Hello there my dear reader and welcome to the third edition of Mann ki blog. You have made a wise decision by opening the link. I admit I am not entirely prepared or have much idea about what I want to talk in this edition. But I assure you by the end of it, you will not be disappointed. Atleast you will not feel like you have wasted your time. Atleast you will smile here and there. I don’t know okay. Let’s just see how this goes.

Even though it is a personal loss for me, I won’t be talking about Samantha and Naga Chaitanya (the South Indian Abhishek Bachchan. Lucky fellow) getting engaged. Good for them. I will however like to have an opinion on those people who attacked Sanjay Leela Bansali for allegedly shooting intimate scenes in some historical movie. Before I voice my opinion, I usually ask myself three questions. I did the same here also.

1. Does my opinion matter to anyone?
2. Will my opinion change or influence anyone?
3. Does the incident effect me in any way?

Even though the answer to all these questions is a big ‘NO,’ like the pretentious asshole that I am, I chose to give my opinion anyway. My only problem however with everything that had happened is that I will be missing out on those intimate scenes. I have to make it clear that my inclination towards romance is significantly more than my opposition to violence. Those attackers don’t  have any feelings or what?! I mean it is Deepika Padukone man. Have you seen her in Ram-Leela? May be they wanted someone else I think. Katrina Kaif may be. Not that I will watch the movie anyway, but some guy somewhere will definitely make a compilation of all those scenes and upload on YouTube. God bless such people.

I might come across as a pervert here I know. I am walking on a tight rope but let me try and clarify a little bit. I confess, while most people were rooting for Vijay Malya to be brought back to India to face charges, I was more worried about the future of the Kingfisher calendar. But I did not like (or endorse) that cleavage controversy in Times of India. I never used that red laser light in cinema halls to point at boobs and such. I never ever stalked or teased girls in public transports. But these scenes are done by the actresses themselves. Watching them will not make me a pervert. It is what it is. If at all, I am who one might call an indoor-pervert or better, a domestic-pervert, which is in no way harmful to anyone. I will go ahead and say that if only more people were like me, the world would be a better place to live. I doesn’t matter what one thinks of me, all I want say is, don’t fight over such things people. Try to inculcate a dirty mind. It solves many problems.

But what to do man?! Days are changing. Friends of dead chief ministers are becoming new chief ministers (Note to self: Value friendships and try not  to be obese) Things are not as they used to be. Few days back I went to Dunkin’ Donuts and you won’t believe what they are selling there. ‘Break-up party Eclair’ it seems. What is a break-up party? Why would anyone name an eclair like that? There are few events in life that shape our attitude and help build our character. Failing in an important exam, death of a close family member and break up with someone who meant something to you. These things are not to be taken casually. Back in my day, we never celebrated our break-ups. Kids these days are not capable of dealing with the sadness I think. You have to be sad, fellows. That is how you experience life. Even item songs in those days used to speak about love and its greatness. The hero used to go to a dhaba to get drunk (I am not endorsing alcoholism) and the item girl used to start a debate (in skimpy clothes) about the Pros and Cons of love. Now it is all about Rathalu and Chokka bothalu and such. No wonder children are losing perspective I say. Please bring back those item songs and if possible bring back those item girls also.

I cannot honestly understand how a person can be in love with someone when he/she will not be sad if at all the relationship does not work out. It is nothing but undermining the relationship itself. Kids must understand that it is okay to feel sad. In fact one should be glad about having their heart broken because if we are willing to learn, it teaches us more about ourselves than about the other person. It will also, make Ilayaraaja’s music much more beautiful than it is. So embrace the tragedy.

Moving on now, a friend of mine, who is a good writer, recently told me that she would never start a blog because she did not want to face critics, if any. Sometimes in my office washroom or in any public washroom, whenever someone farts, I used to feel disgusted. Now that I think of it (please don’t ask why I would even think of such things) it is after all in the washroom. Where else can someone fart in peace with out being judged if not in a washroom? Writing silly blog posts about random things, for me is the equivalent of those middle aged uncles farting in washrooms. What a stupid comparison!! There will always be people who won’t approve of it. But there will also be people who just listen (read, in this case) and move on without giving it much thought. My point is that we should not be afraid of being judged in life. People judge no matter what we do. At least be judged doing what you love. If you feel like writing, keep writing. If you feel like farting also, same.

I will end on that lovely note my dear readers. I know that not many useful things are discussed today so let me tell you about an interesting observation I made.

How many of you are born in September? Rise your hands. It is the 9th month of the year right? Which means that there is a huge probability that you are your parents’ ‘New Year Resolution’ Hehehe.. Congratulations!! See you next time.

P.S.  Wait wait, I have to tell you. I am also born in September. But considering how I have turned out, I believe I am more of a Christmas miracle 🙂

Posted in General

Stressful Weddings

You know how people say age is just a number? That makes my number ’28’ which is an interesting age to be, especially in times like these. I know that I should feel older (and mature) but somehow I simply can’t. In fact it feels like I am becoming more and more silly with each passing year. Nevertheless, I know that time is passing by.

Children I’ve known as toddlers in my school are sending me Facebook requests. That super cute junior from college is now a mother of two kids. I cannot show you her photos but very funny I say. Still, you know how I really found out that I am getting older? My favorite teen pornstar started to feature in the milf category, my favorite milf pornstar started to feature in the mature category which means that my favorite mature pornstar is most probably dead by now. RIP 😦

As we all know my dear reader, an important part of growing up is getting married and it goes without saying how stressful a wedding can be. I have a different kind of problem with weddings though. Since I have decided not to get married, I don’t stress myself out and since I have an unmarried elder brother, I don’t have family pressure as well. Since I don’t have any responsibilities, I don’t have to help plan any weddings. Then what problem do I have with weddings, you ask? I get invited to weddings.

“Is that a big problem?! stupid fellow!!” Is what you might be thinking. Please keep reading. You might understand.

Let me first begin with the invitations. There was a time when I used to think that Facebook invites were real invites. After that I used to have a doubt whether I was invited or not. It took me time to realize that if there is a doubt, it is obvious that I am not invited. Here are some types of invitations that I usually get.

— One card for the entire department invitation: As soon as we get one, I start to think how much money they’re going to collect for the gift and whether or not I could justify the cost in the dinner at the wedding.

— No card but a phone call invitation: Usually from some old friend. Which is kind of sweet. Even though I feel super shy talking such calls, I enjoy these.

— WhatsApp group e-invitation: Soon after the obligatory congrats messages from all the members, including those who never ever send even a single message ever, people who are planning to attend the wedding form another group to discuss the gifts and rates. I was once kicked out of such group with out any good reason. I still don’t know how distributing blankets (with the couples names embroidered) to slum kids is such a bad idea for a wedding gift. Now you see my dear reader? If the invitation stage itself is this complicated, imagine what my level of stress will be after that.

 

Let me systematically explain this with the help of Elisabeth Kübler Ross and her five stages of grief concept. Here are the different stages.

  1. Denial: The initial reaction is mostly denial. I once got an invite in Facebook for a wedding and my first thought is, How can she marry? She liked my Facebook status that one time and wrote ‘lol’ as a comment. Clearly that meant something. I could not believe that she was getting married. Another time, I got a call from a senior whom I had a severe crush on. I was giggling like anything while I talked to her. But she invited me to her wedding. The crazy thing is that there was never going to be anything between us. I did not even remember her or that I had a crush on her until she called. But at that moment, no matter what, the reaction will always be denial. That’s just how it is.
  2. Bitching: This is not a stage in Elizabeth’s theory but I had to add it as it is an important phase. Once the wedding announcement is made and sometimes a trailer is released (Trailer? For a wedding? What the fuck?!) we usually catch up with old buddies and bitch left and right about that couple. Is it true that she is getting married? What happened to that guy she was with? What must be the dowry? Isn’t he a little too young? What about that pregnancy scare that time? What about that pregnancy scare that other time? Actually so many times. Why is he marrying now? How much does he earn?  Doesn’t she look much older than him? You think they had sex? I am sure he is a virgin. You think their parents know about the affairs? Love marriage? Aha. Means they had pre-marital sex. Hehe. You get my idea right?
  3. Anger: Since I am not someone who is prone to anger that much, this stage is very short. Mostly involving, why the hell should I give that much money for the gift? or Mom, what does his wedding have to do with me being fat? Ok ok I will stop drinking Pepsi and start working out. Most importantly, Hindu wedding means vegetarian food yaar!! Moving on…
  4. Fear: This is the most important of all the stages. What if my ex girl friend is at the wedding? What clothes should I wear? and with my overall ugliness and utter lack of any sense of style, how will I present myself at the wedding? What if they take a selfie/groupie and I end up at the corner with a weird expression from a bad angle? How long will I have to suck my belly in while they take those photos. They’re going to tag me on Facebook from which I cannot untag because that would be disrespectful. What if they hire a professional camera guy with those fancy HD pics. Those things are the worst nightmares for ugly people like me. What if I only know the bride. How do I greet the groom? What if he gets a phone call just when I am about to shake his hand? What if this awkward moment is captured on video and they will later look at my awkwardness and laugh! The worst of all, seeing how everyone is getting married and finding love (and in a few rare cases both!) and thinking what am I doing with my life?
  5. Bargaining: I am, or atleast I think I am a reasonable fellow. The next logical step for me would be to evaluate the pros and cons. What is the menu at the wedding? Will there be cute girls? How much will I be spending on the gift and how much I will get in return (general entertainment and food) Will I get to skip work? How far is it from my house? That uncle is a good friend of my dad.
  6. Acceptance: Last stage this. Marriage is undoubtedly (or doubtedly) a holy union of not just two people, but of two souls and two families. There will be plenty love and joy along with delicious food. Most of all, when someone actually took time and invited me to be a part of perhaps the most memorable day of their lives, it is undoubtedly super assholery on my part of I act like this. Well it is true that I am an asshole but they need not know that right? If not today, may be one day I might understand the significance of marriage. Haha or may be not. But I admit to myself that people don’t care about how I look on normal days only and it is ridiculous of me to assume that my looks or my clothes or what I do would matter at someone else’s wedding. If looks did matter that much, why would Hrithik’s wife leave him? Wait, if a girl can leave someone with those looks, what chance do I have?! LOL. Forget it. Anyway the point is, even if I don’t go to the wedding, I will definitely wish them all the love and peace in the world from the bottom of my heart.

That is all for today. There are many things that I want to add but may be some other day. For those you who are getting married, I understand if you don’t invite me and you please understand if I don’t show up at your wedding. Cheers.

Interesting fact: I know a girl who had several lovers (often simultaneously) and had atleast one abortion. She invited me to her wedding which was an arranged marriage with a new guy. I did not go for many reasons. I  however did see their photos on Facebook and laughed for at least 20 to 25 minutes. She might’ve been exercising her individual rights it would’ve been nice if the guy knew too. LOL. Marriage.