(Disclaimer: This imaginary interview is not about ‘a small furry animal often kept as a pet’ but about the Common Admission Test. The blogger would be the first to shun any liability that threatens to arise as a consequence of taking things even in the slightest bit of seriousness.)
Q: How do I start studying for CAT?
Ans.: Create an aura of CAT around you. It is called CATosphere. CAT score is directly proportional to the number of people who know that you’re taking CAT. “CAT ki padhaai karni hai” is the success mantra. Give it to everybody – relatives, friends, the waiter who keeps delaying you service, people in a wedding queue and even to your faithful dog whose internal mechanism is not so faithful when you’re walking him after dinner.
Q: Really? Which section do I start from - English, Math or Data Interpretation?
Ans: English of course! If you don’t know English, how would you read the Math problems? Go through the word list. Throw insanely difficult words at innocent people. Two extremely simple examples to get you going:
To a love struck friend: “Pintu, has Pinky beguiled you? I vehemently advise you to be far-sighted. She has had diddled many an innocent souls in the imperfect past.”
To someone on the cricket ground, “Please yaar Chintu. Don’t get intrepid with Shera. Abstain from stirring up a hornets’ nest on the field. You don’t want to end up all lachrymal and lolloping before the next match.”
Q: Wow! Tell me how to deal with Math. I guess it is my weak section.
Ans: Guessing is a positive start. Most of it is all about guessing. Learn all the formulae. Even if you can’t learn them, the formulae sheets should be stuck up everywhere. Spoil all your walls. Don’t even spare the floors. If you still can’t learn them, get both your hands in a fake fracture cast and do the needful on the day of CAT.
Do calculations all the time. Adding numbers on number plates and calculating batsmen’s average is a child’s play. But if you can calculate the ratio of your average heart rate to the number of times that special someone smiles while talking to you as you keep one eye on the substitute future prospect in the background, you’ve mastered math!
You must have heard of that famous saying – I read and I forget. I do this and I do that. I don’t remember much of it but it ends with “I do and I understand.” Start doing the problems. I mean actually do them. Flip coins a million times to solve probability problems. Row up and down the river and travel to and fro between towns to solve speed, time and distance problems.
Q: Amazing. What if I won’t be able to get through? Should I take up an employment opportunity or stay back at home and study?
Ans: Extremely good question. Incidentally, this query has been answered in beautiful verses by an Eighth century poet – Billeshwar.
“Decided now to write the CAT, he thinks his career is gonna get rocking,
Won’t be long before dejection sets in and mock CATs do the mocking.
The road to doomsday is like a code with infinite loops nested,
The worrying wait for the next Sunday leaves this one wasted.
A fine November Sunday brings the CAT prowling,
A midnight in January gets a few dancing while most are howling.
Now that you’ve been had by the CAT’s vexed mauling,
Get shamelessly fat and let people know - you’re all set for CAT’s next calling.”
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Meri Teesri Kavita - Gone Crazy with the Waiting Wind
Every morning I wake up feeling anything but awesome,
The next thing I know is that I am brushing my teeth with cherry blossom.
Thinking about the wittiest of girls seems to be a time waste,
On some days I even brush my non existent hair with a toothbrush with a paste.
As I said, every girl seems uninteresting - from a Virgo to a Leo
On days I even wash the contact lenses on my eyes with my smelly deo.
I was waiting for it so anxiously that it has messed up the movement of my bowel,
I have begun to dry my body with a napkin and for my hands I use a towel.
In the garden, I stare at dancing fountains surrounded by oblique violets,
And then I emulate the pattern of fountains except when I am in public toilets.
Once a Bunty pehelwaan, now even the sight of stairs leaves me bed stricken,
Everything seems tasteless – be it barf ka gola, paani puri or Saoji’s chicken.
Every single minute I am occupied with just a single thought to think,
Even my work-out sessions have started to work in - causing my muscles to shrink.
Seems like I am leading a lonely life borrowed on a heavy lease,
Nothing gives a high – not even tormenting people whom I simply loved to tease.
Turbulent times these when thoughts appear like a murky poem and not in prose,
It’s wise to end it here before you freak out with my imagination’s overdose.
The next thing I know is that I am brushing my teeth with cherry blossom.
Thinking about the wittiest of girls seems to be a time waste,
On some days I even brush my non existent hair with a toothbrush with a paste.
As I said, every girl seems uninteresting - from a Virgo to a Leo
On days I even wash the contact lenses on my eyes with my smelly deo.
I was waiting for it so anxiously that it has messed up the movement of my bowel,
I have begun to dry my body with a napkin and for my hands I use a towel.
In the garden, I stare at dancing fountains surrounded by oblique violets,
And then I emulate the pattern of fountains except when I am in public toilets.
Once a Bunty pehelwaan, now even the sight of stairs leaves me bed stricken,
Everything seems tasteless – be it barf ka gola, paani puri or Saoji’s chicken.
Every single minute I am occupied with just a single thought to think,
Even my work-out sessions have started to work in - causing my muscles to shrink.
Seems like I am leading a lonely life borrowed on a heavy lease,
Nothing gives a high – not even tormenting people whom I simply loved to tease.
Turbulent times these when thoughts appear like a murky poem and not in prose,
It’s wise to end it here before you freak out with my imagination’s overdose.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Saoji
Welcome to Saoji Bhojanalayas - the innumerable places dotting Nagpur offering the spiciest varieties of non vegetarian food.
A typical Saoji Bhojnalaya is kind of spooky. It is dim. It is dark. It is not just an eatery. It is a cult. You have to feel about it from within.Enter and you’ll figure out that all rules – written, heard or experienced- of the food industry are tattered down to nothing. The first person you’d encounter in SB will be an accountant. He’ll have photos of all the major gods, stocks of cigarettes, tobacco/gutkha pudyaa (pouches). Nobody would ask you the obvious Gabbar like question asked elsewhere in the world – “Kitne aadmi hai?” You are supposed to be sane enough to find a place for yourself. You can even end up being the sixth person on a table of six already occupied by five. One of the only two waiters serving a crowd of about forty odd people will arrive next to you and expect you to order. He won’t give you a menu card. There won’t be a rate board either. Remember, if you are there, you are supposed to be wise. There isn’t much to choose from. You had the choice before entering the place. Not anymore. There are three to four varieties – chicken, mutton, keema, kaleji and two subvarieties – dry and rassa (gravely called gravy).
It is so dark that every dish coming out of that stained curtain appears to be for you. You order and – no you don’t have to wait – he brings it to you fataafat! He bangs them in front of a group and you hear them shout any of the following:
“Haaa… Isko bolte saoji!”
“Ek number re baawa!”
“Aisa!”
This is followed by hesitation and a courteous invitation to co-eaters – “Lo jamao”.
The series of pointless talking is taken over by shameless eating followed by endless sweating. The custom is as inexplicable as your presence in the place.
If you are a first timer – a sincere advice is to venture out alone.
If you hate yourself and want to explore feelings like remorse and shame then plead a group of experts to let you join them and they’ll be happy to oblige. In a group of experts, first timers are inevitably laughed at their lack of preparation. If you are without a handkerchief, you try to get over the dragon-like-fire in your mouth by doing everything humane. You shift in your seat, eat papad, eat only roti, squeeze lemon in your mouth, eat onion and drink lots of water. The water seems to be finishing every minute and you feel like tearing off your clothes and screaming. Through your teary ears, you see yourself running out of options and gaalis and you too feel like running out of the damned place. The teary eyes and sweaty body gives you the feeling of a sprinkler.
Amidst difficult to explain breathing routine (issssss haaa issssss haaaaaaaa), you join others in laughing at yourself – swearing within twice – first swearing at the food and your friends and then swearing never to come at that place ever again.
“Rassa?” the waiter arrives with a mug of absolutely free gravy and asks the group. The devilish round of laughter comes back and it’s your plate everyone wants that mug to be poured in.
“Isko do,” you hear one of them say amidst muffled laughter.
The last bit you ate 5 minutes ago was so spicy that you can’t manage to utter a no. So you put your hand over the plate to avoid the serving. And the waiter showcases his hidden courtesy.
“Lo na saab,” he teasingly orders and you think it is death that he is offering through that gravy.
“Nahi chaahiye bol diya na!” you spit fire and friends howl at you – “Khaana nahi hota to uspe kyu gussa nikaalta hai?”
Anyways, it is not as bad as I have made it to be.
I have heard that connoisseurs gulp down two plates of rassa for soup before starting main course. Saoji food seemingly has priceless medicinal worth. It improves your digestive system and gets rid of cold. But asking for vegetarian food at SB is like entering a Mercedes showroom and asking for a loose tyre for your child to run around with on the streets.
What is it that draws a Nagpurian to any of these places dotting the city? This is one of the many questions which are neither asked nor answered. Who is this Saoji? Who started this madness? Is it a brand? Is it a chain of restaurants? There are no answers.
But there is something about Saoji.
Make the leads of Ghajini (Hindi and Tamil) and Memento eat Saoji together and I guarantee that even with their "What is wrong with me/what did I just think?" mishap they will not forget the taste for the next two to three days. Also their superb muscles will be put to some fruitful use, especially in the mornings!
A typical Saoji Bhojnalaya is kind of spooky. It is dim. It is dark. It is not just an eatery. It is a cult. You have to feel about it from within.Enter and you’ll figure out that all rules – written, heard or experienced- of the food industry are tattered down to nothing. The first person you’d encounter in SB will be an accountant. He’ll have photos of all the major gods, stocks of cigarettes, tobacco/gutkha pudyaa (pouches). Nobody would ask you the obvious Gabbar like question asked elsewhere in the world – “Kitne aadmi hai?” You are supposed to be sane enough to find a place for yourself. You can even end up being the sixth person on a table of six already occupied by five. One of the only two waiters serving a crowd of about forty odd people will arrive next to you and expect you to order. He won’t give you a menu card. There won’t be a rate board either. Remember, if you are there, you are supposed to be wise. There isn’t much to choose from. You had the choice before entering the place. Not anymore. There are three to four varieties – chicken, mutton, keema, kaleji and two subvarieties – dry and rassa (gravely called gravy).
It is so dark that every dish coming out of that stained curtain appears to be for you. You order and – no you don’t have to wait – he brings it to you fataafat! He bangs them in front of a group and you hear them shout any of the following:
“Haaa… Isko bolte saoji!”
“Ek number re baawa!”
“Aisa!”
This is followed by hesitation and a courteous invitation to co-eaters – “Lo jamao”.
The series of pointless talking is taken over by shameless eating followed by endless sweating. The custom is as inexplicable as your presence in the place.
If you are a first timer – a sincere advice is to venture out alone.
If you hate yourself and want to explore feelings like remorse and shame then plead a group of experts to let you join them and they’ll be happy to oblige. In a group of experts, first timers are inevitably laughed at their lack of preparation. If you are without a handkerchief, you try to get over the dragon-like-fire in your mouth by doing everything humane. You shift in your seat, eat papad, eat only roti, squeeze lemon in your mouth, eat onion and drink lots of water. The water seems to be finishing every minute and you feel like tearing off your clothes and screaming. Through your teary ears, you see yourself running out of options and gaalis and you too feel like running out of the damned place. The teary eyes and sweaty body gives you the feeling of a sprinkler.
Amidst difficult to explain breathing routine (issssss haaa issssss haaaaaaaa), you join others in laughing at yourself – swearing within twice – first swearing at the food and your friends and then swearing never to come at that place ever again.
“Rassa?” the waiter arrives with a mug of absolutely free gravy and asks the group. The devilish round of laughter comes back and it’s your plate everyone wants that mug to be poured in.
“Isko do,” you hear one of them say amidst muffled laughter.
The last bit you ate 5 minutes ago was so spicy that you can’t manage to utter a no. So you put your hand over the plate to avoid the serving. And the waiter showcases his hidden courtesy.
“Lo na saab,” he teasingly orders and you think it is death that he is offering through that gravy.
“Nahi chaahiye bol diya na!” you spit fire and friends howl at you – “Khaana nahi hota to uspe kyu gussa nikaalta hai?”
Anyways, it is not as bad as I have made it to be.
I have heard that connoisseurs gulp down two plates of rassa for soup before starting main course. Saoji food seemingly has priceless medicinal worth. It improves your digestive system and gets rid of cold. But asking for vegetarian food at SB is like entering a Mercedes showroom and asking for a loose tyre for your child to run around with on the streets.
What is it that draws a Nagpurian to any of these places dotting the city? This is one of the many questions which are neither asked nor answered. Who is this Saoji? Who started this madness? Is it a brand? Is it a chain of restaurants? There are no answers.
But there is something about Saoji.
Make the leads of Ghajini (Hindi and Tamil) and Memento eat Saoji together and I guarantee that even with their "What is wrong with me/what did I just think?" mishap they will not forget the taste for the next two to three days. Also their superb muscles will be put to some fruitful use, especially in the mornings!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Admission Interview Indore
(Disclaimer: This post is purely a work of imagination. Questions are genuine. The answers should not be given under any circumstances - not even under adult supervision.)
Right guy : R, Left guy: L
L: Give me your certificates file.
Me: Here. Take it. Handle with care. Don’t steal any of the certificates.
R: So your name is Pushkar?
Me: No. It’s my brother’s name.
R: And _____ is your father’s name?
Me: Yes and xxxxx is my last name.
R: It’s your family name, right?
Me: No it’s my last name.
R: So what did you do in VNIT?
Me: I played cricket. I used to have lunch. I liked the Maggie bhel in the canteen. I also checked out a few girls. By the time I passed out, I realized that I had completed Electrical Engineering.
R: When did you clear your engineering?
Me: Ask L. He has the certificates. His confused looks give me a feeling that he won’t be able to figure out the year. It’s 2006.
R: What have you done since then?
Me: Ask me, what have I not done?
R: What have you not done?
Me: OK I’ll tell you what I have done. I took up a job. I sucked at it. To be frank I couldn’t figure out why I was being paid for. I had free net access for around 10 months. Not that they charged me after that. I left the job since I couldn’t take the jargon anymore. After that I took up CA. I have been doing Complete Aaram since then.
R: You completed Electrical Engineering. Do you remember anything?
Me: No. But I know you’ll still ask.
R: What is this subject ‘Network theorems’ about?
Me: Some network theorems they taught us. Kirchoff, Thevenin, Norton, MPTT.
R: What is Norton theorem?
Me: Norton nahi.. say Norton ji. He’s elder to you.
R: What is Nortonji’s theorem?
Me: Ask him. It’s his.
R: What is the use of that theorem? Any use of this equivalent current source and parallel load?
Me: Yes. You get marks for solving problems using this theorem. Quite useful.
R: Can we apply it to any network?
Me: Not to power systems I guess. Else they won’t give us that subject.
R: What do you do to power systems?
Me: I don’t do anything. Dogs do something to transmission poles. I remember load flow equations or something making their way in my brain networks.
R: How do you solve them?
Me: I don’t. Newtonji, Raphsonji, Gaussji and Seidelji – these four people – had so much time on their hands. They solved equations without having any known variables. I don’t think we should rely much on them.
R: Tell us about Newtonji-Raphsonji method.
Me: I don’t know. They formulated it long back. We can’t rely on historians to pass it down to us correctly. It’s tweaked now. Totally unreliable.
R: What is maximum power transfer theorem?
Me: It’s like a dog, you know? It never eats when you are watching. Maximum power transfers when there is nobody watching the circuit.
R: What is this switchgear and protection?
Me: Funny subject. If you drive/ride, you’ll know how you switch gears and need protection. Helmets, seat belts and bulletproof jackets!
R: Seriously? What are relays?
Me: Four runners running and passing baton to win. Nobody is capable enough to run it completely.
R: What is a circuit breaker?
Me: Hammer. If a circuit misbehaves, we hit it with the hammer.
L: What is the meaning of Pushkar? Can you use it as a noun only or (mumbles)
Me: What? What do you want to use it as? Push kar? Gande aadmi!
L: What is Pushkar famous for?
Me: Pushkar is famous for spoofing interviews.
L: Anything more?
Me: Yes. He’s famous for snatching back his certificates. Give me that file! NOW!
L: Do you know about a list of great Indian cricketers recently rolled out?
Me: They’re all great. Not a single one among them is a common man.
L: Did India win a world cup in cricket ever in a 50 over match?
Me: No they won for 60 over one..
L: When?
Me: 1857
L: Who was the Man of the final Match?
Me: Rajesh Chauhan
L: what did he do in the final?
Me: He played in it.
L: Who’s his brother?
Me: Shivraj Chauhan
L: What does he do?
Me: He steals money from mom, buys chocolates for his little brother Rajesh and keeps the free stickers.
L: Tell me five great Indian all rounders?
Me: Robin Singh, Ravi Shastri, Sunil Joshi, Harvinder Singh and umm….Venkatpathi Raju. That was in the order of importance – worst to best.
L: Tell me top three all time all rounders of the world.
Me: Richie Benaud, Yousuf Pathan (scored points by mentioning an Indian in the list!) and Vidya Balan – she is round all over (more points yay!)
L: Thank you.
Me: It’s ok. (to R)You want to ask something?
R: No. Thank you.
Me: It’s ok yaar. Don’t get scared. (to L) Take care of him. See ya guys later.
Right guy : R, Left guy: L
L: Give me your certificates file.
Me: Here. Take it. Handle with care. Don’t steal any of the certificates.
R: So your name is Pushkar?
Me: No. It’s my brother’s name.
R: And _____ is your father’s name?
Me: Yes and xxxxx is my last name.
R: It’s your family name, right?
Me: No it’s my last name.
R: So what did you do in VNIT?
Me: I played cricket. I used to have lunch. I liked the Maggie bhel in the canteen. I also checked out a few girls. By the time I passed out, I realized that I had completed Electrical Engineering.
R: When did you clear your engineering?
Me: Ask L. He has the certificates. His confused looks give me a feeling that he won’t be able to figure out the year. It’s 2006.
R: What have you done since then?
Me: Ask me, what have I not done?
R: What have you not done?
Me: OK I’ll tell you what I have done. I took up a job. I sucked at it. To be frank I couldn’t figure out why I was being paid for. I had free net access for around 10 months. Not that they charged me after that. I left the job since I couldn’t take the jargon anymore. After that I took up CA. I have been doing Complete Aaram since then.
R: You completed Electrical Engineering. Do you remember anything?
Me: No. But I know you’ll still ask.
R: What is this subject ‘Network theorems’ about?
Me: Some network theorems they taught us. Kirchoff, Thevenin, Norton, MPTT.
R: What is Norton theorem?
Me: Norton nahi.. say Norton ji. He’s elder to you.
R: What is Nortonji’s theorem?
Me: Ask him. It’s his.
R: What is the use of that theorem? Any use of this equivalent current source and parallel load?
Me: Yes. You get marks for solving problems using this theorem. Quite useful.
R: Can we apply it to any network?
Me: Not to power systems I guess. Else they won’t give us that subject.
R: What do you do to power systems?
Me: I don’t do anything. Dogs do something to transmission poles. I remember load flow equations or something making their way in my brain networks.
R: How do you solve them?
Me: I don’t. Newtonji, Raphsonji, Gaussji and Seidelji – these four people – had so much time on their hands. They solved equations without having any known variables. I don’t think we should rely much on them.
R: Tell us about Newtonji-Raphsonji method.
Me: I don’t know. They formulated it long back. We can’t rely on historians to pass it down to us correctly. It’s tweaked now. Totally unreliable.
R: What is maximum power transfer theorem?
Me: It’s like a dog, you know? It never eats when you are watching. Maximum power transfers when there is nobody watching the circuit.
R: What is this switchgear and protection?
Me: Funny subject. If you drive/ride, you’ll know how you switch gears and need protection. Helmets, seat belts and bulletproof jackets!
R: Seriously? What are relays?
Me: Four runners running and passing baton to win. Nobody is capable enough to run it completely.
R: What is a circuit breaker?
Me: Hammer. If a circuit misbehaves, we hit it with the hammer.
L: What is the meaning of Pushkar? Can you use it as a noun only or (mumbles)
Me: What? What do you want to use it as? Push kar? Gande aadmi!
L: What is Pushkar famous for?
Me: Pushkar is famous for spoofing interviews.
L: Anything more?
Me: Yes. He’s famous for snatching back his certificates. Give me that file! NOW!
L: Do you know about a list of great Indian cricketers recently rolled out?
Me: They’re all great. Not a single one among them is a common man.
L: Did India win a world cup in cricket ever in a 50 over match?
Me: No they won for 60 over one..
L: When?
Me: 1857
L: Who was the Man of the final Match?
Me: Rajesh Chauhan
L: what did he do in the final?
Me: He played in it.
L: Who’s his brother?
Me: Shivraj Chauhan
L: What does he do?
Me: He steals money from mom, buys chocolates for his little brother Rajesh and keeps the free stickers.
L: Tell me five great Indian all rounders?
Me: Robin Singh, Ravi Shastri, Sunil Joshi, Harvinder Singh and umm….Venkatpathi Raju. That was in the order of importance – worst to best.
L: Tell me top three all time all rounders of the world.
Me: Richie Benaud, Yousuf Pathan (scored points by mentioning an Indian in the list!) and Vidya Balan – she is round all over (more points yay!)
L: Thank you.
Me: It’s ok. (to R)You want to ask something?
R: No. Thank you.
Me: It’s ok yaar. Don’t get scared. (to L) Take care of him. See ya guys later.
Meri Dusri Kavita
To dosto baat us waqt ki hai jab mein rehta tha gaav mein,
Behta tha paani naak se aur chappal nahi thi paav mein.
Khair ek din hamaare gaav mein ek saadhu maharaj aaye the,
Apne saath kuch jaadu ki vastuye aur ek sundar kanya laaye the.
Pataa chalaa us kameene ki kamseen haseena ka naam tha Savita,
Aur saadhu ji ki speaking style synced perfectly with the rhyme scheme of this kavita.
“Toh logo aap to jaante hi hai, hum sab ki aakhir jalne waali hai chitaaye,
Main jaanta hoon jeevan ke saare raaz, aakhir everest pe barah saal fukat hi nahi hai bitaaye
“I am not the one who’d want to give you any false promises,
But first a promise from you - nobody would ogle at my missus.”
Mere taraf dekh ke saadhu bole, “Jaraa idhar to aao baalak,”
Main bhi jaa kar puchne laga, “Kya main mushkil mein hoon maalak?”
Saadhu bole, “I see you eye my Savi as if a hen for a feisty feast!”
I said, “Not at all sir, it’s not in my demeanor to be a nasty beast!”
“Agar aap kahe to main aap ke darbaar se chale jaata hoon,
Everest to main gaya nahi, lekin masala everest ka hi khaata hoon!”
Just as I wished that sadhu’s show would be as flop as Herman,
My ears shook up with the words of his serpentine sermon.
“See I would have told you about my Himalayan quests,
But since it’s beyond your reach, I’d tell you my requests.
To have a sacred soul like me amongst you for long,
And through me, I’d make your souls, bones and teeth so very strong.
I request you to serve me lots of food, butter or oily, without any buts
And oh yeah, every dish has to have a pinch of almonds and cashewnuts.
My life is for serving you, oh god’s best creatures,
I don’t crave beyond grape juices flowing from pitchers.”
Endless requests ka end dhundne school ka Kisna master bhoka
Aur ek jargoned generic statement us sadhu ke maathe Thoka..
“Prabhuwar, hamaare life se dukhho ka saaya hataaye
Aur jeevan saarthak banaane ka koi simplest of simple formula bataaye”
“Dekho hum jaise log bahut complicated cheeze bataate hai,
Jaise jeevan ki patang ko ummeed ke thread se udaate hai
Aise aur fruitlessly futile sentences hum roz roz bataayenge,
Aaj ke liye itna kaafi hai – ab hum fruits ka chadhaava khaayenge.
Jeevan ek jive aur jam session hai jisme jaane na kitne jaane jaa chuki hai,
Aaj aur nahi hoga – apni baate sun sunkar hume hi neend aa chuki hai.”
subah ke low temperature mein gaav waale high pelvic pressure lekar river kinaare jaate the,
Aur Kisna master river water ke volume ko temperature, pressure se relate kar Boyle’s law samjhaate the.
Zor lagaate hue sarpanch bole, “Hum sab ko mil ke zor lagaana hai,
Aaj raat tak hi us dhongi baba ko gaav se bhagaana hai”
Kisna kaka bola “Tumhaare pet ke liye hum sab kyu aur kaise zor lagaayenge?
Jaha tak saadhu ka sawaal hai usey to hum milke hi bhagaayenge.”
Us din hum sabne sadhu ko tremendously tempting mithaayi khilaayi thi,
But the dhaasu sadhu didn’t know ki humne har mithaai mein halki neend ki goli milaayi thi.
“Soye hue saadhu ko iske khatiya ke saath hi uthaao”, harangued the gung-ho Mr. Hangal,
And we promptly deported the smelly bellied saadhu to the middle of the jungle.
Do din ke baad saadhu maharaj jab fir gaav aaye, badal chuka tha sab kuchh,
Andar jaa chukka tha pet aur gaayab thi daadhi – muuchh.
Feeling sorry for the poor fellow, we realized that jungle safari had truly made him suffer,
Savita ji ko dekh ke who muskurakar bola “Kal se hum shuru karenge zindagi mein ek naya safar”
Sun ke usko Savita ji khilkhilaakar boli, “Dekho to mujhe dekh ke kaise aahe bharta hai!”
And giving him a playful punch, she said, “Saala nautanki, ghadi ghadi drama karta hai.”
So the poem ends with the saadhu turning out to be wise and cool,
He eventually became the moral science teacher of the village school.
I swear the poem has finished – mere paas aur kuch nahi hai bataane ke liye,
Agar aapko jungle nahi pahochna to bina soche Comments section ke taraf chaliye!
Behta tha paani naak se aur chappal nahi thi paav mein.
Khair ek din hamaare gaav mein ek saadhu maharaj aaye the,
Apne saath kuch jaadu ki vastuye aur ek sundar kanya laaye the.
Pataa chalaa us kameene ki kamseen haseena ka naam tha Savita,
Aur saadhu ji ki speaking style synced perfectly with the rhyme scheme of this kavita.
“Toh logo aap to jaante hi hai, hum sab ki aakhir jalne waali hai chitaaye,
Main jaanta hoon jeevan ke saare raaz, aakhir everest pe barah saal fukat hi nahi hai bitaaye
“I am not the one who’d want to give you any false promises,
But first a promise from you - nobody would ogle at my missus.”
Mere taraf dekh ke saadhu bole, “Jaraa idhar to aao baalak,”
Main bhi jaa kar puchne laga, “Kya main mushkil mein hoon maalak?”
Saadhu bole, “I see you eye my Savi as if a hen for a feisty feast!”
I said, “Not at all sir, it’s not in my demeanor to be a nasty beast!”
“Agar aap kahe to main aap ke darbaar se chale jaata hoon,
Everest to main gaya nahi, lekin masala everest ka hi khaata hoon!”
Just as I wished that sadhu’s show would be as flop as Herman,
My ears shook up with the words of his serpentine sermon.
“See I would have told you about my Himalayan quests,
But since it’s beyond your reach, I’d tell you my requests.
To have a sacred soul like me amongst you for long,
And through me, I’d make your souls, bones and teeth so very strong.
I request you to serve me lots of food, butter or oily, without any buts
And oh yeah, every dish has to have a pinch of almonds and cashewnuts.
My life is for serving you, oh god’s best creatures,
I don’t crave beyond grape juices flowing from pitchers.”
Endless requests ka end dhundne school ka Kisna master bhoka
Aur ek jargoned generic statement us sadhu ke maathe Thoka..
“Prabhuwar, hamaare life se dukhho ka saaya hataaye
Aur jeevan saarthak banaane ka koi simplest of simple formula bataaye”
“Dekho hum jaise log bahut complicated cheeze bataate hai,
Jaise jeevan ki patang ko ummeed ke thread se udaate hai
Aise aur fruitlessly futile sentences hum roz roz bataayenge,
Aaj ke liye itna kaafi hai – ab hum fruits ka chadhaava khaayenge.
Jeevan ek jive aur jam session hai jisme jaane na kitne jaane jaa chuki hai,
Aaj aur nahi hoga – apni baate sun sunkar hume hi neend aa chuki hai.”
subah ke low temperature mein gaav waale high pelvic pressure lekar river kinaare jaate the,
Aur Kisna master river water ke volume ko temperature, pressure se relate kar Boyle’s law samjhaate the.
Zor lagaate hue sarpanch bole, “Hum sab ko mil ke zor lagaana hai,
Aaj raat tak hi us dhongi baba ko gaav se bhagaana hai”
Kisna kaka bola “Tumhaare pet ke liye hum sab kyu aur kaise zor lagaayenge?
Jaha tak saadhu ka sawaal hai usey to hum milke hi bhagaayenge.”
Us din hum sabne sadhu ko tremendously tempting mithaayi khilaayi thi,
But the dhaasu sadhu didn’t know ki humne har mithaai mein halki neend ki goli milaayi thi.
“Soye hue saadhu ko iske khatiya ke saath hi uthaao”, harangued the gung-ho Mr. Hangal,
And we promptly deported the smelly bellied saadhu to the middle of the jungle.
Do din ke baad saadhu maharaj jab fir gaav aaye, badal chuka tha sab kuchh,
Andar jaa chukka tha pet aur gaayab thi daadhi – muuchh.
Feeling sorry for the poor fellow, we realized that jungle safari had truly made him suffer,
Savita ji ko dekh ke who muskurakar bola “Kal se hum shuru karenge zindagi mein ek naya safar”
Sun ke usko Savita ji khilkhilaakar boli, “Dekho to mujhe dekh ke kaise aahe bharta hai!”
And giving him a playful punch, she said, “Saala nautanki, ghadi ghadi drama karta hai.”
So the poem ends with the saadhu turning out to be wise and cool,
He eventually became the moral science teacher of the village school.
I swear the poem has finished – mere paas aur kuch nahi hai bataane ke liye,
Agar aapko jungle nahi pahochna to bina soche Comments section ke taraf chaliye!
Monday, December 1, 2008
A bit about Gym
Finally, the day arrived when I cared to look at myself in the mirror. A shabby mess (yes, my face) looked right back at me. Ignoring the ignominy I looked down (a little up) in the mirror. What I saw was huge and yes it was much more than just mortifying. I was a humiliated owner of one of the fattest bellies. To make matters worse, it seemed to be laughing back at me. I felt helpless unable to deflate or kick it like I had done twice when my childhood park friends had allowed me to touch their football. Without thinking much, I thought of joining the nearby much hyped gym. The theoretical beauties at the reception gave me measured-to-three-seconds smiles each (and I asked myself if I was being smiled or laughed at?). They asked me to get myself registered. The fee was extremely ill structured if you think in terms of normal trade practice. I was there to give them my flab and they wanted me to give money too? What happened to the good old “Ek haath(pet?) de, ek haath le” adage?
I tried bargaining almost like a child – “What if I don’t lose the entire flab? What if I develop just a 2 pack? What if I run on the treadmill without power? What if I plug my ears and don’t listen to music?” Each question evoked just a shake of heads. But I had worked hard on developing my bargaining skills and popped the ace-question with a 99% chance of earning a 10% discount, “What if I come when there’s nobody of the opposite gender?” Now that got their eyelashes batting. “We’ll still be here, won’t we?” Feeling awful about my bargaining ability, I came home, collected cash, ran back to the gym, thought about throwing it on their face but peacefully handed it over.
Once on the floor, I saw some extremely fit people and many extremely unfit people. Looking at the latter category (with a sense of belonging), I just knew I was being laughed at (rather than being smiled at) at the reception.
It’s a fascinating scene if you happen to be there for the first time. Picture these:
- Guys in their teens who believe that they’ve reached the pinnacle of their built walking like Stallone but in reality are bony enough to be forcefully admitted in hospitals for anorexia.
- A chubby couple wearing identical clothes running on the treadmill; after they’re done, he goes the extra mile to bring her glucose, pulls her cheeks (for some reason) and gives a hi-five as they move towards the stepper. The excruciating pain, my friend, is subdued by the extreme vows of togetherness.
- A trainer shouts at his trainee lifting weight, “Come on. You can do it! Lift!!” In the mean time, the trainee falls down, looks at the trainer, smiles back and gently says the same words.
The only thing more interesting than the floor is to hear conversations in the changing room. My picks:
- “Weight lifting and cardio don’t help in the long run. It’s the other physical activities that do the trick.” (Let’s leave it at that.)
- Looking at the ladder (kept for repairing the heater) in the bathroom, “Yeh ladder pe chadh ke kaun shower leta hai?”
My first day’s heroics at the gym showed their true colors the next day. Almost every muscle ached and screamed in pain. My gait had assumed a manner that would not make me (or the watchers) comfy outside the house gate. I returned to gym the next day. Looking at my shakuni-ish walk, one of the trainers whispered in my ears, “We call this walk, the ‘First Day First Show’ walk.” Considering my walk and the momentary situation of being whispered into by a super fit trainer, I quickly moved away from him.
That was the day I resolved:
“Not very long from today, I would be a jabardast gabru jawaan,
Everyone would point at me and scream, 'Hey there he is!The Bunty Pehelwaan!”
Monday, June 23, 2008
Himalayan Journey - II
My exceptionally established talent of sleeping in even the worst of conditions helped me to sail through to Lal Kuan. I discovered that I still had my last-bencher trait when almost like a robot I reached the end of the bus. Thanks to the innocently sleepless night in the train almost everyone dozed off. I wondered how a bus could score over a train in making people comfortable. After spending an hour over this oh-so-important thought, I decided to sleep over the issue and once again gave a splendid performance of my exceptionally established talent. When people woke up, it wasn’t the beautiful view of the valley that was the talking point. It was indeed hunger and breakfast. The leader advised on how it would be to our advantage to skip breakfast. “The more stops we make, more the chances of us being stuck in a landslide,” he said. ‘Certainly a proponent of the Chaos Theory,’ I thought, wondering if someone up on the hills was observing us – with a binocular in one hand and a huge spade in another. It wasn’t long before Puneri delicacies started making rounds in the bus along with the makers’ names - Chitale, Kelkar, Joshi and what not. That was it. With my monstrous diet, even the smell of food was enough to make me hungrier.
“Oh Dear Driver! Your drive’s becoming more and more painstaking,
With this smell and discussion of food the monster inside me is slowly waking.
Lekin is chalti bus mein main kaha se khaana laaunga?
Rok do bus warna iske cushions curtains hi kha jaaunga.”
At around one, I asked the Leader to halt for lunch. “We can have it after an hour, right?” he said. “Nah. See these things on my arm (Oh yes, the lipomas!)? They have begun to hurt and if I don’t have food soon enough, they may start rupturing,” I said with a grim face. In no time, we were silently enjoying the tastiest Chana masala. On behalf of everyone, I secretly patted the lipomas hoping they’d enjoyed their share.
We reached Almora late afternoon. My first shower in about two days of hardcore traveling gave me immense pleasure and privilege to taste, smell and see some of the most interesting things on the bath floor. I stared at the mirror, still wondering – ‘Waiter?’
We took a walk to the sunset point and the Sun took longer than ever to set.
Worse - once it set out to set, it set in no time. Without even discussing the view, we walked towards the seemingly most important feature of any town located on the hill – the Bazaar.
During the walk, one of the fifteen year olds finally asked me, “What’s with those tumors?”
Pretending not to listen, I began to think. ‘Let’s give him a new one,’ the lipomas seemed to be whispering. With nobody around us, it seemed pretty safe.
“Have you ever been to Nagpur?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“I have a rare allergy to Orange Oil,” I said.
“Orange oil? There’s nothing of that sort,” he said with a laugh.
“I know. Elsewhere people don’t even know about it. Orange oil comes from the stem of the orange tree. Come to Nagpur and I’ll take you to a place where they serve the finest corn cooked in orange oil.”
“We don’t have it in Pune. Never even heard of it.”
‘Great. Enjoy,’ I heard the lipomas talking again.
“It’s actually a skin allergy. I was at this corn joint a year ago. Got too close to the pan where he was frying the corn and as soon as he put the corn in the orange oil, some of it splashed all over my arm. It was all orange in no time. You know, the human skin just absorbs orange oil. Mine did too – with not the slightest hint of pain. But when I woke up the next morning….” I just pointed towards my arms and shrugged extravagantly.
“But didn’t you know you had allergy to orange oil when you ate that thing before?” he asked.
“No yaar! Told you na it’s a skin allergy. Thank god I didn’t get massage with orange oil when I was a baby, else….” I laughed and left him thinking.
I heard the lipomas ‘hi-five’ing.
The bazaar turned out to be a total dump and once again only food was on top of everyone’s (including the ladies’) wish-list. The peppy pahaadi food had changed everyone’s paapi pet into a peppy pet. The walk back to the hotel was boring with the jokes of my respectable co-travelers seemingly getting worse with each passing day. I toyed with the idea of telling a little Orange oil joke but decided to keep it to myself.
Early next morning, we left for Dharchula. I amused myself by coming up with alternate theories for the name:
1. A monster might have inhabited the place. Dracula’s cousin – Dharchula.
2. It’s a wrong spelling. It might be Chardhula. A sahib might have asked a dhobi, “Kitna kapda dhula?” “Char dhula.”
3. There might be a view of the mountains appearing like a sharp (Dhar) knife and an Indian stove (Chula).
4. A monster named Dharchula might have inhabited the place. He might have been near the river. Just then he heard a Sahib asking a dhobi “Kitna kapda dhula?” The Dhobi answered, “Char dhula.” Dharchula got angry hearing his name being mispronounced. He used his sharp (dhar) knife to kill them and roasted their bodies over a chula. The fable has materialized in the form of mountains shaped like a sharp knife and a chula.
It took us entire day to reach Dharchula. There wasn’t a view of the mountains in the shape of a knife or a chula.
My other theories were just too stupid to even enquire about. Anyway, half of Dharchula is in India and half of it is in Nepal with the violent Kali River separating the two halves.
Pretending not to listen, I began to think. ‘Let’s give him a new one,’ the lipomas seemed to be whispering. With nobody around us, it seemed pretty safe.
“Have you ever been to Nagpur?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“I have a rare allergy to Orange Oil,” I said.
“Orange oil? There’s nothing of that sort,” he said with a laugh.
“I know. Elsewhere people don’t even know about it. Orange oil comes from the stem of the orange tree. Come to Nagpur and I’ll take you to a place where they serve the finest corn cooked in orange oil.”
“We don’t have it in Pune. Never even heard of it.”
‘Great. Enjoy,’ I heard the lipomas talking again.
“It’s actually a skin allergy. I was at this corn joint a year ago. Got too close to the pan where he was frying the corn and as soon as he put the corn in the orange oil, some of it splashed all over my arm. It was all orange in no time. You know, the human skin just absorbs orange oil. Mine did too – with not the slightest hint of pain. But when I woke up the next morning….” I just pointed towards my arms and shrugged extravagantly.
“But didn’t you know you had allergy to orange oil when you ate that thing before?” he asked.
“No yaar! Told you na it’s a skin allergy. Thank god I didn’t get massage with orange oil when I was a baby, else….” I laughed and left him thinking.
I heard the lipomas ‘hi-five’ing.
The bazaar turned out to be a total dump and once again only food was on top of everyone’s (including the ladies’) wish-list. The peppy pahaadi food had changed everyone’s paapi pet into a peppy pet. The walk back to the hotel was boring with the jokes of my respectable co-travelers seemingly getting worse with each passing day. I toyed with the idea of telling a little Orange oil joke but decided to keep it to myself.
Early next morning, we left for Dharchula. I amused myself by coming up with alternate theories for the name:
1. A monster might have inhabited the place. Dracula’s cousin – Dharchula.
2. It’s a wrong spelling. It might be Chardhula. A sahib might have asked a dhobi, “Kitna kapda dhula?” “Char dhula.”
3. There might be a view of the mountains appearing like a sharp (Dhar) knife and an Indian stove (Chula).
4. A monster named Dharchula might have inhabited the place. He might have been near the river. Just then he heard a Sahib asking a dhobi “Kitna kapda dhula?” The Dhobi answered, “Char dhula.” Dharchula got angry hearing his name being mispronounced. He used his sharp (dhar) knife to kill them and roasted their bodies over a chula. The fable has materialized in the form of mountains shaped like a sharp knife and a chula.
It took us entire day to reach Dharchula. There wasn’t a view of the mountains in the shape of a knife or a chula.
My other theories were just too stupid to even enquire about. Anyway, half of Dharchula is in India and half of it is in Nepal with the violent Kali River separating the two halves. I was amazed to see pictures of OM Mountain in the hotel. 
The team leader boasted of the Nepal market as if he had set it up by himself. Once in Nepal, he introduced himself to the shopkeepers as a trader of bags but didn’t buy a single thing. Our trek was to begin next day.
After a hearty meal, I told myself another probable Dharchula monster story and slept.
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