Thursday, November 02, 2006

Ghar Ghar Ki Kahaani

"Do Diwaane Shahar Mein, Raat Mein Yaa Dopahar Mein,
Aabodaanaa Dhoondhate Hein, Eik Aashiyaanaa Dhoondhate Hein"


Last 4 to 5 weekends have revolved around just 1 activity.

Finding an apartment.

- 2 Bedrooms
- 2 Bathrooms
- Lift Level unit
- Less than 10 mins walking distance from MRT
- Location between Tiong Bahru to Jurong East
- Rent between 1000 to 1400 SGD

That’s what we are hunting for. Come Saturday morning, I wake up at around 8am. Without wasting time to shower or even to comb hair, & still wearing previous nights Chaddi & Tee, I head straight to the neighborhood 7-11 store. I am there to pick "The Straits Times" newspaper. The saturday edition is "Housing Classifieds" special. Back home, seated on sofa with a pen in my hand, I get busy circling the ads which measure up to our criteria. 'N' sits next to me, with laptop & phone in tow, his ears straining to lap up the instructions that I belt out after carving few circles. In my sleep deprived groggy voice, I start barking instructions.

"Blk 527, Bukit Gombak. Can or not" ?? (Yaaawwwn)

He eagerly feeds the Block Nbr & the area code in a local Address Finder website. Within no time we are both peering at the locality map of the advertised apartment.

"Station se nazdeek deekh raha hein. I think Can."

"Chal phir, phone ghumaa."

"Number bol.."

N starts dialing the number. I don't like to make the calls because I am known to be quite terse & unfriendly when it comes to talking. So i delegate the task to N. He has natural customer service oriented flair to his voice. He starts speaking in his uber polished tone :

"Hi my name is N, I am referring to Ur ad in Straits Times for an apartment in Bukit Gombak, Block 527. "

[ **Pause 12 seconds** ]
"We are 3 bachelors. "

[ **Pause 12 seconds** ]
"No, we are not related. We are just friends. "

[ **Pause 12 seconds** ]
"Technically you can say that we are a family of 3 bachelors. "

[ **Pause 12 seconds** ]
"From India. "

[ **Pause 12 seconds** ]
"No problem. I understand. Thank you. "

That’s how the usual conversation goes, with each of the 12 second pauses filled with questions from the opposite end of the telephone line :

"How many person would be staying ?"

"Whether Family, Couple or single person ?"

"What’s your nationality ?"

Depending on the whims & fancies of the owners, we get to hear all kinds of rejections.

"Sorry hoh.. But the owner wants to rent out only for family people."

"Sorry hoh.. Owner doesn't want to rent to Indian nationals."

This time we get rejected on account of us being Indians. Most of the times, we get rejected unceremoniously for being bachelors. The stereotypical image of a bachelor as someone who is : irresponsible, unhygienic, lazy, alcoholic, womanizer & all other evil things rolled into one, is working against us in landing a good apartment. In desperation, we are now thinking of taking reference letter & character certificates from our neighbors & Ex-Current landlords saying -

To Whomsoever It May Concern :-

"This is to certify that Messrs Parikrama & friends are certified bachelors of Indian origins. They are highly domesticated & well behaved. They possess good moral character & impeccable house-keeping skills. They do not engage in any illegal nocturnal activities & are prone to return to their (own) beds before 11pm, that too, with only fluffy pillows for company. Please feel free to entrust your property in their clean, caring & responsible hands."

To supplement the above claims, we are also thinking of taking some pictures of me & my roommates engaged in mundane household chores. One pic with me dressed in apron, cutting vegetables, onions, tomatoes on a chopping board. Another pic will show my roommie mopping the floor. And a 3 rd pic showing 3 of us seated around the dining table, smiling & eating meals together like a close knit family. In short we will paint a picture of total conjugal bliss.

Meanwhile I am also trying to convince my roommate to get one of his female friends to pose as "family", when we go for viewing apartments. We can always borrow a kid from one of our married friends for few hours, just to make the family - "Picture Perfect". If everything else fails, perhaps the day isn't too far when you would see me in a drag queen outfit, trying to con unsuspecting house owners. I have already started practicing my pigeon toed lady like walk. Next pit-stop would be at a Victoria Secret outlet to shop for padded bras & lacy stockings. I have not made up my mind about cup-sizes & strap designs yet. I am still debating whether i should go for pastel shades or stick to classic black. Desperate times call for desperate measures!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Knock Knock


Off The Wall

Colorful Decadence

Spectral Harmony

Cat Nap

Har Fikrr Ko Dhuay Mein Udaaa Ta Chalaa Gaya..


Flagged down this interesting looking 'uncle' while walking through the crowded bylanes off Arab Street. "Uncle photo can ??" , I asked him in my toota-phoota Singlish. Uncle was in mood of granting favours. He stopped his bicycle driven cart & gave me a brooding pose. I had to snap him quickly cause this impromptu photo shoot was happening right in middle of a moderately busy road. He was ferrying discarded cardboard boxes & other recycleable stuff, which i guess he collects after scavenging the neighbourhood. Grim life, but he sure knows how to jazz it up. Some headgear that eh ?

Thursday, August 17, 2006

True Romance - the movie

Recently I picked up the screenplay of "True Romance" written by Quentin Tarantino. I must confess, I am not a movie freak. In this day & age, I don't own a VCD / DVD player. For that matter, I don't even own a PC of my own. My current & ex-roommates have been kind enough to let me use their laptops to satisfy my cyber needs. That way, I am quite blessed to have shared roof with 8 truly domesticated & kind roomies in last 5 years. I wish I had few "roommate from hell" kind of stories to share. Unfortunately, I have none. Amongst that bunch of 8, I would single out "K" for a special mention. We have been staying together for 5 years now. Wonder if this could qualify for a mention in the Limca Book Of Records. These days, even marriages don't last this long. The secret of finding roommates who won't ditch you (mostly by getting married) is quite simple, hook them young. K is 5 years younger than me. Perhaps, in near future, I might get married, dump "K" & move out. But the last time I checked with my mum & sis, there aren't many (or rather any) takers for me in the marriage market. Well let’s not digress into depressing matters.

Where was I ? Yep, True Romance.

This was Tarantino's debut screenplay. He wrote it while he was still working as video store clerk.By the time I was on the 2nd page of the script, I was well & truly hooked. Racy dialogues, colorful characters, gripping storyline. It has it all. I got sucked into the deranged and wickedly funny world of Clarence Worley (a comic books & kung-fu movies freak) & his girlfriend Alabama (a newbie whore). A series of unfortunate events involving the girls pimp, a bunch of hard-hitting-fast-talking drug traffickers, & a bag filled with cocaine sets off a mad-cap cat & mouse game between the bad guys, the ill-fated couple, and the cops. The bits n pieces eventually lead up to a tragi-comic climax where nobody is sure who is after who's ass.

I had a blast reading it. Without further ado I am copy pasting the opening scene of the movie. Hope it tickles your funny bone, as much as it tickled mine.

##########################################################

Movie : True Romance
Screenplay : Quentin Tarantino
Director : Tony Scot
Release Year : 1993

INT. BAR - NIGHT

A smoky bar in downtown Detroit.

Clarence Worley, a young hipster hepcat, is trying to pick up an older lady named Lucy. She isn't bothered by him, in fact, she's a little charmed. But you can tell that she isn't going to leave her barstool.


[ CLARENCE ]
In "Jailhouse Rock" he's everything rockabilly's about. I mean he is rockabilly: mean, surly, nasty, rude. In that movie he couldn't give a fuck about anything except rockin' and rollin', livin' fast, dyin' young, and leaving a good-looking corpse. I love that scene where after he's made it big he's throwing a big cocktail party, and all these highbrows are there, and he's singing, "Baby You're So Square... Baby, I Don't Care". Now, they got him dressed like a dick. He's wearing these stupid-lookin' pants, this horrible sweater. Elvis ain't no sweater boy. I even think they got him wearin' penny loafers. Despite all that shit, all the highbrows at the party, big house, the stupid clothes, he's still a rude-lookin' motherfucker. I'd watch that hillbilly and I'd want to be him so bad. Elvis looked good. I'm no fag, but Elvis was good-lookin'. He was fuckin' prettier than most women. I always said if I ever had to fuck a guy... I mean had too 'cause my life depended on it... I'd fuck Elvis.

(Lucy takes a drag from her cigarette.)

[ LUCY ]
I'd fuck Elvis.

[ CLARENCE ]
Really?

[ LUCY ]
When he was alive. I wouldn't fuck him now.

[ CLARENCE ]
I don't blame you.

(they both laugh)

So we'd both fuck Elvis. It's nice to meet people with common interests, isn't it?

(Lucy laughs.)


##########################################################

If the curtain raiser sounds juicy enough, then I would encourage you guys to go to the nearest Public Library & get hold of the printed copy to read the full script. For the rest of you lazy bums who don’t want to budge from your recliners, I am giving below a link to its online draft. (I noticed few typos & omissions in the online version, but I guess its good enough).


FRIENDLY WARNING : The script contains hardcore profanity & mind numbing violence.

http://www.godamongdirectors.com/scripts/trueromance.shtml

Monday, August 07, 2006

But, why me ?

I don’t know how many of you have this problem..

I tend to become invisible when I am in a restaurant or on a flight. One of my recent brush with this phenomenon occurred on a Jet Airways flight from Singapore to Mumbai. It was a night flight, but I still insisted on a window seat while getting my boarding pass. Trains, buses or flight, I just can’t resist a window seat. When I collected my boarding pass, I had spongy clouds, distant dreamy horizon, vast oceans, neatly lit runways on my mind. Once inside the plane, I discover that my window seat is right over the big, broad, boring wing. Maybe it’s just my rotten luck, that I was resigned to gaze at a menacing piece of metal with "NO STEP" written on it.

OR, maybe it’s the airline policy (I presume)

Passenger Profile : Single unattached guy in 30s..

Seating Policy No. 1 :
Place him right over the wing, above the roaring engines. Should the engine catch fire we would rather have this pitiful guy's ass catch fire first, rather than risking someone with a wife or girlfriend or a respectable job.

I fit the profile perfectly. I am now in my beloved window seat, seated next to a genial Sardarji. Another guy takes up the aisle seat. I always get seated in the "Men’s Only" section of the cabin. It’s the stupid airline policy again (I presume).

Passenger Profile : Single unattached guy in 30s..

Seating Policy No. 1a :
Isolate him. Place him in a seat that is at least 30 feet away from the nearest female passenger.

I sulk quietly & browse through the Menu Card. It lists an impressive array of spirits. My eyes light up at the mention of Cocktails. Having no freaking idea what goes in what cocktail, I ask the Surd, "Bro, can u tell me what goes inside a Bloody Mary" ? In a very knowledgeable tone, he informs me that it’s a Vodka based cocktail. I patiently wait for my turn to order.

Any drinks for you sir ??

[ Aisle Guy ] Pine-apple juice.

I cast a condescending look at the aisle guy [Fruit juice ? *chuckle chuckle* Mamma’s Boy ]. The aerial beauty (AB) (a.k.a Hawaaai Sundari / Air-Hostess) pours tetra packed juice into aisle guy’s glass. I get down to practicing my lines. I want to sound polished n uppity when I order my drink.

[Rehearsal - 1 ] "Yes, Please Can I have a Bloody Mary"

[Rehearsal - 2 ] "YEAHHH a Bloody Mary. Thank You"

There are days when I struggle to string together a simple sentence in English. My vernacular tongue just refuses to roll off any English lines. A bit of rehearsal always comes handy, in such moments of crisis.

Any drinks for you sir ??
[ Surd Guy ] Bacardi Rum With Coke.

I still have time to refine my dialogue delivery as AB mixes Rum with Coke.

[Rehearsal - 3 ] "Bloody Mary. Less ice please. I am having a cold" [As if she cares !! Huhhh ]

[Rehearsal - 4 ] "Bloody Mary"

"Bhaaisahab aap kuch nahi peeyenge ??".
[ Translation : Brother, aren’t you drinking anything ?? ]

I look up & wonder at the sudden change in the tonal quality of AB's voice. She is nowhere to be seen. The drinks cart is now already past our row. It’s the Surd who is asking me why I didn't order anything ! I don’t think he would have understood if I had told him that “I was busy rehearsing”.

But that’s not the real reason.

It’s the invisibility bug again. AB is not to be blamed. The poor gurl couldn't have possibly seen me. It has happened with me before. Even when I am in restaurants, when I want to order something, the waiter comes scurrying in my direction, only to stop few tables either ahead of me or behind me. But never near my table. At least not until I stand up and clap my hands and shout loudly "Waiterrrrrr… Waiterrrr… Here! Here!". That’s what I always do to engage attention of waiters in restaurants. If these antics fail, with my lips pressed together I make "Choooo Chooo" noises through my teeth. That always works.

Back in the aircraft, I unlock my seatbelt. Get up. Turn around. Raise both of my hands up and start clapping. A kid seated 5 rows behind me joins in & starts clapping as well.

"Excuse me sir, is there any problem ? Why are you clapping ?"
"Bloody Mary".
"Stop swearing, Sir”
" I am not swearing. I want a Bloody Cocktail. I want my drink. I was invisible"
"Huh, You were what ??"
"Invisible"

[ Surd Guy, comes to rescue ] Mam just get him a "Bloody Mary" .

AB angrily mixes my drink and literally thumps the glass on my tray. It spills a bit. I am happy. I raise a small toast to myself & take a sip, only to spit it out immediately.

"What a lousy drink.. It’s tasting like tomato soup.."

[Surd] "Tomato Juice hee toh hotaa hein.."

"You said it is Vodka based.."

[Surd ] "Haan, Vodka based in Tomato Juice .."

My stomach starts churning. I throw up violently in the air-sickness bag. The Surd panics & presses the button above my seat, which is meant to call the Cabin Attendant.

"Yes sir, what’s the problem now" ??

I don't say a word. Without looking up, I pass the air-sickness bag & the half finished, half spilled & half vommited drink back to her. She mutters something under her breath, grabs the glass and the bag and retreats towards the rear end of the aircraft.

The later part of the journey is un-eventful. The flight touches down at Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai. Its only 50 minutes late. Therez a melee amongst the passengers to reach towards the exit.

AB is now standing next to the exit door, with her hands folded together in a polite Namashkar & a warm smile.

"Thank you for traveling with Jet Airways Sir" ..

I am nearing the exit. Time to start rehearsals again.

[Rehearsal - 1 ] "You are Welcome. The Service was excellent"
[Rehearsal - 2 ] "You are Welcome. Goodnite"
[Rehearsal - 3 ] “Bye"

As my turn comes to step out, I notice the smile disappearing from AB's face. Her lips are closed tightly again. Her eyes are now focused to infinity. As I walk past AB, I don't seem to register on her service radar. I shrug off my disappointment and amble out of the flight muttering, "You are welcome", to nobody in particular.

"Thank you for traveling with Jet Airways Sir"..

Behind my back, I can hear AB’s cheerful voice again. She has resumed greeting other visible passengers. I got to do something about my invisibility problem. But, Why Me ?? *sigh*

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Finally Some Sunlight


The sun made a brief appearance piercing the thick grey clouds ever so briefly, but it didn't help in adding any color to the frame. I have taken pics @ Marine Drive on 2 outings (the previous one was almost 3 years back) , but on both occasions I came back with disappointing images. I have been too lazy to move around to find more interesting vantage point. I tend to stick to a narrow stretch opposite the Air-India building & after canning few shots, I prefer just idling on the promenade soaking the salty breeze rather than working hard on getting that "hatke" image. Next time, I ought to do more justice to this captivating landscape. As with other aspects of my life, instead of getting better my photography skills are getting worse by each passing day!!

Brokeback Marine Drive


This one was snapped up along Marine Drive promenade @ Mumbai . This is a favourite hangout spot for young couples looking for quiet private space in the claustrophobic metropolis of Mumbai. I didn't had guts or insensitivity to point my camera at lovey dovey couples locked in various stages of intimacy, instead i chose this "safe" guy-guy couple (?) for some shooting practice. The light was heartbreakingly dull & colorless. After having chugged my camera for over 1 hr to reach this place, I was in no mood to comeback empty handed, so snapped few pics just for the heck of it. The prints were rendered almost black n white ! Weird.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Friday Blues

Its FRIDAY evening , that wretched time of the week which every bachelor dreads. As usual, I don't have any plans or a date. I was never cool enough to break into the elusive dating game. Dating was never an Indian phenomenon, at least not in the era in which I grew up. None of my friends ever dated. By some stroke of cosmic misfortune, I never got a chance to hang out in a group which had girls in it. The ratio of male : female in my college class room was 55 : 5 . Yes, that’s about 5 girls for 55 very sexually repressed guys. What’s even worse, those 5 gals were almost invariably "kaaku-baai" types (oily hair, book-wormish, salwaar kurtaa). Little wonder us guys shunned those asexual females & instead we took an instant fancy towards "Bane" (pronounced baney, as in the song "Hum Baney, Tum Baney Ek Duje Ke Liye") an effeminate Karan Joharish type (KJT) guy from our class.

Back then we were not so politically correct & socially aware to treat KJTs with respect & equality. Bane too on his part, didn't give us any reasons to treat him like a MAN. He displayed nakhraah's and the chutzpah of a trained Katthak dancer. He had the whole act going for him ; kohl laden eyes, limp wrists, fingers touching cheeks while blushing, swinging hips, he had it all. Upon our (persistent) requests he use to strike sensuous Mudraas with his long & expressive eyelashes.

His strong feminine resolve was tested almost everyday. From getting his various body parts pinched, hair pulled, his shoelaces tied together, his lunch pack hijacked, to people sticking bubble gum to his backside, he endured it all with the equanimity of a smiling buddha. I strongly suspect that he secretly enjoyed all the attention that the guys showered on him. We stumbled upon the reason for "why he was, the way he was" when he invited us home for his birthday. At his home we were greeted by his 4 domineering sisters ! Poor ole "Banuklee" was the lone male child in a household full of girls, and it showed. From that day onwards, we became bit more moderate towards him (one should always be friendly & kind with a guy who has 4 young & presentable sisters) .

I guess, i digressed a bit. I was just trying to give a little peek into my traumatic & barren past. Till this date, I can't strike a decent conversation with a girl without breaking into fractured jumbled up sentences & long unnerving pauses. Coming back to the topic of Friday blues. I was debating over the two options that I had :

Option 1 : Go to library & browse through the Zen philosophy collection. Off late, in my quest of finding purpose behind my directionless single existence, I am gravitating more & more towards such literature.

Option 2 : Head home. Watch TV. Have dinner. Watch some more TV. Sleep.

For over a month now, our kitchen has been under a major southern invasion. Its raining saambar, rassam & dosa's since my roommates parents came for a 2 month long stay. I am not exaggerating here, these days if one were to poke a needle in my veins they would draw saambar instead of blood. I am really counting down days for this seize to end. I want to re-claim my rightful place in our kitchen. Meanwhile, I am trying my best to preserve my Ghaati taste buds. They really needed a break from this madraasi trauma, so I hastily chalk up another option.

Option 3 - Dine out & go for a stroll by the Sg'pore River.

[I should have known better]

I decided to check out "Makaan Mumbai" (MM) , a discreet eating joint which I have been eyeing for many weeks now. It was around 7:30'ish , at that early hour only one table was occupied. Two middle aged Gujju gentlemen (??) were tucking in heartily on Naan & some Punjabi dishes. I was quick to spot 2 bottles of Kingfisher beer on their table. I am not a beer guy, but I have seen my friends getting all emotional & teary eyed at the mention of this particular brand of desi beer. They say, one needs to be really paavan (pious) with lots of good karma to lay hands on KingFisher in foreign land. The reassuring presence of desi liquor, told me that I was finally at the right place at the right time.

I look around for a table. The interiors of MM doesn't cater for single seats, it doesn't even have those intimate "table for 2" kind of arrangements . The seating area mainly comprises of 4 or 6 chairs per table, predominantly targeting a clientele of families or groups. Their business model was certainly not built around the prospects of a single un-escorted guy walking in on a Friday eve.

I settle down in a table for four, with my backpack giving me company in the chair opposite me. My umbrella hangs by the back of the chair next to me. The third chair is empty. I have absolutely no illusions about my luck, ‘for the love of St.Pete’, no girl is ever gonna come & ask "Is this seat taken ? Do you mind if I share the table with you ?". No, those chancy romantic encounters don't happen with guys like me.

With an air of gloomy resignation & self-pity I bury my face in the menu card.

SNACKS (available after 3:30pm)

Vadaa Paav
Samosa Paav
Sabudaana Vada
Sabudaana Khichdi
Thaalipeeth
Misal Paav
Paav Bhaaji
Grill Vegetable Sandwitch
Grill Chutney Sandwitch

I am drooling all over, my tongue is ready to fall off and hit the table as I scan the list with a growing sense of disbelief. I stop just short at licking the menu card in untamed ecstasy. I have stumbled upon a ghaati oasis amidst a madraasi desert. My eyes are moist with tears of gratitude & joy.

The waiter comes in, I recognize him & much to my surprise he recognizes me too! It must have been more than 3 years since I last saw him. Somehow he hasn't forgotten me. Maybe its coz of my weird eating habits. Back then, when he was working at "Kaamath's" , I use to order 2 Potato Vadaas & Roomali Rotis. He use to always double check if he had heard my order correctly ! And I use to re-assure him, yes that’s the frigging combination I want.

No such luck with Roomali Rotis @ MM, so I just order a "Vadaa Paav" & "Sev Bataata Puri". The problem with vadaa paav's in Sg , is that almost invariably , the paav that they serve here is of sweetened variety. It totally spoils the taste of the spicy vadaaa. I wonder why, with all their first world credentials these guys can't bake or import those humble paav's.

As I wait for my food to arrive, the crowd starts building up. Four young girls walk in and look around for seats. They deliberate over the prospects of sitting in direct line of vision of a hungry & suspiciously pervy sort of guy (that would be me). I try my best to give an impression of "I am so blind... I hardly notice you" mixed with my "I wouldn't be aroused... even if you were to sit on my lap" kind of blank look. I basically act as if I am more interested in the menu card & the wall hangings. This act seems to work just fine coz they indeed sit right across me. Yesss!!! I utter a low cry of conquest. (mind you, this is strictly a moral victory) . Local Indian, Indian Indian, Malay, Chinese, i am quick to classify the girls on racial lines.

My vadaa paav arrives. It comes with 2 varieties of chutneys, the dry garlic & wet mint one. I grab it with my bare hands. Spread open the bread a little, generously sprinkle the garlic chutney with my fingers and tuck right in. The Malay girl eyes the VP & my antics with disgust. I ignore her, with one hand holding the VP, i grab the menu card again with my other hand .My mind is already racing ahead of the VP & SBP that I had ordered. My eyes settle on Grill Chutney Sandwich. By now, the crumbs of the bread are all over the table, chair & some even on my shirt. But I am too pre-occupied satiating my deprived gut to notice such aberrations.

The sev bataata puri arrives. I am half-way thru the VP. Its time for a major decision, should i finish the vadaa paav first ? and keep the sev puri waiting ? But by doing so, i risk losing the crispiness of the puris. They would surely get soggy by then. I set aside the half eaten VP, and start gulping down the sev-puris one mouthful at a time. Now the bread crumbs on the table are insterspread with tiny bits of sev. In between mouthfuls, i flag down the waiter once again & order grill chutney sandwich. My highly entertaining display of caveman’ish dining etiquettes seem to have its desired effect. By now, the Chinese girl too is engaged in a peek-a-boo game with me. The two Indian girls continue to ignore me. The contempt however, is mutual. "Ghar ki Murgi Daal Baraabar".

By the time i finish off the final morsel, i am feeling strangely orgasmic. A great sense of calm has descended on me. Finally i am a happy content man. All angst, all worries seem far far away in that peaceful moment.

The restaurant is now almost full. A bubbly young group of 5 ( 2 gals,3 guys ) , a young un-married couple , a middle aged married couple with a noisy kid. It seems like every body whoz anybody has a dining companion except me. I am resolved not to let this minor piece of injustice spoil my otherwise enjoyable evening. So i try to engage my waiter friend in conversation whenever he is free from his chores. He too is happy to talk to me, coz it seems amongst all the guests, i am the only person who is interested in hearing about his life & the story behind his bandaged arm. He tells me that he had been in a motorbike accident & was out of action for almost 2 months. He had resumed work just 2 days back. I enquire if his medical expenses were covered by insurance. Luckily for him, they were. Small mercies !! With more n more people coming in, i decide its best not to hog a table for 4 all by myself, so I quickly ask for the bill, grab my backpack & umbrella and make my way towards the cashier. Before I step out, I turn & wave a quick bye to the waiter.

Lesson learnt from this outing ( it holds true for all bachelors dining alone @ family restaurants) :

Find a seat facing the wall. That way you don't need to look at the happy faces of other diners. Practice Zen, it comes quite handy while greeting the condescending gazes of those sitting around you.

Friday, April 21, 2006

There Is Something About Mary

Can u loosen your shirt a bit sir ?

I do as i am told & unbutton my shirt (not fully, just the top 2 buttons). She pulls my collar back & slips a small towel underneath covering my neck & shoulders. I close my eyes & sink deeper in the chair, readying myself to be pampered over a wash,cut & blow under the dexterous hands of my hair stylist (??). Calling her just a barber somehow doesn’t seems fair. I guess, an average barber doesn’t dress up in a noodle strap top & bum hugging denim shorts. Nor does an average barber displays a hint of cleavage and generous amounts of waxed legs. I try & be polite enuff not to linger my gaze for far too long, but in the finitesimal moment that my eyes gets locked on her bosom, I can’t help but notice a delectable black mole placed strategically on her left boob. Its hard to resist the temptation of inspecting (the mole I mean, not the boob) a bit longer, but years of practiced restraint comes to my rescue & much against my inquisitive nature, I close my eyes firmly shut.

She sprays few squirts of shampoo on her palms and starts spreading it over my scalp. She digs her nails hard enuff for me to be awakened from my self induced mock slumber. My eyes are open once again as I inspect her maneuvers from the mirror. The pain induced by her sharp nails is pleasurable & she is kind enuff to alternate between using her nails, knuckles & the soft tips of her fingers. She slowly picks up the pace, therez no stopping her as she strums up a tune by tapping her fingers playfully on top of my head.

Outside the salon, a board announces invitingly “Light Massage Included”. Am about to be treated to one. Her hands now move down towards the base of my neck & shoulder blades. She comments about how hard my muscles are underneath & asks me if I am feeling stressed lately. I nod in affirmative & compliment her by saying that I am already feeling relaxed thanx to her deft ministrations. She perks up & works even more furiously on dissolving the knots in my shoulder.

With a tap on my shoulders she signals me to move towards the washing area. I lie down on my back.. resting my head in the sink (??) . She comes up from behind, i can see the top of her head from my prostate position. She has a pleasant smile on her face. I guessestimate her to be about 25/26 years old. She starts washing my hair. The shampoo is drained off off under the steady stream of cold shower. Some of the lather flies off and settles on my eye lids, she is alert to that, and wipes it off gently using the corner of the towel.

She squeezes out the excess water from the tips of my hair..the step that follows next is kinda silly (if u are guy i.e). She wraps a huge pink towel around my wet head so that water doesn’t drip onto my shirt. I get up & make my way back to the chair, mindful of not making eye-contact with anyone. She once again takes her position behind my back, removes the towel & rubs off excess water from my hair.

How do you want it Sir ??
Short at the sides & back, medium at the top.

I give her my usual 1 line brief on my hair style. She ruffles my hair lovingly and says that I have lovely hair. I can handle any other compliment, but when someone says nice things about my hair, then I really know that the person is lying. I don’t blame her really, its all part of her customer service talk I guess. I don’t feel like challenging her compliment & instead I just roll my eyes & laugh it off amidst an expression which says “Awww C’mon. U are kidding right ?”. She is in mood for banter, i decide to play along.

Finished reading Ur newspaper ?? Any interesting news ??
Nothing much really, I just scanned the sports section.
Yalla, guys always like that, reading back to the front. I always like front to back (giggles)
U have done some hair styling course ??
Course ? yes 2 years course..
2 years !! U mean U go to class & cut hair everyday for 2 years ??
No lah.. not for 2 years.. Cut hair for 6 months only.

I am convinced that she has what it takes to trust my hair in her hands, so I don’t probe further on course syllabus, how much marks she scored, how much experience she has etc etc.

Last time there was a lady here, I use to always cut my hair from her.. Don’t see her these days.
U like her ah ?? (giggles)
Aiyaah not like her, as in “like her”. I like the way she cut my hair.
Same lah.. why U so shy ?
Not shy laah, just polite. Funny that I never got around to ask her name..
U didn’t ask me my name too..
I was going to, but how can I ask direct ??
Why meh ?? U can ask me direct, No problem..I very friendly leh..
Alright then.. what’s Ur name ??
Mary.. Nice ah ??
Mary.. Hmmmmmm.. (I am undecided, what to say next)
Say lah U don’t like Mary.. I don’t like myself. Its no good..
Why ?? people call you Mother Mary ?? is that why U don’t like it ??
Actually I was just bluffing. Mary is not my real name. What’s Ur name ?? Are U Peter ?? or John ??

By now I had got a fair idea that this Mary..or whoever that she is, she is taking me for a ride. But i decide to keep it real & tell her my real name. She tries to pronounce it & fails. I help her by making her repeat after me slowly.

I am Agnes. (She announces freshly in a more serious tone)
Go ahead, say it..let me hear how U call my name..
Agnes..(I utter in a soft tone) do I say it right ??
“Ummmm Yes” (she beams..)
Do U have a Chinese name as well ??
(She nods in the mirror, and says) “Jing Jing” ..
Agnes Jing Jing.. (i say it aloud much to her amusement & delight.She claps her hands in approval)
What’s your Chinese name ??
Aiyaah how can ?? I am Indian. I don’t have any Chinese name.

We are now on home stretch, my hair is almost done, she is just snipping away a hair here.. a lock there. By this time I have told her that I don’t have a wife.. I cook.. I have lots of patience.. I work in IT. No, I don’t make/sell anti-virus software or computer games. In short, over the hair cut she has managed to extract half of my life story.

Next time when I come, I will look for You.
Why meh ?? U like me ??
No lah.. I like the way U cut my hair..
My colleague also good meh. Same team. Just like Ur office, when U not around your colleague covers for you. Same here, when I not around my colleague cut your hair. Teamwork laah..
No laah,Ur work different. More artistic laah. More skill laah. No two hands are same..
(I insist, that next time I want her to cut my hair, no one else will do. The “artistic” compliment seems to have its desired effect. She is pleased)

Can Can.U look for me. No problem. Remember, I am Agnes haah !! don’t look for Mary (winks).

I smile, pay the money to Agnes’s boss & walk out. Therez no tipping system in Singapore, so Agnes missed out on a generous tip. I think she definitely deserved it. As I walked back towards home I was feeling bit light headed. I guess that was partly because of the head & shoulder massage, partly because of the hair cut & mostly because of Agnes’s playful silly banter. Next time around, she wants to color my hair in shades of dark chocolate, she feels it would look good on me. I can’t wait for my hair to grow long again.

Moral Of The Story : This moral is only for the men out there. If u are cutting your hair from a (male) barber, then you are really missing out a lot in life. Believe me guys, Uni-sex salons are the best things to have happened in the evolution of ‘man’kind .

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Satte Pe Satta

This boring post is dedicated to a sweet bully who goes by the name - Chay

7 things I wish to do before I die :

1> Get Married.
No, I am dead serious about this. This has been my numero uno priority for a long time now.

2> Own a 2 bedroom apartment in Mumbai.
I guess this has to happen before I can think of Goal Nbr. 1. The rate at which property prices are shooting up in Mumbai, it seems like I am doomed to remain single (for a very long time).

3> Go back to India for good.
No Comments.

4> Swim in the deep end of a swimming pool.
Don't want to say something grand like I want to swim with the great White sharks or mermaids.Just want to keep it real. Have been stuck in the shallow end of pool for eternity now. One day I will make it to the other end.

5> Walk with a gurl amidst heavy rains sharing one umbrella.

6> Learn atleast one foreign language.

7> QUIT Software field.
I wish to switch to some creative field like movie editing or photography. These are two professions which I have always had strong cravings for. About 8/9 years back I flirted briefly & un-successfully with video editing. Back then, I took the easy way out & switched to software instead of persevering bit more. I desperately want to have one more fling before I die. Am willing to trade 6 things that I listed above for this one dream. I don't have an effing clue how to go about realizing this very dear dream of mine.

7 things I do not enjoy:

1> Being a Passionless Code Coolie
2> Socializing , Meeting new people
3> Brushing teeth & Bathing on weekends
4> People who "Show Off" (be it brains, wealth, power etc.)
5> Handling Money Matters
6> Planning my future.. Setting Goals.. Sticking to resolutions/plan
7> Waiting for e-mail / sms replies

7 things that attracted me to Blogging:

I have plenty of free time & have nothing better to do. The day i find something meaningful to do with my life, I will quit blogosphere. I desparately long for real life.


7 things I say most often :

1> Arrreh.. (That's an exasperated Arreh)
2> Buss Kyaa ?
3> Okay..
4> Sahi Hei Baap..
5> Kyaaa Haal Chaal ?
6> Chaaailaaa..
7> Saaley..

7 Books I like :

I have mostly read contemporary fiction (exception is book#1 in the list mentioned below) & I try n' stick to books written by Indian authors. Sadly, I haven't been exposed to any Classic Literature be it in English or any other language. I am listing few books which I have read more than once. I desparately want to catch up on books written in my mother tongue Marathi.

1> Mritunjay - Shivaji Sawant (in Marathi)
2> Vyaakti Aani Valli - P.L. Dehspande (in Marathi)
3> God Of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
4> Fury - Salman Rushdie
5> Godfather / Sicilian - Mario Puzo
6> Books on Zen Philosophy
7> Books on Alternate Healing Techniques

7 Movies I want to watch (and have watched) again and again :

1> Satyaa
2> Sholay
3> U've Got Mail
4> Basu Chatterjee Movies (Baaton Baaton Mein, Khatta Meetha , Choti Si Baat )
5> Hrishikesh Mukherjee Movies (Mili, Abhimaan, Anand, Chupke Chupke, Gol Maal )
6> Sai Paranjpe Movies Movies (Chasme Buddoor, Kathaa )
7> Any movie featuring following actresses : Scarlett Johansson, Renee Zellweger,Cameron Diaz, Julia Roberts, Meg Ryan, Cate Blanchett, Calsita Flockhart

7 pieces of Music I enjoy :

Again, you won't find any classics here in my list. My tastes have been molded solely by popular culture, the kind of music which gets aired on TV & Radio . In general, I like mellow, soulful, sombre numbers.

1> Norah Jones
2> Vonda Shephard
3> Enya, Dido
4> Hridaynaath Mangeshkar Compositions
5> Bruce Springsteen, Lionel Richie, Bryan Adams, Phil Collins , George Michael, Michael Jackson (Plz stop sniggering at the mention of Whacko Jacko, I was very young back then)
6> Ghulam Ali, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Jagjit Singh
7> Gregorian Chants, Enigma

7 people I am tagging :

I am not that sadist. The buck stops here .

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Home Sweet Home..

For someone who is still on the active & optimistic side of 30s, i lead a very sedentary & monogamous life. Not that i would want my days(& nights) to unfold any differently. But still, at times, a small voice inside me keeps nudging quietly, begging me to get out of the predictable rut. "Get a life.." (the small voice pleads) , most of the times I turn a deaf ear and let the voice die a slow natural death. Sometimes though, the little voice wins. Last saturday was one such day.

The monogamous streak of my persona , extends to my eating habits as well. For almost 3 months now, I have been frequenting a small non-decrepit joint on weekends. Not many people are aware of its existence. Its clientele is solely developed on word-of-mouth publicity. I have been eating the same spread of : Baturaa, Daal , Sabzee & Paalak Pakoda for past God-Only-Knows-How-Many-Saturdays.

These days, I just need to show my sullen face to the genial Sardarji (the owner of the eatery), not a word needs to be spoken. After the terse exchange of non-verbal pleasantries, I dutifully take my "regular" seat which, much to my liking, faces a blank gray wall. On couple of occasions I was tempted to change my order & eat something different. But that would have broken our (long established) channel of silent communication. There are two things I would rather NOT do :

Nbr 1 > TALK..

Some people are born without the gift of gab, You either have “it” or you don't have. Unfortunately for me, the later holds true & I have made peace with this handicap of mine. I do not forcefully try to cover up this inadequacy or improve upon it in any ways. I speak only when it is absolutely necessary.

Nbr 2> SMILE..

Since long, I have lost the mobility of the facial muscles which help a person to break into a smile. I feel revolted at the sight of my own artificial constipated smile. I prefer keeping a straight face rather than greeting someone with my choleric smile, If the smile doesn’t come from within then so be it, I am not going to fake it.

Coming back to my Saturday afternoon exploits, normally , after finishing the hearty meal i head back home & indulge in mid afternoon nap. Instead of heading back home, I decided to break the routine. Since long, I had envied those folks who are seen in public places ( park benches, beaches, swimming pools) with their head buried deeply in some book, oblivious to the world around them. It strikes to me as, something very meditative & peaceful thing to do amidst the chaos that usually surrounds us. My reading is mostly confined to the 4 walls of my home. This year though, I have resolved to take my reading beyond the confines of my bedroom.

Today, I decided to check out the exotic setting of Fort Canning Park to catch up on Shalimar-The Clown. This park sits atop a small hillock overlooking the meandering Sg'pore river. It was 2 O'Clock in the noon and the park was almost deserted except for few laborers in their fluorescent garbs busy doing landscaping work. At that odd hour, almost all the benches were empty. I had the luxury of picking & choosing. Settled for a bench which had generous shade from overhanging branches. Took deep breath to soak the clean air, could feel a deep sense of calm seeping in my veins as i started flipping the pages. Not even half way through the 2nd page, I felt something creeping up on my feet. Set the book aside to examine my feet. A busy group of red ants had taken fancy to my toes and I was being treated to a very holistic & natural form of acupuncture. I kicked away my floaters with annoyance and flicked the pesky crawlers. A close inspection of the ground beneath the bench revealed that i was sitting atop a very active colony of ants. It had rained for most of last week & sun was out after a very long hiatus. So like us humans, the ants too wanted to enjoy the warmth and were out in full force.

I decided to deal with the situation in a non-violent way, very magnamously i surrendered the territory to them & shifted base to another bench . It didn't offer much protection from the sun but atleast it was ants free. Resumed my reading. The peace didn't last long though. Some weird sounding insect started to screech with all its might. The notion of meditative & romantic setting was fast dissolving under the cacophony of various sounds from the insect kingdom.

Meanwhile, the combined effect of heavy meal & mid-afternoon sun had started to lull my senses. The need to stretch down on all fours was very intense. I kicked my footwear again.Using my backpack as pillow, i rested my back on the hard wooden bench. First thought that crossed my mind after lying down : What if I fall asleep deeply and somebody steals my chappals ?? This is a typical middle class thought i guess. Why on earth would anyone want to steal my dirty footwear ? No logic there, I am programmed to worry over inane matters. I can worry about any damn thing in the world. Every night i get worried that the gas burners haven't been shut off properly, the main door hasn't been locked etc etc. Amost every other night i wearily drag myself out of bed to silence these impotent worries.

[ Cuting back to the park bench. ]

Resting the book on my chest I closed my eyes for a while. My ears pick up bits of conversation drifting from tourist who are on a mid-afternoon stroll. I suddenly become conscious of my awkward supine body as the voices come closer. I try to cut a graceful pose, but its difficult to look graceful with two spindly little legs sticking up in air over an armrest. I peer thru my eyes pretending to be blissfully asleep. Most of the strollers are couples, they politely slip into low whispering tones as they pass me,lest they wake me up.

Finally i got tired of my uncomfortable stakeout. I started fantasizing the comforts of my bed , the softness of my big fat pillow, the familiarity of the 4 walls of my bedroom beckoned me. I got up quickly. First thing i did was to strap the chappals safely to my feet once again. Put the novel in backpack. Streched & cheerfully descended the hill to return to home sweet home.

Lesson learnt : Parks & reading don't mix that well. Maybe next time I will try some cool beach or perhaps a chair by the poolside to catch up on my reading. As of now, I am happy with the boring indoors .