Sleepless In Prithvi

Ok, let me firstly make it clear that it is me – his wife – writing this post.  Usually it is he who writes those useless posts in which I am made the butt of his ridiculous jokes.

But today it is my – his wife’s – turn to write and tell you about an incident that happened yesterday that he will not write about because it will be embarrassing for him.  So let me do it.

Yesterday we went to Prithvi to listen to the Symphony Orchestra of India (SOI) performing Western Classical music.  My husband booked tickets for both of us so that he could - in his usual style - immodestly boast on facebook about how "cultured" he is.  That is an empty boast of course – and I doubt whether he understands even Indian Classical music despite the photos of music events he keeps posting on fb.

Ok, so here we were at Prithvi – and then my hubby drops a shocker.

He :   "I am suffering from a terrible jet lag after my recent visit abroad – and I think I may fall asleep during the show."

I : "So why did you decide to come today?  You could have slept at home peacefully."

To which he muttered incoherently something about Western classical music curing his jet lag and giving him a good sleep.

Within 5 minutes of the show starting, my husband had gone off to sleep.  The player on the Bassoon was playing beautifully – but I was highly distracted because of one problem : my hubby does not know how to sleep off peacefully; he was snoring. 

So I gently stamp his feet.

Husband looks at me accusingly.  I whispered to him that he should not snore.

He looked at me as if wondering whether sleeping without snoring was at all possible – and he then tried to do an imitation of Mr. Bean by using his fingers to prevent his eye lids from closing.

Really – he does not know he is embarrassing not only himself but also me.  The person sitting next to him had started casting surreptitious glances in my direction wondering what kind of characters we were. 

In 2 minutes – and despite the Mr. Bean act - my husband had slumped in his seat and was nodding away.  And then suddenly he woke up with a start and looked all around as if trying to figure out where he is.  The people sitting behind him were not looking too pleased at his antics.

I elbowed him in his stomach.  Long experience of elbowing has ensured that when I elbow, people wake up.

He woke up, and started undoing his shirt buttons. 

“Hey, what are you doing” I ask him.

“it is very hot in here – and I think I will undo my shirt” he said.

Obviously his lack of sleep has started affecting his brain.  “Have you gone crazy?  Please sit quietly” I ordered him.

He was very hurt at these words.  “What is the problem?  This is a theatre –and they tolerate Salman Khan removing his shirt” he said.

He had started talking in his sleep obviously – so I pinched him really hard – the pinch I normally reserve for my son when he dares answer me back. 

He then woke up and started tossing and turning in his seat very restlessly.  I was too embarrassed to look at the people sitting in our neighbouring seats.  All I could do was to keep kicking his feet every 5 minutes so he does not go off into deep sleep and then making a spectacle of himself. 

Finally the show got over much to my relief and my husband somehow sleep-walked out of the theatre.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked him sarcastically.

“Not with all the kicking and pinching you were giving me” he said mournfully.

“I would not have kicked you if you had gone to sleep peacefully without creating a nuisance of yourself” I said.

“What could I do – the seats in Prithvi are not reclining and do not have proper head rests – so how can someone sleep peacefully?” he said.

I predict that we will not be visiting Prithvi anytime in the near future.

Why You Should Not Talk To Your Wife About De-Cluttering Your Lives

"Now that we have become an empty nest, let us move to a smaller, more compact apartment" I told my wife.

My wife gave a very resigned look and said : "Don't blame our empty nest for the move - it is in your nature to get bored every few years and wanting a change".

But I had grossly under-estimated the challenge of shifting to a smaller place.  When we stay in large apartments we collect a lot of useless stuff over a period of time.  How do we now fit all these useless stuff into a small compact apartment with very limited storage space?

"We need to simplify our lives - so let us declutter" I told my wife.

My wife looked at me with apprehension - she knew nothing good happens when I talk philosophy.

"What do you mean?" she said.  I detected a tone of aggression in her voice.

"Better get rid of all the multiple sets of crockery - we need only 1 set of crockery" I told my wife.

"What?  Give away my priceless collection of crockery?  Why don't you give away your book collection?  We have 2 large over-flowing cupboards full of your books for which we have no space to store in our new TINY apartment" she said.

"Crockery is useless unlike books.  Going by the amount of crockery we have it would seem as if we regularly entertain a lot of guests" I said with sarcasm.

"Yeah, and going by the amount of books at our home people will mistakenly think you actually do read books" she said.

Unlike other husbands, I am not the one to give up a battle so easily.  So I replied : "Why don't you at least dispose off all these excess beddings and bed-sheets that you keep collecting?"

"And why do you need 3 harmoniums as if you are some great music Punditji?  You don't even use 1 harmonium regularly" she replied.

I wisely decided that it is easier to create more storage space in the new apartment.

Simplifying is not that simple. 

Finally getting the better of Mr. Mhaskar

Yesterday while buying vegetables at the market, I suddenly spotted my upstairs neighbor Mr. Mhaskar busy haggling with the fish vendor.  I pretended not to have noticed him as the relationship between the two of us is a bit frosty. 

You see, Mr. Mhaskar is my “friend” on facebook and is very active on facebook "liking" all kinds of irrelevant and useless forwarded posts and photos.  He also used to “like” my blogposts, but ever since we had a quarrel regarding the car parking in the building, he has stopped “liking” my blog posts on fb. 

Now that is a major insult to me because he has now escalated our enmity to facebook by not “liking” my posts.  People who have nothing better to do must have started noticing that he has stopped liking my posts on fb, and must be making fun of me behind my back.

I paid off the vegetable vendor and was about to turn when Mr. Mhaskar bumped into me.  He was not watching where he was going – undoubtedly he was already dreaming of the dish his wife will soon prepare from the smelly fish.

“Hello, how are you doing?” he asked me.

He must have deliberately bumped into me to gloat over the fact that I have been getting 1 less “Like” for my fb post ever since he stopped liking my post.

But he will never succeed in discouraging me. So I said : “Oh hi. I have been busy writing my blogs”. I hoped that will give him the message that I will continue to write my blogs, and that I don't care for his "Like". 

He wrinkled his nose and said “Oh – you still write those blogs, do you?  I don’t remember seeing them since a long time”.

Useless fellow.  He was pretending that he does not read my blog.  He spends hours on fb daily and I am sure he reads my blog even now – but he wants to insult me by saying that he does not remember noticing it on fb. 

And then I had a brilliant brain wave.

I asked him : “By the way, how was your Italy trip?  I saw your snaps on fb.”

His face turned red like a tomato and he turned abruptly and walked away defeated. 

You know why? You see, I had just given him the biggest insult of his life.  I admitted to seeing his Italy holiday photos on fb – but I had not given a single “Like” to any of his Italy photos.  No sir.  No "Like" even to the photo where Mr. Mhaskar is pretending to be holding up the leaning tower of Pisa with one finger.  What kind of a person will not "like" such a photo?

I hastened home to tell my wife about this major victory.  My wife will have to admit that I have finally got the better of this scheming Mr. Mhaskar.

A Risque afternoon at Prithvi

Yesterday I took my brother and his family (visiting Mumbai for the 1st time) to watch a play at Prithvi.  After all, what better way to expose my brother and his family to the vibrant cultural atmosphere of Mumbai?

To my consternation I realised once the play "Shree Maan Chor" started, that the theme of the play was all about middle class hypocrisy with a liberal dose of spouse swapping thrown in.  It was a Hindi adaptation of a famous Italian satire by the celebrated Dario Fo, with a lot of funny and double entendre dialogues thrown in.

Soon the play reached the hottest scene : one of the women - as part of stimulation - uses a "whip" ("hunter" in Hindi) on her man.  Again all supposed to be in good fun - because the audience was roaring away with laughter.

My brother nervously glanced at his 8 year old son.  And I at my mother.  Both were pictures of rapt concentration.

At the end of the play I asked my mother how she liked it.

"I did not understand the play at all as it was all in Hindi" my mother very diplomatically replied.

My 8 year old nephew was more clear in his verdict. He wrinkled his nose and said :"It was OK - but it reminded me of school when the teacher was using the big whip to beat that person".  

Our Friends on Facebook

"Our mom is too inquisitive.  Why, she is so inquisitive that she even knows the complete history of the vegetable seller - which is his native place, how many children he has got, what ailments he suffers from ......." said the daughter.

"Not just the vegetable seller - she knows everything about our crazy laundryman, the watchman, and all the students in her yoga class" my son continued.

A mom bashing session was taking place.  Obviously, a fall-out of the mom doing a detailed probe on the state of their study assignments.

I cleared my throat, feeling it was time to come to her defense.  "Because your mom is a very caring person she wants to genuinely know everyone....."

"Hello, are you calling me over-friendly?" said my wife looking at me.  Somewhere she has realised that I am always a safer bet to pick on - an argument with kids can meander off in unintended tangents.

"You have to be....you even got a friend request on fb from the vegetable seller" said my son and both the off-springs burst into laughter.

"Well, I and the vegetable vendor had exchanged telephone numbers recently as I wanted him to inform me whenever some exotic vegetable like "Keerlu" is available.  And from then on fb started suggesting that we should be friends. But I am definitely not friends with him on fb" said my wife heading to the bedroom - a clear indication that she had enough of this discussion.

5 minutes later my attention is suddenly drawn to a monkey ambling along on our balcony. It was headed straight for the open bedroom window where my wife was having her siesta.

I quickly run to the bedroom.  The monkey was sitting on the bedroom balcony and peering through the window.  

The monkey saw me enter - and deciding it had better things to do, jumped into a nearby tree and disappeared.

"Wake up dear - a monkey almost entered the room.  It was sitting there wondering whether it should wake you up "  I said.

"Oh. Did you check whether it has sent me a friend request?" she said and went back to sleep.

Elevated Conversations

I parked my car in the office parking lot and got out.  It was a rainy humid morning and my glasses immediately thickly fogged over, so I removed them and made my way to the elevator.

From the distance I could make out that a woman dressed in a red sari was approaching the elevator. Without my glasses I could not make out her face.  All I could make out was that she had a beautiful figure, and the glint from her teeth indicated she is smiling - but I could not make out whether she was smiling at me or at someone else.

I did not want to be thought to be staring so I quickly averted my gaze.

She came and stood next to me, and said :"I smiled at you, and you did not smile back"

I turned my head - and now recognised her as a senior colleague who was visiting from our Delhi office. She was probably my age - in her late forties - but maintained herself very well.

This was embarrassing. As we both got into the elevator I said : "I did not have my glasses so could not see your face clearly".

And then to my acute embarrassment I heard myself saying: "I was trying to see whether you are someone I know - but without my glasses all I could see was a beautiful figure in red".

She now had a very amused expression on her face. So to hide my embarrassment I heard myself blabbering: "I did not want to look too closely and then be thought of as ogling at unknown women"

Oh oh that did not help either.

There was silence in the elevator, and I was busy kicking myself for saying the wrong things.  I wondered what terrible impressions she has formed of me.

I said : "I mean to say, people at my age should be careful and not smile at unknown women"

She smiled and as we got out of the lift she said :"Only we think we are still young. The fact is that if I or you smile at an unknown person, people will understand and interpret it only as a characteristic of old age.  So please go ahead and smile at anybody - we now have the licence" she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Bed Mates

At a corporate conference recently, delegates were put up two to a room.  The person with whom I shared the room was a young, serious looking chap.

We entered our alloted room and realised that it contained only 1 queen sized bed, and we will need to share the bed for the night.

"So we are bed mates for the night, eh?" I observed.

My room mate gave me a very confused wary look. .

"Which side of the bed will you like to sleep on?" I asked him.

"The right side" he replied hesitantly.

"Oh, that is the side that my wife normally sleeps on - but of course this time it is you" I remarked with a smile.

"You can go to sleep first.  I will sleep later" he replied.

At about 2 am I woke up with my heart pounding to the sound of a concrete mixer roaring in my ears. 

About an hour later, the concrete mixer transformed into a couple of fighter planes taking off and then repeatedly bombing the enemy with hundreds of nuclear bombs.

At about 5 am, the fighter planes stopped bombing and mysteriously transformed into a bus which was having a serious starting problem.

At about 6 am, my bed-mate finally stopped snoring, and I could snatch some much needed sleep.

I was woken up half an hour later by the sound of my bed-mate humming a merry tune.  He was already up and about - and was looking really fresh from his good nights sleep.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked my bed-mate trying to make my voice drip with sarcasm.

"Unfortunately I could not sleep a wink - you were snoring too loudly" he replied.

My fantastic School Whatsapp support group

I am part of a hyper-active school alumni Whatsapp group.

One of them mentioned on the group the best way to manage expectations about the wedding anniversary gift.  It goes like this:
*           *           *           *

You ask the wife : "What do you want for our wedding anniversary?"
The Wife replies: "Give me a Ring"

And then you give her a ring from the landline or from a Mobile.

*           *           *           *
I thought it was a good way to manage the upcoming wedding anniversary and tried it on my wife today morning.

The "ringing" sound of the knock I got on the head is still ringing in my ears.

I mentioned to the whatsapp group not to give any more such dangerous suggestions.

They have very helpfully sent me the link to the new help-line set up by the police for victims of domestic violence.

JNU, Valentines, and Siya's Ram

I dread the approaching Valentines day.

"You know my friend M... - her husband has gifted her a new Apple iPhone" said my wife thrusting a facebook photo of her friend triumphantly flaunting her new Valentine's day trophy.

I tried my best to look disinterested, and said "yeah, those things are so cheap in the US".

"Somebody is being cheap here" she countered, which I cleverly pretended not to hear.

"And look at this - my other friend from Dubai has got a jewellery necklace for Valentines" she continued.  "And it looks so much like the necklace that Ram wears in "Siya Ke Ram" serial" she said.

Now I break into a cold sweat whenever Siya Ke Ram is playing on TV - every hero in that serial seems to be weighed down with massive jewellery pieces that will need really strong neck muscles to support - the reason why it is necessary for any hero nowadays to be a weight lifter if he needs a role in a mythology serial.

Everytime a hero wears a new jewellery piece (they seem to have an inexhaustible source of heavy jewellery every night), my wife will go "ooh la la" and look at me accusingly from the corner of her eye.

I had enough of this stress so I decided to start a support group on facebook to fight this dangerous trend which has been started by "Siya Ke Ram".

I decided to call this group Jewellery Neendh Udaaye (Jewellery causes sleeplessness) or JNU for short.  So that my wife does not know about it, I go to a coffee shop, post it on facebook, and then tagged all my friends to support me on this JNU movement.  I wanted to unite all us practical husbands and correct the falsehood spread by all the paid media about the virtues of gold, and unleash a revolution against this hated metal.

I then eagerly awaited the "Likes" and comments to my post.

Comment No:1 was my friend Guru.  He wrote : "this JNU movement is a conspiracy of communists like you to descredit the noble values of Lord Rama, and people like you will go to hell".

Comment No:2 came immediately from Comrade Madan (who claims he is a neutral party) who retorted :"I am getting sick of desh bhakts like you who push up TRP ratings for useless TV serials like Siya Ke Ram through publishing such JNU posts.  You are a chaddi communalist and should be ashamed of yourself". Molotov Madan they call him.

Comment no. 50 was from my wife.  She "likes" and comments on my facebook post :"Do you want dinner today?".

I quickly delete my facebook post with all its comments and head for the nearest jewellery store. You see, while I may not be Sita's Ram, in school I was known as "Survivor Ram".

Kya Shy Hai Hum

The trailer was very good - and I succumbed to the temptation.  "We are going to see the movie "Kya Kool hai hum 3" today" I told my wife.  "And 1st day, 1st show so we can boast about it on Facebook".

My wife gave me THE look - THE look that she has been giving me ever since I quit my job and started operating out of home. "Don't talk nonsense - it is a 3rd grade porn-com movie - and only 3rd rate unemployed people will ever admit to watching it".  She emphasised the word "unemployed" - so I had to deftly steer the conversation in the right direction.

"But it is India's 1st ever porn-com movie.  And the good thing is that the heroine's name Mandana rhymes with yours" I said.  I am an expert at deftly changing the topic.

And then I threw in the Ace : "And don't worry about respectable people seeing us - I have booked tickets in a shady theatre called Chandan far away from our home so that no one will recognise us".

We left for the theatre before our teenage son came back from college. We wanted to avoid any unnecessary dialogue with our son on why he cannot come along with us.

We reached the theatre to find the foyer full of college students who looked younger than our son - in fact none of whom seemed to have completed even 16 years of age.  And they were all in couples - and my wife started a harangue about the corrupting influence of such movies on the kids.

"And what is more - it is so embarrassing that we are the only mature people here - the rest of the audience are basically teenagers" she said.

"No - I spotted someone who looked in the mid-twenties buying a ticket" I assured my wife.

"Yeah - but you will notice he was walking around wearing his helmet so that he will not be recognised" she countered, covering her face with her dupatta so that only her eyes showed.

We finally entered the theatre, and I eagerly braced myself for watching some sensational stuff.

And then I learnt something important.  Trailers do not represent a movie.  In fact trailers of so called "porncom" movies have nothing at all to do with the movie.

All the titillation I had seen in the movie trailer, ended in the trailer.

In short, there was no "interesting" scenes, and even the gags which centred around "focus" and "poppat" (parrot) were really flat.  It was a terrible bore - in fact the TV sitcom Siya Ke Ram provides more excitement.

We endured the movie for 2 hours and staggered out.

My wife looked at me and said : "Why are you covering your face now? It was a boring movie with no naughty scenes or dialogues at all - so now we don't need to be ashamed at all for watching this movie" she said rubbing it in.

"I am covering my face so that I will not be recognised for being an idiot" I said.

On how I unwittingly helped build a school roof

Just saw this Kalyan Jewellery ad which has Amitabh Bacchan in the role of a rural school teacher seeking help from his ex-student to get the school roof fixed.

Reminded me of the incident last week when I unwittingly helped contribute to building a roof over a school in rural Konkan.

What happened was this.  I was searching for the Dadar-Matunga cultural centre where the famous Shruti Sadolikar was performing, and asked a passerby for directions.

"Just take a right at the junction, and the building is the 2nd on your right" he told me.

I took the right and there was the board proudly saying "Dadar-Matunga Cultural centre".  I promptly went into the building, where I was greeted by a small reception committee all of whom were flaunting very large and colourful badges that important committee members usually like to wear.

I did not know why they were so enthusiastic on seeing me so I quickly told them that I have come to listen to the music program, and not to perform.  At that their joy further increased, and I was escorted to the reception table where I bought a ticket.

While I was waiting for the auditorium doors to open, one of the badge wearing gentleman came up to me and started a conversation:

He : "Thank you very much for attending this music program"

I : "Not at all.  In fact I was looking forward to this program since quite some time".

He : "Yes, we need the encouragement of patrons like you to help re-build the school roof.  Were you a student in that school?"

I : "umm.....errrrr"

He : And we find nowadays very few patrons like you supporting new and upcoming music talent".

Shruti Sadolikar is by no means a new and upcoming talent.  I took a quick look at the ticket.  Then I noticed that the ticket mentioned the venue as the "Yashwantrao Chavan Cultural centre" and the performing artiste as some Vasant Deshpande.

I had got into the wrong building.

I made a smooth and low profile exit somehow managing to avoid the reception committee. Shruti Sadolikar was just about to begin her alaap when I entered the Dadar Matunga auditorium situated in a narrow lane next to the Chavan hall.

Vada Pav & Strategic Thinking

Paresh Bhai looked at his investment with satisfaction. His investment in the Ganesh fast food outlet was a master-stroke. Its location next to the Sulabh Sauchalya (Public Toilets) was a major strategic advantage as he had shrewdly observed that people after a visit to the Sulabh Sauchalya wanted to fill up their stomach, and nothing better than an affordable Vada-Pav snacking joint right on its door steps.

Recently to cater to the health conscious he has also stationed a banana seller outside the Sulabh Sauchalya - and that too does brisk business from the many customers visiting the Sauchalya.  Why, there are some people who first have a snack, then go to the Sulabh Sauchalya, and then have a banana.  So it is good business.



He was only unhappy about one thing.  His partner Mishraji who runs the fast-food joint, has spelt the outlet name incorrectly in English (the Hindi is correct).  It is not "Ganesh Sneks" - but should have been "Ganesh Snakes" - he will tell Mishraji to correct that.

A Greenhorn On A Mumbai Local

1. He keeps waiting on the platform hoping that the next train will be less crowded and he will be able to at least get a foothold.  
2. Entering a compartment he finds a seat with only 3 people sitting on it, and is too embarrassed to ask them to squeeze and make space for a 4th person.
3. While traveling from Andheri to Goregaon at peak hour in the evening, he boards a Virar train, and then wonders why there is so much hostility towards him when he tries to get off at Goregaon
4. He is the guy who keeps asking everyone in the compartment "Andheri station Kaunsa side pe ayega?" (From which side of the compartment should I alight at Andheri station?)

My Dashing George Clooney Looks Dashed

The Pretty Young Thing (PYT) at the check-in counter at the Dubai airport puckered her lips and said :"Sorry sir, you have almost 3 kg excess check-in baggage".

And then she gave me a bright smile and said : "But there is something about you that reminds me of someone - so I will make an exception in your case and not charge you anything".

I always knew it.  My natural grey hair fashioned in the George Clooney Style always works its charm. The security cameras at the check-in counter picked up the following vision of a Ram Mohan Rao beaming at the PYT, exuding his full George Clooney magnetic personality on her.

And then she said :"Oh yes, I know ..... you remind me of my dad".

The security cameras next picked up this vision of the distraught traveller:

I saw a half smile fleetingly pass over the PYT's face.

I would give anything to figure out how many potential George Clooneys has she crushed with this devastating line......

House Hunting In Mumbai

“No problems sir – I will get you a very good apartment near your office – just give me a couple of days” said the broker.

The first apartment he took me to turned out to be a complete disaster.  It was in a dilapidated old building and there was no lift to get to the 3^rd floor.  Climbing the worn-out, dimly lit stairs made me claustrophobic.

“Sorry I don’t want to stay in a heritage building” I told the broker.

The sarcasm was lost on him – “sir, this is an excellent building, and just walking distance from your office” he said with a sad nod of his head.

The next apartment had a lift, but from the bedroom window I could reach out and touch the metro rail.  Every minute a metro train whizzed past rattling the apartment. 

“Sir, excellently located apartment, you can reach any part of Mumbai by using this Metro” he said. 

I looked out of the window and marveled at the engineers who had managed to build the gleaming new metro rail just an arms length away from the 3rd floor of a residential building.

“…and, you will soon get used to the sound, sir”  he said.  By now he was able to read my thoughts, and pre-empt my every negative comment.

“No, it is not the sound I am bothered about, it is the manner in which the building shakes when the train passes” I told him. 

The next apartment had a lift, had bright large windows, and was in a quiet neighbourhood. 

“Any problems with this flat sir” the broker asked me in a very solicitous tone.

“This flat is good, but  the toilets are not well maintained."

"But sir this apartment is so so good - you will never get such an apartment for your budget in Mumbai" he said with anguish.

He is putting me on the defensive.  "It is my wife - she is especially concerned about the toilets” I told him.

He rolled his eyes heaven-wards.  I was becoming an impossible to please client.

“I will not compromise on the toilets” I repeated.

“Sir, I will need to get the help of other brokers to check whether there is anything available that will meet your needs” he said, and started calling up other brokers.

2 weeks later and after seeing some 20 houses, I finally liked a house.

I was talking to the land-lord and finalizing the terms, when the broker got a call on his phone.  He went to the next room to take the call.

It was obviously another broker calling him to check whether the deal is finally through. 

I heard the broker replying on the phone “Jee, toilet aadmi ko makaan passand aaya”  (Yes, the toilet man finally liked a house).

Seat Mate Expectations

I sat in the middle "sandwich" seat of the aircraft, and engaged in my favourite activity : watch the passengers board the aircraft, and as they walk down the aisle try to guess which of them would be occupying the seats on either side of mine.

The seat on the aisle side got occupied by a person looking like a retired mafia don - he overflowed from the seat, so I hoped that the window side seat will be occupied by someone slimmer.

A petite, stylish young lady was now approaching the seats - would she be the one occupying the window seat next to me?  I very much hoped she would be my seat mate.

Alas, she sat in the window seat in the row just before mine.

A couple approached and requested the lady whether she could shift to the seat behind her (i.e. to the window seat next to me) as the couple were given seats in different rows, and they would like to sit together.

The lady hesitated.  Then she said "let me check".

She got up, and looked directly at me.  It was almost as if she was taking a decision on whether or not to shift depending on whether she liked me or not.

I seemed to please her, as she turned around to the couple and told them that she will shift to the seat behind.

I was ecstatic.  Did she shift because she sensed that I would be excellent company for her - probably she was aware that I wrote a blog and wanted to sit next to a well known blogger.  Or probably she was looking for romance (or adventure?) and was attracted to my famous George Clooney look.

She moved into the seat next to me, and I waited for her to drop a suitable hint about her expectations. I was keen to live up to her expectations.

I need not have bothered.  2 minutes after she sat in the seat she started snoring loudly, and woke up only after the aircraft landed in Dubai.

"Like" Discord

Nowadays it is crucial to do image management, and portray this image of being a far-sighted visionary Leader. Accordingly, I took a selfie of me looking into the far distance, and posted it as my profile photo on fb.

Unfortunately, my wife too decided to update her profile photo the same day.  Here are the 2 photos - and you can see whose photo is clearly superior (mine of course) ...........

In about an hour she mentioned triumphantly "25 likes so far".  I checked mine - no "like" so far.

Another hour later she said "50 likes".  I checked mine - nothing so far.  I was getting highly irritated now.  I mean to say, where are my friends?  Where are the guys who like Intellect?  What are they doing?  Can't they just use one of their fingers and bail me out of this terrible situation?

My wife seemed to be wallowing in her superiority over me - constantly monitoring fb and giving a running commentary on the accumulating "Likes".  Why, she even took her mobile phone into the bathroom, and came out 5 minutes later and triumphantly announced :" I just went in for 5 minutes, and have got another 50 likes".

I mean this is the height!  But there may be a secret there.  I too took my phone into the bathroom.  My son was waiting for me outside the bathroom when I came out. "Let me guess - no likes yet, right?" he said.  That fellow likes to rub it in.

Likes : 192 Comments : 15

By the end of the day, the scores read:

Likes : 1 Comments : 2

Even the 2 comments for my photo were politely enquiring whether I was alright.

That is it.  I am off fb from now on.  

Party Games & Domestic Harmony

Domestic harmony was almost destabilized yesterday.

We were attending a friends’ wedding anniversary party.  All was going well, until one of the enthusiastic ladies suddenly got up and announced grandly “We are going to have a game”.  She then paused dramatically and expectantly waited to hear the cheers and whoops of delight.

All the gentlemen were busy trying to see whether they have lost anything beneath the table. But that was a trivial challenge for her and within a matter of minutes, she had rounded up all the men and lined them up in a straight line with their eyes blind-folded.

“The game is simple.  All you men have to do is to answer correctly a few questions about your wife” she said.

A collective groan went up from the assembled men – there is no surer way to upset domestic bliss as getting things wrong about the spouse in a public forum.  But there was no escape.

So there I was, my head all wrapped up like an honourable al Qaeda representative, and the 1^st question was thrown at me : “Describe what your wife is wearing now on her feet”.

Is her shoe black, brown or blue? I wondered.  Or maybe it is the yellow sandals that she might have borrowed from my daughter.

I took a guess : “brown shoes” I said. 

“You are wrong – it is black” a triumphant voice announced.

“Oh, oh” – I felt like making a dash for the exit – but the thick blind-fold prevented me from knowing where the exit was.

4 more questions followed.  I was lucky, I got the rest correct. 

There was 1 gentlemen who got only 1 answer correct, and another 3 who got only 2 correct.  What losers!

These loser husbands were given minor punishments such as lifting up their wife. Of course, the way their shoulders drooped, it was apparent that the loser husbands were sure there will be more severe punishments to follow at home.

I did not wait for the 2^nd game – did not want to trust my luck too much.

Will The Real Ram Mohan Rao turn up?

Apparently somewhere in this world there is my namesake who graduated from IIT Kharagpur 40 years ago.  The IIT alumni group administrator must have googled for a “Ram Mohan Rao”, and mistakenly got my email id – so for the last 1 month I have been getting dozens of emails every day from that alumni group planning their 40^th reunion, combined with the 60^th birthday celebrations of some of the alumni members.

I of course love reading other’s mails and getting to know all their dark secrets – but 50 mails a day is a bit too much even for me.  So I politely wrote to the group:

“Dear all, for the last 2 months my email inbox has been flooded with emails about your 40^th year reunion.  I am afraid you have got the email id of the wrong Ram Mohan Rao.  I do not have the good fortune of studying at IIT Kharagpur, and nor – much as I have an abundance of grey hair - have I completed 60 years of age.  So kindly remove me from your mailing list”.

I got this reply from one Mr. Somanjalu Reddy : “Dear Ram Mohan – ha ha.  So you continue to be as funny as you were 40 years ago.  I remember you pontificating on your communist view-point about “elitist” IIT when half way through your 2^nd bottle of rum.  And what is this about grey hair - you had gone completely bald when you left IIT, ha ha.  I look forward to seeing you at the reunion next month and please come with a fresh set of naughty jokes”. 

This mail was addressed to the entire mailing group – and I had to of course correct the perception.  So I shot off another mail:

“Dear Mr. Somanjalu and others :  I need to correct your impression that I am masquerading as some other Ram Mohan Rao.  I repeat I am not THE drunkard Ram Mohan Rao who is apparently notorious for his communist view point and silly sexist jokes.  Despite my best attempts I have never been able to finish off even 1 bottle of Rum, and I am quite proud of the natural grey hair on my head. I am again requesting you to remove me from your mailing list, otherwise I will have to report you to the authorities for harassment and libel.”

To which one Mr. Nanjagundappa Chettiar replied : “heh heh Ram – you almost fooled me - you are still so funny.  I remember the incident in the college hostel when after just 1 mug of beer you  wore a half-saree and started dancing with a pot balanced on your head.  It is only after you finished your 3^rd bottle of rum that we managed to quieten you down.  Your humour rocks as usual, buddy, – and we should paint the town red like in the good old days.”

I chose not to reply.  I hope their famous Ram Mohan Rao somehow gets to hear about the reunion and turns up - otherwise the re-union will be a very dull affair. 

On What Concerns Today's Eligible Young Bachelors

We have an open office plan – and until recently I was only aware of the disadvantages.  Until this incident happened during the lunch hour in the office.........

An over-powering smell of Chicken Biriyani, Mutton Kheema and Egg noodles made me realize that the table behind me has been occupied by a trio having their lunch.  Soon the lunch conversation drifted into discussing their weekend activity…

Since I cannot reveal their names, let me call them Party 1, Party 2, and Party 3.

Party 1 : “I went to Main Tera Hero movie this weekend, and my girlfriend thought the hero Varun Dhawan was really sexy”.  He said it in a petulant tone, which was picked upon by the other 2 parties.

Party 2 : “It must be his pectorals, and the way he twitches them in the song while holding 2 girls on either side”.

Party 3 : “Yeah, I don’t know how he manages to shake his breasts” – the envy clearly showing.

Party 1 mulled over this, and then blurted out the question that he was wrestling with for some time : “Do you think girls like guys who can twitch their pectorals?”. 

I could detect a certain anxiety in his voice.

There was collective silence as the 3 parties brooded on this difficult question for the rest of their lunch.

All the 3 parties looked like the fit ones who go to the gym - but when it comes to twitching the pectorals, it is a hard act to follow, undoubtedly.

Very insightful indeed. 

Yes, the open seating plan does have its advantages.