Maa ka phone

I literally have nothing to talk about with my parents. I swear. Its not like I dont want to (ok, at some level I would like to keep the conversations at a minimum), but its just that I dont have anything to talk about.
Everyday, as the sun sets over the western horizon, and I wake up from my afternoon nap (either at home, or at office), the mobile rings with the name "Maa Pyaari Maa" flashing on the screen. Everyday the same conversation follows, give or take a few monosyllables from my side:
Maa: How are you? Kya kar raha hai? Kahan hai?
Me: Theek hun
Mataji: Lunch kar liya? dinner bana liya? Kya khaya? Kya banaya? Maid aayi thi?
Me: Haan
Maa: Today was a very hectic day in office. I just finished my work. Walking home now. Your father did not come to pick me up. Bhalla aunty was on leave today. You remember her? Her son has found work in USA. He is earning $ 120 k. His parents are very happy. They are looking for a girl for him. He will be married by next year. When will you earn that much? When will you marry? Are you still going to continue in that dreadful job of yours?
Me: Yes
Maa: So what is new with you?
Me: Nothing
Maa: It is raining so much here. The streets are clogged. There are a lot of power cuts too. How is the weather there?
Me: Theek hai
Maa: What theek hai? Why dont you say anything? Bhatia aunty's daughter and Kumar uncle's son tell so many things to their parents. And you answer like a robot. Why dont you tell about your job, your house?
Me: Kya bataun?
Maa: You are just like your father (sob sob)........ you dont tell me anything (phone cut)

All this happens in perhaps a minute or two. Damn that Bhatia uncle's daughter and so-and-so's son. The conversation that my pyaari maa expects is more on the lines of:
Maa: How are you?
Me: Main theek hun. I was a little sore in the morning, but that may have been because I did not sleep in the correct position last night. Now I am ok. I was also confused about whether to wear my brown shirt or the blue one today for the meeting, but dont worry, I got that sorted out. I wore the black one.
Maa: What are you doing?
Me: I am in office right now, trying to make my typist understand the difference between "Your" and "You're".
Maa: Had your lunch? Did the maid come?
Me: Yes, I had three rotis and baigan sabzi. The maid came, I told her today that is she takes one more leave, I am going to cut her pay. I also made her clean the cobwebs. There were so many in the house. I also followed her around the house, so that she sweeps the floors properly.

Maa: Do you remember Bhalla aunty? Her son.......

Me: Who went to the US? Yes, I remember him.

Maa: He has got a salary of $120k.

Me: Wow, he was always intelligent and smart. Good for him. I hope he settles down now and gets married.

Maa: Yes, yes. He is going to get married. His parents are already looking for a girl for him.

Me: Oh, how lucky. I hope I get out of this dreadful place, so that I can get married soon too.

Maa: Dont worry. Chalo, I gotta go now.

Me: Ok, but please do call after you reach home. I will be waiting for your call.

Alas, as in other things in life, I have never met her expectations of a phone call either. The only time my conversation skills come vaguely close to the one described above are when I am drunk, and trying to hid the fact that I am drunk.

On the other hand, I am always ready to have a phone 'chat' with my "Pujya Pitaaji". Not that he calls that often, but sometimes "Maa Pyaari Maa" would have over the phone to him after failing to get suitable multisyllable responses from me, "Yeh loh. You talk to your dad. (sob sob) You both are alike. I have failed in my upbringing. Bhatia uncle's son.........", her voice would trail off and "Pujya Pitaaji" would take over.

Pitaaji: How are you? Ok, no?

Me: Yes. You

Pitaaji: Me too, ok.

Me: Ok

After that a long silence, where you could even hear a fly landing on the sofa cushion in the adjoining room, would ensue.

Pitaaji: Ok, take care

Me: Bye bye

Aaah......my dad totally gets me.

Gotta go now, the phone is ringing.

700 million KLPDs

Yeah, India won the world cup. We are world champions. The hotels and bars did good business. The streets were filled with the sounds of Indians yelling "Bharat Mata ki Jai",

"Na chahiye roti, kapda aur makaan,

Humein bus chahiye World cup aur Sri Lanka ki gaan* "

The entire country stayed up late into the night watching the cricketers kiss the world cup like they would never even kiss their wives. Every tax evader, rapist, murderer, conman, child molester, politician, was suddenly proud of being an Indian.

But where the hell was Poonam Pandey??? The only other Indian I wanted to see after the world cup was Poonam Pandey. I turned to every news channel, every sports channel and every tabloid channel, but alas, she had gone into hiding. In the run up to the Pakistan match, according to Poonam Pandey, her parents were really proud of her that she is doing something for the country. Tears welled up in my eyes reading about her proud parents. I wish I could do something my parents would be proud of, but all I am doing is wasting my life here in Sundipenta working with tribals.

I turned to India TV, the best on field news reporting channel and the only channel which shows news that matters to the common man, but all they could afford was Rakhi Sawant jiggling her 21st century scientific instruments to a song crooned by a reject of the Mika Singh band.

I only hope that Poonam Pandey keeps her end of the bargain, because the Boys (or Men) in Blue did not bleed for nothing. A nation awaits you, Poonam Pandey, please do not disappoint your nation, your friends, your family and me........

Shaadi Waadi

Life moves fast, I mean really fast, I mean really really really fast. Just yesterday (actually 20 years ago), I was hanging onto my father's shirt for dear life when he had dropped me off at school on my first day. I remember sitting in the last seat and crying all through the day. I remember how five years later, I was trying to learn judo during my summer vacations and got so badly beaten up in the first tournament that I ran to my mother in front of all the spectators and contestants. I remember how yucky we used to feel if we had to talk to a girl, or worse, the teacher would make us sit with one.

Four years later, I would be staying up all night during the board exams preparation time to watch the Playboy channel on a channel, TB6 Mokba, which was to be banned by Sushma Swaraj after a month or so. I remember how my stomach was doing somersaults while I was waiting for the XII board exam results. I remember so many things, that its hard to believe they happened years ago.

As one approaches one's death, each new stage of life comes faster than the previous ones. Last Saturday, a new phase of my life begun, trying to find a girl for marriage.

Although I had told my parents I wasnt very interested (key word is very) in meeting someone, they had fixed up a meeting with the girl's parents this weekend. After a hectic day in a meeting discussing about chenchus and NREGS, I was not at all enthusiastic about going to someone's house and talking to their girl. But we went, the five of us, me, my parents, my uncle and aunt.

I was very apprehensive of how the meeting would go, but I guess its somewhat easier on the guy and his family than the girl's.

So, we went and we met. I couldnt keep smiling and had to bite my lip to keep from openly laughing. The reason was the conversation being carried out between our families. It was on all the topics one can find under the sun. From language to telengana to religion to politics to cricket to the origins of the recipe for sambhar. And then when the girl walked in, all the conversations stopped. It was like the aftermath of the hiroshima bomb...dead silence. I wondered why it was that way. The men started looking at the tv showing the match between Sri Lanka and Pakistan. The women were looking at each other. The girl was looking at her sister, I was looking at her sister.

I waited for a while hoping that somebody would tell us to talk alone if we wanted to, but nobody was willing to take the initiative. After about 10 minutes, my uncle leaned towards me and whispered, "If you two want to talk alone, you can take her outside." He reminded me of the shady dealers who used to approach you whispering "blue film, blue film" in palika bazaar.

I told him, "Of course. How can I talk to her in front of so many people?"

"Yes, you are right. You two go out to the balcony" Saying this, he just went back to watching the match.

I waited there, hoping that my uncle would do something, but he seemed to think that his part was over. Hence, I stood up. I could not wait any longer for it to end and for me to eat. I took her aside and we talked for close to 45 minutes. Near the end, I thought I heard my mom saying, "Looks like they have really hit it off". I had to do something so that the girl would reject me and not the other way around. Actually, I think she had already rejected me, but anyways just to be on the safe side, I told her about my drinking problem, my mood swings, and the occasional doping (subject to availability of the material). I also told her I hate going to temples, and doing poojas and all.

While leaving their home, her brother asked me for my number so that they could be in touch, to which the girl replied that its of no use since I stay in Srisailam. I smiled as I realized my work was done.

The strange part was that on our way back home, nobody in the car asked me about what I felt. The silence on the topic felt as if I had just been diagnosed with cancer. Again I had to take the initiative and I said that I did not like the girl, case closed.

Mummy, papa aur main

My house is worse than a pig sty. And I am living worse than a pig. No other human on the planet keeps his house this way. Look at all the cob webs, has the wash basin ever been cleaned? Why are there empty plastic bags, why are there only two spoons in the entire house, why is there only one cup for coffee? What will your uncles and aunts say when they visit your house, why dont you marry someone nice, she will take care of you.............

This is a sample of questions which were fired at me as soon as mom entered my house yesterday in Sundipenta. I looked pleadingly at dad to help me out, but he was already moving towards the refrigerator, "Why isnt there any cold water?".

Its only been two days, but I have made around 100 trips to the market to purchase some item or the other. Its only been two days, but I cleaned up all the cobwebs. Its only been two days, but I miss going to the wine shop. Its only been two days, but all our conversations have dried up.

Ok, I sound too much like a child hating his parents, but it isnt like that. I love them, but only when there is a buffer zone (like Sienfeld said). I have a certain way of living my life, ok, I dont take food at regular timings, I dont clean my shirt before wearing it a fifth time, I dont keep following my maid around giving instructions, I eat, sleep and drink on the floor.....but its my life. Its my life at Sundipenta.......

And over the previous few days, I am regularly going to sleep at 10 pm (my usual timing is around 3 am), just so that the day is counted off. Suddenly office seems a cheerier place to spend my time in.

What's in a name, you say???

0515 am

"Uth bhaanc***d. We are late", said Avinash and kicked me. I woke up groggily and looked at my watch. I saw that it was only 430 am, so what the hell was Avinash talking about. Ok, so we were a little late, by a half hour, but we could still make it to the airport to catch the 7 am flight to IRMA.

I went to the washroom and after a little while, Avinash banged on the door, "Khol bhaanc***d. Late ho gayein hain hum".

0530 am

'Bhanc***d is such a nice word', I thought. It can be used in any sentence and yet, it doesnt change the context of the sentence. I came out and looked around me. Everything seemed hazy and slow. Only Avinash was on a roll, moving from here to there like the road runner cartoon. I couldnt make out why he was in such a hurry.

"Where is the cab. Call him and ask him why he is late?", I told Avinash

"He called six times around 345 am, and left. Its 530 now.", He replied.

"What?!!! Bhaanc***d. I was in the toilet for an hour?"

"Nahi bhaanc***d. We woke up fifteen minutes back. Now hurry.", he cursed

I picked up whatever stuff I could lay my hands on, changed into a pair of jeans, and rushed out with him in the lead.

0540 am

An hour and twenty minutes to go the flight. We came to the main road. An auto wasnt going to take us to the airport that fast. Luckily, an empty cab stopped by us and we got in.

"To the airport. Fast", we both shouted to the cab driver, and just to emphasis our point, "Bhaanch**d".

As we were driving towards the airport at a speed which was fast according to the driver, but still seemed slow to me, the events of the previous night came back to me in flashes. To celebrate our going to IRMA on an official trip to give a presentation, we had decided to bring a bottle of Blender's Pride, and some touching (snacks) items to go along with it. Around 3 am, both the liquor and touching got over, and all I kept thinking was we shouldnt fall asleep, we shouldnt fall asleep, we shouldnt fall.....zzzzzzzz.

0630 am

After paying the cab driver, we raced towards the check in counter. We thought we had made it, but were politely told that the flight was closed. Since, this was the second time I was missing a flight, it didnt come so much as a shock to me as it did to my friend who tried a lot to convince the people-who-think-they-are-the-PM-of-India behind the counter to let us in, but in vain.

0634 am

Losing the battle to the airlines, we decided to transfer our flight to the next available one which was leaving at 0930 am to Ahmedabad. With us was another man, Muhammad Quadir, who had missed his flight too.

To transfer the ticket, we had to cancel the previous ticket and book the next flight out. Muhammad and Avinash ran to the cancellation counter, while I made my way to the booking counter.

0636 am

The next flight out was a SpiceJet one leaving at 0930 am. I was told that there were only 3 seats left, and if we wanted to book them, we would have to do it asap. The tickets would cost us Rs. 3000 extra each. Since there was nothing to do about it, I handed him my credit card and told him to book two tickets. I filled up the application form and our tickets were booked.

0641 am

Avinash and Muhammad came to the booking counter. Our ticket was booked, and we started to make our way out to the lounge area. Muhammad was informed by the booking person that only one seat was available on the flight. He was handed the application form and asked to fill up soon since it was the last seat.

Muhammad looked a little dazed by the form, and requested me to fill it up.

"Sir, please hurry. The seat might get booked any minute now. Its the last one available on the flight", said the SpiceJet fellow.

The first question being name of the passenger, I wrote "Muhammad", but was a little confused by the spelling of Quadir. He told me to write "Q-U-A..."

"Sir", the booking person said, "The cost of the ticket has increased by Rs. 3000. It will now cost you Rs. 6000 more."

Muhammad let out a little sigh and muttered, 'Bhaanc***d', under his breath

We met another person who had missed his flight the previous night, and was waiting for the next one since the last 12 hours, but his is another story to tell. All in all, we swore never to get wasted again in life, or to tell you the truth, never to get wasted the night before a journey, bhaanch**d.

Ankanna

Oh man....its been like 3 months since I have visited my own blog. I got sick of it, I got tired of it, I did not know what to write. There were many people whom I wanted to curse and bad mouth, a million things going wrong with my life.....so I just drifted with the wind, floated with the waters, did not do anything to disturb the status quo. But now I think, its time to take charge of the situation, to grab THE MAN by the balls, and most important of all, not to throw in the towel just yet.

In other news, I was recently given my very own personal attender. I wished he was a female, but anyways. His name is Ankanna, and yes, he is a chenchu. He follows me around like the hutch network, which is kind of weird for me. It makes me feel like a total government babu. But finally, I can get the morning newspaper, and he also brings me food and other stuff. On the field trips, he carries around my notebook and a water bottle. I feel bad for the guy, but since he has nothing else to do, he wants me to give him some work or the other.

Happy new year, everybody......

PS: I have already broken all the resolution I made, but who gives a crap when one is staying in Sundipenta