~Sex and this City~

From time immemorial, man has always sought out the best way to impress what he considered the “fairer sex”, in most cases ‘fairer’ implying female. Very often he would go out of his way, in his time trying everything from flowers to chocolates to poodles to Islands to dancing around trees to climbing them. ( Just ask Mr. Krrish)

But of course in his time like in most pursuits, man has degenerated. The pre-historic man was by far the most charming and committed. From Adam and his apple to Paris of Troy ( the one who while being a guest in Sparta assumed that his hosts wife was all part of the hospitality package being offered). who to impress and show his love for his new love, fought or atleast got people to fight one of the largest wars in the history of the world.

Circa 2006 then, how would today’s present day ‘metrosexual’ man compare with the Adam's, the Paris's and the Shah Jahan's of old.

Well, I’m afraid, quite miserably.

Firsty and most importantly, a prime constituent of effective courtship would have to be the ability of today’s youth to be refined, charismatic and articulate. Clark Gable in “Gone with the wind” for instance. That breed today however, is well and truly extinct.

Infact coursthip today, to begin with is not even referred to as courtship, for a person who succeeds in it is hailed as a “Player” or a “Playa” or however you want to pronounce it. So, quite obviously courtship in today’s era is akin to “Playing” a game.

Which game then are today's 'metro' men playing then?

This is when, it gets really interesting. Cause, another often heard term to quantify the degree of voyeuristic “conquest” the metro sexual man might have succeeded in is the “ Base system”. Their apparently are according to most base systems essentially 4 bases, while in some cases a 5^th one exists, that being of a “Home Run”. All this ofcourse, after the metro man has succeeded in courting his lady- the process of "Hitting".

Analysis of this new age vocabulary, obvious means that the frame or game of reference here is “Baseball”. Considering, we live in a land where the common man might know as many Baseball “players” as he knows members of the Rajya Sabha, the choice of the frame of reference is a little perplexing. Anyway, for whatever reason our “Metrosexual” man is playing Baseball and not any other sport.

Another commonly used phrase which follows, “Which base did you reach?” is the frequently used “ Did you score?”. Hang on a minute, what exactly is Mr. Metro sexual scoring. Anyway, this is often followed by, “ Oh you mean, duuuude! You got lucky!”. Hang on again, assuming that he is playing Baseball , he doesnt have to necessarily get “lucky” to score now does he?

Ok, anyway the man scored because he got lucky or the other way around, basically enabling him to move into the next stage. That being the potentially dizzying stage of “Going around”. Wait, before that we have the “ Proposal” stage.

“I propose you”. or better still "1 -4-3". Ok, he is done. We now move onto the “Going around” stage.

“The Going around” stage is particularly confusing, mainly because neither party here knows what they are going around. Yes, it has often bewildered me. the Pond, the tree, the zoo, each other? “The Going around” stage in yesteryear, would involve a dashing charismatic youth taking away the love of his life on horseback to a distant island, followed by him, his love and the horse all swimming in the clear blue sea. Compare that, with today’s techno savvy metro-sexual man, whose idea of romance would be sure to involve one of the following:

• Burn CD with all romantic songs and gift to girl he is “hitting” on.
• Engage in “Long Distance relationship” using new age innovations such as “Skype”.

Seriously, where did this term “Long Distance relationship” come from? Now, the metrosexual man can’t be put to blame for everything. The ultra chic, overtly pretentious new age , “hep” and most definitely “in” teen girl must also take some of the blame.

I recently heard a 18 and a few days college girl say with all seriousness, “Man, I really can’t handle a long distance relationship.” Hang on a minute here, what “relationship” is she talking about? And has this term, "Long distance relationship" evolved from the term " Long distance phone call" ?

Most so- called “relationships”, I have witnessed taking shape in front of me generally end with:

• A bitching spree within a month
• The chivalrous male ditching his current date for either :

1. His Rakhi sister
2. His girl friend’s best friend
3. Both

And then, the worst is when they finally stop “seeing each” other, cause “ No, we were too much like friends, we couldn’t be boy friend – girl friend”. Hang on a minute, aren’t “boyfriend-girlfriend” friends first, than anything else.

I really think its high time the teenage male and female realized, that the so called, or atleast most of the so called “relationships” they get into are nothing but immature outpourings of their own built up hormone levels. Its amazing, how the depth of their relationship is directly quantified by the proportion to which their hormones have been expended.

Sometimes however, the hormones, the male one in particular does come up against obstacles like, “ lets call all our friends”, “ Not tonight” and of course the Kollywood favourite, “ Lets just be friends”.

How should it gain refuge then? quite simple really, buy a PS2 and put on the game “The Playboy Mansion”. Your choice of playmates, a luxorious mansion, and most importantly, ever increasing charm all enabling you to make the transition from simple conversation to an intimate caress to completing depleting all your reserves of testosterone in the shower , in the swimming pool or on the pinball machine. Some famous geek once famously said, “The virtual world does have the potential to simplify every day life beyond belief.” . I completely agree.

The Playing field

The Final Draft

Half way home

Home- Run

Life couldnt be simpler. Could it.

Vote for! Vote for!

They are 2 events, in the calendar year I have always looked forward to with great anticipation. The first would be release of the Kingfisher Calendar with the photos of all the top Indian models in unbelievably unbelievable swimsuits, the second would have to be the country’s second favourite pastime, the Elections.

They are certain concepts, I however have found rather intriguing about the elections and I have hence decided to throw light upon them here in numerical order :

Concept 1 : The Election Yaatra

We often hear of Mr. L.K Advani's U.P yaatra, during which he visited each and every village on route. We have also heard of Mr. Laloo Prasad's yatra's where, it is common belief that he stole fodder from each and ever Cow shed in his path. There was also the story, most recently of certain members of the BJP running up a large (never paid for) bill at a Dhaba during one of their yaatra's. ( A bill which they eventually paid for thanks to the ever helpful NDTV).

The activities during the yaatra are most often even more baffling. All that seems to happen, is the politician masquerading through the street waiving his hand, with some blokes by the side of him screaming "Vote for! Vote for!". Honestly, is that all that is required to convince our intellectual villagers who they should be voting for? And how on earth does vote for! Vote for! give the villager any idea how effective that masquerader will be when elected.

Concept 2 : Announcement of Freebies

It is during the elections, that the generosity and magnamanity of our politicians truly comes to light.

With nothing short of Color TV sets , Gold, Computers all being put up for grabs. The most stomach rumbling announcement has been the pricing of Rice at Rs. 2 per Kg by Dr. Kalaignar, not to be outdone Periamma has agreed to add Pressure Cooker's to her list of freebies. " It is to Cook the rice , given by Kalaignar", she says.

Most families hence have one member voting for Kalaignar with the other voting for Periamma, hence assuring that they get to in effect, " Cook the rice and eat it".

I have a fundamental problem with this, once the voter goes into the polling booth, isnt who he votes for supposed to be a secret? How on earth can the pressure cooker donators or the Color TV Donators, then be sure that they voted for them. It is a touch bewildering...

Concept 3 : Declaration of Assets

This is generally quite a simple short procedure, unless ofcourse your name is Dr. J.J. (I'm not going to risk mentioning her whole name, come to think of it, how on earth did she become a Dr.??). You declare your assets which evolves to how much the politician believes he is ( legally) worth.

This exercise however can never be taken lightly, as it could lead to "life or death" consequences. For instance, our recently shot former Defence Minister Mr. Pramod Mahajan. His loving brother, apparently shot him dead cause Pramod apparently was a "2000 Crore" man. My only question here, is how on earth did Pramod Mahajan become a "2000 crore"man?? On a Cabinet minister's salary? Did he own an island off the baltic or something...

So, this exercise is done and the claimants generally fill up their assets in terms of how much they believe they are worth monetarily. Only monetary figures, which in turn means Dr. JJ's photographs of herself or Dr. Kalaignar's antique spectacles are not quite included in the calculation.

Concept 4 : Naming of Thalaivars

Actually this happens well before the elections, but then who really cares. Here, the party president figures out who he wants standing from which constituency. This allows the party to make use of party ministers, who might be popular in certain constituencies, akin to how Napoleon always stood from Corsica or how Stalin always did so from Moscow.

Sometimes parties get a little carried away and re-name their party members after victorious electoral leaders from their history books. How else, would you explain the existence of a Stalin and a Napoleon contesting in the constituencies of Chrompet and Pupudet respectively.

Concept 5 : Exit Polls

Further to the polling is the ingenious concept of the Exit poll. Here during the polling from the various polling booths, certain designated news channel journalists kidnap unsuspecting voters, and make them reveal their vote, all at gunpoint.

To be honest, I never quite understood the logistics of an exit poll. How do they do it ? Moreso, have you ever, I mean ever , heard of anybody ( Your father, mother, friend, friend's friend..you get the drift) who has ever, I mean ever, been approached during an exit poll exercise.

Quite often, exit polls do come up with some ingenious verdicts. This election for instance, it claimed that an overwhelming 10% wanted

as their next CM.

What has the world come to ?

Luckily, the only seat Captain won was one; that for himself.

Concept 6 : Meeting the father's of our Nation

Here we have it folks, the Winners! Bringing up the left we have the man from the Kremlin,our former Mayor, the aformentioned Russian , only followed by Mr. Alphonso who I definitely remember watching in a villainous role in one of those late night cable movies. Next we have a gentleman, who many believe is our forest brigand Veerapan's Uncle. He definitely shares his moustache.

Finally we have Mr. Nanmaran from Madurai East, who I must say has the most profound set of teeth I have seen in a long time.

Yes, these are our leaders. How many of them would you want to go out to Dinner with ? How many of them would you want to lend money to ? How many of them would you want to look like ? ( Exit poll - Most popular option - Mr.Nanmaran) Most importantly, How many of them would you want in control of a nation, and hence influencing the futures of all the citizens residing in it?

Let's just say that, some questions are best left unanswered.....

FOOT NOTE : CAAPTAIN IN "ACTION" !

Goooooooo Caaaptain!

Forgive me. I could'nt help myself . :-)

-- A Tribute to Laloo ---

For those 200 ardent fans ( I had 500 hits in March, but I factor in that about 300 of them were from my computer :0) , who logged onto my blog during the Month of March, all I can do for the lack of activity is apologize. I guess like Caesar before me, the “Ides of March” might just have set in.

Most of us do read the Newspaper, or atleast sneak a peak into it. I certainly do, for exactly about 145 seconds every day. What I do consume in those 145 seconds (Apart from the scantily clad buxom ladies on the Chronicle Party page) are the headlines.

” Zaheera Sheik turns hostile in Best Bakery Case”

All Cakes with Pineapple topping go missing

” Sonia Gandhi steps down from the Lok Sabha, as she holds an office of profit.”

So what, if it struck her only after about 2 yrs of holding it!

” India Shining : Sensex Crosses another peak, and zooms to 11,600”

That doesn’t mean you will get water, roads or a reduction in taxes. That beggar on your way to work, will still harass you

“Sania Mirza, slips down WTA rankings to 37”

Her latest T- shirt now wears the slogan, “Now, it’s not only my skirt which is slipping”

“ Ganguly keen on making a comeback”

One wonders, if it’s a comeback to the Indian cricket team, or a comeback to all of Uncle Greg’s comments

There are the occasional well thought out imaginitive headlines like,

“Verghese hangs up his Pail”

When Mr. Verghese Kurien, founder director of Amul retired, or as we believe was forced to.

Yes most of these headlines on a mundane day, remind me of that Times of India ad not so long ago, “ Arrey, par yeh to kal ka news hain !“ ( We seem to hear about Zaheera Sheikh and her favourite bakery every day don't we , someone please tell me , how the hell is a bakery getting so much mileage ?!?!?!)

However through all that, one headline which made my day, for more reasons than one was

“Fodder for thought – Don’t pull the Chain –Laloo nails it with the Rail Budget“

Laloo Prasad Yadav, for me , arguably the most loved politician ever in India’s recent political history and unarguablyIndia's most good looking politician recently brought out one of the best rail budgets ever. For those of you who care, during his time , the revenue from the Rail has grown from 250 crore to Rs,11,000 crore, which even equating in say 200-500 crore which he might have pocketed, is a hell of a lot of money.

Laloo – The Visionary

• Cutting down the fares of the 1^st class AC owing to competition from low cost Aeroplanes
• Full – A/c Garibh Rath service for the common man
• Stations to be equipped with ATM’s / Cyber Cafés

Laloo- The Charismatic

It would be difficult, even with our cabinet for any politician to match Laloo in terms of charisma or persona. Tales to justify this are endless, for instance it is said that when a minister from Japan, came to Bihar and mentioned to Laloo that he could change Bihar to Japan in 1 year (Optimistic, even for the japs!), pat came Laloo’s reply, “ Arrey, kya baat kar rahein year aap, I can change Jaapaan to Bihaar in one week!”

But, Laloo really does come in to his zone during the election period. The lines of his famous speech, explaining the electronic voting machines to the aam Bihari went on the lines of this, “ Whan you prass the bathaan (button) for RJD, see it will go t-e-e. Thaat time, whan you press, Vajpayeeji will go t-u-i , t-u-i”

A little later, when he was caught giving out money on camera to the public in the aptly titled, “Notes for votes” scandal, he replied “ Aaarey, phasst you say, I am stealing money and arrest me, now when I am giving out money, agaaain you want to arrest me?”

Or, when a reporter from one of the TV channels asked him “ Laloo, Will you ever become the Prime minister”. He thought for exactly about 2 seconds and replied,

“ Naat thooday, Bhat one dayyyy!”

India still waits for that day, A day when naming your children after sweets is not considered insane, a day when if a citizen’s car disappears from the road, he would know exactly where to find it. There are many who believe Laloo is an insult and a disgrace to politics in the country, I disagree completely. Yes he is corrupt, so is everyone else, atleast he makes you laugh. You can't help but think that there is something about the style of the man, a disposition by which he always manages to get away and come out triumphant.

“Long Live, Sir Laloo Prasad – For me, You will always be a legend!”

~ The Notice Period ~

(More illuminating insights continued...)

Now, assuming the offer letter you have in your hand is not the one from Onyx, you make the obvious decision of accepting the offer and very quickly, you find yourself with a new job a bigger pay and a bigger smile.

Well, not so quickly.

You still have to serve out something, called the notice period.

The beginning of your notice period starts off with something known as an exit interview.*

This is how, one usually answers his online exit interview.

Did you like your reporting manager ?

No

Is there anything, you would like to share with us about him ?

Yes, He’s a cross dresser

Did you find your experience at our company a rewarding and challenging one ?

Far from it

What is your opinion on the work ethic and working environment at our company ?

Please try and recruit prettier members of the opposite sex, and less cross dressers

Would you recommend, any of your friends to work with us ?

Never

* - All answers given above will be forwarded to your reporting manager and H.R Dept

Like most of those Reliance Ads, most people end up missing the *.

What follows is the Notice Period. The Notice period, is a Roman concept which evolved from the brothels of Venice. In the brothels, when one of the employees would want to quit, (for whatever reason) they would first have to wait for the brothel owner, to find a replacement. This was obviously done, to make sure that all the customers went home with a smile on their faces and most importantly so that the brother owner found a new employee who would satisfy him for a long time to come. ( Satisfy from a commercial point of view obviously).

It’s more or less, the same concept here as well. The only thing is from an employee’s point of view, why would he want to put in any effort at the current company, when he knows that he is going to quit in a week or 2 anyway. For instance, wouldn’t the employee at the brothel, want to save her resources for her next employer. (no pun intended).

Alright, maybe it calls for a more relevant example, if a person X was selling lets say wigs at company Y. And suddenly, a bevy of bald men came to the store. If he was in his right mind, wouldn’t he convince his customers (in this case the bald men) and make sure that they bought the wigs from him at his new store.

So in effect, the notice period is the most confusing time for an employee. Firstly, he has to cope with his colleagues numerous murmurs whenever he enters their line of sight. The murmurs are invariably followed by them, staring at him quizzically.

The really brave ones, come up to him and say, “Congratulations”.

The worst are those, who come up to you and say, “I just heard the news. Come, Please sit down; I want to have a chat with you.”

I fail to understand, why those people try to convince a person to stick on to his present company when he has chosen to move on. God forbid, a person gets convinced not to shift, and the following month slips up on his performance. The next review meeting would certainly include such pleasantaries like, " You should have quit!".

Finally, through the cold stares, the innumerable intellectual persuasions , not to mention the guile and deceit of the exit interview, you decided to move.

The espionage recruiter though, your old friend, she is still in touch, now only worried about when you would be joining your new disposition. This would in effect imply, when her recruiting company would receive the payment from your future employer.

You are hence invited to meet her boss, who full of conviction and effulgence tells you, “ Heartious Congratulations! You have got a fantastic job, tremendous exposure, exponential growth. A year down the line, you can leverage the brand name with ease.”

You are overjoyed. You made the right decision; there is nobody else out there, with a job as plum as yours.

A week or so later, you are still gloating over your new job, when your phone rings.

Its an unknown number. A soft whispering voice asks for you. surprise surprise, it’s your friendly espionage recruiter again , “ Are you in the Bank, is there anybody next to you?

You reply, “ No, Why?”

She continues, espionage like overtones of course, “ The other company called, they asked for you. They want to pay you double...”

Its a vicious cycle, isnt it...

~Changing Lanes~

I don’t know, how many of you have experienced the process of shifting jobs. I use the word process here, cause for those who haven’t it is a process, quite an exhausting one I might add.

Well firstly, you have to realize whether you really want to shift. What could the reasons be :

1. Better Pay
2. Better Pay
3. Better work atmosphere ( Better Chicks)

But, that’s not what you can say at your interview now, can you ?

So, you come up with illuminating reasons. Some of them being:

1. Looking for higher exponential learning across various verticals.
2. Looking to increase exposure, for personal enrichment.
3. Both together, with a straight face, making eye contact.
   

This could be difficult, if the interviewer is really ugly.

In most cases, the interviewer buys your reasoning. Or even, if he doesn’t forces himself to. (Come on, now if everyone stayed in their same jobs, for their lifetimes, the H.R guys wouldn’t have much of a job, now would they)

The actual process for job switching actually though, starts with you meeting up with a placement consultant. Now, a placement consultant is one, who is supposed to give you career advice, and is to help you with your next career move. So what, if all the career moves, they advice you to make are intrinsically related to the clients they are recruiting for.

To understand the psyche, of a placement consultant, is akin to understanding the psyche of the Gestapo , the German secret service.

Their normal, modus operandi of operation would be on the lines of this :

Recruiter : (In a deep whispering voice) Hello, May I speak to Mr.Suresh

Dedicated Employee : Mr.Suresh, stopped working here almost 3 months ago

Recruiter : May, I know who I’m speaking to ?

Dedicated Employee : This is Senior Manager, Ganesh.

(Two minutes later...Ring Ring)

Recruiter : Hello, May I speak to Senior Manager, Ganesh.

Confused Employee : Yeah, I just spoke to you.

Recruiter : Yes, Do you know that your former colleague Suresh is earning twice as much as you are , with perks including free Thai massages?

Astonished Employee : What, That son of a b^*$

Succesful Recruiter : Yes, this is my number. I will get you placed there, what’s more will make sure you get more intimate perks.

And that’s it, Ganesh no longer works with the same firm. The recruiter has just caused disarray at the firm, and in one smooth step has gotten further towards that promised Mauritian holiday for achieving her targets.

And the corporate world, still wonders why the rate of attrition is so high.

Though of course, between the sleuth like recruiter phone call and the final shift into your next firm, they are a number of other steps to be completed..

Firstly, and most importantly, there is the interview. How exactly, are you supposed to attend an interview for your future employer on your current employer’s time? The most obvious solution is to come up with some believable excuse, and escape from your office.

You enter your interview, and the first question you get.

How come you managed to get here, you don’t work on Tuesday afternoons?

Corny isn’t it. Then follows, the usual interview crap, where the interviewer tries his best to stretch the interview for atleast half an hour. To get a rough picture, you could click here.

This is finally ended, by them asking you for your current Boss’s reference.

And images of you sitting next to your current boss, and him getting a call, with a voice saying.

“Hello, this is to inform you that your team member plans to quit and leave you high and dry within a week. We would like to know, if he has abused you or anyone else in his stint at your company?”

You deftly dodge the Boss’s reference question, and a few days later, yippee! You have got an offer. Now, you would think that an offer letter, in one paper would tell you how much money will be put into your bank account at the end of the month, which would equate to what brand of whisky you would be drinking that evening.

But, its not that simple now is it. The term used here, is CTC or Cost to company, which basically equates to how much it is costing the company, for you to warm your fat ass in their corridors. The simple formula to calculate your End of month pay, or “Take home”as they call it, would be to divide the CTC by 2, knock of all 0’s at the end and then further divide by 12.

This rule, works well, unless lets say you’re working at Onyx, collecting and depositing garbage from Alaska to Nicargua. In that case factoring in your travel expenses, your CTC could be Rs.374237466436429374874937482, while your “Take home” will in all like likelihood be about Rs.20.

(More illuminating insights to continue...)

D.I.S.T.I.L.L.E.D Completely

Before, I set you off on my Distilled adventure, I would like to wish all of you a very Happy New year, and here’s to it bringing you amongst other things, a better looking partner and a better looking bank account.

Something, I did leave out in the first edition, was that at exactly 12’ midnight on that same night, I was to attend my good buddy’s surprise birthday party. Due to obvious contingencies, I couldn’t attend, however I did succeed in surprising him.

This was how it went...

Birthday buddy: The Surprise is over man, where are you?

Me: SURPPPPRISSEEE !! I’m in the cop station. Oh and by the way, Happy Birthday!

So, it was about 1 AM and me, Dr.Saab, the Aussie wanker and a couple of other droogs were banished again into the jeep, as we headed back to our tavern.

In hindsight, I must compliment the brilliant conceptualization (default or design) of the police jeeps in our city. Once you are a passenger in one of these police jeeps, you have absolutely no idea where you are heading. So, in actual effect when you expect to see a welcoming sight like

You actually end up seeing something like this,

Or to be more precise,

“THE ROYAPETTAH GENERAL HOSPITAL”

To be quite honest, I was more than a wee bit surprised, when I saw the ghastly sight. Vivid images of ugly looking nurses poking long needles into various parts of my body started flashing quickly through my mind. Next to me, was Dr.Saab. Re-assuring as ever, calmed me down,

“I’m the night patrol doctor, three nights a week at college. They can quite easily tell a drunk person, from a sober person so just answer the questions honestly and everything should go smoothly”

The Five of us, “The Forlorn five” were made to assemble and sit on a bench. Very soon, “The Forlorn five” were down to “The Forlorn four” as the Australian was whisked away to another room, which was the last we saw or heard from him. Or actually, we can’t really confirm that cause; distant screams that we heard sometime later might well actually have been him.

While waiting for what seemed like an eternity...

While doing so, we got a first person’s insight into the way a Govt. Hospital really operates.

For starters, there is exactly only one doctor.

Secondly, she is far more interested in her paper work than any of those unfortunate souls who happen to walk in.

So, as it happened ,Dr.Saab who was in his capacity as a drunken driving suspect, doubled up as a supporting doctor and started having a look at the various patients who were dropping by.

It was then finally our turn, and we were going to be interviewed for soberness. I have attended many interviews since, but looking back this was probably the most nerve wrenching as the consequences were quite obviously dire. If I did fail the interview, all those vivid images of those ugly nurses, I had had a few moments ago would well and truly take a physical form.

But by now, I was well prepared, as I calmed myself and gave them my vital stats, not to mention showed them my birth mark. Dr.Saab, did so, as well and we were now beckoned back towards that jeep.

The ordeal was over. We had cleared the interview. “The Forlorn four”, were back in their favourite mode of transportation, and were now making their way back towards the station. It was now 2:30 AM, and it had been a long night. While alighting back at the station, I noticed my fellow “villains of the night” standing alongside my familiar automobile, which I had been evicted out of almost 3 hours ago.

For some reason, I and my fellow villains exchanged extended smiles. Even taking into account our propensity for eventful nights, we had outdone ourselves this time.

On meeting the head cop, we went through the whole painful questionnaire procedure again, I was given the explanation that I would be let free (Yippeee!) provided I could provide the original insurance papers of my car.

Amazing! I thought, I could give them the papers, get back home and escape the clutches of my dad, who I suspected had been looking for an excuse to ground me for a while.

But then, most of these stories do have an untimely twist for the protagonist, don’t they? Well, this time it was those papers, that we unearthed were unfortunately not the originals but the photocopy.

What followed was the unpleasant awakening of half my family followed by their further arrival with the original papers. .

From the corner of my eye, which was now half closed, I could see Dr.Saab frantically explaining to the cops something on the lines off, “ My original papers are locked in my office in Bangalore, and the security guard there is fast asleep”

Needless to say, the journey back home was not the most conversation filled.

Donnie, went back home with another story to put on his now infamous website.

Not surprisingly, LL Cool J didn’t exactly perform spectacularly in his examination the following morning. He now finds himself, in the same college I went to.

Dr.Saab, apparently got his car back the following morning. The security guard in his office in Bangalore did finally wake up.

My Car or atleast its insurance papers, were retrieved a few days later, when I was taken to the cop station with our family cop. The stout chap seemingly gets stouter and happier every time I meet him, though he insists the various boxes of sweets and bottles of alcohol he has received from members of my family has little to do with it.

My Dad, awoke me with an ingenious document tiled “Document of Grounding”, which I have managed to preserve. I will let you guys have a look and pass your own judgment.

THE CAT AND I

Two weeks before the big day, I received a brown envelope. The brown envelope in it contained my ticket to unimaginable riches and beyond – My Cat 2005 Hall ticket.

It looked something like this...

For those of you who only noticed, my unshaven passport size photo on the hall ticket, it would be imperative to take you through the address of the venue allotted to me again.

“Raja Rajeswari Engineering college, Near Maduravoyal, Via Vanagaram, Adayalampattu, Chennai – 600095 “

Now, usual addresses would go something like this.

“ Hi-Look Bread Omelette, Near I.I.T, Via Sardar Patel Road, Adyar Chennai – 20”

Now chances are, if you haven’t heard of Adyar, or further still you don’t know it’s via Sardar Patel road, chances are that you probably have heard of I.I.T. (Actually they are many for whom Hi-Look Bread Omelette is enough of a landmark) But you get the drift.

In comparison, we have the Raja Rajeswari Engineering college,near munificent Maduravoyal via vibrant Vanagaram in Amazing Adayalampattu. Come to think of it, the only recognizable word in the address is “Chennai”, even the pin code following it is unrecognizable.

Me and my dad immediately got to work. About a week in advance, I logged onto Google Earth to see that juranmo! Adayalampattu did infact exist; the only challenge now lay in infact locating it.

My dad very charitably took it upon himself to help in finding out where exactly Amazing Adayalampattu was located. After which, he had the tougher role to play of helping me get there, all this taking into account that his 55^th birthday bash would be only the night before, I knew I was in for an eventful journey.

The exam was slated to be at 10’o clock and after the evening histrionics concluded, it appeared that we would have very little sleep, before the scheduled 8 AM departure.

At departure, we were expectedly about half an hour late but my dad said that the lack of traffic on the roads would make up for it. Very soon while traveling and traveling into the beyond, it became very evident that I was entering parts of the city which I had never ever encountered before. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if I suddenly saw a mile stone on the road saying.

Actually no, that’s pushing it. You wouldn’t readily associate the French port of Calais with the sight of Fowl, Buffaloes, Onyx bins and not much else. There were about 45 mins left to the start of the dreaded examination, and here we were still trying to locate the college in the middle of water logged roads, potholes and ditches.

We were asked to look for a board announcing the CAT venue, next to which there would be a right turn going towards the college. Thanks to a friendly cop, and enough commotion around the board, we spotted it but alas! there didn’t seem to be any right turn next to it.

Or actually, there was a right turn. When my dad called up the college officials for directions, they had said “Take a right turn at the CAT board”, now they didn’t necessarily say “right turn” into what? We found out, it was a right turn into farmland.

Farmland which was uphill in nature.

To say that there was complete pandemonium in the farmland approaching the college would be an understatement. There were dogs, students, cows, anxious parents, buffaloes and a few cars all trudging up the dangerous embankment together. Of the few cars, notably present was my dad’s “josh machine”.

On advice from a benevolent stranger, without whom this post wouldn’t have been half as interesting, we were advised to take a path onto another embankment. The embankment was heading downwards this time. Yes, the oft quoted saying, “What goes up, must come down” and we were heading downwards now.

The path opened, and low and behold lay before us an open field. An open field with a pond next to it, actually come to think of it we really didn’t know whether it was a pond, cause it seemed as if half the pond was on the field. The college lay in the backdrop, with only another pond separating the field and the college.

How on earth, was I to reach the college and where on earth was my dad to park his car? Taking a diversion, we crossed a small bridge made of a part of a broken tree, and I swear I could see fishes swimming next to the tyre of the car.

There were now 15 minutes left to the examination, my dad looking at me with a defeated expression on his face said something which I doubt I will forget for a long time to come.

“ I’m sorry Son, that’s as much as I can help you with. You are on your own now.“

He parked his car under a tree and retired.

With the help of 2 strangers, a log of wood, stones and rolling my pants up, I somehow made it to the college. A college constructed with such ingenious architecture that the massive placard announcing its name could only be seen by a valley of huts which lay below the college.

I made it to the 3^rd floor, and found my spot. In a few minutes, a prayer bludgeoned out from 2 gigantic speakers in the front of the room. I immediately felt at ease. I had made it to CAT 2005.

P.S For all those of you, who are eagerly awaiting my travails with the burly cops in the copstation. I’m afraid it might have to wait till the next post.

DISTILLED :: A Police Story

No, Elvis is not in Jail.

Nor was I actually, but then I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.

It was another one of those Saturdays, One of those Saturdays where fortunately or unfortunately there was no unknown chappie throwing a party, we could all crash.

So, we decided to have a night camp. The only condition, being that we got back early, as one of the “Villains of the night” as it were; Cool J had the dreaded TNPCEE exam the following morning. So, Me, Donnie (Also known as Mark Joshua) and Cool J (Else unknown) planned out a sedentary evening at the local tavern Distil expecting the usual diet of a drink, some chips and a few pretty faces.

Like most evenings in our beloved city, of the 3 ingredients, only the first 2 delivered. To help us confirm that, we were greeted by the sight of 3 khaki clad men, with oversized moustaches and matching pot bellies.

The Cops were in town, and surprisingly none of their children were in the same tavern that evening.

We then took the most natural course of action, which was to leave and call it a night.

The valet pulled up my car, I got in, and I drove out of the gate.

BREAKING NEWS......

I was like a turkey caught in the headlights, like a toddler caught in a topless bar, or whatever similar expression you might have heard Jonty Singh use.

It was a guerilla warfare operation, something Chattrapati Shivaji would have been proud of.

The bellied khaki gate crashers had positioned their cousins outside. The first man flagged me down, and asked me to blow. (No pun intended)

Relief! I was passed, only to be flagged down again by a stouter man. I did so again, and he smelt a rat or to be more precise a swig.

I blew again, and that only made him more sure.

Before, I knew it, in the dead of the night, I was whisked away by 2 other stouter khaki clad men, and no, mentions of other cops names like Pandiappan and Kuppasamy didn’t work this time.

I was huddled into one of those jeeps, you would only see in the front page of newspapers, when one those “Most wanted” criminals were bought to trial. I was whisked in, and they were 3 other people already in the jeep.

For some reason, I couldn’t help but feel that this was probably how Edmund Dantes felt in the Count of Monte Cristo. Was I being taken to the locker, and would I need 17 years to get out?!?!

It probably wasn’t the most opportune moment to be social, but hell, I figured we were all in this together. It appeared of the 3 other men, 2 seemed alright while the other confused aussie, was atleast 7 drinks down. For one he smelt like a fully stocked Tasmac kiosk apart from which he couldn’t seem to remember which part of Australia he had spent the last 4 years of his life in.

We were then joined by Dr. Saab (Mostly unknown), who assured us (or me atleast) that we had little to worry about and everything in due course would be getting back to normalcy.

We stepped out, only to notice that we were at a cop station, with only what appeared like hardened criminals giving us company.

We were made to sit around a table, like criminals awaiting death row, come to think of it; it actually reminded me of Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper”, well without the supper of course.

One by one, we were summoned into the meeting room.

And then the inquisition started.

Q1. Name Phleeez?

Q2. Address Phleeez?

Q3. Birth Mark Phleeez? (By far their favourite question)

After about half an hour of close examining, they were convinced that the spot on my left cheek was a mole after all, and we the prisoners were free to leave.

It was about 1 AM and our interrogation was over.

In no time at all, the same jeep that brought us to the cop station, would take me back to my fellow “Villains of the night”, one of whom had a big exam the next day.

Or atleast that’s what I thought….

To be continued.....

A day in the life....

The day starts early, you always seemingly get half an hour of sleep less than you would have liked. The morning is frenzied. I don’t know what it is about mornings, but it seems like however early you seem to get up you always take atleast 5 minutes more than you would have liked to have, and always head out a little later than you initially planned.

Maybe, we should all start taking the advice our teachers used to give us around about the 5^th grade. “Pack your bags, Young men and always try and do tomorrow’s work today”

Well, I don’t think we can apply that to most things we do every morning. Nevertheless, I get ready to go to work, and it looks like I’m going to be a little more late than my usual 15 minutes.

I don’t know how this works, but it seems like, the one day when you are a little later than usual, the whole office by some divine intervention seemingly arrives on time. Or probably, this part is only reserved for me, your humble blogger, because of my propensity for eh well, being ever so punctual.

Work gets by, and you plan on going out, to get yourself a small bite for lunch. You reverse into the parking lot of a restaurant, and you have parked your car and are all set to go into the restaurant for lunch. When..

Its funny, how these security people come up to you, only when you have completely concluded parking your car in what according to them, is an imperfect position. Since when did these security people become such perfectionists in the first place, and if they were perfectionists, why on earth are they still security guards?

I re-park my car. Apparently I had committed the grave sin of parking my car about quarter an inch out of place. I enter the restaurant (xxxx Bhavan)

Its uncanny how all these Bhavans have such similar names, similar menus and a similar hierarchy. No matter how small the restaurant, there is always atleast 4 levels of hierarchy clearly demarcated by the color of clothing. For some reason, Khaki is always the color reserved for the blighters who according to the managers do the most menial work.

I scan the menu card. I order a Plain dosa and a Lime Juice.

Much to the displeasure of the waiter, who seemingly keeps repeating “Waarey, Waarey”. When he finds out, that all I want is a Plain Dosa (not even a Maasala Dosa), He begins to look down upon me like, I am the lowest form of subterranean life he has ever come across.

What is it with these waiters and their penchant for using the word “Waarey”. I’m quite sure, that if tomorrow I were to order 4 Arabian elephants, their calves and everything they had eaten in the last one week. The waiter would still turn around and scream “Waarey”. Somehow every waiter, in these restaurants either thinks that their customers are Multimillionaires, have appetites of Walruses or are both.

I scan the menu card, which is still lying by my side, I can’t help but notice that not for the first time, my juice is probably going to cost much more than my meal. My dosa arrives; the waiter rather disgruntedly dumps it onto my table. It was a plain dosa, so he very magnanimously decided that he would make the chutney double up as the masaala for the dosa.

Why is it that, whenever you order a Plain dosa, in these restaraunts, the chutney is invariably dumped on the Dosa. Isn’t one of the few joys of eating a dosa , the fact that it is crisp. And aren’t they people like me who maybe just don’t like chutney? There is an alternative view point which says, “The more the merrier”. As long as they are giving you something free, why don’t you just pile it up in your plate? I turn around and say, I don’t want the chutney. They are quite aghast.

I start eating the Dosa, (atleast the crisp part) sipping my juice and reading the paper. I turn back and swooshhhh….

My food has disappeared, along with it my juice. The ever observant waiter obviously thought that since I was reading the paper, I was done with eating my food. Or maybe, He was teaching me a lesson for not paying attention to my food. The fact that the dosa and the juice were only half eaten, was obviously too inconsequential a detail to have been noticed by the magnanimous waiter. My dosa now lies buried in his bucket, along with it my juice. It’s the not first time it’s happened. Do the waiters now decide, how much food we deserve, and since when did they get the right to snatch our food?

I am done with my lunch (atleast half of it). I leave, and head back to work. One of the occupational hazards of my job is to meet weird clients in weird parts of town, who often give me weird directions in getting there. One certain client, asks me to meet him in his office which is parallel to the Vadapalani Water Tank, Opposite the Reserve Bank Quarters and right before the Bus Stop.

I get there, call him again, he then says its bang opposite Food World.

I don’t know what it is with the people of our city and directions. Why is that they always relate places to post offices, police stations, Bus Stops and Water Tanks. I mean how many times, have you honestly looked out for a post office or a Water Tank in a locality and how much of a land mark is it. As for Bus Stops, all of them look alike so how are you to be sure if you are in the right Bus Stop in the first place? Why couldn’t he say Food World in the first place? Is it uncool to name a Non Govt. Institution as a landmark? Think about it.

The day’s over and done with, I head to the DVD store to return a few DVD’s, I had borrowed before my recently concluded holiday. He informs me, my DVD’s are 2 weeks late and my penalty charge is Rs1000 per DVD.

Did I really take up this membership in this library to pay something called “penalty” to a DVD library? What moral high ground do they have to charge their own customers a penalty? Is it a School or college, that they discipline their DVD customers? On this model, it would make great business sense to open a DVD library, then close down for a year, re-open and charge all those hapless people who borrowed DVD’s a “penalty” for 1 yr late return of DVD’s. You could even name the store, “The Penalty Millionaires” DVD store, with the tagline “We penalty a plenty”

I have sleepless nights of me envisioning going to the DVD store, trembling and saying,

"Sir, I'm sorry, the DVD is 2 weeks late"

And the DVD library owner turning back and saying calmy, "Not a problem at all, You could give me your house for compensation."

Its just been another regular day in the life, one of many more to come, I envision.

$$ Software Blues $$

Continued…..

On that very weekend, at one of those “clichéd beach house dos” far away from the city, I was introduced to a short looking fellow. During the course of the conversation, he told me he was a programmer working with a software company. I told him of my current plight, and he said that there were forums which went out of their way to help people with their programming difficulties.

You mean they actually were sites, who would do all the programming for you…

JURANMOOOO!

I went back home, quickly did a search and found a gamut of web sites, which actually helped dejected souls like me, with their programming blues. What’s more, most of these websites were either American or British, which meant you would have programmers from the Western world helping you with you’re coding…

And they said, Outsourcing happened only to India, Welcome to Reverse Outsourcing!!

So, I emailed them explaining to them, what I understood of my project and Mr. Jon Williamson of Texas very kindly replied back with a detailed description of what needed to be done. I tried figuring out and implementing what he spoke about, which I couldn’t , so I then tried asking him an intelligent question to keep the interaction going.

To which he replied,

“The answers I have already provided were not intended to be used in the PowerPoint VBA editor, they were instructions on how to get your macros to work in Visual Basic, which is what you just asked.

If you go back and follow the instructions in the previous posts in this thread then you will find that you can create a VB executable that does everything without the user having to open Powerpoint or any other interaction”

Amazingly helpful, wasn’t it. To which consumer forum do I complain about the poor quality of outsourcing in this scenario?

The entire interaction can be followed on

http://www.developerfusion.co.uk/forums/topic-25702

There was now only about a month left to go, the only day to look forward to was Friday which was the apparent casual dress code day in the company .On this day, even the senior 50+ people would try their best to fit into jeans and tight pants.At most times, I must confess this wasn’t a very pretty sight. However, the one sure pretty sight in my wing was this pretty lass named Shaayanass, and boy did she have a fine…well, you get the drift.

All it would take was a sms to my fellow droog who would be chilling in his house. (Remember the same droog who had had his project finished by the oily person)

And before I knew it, he would appear before me…

“It was worth the journey dude, I love Fridays, Its Friday night Live!!”

The lady in question Shayanazz or Shayanass, was the only bright spark in our software world. Every day during the breakfast break, post breakfast break, pre lunch break, lunch break, post lunch break, pre tea break, tea break and post tea break, there would be a hoard of wannabe geeks surrounding her offering her Tea, Biscuits, Tea and Biscuits. Not surprisingly, me and my fellow droog would be amongst those wannabe geeks. One fine day, in our conversations with her, she mentioned.

“ I love Kerala, I love the coconuts , the boat races, the food.”, We agreed (Nodding our heads vehemently in unison) “ Last year, I went there on a holiday with my husband, and we had a great time”

WHATTTTTTTTTTTT??? HUSSSBBANNNNDDDDD?

This brought to an end, amongst other things my fellow droog’s visits to the software company. The pre-breakfast to post-tea breaks were now decidedly more lonely for Shayanzz, I’m sure she is still trying to figure out why.

I now had, exactly 1 week to go for my submission date, and had to do the documentation for the same. How does one do documentation for a project which hasn’t even been half created..?

Somehow, using the same bull shitting method, which I had become quite adept at I managed to fill up around 80 pages of the Project document.

In the mean time, my fellow droog acquired his “Project completion certificate”, and close in behind, I managed to acquire mine as well. My project, I explained was 95% completed, and all it needed was some fine tuning. In about a week, I convinced them, I would have a software which amongst other things would change the world.

All I needed now was a working project…

And then it happened….

I noticed at the bottom of one of the documents…

“All subject matter and content in this document, is strictly confidential and none of it can be shown or used for unofficial purposes without the prior permission of the company”

Now, if the documents were confidential, it wouldn’t quite be an incorrect assumption, to assume that the software I was going to create would be well, confidential as well…

I came up with a cunning plan…..

During my project presentation, if the examiner were to ask me for my working model..

Pat would come my reply, “Well sorry sir, It’s highly confidential; the company will not allow me to show it unofficially.”

If he asked me, some complicated questions about my project.

My reply again, “Sorry sir, Its confidential as well. I am legally bound. I cannot reveal too many details about its working.”

It went to plan.

He smiled. I smiled back.

My marks in the project, well they are confidential. But, I can tell you I did reasonably well.

As for my project, well 6 months have passed. I haven’t heard from them, nor have they from me.

Long live the Software Industry! Long live confidentiality clauses!