The TimePass of India

It was an arrow that pierced my heart. The one who shot the arrow was Sharukh Khan... wait... that didnt come out sounding right. The arrow hit a tree trunk and there she was. She made my heart flutter. In those 3 seconds of screen time, she made me fall in love with her.

The year. 2001. The movie. Asoka. The actor. Not important. The girl who I lost my heart to. Hrishita Bhat.

When it comes to love, my brain works like a woman. Sure, I can't distinguish between 37 shades of pink, or tell you what necklace looks better with the evening gown and stuff. What I mean is, I am not like other guys. (I am sure you girls have heard this line before.) I fall in love with only one aspect of a woman and it is almost always never a physical aspect. And that one aspect shadows her shortcomings, if any. But I am a judger. I judge people, women, even more and I am stricter with the girls I fall in love with.



So here I was, all of 16, mesmerised by a new actress. Hrishita comes in the second half of the movie, and an already good movie (one of SRK's very few good movies) seemed even better.

Hrishita had this quality about her. You know, how some people can light up your day? She could light up my day. In fact, just thinking about her made me feel good about the world. Maybe it was her smile, which she flashed with ease. Maybe it was her expressive eyes, which always hid back more than they gave away.

I am a salwaar kameez guy, which means, I judge the sexiness of a woman based on how desirable she can look in an attire that covers 90% of her skin. When Haasil came out, I watched her carefully. I still have no idea about the story. I watched it only for her. Hrishita wore simple salwaar kameezs and I still could never take my eyes of her.

Among the not more than 10 female wallpapers I have downloaded in my life, she must feature in more than 50%. Sure, like a true blue 17 year old, I wanted to see how she looked in short skirts and all, but more than that I wanted to know how she was in real life... Was she shy? Is she moody? Had she trained in any of the arts? Did she enjoy reading?

My fascination with her might have been because the 12th std studies that didnt leave me without enough time for real girls... Then things went from bad to worse as I got into Mechanical Engineering. There were a few girls and the prettiest one of them had a moustasche. I knew how dry my next 4 years were going to be. I had braced myself.

Engineering, especially Mechanical, Civil and Electrical, also known as the 'Real' Engineering, puts you back by 4 years in the charming girls department. While Elec and Comps engineers are out bunking college and watching movies with their girlfriends, we spend long hours making engineering drawings. All through those 4 years, I knew it was alright, coz there was a girl out there who was perfect. Sure she was out of my reach, but only for now. But one day...

I wasn't crazy for her or anything. I don't believe in that. I am super practical and I believe planning works. I knew I just had to turn awesome (more awesome than I already was back then) and then make a move. I had no idea how or where I was going to meet her, but I thought it was the easy part. In the years that followed, I learnt things, about relationships, about life in general. I also got better with women. Sure, I am still very shy, and I am very self concious, but if I like you, I will sweep you off your feet and there's nothing you will be able to do about it . :)

All through the years, I have had a list in my head, of women I find amazing. It has women whom I have met over the years and take the pains to keep in touch with. Hrishita Bhat is the only woman in that list whom I havent met and still manages to be among the top (it is a ranked list :) )

In the rare public appearances she makes, the very few endorsements, she still manages to make my heart skip a beat whenever I see her on TV. I am all of 27, it has been 10 long years. I should have found some other celebrity who could do that for me, someone younger. Isnt that how a male brain is supposed to work? I have never thought of marrying her. All I wanted to do was know her. This now seemed possible. I mean, I am pretty cool once you get to know me. :)

I asked my friends in media if they knew her and if they could set up a meeting even if it was under the garb of an interview or something. But apparently she doesnt do much PR. The other day I was just surfing when I reached this page about a movie that she had produced. And then my heart broke. She had married this guy who was acting in the movie. I would have been okay if the guy was like a stud. But I bet he can't even grow a moustache.

My heart sank.  I don't know what I had expected out of the whole relationship, which was one way anyway. Rahul Sindal, a friend of mine has defined this as "Chota dukh". It is the dukh that strikes when an old flame is married, irrespective of what your status is.

Every guy has a "Hrishita Bhat" in his life. She may be a celeb, or she maybe someone in college. Whoever she is, she always reminds him of his old self and of what might have been. She drives in him, a desire, if nothing, to know that he could have had her. The heart breaks when she leaves him without giving him a chance.

And thus ends, a weird love story.

Warning: I am not a bio guy, so I will make lots silly errors. But would you come to a blog with the words Time pass in it if you wanted path breaking-Nobel prize winning research?

Hypothesis: The gender of the child is determined by the egg inherently and not by the sperm as is currently stated.

Years ago, in my sex education class, our teacher asked us - So who decides the gender of the child?
"The male partner." Said the kids in chorus.
"Why?" asked the teacher.
"Because of that X, Y, something..." I said (I was a bit of a nerd...still am)
"Good." The teacher said and went on to explain why actually the man is responsible for determining the the sex of the child.

The man has XY chromosomes while the woman has XX. So depending on which of the chromosomes the man contributes to the union creates a baby boy or a baby girl.

I thought, what if it wasnt the man, but the woman who had a choice on what she wanted to receive? I mean, women have always been the choice makers, no? Havent men gone down on their knees to propose through centuries? It is always the woman who says yes or no! Maybe this is the case in genetics as well. 

I was talking to this attractive girl the other day. I put forth this hypothesis and a experiment design that could prove I was right (How charming, no? This is how I am such a hit among the ladies.)

So I put below the Experiment Design below. I dont have the resources or the time to carry out this experiment. It is the task of more nerdy people, the kind who never get called to parties, who have always been first benchers, who never got ahead with the ladies (Right now, each of you is thinking of some person, please forward this blog address to him.).

Design:

Main Experiment:
1. Take twin female new born (basically clones) mice. (Dont ask me how to determine their sex, I have a life)
2. Keep them in identical enclosures, feed them the exact same food, make them listen to the same music etc. i.e. keep the environment the same till they attain puberty.
3. Take twin male new born mice. Repeat step 2.
4. Make Mr.A procreate with Miss A. Make Mr.B procreate with Miss B. Since the boy mice are clones, they will take equal time to get acquainted with the girl mice who are clones in the same time. Give them the exact same time together.

Now, what I think will happen here is, Mr and Mrs.A (now that they are married) will have Baby A and Mr. and Mrs. B will have Baby B. Now, what I am saying is ---

Point I:: Baby A and Baby B will be  of the same gender. Either both boys or both girls. This happens because, both women mice, since they are clones, have the same egg type getting released from their fallopin tubes at the same time. This will bring us closer to proving my hypothesis. If they arent the same gender, then we are screwed. Let's close shop then and go back home.
(Also, you may argue, the same gender phenomena could also be because of clone male mice also. Patience, my friend. We will come to that.)

Point II:: (This is an extension of Einstien's God doesnt not play dice idea) I guess that the genetic make up of Baby A and B will be exactly similar i.e., they will be clones (if we managed to keep the environment constant). This proves that Einstein's idea was right.



Control Experiment:

1. Take twin female new born (basically clones) mice.
2. Keep them in identical enclosures, feed them the exact same food, make them listen to the same music etc. i.e. keep the environment the same till they attain puberty.
3. Take random male mice. Take one from say Germany Mr.G and the other one from Sri Lanka Mr.S, so that they arent related in anyway.
4. Make Mr.G procreate with MissA. Make Mr.S procreate with MissB.

Now, what I think will happen here is,

Point III: Baby G and Baby S (the names of the baby are chosen by the males, its a patriarchal society) will have the same gender. Since they have different fathers, who are in no way related, one would think that their genders would be different. But I reckon, their genders will be the same.

From Point I and III: We will be able to prove, the eggs of the mice have pre-decided what gender they are going to be when they fertilise.

From Point II: We will be able to prove that for the similar egg and similar set of sperms, the genetic make is similar. If we can make the similar approach exact sameness, we will have clones basically, identical brothers from a different mother (and father)

There. Thanks for reading. I hope you have enough questions. Please feel free to ask.

This is a true story.

For the last one year I have been working in an Organisation known for its wacky advertisements. For some reason we associate the awesomeness of the ads with the awesomeness of the company. So when I got placed for this firm, I envisaged long discussions with the CEO over cups of coffee in an air-conditioned office about how I, an MBA from one of the top colleges in the country, could make the brand better.

There is a reason why they call it Sales and Marketing and not the other way around. It is supposed to tell you how your career is going to shape up. So it is going to be sales first.

Sales. My women friends liked the sound of it, probably coz it has the word 'sale' in it. Now who doesnt like a real good sale? But a sales job, as I found out soon, was very different from what I had expected. There were no air conditioned rooms, and there was only thele-ki-chai, and no coffee. The only discussions I had were with shopkeepers and Sales officers.

So, while Sales Officer as a job title sounds swanky, it is not. It essentially involves taking orders from each shop in a market. They earn only a fraction of an MBA would earn. In fact, even 5 years ago, my first salary at an Engineering firm was higher than what these guys make today. These guys are usually graduates with a degree in arts or something, that too, through distance education. Most of them are in their 30s and have a family to support. You ask them why didnt they study and you get different answers...

Paise nahi the ammi-abba ke pass... (Mom and Dad didnt have money)
Do baar fail hogaya tab ghar walon ne padhai chudwa di... (I failed twice, my folks asked to give up studies and work)
Behen ki shaadi ke liye job join kiya, aage nahi padha... (I started working to pay for my sisters wedding.  )

Some of them are intelligent, you feel bad for them. You wish you could help them in some way, maybe lend them some money every month. But then there are so many of them. In Mumbai alone I work with 8 different Sales Officers. There is no way I can lend money to each of them.

With time, you learn to accept the status quo. Maybe you studied hard and so you are here. Maybe it is not all because of being born into a family who knew the importance of education. You soothe yourself. For the time being.

Below the Sales Officers work the Sales Representatives (SR). Sales Representatives are the scum of the earth, or so they are treated. They are essentially courier boys, only worse. They work the hardest. There are times when I get tired walking in the market. I take a rickshaw. The SR walks 4 times as much as I do and cant afford a rickshaw. Heck, even a bus ticket costs 10% of his daily wage. I have had a bottle wine in Paris that cost more than what a SR makes in a month.

One such SR is Ramesh. I just realised, I dont even know his last name. That is how unimportant he is.

I have worked with Ramesh. He carries billboards, posters and then pastes them wherever I ask him to. The first thing I ask him, as a rule, is if he has had something to eat in the morning. He always says yes and when I offer to take him to a restaurant, shyly accepts.

He is shy, timid. He has sudden bursts of anger, frustration actually, over long work hours, over low pay, but like the sweat on his brow on a hot summer afternoon, he quickly wipes it off and puts on a cheerful face. Ramesh is short. He barely comes up to my shoulder. I walk quickly from shop to shop, my sports shoes dont let my soles get tired. He barely manages to keep up with me, his all season shoes, tattered in places, make me think how uncomfortable they might be. I slow down...

On that particular day, we had a plumbers' meet. It is what you think it is. It is a meet where plumbers come, we get a chance to tell them about our new products in the plumbing range and then we feed the plumbers dinner, everyone's happy, everyone except Ramesh. It was 8.30 in the night and the meeting that was supposed to start at 7.30 has yet not begun. Say hello to Indian Strechable Time.

"Yeh Deshmukh sir (Deshmukh is Ramesh's boss) ko yeh meet aaj hi rakhna tha...(Why did Deshmukh sir have to hold the meeting today?)" Ramesh said to me taking me to a corner.

"Kyun, aaj kya hai? (What is special about today?)" I asked.

"Aaj jaldi jaana hai na... (I have to leave early today)" He said, the worry lines on his forehead became more prominent.

"Kyun? Why?" I asked.

He smiled shyly.

"Aaj humari anniversary hai na... (Today is my anniversary)"

I don't know what I found cute, the fact that he actually wanted to go home early to his bride or the way he said it.

I asked him how long they had been married. "17 years," he said. He had a daughter who was in the tenth standard. He said he was going to make sure she does not turn out like him and goes to college. She is very intelligent he told me. He told me about his son. His son wants to be a cricketer. Cricket bats are expensive, he said.

I wondered how he manages a family on that salary. He must live in a slum. My mind wandered. Does he have water supply or do they have to collect water from a common tap? Are the toilets shared too? I felt bad. Sure, I knew how people lived in Mumbai, only, I never thought I would be working so closely with one of them.

I wondered what special he would do on his anniversary. Will he take his wife to a restaurant, a small one of course? Or will they watch a movie in a single screen theatre? Or will they just walk down a quiet road, just talking?

I asked him - "Toh aaj plan kya hai?"
"Mandir jaake aayenge...(We will visit the temple)" He said.

It seemed so pure. I had never thought one could do that on an anniversary. I had always thought of it as a western concept. But this was so Indian and so very beautiful.

"Aapki kya love marriage hai?" I asked.
"Nahi bhai, arranged." He said.

Deshmukh then came in, harried. He wanted Ramesh to fetch a few things from the market. One of our distributors was supposed to come to the meet. This distributor guy is one of the most annoying people I have met. But it is customary to welcome the guest with a bouquet of flowers. So, Ramesh, the all weather guy, had to fetch them from the market. Deshmukh handed Ramesh 200 rupees and asked him to get the best bouquet he can get. I wondered if it hurt Ramesh, that even a bouquet cost more than what he made in a day. How would you feel? But there was no time. It was 9 and the meeting had already started.

Ramesh ran, forgetting everything about his anniversary. He was back just in time with the flowers. I presented the flowers to the distributor. His ego was satisfied. He left the bouquet on the chair.

Once the meeting was over, Ramesh was ordered to keep the chairs back in place. All 80 of them. I started helping him, he tried to stop me, saying that I wasnt supposed to do it.

Around 11, we managed to wrap everything up. Ramesh picked up the bouquet and the three of us started walking towards the station to go back home. I was gloating in the glory of the success of the meet. I was too self absorbed to not understand why Ramesh had picked up the bouquet.

The train arrived on the platform, Deshmukh and I entered the first class compartment, while Ramesh fought his way into the second class compartment, all the while holding the bouquet close to his chest, with his trademark smile on his face.

I thought about what his wife would say when he presents her with the huge bouquet. Would he directly give it to her? Or will he shyly ask his daughter to give it to her mother? Will his wife blush, even after 17 years of marriage? Could all the diamonds, eating out in fancy places, costly gifts that rich men give their wives, ever match a bouquet of flowers and a visit to the temple? Isn't this, the best gift a man could give?




Dedicated to all the Rameshs out there... The unsung heroes of the FMCG industry...

"Heyyyy! Long time... What are you doing here?" Rajani yelled from across the shop.

I read this last week I guess and I obviously oppose most of what Nandy says. He has in fact, never managed to impress me. I fail to understand the audacity with which jots down his opinion most of which can be debated by someone as novice as me.
You can read his article here http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/extraordinaryissue/entry/why-i-love-mumbai


An Open Letter to Pritish Nandy


Dear Mr. Nandy,

Welcome to the freest city in the world. Welcome to Mumbai. I simply love it.

You can't smoke in public places. I understand how that might be an inconvenience to you. I don't like the rule too. After all, why would I want to miss my second hand smoke of the day? I cant buy alcohol below the age of 18. Ah, how I wish my son manages to get his hands on a bottle of Absolut Vodka on his 13th bday. Yes, their are no strip clubs here. I would like to pay the cover charge for every man who turns up to watch girls dance Kathakali (you and your buddies included)

Yes, we would like to let our chefs sleep after 11 (do you mind?) Arent you the same people who talk about quality of life? And yes, if you are 17, you are not an adult, so it is technically rape. I think you can marry at 14 in one of those Eastern European countries. You are free to find your soulmate there.

Our Ministers do get preferential treatment at the queue. Why is that wrong again? Arent you the same people who got pissed off when APJ kalam was frisked at a US airport? You had a problem with even SRK being frisked, like he was some kinda God. And now, you want stricter rules for ministers just coz its too much waiting time for you?

Gun licences? Really? What is Mumbai? A black neighbourhood in New York? How many times have you been threatened with a Gun? Zero? That is coz we dont give out gun licences to idiots like you.

Yes, we are a socialist country. We charge the rich and have the NREGA for the poor. The idea is, if you have enough money to spend 5000 rupees on a meal (most people in Mumbai earn less than that a month), you should have no problem with giving 1000 to the Government, so that on they can work on more schemes for the poor. We are probably the best example of socialism (on paper, at least)

Yes, there is a Hindu-Muslim thing. Remember 1992, asshole? That kinda thing leaves scars that can't be healed even with time. And the next time on your trip to one of the western countries, leave the confines of your corporate sponsored 5 star stay and visit one of the ghettos. Only White trash lives in black/turkish populated areas. And only the best of the black community can afford to live in the white areas (Rem Chris Rock, anyone?)

Yes, all dirty stuff is off the air. I know, you must miss the programming on F TV but such is life.. grow up, okay? Customs will demand duty on goods more than 26k. If you want to have a dollar based limit, how about you smuggle goods in the US? I would like to see what they do to your sorry ass there...

And stop cribbing about some sorry cop who interrupted your party once. You were having coke or some other drug there anyway. Good for you. You do need some policing. If you think otherwise, stop being such a wuss and don't run to you friends in media to help you with a bully. Be a man and stand up to him the next time you meet him.

Footpaths havent vanished. Only, we have 5 times more people than NY does, and that is like the so-called busiest city on the planet. NOT. With so many people around, you just cant see it.

Yes, we don't have open air cafes. The fact that there is a whole beach line where you can walk any time of the night, obviously doesnt cut it... The stars can't be seen because your head is too far up your ass. The sparrows are gone? If you live in the cozy confines of Kurla, yes they are... If you ever happen to come north of Powai, I will show you a bird sanctuary. That is, if you snobbish bastards have started calling the best part of your city as your city yet.

Now, let a real Mumbaikar, someone who hasnt lived south of Mahim, someone who has travelled by trains, hanging on for dear life, someone who walked 22 kms to get home on the night of 26th July, someone who sweats in the heat and rejoices when the first rains hit the city, tell you why this is the awesomest place in the world.

You can leave at 3 in the night and you won't be mugged. You can walk/drive/take a train to wherever you want and get something to eat. People will try to maintain lane discipline (relative concept to India). People dont honk unnecessarily. (again, relative to all eastern countries). The traffic policeman will leave you even if you break the signal, if you try to speak in Marathi, even if you are a north India. You can get a chai for Rs.5 at the tea stall, and at Rs. 500 at the Taj President. You choose where you want to go.

Life is nothing is it's not freedom. But don't ask freedom to drink at 15 or smoke or piss on the wall. Grow up and grow a pair.

Mumbai is a lot more than you make it sound to be.

Welcome to Mumbai. I simply love it.

yours humbly,
A Mumbaikar

If you want girls to be crazy for you, learn to dance  ~my learning from the 9th standard

There was this boy in our standard in a different division. I don't remember his name, but let's call him S. So S was an average looker, not too good in sports, below average in studies. I didnt even know he existed till I heard one of my female friends talk about him 2 weeks before the annual day event which was like, an annual thingy where boys and girls of all ages did blasphemous stuff in front of their parents, coaxed by their teachers... This was apparently done to project to the parents that the money spent by the parents on education of their kids was well spent as they had now gained skills such as dancing, singing, violin playing and other such skills that will not help them in real life.

So, my only fault was, I got involved in a conversation related to annual day. My female friend went - "Ah.. Sssss... He is so good."

I feared the worst. Could it mean, they had? I gave my 14 year old brain a rest...

"He is such a good dancerrrrr...."

Other girls in the group also swooned, or whatever girls do.

"Umm.. Who is this S guy?" I asked.

I got the dirty looks, similar to the ones I had got when in the 3rd standard I had asked my cousin who Michael Jackson was? How could I demean their dancing God. He was a free spirit, a guru, someone who made sense of life and all the... okay.. shut up, I say.

I met S in the future, and was like - "Dude, you are dumb shit" within 10 mins of talking to him. This, before I saw him dance. He didnt dance, he flew, he jumped, he flexed his rubber body, he split his... you get the point... I saw the girls go wet... in the eyes... praying to be associated with him in some way. S's confidence grew and he hit on every girl he could, while mere mortals, like me, the ones who were awesome at studying and.... umm, only that, were left with no girls to hit on. No girl wanted to be hit upon after being hit on by Shri Shri S himself!

I vowed that day. I will learn to be a good dancer which I broke after 3 mins of practising, coz it made me all sweaty. I went back to studying.

Today things have changed. Girls today, at least the saner ones, want men who have something stable in their lives, like say, a job. It is much easier for women to like men like us, coz, seriously, we are awesome. I have seen terrible guys from MDI and SPCE, get married to like really pretty girls. Girls who they know deep inside, wouldnt have talked to them back in school. This boosts my confidence - "Iska ho sakta hai, toh apna toh ho hi sakta hai yaar..."

So under this false premise, yours truly set upon the search for a pretty girl. So he ended up dating this cuteness of a girl. She was amazing in every way, which made him question his awesomeness. I mean, how could both him and his girl be awesome, when there was so much difference in awesomeness quotient between the two. So, finally he decided, he will still call himself awesome, while she can be super awesome or uber awesome... something like that.

All these days, it was cool... I could make jokes she could laugh and everything was Mr. Hunky and Mrs. Dory. Then suddenly one day - "Would you like to see me dance?" said the girl.

The me was patting his back. He must have done something good during the day, dont know what, but something. The aforementioned girl, when she walks, she's graceful... If I could see her dance, my God, how beautiful would that be.... But he had to be cool about it... "Yeah.. maybe..."

"Good, so we are going dancing to this pl..." Hold on... Did she say We? Would it be preposterous to think I had been super good all week and I was getting a show here? Something that doesnt involve me at all?

"We?"I asked. "Yes.We." She said.

And that was that. I dont remember what happened next. Everything is a blur. All I remember is driving to this place in the middle of nowhere. There were couples inside, dancing around. Men, holding their women, twirling them at will, and women not minding it. I looked around for courage. I saw a bar at one end of the hall. No beer can give me courage for this.

The girl on the other hand was all smiles fantasising that we could be one of those couples. That gave me courage. If she could be so clueless about how bad I am, and how embarrassed I am going to make all 144 people in that room, why can't I be clueless?

I thought about MDI, Gurgaon, the lineage, the classes, the professors, the friends... None of them idiots had prepared me for this. I thought about S. He must be laughing at me somewhere. Just when I had come to think I was better than him, my own girl, does this to me.

I held her right hand in my left. I put my right hand around her waist. This is the only fun part about dancing. I put my right foot ahead and it pushed against her left.

"You have to start with your left," she whispered.

"My left or yours?" I asked. Only to realise it was a dumb question.

We stood there in the middle of the room, like a missile failed to launch. I was embarrassed, she wasnt. Then I thought, maybe she was here not because she liked dancing so much, but maybe she enjoyed dancing with me. That self indulgent theory gave me much strength. I have to do this. I have to. I started with a 1-2-3, 1-2-3, and stamped my big ugly left foot on her soft, white, small right foot with red nailpaint. I had made her dress in my fav dress, made her put on the nail polish that I wanted, in other words, I had thrown my weight around because I had agreed to dance with her. George Clooney doesnt get to do that, I am sure!

I took the name of the Polish, the jolly folk from Poland who still havent started using the Euro. We started Polka, a dance form from the aforementioned, non Euro users. The Polish might not have won a major war and never mass produced a decent car, but they do know their dance.

The 1-2-3, 1-2-3, worked and then, we were dancing, like they show in the movies. Her grace made up for my lack of it, and we were dancing. I lead her, she trusted me. I wondered if all the men there, dancing with their girls, felt what I felt. Was it pride? Self confidence? Or a heady mix coz of having a woman trust you? The first song ended. The band bowed. But the applause was ours. We danced, for hours, I made mistakes, plenty of them, she laughed them off, and then I did too. It was not about the mistakes, it was about the fun we were having. The crowd slowly faded away. And then it was just us dancing on the floor. The lights dimmed, the music volume went a couple of notches softer. The 1-2-3 in my head was gone. All that was left was she and I dancing on the wooden floor. Her eyes were locked onto mine and I didnt want to leave their gaze, such warmth in her gaze.

That night, we kept dancing. We must be the last couple to leave the floor. As we walked away, we found ladies smiling at us, sighing and reminiscing the lovely days gone by, congratulating her on getting me here and registering my sheepish grin.

I opened the door for her... We walked the long walk to the car... And I thought, Life is much like dancing. It can be done alone, but then, Life and Dancing are more fun, when you have someone with you.