Being 26

Have you ever wondered, of all the years that you have spent on this beautiful planet, which part of your life would you look back and cherish the most? Can you recall that part of your life when everything seemed balanced, you were self sufficient, people noted and recognized you as though you were a superstar? I have been experiencing quite the same in the last ten months, and hence, have cultivated an opinion that being a 26 year old is one of the best things to happen in a man's life.

I will start with the second most important part of a man's life - his career. Taking myself as an example, I am an average BE graduate who was recruited by a slightly above average company for a slightly below average package. Inspite of all the avergaisms in me, I have sort of settled down in these four years of my career. Normally, with the amount of experience one posseses at this stage of the career, a high percentage of men would have switched the working organization thus leading to a better package. This in turn leads to a bank balance which once looked like a starved Urmila Matondkar, now looks like a fully fed Great Khali.

Perhaps the best part of being 26 lies in the marriage portion of one' life. If one is married, he would still be in the early day's of marriage. A new car and a new wife keeps a man as interested as watching the cricket game when Tendulkar is batting on 99. I won't speak much about this, as my experience in this field is the same as what Hansika Motwani has in Quantum Physics.

If one is not married i.e. the situation where I find myself now, the guy is as popular as the movie Dirty Picture. Courtesy my presence in a series of family gatherings, I have slowly realized that I have an unexplainable, invisble, unquantifiable, mysterious force of attraction in me that pulls the attention of 22 to 24 year old girl's parents (sometimes their daughters as well). This force of attraction is directly proportional to the product of my salary and square of number of years present in the foreign land and inversely proportional to the age, age taking the least value of 25. Behaving like no less than detectives, they watch my each and every move - the way I talk, the way I walk, and even the way I put my finger in the ears to take out the wax. They even go to my relatives with a common questionnaire, "is he a software engineer?", "does he own a house in Bangalore?", "does he stay with his parents?". I ensure that I portray myself as the most well mannered South Indian Brahmin boy ever born in the history of mankind, whenever I encounter those kind of species.

Cheers for being 26 year old!

My first interview

I looked into the mirror and was not convinced with my attire. Maybe I should not try this shirt. I am better off with the blue one with vertical white stripes. Many guys appreciated that shirt saying that it suited me well. I wanted to portray myself in the best possible manner. After all it was my first interview and who wouldn't like to give his best shot.

I was anxious. I was nervous. What would be the sort of questions that would be thrown at me? I had no idea. I had hardly slept the previous night. My eyes had turned red but I knew I could hide it with my smile. I had not had my breakfast and the clock was showing 1:30 with sun burning the newly laid road in front of my house. Yet, I was not hungry or rather, I didn't feel like eating.

The next one hour would be the most critical moments of my life. The way I respond to this pressure would decide what I would be for the rest of my life. I talked to myself and said to be calm, everything would be alright. If I flunk in this interview its not going to be the end of world and I would get many more chances in future; said the confident half of my brain. Yet, the scared up half of my mind said, you wouldn't want to flunk in this interview do you? Yes. The scary half of my mind was right.

I looked at my watch. I still had ten minutes left before I would leave the room. I then looked into the mirror for just a final check on my dress code. It looked alright after I wore the blue shirt. I remembered the days of my college when I used to get under my bed on listening about the viva exam. I hate it when someone looks into my eyes, asks some questions and is waiting for me to give a wrong or unacceptable answer so that he can have a go at me. I know that when I am under pressure, its better to put the money on Harman Baweja delivering a hit film, rather than banking on me to answer what's 2+2. Calm down Anil. Courage is not the absence of fear, its all about overcoming the fear. No that's not my own line, Raghu said that in roadies.

20 mins later, I was at a place which can be called as an interview room. The interviewer had probably taken more time than me in getting fit to the dress code. We smiled at each other, greeted, seated and had the initial talks about the education to kick off the conversation. Ten minutes later came the real questions

Interviewer: What do you want to do with your life?

Me: Well... I want to be a... a...

Wait.. what do you want to do with your life Anil? Its not the first time I asked this question to myself but every time I had asked, I didn't want to answer it. Or maybe, I didn't have an answer to the question. Forget that and give me an answer now, right now you idiot. Ok what do I want do with my life. Should my motto be to stand up against corruption. Or should I dedicate my life inventing something (how silly) or help the poor and needy. Give me some answer man.

Me: I strongly believe that true happiness is in giving without any expectations. I would focus on keeping people around me happy. My family, relatives and friends (and also the cute girl opposite to my house, she stares at me whenever I stand at the gate). And if possible, give something to the society.

The interviewer gave an expression of deep thinking on hearing that. Boy, was that too philosophical for a reply. Doesn't matter. An arrow that has left the bow, a fart that has left the ass and words that have left the mouth, all three cannot be taken back.

Interviewer: Interesting. Where do you see yourself five years from now? Some managerial role in your career?

Me: Depends on where I land up two years from now. I have some plans for the next two years. I don't think I would be interested in the managerial role. Technology fascinates me more than the concept of managing people.

Interviewer: So you mean you have no long term planning?

The stress was on the word 'NO'.

Me: I did not mean that. I concentrate on short term plans more than long term ones. If I work on achieving short term goals, the long term goals will be taken care of.

Interviewer: How long would you think you will be in the IT industry.

Me: Again that's a long term decision. I do not know when I will quit the IT industry but I do know that I will quit it whenever I feel its too much. I won't think I will be 40 years old and still going behind the customers, meeting deadlines and filling out appraisal sheets every six months.

Interviewer: So what would you do after quitting IT industry? You know what this industry can give you right? How do you plan to manage the same lifestyle even after quitting the IT industry?

Me: From my childhood, I wanted to take up teaching as my profession. As I said earlier, happiness is in giving and what better thing to give or impart other than knowledge. I see myself in a college, teaching students once I quit the industry. I would not not be worried if I do not continue to enjoy the lifestyle but what matters is peace of mind. I think I will get that in the profession I choose after leaving the industry. That has still got ample time though.

The interviewer seemed sunk in more deep thinking. I did not know whether my answers impressed the interviewer or not but I had spoken my heart out.

Twenty minutes later, I was walking down to my home. All the anxiety, pressure, fear about sitting in an interview had turned down and a sense of satisfaction was slowly surrounding me. I was walking fast now, in contrast to what I did earlier when I seemed to crawl to the interview room, yet I got a feeling that the room was very closeby. I first went to a hotel; boy I was damn hungry. I ordered a masala dosa and a vada and ate it at the speed at which a frog grabs an insect.

I could not sleep that night again. The anxiety was haunting back now. I did the interview all right but what about the result? I was starting to get worried about the result now. Men hate to fail (well, so do women also isn't it?) More than the failure of the interview what feared me more was how would I face my friends and relatives when they ask the question "hey how did the interview go?". You know there a few people around who purposefully ask that question to hear that I failed. Why don't they understand that if I succeed I would tell them on my own and if I shut my mouth, I failed in that bloody interview. Well, that's human nature isn't it. I spent most of the night thinking about why humans do that. I finally got some sleep after 3.30 in the morning.

At around 10 in the morning, my cell phone started ringing. With my eyes half closed I looked at the mobile screen which said "dad calling". I picked the call and said hello to which my dad replied, "Don't worry son. We have another girl's profile". That was the end of my first interview.

The girl on seat no. 69 - Name revealed

Like a batsman out for a duck, I returned back to my seat. I stepped inside the train, but I somehow couldn't pick myself up to go and sit next to her. I stood there clueless, hands on my hips, my teeth gently biting my lower lip, my eyes giving a blank expression. What had happened? It took a few seconds for me to even guess what exactly had occured there. She might have swapped her seat with this Ramdev, the reservation chart might be lying or, she might not have booked her ticket at all. Should I ask her if she even has a valid travel ticket?

The train whistled, few passengers standing on the platform hurried into the train, few others stood on the platform and waved hands to the people inside the compartments. The train slowly started moving and I was still wondering what I had gone through in the last three minutes. The train gradually picked up its pace and was racing again. I felt like jumping out of the train for being so stupid. If I managed to survive even after the jump, I should dig a hole and bury myself. I was carrying a heavy heart and my lips had dried up. I had now quit even attempting to recall her name. Or should I just straightaway ask what her name was? No, I would have restored some respect had I asked her initially, but after so much of time spent with her, if I now ask her name, its asking for strange looks, disgusting feelings and lots more from her.

Unwillingly, I headed back to my seat. She had a couple of packets with her, wrapped in newspaper that surely looked like breakfast.
"I got breakfast for you without asking you", she said pointing to the packets kept on the foldable table in front of the seat. She did not sound all that sweet in saying that. It was more like a tone in which she thought she had done me a favor in buying it.
"You just saved my twenty bucks." I replied. Saala kanjoos
She smiled. Oh... those blue eyes.

She had got the most famous South Indian breakfast - idly wada for both of us. I unfolded the packet, broke a piece of idly, smeared some green chutney while being careful that I don't collect the big green chilly peice along with it and put it in my mouth, that was already watery. Ummm.. typical idly that you get in a train. They don't taste all that good but you still end up eating one almost everytime you travel in a train.

Some sort of peace was being restored in my mind as I was at least filling up my empty stomach after my expectations were blown away by the Indian Railways. Too early to have thought that as she asked,"What were you looking at in the reservation chart?"
Gollluupp. The idly tasted bitter now, and even without the chilly, the chutney was red hot spicy. Was she peeking from the window and trying to know what I did when I went away from her?
"Nothing. I...I just confirmed if my name existed in the list" I lied.
"But the TC has already seen our tickets right?" She was in no mood of sparing me.
Half of my brain was already blanked by her beauty, now the remaining half was heading towards darkness. This girl is a lot smarter than she looks. Don't be fooled by her looks mate, I told myself. In a flash, I remembered those days when we worked together. There were instances where she turned bossy towards her counterparts who shared the same amount of experience, sometimes even with people senior to her. And, she was a star during the appraisal season, hitting the outstanding mark consistently. I am scared of only two species, 1-wild tigers, 2-smart females.

I still had to answer her question and I couldn't come up with another lie. "Nothing yaar" I said trying to run away from that question. After a brief pause, I asked "Any plans of marriage?"

She squeezed her face as if to say, 'why are you trying to run away coward?' and then that smile again. It didn't bother me losing that small verbal battle because I kept looking her smiling. I couldn't miss noticing her when she put a wisp of her hair behind her ears, the winds being responsible for her act.

"My parents are bugging me to get married soon, but not for at least one year from now if you ask me. Also have to arrange a hefty amount for the dowry." For the first time today, she looked sad, her lips arched to make one those parenthesis used in smileys to represent unhappiness. She looked cute to me even while being sad. Don't worry, marry me and I won't ask for a single penny, I wanted to tell her.

Its amazing how time just flies when you are sitting with good looking females. Apart from being intelligent and beautiful, I liked the way she took the jokes cracked on her. I kept pulling her leg, and she kept laughing, and sometimes teasing me back. A very sportive girl, a prankster, successful right from lemon and spoon race in her kindergarten to achieving best employee awards in her working organisation; not a bad one to get settled with. She made me recall an occasion where her team lead had sent a box of chocolates from onsite mentioning, 'This is only for boys and girls' and she said 'Oh! Then its not for me' and the whole bay had burst in laughter. I hoped the train broke down right there, unable to move an inch, or someone pull down the chain so that I could spend more time with her.

Arsikere was just a few minutes away now. She started arranging her things in the bag. My eyes were clearly saying the words 'please don't leave me'. She never looked back at me, instead, opened up her mirror and began to look at herself in it. Bah! You girls never improve. I turned away while she did that.

"Can you share your mobile number?" She asked. In no time, I turned to her. She was looking down.
"Ya sure" I said. We both took out our cell phones and shared each other's number. What do I put in the name column. I didn't want her to know my ignorance, and hence quickly put an X in front of name. Whilst doing that,she noticed my phone, squeezed her eyes and asked
"Hey that's a Galaxy series phone isn't it?"
"Yes" I replied.
"Its high time that I change my phone. This one's really old." She said showing her Nokia 6600, which looked like it was used by Graham Bell to call his wife. I had never seen a 6600 phone with a girl, that's always a man's phoone, I thought. Did this girl drop down from Mars?

I showed some of the applications that I had got in my phone and she began to enjoy them. She even grabbed my phone and started looking at some more apps. I never thought my cell phone would fascinate a girl so much. I had seen a TV ad where a girl, impressed by a man's phone, gives him condoms saying no change, but thought it was too good to be true. I hadn't managed exactly the same thing here, but at least, there is some interest.

Once again, the train began to slow down. Arsikere was fast approaching. While she played with my phone, I looked outside. And I could see more people now, people sipping the morning beverage, half naked kids running around, don't know what they were after. The girl gave back my phone and got ready to leave.
"Ok Anil. Will hope to see you in Bangalore"
I will be waiting for that moment, I wanted to say. Instead I said, "sure".

Two minutes later, I was alone in the three seater. I closed my eyes and recalled what had occured in the last two hours. Maroon top, spectacle, hair touching my cheek and my failure in remembering her name. I smiled, with my eyes still closed.

My cell phone beeped and vibrated. I decided to ignore it initially, but let's just check, I thought. I opened to see the screen displaying a message symbol followed by 'X'. Whohoo. I quickly unlocked it to read. Would she propose me? I won't accept proposals in SMSes. It has to be face to face.

Instead, it read, "My name is not X. It is ..". She had mentioned her name. Oh yes. Now I could remember that.
I immediately hit the reply tab started typing, "Hey am so sorry. I really can't believe that I forgot your name. I am so sorry yaar. I.." Wait a minute. Be a man Anil. No need to be so apologetic. Accept what you had done. There is no point in using condoms after both the people have caught AIDS.

I deleted the text and then typed again, "Ok. Sorry about that. Can I write this episode in my blog?" I thought a little before sending it, but once it was sent, I got more anxious. My stomach groaned, my mind just wondering if I had asked for trouble again.

The cell phone beeped and vibrated for the second time. One new message from X. Ewww. I still haven't saved her name in my phone. I opened the inbox, tapped on the unread message and read the words, "Sure I would love to read that." I closed my eyes, smiled again went back recollecting the moments.

The girl on seat no. 69

2nd April 05 AM, outside Bengaluru Railway Station

It was early morning and the first rays of sun were yet to lighten the city. I got out from my office cab, looked at my watch and realised that I had arrived an hour early to the station. I looked around to see if there is any scope of "bird watching". By the way, I rank Bangalore Majestic as the fourth best place for bird watching in the city, next only to Koramangala which lies at third. The second place belongs to Malleshwaram and the evergreen locality has always been Basavanagudi for me, nowhere else in the city I have seen such beauty.

And I was not disappointed at all, inspite of being there at odd hours. Just then, my eyes caught a girl who was getting down from an auto. It was not totally dark, thanks to the artificial lighting, and I managed to get more than a glimpse of her somehow. She was wearing a maroon coloured top, almost sleeveless and a light blue jeans to go along with it. She was quite thin, surely slimmer than me, looked to be around 23 to 26 years of age, was probably five inches shorter than me, had a hand bag which left hanging on her left shoulder. She probably had two feet long hair which ran down till her lower back, that she had left untied. A black framed spectacle, like one of those that Preity Zinta used in Kal ho na ho, made her look smart. Overall, a very beautiful female. She kept arguing with the auto driver on the auto fare and was surely unhappy. Have I seen her somewhere? Asked one part of my find. You always think so when you see a beautiful girl don't you? Replied the other part. I carried on and boarded the train, thinking that was not a bad thing to see first up in the morning.

Same day, 06:05 AM, inside Janashatabdi train

I was just back from a night shift; so my eyes gave the sensation of being burnt due to lack of sleep; my stomach groaned due to lack of food; my body ached due to lack of rest. I was already sitting where I had to: compartment D2, seat 70, which was a midddle seat out of the three seater. The aisle and the window seats next to me were vacant. I had just closed my eyes and was trying to get some sleep when my ears heeded to a sweet, polite voice saying "excuse me". I opened my eyes and saw something which looked familiar. Maroon top, blue jeans,black hand bag (I could now notice the colour of the bag, as there were more lights and it was closer). Oh my god. Am I dreaming??? I hung open my mouth for a few seconds. She looked more beautiful now in the natural light that had just begun to wake up the city (contrastingly, the passengers in the train were trying the opposite).

"Its my seat over there" she said pointing to the window seat next to me.
"Go on" I replied giving her some space to get to her seat. My heart started pumping loudly. Never before, had such a beautiful girl sat next to me. In my college days, me and my friends used to say a girl's name and award points based on her looks on a scale of ten. This girl surely was a 10 pointer.

"So how's it going Anil?" asked the female.
What the $&*%??? Beta... mann mein laddu phoota?
Not only she talked to me but she also knows my name. Where on earth have we met each other?
I gave a startled look to her for a couple of seconds. Then, my mind travelled back in time. Three years ago, this little girl who was fresh out from college then, had joined the same organisation where I was working. She sat a couple of bays away from me. Although I had not failed to notice her, we hardly spoke to each other. But there was an occasion where I had danced next to her for almost 7 seconds, and our hands touched for almost 0.5 seconds. You see, I am awful when it comes to interacting with girls. Yes.. its the same girl.

"Am doing great. How are you?" I asked. She said she was fine.
"You were working in Delhi. How come you are in Bangalore? And where are you going now?" I questioned her existence in the city and in that train.
"Ah. I changed my job and have come to your city now. Am going to Arsikere to attend a marriage, and its my best friend at office who is tieing the knot".
I smiled.

Now, my mind had come up with a question to which I had to find an answer soon. What's her name? What's her name? And her name's not Sheela.

I again traveled two-three years back trying to find a clue that would lead me in knowing her name. I tried to "do a search" if she had sent any emails, tried to recall the nameplate on her cubicle, or what her colleagues shouted to call her. She was not in my friend's list in facebook for sure. And noway I was going to say "sorry I don't remember your name, can you please tell me that".That would be humiliating.

Dejected, I turned to her to talk something. And I couldn't utter a word. She had now taken off her spectacle and was looking at the green fields which kept passing as the train raced away. The more I saw her, the more beautiful she looked. The speedy winds made her hairs fly in the air which kept touching me cheeks and forehead, it made hold my breath for a while. I need to recall her name.

All of a sudden, like a lightning on a cloudy day, a plan stuck my mind. I still couldn't recall her name but I had figured out a method to know that. But it couldn't be accomplished just then. I had to wait till the train stopped. The next station was Tumkur and it was still 20 mins away.

"I heard you changed your job." She initiated the conversation again. All of this morning, it was she who initiated every conversation.
"Yes. And how exactly did you hear that?" I cross-questioned.
She giggled. Boy.. she kept looking more and more beautiful.
"I read your blog. You mentioned it in your recent post."
"Am glad someone reads my blog apart from me." Came a witty answer from me.
She giggled again. This time it was more of a laugh.

"I really like your blog. I read it whenever am bored. I particularly liked your encounter with the monkey. You know what.. blah blah and more blahs" She kept talking and I kept looking at her. Its good when beautiful girls talk, as it gives a chance to keep looking at them. Her blue eyes could make anyone go crazy about her. I wanted to ask if she had a boyfriend. If not can I be one?

"Yeah thanks and keep reading it." I giggled this time.
I looked outside the window. Tumkur should be few minutes away now. I tried to recall for one last time what her name could be, before implementing the plan, but in vain.

Alright.. here comes Tumkur, I said to myself as the train began to slow down and I saw lot more houses and shops which had just started opening up for business. The train reached the station and was now hardly moving at a few kilometres per hour speed.
"I will be back soon" I said and stood up to leave.
"Sure" she said looking at me. I don't blame her if she thought I was heading towards the loo.

But I knew where I was heading. This was were I could find out what her name was. I never had dreamt that Indian Railways would come to my rescue in this way. Yes, Indian Railways would answer the question and reveal the girl's name.

One had to book tickets to get into the Janashatabdi. Booking tickets means the reservation chart would be put outside the compartment. The girl sat next to me which is seat no. 69. All I had to do was to look for the name displayed in front of the number 69 in the reservation chart. That's it; job done. What an idea sirji!

I felt proud about myself as I walked between the seats to get out of the compartment. Its not simply that people tell me that am talented, its not a joke when I think am intelligent, its not a fluke that I am recruited by the world's #1 storage company. You are simply the best mate.

The train finally stopped, I got down praying that the reservation chart existed. Yes it did; great. Then I began scanning for the number 69. Down I went to page 3 of the chart and finally found 69 and her name is......

What the hell? This can't be true. The chart said Ramdev Basappa. She does not even remotely resemble to that name. Her name being Ramdev Basappa means Himesh winning a Nobel prize for Chemistry. I looked up and down, further down, far up again, searching for anything that looks like a female's name. And all I could find was Shanti Dharmendra, Seethalakshmi and Devamma. She is not any of those. Like a batsman out for a duck I returned back to my seat.

To be continued.. if you care

Losing my virginity

Hold it folks... Before you start imagining all sorts of naughty pictures in your mind with me being a part of it, let me tell you that, the title of this post is actually a title of one of the books written by Mr.Richard Branson and I have picked it up to read. So, all you beautiful Indian girls... Chill maaro, there is no need to panic as I am still single, alone and available.

Come 2011 and the first good thing that I was blessed with was a new job and yippieee.. more salary. That took a complete 15 days for me to compute the tax that I was going to pay for the rest of the year. And another 15 days on my investment options, looking out for who gives returns worth gold, for premiums worth peanuts. You see, my new job has already kept me busy. Plus, the fact that some serious Cricket is being played in and around the country means, I have absolutely no time to even look at the new girls who have arrived in my neighborhood.

Coming back to books, I recently read a book called Of course I love you.. blah blah blah.. quite a long name for the title of a book; (my first impression was that it was the title of a B grade Bollywood movie). Its a story of how the author dumped a beautiful chick because he had fallen in love with another extra-ordinarily beautiful chick, one more beautiful chick with whom he did NOT want to sleep with, proposes to him but he breaks the girl's heart , and another beautiful chick with whom he did want to sleep with, kisses him during their college farewell saying that she had always loved him but Mr. Favorite among girls never cared about her. Are you confused? Slap yourself and read the above six lines again. If you have never read a "naughty book" (well.. you know what I mean by that), there are some lines that will raise your ahemm.... eyebrows, but overall not a bad book at all. I hope the author pays me for my last statement.

Look who's back

Oh my god... Its been 10 months since I scribbled on this page and my blog has bitten dust. I know my blog is not Pamela Anderson's personal website and that none of you are eagerly waiting for anything new here. I don't exactly know how but I get sense of good feeling whenever I pen down some thoughts/incidents, that sort of good feeling you get when the beautiful girl next door, whom you always wanted to flirt with, touches your hand for the first time.

So what was I upto in these 10 months? I came with all my luggage including the torn underwear to Namma Bengaluru from Saddi Dilli and then travelled 4995 miles to some city called London (did not take the torn underwear this time, I bought new ones, after all I was going onsite mate), drank the chlorinated waters of river Thames, saw hundreds of bikini babes on the shores of English Channel, touched the freezing waters of the Arctic ocean, posed for a photograph standing next to David Beckham's wax statue, got taunted by a British girl for still being a virgin and lots more that I can't mention here.

On my return I got a chance to attend a few marriage ceremonies and have been enlightened about the modern day girl's "my hubby must have" list. Gone are the days when the "Mother India" of 25 year old young, talented, tall, dark and handsome guys like me (eeewwww!) kept her hands on her waist and yelled at the "Mother Indias" of 23 year old girls, "I have got a foreign returned boy in my home, tere pass kya hai thakuraian?" I have been fortunate not to have experienced an encounter with the species of modern day female homo-sapiens. But, to stay calm after listening to their requirements and demands is like expecting Shakti Kapoor to drop your hot girl friend safely to her house, after you kick him in between his legs.

Amongst the other things that has happened are, oh man I met with an accident. What do you expect to happen when you are riding a bike and see two hot girls approaching you both showing off their legs? I bumped into a stone got a portion of my skin ripped off, ending up with "zyaada ghoorke dekhoge toh yahi hoga" look from one girl, and a teasing "meri taang dekhte teri taang ki lag gayi" look from the other. Hmmmm.. Get a life dude.

Of blogs and writers

Yeah.. Yeah..

Today am gonna write about writers

Some about my friends and rest about strangers

Lemme give a shot on it at middle of this night

On this piece of shit, I'll throw some light.

That's what happens when I listen to too much of rap music. Anyways, recently I have been following few blogs and couldn't resist myself from scribbling on them. Although my reading habit is as poor as Andrew Symonds' manners, in the last one month I have gone through a considerable number of blogs written by my friends, their friends and a few celebs. I noticed that almost all the blogs that exist (or I should say, "that I read") can be categorized in 4 ways:

Technical/Knowledge/Gyaan Baato blogs :

Reading these blogs is like watching a half an hour show on the Discovery channel or sitting in a Knowledge transfer session in the office. The posts in these blogs normally explain (or try to explain?) how an engineering device works, or a few lines of a computer program does the unbelievable job or how the earth can be saved by closing water taps and banning plastic bags. Some even take the spiritual route and explain how by devoting 5 minutes of your day to some external force, you could turn up into Hrithik Roshan from Harman Baweja.

My experiments with life blogs :

Most of the blogs that I follow, fall in this category. The posts in these blogs are filled with instances like how the author struggled to bring his/her new laptop, how he/she learnt to ride a bicycle 16 years ago and how he/she had sex without using condom. OK the last bit was an overdo and pardon me. The writers "key" down all the interesting and uninteresting things that happen to them. Some writers even write about the office, like how the supervisor was staring at Ms.Nice Legs when she was in her mini skirts, or how Ms.Fat Ass shouted at the author for a mistake which some one else had done. Based on these, they try to create a picture of the human behavior.

Celebrity blogs :

Although this and the next category of blogs are a part of the 2nd category, I feel they are still worth of being on their own. Celebrity blogs is all about the life and profession of celebrities. From big Bollywood stars to cricketers, these people command a huge fan following even on the computer screen. I found the most boring articles on the webpage in this category of blogs. Especially the posts written by film stars. But then, the number of comments for each post easily reaches 4 figure mark. But I have never seen any response from the author for those comments.

Am K..O..O..L guy kind of blogs :

These are the kind of blogs written by people who tried hard to become a stand up comedian in their pichla janam but failed miserably. They write posts which try to make others laugh but ends up irritating. The authors make fun of rich and famous people and pretend themselves as the coolest assholes walking on the planet. The person who guesses to which category my blog falls into, will get a special look into all of my posts. Yes I will be personally mailing him/her all my posts before putting it up here. So hurry up my friends.

Now its time for me to goto bed. And I don't want to spend time thinking about the last paragraph. So I am going to end this post now..... 1 2 3 THE END

I am serious folks.. 1 2 3 THE END

Tch Tch.. You are so thin

I have heard the above sentence as many times as you have seen Emraan Hashmi kissing girls on screen. From the dudhwali aunty and the istriwale bhaiyya near my home, to the managerial people in my office, everyone has only one reaction when they see me “Tch tch.. You are so thin.”

Everyday I look into the mirror and search if I have built some meat in those arms; a search for which even Google would put its hand up and accept defeat. My body can even make Kareena Kapoor run to gymnasium and rediscover what is size zero. I just wonder what my wife would think of me when I take off my clothes on my wedding night.

You do not need much of a taunt to make me lose all my confidence. Just switch on the TV and you will only see men with abs placed as though they are bricks neatly piled up one over another and veins sticking out from the biceps. These are the only kind of male species who you see in the movies. They beat up the bad boys, impress all the women in their colony/college and finally run away with the most beautiful chick in the planet. If you don't have 6 packs, you don't deserve to exist.

Perhaps the biggest obstacle for my existence arises when I enter a branded showroom to buy clothes. You can tame blue whales and take them for a morning walk with you, make Harman Baweja deliver a hit film before 2050 but you won't find a single piece of cloth that would fit and suite me. Even there, men with 6 packs walk away with all the attention and a “tee shirt for a mosquito like you??” look from the salesmen is what I end up with. Fashion designers don't read my blog (in fact, no one reads my blog) or else it would have been of some help.

If you are slim, forget driving fancy bikes. Those machines are again, for the guys with large amount of flesh, not for guys with large percentage of bones. So even if I dream of owning a Hayabusa one day, I know I only have to adjust with a Splendour or a Discover. Chill out my boy. You will never be able to afford even the exhaust pipe of Hayabusa, leave alone owning it.

Well well well.. These are just some of the problems encountered by me for being slim. The actual list will run down to several volumes of books but above three are the ones that makes me freak out. Being slim is not the worst thing in the world but to make things easy for the Health Ministry, 6 pack abs will not be too bad. So I, Anil Kumar H.S, swear on Parvez Musharaff, that I will work actively to get half a dozen packs under my chest.

Monkey business

Dhan Te nan.. No.. this song is in no way related to the current post. But its just that,it keeps circling inside my head like flies do on a piece of shit (yuck.. what a "shit" comparison). But I recite the whole song "dhan te nan" either in my mind or sometimes loud enough to scare the neighbours, atleast twice a day. You dont get to hear such songs often do you?

Now, last week, I had an unvited guest at my room, that too in the form of an animal - a hungry monkey. Well, no need to use the adjective hungry because it seems they always are. Before describing my encounter with how our ancestors were some thousnad years ago, let me first describe how the maginficient house is built where I live.

This house has 2 rooms plus a room where we dump the dirt in our body (aka bathroom) and the room that we always like to keep dirty (aka kitchen), all in the 2nd floor of the building. It is followed by lot of open space in the front with no roof, for what the owner calls as "hall". Wonder if the owner was thinking about Mallika Sherawat stripping when he built this house, taking the inspiration too seriously, he decided to "strip" the roof!!! This gives an open invitation for crows, pigeons and recently bandar babu, to use our kitchen and bathroom in case we forget to lock it.

OK.. When this bandar (or is it bandariya?? I never had the guts to check that) decided toenjoy its weekend at our kitchen, I spotted it just like journalists spot the celebrities meeting secretly. I went to scare it with no weapon in my hand. Seeing an unarmed man with no stick but who himself looks like a stick, bandar babu decides to pounce on me. Frightened, I ran for my life into the room but the monkey had no ideas to give up its revenge. He promptly followed me to the room making me jumpon the bed. After all its a monkey and decides to showcase its talent and he too jumps on the bed. The distance between us is just 4 feet.

I had never seen a monkey that sat so close to me. For 10 seconds, I went completely blank. Later I realised that I had been cornered and had no space to escape. A cornered animal is dangerous but a cornered Anil never is. I just stood there with my legs shaking. The monkey decides to attack me but I somehow manage to stop grabbing a pillow in my hand. It opened its mouth wide as if it was saying "look at my teeth you little peacock". Yes boss. Its teeth were surely sharper than mine, so if its succeeds to get my meat in between its teeth, I would certainly lose some good amount of weight. I then realised that Harbahjan Singh had rightly referred Andrew Symonds to this animal.

3 minutes passed and all frightening thoughts started bubbling in my head. What if the monkey pounces on me and scratches all over my body? Not a problem.. there is a clinic nearby and a quick treatment is somewhat assured. But whats the worst that can haapen? This monkey can take a bite of my flesh and at the worst, can kill me. Thats all isn't it?? Its OK man. We all have to die one day or the other.

WHAT THE $#%&??? Did you just think you will be killed Anil? 24 and a half years of struggle and this is the way I end it? Bitten by a stupid 3 foot tall monkey. Common. I still haven't lost my virginity and here I am, staring at my death that is 4 feet away. My death is going to be as uninteresting as my life. I would rather die due to swine flu than like this. What would tomorrow's newspaper talk about me? 'Monkey tears a man to death'... How timid that would be.

Meanwhile bandar babu decides to have another go and tries to snatch the pillow from me. I took a step forward to scare it and aila... that worked. Then I realised, this world only scares the fellows who get scared and animals are very much part of this world. With all the courage that was hidden deep inside my soul, I took a deep breath and shouted "ssshuuu ssshuu manga" (manga is a Kannada word that means monkey) and there it goes. He runs for life this time showing his back. In no time he was on the terrace giving me the look of a defeated soldier. And I, like a cunning winner, showed my middle finger to it. Huh.. That was not so difficult mate!!!

Summer of 09

Now, I know there isn't anyone out there who is eagerly waiting to see something new on this web page. I know that the number of people who read my blog are less than the number of fans Tusshar Kapoor has in 7 continents. The fact that I myself, the owner of this blog, has looked at it after 87 days, explains how popular my blog is. I must thank the management of blogspot.com, its technical administrators, its watchmen, sweepers and toilet cleaners, for still finding my blog worth some existence.
Anyways, I don't write blog for someone else. I mean, I would like if someone reads and enjoys, but on the contrary, if he/she feels my writing is absolute bullshit, I don't mind. I will still continue to scribble so that, when I am 62 years and 7 months and 18 days old, I can sit back on my sofa and show to my wife how I have been all through my life. She deserves some torture does she?
Oh.. By the way, coming to the topic.. What an extraordinary summer this has been, like every other summer ( I saw this line on a guys T-shirt, you see, that's how I make my posts more readable). My family has shifted over to Gurgaon and mummy, daddy and the little boy are having the party of their lives.
My mom is nothing much different from all the middle class Indian mothers. These moms have only two missions in their lives: a) to watch their sons grow and get a job in some company so that they can pack their lunch boxes when their mama's boy goes to work, b) get a traditional typical Indian bahu for their young lad as soon as he starts to earn a decent income. I can understand the sentiment behind the first one but I scratch my head for the b part, knowing what consequences one has to face.
And coming to my dad.. I find it difficult to put all middle class into one category but one thing where my dad stands out is his love for reading. I guess he loves books more than he loves my mom!! Thank god you don't get Kannda newspapers in Delhi, or else our home would have been..... damn.. couldn't find any suitable metaphor this time.

24 years ago, a disaster happened

When the world lay asleep on a winter night, the dogs at the end of the lane kept barking on the silhouettes, the time during which the kids wet their beds silently, the time at which even the bravest bunch of people fear going near the sepulchral, the time was for the ghosts to roam around rather than the humans, a baby started yelling in a contrastingly silent environment. The people around were as amused as you would get when you see a hot girl in a mini skirt.

But with every smile, there comes a frown, like with every cheap underwear that you buy, you get holes in it too soon. That little trouble grew up to bang its sister’s head on to the wall at the age of 6, wet its bed till the age of 8, pierce a pencil into its cousin’s bottoms at the age of 12, and secretly watched adult movies from the age of 15 (some may think that’s too late?). If you are still squeezing your eyes wondering who that trouble is, go dig a hole and bury yourself.

I will be turning 24 in a few days time, and I am sure the number of people who will call and wish me would be less than the number of hit movies given by Amisha Patel. I do not blame anyone for this. I know it’s because, I haven’t been a best friend to anyone, nor do I have any best friend. When I began to list out the reasons for this, I created a hair pulling 8784 byte notepad file (which included "writing a blog that no one reads"). I know it’s silly but that’s what you do when you neither have friends around you nor any work.

Coming back to my birthday, I will be 24 now, when some of my friends who passed out along with me are still 22. And that’s what makes me feel older than I actually am. Many times, I have had these nightmares that I am getting too old without doing anything in my life and one day, it’s all over for me; that I come out of my house with a walking stick for a morning walk, when I see one of my friend returning home after enjoying the night in a disco. I just googled to find out that it’s called Gerascophobia.

Inspite of all these, I don’t know why I look at myself atleast 10 times a day in the mirror and smile (at my foolishness?). For me, the most lovable thing in this world is I; one thing that I would like to know more about is I. You may call this ego, but I follow the saying," Love yourself if you want to love others ". Next week, doesn’t matter if anyone wishes me or not, I will still look at the mirror and say "Happy birthday Anil".

Those 30 minutes

In what has been one of the most bizarre "moves" of my life so far, I have "moved" from a pretty calm, far less polluted Noida to a costly, cosmopolitan cyber city Gurgaon; a move more stupid than jumping from a frying pan to fire (a famous Kannada saying). Although now I stay just about a kilometer away from my office, the journey from my room to my office is not at all short of description.

As I put on my jacket and leave the room, I put my hands deep into my pants pockets to avoid them from getting frozen. My initial phase of this 30 minute journey makes me inhale a lot of carbon dioxide mixed with dust, thanks to the construction works happening around my room. I walk past these half built buildings, taking care that no brick or stone hits my head.

Now I reach the city’s one of the most crowded and dirtiest roads. I need to cross to the other end, a stunt which can only be performed by Akshay Kumar and that too, after you pay him a handsome amount. For a minute or two, I stand there looking at the cars racing away in front of my eyes. The BMWs, the Mercedes, the Audis, you name it, I can see it. Those cars which I used to see only in auto magazines an year ago, have now become an obstacle making me difficult to go to the other end of this highway. After raising my palm to stop the cars, having a few narrow escapes from motorcyclists, listening to a few gaalis in Haryanvi accent, I finally manage to accomplish the intimidating task.

Now comes the best part of my journey as I enter the premises of Infinity Towers, a tall flamboyant structure housing some of the leading multi national companies of the world. As soon as I cross the gates of this dashing building, I slow down my walking pace. Not that my legs are tired, but there is a feast waiting for my eyes. I turn my head and look upon the people moving, just can’t help noticing the tall, fair female species with huge sunglasses on their eyes, stylish designer bags swinging on their shoulders, heading towards their destination on high heeled shoes, straight silky hair bouncing on their back and lots of other things that I can’t mention here. Why isn’t my office just opposite to this "lovely looking" building?

As I look at my watch, I realize that I have spent just a little more time in looking at this building and the people working in here. I switch on to the top gear and start moving fast. In the process, I hit an electric pole, rubbed shoulder with a guy having a red turban on his head and almost got banged by a Honda City car. In the meantime my cell phone starts ringing. With one eye on the phone and the other watching out for the automobiles trying to send me to hell, I pick the phone just to discover that it’s from one of the banks who are willing to grant me a loan.

Crossing all these hurdles that would threaten my existence on this planet, I finally reach my office, exert all my force on the elevator button after waiting for a couple of minutes and find that it’s already overloaded with people. Giving them a smile, cursing the elevator in my heart, I climb up some 70 steps to reach to my cubicle and say to myself, "Wait… The day has just begun!!!"

Finding Friends

Life without friends is like a Bollywood movie without a bikini scene. Both are very essential in making the environment refreshing, sensational, unforgettable and in spicing up the moments. Recently, all those actions have been terribly missing from my life, feeling like being marooned on a city of more than 1 crore people.

The number of friends I have, has dipped down like the stock markets in recent days. The count, which was more than the number of hairs on Andrew Symmonds’s head (and maybe other parts), has now dried up and looks like that of Virendar Sehwag (’s head). Though some of my extremely patient friends have taken the pain to keep in touch with me, don’t know if they would be feeling like a kid being compelled by his teacher to sit in class, when he urgently wants to drop his pants and sit on a commode. Some even feel that watching Karzzzz for three hours is better than talking to me for 30 seconds. To make matters worse, I don’t know the reason for this. Yes I have been a bit insensitive, rude, negligent, miserly, arrogant, stubborn, foolish kind of a person, but… why am I losing friends???

I had a mild shock when one of my “used to be good friends” honored me with most of the above adjectives (add the term egoistic to that which my dear friend later accepted to cancel it from the list). Yes I have a few terribly frank friends, more terrible than Himesh Reshamiya and more frank than Rakhi Sawant. And I am sure there would be few who would like to add some more terms to that list.

Friends are like undergarments. You may wear a Tommy Hilfiger shirt and a Denim jeans below it, look cool by wearing expensive eye and wrist gears, gel up your hair making yourself look like a porcupine, but if you do not wear your undergarments, you miss something and you miss them very badly. Friends are equally essential. So all you boys and girls who take trouble to read my blog, in the spirit of friendship and brotherhood (latter one not meant for girls), please take some more trouble and get in touch with me, or else I will make you sit and watch Aag, Phoonk and Drona all alone, back to back.

1 year @ workplace

Sometimes Brett Lee’s fastest deliveries are hit over his head for six. Sometimes the fastest moving wild animals are easily hunted. Sometimes the giant anacondas of the Amazon are tamed down without much effort. Sometimes the most talented hard working young men don’t get jobs in the best companies. Sometimes…. The best just don’t get the best… Thankfully... I don’t belong to that list of best.

It has been one year since I started working. And when I look back and think about my achievements…. emmmm... lets drop that. A lot has changed since my joining and the present situation. From training rooms to conference rooms, from assignments to work orders, from classes to KT’s, from tests to certifications, not just that, from dosas to paranthas and the best... from fleshy, hairy Mallu aunties to slim, gorgeous Delhi Mall babes.

In a nutshell, my one year of corporate life has been a bag containing cake and cow dung. Although a few times I have brought down the jaws of my teammates with my intelligence, on most of the occasions I have been so dumb that Taare Zameen Par’s Ram Shankar Nikumbh sir would think twice before handling me and Ishaan Avasthi would raise his eyebrows looking at my IQ. My contribution to the revenue of my company so far, would be enough to fetch a mid day meal for an infant living below poverty line in Somalia.

I may not have made significant contribution in the financial sector but I have been a frontrunner when it comes to teaching others. My presence in the office has been a good moral learning experience for my teammates. They have learnt how not to stare at women colleagues with the mouth wide open, and how not make a fool out of yourself. Not just how-nots but a few hows as well like how to find excuses to skip work, how to pretend that you are working yet keep chatting in chat rooms are to name a couple of them.

Ending this post without mentioning what I did in the weekends of this one year would be like Sholay without Gabbar Singh, like Big Boss without any females, or like Rakhi Sawant without her doctors. If you have read my previous post, it’s not difficult to guess what would I do to keep myself busy on weekends. I share the same relationship with my bed, as Michael Phelps shares with swimming pool. No better way to spend the free time than lying on the bed, eyes closed and being in a ‘out of this world’ condition. Its relaxing, refreshing, gets me rid of boredom and moreover, very cost effective. Someone has really said it right, “The best things in life, are free”.

Travel..Traffic..Torture

Its 5.50 P.M on a cloudy Friday evening in the cyber city of incredible India. As I pack my bag, my colleagues sitting around give a ‘how the beeep you leave so early’ kind of a look but still manage to wish me a happy weekend with a smile on their face. My journey from Gurgaon to Noida, a breathtaking 50 kms long bumpy ride starts now. The travel is as smooth as the unwaxed hands of Kim Sharma!

As I walk out of my office, my tired eyes start searching for the bus with the number 23 written on its forehead. After a lot of honking, traffic policemen waving hands, drivers cursing others mothers and sisters, my bus finally arrives in a rather unwilling way. This journey is long enough to make Ekta Kapoor`s serials seem like ending in few minutes.

This journey can last anywhere from two hours to a good seven hours depending on the traffic state of 3 cities- Gurgaon, Delhi and Noida. If you are so lucky that you can walk blindfolded on a flyway without getting knocked over, the journey may end in less than two hours. Today the traffic seems to be as usual; long array of cars lining one behind the other eagerly waiting for the signal to turn green, killer DTC buses zooming past all other vehicles, autowalas attempting various stunts to impress the hot girl sitting behind them and in the midst of all these, bikers trying to find the narrowest gap between two vehicles to move their bikes ahead thinking themselves as Batman, out on a mission to save this planet.

Every weekday I spend so much time in this bus doing nothing. Not that I am as busy Mukesh Ambani but, I feel this time could have been used more productively like sleeping or watching FTV or roaming in malls to look for what every male species of homo-sapiens looks at.

But… things are really not as bad as they look. When other people get frustrated in these annoying traffic jams, I lay on my seat, absolutely calm, composed not at all moved by these disturbances. Be it the boring microcontroller classes during my college days, or a day long travel in trains, I have been gifted with tremendous powers. By this, my patience is like the Australian Cricket team, seldom faces defeat. This gift is the most beautiful five letter word in English which is called 'sleep'. I now shut my eyes, take a deep breath and exercise this gift. And if you have fallen asleep by the time you finish reading this post… dude you are gifted like me!!