Bizarre

In the stock market when you hedge your funds against stock that doesn’t exist or has dubious origins or destinations, it is considered a fraud.
The exchange board will come calling and so will Barkha Dutt. With her camera crew and all intention to nationally disgrace you. 24 x 7. At least once.
Your kids will face a tough time in school.
Your comparatively less dishonest relatives will face grief.
So will the ones that are more dishonest but not yet caught.

As Tony says the crime is not in the act of committing it anymore. It is in getting caught.

But for a moment, stop and think. Don’t we do it everyday? All of us?
We commit the very same fraud in our life everyday.
We plan, we work and we hope to make our life better.
Without knowing whether it exists the next second.
We are hedging our life against speculative stock.
Good? Bad?
I cannot say. What I can say is that it just doesn’t make sense.
And it is bloody unfair.

Yesterday a friend passed away. At 32. At the peak of his career.

He went off. Just like that. Out of the blue.
Without even fulfilling the promise of treating me to a drink. At a relatively posh and expensive place, than our regular watering hole.
Without giving me the job he promised to.
Without introducing me to the hot chick in his ‘You vs You’ commercial.
All promises remain. But that is not why I am writing this.

This is because it has made me change the way I look at life. It has made me realize the fragility of life. Convince me otheriwse. But I think this is the divine fast one God himself pulled on us. He made a strict entry process for life to enter into this world. Where the labour, pain and fruit is all the domain of the human being.
But he kept the exit process, or considering the swiftness of it, the exit act all to himself. Leaving behind pain and pain alone. To a lot of people.
"aate ho apni marzi se. jaaoge uski marzi se"
(you come when you want, you leave when he wants).

Wanna play poker with God? Actually we all do.

We actually take life for granted. Like the car battery.
Till the bloody thing gives up on us.
We think of life in perpetuity, like business. As a going concern.
Then all of a sudden, our fraud is caught.
And from a life form we become a memory.

I will miss you V Mahesh.
Not because we had 2 new yearparties together.
Not because you were a rockstar copywriter.
Not because we drank together.
Not because we fought after we drank.
Not because we never had to make up after that.
Not because we have a dozen people in common we love.
And not because you were there when I needed you.

I will miss you Mahesh because I still cannot believe that you’re not there.

The sealed envelope

A man visited his father.
The old man was on the deathbed.
And wanted to settle financial issues before he popped it.

The father, after handing over all earthly possessions to the young man, handed him a sealed envelope. He said “you must never read it. No matter what happens”. The son vowed to keep his promise and the man departed to the next world peacefully.

Time as always heals everything. The man got on with his life.
Married. Procreated. Progressed in business. Life was good.

Then one day the wife, while cleaning his study came across this envelope he had kept in the lower most drawer, next to the Bible.
She read the letter and was aghast!

In the evening when the man returned after work, she sat him down and said that she was leaving him. And taking the kids with her. And half of the estate. And handed him the letter, now sealed again.

The man was struck with grief. He could not imagine what that letter contained that would have such a disastrous repercussion.
After his wife left him half as poorer in the bank than in the heart, he was tempted to read the letter. But somehow managed to keep the will in place.

He hit the bottle with a vengeance and let it drain along all the wealth he had left.
Not to mention letting it take a toll on his health.
His doctor one day confronted him. Pleaded that he was present at his birthing and could not see this misery befall him. He mentioned that he was a friend and if something was bothering him he could talk about it.

The man told him. Told him everything that happened since he first got that letter.
The doctor offered a solution. He said he would read it and tell him of its contents.
An agreement was reached. The envelope was given to the doctor.
He read it, smiled, re-sealed the envelope and handed it back to the man.
And said he had to go. And would not be visiting him from now.
An alternate doctor was needed.

What the man went through at this stage is indescribable in words.
Mind, body and soul, all were tormented. And he forgot about a life that once showed so much of promise. The house, along with all the other things he had were slowly sold off to compensate for the heavy losses in business. And the son of a wealthy father one day became a street bum living on alms. But he still did not open that letter.
Not because of will. Will and any such thing was long lost. This time it was fear.

He feared what that letter contained. He feared of a revelation so horrendous that he too like others would have to leave him and go. He feared that letter as if it contained his death.

Drunk and ragged he was one day picked up from the harbor by a crew and taken onboard as domestic help for the quarters. In exchange for food, a warm bed to sleep in and an occasional drink.

The man finally let go of the bottle and opted for access to newspaper, books and TV. Occasionally. No matter how he had managed the crisis in life, he was an educated man who once was a successful businessman. And it was not long before he became the preferred man Friday for the captains’ quarters.
Once he even got to have a drink with the captain. One drink.
After learning his background (the parts involving and related to the letter were omitted in this narrative. Failures and alimony were attributed to other causes) the captain was impressed. He started taking the mans advice on budgeting, strategy and a lot more.

He became a much admired, loved and respected man on the ship.

The captains’ quarters were vandalized one night while the ship was on shore and the sailors had vanished to hit the bars and whorehouses. Our man remained on the ship in the lower deck playing poker with the engine room boys.

At the crack of dawn when the captain returned all hell broke lose. Order was called. Threats were made. Blows were delivered to the junior staff.
The captain had lost his most prized possession. His diamond studded watch.

Searches were made, with the captain himself leading the brigade.
He was the one who personally searched the man Friday quarters and casually flipped through our mans stuff very sure that he would not have taken it.
He saw the envelope hidden neatly at the bottom of the pile in the study rack.
He pocketed it out of curiosity.

The watch was found in another staff member’s room and he confessed to it. he was dismissed immediately and was asked to confine himself to the lower most deck along with the cargo till they reach the nearest port. Where he would be offloaded.

After retiring to his quarter that night the captain fingered the letter in his shirt pocket. He was overwhelmed with guilt and yet was intrigued by the state of this bright and brilliant man. He read it.

The man as woken up in his sleep by the captain. The lights were on.
You have to leave the captain said. Right now. We cannot wait till we reach the shore.
A life raft is ready. Stocked with food. And some brandy for the weather.
A message will be sent to the nearest ship that would rescue him in about 2 days.
But he would have to leave right away.
No reason was given to the man. None was required because before leaving the captain handed him the envelope. Now sealed again.

As the stand in manpower lowered the raft with the man and food supplies to last him a week into the ocean the captain assured him that the rescue boat was on its way. And he would be saved. A word of advice though.
Do not mention or show the letter to them.

The man started at the horizon for a long time after the ship had vanished.
He didn’t know what to feel. And I don’t know how to describe what he felt.

He forgot about everything and tore open the envelope. And extracted the letter.

Just then a gush of wind blew the letter out of his trembling hands.

The rescue ship rescued his body from the sharks that were circling the raft within 12 hours.

Everybody has problems

There is no country in the world that boasts of a perfect life. Crime and corruption are everywhere. Yeah... I agree. Nobody may have a judiciary that is as fucked up as ours. But hell... there are some who have dictators!

But all that is IA. Not Indian Airlines but internal affairs. Like everyone we have our issues. More or less. But where do we stand as a country?

2 years ago ‘India Shining’ was a four letter word.
You were looked down upon as a bag of air that went bust.
Some accused it. Some chose to ignore it.
All in all the writing was on the wall. India was not shining.


But can a failure of an advertising campaign hide some basic truths?


Before you hear this year’s budget, please give a thought to the following.

~We went from 6000 on the stock markets to 10000 in record time.
~The who’s who of the Forbes top 100 have business interests in India. Take the top 500 for that matter.
~Foreign nations choose to buy defense aircrafts from India.
~The world runs its business processes from India.
~Global carmakers are falling all over themselves to hit the Indian roads.
~When the heads of state of France and India meet, they talk about an Indian steelmaker.
~The purchasing power of the average middle class Indian has skyrocketed.
~India said no to aid when hit by Tsunami.
~India stood aid to Pakistan when the earthquake struck.
~The Indian cricket team is finally a team.

Consider these, and decide for yourself. I’ve already made up my mind.

India is shining.

Alive

I have been visiting a friend who lives in an apartment
block close to my office.
As I walk down the driveway, in the basement to the lift,
I always smiled at the building kids playing cricket.
I remembered my house / tennis ball cricket.

No teams. Individual batsmen. Turns picked on lot.
Last to bat, first to bowl.
If the ball hits a window directly – out.
Runs only on leg side (offside for LHB).
3 overs per batsman maximum.
If the ball is lost, the batsman is liable.
Fast bowling not allowed.
One bounce-one hand catch – out (optional).

I remembered all this and smiled.
It was amazing. The carelessness. The worry free life.
The only major stress being how to extend daily playtime.

Then one fine day ‘30 & happy’ wrote on her childhood.
It was beautiful.
It made me look back long and hard at my childhood
and I was happy that remembered a lot of stuff.
Somehow I was kicked just because I could remember all of it. Clearly.

My fathers Seiko crystal alarm clock with a blue dial. Which I broke.
Putting the prayer room brocade for the Guru Granth Sahib on fire with agarbattis.
Setting a live snake bought from a charmer loose in class.

Watching my first porn movie.
Walking across our village fields in rains.
Milking a cow.
Watching the birth of a calf.
Waiting for my turn to bathe under the tubewell.
Falling off the school bus.
My mother crying because there wasn’t enough money in the house even to buy eggs.
Eating roti with daal, green chilies, salt and onions.
Getting an electric shock.
The 84 riots.
Zia – my standard one classmate from Bombay Scottish.
My horrendous yellow baby dresses with Mickey, Minnie and Donald.

I remembered all of this and a whole lot more.
I was damm kicked. Trust me.
And I silently thanked ‘30 & happy’
for making me think. There are these memories
that need to be re-lived. And thought over.
And ‘happy’, you made me do it. Thank you.

I realized I never wanted to grow up.
Because childhood is the only phase of your life,
where you cannot be judged. You do what you want,
and get loved for it.

But the kids at the building, well,
I couldn’t get the cricket out of my head.
My thinking had made me cry out for a time machine.
I wish I could jump into one and race back
to my standard 6 days in New Delhi.

Every time I watched them play, it hurt.
It hurt that I was not doing it everyday anymore.
I didn’t have the time. Couldn’t.
But I was surprised how much I wanted to.
Could I, still?

But the thinking had made me remember.
The elder kids coming in to play.
The father returning from work wanting to pelt a few shots.
The casual bond, that is ever so easy to create with a kid.
All it takes is a smile and some genuine affection.
So as I was walking out of the building, today evening
I asked them politely if I could play a few shots.
They said sure. And I took the bat.
I was out first ball. Clean bowled.
I threw a tantrum. I wanted another chance.
There were a few voices of dissent but I had my way.
If it was childhood I was visiting I would do the whole deal.
And I got my second chance.
And scored 37 runs. Glory being cut short by a brilliant catch.

I said thank you, shook hands with all of them and walked out.
I was so happy this evening. And honestly, despite all kicks
about my rock solid memory, I cannot remember when
was the last time I was so happy.
As I touched the main road I felt a tear in my eye.
I wiped it off before it could trickle down.

I was happy with the child in me. He was alive and kicking.

The panty story

The past few days have brought some revelations.
A few ladies I know have shown an almost unbelievably bad taste in lingerie.
No, don’t get me wrong here, most of them just write about it.
There were some turn off shades like pink, orange, yellow and green. And some bigger turn offs with sparkles and polka dots.
And then, one sweet girl took the cake.
She claimed to fancy cartoon character like lingerie with psychographic descriptions that say ‘mysterious’ or ‘I’m single’.
Though thankfully she doesn’t wear them over her denims. And neither is the graffiti in Braille. But that doesn’t really help.
I cannot, but wonder what purpose they serve.
Besides the hygienic reasons the only other benefit of lingerie is pleasure. Either to yourself, or to another’s. In which case, if you’re lucky, it would boil down to the first.
Net-net, Pleasure...
Now, how in heavens name, does orange or green lingerie give you any form of visual pleasure? Because what you feel has less to do with color and more to do with fabric. So ultimately it is visual pleasure for self (less) and others (more).
(I will not even make a mention of pink here.)
And while we are talking about fabric and texture, how can I forget a few hidden quirks I was privy to. Now nobody wants to hurt themselves with heir own lingerie…right?
Considering, the kinky ones, well yes. There is a possibility. But how can you ‘do up’ your lingerie in a way that it not only stands to permanently harm your privates but bring your already colorless sex life to an end? Kinks are fine, I’m all for them. Hell…I have a few of my own.
But if the kink happens to be related to word games, barb wires or sandpaper… I am surprised you are managing to get some in the first place.
Imagine this. You get into a room (or anywhere you chose) with a babe. Things are going good and she sheds her 501s to reveal a pink and white number with ‘mysterious’ written on the butt!
And says “lets play sexagram – anagram”. Jumble up ‘mysterious’ and come up with a sexy word.
Oooooooffffff! Turn off would be a blessing in such a situation.
Or maybe you hurt your fingers while undoing the barb wire.
Or removing the sandpaper.
If they have not already hurt someone fatally.
(The flip side here is, there will be no make out session. No in-betweens. You either go all the way there, or kiss and hope for lesser hurdles on the way next time. But with such lingerie, please do not attempt a 2nd base make out session. For it will end up in the emergency room of the nearest hospital. And you will have to come up with a convincing, yet baseless story.

But hell, some of these prints still look good. Tiger prints with fur and all. Or barb wire. Or sandpaper. Or some dandy outrageous color with who-knows-why graffiti on them.
But they look good on someone else. Preferably standing next to a pole. Or dancing on it. Under neon lights. And inconsequential music.

Now here it is very important to understand what good lingerie is.
You see, good lingerie is first and foremost simple. And comfortable.
Plain. Without prints.
Because good lingerie either needs to merge with your clothes. Or your skin.
So unless you have natural fur or skin like sandpaper or private parts like the de-forested area 51 that is barb wired (in which case I am surprised you need good lingerie in the first place), please stick to simple and comfortable. They will surely help you get some.

If you’re not planning to make a living out of being whipped or poled, stick to the tried and tested sexy lingerie.
In lace. Satin. At times sexy black leather. Or good old cotton. For a more detailed version please visit www.victoriassecret.com

And yes, the colors in order of sensuality are black, red, white, grey, blue and peach.

And if none of these suggestions sound good to you (you know who all I’m referring to), chuck the whole thing. Forget lingerie. Reduce a step in the process. Get down straight to business.

Pleasure. Thy name is lingerie.
Though if love is blind, I wonder why lingerie is so popular. But that is for another blog…

After thoughts

How does a biker ride a bike with the entire weight he carries resting on his privates? Which in turn rest on sandpaper and barb wire. Or fur for that matter. And pressed against the iron of the fuel tank.

I failed to have an after thought on the purpose of the ‘mysterious’ word game. Was it featured under the ‘10001 sex tips to spice up your life’ in the latest issue of cosmopolitan?

Orange I agree is a ‘happy’ color. But lingerie should make you feel sexy, not happy.

And finally, sparkles are for class 2 coloring projects. Of fancy dress costumes. Or to decorate and liven up boring show pieces. Need I say more?

The art of lying

11 tips to lying successfully, perfected after a lifetime of effort.

The art of One:One issue, one lie.

Be realistic:Stay as close to the truth as possible, for credibility, and flexibility.

KISS:One version, fewer chances of getting rogered, and fewer people to roger you.

Stay focussed: Extraneous information betrays lack of self-confidence. Also see Point 3 – keep it short.

Unemotionality:Take acting lessons. Much like in sex, body language is everything.

Pick your target:Underestimating your intended victims can have disastrous consequences.

Stick to your story:Never contradict yourself. At least, not in public.

How To Confess:In the unlikely eventuality, plead, grovel, beg, and live to lie another day. Also see Point 5 – acting lessons.

Apna jhooth Jagannath:Lying is not a group activity. Play with yourself only.

The art of closure:Know when to call it quits. But never reveal the truth.

Last, but not least, you can lie to all the people, all the time. You just can’t lie to them all at the same time.

....

You see, like two wives, two blogs are tough to handle. Think of it as matrimony but I made a blog first on MSN. And am too lazy to maintain two blogs (with my writing already suffering from Parkinsons, one is bad enough). Hence this blog was to up my picture and mandatory demographics that these guys here ask for. So that you get the plot, but miss the point.
But I'm with MSN no more. Will be blogging here from now.

A word of caution though.

1. Opinions are like assholes.
2. Everybody has one.
3. I have both.