US-India - Yes or No?

Bush will be traveling across oceans to have lunch with Manmohan Singh. Last month's pressure on India by the US to report the Iran incident to the United Nations has developed a tricky situation among the extreme leftist groups in India. The protesters are clearly not welcoming Bush and ther reasons are definitely valid. But Singh has got to make this happen using his turbo power.

Manmohan Singh might bring up the topic of India playing an important role in the global scenario in terms of the nuclear programs and research. If that goes through, it would be a major boost for India in terms of R&D. If it doesn't Singh promised to shave his beard and remove his turban and become a DJ for Daler Mehndi.

Bush on the other hand might be careful on his decision having China in mind and I am sure he doesn't want to upset the chinese government in any way possible. No one wants to mess with the chinese. They just found out that the entire govt is proficient in kung fu so Bush has decided take cheney along for extra security. All said and done, I hope the protesters don't create too much of a scene and I hope Bush does not screw up the deal. All we need to do is assure him that no country will be as powerful as the US.

Story next time

My schedule for the past month was very different from usual. I would come back home in the evening to watch the American idol and dancing with the stars..Oh wait sorry the olympics..What the hell is wrong with people? American idol had twice as many viewers than the olympics and this was when US came second in the medal count. I wonder what would happen if the NBA finals and the american idol finals coincided at the same time. I dont think we'll ever be alive to watch that happen.

And finally I managed to figure out how I can change colors for the text on my blog. Go html. After so many years of non-commital rage against computers I am following the footsteps of my co-workers and friends. I haven't really put too much thought into the color combination yet, you might see some minor changes to that regard. I have also decided to stick with this title after getting comments from some of you. Finally I also decided to milk as much as I can get from writing on this blog so there goes adsense. I'm still a little puzzled about how it actually works but I am sure the google guys are making a lot more money than I am for every ad I post on my website.

Wondering where the story is? I will be back with the second chapter.

The village of Aksa - Chapter 1

Janaka has been in the village of Atipu for as long as he can remember. At the age of twelve, Janaka was definitely the naughty one out of the four siblings, partly because he was a kid and partly because he was the youngest who was given the most brotherly attention. Bala was the eldest, Kanak and Kashi were twins. The four of them attended Ashra, one of the four schools in the village of Atipu.

Compared to the rest of the students in his year Janaka was small built, short and thin. He had beautiful blue eyes and hair up to his shoulders. He also had a great sense of humor which clearly made him the center of attraction among all the girls of his year. Janaka was in his sixth standard now and he was slowly beginning to take some interest in his studies after Adhikaar, head of the school, warned him that he failed in all of his subjects in the previous year and if that trend continued he would be kept back in the sixth standard for another term. Janaka was quick to realize the seriousness of this situation and started a routine that involved revising his class notes daily. The previous years’ routine was to go to school for name sake, play with his friends, flirt with girls and annoy his siblings. Sixth year was different in the sense that there were more courses included in the curriculum like basic Sanskrit, creative writing and story telling, martial arts in theory and practice, yoga, equality and equanimity and dancing.

Sixth standard was the year when he made most of his friends. This was also the year when realized that he should spend time with people of the same sex too. His closest friends were Sampa and Taal. Sampa, Taal and Janaka spent a lot of time together reading books and gossiping about students from the other three schools i.e., Bhama, Camili and Dota, and together they were all referred to as the ABCD’s of Atipu. During one of their lunching sessions the conversation started off with Sampa casually asking Janaka which village he came from. Janaka immediately said Atipu in a manner that should have been obvious by now.

“That’s impossible. Nobody is actually from Atipu. We all came from neighboring villages into Atipu. Atipu was created for kids like us.” said Taal

At first Janaka thought that the two were playing a prank on him but then realized that Taal was probably correct because he could not think of a single person who was not associated to the ABCD’s of Atipu.

Taal assured Janaka immediately by saying “I’m sure Bala knows where you are from. You should ask him. We are both from Aksa.”

“Where is that?” asked Janaka, who was now feeling abandoned.

“I’ve never been there but have heard it takes more than a day to walk. There are also rumors that some of the greatest yogis can travel there in a flash.” said Sampa. Janaka had some confidence in what was being said because Sampa was always good about getting everyone else’s gossip and share it with him. Most of them tended to be true too.

But all this new information that he was getting made Janaka realize that there might be a whole new world that he was not aware of all these years that he might have actually been a part of at some point. Part of him was mad at his siblings for not telling him these things while another part of him was so curious that he wanted to skip his two afternoon classes and talk to Bala and listen to all his stories. But he couldn’t afford to miss his classes especially since Adhikar had warned to keep him back for a year if he failed. So he forced himself to focus during the class but his mind would uncontrollably imagine all kinds of things ranging from who he really was to how he could travel to his village or that if his siblings had ever been there before and why they hadn’t mentioned anything about this earlier. Once the last class was over, he hung his bag over his left shoulder and sprinted to Bala’s room in the Kulch building, where all the senior year students stayed.

“Bala, I’m hearing all kinds of things from my friends. All of them seem to know which village they are from. WHY DID YOU KEEP THESE THINGS FROM ME ALL THESE YEARS?” Janaka’s eyes turned red filled with rage. Ever since he was five he never liked to be the one who missed out on all the action and stories that his siblings had experienced. This information being so important to him made him really furious.

Bala had just left his door open to get some fresh air. When Janaka entered the room and shouted, it was like being struck by a thunderbolt. Bala’s first reaction was to twitch his upper body and face and then he simply looked at Janaka’s eyes and showed signs of embarrassment. “I..I..I was just waiting for the right time. I was waiting for you to get a little older so you could understand the details. There is a lot more to it than just where you came from.”

“What do you mean by me getting older? Don’t you think I should have known atleast where I came from when all my classmates do?”

Bala was very calm and being his usual self while he let Janaka take his emotions out on him. Even though Janaka treated him more like a dad than his brother, he would sometimes go out of control and take his anger out on him and later apologize for his act.

“It’s a little more complicated than that Janaka. Its not just where we are from but why we are here too you know. If you give me sometime to explain maybe Kashi and Kanak can also join us.”

“So do they also know? How could they be told even though they are only a year older than me?”

“Why don’t we all meet up at the kulch building hall for dinner and we can discuss. I will arrange to get permission for your meals here tonight.”

Janaka was not yet convinced but the idea of eating in the kulch building appealed to him. Kulch had the best cooks in the school and they served their meals with appetizers and desserts which didnt happend at the Milka hall where he was staying.

Janaka left Bala’s room without saying a word. He had an evening class on creative writing and so had to rush before it got too late.

After class he rushed back to kulch hall. There he saw his siblings waiting for him. Kanak had a seriously put-up face which was very unusual since he always liked to joke around and Janaka often felt very connected to him in some respects. Kashi gave the look as though she had rehearsed the sympathetic expression on her face several times before she came there and Bala was as calm as before. They all greeted Janaka. Bala put his arms around Janaka’s shoulders and guided him inside the hall. They sat on the floor in the lounge area facing one another in a circle. Janaka felt very tense with all the seriousness surrounding him. The last time the four of them were so quiet was when Bala fractured his legs after a fight with one of his classmates as part of an examination in the martial arts class. In any kind of serious atmosphere Bala would take the lead and begin his lecture. He proceeded to start the conversation this time too “We are all from Aksa. It’s a neighboring village and takes more than a day to walk there. I am the only one who has been there out of the four of us and I have been there just once to see our dad. He stays at Aksa with your mom. We…we are step brothers.”

All this while Janaka had never once wondered who his parents were or where they were staying. It was almost natural that most kids in Atipu didn’t pay attention to their parents mostly because they weren’t in contact with them since they were born. All this new information made Janaka feel like a different person altogether. He could now sense the distance with his siblings.

“Are the three of you siblings? Was it just me who has a different mom?” Janaka tried hard not to cry. It made sense why they kept these facts from him all these years. They clearly didn’t want to hurt his feelings and make him feel that he was not a part of their family.

“But we want you to know that nothing is going to change between us. We are still siblings and we will behave just the way we used to with each other.”

Janaka didn’t pay attention to what Bala was saying at this moment and simply shot his next question as though it was now his turn to speak “Is there any way I could see dad and my mom at the village? Why haven’t they come to visit me all these years?”

“There are still a lot of details that I haven’t told you. Maybe we should meet up next time since its getting late and the kitchen might close any moment.”

Janaka was very confused after this conversation. A lot of the details were given to him in patches today and he felt like he still didn’t know much about himself. Part of him was embarrassed that he knew so little about himself and part of him was excited to begin a whole new life altogether. Nevertheless he was excited for the food that was served in kulch kitchen. They served steamed rice cakes with cocnut chutney and sambar for appetizers, palak panner, fried oakra, curry fried mashed potato, korma and stuffed kucha for the main course. Janaka stuffed himself with all the food that he could without having to think about the conversation. Finally he drained himself in gulab jamun and mango lassi. Once he was done with dinner and walked back to his room he began to ponder about his family as he lay on his bed. The food felt really good in his stomach and he felt drowsy as he closed his eyes. The tiredness took over him and his thoughts of his family and all he could remember next was waking up to the scream of the morning bell.

Food for thought

Hola,

I don’t know when I am going to stop changing the blog title. I wasn’t very satisfied with the previous title so I had to change. If you find it annoying then shoot me some ideas. Cheney, I just said ideas.

Hope you all had a great week. Here in the Midwest, it was biting cold last week.

It was so cold that I had to wear thermal under wear to get outside.

It was so cold that Cheney didn’t go out for his daily shoot.

It was so cold that the republicans were offended by Bush’s plans on the port authority

It was so cold that Israel is refusing to pay the Palestinians their own tax money of $50 million a month.

It was so cold that the Russians didn’t win the women’s figure skating short program.

Our moods wander around various phases and I was in one of those phases for the better part of last week where new stories or ideas would not spark. With every intention to start a new story, I would first turn on my laptop and open MS Word (which invariably takes a minute or two) and then begin to ponder. Beginning a story is so incredibly dependant on the success of the events during that day. Every event that even closely involves food, entertainment, sleep, dream, and fantasies coming true would score points toward writing a good story. Unfortunately, I don’t get out of the house too often and the days I do get out it’s either to go to my office, where I encounter not so many exciting things in life such as work, library, and so called extra-curricular activities which I would rather not delve into. The international and national news stories on TV and the newspaper don’t help either. Incidentally, most of the stories that I posted for Valentine’s Day are still being discussed around the world so that gives an idea of how many new things are happening in the political world at any given time. But getting out of the house and walking around really helps to flavor ordinary stories and make them into a curry house for most blogs.

Yesterday was one such day when I went to the Michigan basketball game. There is so much to talk about everything but the game. Although my story will not report the game commentary or the excitement among the Michigan fans when they saw their team win, the game still put me in the right mood to start and develop one. The story that will follow in my next post would be the first of many chapters so please be patient since I am in the process of writing the first chapter.

Hasta luego,

iCuidados.

Post V-day Special News Edition

Valentine gifts

why is there so much love around us?

For eg: The Israeli government wants to indirectly assure the US Govt that they are not cheating on them by sleeping with the palestinians. To communicate this they pick this very special day to make the headlines in the NY Times every year...

Don't believe me? check this out...

Feb. 14, 2006 — The United States and Israel are discussing ways to destabilize the Palestinian government so that newly elected Hamas officials will fail and elections will be called again, according to Israeli officials and Western diplomats. NY Times

Feb. 14, 2005 - Abbas Declares War with Israel Effectively Over
“the new Palestinian leader, Mamoud Abbas, said in an interview this weekend that the war with the Israelis is effectively over and that the Israeli Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon, is speaking ''a different language'' to the Palestinians. Mr. Sharon's commitment to withdraw from Gaza and dismantle all Israeli settlements...”NY Times

Feb. 14, 2004 - Israeli forces shot and killed a Palestinian man during a raid before dawn on Friday in the northern West Bank, Israeli and Palestinian officials said. An Israeli security official said soldiers were searching for a suspected car bomb in Qabatia, near Jenin, when they heard gunshots. The official said...NY Times

Want to be a figure skater? First be a communist

That’s what the figure skating coaches say these days. The Russian dominance in figure skating is insurmountable. They have amassed 12 Olympic gold medals in figure skating in the last 12 Olympics. We still have to be appreciative of the Chinese especially the Zhang/Zhang couple who went on to win the silver medal after the brutal fall of the lady and the second Chinese team which went on to grab the bronze medal after the man tore his Achilles tendon in the last Olympic.
Oh wait a minute..I am sorry I forgot to mention the Indians in the Olympics, we love to eat roti and daal while watching it.

NASCAR story

Forty years after the civil rights movement in America, NASCAR "proudly" wants to give more opportunity to minorities and improve racial diversity within their organization. (Wah, Kya bath hai yaar). They are also planning to put minorities on a separate “technical orientation program”. I call it the “we need more car mechanics program”.

The D

I travelled to Detroit last weekend. Contrary to popular beliefs, I have always loved the city. "The D", they refer to, bears such a rich history that goes back all the way to the industrial revolution. The change in the city post super bowl 2006 is conspicuous, and definitely for the better. I am glad that this was a step to revival. New roads and footpaths have been paved across downtown from the GM headquarters to the Tigers stadium. The streets are a whole lot cleaner than what they used to be. Campus Martius, the open air ice skating rink, was bustling with kids and families. One could see Indians and whites walking on the roads with their families..without even pissing in their pants..I am not kidding!

I paid a visit to one of my favorite exhibits, the Diego Rivera mural, at the Detroit Institute of Arts. Again, this is one of Detroit’s greatest treasures and I am glad they are doing a lot of work to preserve art. But I didn’t quite understand one aspect about the museum and that was the extra security in the European and contemporary American Art section when compared to no security in the African, South American East Asian or Middle Eastern art sections. Then the whole "pissing in the pants" story made a lot more sense to me.

Dick

Ever wondered if Cheney had a better job to do than be the Vice-President. OOOYeh, shooting old republicans after getting drunk with a beer. Btw, what the hell is a beer? It could have been a six-pack of beer ,a 40oz beer, a carton of beer, does he think he's really that smart? But here is an interesting article that I came across which might clear some confusion.

DECEMBER 18, 2003 “Dick Cheney is under fire for shooting birds. The Vice President has come under attack from an animal rights group for participating in a “canned hunt” in which he reportedly killed pheasants that were released for the purpose of being shot by hunters.” MSNBC

Gotcha! So thats why he didn't shoot birds this time.

***Latest News!!*** An entire cavalry is trying to stop the vice-president from going on a rampage in his horse this morning after hearing a gun shot at his house. Somebody stop him please!!


More Love

The White House is wondering why this petty issue (dick shoot) has become such a big deal in the U.S. More rightly so, after all, they have had 40 yrs of experience from Vietnam, Sudan, Afghanistan, etc and abuses in Abu Gharib and Guantanamo bay.

"Some" might retaliate back saying "Bush is keeping us americans safe. His foreign and domestic policies are unprecedented"

Hmm.. This report was written by a Republican-dominated special House committee and obtained Tuesday night (2/14/2006) by The Associated Press.
"The failure of initiative cost lives, prolonged suffering, and left all Americans justifiably concerned our government is no better prepared to protect its people than it was before 9/11, even if we are. Passivity did the most damage." concluded the report

New Photos
Apparently the US criticized and blasted an Australian TV network for publishing the Abu Gharib photos. They feel its going to only inflame violence in the world. I wonder where the concept of the "freedom of the press" was forgotten this time since its so inbuilt in their "culture". Two weeks ago they were talking about the freedom of speech wrt the cartoons of the prophet.


For those who think they are "man-lee"

Last but not nearly the least for V-day special. There is not one person in the world who knows what the average penis size is. Even some of the greatest sex researchers like Kinsey, Schonfeld and Bebe in the 1940’s after sampling nearly 18,000 men with anonymous questionnaires and interviews couldn’t come up with a definite answer.

Here is an article that might provide you with some insight:
“But in case you're still wondering, here is what we know: When self-measured, the median length of a stretched flaccid penis is about 5.1 inches. For an erect penis, most studies come in at 5.5 to 6 inches. The average flaccid penis is in the 3.5- to 4-inch range. If someone else is doing the measuring, well, the numbers come out lower."

But go ahead, add a little extra. After all, it's Valentine's Day!

Beer at work - Part 2

Assalaam alaykum,

I have changed a couple of things on my blog, most importantly the title. I was deeply mulling over whether or not to change the title. Finally, I took the initiative to log onto blogspot and change the original blog title, for the better or worse. It’s sometimes a torture to come up with a title on your own; especially something that encompasses a whole range of topics from Bush to his antithesis homosexuality. Its not that I hate the language of Urdu, just that I needed to come up with something original, after all I stole it from the movie “salaam namaste” by appending “ass”. I also wanted to make it clear to the fundamentalists that I do not have anything against our brothers and to prevent them from getting agitated I chose my greetings well enough. Lately, I have been receiving some phone calls regarding the contents of my blog and it was difficult for me to describe the emotions of those people whether they were shocked in belief or bewailed in sympathy, and so came the description for my blog.

Getting back to the second part of my story. For those who are breaking their heads, the first part of the story is my previous post titled “Beer at Work part 1”.

(continued)



It took me a couple of days to mentally recover from the incident. Even though I did not end up committing the act of anal penetration with a beer bottle myself, I kept thinking it in my head and my mind would wander and wonder unsteadily for the next week or so.

[NOTE: Before I continue any further let me introduce character keys for the hypothetical act (described and visualized numerous times) to simplify the story; kid is the receiver, I am the giver, beer bottle is the tool, condom is the tool kit.]

Often, I would hallucinate in the streets of Ann Arbor during lunch hours and visualize the graphics of the hypothetical situation. Also, right around that time, news on the War in Iraq was the hot topic in the media. To add to my nightmares, Bush was going to be re-elected in a short while. Slowly the characters and the context of my dreams and hallucinations were transformed from me conducting the act of anal penetration on the kid to Bush on the Iraqis, the US army being the tool and Rumsfeld with his slimy hair-style being the lubricated tool-kit. To humor myself, I would visualize by interchanging the roles of the giver and receiver.

A few months passed without any trouble and I continued to work at the Michigan League. The kid and I actually ended up becoming good friends and I started appreciating his sense of humor for the first time in a long time. Sometimes we need juvenile humor to keep us young and healthy. But our friendship didn’t go too far. One day, the manager came up to me and said “Do you wanna earn more money? There is this friend of mine who wants somebody to maintain his lawn and clean his house. He pays $20 an hour, twice as much as what you are earning now. Looking at your sincerity at the League I thought of recommending you for the job. Are you convinced?” I was enticed by the money but it was sad that I had to leave my friend. Unfortunately money took precedence in my decision which I would very much regret later.

The good thing about the new job was that I didn’t have to walk too far from my apartment. It was a huge bungalow in the outskirts of Ann Arbor. I was really happy to see a small lawn of maybe 20 ft by 20 ft outside the house. There were some pretty flowers in purple, red and pink which I thought maybe his wife had planted. As soon as I opened the latch of the gate and entered his compound, a ferocious dog came running towards me and was about to grab my pelvic spare parts. But even before the dog did anything, I shouted my lungs out for help and started running towards the house, banging on the door maniacally. The dog followed me thinking I was the prey and all of a sudden I felt a sting of pain in my butt. Turning 180 degress, I saw my jeans from Express were completely ripped off behind me; I was now officially butt naked. Just in time the owner opened the door of the house and said “I’m so sorry that this happened. Benny gets very excited to see visitors. Are you the person who agreed to do my garden?”

I was in half mind to say that I had come to the wrong house and that I was looking for my cousin’s house. But I ended up forgiving the man and the dog and said “Yes that is me. Very nice to meet you. Maybe you could put a sign for the dog on your gate just so people don’t excite your dog too much.” Saying that I turned and showed him what his dog had done to my clothes. Seeing the ripped off jeans he apologetically said “I am really sorry. Let me give you some new clothes to wear. I don’t think you can walk back home like this.” I said “that would be great. Where do you think I can start?” He showed me around the house and gave instructions on what to clean and how to mow his lawn.

While we went from room to room, the dog too followed me just making sure I wasn’t stealing anything. The man gave me a new pair of shorts to wear and I was happy to cover myself and start work. The work was more laborious that I thought. He asked me to do nit bitty things like cleaning the window nets and grills, furniture, water his plants and even cleaning the bath tub. I started to work on each room when I finally came to the bed room. I was to dust underneath the bed, so I lay on the floor on my back and just had my head under the bed like car mechanics working on engines. It was a bed battle for me to work underneath without proper light. Besides, the man was watching TV in the same room which I didn’t pay attention to. After sometime I couldn’t help hearing the several moaning sounds from the TV where the actors were breathing very hard as though they were working out to the Richard Simmons show and finally I heard a guy shout as though he was bitten by a dog, very similar to the way I shouted. But I did not allow myself to be distracted.

After a couple of minutes I felt somebody lightly rubbing against my belly, but it was almost like an imagination. After a few more minutes, I felt a thrust on my pelvic region, I was pretty sure that was imagination too and that it must be that anal penetration story that’s causing me to be unstable. So I forced myself to focus on the job. But after a little while longer the thrusting got stronger and there was almost a roar. By then I had finished cleaning the bed and was enthused by the TV sounds and the thrusting. When I came out of the bed, the sight in front of me put me to complete tears and I knew I was quitting this job forever. It’s embarrassing to even discuss the situation. Great authors might write a 500 page memoir describing the situation, and this one would actually be true. I knew that the next few weeks were going to be spent dreaming with the roles of the giver, receiver, tool and tool-kit being changed drastically. Even today I wonder how could a domesticated dog like a pitbull watch gay porn on TV and simultaneously pretend to have sex with a man while the owner watches the live scene to jerk off.

Beer at work - Part 1

While I was a student at Michigan, I used to work part-time as a technician at the Michigan League, a building where all kinds of events ranging from weddings for underage kids to superbowl parties would take place. The work wasn’t very interesting, it was merely setting up a room with chairs and tables or breaking them down by removing chairs and tables. The workout was good and it was like being paid by the hour to go the gym. There was the occasional pushing and pulling of TV carts for those meatless heads that wanted some kind of animation/amusement in their talks in order to keep the audience alive. Money wasn’t that great but was sufficient to pay my bills. As a desi, I found it utterly embarrassing to admit to anyone that I was a technician, so I would often tell people with a constrained expression of genuine seriousness that I was working as an event organizer. Some would enthusiastically say “Oh that is great yaar. You can put this on your resume while you apply to B-Schools.” Hell yeh, in the name of Alito I can.

The hours of work was crazy and varied depending on the day. On most week nights I was required to work from 10pm until 3am. Nights were freaky since I was the only non-white working in the building. There was always a random desi who attended a conference meeting in the hope of getting some free food but other than that it was mostly me. Most of the kids I was working with were also a lot younger than I was, probably in their late teens. Even the kinds of things that they talked about put me off by at least two degrees of freedom.

There was this one time when it was just me and this other normal looking kid working during the night shift. Around 1am, he comes up to me while I am in the middle of lifting a heavy table and walking down the hall way and excitedly says “Dude, I got a six-pack in my back pack. We need a break from this shit man. ” I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying since the table weighed a little more than my usual lifting capacity. All I heard were the words "six pack". But then he stood right in the middle of the hallway and obstructed my path to completion. I agreed to whatever he said and didn’t give room for discussion at that point when my face was completely red and I was almost out of breadth from lifting this heavy table over my head that was smelling of some gooey mix of ketchup and rotten meat. Once I dropped the table in the storage room, I came to my senses again. With the soreness in my arms from lifting, a beer sounded like a great idea to me but later I would regret this offer. Besides, the building manager left around 10pm and there was no one to monitor the building except the security guard who really didn’t care what went on inside the building.

I decided to start working after my first bottle while this kid was having a go at his six-pack. He finished five bottles in less than 15 minutes flat and I knew that that was trouble waiting to happen. As always with drunken white kids, he started talking about the other times that he was drunk “There was this one time when we threw a bachelors party for this dude who was my room mate and we got so shit-faced that we shoved a beer bottle in the groom’s anus. The next day at his wedding, he couldn’t even stand straight while taking the oath. That shit was fucking hilarious man.” HELL NO, that wasn’t funny to me. I was done with his crazy stories since it was just adding fuel to the already existing stereotypes about a particular group in me. I told him that we’d better get work done and leave early. The kid was so drunk that he asked me to wake him up in half hour and that if he didn’t, I'd have to stick a beer bottle in his anus. He even gave me a lubricated condom to use on the bottle if necessary. He passed out immediately after he gave me the instructions so I couldn’t argue furthur. Now, I didn’t have anyone to assist me at work so I hoped he would wake up on his own. But my mind was already wandering with the technicalities of the operation if the kid didn’t wake up. Each time I looked at the condom I was reminded of the graphics of the operation I was to perform. Never ever had I done this in my whole life and there I was sitting glum with my hands on my forehead thinking what would my family say if they caught me firstly with a beer bottle, secondly with a condom in my hand and thirdly sticking them both in someone's privates.Fortunately for me, I saw him walk down the hall way in half an hour and he helped me carry the rest of the tables with a heavy head. Now I knew who wasn’t going to be in my wedding.

(To be continued)

The Rocking-Chair

I was about thirteen years old when I learnt the concept of the rocking chair at a friend’s apartment. I might have been around eight when I first saw something close to a rocking chair. I vaguely remember my dad’s friend gliding on it with his knee on the seat, shins perpendicular to his thighs and resting on the seat, hands firmly holding the arm rest and his face pointed towards the back rest which made it impossible to see his expressions. The man’s posture resembled an overgrown baby in fetal position that was moving to attain the ideal position, but I wondered if he was actually pretending to be riding a horse or if he pretended to be the horse himself. It was more like a to and fro rhythmic motion of a half man-half horse, popularly known as “centaurs” among Harry Potter fans. The door for the room was partially closed and so I managed to get a sneak preview of this adult show. Almost instantaneously, I knew that kids weren’t allowed into the room that was presenting obscenity. Then I remembered why I was standing there in the very first place.
Some of my friends and I were playing dark-room, which was very popular in the 80’s, and we were supposed to be hiding inside the kids room while the seeker would come looking for us. Ingeniously, I left the room so they would be looking for me all night long. I left the obscenity and stealthily crept back into the kids room on all fours. To my surprise, the lights were already on. That meant that the game was over. That wasn’t possible because I was never caught. Once I cautiously entered the room, I saw two of the boys lying on the floor with their head and upper body stuck under the bed desperately trying to figure out the best position to get out while their two dogs were assisting them by ferociously grabbing and pulling on their trousers. Two other boys were having a great time wrestling with each other next to the study table for reasons I didn’t know.
At the end of that night I learnt the following:

Dogs are actually faithful

Certain humans have the capacity to change shapes to accommodate change in sizes

Centaurs were not a myth and they don’t look good even in the fetus

Boys, under the age of ten, love to suck on their own blood

That night took a huge toll on my mental and physical health in bringing peace back to the room and I didn’t come across a rocking chair for quite a while. Five years later, I saw a similar rocking-chair, the same posture of my father’s friend came to my mind. I concluded that back then he was either trying to test the strength of the chair or that he was a bad actor. I desperately wanted to own one right then and so I went to the furniture store that was conveniently located adjacent to my apartment building. Since I was penny-wise by nature, I didn't buy the chair during my first visit. After a few visits, the store manager quickly recognized me and was desperate to hear me make a deal with him. He was nice enough to allow me to test the chair each time I came into the store even though he very well knew I wasn’t gonna spend a goddamn pie on that thing. I used to glide on the chair for about 2 hours a week and head back home. It was like going to Chucky Cheese for free. The store even had a TV screen by the side and one day I moved the rocking chair so I could get a pretty good view of the movie “Crocodile Dundee” that was playing on HBO. We didn’t have HBO at home and I decided to take advantage of the situation. Unfortunately the store manager asked me to leave before I could finish the movie, so I never got to see the ending. The probability of the dundee loosing a battle or dying was almost none. Fortunately, the store manager did not have any eyebrows above his eyes, so I couldn’t figure out if he was actually angry or annoyed at me or if he was just a loud man by nature. I decided to be obedient and left the store without getting into a fight. After that embarrassing incident, I didn't go to the store for a very long time.

The conventional rocking chairs are unquestionably more innovative and fun compared to the modern ones with cushions and footstools. I never quite understood the use of a footstool for a rocking chair. It would be quite the workout for the thighs and abdomen to assist in the rocking motion while the legs are resting on a foot stool. It was shocking to see that rocking-love seats are being sold in stores. It seems redundant to have an artificial rocking motion while making love. There are also the rocking beds and cradles not just for babies but also for the grown ups. The last advice we want is from Dr.Phil on how to decorate rocking love seats and beds to transform lovers into ferocious tigers and lions.

From Bhubaneswar to Konark

“Coldddrrreeeanks, chai, kafi, idli vada…..chikeeeeii.” Bhupathi was used to the general commotion of the mobile tea and coffee valaas (vendors) in indian trains as he was traveling from Bubaneshwar to Konark. The rain water was gushing into the berths through the windows. The water had an eerie smell of rust and dust. The rainfall was like a blessing after last season’s famine. One could sense an urgency among people as they placed their buckets outside their thatched huts to collect and store as much water as they could. Kids loved playing in the rain while their moms made fierce attempts in bringing them back home to prevent them from getting sick. Bhupathi cherished the cold droplets on his facial skin. The breeze as the train gained speed brought in a chill that made Bhupathi enjoy the moment of joy until the frustration of the passenger sitting on the opposite end was curmudgeonly demonstrated “Hello Meeshter. Would you be sho kind enough not to drench my clothes by shutting that bindow? We are not the billagers in the movie “Lagan” waiting por the crops to grow or something. Be conshiderate.” Bhupathi was a little taken aback by this young man of maybe 20 something. He also looked foreign or at least pretended to be foreign with his jeans, nike shoes, and the attitude. But he still had a strong bengali accent when he spoke english, of course, who else could say ‘hello mishter’. Bhupathi thought that this guy must be "In-Sen".

But Bhupathi was kind enough to oblige to the young man’s request or rather his order and said “Oye, I am sorry. I was just in my own world. By the by, my name is Bhupathi. I’m a townie traveling to Konark. How about you Mr…?”

The young man was a little suspicious to be interrogated so easily. He was always advised by his elders to be careful with strangers in the train and was warned not to give out any information. He even remembered his grandmother’s last few words on her death-bed “Beta, don’t ever listen to anybody in the train. The biggest mistake I ever made was when I started chatting with your grandfather 65 yrs ago.” Sadly, these were the words that she uttered before her last breath. The young man said “I’m Saleem.” Saleem had always wondered what his grandpa was like. He had only seen his villainous pictures where strings of white hair that could be drawn into wires poked out through both of his nostrils and ears, a patch of white stubble attaching his neck and chest was conspicuously reflecting back light from the flash of the camera and all this made him look like an old grizzly bear in his 70’s. Something from the photos also intuitively hinted that his grandpa had more hair on his back than his chest. The only place where he didn’t have hair was his head. Saleem really felt sorry for his grandmother as she was so pretty and that they had four beautiful kids, one of them being his own mom. The fact that Bhupathi reminded Saleem of his grandpa made him all the more wild and angry. So he refused to make a conversation and turned his face in the opposite direction after mentioning his name.

Bhupathi on the other hand was curious to meet young people and loved to learn from their experiences. But since Saleem’s hostility was blatantly demonstrated from the start of their meeting he decided not to prod further. The train was now passing corn fields by the sides and Bhupathi watched the workers in their colorful clothes. Some of the workers paused for a moment to observe the passing train. Occasionally little boys and girls would run close to the railway tracks and wave to the passengers. Just as Bhupathi was enjoying the scenery he felt a pat on his shoulder. It was the ticket-master. Apparently he had been shouting out his name for the last 2 minutes or so and proclaimed him deaf. As Bhupathi turned around, the ticket-master voluntarily came close to his ears and began yelling “EXCUSE ME SIR. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW.” Bhupathi wondered if the ticket-master was recruited by the Indian railways on a special quota for the mentally-ill. The ticket-master shouted so loudly that his mouth opened in a maniacal fashion as though lord Krishna was showing the whole world to his mom in the Mahabharath, the difference being that the ticket-master’s mouth smelled of Meeta (sweet) pan. He also felt a shower of his watery mixture of secretions from his salivary glands and for a moment Bhupathi wished he had glasses equipped with wipers like the college student in the movie Mein Hoon Na. The ticket-master took a deep breath and started to yell again but Bhupathi was just in time to lift his hands and cover his face. But he would have been glad if he had covered his ears. Bhupathi wasn't sure whether to shut the ticket-master's mouth or his own face, eyes and ears. He finally yelled “I CAN HEAR SIR. I CAN HEAR. I AM NOT DEAF.” It felt like the whole train was quiet after his yell, but that was more psychological than anything else. It was impossible to bring the attention of a thousand people with a mere scream. Bhupathi sometimes felt that India needed more than just one prime minister to manage all of the nation's problems to bring in reforms. Bhupathi immediately handed the ticket to avoid further discussion. The ticket-master took Bhupathi’s ticket and tallied it with the list he had on his notepad. The ticket-master had the look of a strict school-teacher with huge black framed spectacles with strings hanging by either ends of his face and his glasses would constantly fall down the bridge of his nose at regular intervals, he wore a black coat over his white shirt and white trousers. Even though the ticket-master didn’t have a photo to tally he gave Bhupathi multiple looks that were a combination of fear, suspicion and anger. Within 20 minutes of handing the ticket back to Bhupathi the train was coming to halt and he could see the sign for Konark. Saleem was glad to get out of the tumultuous milieu in the train while Bhupathi was glad to be back to his town and they parted their own ways.

Culinary-Integration

Cooking is one of my favourite past times. I am not talking about bookish or "play by the rules" cooking, but my kind is always "below the belt". It could also be scrupulously put as culinary-integration (CI). Yes, I just made up that term. And it may seem obvious to some, but here is how its done : use atleast 50% of the ingredients you possess in the kitchen cabinets that is hidden beyond the first row i.e., salt, pepper and masala containers. The end result may vary as to how and why you mix certain things. I once experimented with broccolli, zuchinni, garam masala and tomato sauce and I wont go into detail about the end result but suffice it to say that the dish went uneaten until it got rotten with fungus. Fungi fascinates me. Fungi cause or cure diseases depending on the kind. But the kind that was in my fridge was sure not the one that cured food poisoning. Mushrooms make any dish taste good and are pretty versatile in that respect, is what I thought until I experimented them with parseley, olive oil, rice wine and tomatoes. Seems pretty normal, until I added broccolli and bananas. Dishes that have fruits and vegetables enthuse me. Some of the best dishes I have tasted in certain parts of western India have a tinge of sour and sweet flavours mixed. I wonder if that was due to the french influence. Cooking is fun as long as the pre- and post-cooking events are taken care of by someone else. Sometimes I think kitchen sinks should be equipped with built-in grills to arrange dirty plates and dishes. Ofcourse dish-washer is the other alternative but most often the dish would have to be rinsed before which makes matters worse. With the infusion of so many engineers in the past 20 yrs not one could come up with a solution to the dish-washer. Hats off to the many inventions they came up with. But, I would have to admit a fundamental issue with engineers: social skills. I need'nt comment more. All their lives they have been working on math and science equations preventing them to be normal in a social setting. Its like everyday is halloween for engineers. In my most desperate attempts to look "cool", I once went to a friend's party in a stripy shirt with a huge collar (which is surprisingly sold at H&M), tucked in tight-jeans and pointy leather shoes. Some Indians mistook me for devanand and some wondered if I forgot a cow-boy hat. Our perception of whats cool and whats not is completely different from the norm and that makes us unique. In some cases like the cooking example unique may be good i.e., European food especially french and east european are unique and so the restaurants can afford to run on $30 entrees. Whereas Indian food is not so unique any more. I was shocked to run into an indian restaurant in the middle of a ghost town in nevada on US-50 which is also knick-named "the lonliest road in America".

Well, let me stop rambling for today. I will be back soon.

Lacking clockwork

Lately I have had so much time that a new found glory for friendster has errupted in me. I don't bother setting the alarm and wasting charge on my cell phone and so I wake up when it is too bright to sleep anymore. Fortunately I am too lazy to shut the blinds. Closing the blinds in my room is an ordeal of its own. These blinds hang vertically and are individually hooked to the top joined by a common spool. Invariably, one of them would be displaced by 180 deg. So I would have to first seperate the blinds individually to get to the displaced one. Even before that, since I am an average Indian, I would have to first bring a chair to reach the top of the blind. There is also a chance of falling over and tripping because my chair has wheels on them. Unfortunately I would not be able to sue the manufacturer because there is a warning pasted beneath the seat saying " DO NOT USE THIS CHAIR AS A STEP-LADDER. FAILURE TO FOLLOW THESE GUIDELINES MAY RESULT IN SERIOUS INJURY". I didn't quite understand why the warning was pasted beneath the seat instead of someplace visible to the person stepping on it. After much contemplation I decided to just have sun as a wake-up indicator. I felt myself going back in time to the sumerian culture and the egyptian shadow clocks, only without the sundial. But in a place like Ann Arbor, sundials would be ineffective for six months in a year. I would still prefer those to the middle-age clocks that weighed 200-400 pounds on an average. Back home in Muscat, we owned a 19th century german cuckoo clock. Eventhough it sounds cool, it is one of the most embarrassing showpieces to own in the house. The day we bought the clock and assembled it, my parents and I waited for almost 10 minutes for the cuckoo to pop out and do its thing. It was like waiting for a celebrity but only not. There is also the "biological clock" that most people love to talk about. Even though I have never believed in a "biological clock", it has worked for me during crucial moments. At the moment I am enjoying the fact that I can spend an entire day without being aware of the time. It feels great!