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.

In Awe

That God exists is a fact for me.  The number of times He has come to my rescue, and showered me with his benevolence and generosity leaves me with no doubt.

I love my God.  But I also am afraid of him.  Whenever I have done anything mean or selfish, punishment has been quick and severe.  Fear of Him keeps me on the straight and narrow path.  It forces me to think carefully about the implications before I take any action - and it constantly reminds me to be humble.

When I think of God, the word that comes to my mind is "Awe" - and I suspect this is because of the combination of Love and Fear I have for Him.

I wish one day I can truthfully say that the only emotion that comes to my mind when I think of Him is Love. But for that to happen I need to evolve to a different higher level - and I think that is going to take me a long time.

Thank you for a Marvellous 20

A rather reticent young man met a very charming vivacious young lady. They first met at a restaurant over orange juice, and then they continued the conversation sitting on the steps leading to an old water well in her garden. He sat tongue tied as usual – while this beautiful young lady kept on chattering excitedly.  Being more comfortable in the company of books and music, he wondered with astonishment how someone could chatter so much and yet make sense.

Every now and then she will stop and ask him “so what are you thinking?”.  He badly wanted to make an impression on her, and express all the emotions that was flooding within him.   But all he could muster – much to her amusement – was that “my mind is blank”.  

In the 20 years since then, this lady has been more than just an interesting conversationalist and an exceptional loving person.  She also put up with his eccentricities - whether it is his peculiar food tastes (he finally has a paunch to prove it), or his vagabond "here today, there tomorrow" nature. 

Vandana, thank you for formally letting me into your life 20 years ago. You have been my pillar and inspiration these past 20 years - and I consider myself exceptionally lucky. 

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. 

Will You Give Me A Job?

OPEN LETTER TO VINOD MEHTA, EDITOR OF OUTLOOK MAGAZINE

Dear Editor,

I recently read an issue of Outlook after a very long time.  I notice that you are giving writing opportunities to unknown journalists such as Kumar Ketkar ("covered the collapse of the Soviet union") and Saba Naqvi et al - anybody who is willing to be virulently anti-Modi.  

I am a budding writer (www.vandram.blogspot.com) desperate for a break in journalism.  I am willing to do anything - even write anti-Modi articles - to get my name in print in such a prestigious magazine as yours.  The only subject I am NOT willing to write on is against Jewellery buying.  You see my wife hates anyone mentioning that jewellery is a bad investment, and since we stay in the same house, I am very keen on safeguarding my physical wellbeing.

With warm regards, an aspiring journalist

Ram Mohan Rao

The Bride Cometh

“I hope she likes my choice of house” Sandeep said, his face for the first time showing some nervousness.

We – Sandeep and I - were standing outside the arrival gate of the Dubai airport terminal.  Sandeep got married recently during his vacation in India. After a short honey-moon, he returned to Dubai and quickly processed his wife’s residence visa.  She was arriving tonight – and as he did not have a car, I had volunteered to give them a lift home.

He was excited and full of anticipation about the reunion.  It has been a long 2 months of separation.

“She will like it as long as the bathroom and toilet are good” I told him. 

This was experience speaking.  As we know, wives are notoriously difficult to satisfy when it comes to a house that the husband has selected.   I have driven several land-lords and estate agents up the wall with my strange behavior whenever I have looked around for housing.  They will start showing me all the good things of a house e.g. the view from the balcony or the spacious wardrobe – but all I would be interested would be in examining the bathroom.  This of course comes from knowing the wife well.

“Yes, the bathroom is clean – but I am worried about the dust and the noise as my apartment faces the main road.” he said gloomily.

Just then his wife made a grand appearance, and I did my best to keep myself out of their way.

The drive to their house was quite stressful.  When a newly married couple who have been separated for 2 months are suddenly re-united, there are a lot of interesting things that they would rather engage in.  But in the presence of grey bearded individuals they are forced to show a certain restraint.

I helped them with the luggage up to their apartment.  

The wife was quietly surveying the apartment.   I thought it was time for me to leave.

Sandeep chose to come out of the apartment and escorted me back to where I had parked my car.  

“You do not need to escort me  - your place is by her side when she explores her new house” I told him, thinking that I will share my wealth of 20 years of married experience with this novice.

“On the contrary I should not be around when she first surveys the house. By the time I go back she would have come to terms with whatever defects she may find with the house” he said with a wink.

He seems to be already talking like a much married man.

“Beta, you will certainly go far in your married life.” I told him, as he galloped his way back to his apartment. 

Subtle Conversations

Valentine’s day is approaching, and it is time for my wife to drop her very subtle hints.

“I saw a beautiful necklace in that jewellery shop yesterday – I think it will look very good on me”.  My wife believes in being subtle – on such issues she does not believe in putting her husband under pressure. 

There was a time 20 years ago when I would have immediately given an equally subtle reply to this very subtle hint – but now after spending 20 years with her I have learnt that maintaining a discrete silence is the best approach.

“Maybe you should give this as a gift for Valentine’s” says my son.

I gave a dirty look at my son – he just did what in Konkani is called “adding Phunn” – basically adding fuel to the fire.

“So did you hear what I just said”? she now asks, raising her voice a bit.

There is no way I can avoid this, so I put on the best imitation of Lord Emsworth and say “Um ….. what? ……. Sorry….?”  and then gazed vaguely into the distance, hoping that the conversation would die out naturally........

“You always do this – you never hear me when it does not suit your purpose” she said.

“Daddy must be having lots of office worries on his mind” said my son.  He is developing “Phunn” into a fine art.

 “What office worries  – his mind is always blank” she said caustically.

“I have developed very selective listening after working in a very noisy office.  I can only hear important conversation” I said, hoping to add the much required humor into the conversation.  

“So whatever I say is unimportant to you” she says, agitated.

Oh, Oh........  

“Not always” I say in a small voice.

“Yeah, not always” loudly repeats my son helpfully - so that she can hear it clearly in case my response was inaudible to her. 

My son sits back contentedly in his seat - his good deed for the day done.

The Only Sensational Moment Of Dhoom-3

Dhoom-3 is technically superb - but left me cold.  Soul-less - unlike its less-slick predecessors.

The 3 kids sitting in front too seemed to share my view - they were sitting slumped in their seats while watching the movie.  2 of them were teenagers, and the 3rd was a small brat - possibly the kid brother of one of the teens.

The only time the teens perked up was when Abishek Bachan asked Aamir Khan to remove his shirt and jacket to check if he had a bullet wound.

But their interest was short-lived ....

"No Cavity Check - I thought that was compulsory in the US" said one teen to the other in a disappointed voice, slumping back in his seat.

"What can you expect with these poorly paid Indian policemen brought all the way from India" replied the other teen, slumping back too in his seat.

"I have cavities too" said the small brat and showed off his mouthful of teeth.

Paisa vasool finally for me.....

To My Daughter On Her 18th Birthday

My dear Anupa,

You have turned 18 today – and I am still trying to reconcile with this fact.  One moment you were the small girl uncertain of her place in the world – and then next moment – poof, you have become this beautiful, self-confident young lady.  When did that happen?

To a dad, all children are special – but a Daughter is special in a very different way to her dad - ask any dad.  Bringing up a daughter is so different : Sons seem to grow slower – or at least they seem to grow in stages, and one is always aware that he is slowly maturing into a young adult.  But daughters? Boom - one day – the little girl is a young lady.

And then fathers of daughters are always conscious that they are in a race with time.  I cannot explain it here – but I know fathers of daughters will understand what I mean. 

Seeing you grow made me realize how quick and transient life is. No matter how much time I have spent with you, I still want  to clutch on to Time and say “hey there, can you please stop running – I want some more time with my little daughter … “   

Dads are always greedy when it comes to their daughters – just can’t help it.

Here’s wishing you a wonderful 18^th Birthday my lovely one – and a fantastic life ahead for you.

Your loving,

Aanu

Why The Wife Walks Behind Her Husband

I got the blinding revelation suddenly.  Cars in the fast lane are compelled to perpetually move at a fast pace because of the car behind them coming at a fast pace.  So the car in the front is pressurised to travel fast because of the "forward pressure" exerted by the car behind it.....

I thought I will use this "forward pressure" principle to good use for a 20 year problem that I have been facing ...

You see, when I and my wife go out walking, it typically starts out with us walking side by side like this ....

But then, within moments we are walking like this, with me in the front, and my wife following about 10 feet behind me:

The result is, our net cumulative speed is always slow .......

Today having keenly observed what happens in the fast lane, I thought I will use the "forward pressure" principle. Henceforth I am going to walk behind my wife so that I exert a forward pressure on my wife to walk faster.

You would have expected that this tactic of mine would now force my wife to walk faster..

But I was mistaken.....

"What are you doing?" she said, turning around and looking at me suspiciously.

"Nothing - am just walking behind you" I said, unwilling to give the game away.

"No, there is something wrong" she says, and walks even slower until I am forced to brake in order to avoid bumping into her.

"So, what is wrong, tell me?" she says now and keenly scans the surroundings.  And then I had the 2nd blinding revelation that day - wives walk behind their husbands to keep a close watch on them - after all there may be quite a few "untoward distractions" on the road for the husband.....

So we are back to square one now - and please notice the triumphant glee on someone's face :

And whoever compared a car to a woman is an absolute idiot.

The Day I took on All India Radio

The favourite past-time for me and my brothers when we were kids was to engage in a battle of “Who will disturb the other's song?" contest.  This typically entails 2 brothers simultaneously singing - but with each brother singing a different song.  Each brother will sing at the top of his voice to disturb the singing of the other – so you can imagine the cacophony.  

The climax is reached when one brother - not being able to focus on his own song (because of the cacaphony) is suddenly forced to switch to singing the other brother’s song – so now both brothers are singing the same song.  So one brother “wins” and the other brother (who was forced to change his track) “loses”. 

Being the bigger of the brothers (and hence with a bigger voice then) I took pride in my track-record of “winning” such encounters.

The HMV radio set took pride of place

Once when I was all of 5 years old I took on the might of All India Radio.  I always imagined that the song over the radio was delivered "live" by the singer (i.e. the singer sitting in the studio and singing live) - and the sound came via a hollow cable straight from the radio studio.  Hence the singer will be able to hear us through the radio if we shout loudly. 

So once while our large HMV (His Master’s Voice) radio set was playing a hit number by Kishore Kumar (India's number 1 singer those days), I stood close to the radio set and started singing another Kishore film song at the top of my voice.  My rationale was simple – if I sing at the top of my voice, Kishore Kumar sitting in the studio would get disturbed and confused, and would switch his track to sing along with me the song I selected.

My ego took a big beating that day – Kishore Kumar turned out to be a bigger competitor than I imagined.  He just kept coolly singing his own song, and it was I who kept getting disturbed and losing my track.  I finally gave up the battle.

It was only months later that I understood that the radio is a one-way communication device.

Nowadays whenever I am in a situation where I should only listen and not talk (which is frequent enough), I am reminded of the day I unsuccessfully challenged All India Radio. 

Weighty Matters

The girl promoting VLCC at the nearby supermarket seemed to know who to target with her sales pitch for a weight-loss program. She stands at the entrance and selectively approaches only certain people.

I overheard one of the ladies who was approached by the VLCC girl mournfully remarking to the daughter "Till last week that VLCC girl did not even look at me - but today she approached me.  I have therefore definitely put on weight."

I wonder whether the VLCC girl is aware of the dread she must be causing to anyone walking into the store : Will she, Won't she? 

I surreptitiously looked at my paunch. Better not risk it. I took a deep breath and flattened my tummy as much as I could, and then tip-toed quietly out of the store.  

My brush with Leadership

I live in a building which has a paranoia for security.  To exit the basement car-park, one has to pass through a tunnel (similar to the one which Mandrake the Magician had in his Xanadu).  And as in Xanadu, there are 2 automatic metal gates at either end of the tunnel. 

Entrance to tunnel with gate open

Today morning for some reason the gate at the far end of the tunnel got stuck and there were 5-6 cars queued up in the tunnel, wanting to get out.  Seeing that the tunnel was almost full, I stopped my car just before the first gate in the basement.

A Land-Cruiser came up behind me, and honked impatiently.  I did not want an argument early in the morning so I advanced my car past the first gate, and into the tunnel.  Now there was no place in the tunnel for another car to enter – so the Land Cruiser behind had to wait just before the 1st metal grill in the basement.

One more honk.  Of course I could not do anything now, so I stayed put.

In my rear view mirror, I could see the door of the Land Cruiser opening and a guy stepping out.  Since I don’t know his name, let me call him “Leadership Material” or “LM” for short.

He walked into the tunnel and surveyed the scene.  There were a group of drivers and some building technicians trying to force the rebellious gate at the far end of the tunnel to open – but the gate was refusing to co-operate with them.

LM came and tapped at my car window, and said : “Mai jaldi mein hoon.  Kuch tho karna chahiye”  - he said it in a tone that indicated his displeasure that there are lazy guys like me sitting around and doing nothing to solve the problem.

While I was thinking of a suitable response in my hesitant Hindi, he marched up to the gate at the far end, past the 5-6 cars parked in the tunnel.  He then barked some orders at the technicians, who chose to ignore him.

Meanwhile, the 1st gate behind me (at the beginning of the tunnel) started automatically closing behind me.  LM saw it closing, and started running back trying to reach his car before the metal grill closed, but in vain. 

So now we had this situation where LM was in the tunnel – with a metal grill firmly separating him from his car. 

LM came up and again tapped on my window “Lo – gate tho bandh ho gaya.  Abh mai kya karoon?” he asked me in an accusative tone.  I sympathised with him : there was no way he could reach his car now except by walking up the tunnel, walking past the 2nd metal gate (when it does open up), getting onto the road, walking around the building to the main entrance, and then taking the elevator down to the basement car park to reach his car.

Meanwhile the technicians had disabled the exit gate at the far end and lifted it up – so the cars now started to move out of the tunnel.  I too drove out.

My last vision of LM in the rear view mirror was of him panting his way up the tunnel. 

Did I Just Miss The Bus?

I walked briskly towards the bus stop.  There is a bus at 8.55, and the next one is 20 minutes later.  Missing the bus at 8.55 would mean a long 20 minute wait in the sweltering Dubai heat.

I was still a couple of minutes from reaching the bus stop when I saw with dismay the 8.55 departing from the bus stop. I had just missed it.  

The 20 minute wait at the deserted bus-stop was very agonizing.  I was very frustrated – and each minute of the 20 was painful, and spent kicking myself for having missed the bus.

What made the wait painful was the certainty that this is a 20 minute wait – and I was certain of that because I saw the bus departing – and I knew with certainty that the next one is not due until 20 minutes later.

But supposing I had not seen the bus depart from the bus stop? I would have then arrived at the bus station, and waited hopefully expecting the 8.55 to turn up in the next “few” minutes (probably it is a few minutes late today?).  The next few minutes would have turned into 20 minutes eventually – and I would have ended up taking the same bus anyway.  But I would have still waited with anticipation, and these 20 minutes would have passed more pleasantly.

As far as I am concerned I am happy with not knowing whether I just missed the bus - or when precisely the next bus would arrive. I have started to embrace unpredictability. It makes me hopeful of unexpected and exciting turn of events – and it makes any wait worthwhile.