IPL : In a lighter vein

This post was written on 24th May 2011. The 2011 edition of the Indian Premier League (IPL) cricket tournament was on then.

For some reason, this post never got posted on my blog. Maybe it was just some lazy writing from me that was never meant for public consumption. I sometimes do that - just dump my thoughts into a Word document (or an e-mail to myself) to get them out of my system and on record somewhere.

Anyway, when I was sorting out old files on my computer, I came across this write-up which I had long since forgotten about.

It is naturally somewhat dated, seeing as it was written in 2011. But I still had a bit of a chuckle, reading it all over again. Am therefore sharing it here on the blog.

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*DISCLAIMER: This is not a criticism of the IPL. There’s much more to the IPL than just a casual conversation between two persons, so I would request the reader not to read too much into this. *

One of the many things I enjoy, while in India, is watching TV with my mom.  It is not about what we watch, but just the fact that we’re watching TV together. My mom watches only a few TV programmes and, though they wouldn’t be my first-choice shows otherwise, I do like to watch them along with her.

So here we are, watching one of her programmes today and it is about 8.20 p.m. The IPL play-off game between Royal Challengers Bangalore (RCB) and Chennai Super Kings (CSK) is underway and is being telecast on SetMax. I want to check out the scores quickly and ideally watch the game, rather than the current programme. My mom, ever-obliging, has no problem with my changing the channel.

So here we are, watching the game. I am feeling somewhat guilty for hijacking my mom’s programme. My mom is not at all into cricket - though she surprised me a few days ago with an absolute googly.

It was Shane Warne’s last IPL game and, just for conversation, I asked her whether she’d heard of Warne. 

“Oh yes, he’s a famous Australian cricketer, isn’t he?” 

I was stunned. 

“Wow, I never expected you to know.”

"Oh, he’s been playing for a long time.  His brother also was very good, wasn’t he?” 

After a moment of surprise, I realized she’d got confused. I corrected her.

“That was Steve Waugh. And his brother Mark Waugh.”

“Maybe. But I’ve also heard the name Warne”. 

I was very impressed. 

"Well, this is Warne’s last game today. In the IPL”.

My mom knows the IPL. I mean, she’s heard of it. It's difficult  for anybody who watches TV in India NOT to be have heard of the IPL. A few days ago, she stunned me, when, after dinner, she asked me 

“So is there another IPL game today? It is 20 overs per team, isn’t it?”

I was  taken aback. I knew that she wasn’t interested in the cricket as such. Clearly her interest was more because IPL was clashing with her TV programmes.

Anyway, so here we are today,  watching the IPL game instead of my mom’s preferred TV programme.

In the hope of getting my mom slightly interested in the game (the guilt was beginning to get to me!), I embarked on a rather feeble line of channel-change justification . Here is how our conversation went.

Me:  It’s Bangalore vs Chennai. (Hmm..maybe my mom gets interested. After all, she has a stake in both cities).

Mom: (just as the camera zooms in on Doug Bollinger bowling): He does not look like he's from Chennai. Or from Bangalore. In fact, he does not even look Indian.

Me: He’s not. He’s an Australian. In the IPL, each team is allowed to have four foreign players.

Mom: (looking puzzled) Oh, ok. So you mean the rest are from Chennai and Bangalore?

Me: (after a pause): Hmm..not really.

Mom's looking even more puzzled now, so I decide to explain.

Me: Though the teams are called Bangalore and Chennai, they’re allowed to have any players from all over the world. They can have four foreigners in the team, the remaining players have to be Indians. But they don’t have to belong to Chennai or Bangalore as such.

Mom: (now at a new level of being confused) : But you said it is Bangalore vs Chennai. Based on what are you saying this?

Me: (having to think now): The thing is, Mom, it has to do with franchise and ownership.

Mom: (amazingly still hanging in there): I don’t get it.

Me: (thinking hard, how to explain this in lay terms): You know India Cements in Chennai, right?

Mom: Yes.

Me: And you know Mallya here in Bangalore, right?

Mom: Yes.

Me: Well, the owner of India Cements has bought a cricket team in the name of Chennai.  And Mallya has bought a cricket team in the name of Bangalore. Their teams are playing against each other today. 

Mom:  Oh, it is not really Bangaloreans and Chennai-ites? Anybody can play?

Me: There are a few from Bangalore and Chennai but that’s not the main point here.

Mom: How can you call it Bangalore vs Chennai if you don’t have Bangaloreans playing against Chennai-ites?

Me: This is not like playing for your country, Mom. You cannot play for India if you are not an Indian. This is not like that. In fact, you have the same type of thing in football also.

Mom: And this is what is called the IPL, is it?

Me: Yes.

Mom: (getting up and leaving the room) Yeddo. Panum pannartakku yeddaane paninDe irukkunum, illiya? (Whatever! They need to do something to keep on making money, right?) (Excuse my Tamil, it's terrible).

I am left wondering. And watching Bollinger and Albie Morkel bowling to Virat Kohli and Luke Pommersbach. 

Chennai vs Bangalore indeed. 

7 x 7 x 7 x 7

 Here's the latest blogging assignment.

1.       Grab the 7th book from your bookshelf.

2.      Open it up to page 7.

3.      Pinpoint the 7th sentence on the page.

4.      Begin a poem/a piece of prose that begins with that sentence

5.      Limit it in length to 7 lines/7 sentences.

 So here goes. 

Text from A Pelican at Blandings – PG Wodehouse

Looking at Vanessa Polk, one could easily imagine her being kind to people, whether on or off ocean liners, for her warmth and geniality were obvious at a glance. Where Lady Constance had winced at the sight of Lord Emsworth like a Greek goddess finding a caterpillar in her salad, she smiled upon him as if their meeting was something to which she had been looking forward for years. It was a wide, charming, smile and it brought about a marked improvement in his morale. He felt, as so many did when smiled upon by Vanessa Polk, that he had found a friend.

‘How do you do?’ he said with a cordiality of which a short while before he would not have been capable. Then, remembering a good one, he added ‘Welcome to Blandings Castle. Tomorrow’ he said ‘I must show you my pig’. It was not an invitation he often extended to female visitors, for experience had taught him that the Empress was wasted on their shallow minds but here, he saw, was one worthy of the privilege. ‘Are you fond of pigs?’

 So here are my 7 lines:

Tomorrow, he said, I must show you my pig

All of Blandings, Ma’am, hath not one so big

Majestic is she, three hundred kilos and more

Outwardly tough, heart soft to the core

No ordinary pig, no, an Empress is she

A sight to behold, a joy for all to see

So Ma’am, er, are you fond of pigs?

My Experiments with Truth - My Darling Niece

An experience today of a friend of mine, playing a computer game with his son, reminded me of my experience a few months ago with my 6-year old niece.

She was on the iPad, playing a game. (I don’t remember what it was called, but it involved connecting dots of different colors).

Now, of the many modern-day skills that I do NOT possess, one that I am particularly inept at, is computer games. Indeed, I AM the dumbest guy in the whole wide world when it comes to computer games of ANY sort. The last game I remember playing was Pac-Man, way back in the 1980s. And I was hopeless at that too. And there was another game with bricks falling from the ceiling onto the floor, where you're supposed to to prevent the bricks from hitting the floor. When I'd play, within five seconds, all the bricks would be on the floor!

I’ve not really played a computer game since those extremely humbling moments of the 1980s. I’ve been very occasionally persuaded to take part in a game, got myself thoroughly thrashed and humiliated – and left the field, cursing myself, and vowing never to go near  one of those “things” again.

But here was my sweet little niece on the iPad – playing this game like it was 1+2. I watched her with admiration and amusement as she made her rapid moves in the game, muttering to herself occasionally, completely oblivious to the world around her.

I was happy to just be around her – let’s face it, if you want to bond with a little kid nowadays, you need to probably first bond with the gadgets and devices that they bond with. :-)

She looked up and saw me. Then, giving me the sweetest of smiles, she thrust the iPad in my hand. “Here, Raja Peppa , you play” (In Tamil, one's father’s older brother is called Peri-appa, which she pronounces as Peppa).

My immediate instinct was to run away as far as possible - but that would mean running away from her. And that, I wouldn’t ever want to do.

So I said, in as calm a tone as I could muster, “It is ok. You play. You’re doing very well”. And handed the iPad back to her.

I didn’t quite realize that when she’d said “you play”, it wasn’t a request. It was an order.

“No, peppa, YOU PLAY”. And the iPad was back in my (trembling) hands.

I looked around – there was thankfully nobody around. “Ok, so what do I have to do?” I asked her in a soft voice.

“You have to connect. Pink to pink, red to red, blue to blue, green to green”.

“Ok, let me try”.

Needless to mention, I messed up. Bad.

Red wasn’t connecting to red, not without being intercepted by blue. And, just when I thought I’d been very smart by somehow, circuitously, making the green connection, I found it totally messed up the pink line. So I had to undo it – and was soon back at square one.

I will grant it to her – she was patient to start with. Very patient. She kept muttering something under her breath – I think she'd got it all worked out in her head in five seconds, and was just repeating the steps to herself.

But the patience had to wear out sometime. Her initial encouraging comment of “You can do it, Peppa” became a “It is SO EASY!”, with a sigh and a look that clearly translated in simple English to “What is WRONG with this guy?”.

As I continued to fumble, the refrain became "Even I (emphasis on I) can do it, it is SO EASY! Peppa!”. (Children have this very mistaken impression that whatever they can do, adults can do so much faster and better. We all know how true THAT is, when it comes to computer games).

After a few minutes, she said “OK, give it to me”. Again, not a request. An order.

I was more than happy to comply with it. “Phew, THAT went well!” I thought.

But she wasn’t done yet.

She lowered one level (I think from 5 to 4) – and the iPad was back in my hands.

This now became even MORE embarrassing – clearly my targets had been lowered, because her expectations had been lowered. And that's never a particularly healthy boost to one’s  self-worth.

I will not attempt to describe in detail the next few minutes. The muttering, the expressions of incredulity at the pathetic sight that lay before her. And the constant “It is SO EASY, it is SO EASY!”.

The level went from 4 to 3. And 3 to 2.

At 2, when there was not a SHRED of self-worth left anymore to be demolished, she finally said “Ok, now GIVE it to me!” If resignation has been written on any face quite as explicitly and unforgivingly as that, I hadn’t seen it in my life yet.

My limitless shamelessness meant that I happily took the cue and gave her back the iPad, without the slightest protest of “Give me a few minutes. At this level, I should be able to do it”.

But within a few seconds, the iPad was back in my hands.

With the level ZERO.

“ NOW YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO IT, PEPPA!”.

I will not embarrass myself further by telling you how it went from there.

Good thing kids have short memories.

And, it's a good thing that, for all the advancement science has made over the years, it's yet to come up with a way to measure embarrassment.

UPDATE: After my sister-in-law read this post, she asked my niece whether she remembered this incident. And apparently she still remembers it! Ok, probably not the details, but she remembers that I tried my hand at the game. Apparently she told her Mom "He tried". I'm happy if THIS is her lasting impression of the incident. :-)

Fishing and Test cricket

I get the weirdest thoughts sometimes. :-)

The weather was pleasantly sunny today, so I went out for a walk in the early afternoon.

There’s a fairly big pond near my place – there were a couple of elderly gentlemen, seated by the edge, basking in the sunshine and fishing in the pond.

I don't know why, but I paused for a few minutes. I think it was just to see if anything would happen. Maybe a fish would bite.

But nothing happened.

That is when it struck me.

Maybe fishing is like Test cricket.

People of an older generation spending hours sitting in one place, waiting patiently and intently for something to happen. 

Occasionally a wicket falls (just like a fish bites) – and they get very excited. Discussing the event. Analysing it. 

And then it is back to the long wait.

Sometimes you think the fish has taken the bait, you are excited – but it turns out to be a false alarm. Much like an appeal in Test cricket that's turned down.

Sometimes nothing happens ALL day - and yet you feel satisfied that you've enjoyed the proceedings.

Yes, fishing and Test cricket. Lots in common. :-)

Ra-One ka maheena

Ra.One is apparently a Diwali release (still a week to go!) but the relentless bombardment of promos and interviews this month on every TV channel (except possibly Doordarshan) has got to me!

I've always considered myself a Shahrukh fan, I've rooted for his Kolkata Knight Riders (KKR) IPL team for him alone.

But there's only so much I can take. I do not know what Shahrukh is expecting to achieve with this repetitive numbing of his TV audiences but I will not be surprised if I'm not the only one feeling a sort of repulsion towards this movie now. A sort of backlash triggered by this sustained attack on my senses.

I would perhaps not have minded so much if the film promotion had dominated the entertainment channels alone. Zoom, UTV Stars, MTV et al. But when I find the news channels blaring Ra.One when I'd rather see them discussing Telangana or Occupy Wall Street, I don't take too kindly to this intrusion in my TV watching experience.

This also happens to be protest season. Not just in India but all over the world.

So I decided to compiled my own form of protest about Ra.One. Not that anybody cares but it feels good to be able to get this out of my system in this non-violent manner. The other option would have been to ram my fist into my TV - but then only I would have been the loser.

Now can somebody please get this over to Shah Rukh Khan? It is in good humour and is only my way of saying "aur nahin bas aur nahin, Ra-One ke chhaaley aur nahin".

Here goes:

Ra-One ka maheena
Har channel karey sor
Jiyara re lagey hai aise
Naatak hai ye koi ghor

Shahrukh ghajab dhaaye
Bhale hi mere bhaiya
Chaahe wo kharcha kare
Lakhon hi rupaiya
Dekha jaaye naahi
Phillum ye laage bore
Jiyara re lagey hai aise
Naatak hai ye koi ghor

Shahrukh karey joron se
Humko ishaara
Naahin phansenge bhaiya
Binti karey bechaara
Marzi hai hamaari
Karta jaaye wo sor
Samjha kaa hai sasuraa
Saha jaaye na ye aur!!!

Epiphany

This will be brief.

Usually my posts are long and rambling – this will be an exception. And may become the norm for future posts too, I think.

Hardly anybody has the patience, time or interest to read nowadays. If you want to say something, put it on video.

Maybe I start doing that someday – when I figure out how to do it. Cannot be complicated.

Anyway , for now, this will have to do.

This has already got to a few sentences and I have yet to get to my point.

That is another thing I need to work on. To get to my point - like the German football team.

No, cancel that. Make it – “like the German football team used to do”.

Anyway, now really getting to the point, here it is.

I woke up this morning with an epiphany.

Ok, that may be a big word and probably entirely inappropriate for what I am trying to say. And I will admit I just wanted to use it sometime in my life. But anyway, better an epiphany than an epidural. Ok, that’s something completely different – edit!.

I guess I HAVE completely lost it. It is only about six in the morning (and those of you who frown at the “only” bit - and I am sure there are some, especially in south India who have got up at 4.00 a.m, taken their morning bath (probably in cold water though they have warm water available), done their morning poojas to various deities, had their lunch and are on their way to their jobs – well, we are not all the same, OK ? Some of us consider 6.00 a.m. part of the previous day. And some of us, even 10.00 a.m. Hey, that's somebody else, ok? Really!

And I just realize I have not yet come to my point.

Wonder how anybody ever managed to have any form of meaningful communication with me. Wonder how I ever passed any exams, how colleagues managed to tolerate me at work.

Or maybe they didn’t. Let’s not go there, that is another can (well, more than just a can) of worms (well, more than just worms).

Staying on subject.(What was it now? I need to think).

Yes, my epiphany.

It is this :

If you are in search of something elusive, it is a challenge.

It is like that video game where every time you think you’ve got the guy, he just ducks you and laughs at you. If you never felt like a loser till then (or wanted a confirmation of your status, as in my case – ok, let’s not go there either!) , this is the game you should play.

But if you are in search of what it is you are in search of? Boy, boy, boy – THAT is something!

It is a totally different ball-game. It is not like one video game. It is like all those video games which are conspiring together, all supposed to make you feel stupid, getting their best “wise-guy? let’s show him” brains together with just one goal – to ensure your wits are anywhere but within accessible reach of you. (What is “accessible reach” anyway? If it is in your reach, it is accessible, right? Boy, I am getting really good at spewing rubbish. Need to apply for a corporate job).

Anyway, so that is where I am now. With my life.

Searching for what it is I am searching for.

Money, fame, friends, social causes, new interests? The only two things I am clear about is that it needs to be fun - and it needs to be on my terms. (Well, I guess these are related in a sense. If something is on your terms, you will tend to have more fun doing it).

I am not sure the answer will come.

It may, it may not. Those video games are merciless – almost like the Aussie cricket team used to be a decade ago. And in life, unlike in a video-game (or some at least), there is no time-out.

But whether I find it or not, the journey is an experience in itself.

Have you ever been lost? What am I saying – we have all been lost at some time or the other in our lives. Maybe a little bit – forgot the way, took the wrong exit, walked down the wrong lane.

But have you ever been really "lost, lost" in your life?

Like “torn within yourself” lost?

Like “mind cannot think straight anymore” lost?

Like “questioning everything I do (or do not do)” lost?

That’s an experience.

And, depending on how you look at it, it can be a lot of fun.

Journeys usually are – the feeling is often more exhilarating than the one you get at the destination. Actually, I am not totally sure I want to arrive. I guess I do want to – eventually – but for now, I will gladly take the ride.

I tell you it is not such a bad thing – to be lost.

It helps you to go back to basics – something we very easily forget when we get into the comfortable rut that life can sometimes become.

It makes you discover new things. If you did not get lost, you would not know of that other path that existed under your nose but you never took.

I am making mistakes every day. Taking one route, finding it leads me nowhere, retracting my steps. End-result: zero? No, I don’t think so. And even if it is, it is part of the journey. Belongs to it.

So that’s it for now. Still searching for what it is I am searching for. When I get to it (or them - there are, I suspect, many things out there, maybe entirely unrelated), I will share further.

Those of you who are clear in your minds, have goals in life, are pursuing your goals according to a plan, measuring your progress – great! Good luck to you, guys. Hats off to you. I sometimes (only sometimes) wish I were a bit like you.

But I know I am not. I am much closer to the other extreme (actually I AM at the other extreme but it is psychologically much more comforting to say that I am “close” to it). No goals, no plans – ergo, no measurement of progress (what progress?).

Ergo also this post and its content.

This was supposed to be brief. At least that is what I intended when I set out to write this. And yet again….

I really need to start working on that video. Granted that would only be a more modern way of spewing rubbish but hey, one has got to move with the times, right?

It took me a while but I now realize it is all about format, presentation, mode of delivery, all the bells-and-whistles (no vuvuzela, thank you!), all that “Avatar” stuff.

And content? Oh, wait – can we copy/paste it from somewhere? Surely there’s got to be a template SOMEWHERE? No? You mean, we've got to actually THINK? Boy, we’re so screwed. Hey, hang on– we can always throw in some more of that flashy audio-video stuff, can't we?

I am SO ready for “corporate”. ;-)

Nah! I think I’m better lost.

M&M Anand : "I want to destroy everybody"

Meira storms into the living room, all agitated.

Raj, on the computer, looks up for a moment – and then gets back it, saying to himself “If there is something to know, she will tell me anyway. And if there is not, no point in asking, is there ?”. Simple logic that he has used – successfully for fifteen years.

“Raj, WHAT have you been teaching Rohit ?”

“Nothing…. Well, I did sit with him for math a few days ago but that was because you wanted me to. Why, he hasn’t flunked it, has he ?”

“I am not talking about math. I am talking about something else.”

Raj, realizing that this was not going to go away easily “Now what?”

“Rohit has just come back from playing with his friends.”

“And…there is a problem with that ?” These things could go on and on.

“No…I mean yes…I mean, he has come back with bruises - on his hands and legs.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you can say ? Oh ?”

“Come on, he goes to play football every day…you get these little things every now
and then.”

“That is so typically you !!! You don’t really care, do you ? How do you know this is not serious ?”

“Because, honey, if this had been serious, we would not be talking here, would we ?”

“Thank God, it is not serious. I have taken care of it. Anyway, what have you been teaching him ?”

“I have NO clue what you are talking about !”

“You cannot just get away acting like you’ve done nothing…you have obviously been telling Rohit something.”

“Honey, this is getting really tiring. Where IS Rohit, by the way ?”

“He is in his room doing his homework. Anyway, today he looked really badly beaten up…when I asked him what happened, he said “I beat up those guys like Dad told me to - and they got together and beat me up”.

Raj looks uncomfortable. “I need to tell my son to keep my name out of all conversation with his mom” he mutters under his breath.

“So you want to explain ? What have you been teaching him ?”

“Hey, I did not tell him to go about beating people up !”

“ So what DID you tell him ?”

“Well, I may have just told him something like “don’t let anybody tell you that you are not good”. Something like that. ”

“So ?”

“And maybe he took that a bit literally. Somebody may have said something and he may have got into a scrap.”

“Looked like more than a scrap to me. Why do you even talk to him ?”

“WHAT ? YOU are the one who always says I should spend more time with him. He came
to me saying his friends were making fun of him, that he was not good at football, so I said – very encouragingly – “don’t let anybody tell you you are not good”. Just nice fatherly advice.”

Meira is not convinced – her look says it all.

Raj now feels a strong need to defend himself.

“Or what would you rather have ? That I just tell him to let it be…that he does nothing and they keep making fun of him ?”

“No, of course not..we don’t want him to turn out like you. Heaven, no !”

Raj feels hurt but lets the slight pass. This was not about him and he was used to such comments from Meira anyway.

“The thing is, Raj, you don’t really know how to handle these things. Instead of talking to him here, you could have gone to the football yourself and told those bullies to lay off him.”

“WHAT ? You want me to talk to 11-year old kids to lay off my son ?”

“What’s wrong with that ?”

“Honey, I have been there myself. You REALLY don’t want your dad or mom to sort out your problems with your friends, trust me. It is upto Rohit to work it out, if WE get involved he will only have more trouble with his friends.”

“Hmm…I don’t know. I think you are trying to escape from this also. As usual.”

“Trust me…he will be fine. You worry too much about him”.

“That’s because you worry too little. You don’t even know which friends he mixes with.”

“Must be his schoolfriends. And the ones in this apartment block. Who else ?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I really get worried. The other day he came to me and said “Mama, I want to destroy everybody”.

Raj laughed. “Destroy everybody ? That’s funny”.

“What’s so funny ? Your son wants to destroy everybody - and you find that FUNNY ? You are REALLY something, you know. I will NEVER understand you.”

“Come on honey, relax. So he said he wants to destroy everybody. Big deal. Does he even know what he is talking about ? Must have picked it up somewhere in school.”

“And you are not the slightest bit concerned ? Don’t you think we need to find out where he learns such things ?”

“Honey, forget it. I am sure he has himself forgotten it. These things come and go – if you start worrying about everything he says, you will become a wreck.”

“I am sure it is because of all these stupid video games they have nowadays. It is all about destroying, killing, breaking. They should ban all these games”.

“Yeah, you may be right – maybe he picked it up from one of these games. But don’t worry – he will get over it. He is smart enough to know it is just a game. And anyway he will move on to something else.”

“I think you are being too flippant about this, Raj. He is our son and you may not care - but I will NOT allow him to get bad influence at this age.”

Raj is a bit tired from all this but he knows Meira too well to expect her to stop without having the last word.

“So what do you want to do ?”

“We need to find out where he gets all this from. Which games he has on his PC, what DVDs we have, which friends he borrows games from.”

“And then ?”

“We need to remove all that from his PC, get rid of the DVDs, we need to talk to his friends’ parents.”

“Don’t you think you are over-reacting ? Just a little bit ?”

“Raj, trust me, this is a dangerous age for him. Today he is destroying video-game characters, tomorrow who knows what this will lead him to. You really have to stop all this now.”

Raj, suddenly noticing the change from "we" to "you" is startled.

“I have to ?”

“Who else ? You don’t think I am going to sit and go through those game DVDs ? I don’t even know how they work.”

“Nor do I. Honey, can’t we just forget all this ? I mean, he said it.. what ? Once ? If he says it again, then we will see”.

“As usual. You are using your postponing tactics. And you HAVE to fight with me. You cannot even do a simple thing like this. Why do I even bother talking to you ? You don’t even care about your own son…”

Meira’s voice is breaking - and Raj cannot take it.

“Ok, I am sorry, honey…I will get to the bottom of this. You are right. If he is talking about destroying things, we need to know what’s going on."

At that moment, Rohit walks into the room, scratching his arm.

“Mummy, again I am not able to do my homework. Why do you keep the window open in the evening ? Again there are so many mosquitoes in my room now…give me the mosquito racket…I am going to destroy everybody”.

M&M Anand : A "proper" fight

“Raaaaaj Anand”.

“At your service”.

“What a name…Raaaaaj Anand !”.

“What’s wrong with it ?”

“Nothing…just saying..Raaaaj Anand sounds like such a powerful name. “Raj” as in “rule” and “Anand” as in happiness or pleasure. So Raj Anand is like…what…”you rule over the domain of happiness ?” ?

Raj is silent. Not sure how to approach this.

“Come on…say something !”

“Am scared to. You know how it is…if I say something it will end up in a fight”.

“No…Really ? Of course not..you think I always fight with you ?”

“No..but…anyway, nothing wrong with the name. Raj Anand…yes, I rule over happiness..ha ha”.

“YOU rule over happiness ? Yeah, right ! Your parents must have been really optimistic about you to have named you like this when you were born.”

“Hey, enough fun of my name, OK ? What about yours ? Meira ? It is not like you are a Krishna-bhakt or something.”

“Hey, I do my bit of poojas, OK. I am not like you. Nastik.”

Silence.

“Raj, is this what we have become now ? Is this the level of our fights ?”

“Why ?"

“No, I mean..look at us…even our fights are not proper fights anymore”.

Silence. Raj is not taking chances by opening his mouth.

“SAY something. Do you realize in 2 months we will be celebrating 15 years of marriage ? 15 years !”

“Really ? Has it been THAT long ? 15 years ?”

“Yes..15 long years. It feels like just the other day…I was a happy, free person..before…ok, let it be...otherwise I will get depressed.”

Raj, comfortingly, putting an arm around her shoulders “Hey, it has not been all that bad, has it ? You are still the same…ok, you look a little older…obviously you are not the young person you were then…”

Meira, pulling away sharply “What are you saying ? I am old ?”

“I didn’t say that…all I said was that compared to 15 years ago..”

“Come on, say it…I am OLD…just say it.”

“Come on honey, I did not mean it that way…you are still young but..but obviously not like you used to be. I mean…”. Raj is clearly struggling here for the right choice of words. Muttering under his breath “I should NEVER have got into this..”

“And why is that ? Why is it that I am not like I used to be ? Ask yourself. Ok, let me tell you. Because in the last fifteen years, I have had to do ALL the work around here…bringing up Rohit, doing all the housework, attending to my job, even taking care of YOU because you cannot even take care of YOURSELF…how do you expect me to remain the same ?”

“Honey…honey..it is OK…cool down..you don’t have to remain the same..we all change..”

“And now I am OLD ? Of course I am old..thanks to YOU..”

“Honey…”

“DON'T talk to me..I am SO angry with you…I have wasted fifteen years of my life with you..”

Silence.

“SAY something”.

“You JUST told me not to talk to you..”

“Oh, and you always listen to me, right ?”

She glares angrily at him, they stare into each other's eyes.

And suddenly he breaks into a smile.

“What’s so funny ?”

“Just realized something.”

“What ?”

“You really need to be careful what you wish for.”

“What do you mean ?”

“You wanted a “proper” fight, right ? So ? This...“proper” enough for you ? ”

Meira is taken aback for just a moment – and then bursts out laughing.

“YOU…anyway, I guess now that we have had our fight, I feel much better. Don't get me wrong, living with you for fifteen years HAS been a nightmare but …DON’T SAY IT !”.

“I wasn’t going to say anything…”

“Yeah, right ! You were going to say “likewise””.

“I so wasn’t ! Wouldn’t DREAM of SAYING it...even if I thought it..” Ducks to avoid a pillow coming in his direction.

“So we’re good ?”

“Yeah, yeah…I guess we are. Though a hot, strong coffee would make us better than good. It would make us awesome”.

“Coming up, ma’am. Rightaway”.

M&M Anand : Just Another Manic Sunday

“Am I a nice person ?”

“Hmm ?”

“Dad, am I a nice person ?”

Raj looks up from his laptop, a frown on his forehead, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“What did you say, son ?”

“Am I a nice person ? Are people nice to me because of ME ? Because I am a nice person or are they nice to me because THEY are nice people ?”

Raj stares at him with a busy look. It already got complicated after the first question and Raj's attention had given up after the first few words.

“I don’t know, son. Ask your mom.”

Calling out loudly from the living room to his wife in the kitchen “Meira, take care of him please. I am busy.”

“And I am not ?” Meira mutters under her breath.

“What’s the matter, bete?” she says as Rohit comes into the kitchen.

“Mummy, am I a nice person ?”

“Of course you are. You are a very sweet boy. Who says you are not ?”

“Nobody. I just wanted to know. So I am a nice person because I am nice and not because of other people ?”

“Hmm..sorry, bete, you have lost me there. Anyway, what is all this all of a sudden ? You are a nice boy, ok ? Now why don’t you just go out and play with your friends ? I am sure Aditya and the others must already be out there”.

“Ok, mum, see you later”.

Meira comes into the living room to confront Raj.

“You really should spend more time with Rohit, you know”.

“Hmm ?”

“Are you even listening to me ?”

“Not now, honey. Am in the middle of something.” Raj does not even look at her, he is deep into his spreadsheet on the laptop.

“Will you please look at me ? I am talking to you.”

“Honey, I said “not now”. I am really busy. I need to send this out within the next five minutes. I am already late, it should have gone out in the morning itself”.

Meira goes on. “All I am saying is that you should spend more time with Rohit. He clearly wants to spend more time with you, it is a Sunday today and all you do is sit in front of your laptop.”

“I know honey but I am just tired today”.

“Oh, YOU are tired ? Let’s see what you’ve done today. You got up at ten. You then made breakfast for all of us. Oh sorry, that was me. You did the vacuuming and dusting of the entire apartment. Oh sorry,THAT was me too. You made lunch – oops, me again ! You did the washing of the dishes because the dishwasher - which YOU were supposed to contact the service center for repairing – is still not repaired after two weeks. Oh again that was me ! You at least sat with Rohit to go through his craft project for school, didn’t you ? Oh surprise surprise, that was me too. Hmm..let’s see, what else ? You sat with the newspaper and spent more than two hours reading every bit of it, including the matrimonials pages. Yessss, THAT was definitely you”.

“Honey, five minutes ?” Raj pleads. Years of experience with Meira have made him wise to the futility of any attempt to counter her arguments. If anything, it only lent her more ammunition and that could only mean a longer and more tortured dialogue.

“Do you even know which class Rohit is in ?” Meira is now in full flow and is not going to be stopped mid-way.

“Err..”. Raj is thinking fast – should he make an educated guess and risk being caught out or just delay and hang in there, hoping the question will pass by itself ?

“You don’t, right ? Brilliant ! Do you even know which SCHOOL he is in ?”

“Err…come on Meira, what do you take me for ?” Raj says in a low, not entirely convincing, tone. This is getting too embarrassing, even for somebody to whom embarrassment came in his mother’s womb.

“Ok, come on, tell me..which school ?” Meira senses an opportunity to go for the kill here and is not going to let go, she is in that type of mood.

“Hmm…that one round the corner”. Raj manages to mumble.

“Which one ? Round which corner ?”

“That one..the one with a bus-stop opposite”. Raj makes one valiant attempt. Which school in the world does not have a bus-stop next to it ?

“You really have no clue, do you ?” Meira is finding it hard to believe how this conversation is going.

“I know, I know..St. Anthony’s High School, the one on the main road near the station” Raj shouts in delight. The relief is tangible – he had himself taken Rohit to the school when he had got admission there a few years earlier. So there ! He was not going to allow himself to be mocked so easily today.

“WHAT ?" Meira cannot take this anymore. "Will you please remove that smug look off your face ? You really are the WORST parent ever !!! . Don’t you remember we had gone to St. Anthony’s, filled up all the forms but at the last minute decided to put him closer home here in DAV Public ? Don’t you remember ANYTHING ?"

Raj looks sheepish, his eyes lowered. Caught outside the off-stump...

Meira continues. "How would YOU know ? If only you had attended even ONE Parent-Teacher meeting in the school in all these years...instead of my having to go every single time, taking leave from my work...my job is also important to me just like yours is to you…but I still manage to balance work with Rohit and other house work. Not like you…escaping everything under the pretext of “office work”...You are always looking for an escape.”

Raj, now totally exposed in Rohitgate, decides the safest recourse is to get back to his spreadsheet.

Meira knows she is talking to a brick wall but she carries on relentlessly. She will not give up so easily.

“Sometimes I really wonder why I married you. I had so many better options..I should have listened to my friends instead of my parents... DON’T TOUCH THAT MOBILE…” she screams as she sees Raj reach out towards the mobile on the small table in the living room. “I am TALKING to you”.

Raj looks at her with the ultimate beseeching look, one which has “please please please please please” written all over it.

“Am not touching the mobile, honey…. I am just looking for the remote. Do you know where it is ? The match will be starting in five minutes, I want to know who won the toss and what the pitch looks like today”.

Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi (cricket parody)

I make these parodies every now and then. They are usually about cricket, they are often after a big defeat for the Indian cricket team (or any team I support) and, for me, are a perfect outlet for my emotions.

I invariably feel good after expressing my feelings through a parody. :-). Perhaps this is my way of saying "after all, it is only a game".

Over the last couple of years, I have made many. For every occasion I managed to come up with a parody, whether of a few lines or a complete poem. But somehow I never really bothered to post them on my blog. Not only are they sometimes somewhat irreverent (I spare nobody !) but one has to ask oneself : does one really post SUCH stuff on one's blog ?

I have decided that

a) since there is SOME creativity involved (however pathetic :-)), it would be a pity if this were not saved somewhere online. I do have them on my cricket forum also but, as is normal in a forum, they are intermingled with others' parodies also. I therefore thought having just my parodies in one place may be the right way to go

b) this blog is not called "InsideOut" for nothing - and my thoughts expressed, in any form, belong totally here,

and, very importantly

(c) nobody reads my blog anyway so this should not bother anybody. :-)

So here goes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Situation : World Cup T20 in the Caribbean. India has just lost to the West Indies today, thus effectively (barring a miracle) getting themselves kicked out of the tournament.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Based on : Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi (Awaara - 1951). An all-time classic.

Ghar Aaya Mera Team Desi
Haar Ke World Cup T20

Tu Mere Dil Ko Todta Hai
Tukdon Mein Usko Chhodta Hai
Kaise Samjhaun Jalan Kaisi
Ghar Aaya Mera Team Desi

Aur Tu Vaade Mat Karna
Mujh Se Tu Khel Ab Mat Karna
Kasam Tujhe Ghayal Man Ki
Ghar Aaya Mera Team Desi

Here is the original, if you are interested.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9HD2EyjatA

Ah, now I feel much better about the defeat ! :-)

It must be me

This is not about work. I try to keep work and life outside work, including blogging, separate. For my own sanity.

This is about what happened to me after work today.

For the last couple of months, I have joined a small group of my office colleagues for evening "running classes". Nothing fancy - we have a trainer with whom we do some exercises and running. It is just once a week - every Wednesday, for about 1 to 1.5 hrs. Like I said, nothing fancy.

A few other observations. Completely irrelevant to the story. But then, relevance has never been my strongest suit. When I expound, I like extravagance. It costs nothing except the patience of the reader. Considering my story today has its share of grief for me, you will understand if I am slightly unsympathetic towards others' suffering today. So, for today, partners in sufferance, I would say. Or, becoming Shakespeare's Shylock for a moment, I would say "bear it with a patient shrug - for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe."

My first observation has to do with my acute awareness of being the oldest person in the group, with some of the others being half my age and having twice my biceps, triceps and all other muscles in the human body.

And I am talking about the female members of the group here. Years of being fed on Gouda, Alkmaar and various other Dutch cheese, not to mention swimming in the womb of their mothers and riding a bicycle the minute they got out of that womb have definitely resulted in giving the Dutch member of the female human species a reasonably muscular, if not necessarily particularly attractive, frame. (To all Dutch readers of this piece, I want to emphasise that I say this in a most endearing sense and mean absolutely no slight on a most wonderful people).

My other observation, more like a realisation, is that a lifetime of poor housekeeping cannot be undone by a one-hour-a-week attempt at redemption in what, in sporting terms, must be considered a reasonable twilight in one's life. OK, I am not eighty yet, but boy, when I do some of those stretches, I feel like each one of my muscles is getting back at me, with a vengeance, for years of abuse. As realisations come, there are not very many morale-shattering ones challenging this one. Coupled with the experience of finding that in a running group, after ninety seconds, when you look behind you there is no one - not one pathetic mammal - looking back at you, you can be excused for adding to your miseries the additional realisation that it must have been a momentary seizure of madness that made you embark on this physically stretched and mentally wretched experience.

It happens to me every time I go out there - and yet, for somebody who has a remarkable record of not making an effort in anything and just hoping that everything comes to him by itself - I have hung in there so far. I am not sure how much longer I will be able to carry on with this but so far, so good.

The group is talking enthusiastically about taking part in a 4-mile or 6-mile run soon. Just the talk makes me sick in the stomach - as if I did not have enough misery to cope with already. Guys, can we just take it one meter at a time, please ? When I drive, the kilometers on the counter tick along nicely and quickly. When I run, why is it that every meter seems to take ages, much like a tortured Rahul Dravid innings, not moving at all. (Sorry Rahul, just kidding !)

For all this, I keep hearing things like "no pain, no gain". So I feel the pain, will somebody please tell me when I am going to feel the gain ? There better be some gain otherwise this would be the biggest lie since the US claimed that the Apollo mission successfully landed man on the moon in 1969 (kidding again, of course !). Actually, I can think of more recent lies but I want to avoid politics in this piece.

Ok, that's enough of self-pity. Even I am beginning to forget what the purpose of this whole piece - apart from self-pity of course - is.

Coming finally to the point. Or at least closer to it.

The way the Wednesday process works is as follow. The class starts at 6.00 p.m. Which means till 5.45 p.m I am undecided, searching for some reason to skip it this one time (I will certainly catch up next time ! Yeah, right - like THAT is going to happen). I think of reasons, feel guilty - and then at 5.55, after seeing some of my co-runners getting out of the office, my guilt wins and I decide that another evening of torture was probably ordained in my stars.

I then rush to this sports center very near my office where we assemble as a group. We use this sports center to change into our running gear, leave our stuff in our cars and then head out onto the running tracks.

Today, I did nothing different. 5.45 happened, 5.55 happened. And the rest too. Yes, all of the rest. Including the turning back and not finding another pathetic soul.

So I get back home at about 8.15 and just as I turn the key in the front door I realise something. Yes, this piece is all about realisations but this one is more mundane.

I realise that, during my gear-change process at the sports center, I have actually left behind my work shoes. I had, as usual, hurried through the changing process in order not to delay the rest of the group. And, as a result, had left my black pair of shoes behind at the center. My favourite pair actually.

Now, the sports center is a fair distance from my home. And I could actually have picked it up the next day on the way to work. If I really wanted to be sure the pair was still there and kept in safe custody I could probably even have called up the sports center and told them to keep my shoes safely.

I weighed all this and decided I was kidding myself. How would I communicate to a busy sports center that they had to look for a particular black pair of shoes amongst all the stuff they have in their changing room (it is always busy) and keep it aside for me ? Why would they do this at all, anyway ? I don't even actually use their sports facilities - I use only their changing room.

The idea of picking it up the next day on the way to work is great in theory but I know myself. Considering I barely make it to work within one hour of office opening hours (avoiding eye-contact as much as possible with colleagues, I might add), my first priority would be to get to work. Then, going to this sports center would become a project. Yes, I know this sounds ridiculously silly but that is how some things become for some people.

So I decided that I had to sort this out rightaway. I step into my car and drive back all the way. I feel proud of myself when I walk out of the center, shoes in tow.

I am still proud of myself as I am driving on the long road leading to the highway. It is pretty deserted at this time of evening and I am actually in a good mood. I am listening to the radio - and, for a couple of minutes, in a different world.

The camera flashes - and I just realise (yes, another realisation) that I was well over the speed limit !

Come on. The only reason there is a camera there is that there is a school nearby. Totally understandably, the idea is to deter drivers from exceeding the speed limit of 50 km during school hours.

But this was past 8.30 p.m. Surely there is no reason to expect children to be at school at this time of day ? (Some teachers would argue that you are lucky if you find certain children in school at any time of day but I will not go there - I have had enough digression for one evening. No, there is more to come in this piece - at a more literal level).

So the camera flashes, I sigh, curse and drive on. I get on the highway - and for five minutes it is like highway driving at 8.45 p.m. Easy, no traffic.

And then, it changes dramatically, much like my mood after the camera incident.

It becomes like highway driving when an accident has just happened. That is what has just happened. I spare a thought for the victims, hoping it is only vehicle damage. As for myself, I can do nothing but just add to the sea of cars inching along. Where is that camera now, I wonder ? I am allowed to drive 120 but I am not able to drive more than 5. So do I get any money back ?

The radio is playing Abba's "Voulez Vous". I can only think "No, this is not what I want". I try to be smart. I get off the highway one exit before my usual one. Ok, it would be another ten-minute drive but better that than the inching along.

I should have known. When it is not your day, it is really not your day. I find diversion signs from my usual route. There is some road construction activity happening. The diversions are well sign-posted (I will give the Dutch that), but it means I will have to digress quite a bit from my usual route, encountering a fair number of traffic lights along the way. Some of them would not be operational at this time of night but some of them make you see red, literally and figuratively.

Anyway, I do the circuitous bit - very mindful this time of my speed since I realise (yes, another realisation) that there are a couple of cameras on this route. I am not going to allow myself to be ripped off twice in one evening !

So I get home with no further damage - a bit tired from it all. I have had my usual post-run shower and I must admit I am feeling much better now.

But I cannot help wondering - why does an evening have to be so complicated ?

Is it normal or is it just me ?

And now the final realisation - and possibly the most damning of them all. I realise it is just me.

My Experiments with Truth : Black

I was a very simple, "goody-goody" boy growing up in Orissa, completely oblivious of the big, bad real world. I lived a pretty protected life where most things in life were taken care of for me. So my experience in actually DOING things myself in the real world was very limited. I learnt a lot about life only after I left the comfort of my parents' place in Orissa.

One of the things that got taken care of for me was movie tickets. Somebody would always arrange the ticket beforehand, often in advance booking. Or, even if we reached the hall, somebody else would somehow manage to get the tickets. I would just walk in and enjoy the movie. In a sense, I guess I was quite pampered.

The year 1977. Three of my friends and I suddenly got into the mood to see "Hum Kisise Kum Nahin".

It was the last day before school would re-open after the pooja holidays. The movie had been released a couple of months earlier and had become a rage pretty much all over the country. Almost all our friends had already seen the movie (some of them "first day, first show" - which was a HUGE deal in those days. Arrey yaar, first day, first show nahin dekha to kya dekha ? types ("Hey, if you haven't seen it first day, first show, what have you seen?").

Those who had seen it would discuss all the scenes, the songs - and we would just get more and more irritated. The songs (all nine of them) were hits - some of them superhits (like Kya hua tera vaada, yeh ladka hai allah, chand mera dil, bachna aye haseenon). We knew all the songs pretty much by heart.

Feeling like the only boys on the planet who had missed the show - and fearing for the ostracisation by our other friends, we decided enough was enough. We just HAD to see it. And had to see it NOW. After all, it had been playing for many weeks already.

We informed our parents and set off - the four of us.

The film hall was about 25 km from home. But we had a direct bus to take us, so there was no problem. The idea was to see the 6-9 evening show. What we had not reckoned with was that the busdriver was not seeing the 6-9 show. He had absolutely nothing to gain by taking us there in time.

By the time, we got there it was 5.50.

There was pandemonium all over the place, some people were screaming at the counter, others were dejectedly going back.

The reason ?

The most dreaded sign for any Indian movie-goer who lands up to see a movie at a hall was up. "House Full".

We felt very upset. What to do? We could have reached there earlier but for that stupid bus driver! My friends blessed him with some colourful gaalis (abuses) - we then decided that we would somehow try to still get tickets.

We dispersed - each trying his luck.

A guy walked upto me, "Kitna chaahiye?" (How many do you want?)
I : "Chaar" (4).
He : "Chaar ka bees". (20 for 4).
I was thrilled.
I :  "Ticket hai?" (Do you have tickets at all?).
Just to confirm my luck. This sounded too good to be true.

People were desperate to get tickets. And here was a guy who had four tickets, exactly the number I needed, and who was willing to give them to me.

I said "ek minute, abhi aata hoon". (Give me a minute, I'll be right back!).

I raced back to my friends saying "hey, mil gaya, mil gaya". (Got them, got them!).

"Sach?" (Really?)

"Haan yaar, there is this man who has four tickets and he wants to sell them".

"Black?"

"Nahin, yaar...not black!". I recoiled. How could they even THINK I would buy tickets in black ?

"Kitna?" (How much?)

"Twenty Rupees...Five rupees ka ticket hai yaar. Balcony four rupees ka hai na..yeh DC hoga, five rupees ka". (Rs 20. Each ticket is Rs 5. Balcony's normally Rs 4, this must be the Rs 5 DC ticket.).

"Not bad yaar, Raja...chal chal, jaldi kar....usko pakad nahin to ticket chala jaayega". (Not bad, Raja...come on, hurry up, catch the guy before we lose the tickets).

I felt like my chest had swelled a few inches. Never before in my life had I done anything practical like this - I felt like I had saved the day.

As we approached the guy, one of my friends stopped.

"Wo hai kya?" (Is that the guy?)

"Haan". (Yes.)

"Wo black bech raha hai yaar." (I tell you he's selling tickets in black).

"Nahin yaar....tu bhi kya bakwaas kar raha hai..." (No, what rubbish are you talking!)

"Wo kya bola tere ko? Kitna mein bechega?" (What did he say? How much is he selling them for?)

"Arrey twenty rupees yaar...chaar ticket ka twenty...ek ka paanch". (Rs 20...for 4 tickets...that's Rs 5 per ticket).

"Wo kya bola...chaar ka bees?" (What did he say...4 for 20?)

"Haan." (Yes).

"Yaar...tu gadha hai...awwal number ka gadha hai...saala, uska shirt pant dekha...(Man, you're a real dumbo of the highest order...just look at that guy's shirt and pant, for crying out loud!)

Only then did I actually look at the guy a bit closely. Till then I had just been too excited to notice anything. He did look very unkempt...dirty black shirt..first two buttons open, revealing a very ugly hairy chest. A pant that looked like it had never been washed. Unshaven. Hair uncombed).

"Saala, bet laga black mein bech raha hai". (You want to bet he's selling in black?")

I looked at him, pained.

"Yaar Raja, tu bahut bhola hai yaar...chaar ka bees means he is selling one ticket for twenty rupees, samjha?" (Raja, you are just way too naive...4 for 20 means he's selling each ticket for Rs 20).

"Nahin yaar". My chest had deflated at a very unhealthily rapid rate and my "nahin yaar", uttered in a rather low voice, had a clear mix of shame and disappointment in it.

My friend now took total charge.

"Lagta hai aaj ticket nahin milne waala hai. Tum log ko black dekhna hai?" (It looks like we're not going to get tickets today. You guys want to see it in black?)

My friends immediately nodded. They could not care less.

Yours truly, typical Tamil Iyer, turned red. I could not bring myself to nod. Black was wrong! I could not be doing this.

"Kya bolta hai, Raja ? Ticket to aise nahin milne waala hai. Jaldi bol - picture start hone waala hai. Ho bhi gaya hoga". (What do you say, Raja? We're not going to get tickets any other way. Decide fast - the movie's going to start any moment now. It may already have started actually).

That last bit "ho bhi gaya hoga" (it may have started actually) was enough for me. I hated missing even one minute of the trailers that came before the movie. Even the U certificate for the trailers (with the scrawling of two dates, like 1-11-77 to 1-11-87, on them. You know what I mean).

I said - in a very low voice - "chal dekhte hain". (Ok, let's see it).

In their desperation to see the movie, my friends had already begun negotiating with this guy, completely ignoring my opinion. Thanks for asking my opinion, guys, I thought.

We did not have Rs.80 on us - I think we had about Rs70 or so between the lot of us. That was a decent amount of money in those days, considering the ticket would normally have only cost us Rs 16 for balcony or maximum Rs20 for DC.

My friend negotiated all four tickets for 40 bucks. It was getting to be just over 6 by then and the "black" guy, desperate to make whatever he could would have been happy to get rid of the tickets.

We rushed in - it was already dark. The usher scowled at us, muttering something under his breath. When he went about flashing the torch at our seats - and we made our way, bending so as not to hinder the sight of the guys in the next row - we got a few more abuses coming our way.

But it was all worth it. When Rishi Kapoor sang "Bachna aye haseenon" we forgot all about the world outside the hall. We enjoyed every song (including the 4-song competition) and when we came out of the hall, we felt - yesssssss ! Hum bhi kisi se kum nahin. (We are also as great as anybody).

The next day in school, my three friends told all the other guys in class that we had seen the movie. What they also said was "jaanta hai, ticket bilkul nahin mil raha tha. Raja jaake black mein leke aaya". (You know, we were just not getting tickets. Raja finally got them for us in black).

I tried to look the other way. That was my way of denying it.

All my friends looked at me like "Wow".

It took me a while to realise this but then it struck me.

I had actually grown several feet high in their esteem.

From the quiet boy in the class, I had become a guy who does stuff...who buys tickets in black.

I realised that THIS is what being cool in school is all about. Not being a good student and all that.

"Raja, tu black mein khareeda?" (Raja, you bought the tickets in black?)

"Haan yaar, mil hi nahin raha tha, chaar ka bees bol raha tha..." (Yes, we were just not getting them otherwise, so when he said "4 for 20"...)

A lungi, a movie and a haircut - happy birthday!

Last Friday was my birthday.

Now a birthday is a day that most people use to either reflect or celebrate. Some in India even go to a place of worship or, alternatively, have some sort of prayer session in the privacy of their homes. At the very least, many make it a point to wake up early that day – in the belief (or should that be hope?) that it will set a precedent for the next 364 days.

I must confess that last Friday I belonged to that minority to which none of the above apply. I woke up at 9.00 a.m – and had my mother not wished me a happy birthday, with a look that I had, with years of experience, managed to interpret as suggesting at least mild disapproval, I might well have lazed around in bed for a while longer. Somehow, 9.00 a.m didn't seem too late an hour to wake up.

After breakfast and coffee, I had to work out my schedule for the rest of the morning. I say morning, because the afternoon and evening would be consumed by office work. I was working European hours – which meant my working day would start at 12.30. I had about three hours to kill.

Reading the paper would take up close to an hour. Not that the content deserved this kind of respect, but the realisation that I was travelling to Europe in a couple of days, and that for an extended period of time, suddenly made me want to practically devour the papers, for the smallest bits of news.

I decided to put the remaining time to good use and not just while it away. One’s last few days and hours in India are always precious. There always seems to be so much to do, and so little time to do it in.

Since I was leaving in a couple of days, I decided to have my customary pre-departure haircut that morning. I quite like to support my hyper-local saloon in Bangalore. It's not a particularly sophisticated place – for twenty-five rupees one should not expect Taj-style hairdressing - but the guys who work there do make an effort to keep it clean. And, in all the years that I've been frequenting the place, I've never had any cause for complaint.

Now, the custom – at least where I come from - is to wash one’s clothes thoroughly after a haircut. This, I believe, is for hygienic reasons. Anyway, with Bangalore’s weather at that time being about as sunny as New Jersey in mid-Jan, I decided that any clothes I'd wash that day wouldn't probably make it through a drying - and ironing - experience in time for my return flight on Sunday. And I didn't want to leave any clothes behind in Bangalore.

So I decided to go to the saloon in a lungi (a striped one!) that I was planning to leave in Bangalore anyway. I'd never gone to the saloon in a lungi before – and I must admit I wasn't totally comfortable with the idea. A lungi needs a little more caution than trousers, but it seemed the practical thing to do. So I told myself “what the heck, let’s just do it!” and set off.

It must have been a distance of two to three hundred meters, no more, but it felt like I was swimming the English channel. I saw a number of raised eyebrows – or maybe I was imagining some of them. I was suddenly very conscious of the way I walked, acutely aware that the lungi was all that stood between me and respectability.

I was relieved when I reached the saloon in one piece. The guy greeted me with his usual warm nod. I nodded back, hopefully as warmly. Despite several encounters over the years, our communication had not progressed beyond this nod. This guy was Telugu. Probably all Telugu guys who do not end up as software engineers or doctors in the US - or real estate agents in India from the Reddy community - end up opening hairdressing saloons.

Anyway this guy’s domain expertise was in Telugu and Kannada, mine is English, Hindi and some Tamil. The Telugu I know does not go beyond “Reddy garu, cheppandi”, “randi”, “ikkade petko” and “manch neeru kavaali” – none of which, those of you who know Telugu will agree, are particularly useful expressions to be deployed in a hairdressing saloon.

I noticed that the saloon had upgraded itself since my last visit some months ago. I found that the wash basin area had been renovated, the furniture had been replaced - heck, even the Filmfare edition was of July 2007 (Very disappointing. I was hoping to read some 2005 news. Where do I go now? Maybe I should try the dentist, I thought).

As usual, the TV was set at its loudest possible volume. And as usual, it was playing a Telugu movie. The hero was reasonably rotund with a round face, big moustache and curly hair. The heroine was reasonably rotund with a round face. No big moustache or curly hair but she had more make-up on, than Lakme can produce in a day. I thought their faces looked familiar, but in the South Indian film industry you could spend your lifetime using these descriptions to try to identify the specific hero or heroine.

I gave up trying to do so. Instead, since I was waiting anyway, I thought I'd try to follow the story. (I had lost interest in the available issue of the Filmfare magazine as soon as I discovered it was a July 2007 edition. I'd have much rather read the 2005 issue, if only to derive pleasure from seeing how wrong predictions turned out in the two years since. How this movie, which was supposed to be “different”, bombed so badly that nobody recalls the name anymore. How relationships of 2005, projected as lifetime relationships, have come a cropper in 2007. I know it sounds mean but when one is waiting, at the hairdresser’s or at the dentist’s, one can be excused such perverse pleasures).

Back to the point. Or rather the movie. So this rr and r-faced hero and the rr and r-faced heroine (with massive m-u) go around trees singing a song, and making all sorts of lovey-dovey sounds at each other. The song wasn't a particularly bad one - I quite liked the tune though I did not understand the lyrics. Then the hero comes to the heroine’s home to request the heroine’s father for his daughter’s hand. The father is wearing a long, silken, flowing gown (?) – the type that Rahman has worn in countless Hindi movies of the 60s and 70s. I could make out that the hero came from a poor background. Without understanding a word of the dialogue, I could make out that the father insults the hero, the hero pledges his love for the heroine, the father isn't convinced he offers the hero some money, the hero refuses it and walks away. He then sings a sad song as he kicks the earth under his feet. Back in her plush bungalow, the heroine weeps inconsolably. The father is unmoved.

Memories of a 1960s/70s Hindi film that I'd seen not so long ago came to mind. The father offering the hero a suitcase full of cash, and the hero walking away. This formula has been played out in so many Indian movies, whether with cash or with a "blank" cheque, probably in every Indian language, that I cannot imagine this storyline being of any help to anybody here to try to now identify the movie. Especially since the descriptions of the hero and heroine were not particularly zoom-worthy either.

Anyway, my turn came and I sat in the hot seat. The hero now burst into another Telugu song. This seemed to be a happy song – which seemed a bit odd. That the hero should be singing happy songs so soon when film-making protocol demands that that the suffering/pining phase should last at least one hour , was unusual. Maybe, in this day and age, even film-making has gone T20, I thought. Nobody can sit through one hour of pining anymore.

These thoughts were rudely disturbed by the realization that my man had decided to animatedly join in. I must admit that it was a pretty catchy song. It must have been a big hit amongst knowledgeable audiences (which obviously included one Telugu hairdresser in Bangalore).

That his voice would not exactly win him any Sa Re Ga Ma awards was immediately obvious to me, even if it wasn't to him. But I could live with that. After all I have to live with the likes of Himesh Reshammiya too in today’s world. No, this realization was not panic-worthy enough as much as the realization that I had a razor, almost grazing my ear, being waved around like an orchestra composer’s wand to the tune of some admittedly catchy music.

Ears are not the most respected of organs and with Reshammiya and his ilk dominating the music scene in India at the moment, the respect for ears must have fallen in recent times. Having said that, I had expected to be one year more on my birthday, not one ear less.

After what seemed like eternity, the song ended – and the razor thankfully returned to a more static position. My man had been completely oblivious to my condition. He now continued to work on the rest of my hair, clicking his scissors with an uneasy exuberance - uneasy for me, I mean. I prayed that another animated song would not break out any moment – and thankfully for the rest of my hot seat experience, except for some angry dialogues between father and prospective son-in-law, some more sobbing from the heroine (I wonder whether the m-u got wiped out in all that sobbing) and some fight scenes where the hero took on twenty men at one time, there was no reason for my man to wave that razor around. After fifteen-odd minutes, it was done. I offered him his twenty-five. He said thirty, I gave him thirty-five. He nodded warmly, I nodded (I hope as warmly). I wondered - did he notice the sweat on my forehead? I should thank him for that!

I made my way back home, holding on to my lungi, avoiding gazes from all and sundry and went straight for a hot bath. With the tune of that Telugu song still ringing in my ears. Boy, was it catchy!

So friends, that is how I spent my birthday morning.

And yes, one more thing. Before my next trip to the guy, I have to brush up on my Telugu. This is just getting too dangerous to be funny anymore.