The end of my childhood

They say that after thirty, every birthday is a pain. You can feel that you are getting old. It’s no more fun now – celebrating birthdays. Well, I've had three birthdays since I turned thirty and I never felt the pain. They were as much fun as they were earlier. But not now. Because something happened.

Today I saw Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar walk out for the last time to bat.

I was happy at first, I felt fortunate enough to see him bat one last time. But then he played a brilliant cover drive off Shillingford for a four. And then it hit me. I will never be able to see that shot again in my life. Or the perfect straight drive, or the back-foot cover drive, or the upper cut, or the paddle sweep. This revelation came crashing down on me. Suddenly, my heart became heavier than lead.

That’s when I knew that now my childhood is officially over. This is the beauty of Sachin Tendulkar. If our lives were a facebook page, he was the timeline. Every significant moment of my life is remembered by me with respect to a Sachin moment somewhere around that. I made my first school switch when he hit his first century. 1998 was one of the worst years of my life but it was bearable because it was his best. I left my home for the first time to study just before his historic tour of Pakistan. I don’t remember the exact date when I proposed my girlfriend but I remember it was a day after he hit a century.

This is the true impact of Sachin Tendulkar. Especially on people of my age. We all have our Sachin stories. I remember the first time I saw him bat. What’s more incredible is, I also remember what I was wearing that time, what my dad was wearing. I remember that it was my English Grammar exam next day and how I pleaded with my mother to go and watch the batsman who made my dad shout like a kid.

He was a role model too (major understatement). Bowlers in my school would try to imitate McGrath and Donald. After bowling a bouncer they would come up to us and sledge, use curses, spit in front of us. We imitated Sachin. Look in the distance, practice the shot and re-adjust the crotch. All this time without noticing the bowler. Now I see young batsmen with tattoos imitating Virat Kohli.

The speech after the match was simple and yet brilliant. It was good to see that all the politicians, officials and senior players didn’t try to meddle too much and gave him his space to speak to his fans. I had almost forgotten the terrible knot in the stomach that I experienced on seeing Sachin walk back to the pavilion after getting out. All was lost when he got out; if I were alone, I would switch the TV off. It all came back today, watching him walk back to the pavilion. By the time he had finished his speech, the knot had tightened and there was also a lump in my throat.  Strangely, it felt nice to have that sinking feeling again - for one last time.

A week from now I will be thirty-three. But I know this time it will be different. The joy will be muted, because the child in me has retired. Thank you Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. For keeping that child alive for twenty-four years.

1980s

I think it’s the age. Nostalgia is at its worst in the thirties. There are so many memories that it would take me another thirty years to share them. Childhood now is so much different from what it was in the eighties. I’ve read many mails, SMSs, Facebook posts, et cetera reminding me of my childhood. These mails/SMSs /Facebook posts occur as frequently as India – Sri Lanka ODIs. I’ve read them a thousand times. But for the heck of it, if another one comes now, I’ll probably read it again.

The thing is – I love eating food. And I hate exercises. So I eat a lot of food and I don’t exercise. This imbalance in my personal universe has resulted in a significant increase in my body weight, and volume. A doctor chipped in and painted a more gruesome picture than any Hussain. So it was inferenced and advised that I should eat less and exercise more. Which I hate, as aforementioned.

Often I used to think about my childhood – the things we did, the food we ate, the games we played, pastimes, TV shows, VCRs – but never before I felt nostalgic as I did when the doctor,  ah the doctor, advised about the exercise. How I loved playing cricket and football. This thought gave me an idea. Instead of walking/cycling five miles and staying on the same spot, I can play a sport! But I wanted to play a different sport. This is how I started lawn tennis.

That was two years ago.

There are kids in a sports complex. Either they are by themselves (teenagers) or they are with their parents. While playing or warming up or jogging, I notice them, and couldn’t help thinking about my childhood or teenage. And how lucky was I growing up in the eighties.

Here are the advantages:

The best one is – if you could lie, and lie convincingly, people would get awed. Brag about anything and you would become the undisputed leader of your bunch. In fifth grade, I lied about watching Kapil Dev’s 175* on TV. Nobody dared to dispute me. Now, a couple of my childhood friends with good memories have already fried me for those lies. In present times, kids find it difficult to lie. Their claims can be easily verified on Google or Wikipedia.

Another advantage was our ability to climb trees. Tiffin in school was usually eaten on a branch of tree. It would take me not more than five minutes to climb down my terrace, run across the yard, climb the tree, take out the tangled kite from a branch, climb down and run back up to the terrace. Surprisingly, I never broke any bones because of this. Climbing tree and cycles were responsible for more than half of the broken bones cases in our times. I was watching a kid trying to climb a tree in the sports club one day. To my horror, his mom started shouting like Momota didi and forced him away. Our parents never did that.

Football was the cheapest sport. Just an oversized orb (of soft material) was needed. Chappals marked the goal posts. There was never any grass on the field. You could wear shorts, trousers, or pajamas. Nowadays, the kids must have proper shoes (Rs. 5000), three to four footballs (Rs. 2000), any European club jersey (Rs. 6000) and then I watch their expression when they had to venture out of the grass into the mud and dirty their shoes (priceless). Or their parents just gift them a Playstation.

Gulel was like an AK-47 in our hands. We were expert marksmen. Kites which were tangled very high on the trees were our favorite targets. I once watched a kid at the playground trying out a branded plastic Gulel. He hit himself.

Cricket. Ah..cricket. Every single evening, every fucking single evening, was spent playing cricket. We played cricket to become like Kapil or Sachin. Now they play cricket to get rich.

Antakshari is no longer possible. Unless you confiscate cell phones of everyone who is playing, or watching.

There are countless more things – Hum Log, Ramayan, Mithun da was the pinnacle of dancing, Amitabh Bachchanwa didn’t had a beard, Ravi Shastri would not know what a tracer bullet was, there were only shorts and trousers – no Bermudas or three-fourths or seven-eigths, only two kinds of hairstyles – champu and Mithun da’s,  ten paise coins and one rupee notes.

Times change. May be our kids will tell their kids that our parents played football with legs, we played with a TV and a thumbs, now you people just put on your Google glasses (may be Apple will come up with iSpecs) and play with your eyes.

Another day comes to an end.  

The roomies

Six years of my life I have lived as a bachelor. With bachelors. Countless number of times I have talked to people who have lived/are living this way. The inference of all those talks and shared experiences I am sharing below:

1. The place: Can be a room, an apartment or a whole house. Will contain desktops if you are a student or a television, refrigerator, inverter, and probably a washing machine if you are working.

2. The smell: Is same as Chandni bar on Sunday morning.

3. The balcony: If there is any, is strewn with hanging ropes with an assortment of underwears, baniyans, socks and towels.

4. There will always be a lazy guy who will always wake up late and wear the same stinky t-shirt or shirt to college/office.

5. There will be one person who will never wash the utensils. Similarly, there will be one person who will always wash all the utensils.

6. There will be one bachelor who will wear the same underwear for days. His mannerisms will be like Sachin Tendulkar on crease.

7. There will be one person who will always be on phone. If they are in college, he will be the dude of the room.

8. There are smokers. Occasional – they will occasionally smoke a cigarette during a daru party. Loaners – who will never buy one but ask for a kash or a whole cigarette from another. Light smokers – will smoke after lunch and dinner. And then there is the Guru, who believes that the fire at the end of the stick is God-sent and shall never be doused – eternal. He has at least twenty cigarettes lying all over the apartment at strategic locations so that he will have fast access to it in case of an emergency. He has at least three packs in his cupboard/almirah/suitcase in case of sudden apocalypse. He’s the one people go to in the middle of the night: “Abe sutta khatam ho gaya hai, ek de de bhai…”.

9. Pan wallah: He’s the Guru in a completely different sense. His demeanor exuberates calm, saint-like tranquility. Like a sadhu on maun vrat, he remains unperturbed from the ecosystem which surrounds him. People around him find peace near him. People not usually around him think he’s an introvert. Neither is true, it’s just that his mouth is always full of Pan Parag or Rajnigandha or Tulsi.

10. There will be one person who will always be late in matters related to rent payments, contribution for daru parties, etc.

11. Sharaabi: Irom Sharmila isn’t the only one who’s on a liquid diet. There are people who drink whiskey and/or vodka and/or rum and/or wine and/or beer and/or desi and/or any other kind of liquor more than the Volturi drink blood. They may also often be seen with a joint in the other hand. You can see them in the morning with their head in their hands complaining of headache because they didn’t get to drink the previous night.

12. The aam aadmi: He’s the one who will get up on time in the morning, get fresh, bathe, do a small prayer in front of a small photo of a deity (ranging from Lord Shiva to Sai baba) and go to college/office. When he returns, he’ll wash his clothes, watch some news, or Big Boss, or Pavitra Rishta, eat from the kitchen and go to sleep. He can often be sighted holding a glass of pepsi in a room daru party. These guys are usually good cooks and do a part time job as handyman if you want a pack of cigarettes or a quarter of Blender’s Pride from the market if he’s going their for his packet of milk.

13. Tharki: He can describe Lalita Pawar in such a way that she’ll look like Pamela Anderson the next time you see her. The pinnacle of human equality, every girl/woman is same for him.

14. Gadget freak: In school, a friend of mine used to be called a gadget freak because he owned a scientific calculator. Now it has been replaced by the latest Apple product (which frequently gets replaced by another Apple product). These guys have credit card bills in the multiple of ten thousands. They will not believe they are standing in front of the Taj Mahal if Google maps won’t confirm it.          

While I can say that I miss those days, my wife is the most avid reader of this blog, so I’ll say that I’m happier now.

The tub

I am a huge fan of bath tubs. Being a very very lazy person, I hate bathing. It’s very hard for me to get up from my comfortable bed, go to the bathroom, open the shower and gasp loudly as the first drops of water trickle down the spine, then rub your hands all over the body (I categorize this act as rigorous exercise), apply soap and wash again (exercise again). This is during summers. Don’t get me started on winters.

A bath tub skips all this exercise. There is something very pleasant about lying down in the tub neck deep and let the water and bath gel do its work. And of course, I love the foam.

I have been alive for thirty-one years now. And up until three years ago, I have never lived in a house with a bath tub. Three years ago, Dad renovated the house when I was getting married and built two completely new bathrooms, one with a bath tub. I was ecstatic. I have never bathed in that tub till now. But I plan to.

Once, I mentioned my love for these little cubicles of pleasure (bath tubs, not the cubicles of cyber cafe) with some friends. The ladies didn’t like it.

Lady friend: “Guys have a one track mind. All you want from a bath tub is having sex in it.”

Me: “Of course I want to have sex in it. Who doesn’t?”

Lady friend: “Next thing you’ll be telling us is you want a woman in that tub. Like she’s just a commodity for you. All you guys think of women as sex objects.”

Me: “I don’t think women as sex objects. They are human beings…who object to sex.”

Lady friend: Middle finger.

I guess this love for bath tubs started when I was very young. Back in the Doordarshan days, they showed an advertisement of Lux soap with Zeenat Amaan in a bath tub. My first reaction was to jump into that tub. I don’t remember if I wanted to jump into an empty one or the one with a wet Zeenat Amaan in it. I ordered Mom to buy only Lux soaps for me.

In summer vacations, we always went to my mamaji’s place in Kanpur. It’s a huge property with the house, gardens, and even small farms inside it. There was (and still is) a well with a haudiya (rectangular, cemented, open water tanks) close to the farms. All the children used to bath in it every other day because usage of soap was prohibited in it because the water went to the farms. So one day we bathed in the bathroom (which I hated) with soaps and the other day we went to the haudiya.

One day, I brought the soap there because I didn’t want to bath the next day in the bathroom. After everybody went away, I took out the soap and washed myself. I went to the house a happy man, but I forgot the soap there. Next day, there was an enquiry commission to determine who the culprit was. The abandoned Lux acted as evidence. Rest of the family, being Vinod Khanna’s fans, used Cinthols.

Thou shalt not…

I was talking to a Bangalorean today. No, they are not an alien race. Although, a race in themselves. No matter where in India you are from, if you live in Bangalore, bangalorean you are. There are local bangaloreans, there are north Indian bangaloreans, and there are the neighboring bangaloreans (Telugu, Tamil and Kerelites). Talking to them is an experience in itself. Not that English is our mother tongue, but since it’s common language (in a country with eighteen official and hundreds other languages), we converse in the same.

Something I noticed while talking to him, is how Indians (myself included, obviously) twist this most popular language in the world. And I don’t mean like Masterji twisting ears, but like Gangu halwaai twisting jalebis. Tasty.

1. Taking things

“I’ll call you later as I am taking lunch right now.”

Taking where? To the fucking pool for a swim? Why can’t we just have lunch, or have rest? Is it because we take things for granted?

2. Basically…

“Basically what I mean is, basically, we import toothpicks.”

We software engineers are often told that regardless of the ever changing technologies in our field of work, what matters most is, you should have your basics clear. This might be the reason why basically is our favorite word.

3. Updation

The moment I typed this word, MS Word drew a red line beneath it. And so does Outlook Express. Then why, oh why, do we write mails with lines like,

“When can I have an updation regarding this issue?” (Red line again.)

If this were a java code, all hell would have broken loose.

4. Myself…

“Myself Chutinder Chadda.”

If you want to say your name, just say, “My name is Chutinder Chadda”. Unless you want to fail your job interview.

5. Put

It is our universal way of shortening sentences. Instead of, “Switch off the light.”, we use, “Put the switch.” But then, we have people who use neither.

“Off the switch!!”

6. Would

“I would be traveling to Wasseypur tomorrow.”

ICSE board, laughed at in my times, for being too easy (“Arre ladka compteesan kaise dega?”), made one thing absolutely straight. You will have impeccable grammar. Nevertheless, for stoneheads like me, my English grammar is as impeccable as Javed Miandad’s cricketing career. But this use of would instead of will would surely have guaranteed a pat (a hard one) on the back by the teacher.

7. -ing

“When I will be going to my hometown, I will be bringing insanely smelling sweets for you.”

I am always dying and hearing bells ringing when somebody is saying these irritating wordings to me.

8. Shorthands

“c if u cud mk it psbl fr 2moro its gna b osm prty…i nw u bsy nly bt gv it a try naaa…cheerzzzz yaaa...”

These headache inducing shorthands are harder to break than the Enigma code. Finding the God particle is easier.

9. Only

“I am here only.”

As opposed to just being “here”? This is the least lonely and most overused word in Indian-English.

The reference to bangaloreans earlier is not typical. It’s just that these gems came to mind after talking to one of them. Come to think of it, punjabis and gujaratis and biharis and all of us use it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. After all, this is our brand of English.

We are the only ones in the world who prepone things.

Rise of the machines

It’s routine now, after six years. I wake up, get ready, go to office, and start working. Or not working. Every couple of months, this happens:

My computer: Your password will expire in 1 day(s). Would you like to change it now?

Me (Clicking on ‘Yes’): Oh no! Here we go again. Time to shit bricks.

My computer: New password please.

Me: sushant

My computer: Your password should be at least 8 characters long.

Me: Shit!

Me: ilovemymom

My computer: Sorry, the password you entered does not match the password security criteria. Your password should contain numbers too.

Me: What the fuck!

Me: ilovemymom22111980

My computer: Wrong again, we at Mindfuck Systems are very concerned about security. It’s you date of birth…too easy for anyone to guess. Try something different.

Me: What the hell is wrong with you? Am I working in the goddamn CIA?

Me: ilovemymom1523

My computer: That’s the exact number of people who died when Titanic sank. Very obvious. Try something else.

Me: Must suppress the urge to shit on the keyboard.

Me: ilovemymom55353545435

My computer: Sorry, the password you entered does not match the password security criteria. Your password should contain special characters also.

Me: Thaari maa ki aankh. Ye le.

Me: ilovemymom55353789789545435!@#$%^&*

My computer: Your password should not be more than 32 characters long. Take that, asshole.

Me: Thee hath awoken my wrath. Thy DIE!!!

Me: ilovem!ndfuck$y$tem$22111980

My computer: Your password has been changed successfully.

Me: Fuck yeeaaah! No bricks shall be shat today.

My computer: I’ll be back…

 

Seven months

Seven months is a long time. A lot can happen in seven months. A lot did happen in the last seven months.


Harry Potter and the Deathly Chatni


Two things happened in November - I joined a new software company (lets call it Chatni Computer Systems Ltd.) and the first part of the last part of the Harry Potter movies was released.
I have always been a huge fan of Harry Potter movies. It's not because of the excellent production values, or the scintillating special effects or the fact that it is the biggest movie franchise ever. I realized the reason after reading the books. It's the story. You get transported to a not-so-completely different world. A world where anything is possible with only one explanation (if you demand one, although you never seek any in Karan Johar movies) - magic. As kids we were always fascinated with magic, but the journey through adulthood taught us that unless your name happens to be Rajnikant (Voldemort never calls Rajnikant by his name), there is very little chance of performing it. This movie was no exception - it was brilliant. Infact, I'll go a little further and call it the best among the seven. The reason being that since it is split into two parts, it follows minimum deviation from the book. After watching this movie, one can feel the agony of waiting for the second part.
On the other hand, if you are a jobless software engineer working part time cleaning toilets in a hospital full of diarrhea patients, and Chatni is the only software company in the world, and is offering you a job, go back to cleaning toilets. When meeting hours are more than working hours, when words are more important than work and when there is more paperwork in procuring a pen and pad than the whole lot of Abdulkarim Telgi's fake stamp papers put together and multiplied by a decazillion times, you start wondering if you are working in an effing government office. Don't blame me for being extremely Gollumsque, quite a few people have left this company in utter frustration. One of them started a new software company of his own and is now quite a bit successful - ever heard of a certain Narayanmurthy and Infosys?


Tooti Haddi


Come December, I was very happy about completing a highly successful month (I became the best table tennis player of all people who joined Chatni on or after eighth November) in my new company. Then I took my first leave of absence from office, because of a wet road. My bike slipped, don't know if it was water or oil on that road (felt like water, tasted like oil), and I broke my arm. Although "broke" seems a tad too much since it was just a hairline fracture, but it surely feels a lot macho. But since there was a cast, "broke" seemed justifiable. Calls were made to the office and home, lectures were given about "Why a bike?..And not a car?" and I began wondering how to do "everything" with my left hand. Three weeks it took to take the cast off, plus one more week to completely straighten my arm, and in one more week I was again the best table tennis player of all people who joined Chatni on or after eighth November.


Chakrata and Chakrata (Beta Version)


On our anniversary, my wife told me that we'll go out somewhere. I agreed. Just go out, have dinner. It was cheap. I was happy. Then she explained. We'll go out means we'll go out of town. I still feel those two seconds were the happiest moment of my life. So, with a lot of deliberation and no planning, we decided to go to this obscure little town in Uttarakhand called Chakrata. It was listed in "52 Weekend Getaways from Delhi" and had a picture of snow capped mountains in a distance - that means a snow view if not snow itself - which persuaded me to go there instead of a sand bowl in Rajasthan. My wife would have enjoyed the drive if somebody else would have been driving. But since it was me, and there was almost forty kilometers of mountainous roads, she was, to some extent, oblivious of the unbelievably beautiful scenery that sped past us. The reason why Chakrata is so beautiful is because it is unfucked by man. It's a cantonment area so civilian construction is prohibited, hence few hotels. There is a small market where you can spot a rare tourist. A must-do is to try momos in Chandna's. Unbelievable chutney. There is a place called Deoban some twenty kilometers away and some thousand meters above. We were not ready for it. It was snowing when we reached there, saw a frozen pond, got caught in a snowstorm and got out of there just in time. Freezing. There are miles and miles of forests and lots of walks and treks. The hotel was a British era bungalow renovated to some extent, but still beautiful. And with an excellent view of the valley and an absolutely wonderful sunrise. I told the hotel manager - I'll be back.
My office mates are lazier than a dead cow. So it took a whole month to persuade them for a trip. Destination Chakrata, quietly and discreetly suggested by yours truly. It was different now, we were the ones whining about the driving. Words like bewakoof and sala which I used while driving with wifey became Bose DK and bhen***d, respectively. A simple romantic fire became a roaring bonfire with twelve talli software engineers shouting, singing, dancing, drinking, ROFL-LMAO-LOL-ing. This time we went to a waterfall called Tiger falls which was reached by a six kilometer trek. Five years of absolutely no physical exercise and a hundred kilos of my body mass made this trek brutal. But the moment you step into the waterfall pond, you forget all the fatigue. The romance of the first and the freedom and laundai of the second one made both the trips memorable.


28 years


On second thoughts, seven months do not seem a long time when you compare it with twenty eight years. If you ask me if I have any memories of twenty eight years ago, my answer would be - only one. I remember someone shouting and running around our house (may be my dad or my uncle) shouting, "Richards Out !!!...Richards Out !!!". As I have already mentioned, it was one of my favorite moments of Indian cricket history. Hell, I don't even remember 1987. After that, thanks to Sachin Tendulkar, I started following the game. Every world cup I prayed to God to make India lift the cup. But sometimes it was a cracked pitch at Eden Gardens, or hard pitches or chilly weather of England, or humiliation by Australia, or humiliation by Bangladesh. This time, the stage was set. God's last world cup, in India, and the final in Mumbai. Sometimes its a cliche, they've got to win...and how.


Its actually eight months now. But hey, masterpieces don't depend on deadlines.
 

Facebook is a Stupid Idiot

I saw my ex on facebook
But I wanted to do what's best.
To show her there are no hard feelings
I sent her a "Friend Request".
But now her photo pops up in that random six
And I just think its mean.
There she is with a new guy, makin' out
On my computer screen.

Facebook is a stupid idiot...

My friend said you gotta be on facebook
To connect in the digital age.
So like everyone else...and their pets
I got my face on a facebook page.
Now the learning curve was a bitch at first,
I didn't know 'till I got burned.
That what I wrote on my wall could be seen by all
That's just the first thing that I learned.

Facebook is a stupid idiot...

It's a place for worthless information
Like an insane almanac.
Where women post minutiae
And men write stupid comments back.
Where women can vent about mundane events
And inundate the internet.
And where clueless men "friend" women
who they've never even met.

Facebook is a stupid idiot
'Cause I can stand to miss
The fact that Tanya thinks all her friends are "Awesome"
And for some reason..Pete "Likes this".
And Rita reports that the trucks are loud
But she still loves this city. It proves that
Facebook is a stupid idiot.

Now some woman sent me flowers
Though I don't even know her name.
I stayed home that day for hours
But no flowers ever came.
Then she started sending hugs and drinks.
Of course all of it completely fake.
Then she hit me with a "virtual pillow",
How much shit can one man take?

Facebook is a stupid idiot
'Cause I don't need to read
All the everyday hapless crap out there
Then ZAP!...It's a "News Feed".
Now some guy with a mind for trivia wants to know
How mine compares to his.
But I'm gonna buy a gun if he sends
One more fucking movie quiz.
And Liza says she needs fertilizer
'Cause her Farmville crops are small.
(...What the FUCK is Farmville??)
And Missy says she's just so damn busy today
But had time to write that on my wall!

Facebook is a stupid idiot...

David Ippolito

Video's on my facebook wall...

The Nothing Box

Wifey went out of town this morning. I was doing nothing. Then I started thinking about doing nothing. How easily can we men do nothing. And how doing nothing drives our wives and girlfriends nuts because they can't do it. I think its the anatomy, especially brains. 

I want to start with men's brain. They are very unique. They are made up of little boxes, and we have a box for everything. We got a box for the car, we got a box for money, a box for job, a box for you, a box for kids, a box for chores somewhere down in the basement, a box for my family, a box for your family. We got boxes everywhere. And the rule is - the boxes don't touch. When a man discusses a particular subject, he goes to that particular box, pulls that box out carefully so that it doesn't touches another box, open the box and discusses ONLY whats in that box.

Women's brains are very different from men's brain. They are made up of a big ball of wires. Everything is connected to everything - money is connected to the car, car is connected to the job, job is connected to the kids - its like a big buzzing ball of very complex circuitry.

Now men have a box in their brain that most women are not aware of. Its called a Nothing Box - it has nothing in it. And of all the boxes that we have in our brain, the Nothing Box is our favourite box. That's why men can do seemingly completely braindead things for hours on end. Ofcourse, this drives women crazy. That's why they go like, "You....can't....possibly....be...doing...noththththinggggg..!!!!!"

Now there's a university in U.S. (one of those countless universities who have nothing else to do but publish ridiculous researches like eating pig shit reduces chances of heart attack by 0.000003%) which did a study and discovered that men have the ability to think about absolutely nothing, and still breath. Women don't understand it. They don't understand the Nothing Box and that's what drives them crazy. Because nothing makes a woman more crazy or irritated than watching a man doing NOTHING.


Woman: "What are you thinking?"

Man: "Nothing."

Woman: "You can't be thinking just nothing."

Man: "Yes I can. I am in my Nothing Box."

Woman: "Can I come into your nothing box with you."

Man: "Duh..no...dumb woman. 'Cause then it won't be a Nothing Box, it'll become a Something Box."

Dadi amma dadi amma...

My last surviving grandmother died yesterday. Not that I was emotionally connected with her, infact she hated me (my guts, to be precise). The feeling was mutual with such devotion that even Mirabai would find herself offended. An example, she was being treated for heart ailments in Noida and I never went to pay a visit, not that she expected that from me. According to her, I was this darubaaz, chicken-mutton-eater who, just like his father, had no respect for elders and who would pick up a fight with anyone faster than Javed Miandad. In short, if she would have been around in bollywood, Lalita Pawar would have played roles of bahu with her as saas.

So when I was going to my uncle's home in Noida (where she spent her last days), I felt - in little, discreet doses - sad. When someone you love dies, you feel desperate and lonely. But gradually you overcome those through time. But when someone you hate dies, you know that the void might never fill up.

I think her daughter and daughter-in-law never see eye to eye. Both were crying in different rooms, and there was a sort of competition going on between them as to who can cry louder. Two teams formed quickly and I sensed an invisible rope stretching from room 1 to room 2 with both teams playing tug-of-war (I have seen this game played in my school, and the cries resembled amazingly).

I know I shouldn't bitch like this when one dies. But hey, this is a blog no one reads. I can be honest.

[Not totally unrelated]: What is the opposite of a eulogy?

Episode One

The idea of writing my own blog was simmering in my khurafaati brain for quite sometime now. And since today is the blog day, I decided to take the plunge. Posting this at 11PM because I've been busy as Chunkey Pandey whole day.

[A man once called Chunkey Pandey, said hello and died laughing. police asked Chunkey, "What did you say?" He said, "Nothing. I just said I'm busy right now, can you call me later?"]