Showing newest posts with label Page 3 exploits. Show older posts
Showing newest posts with label Page 3 exploits. Show older posts

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Leadership, and such.

His name was Subramani (name changed to protect author from getting punched). He would come to school every morning with a great deal of vibhoothi plastered on his abnormally large forehead. By the end of the day, the vibhoothi would have spread all over his face, making him look like he had just used the compact from hell. We called him Powder Subramani - not very creative but then again, we were only 7 years old and our nicknaming skills weren't exactly the sharpest. I think the best we did back then was Bajji Gomathi. Heh. Gomathi basically had too many molaga bajjis in the canteen and...I digress.

This post is not about Bajji Gomathi's digestion problems.

Powder Subramani loved discipline. He was probably the only person in II C to have always brought books as per the time table. His walk had discipline. His speech may not have had grammar, but it had discipline. Even the way he ate rasam rice had discipline. It was no surprise that the teacher picked him to be class leader.
Subramani rose to the occasion, and how! Nobody could escape his sight, his 4 inch thick viewing apparatus (commonly referred to as soda buddi) made sure everyone in the perimeter was in his line of control. Even Badboy Naveen was quieter. It was almost as if class II 'C' had reformed.

Almost.

It was a Wednesday, I think, or a Thursday. I don't remember. Our science teacher was absent, which meant Powder Subramani would be on vigil for a full forty minutes. The class was mostly quiet, except for Badboy Naveen who was singing the Su-Su song (I don't remember the lyrics but it had a lot of Su-Sus). His name was the first one on the "Bad Names" list, not to mention it had an underline and "100 ticks" which was cleverly added by Subramani to save the trouble of actually putting a 100 ticks.
See, when we were in 2nd standard (or even the 3rd, 4th, 5th, and the first term of 6th standard for that matter), the role of the class leader was well defined. He would be the guy who would write "Names" (The visionary that Powder Subramani was, he even innovated and came up with 2 lists - "Good Names" and "Bad Names") on the board, which was essentially the list of people who were up to no good in the class (or in Subramani's case, the list of people who were breathing a little too loudly) which would be passed on to the teacher who would decide upon a suitable punishment, like extra Moral Science classes.

Where were we?

Yes.
That afternoon.
The Su-Su song.
Bad Names.
Now, in the middle of all this, there I was minding my own business when my pencil rolled off my desk and onto the floor. So I went to retrieve it, and in the process knocked down a couple of books from the adjacent desks as well (I wasn't a big fan of poise. Especially not poise like Subramani).
When I fianlly came back to my desk, below Badboy Naveen's name THERE WAS MINE.

I was appalled. My name was a Bad Name - which was somewhat WTF really, because my name is really nice and I'm sure my Grandfather knew much more than Powder Subramani when he named me.

Heated negotiations ensued.

"Ei, Subramani. Take my name off. I am quiet only"
"Ei, you are making noise"
"No I'm not. Take my name off."
"No! You are not being quiet"
"Stupppid. I am quiet. Take my name off"

I had called the class leader stupppid. You can imagine what an Epic Badass I was, even back then.

"I am not stupppid. You are only stupppid"
"No I'm not"
"Stuppppid stupppid stupppppid" he said, with so much fervour that the first bench was full of his DNA samples.

At that very precise moment, as if by divine intervention, our class teacher walked in.

"Subramaniam!"
"Yes Miss"
"Did you just call this girl stupid?"
"Yes miss...no! no miss"
"I heard you! You tell me ma, did he call you stupid?"
"Yes Miss" I sniffed (for some extra effect)
"There will be no name call in my class"
"But Miss!" protested Subramani. "That girl was not shut-upping!"
"Enough! From tomorrow, she'll be the class leader."

It was too much for poor Powder Subramani to handle. He never spoke to me the entire year, and the next year, and the next year, and well, never. Clearly, he took IInd standard leadership a little too seriously. We had spent nearly 12 years without talking to each other.



Yesterday, Powder Subramani added me on facebook. My life has finally come full circle.

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Friday, October 2, 2009

Octopus

Don't ask me what the title is supposed to mean, I have no clue. Now that we've got that sorted out with, we shall continue with the programme, which is, the month long update of my life that no one really asked for.

I have been busy. Very bery busy. Work killing me would be an understatement, but it wouldn't be true either, cause I'm actually alive. So much for exaggeration. But the past month saw plenty of goof ups, the kind which were so abysmal that they could only be categorized as "long term learning experiences". I only wish I wasn't made to learn so much at such a short span of time.

Speaking of learning, the father decided that the consequence of the Costing/Financial Management fiasco would be me re-attending the class, except I go to a different teacher now, SP.
SP is everything that Pattu Sir wasn't, and probably never will be. He encourages mugging, doesn't believe in extra information/general knowledge and calls concepts 'buck-buck'.
To cut a long story short, he's my new God (He's an all India FIRST ranker, so shush!).

Class (we have 4 hour sessions in the evenings and 2 hour sessions in the mornings) and work took up all my time last month, so much so that I didn't even have the time to for what is definitely one of my favourite festivals, Navrathri. This year, I couldn't visit even one house for Golu. I actually missed the Oh-do-you-sing-hehe-no-I-don't-sing-oh-try-singing-hehe-no-if-I-sing-all-the-golu-dolls-will-run-away-ho-ho-ho-what-a-funny-girl ritual at every house I would frequent. But judging from the number of plastic assortments (mostly useless) that have invaded our kitchen almirah this month, I could say with confidence that it went well.

Upon other inconsequential news, I am on study leave now. Which means I should be studying. But I'm not, and it really makes me so mad. And when I'm mad, I can get pretty violent and who knows, I might end up doing something drastic, like exercise.

Impossible happenings apart, today is Bapu's birthday. Plenty of 8th standard English Essay Competition (500 words) have wondered about the state of India had Bapu-ji managed to stay alive and had a look at India today. All I can say is, we should be thankful that he isn't, cause the situation is such that it would make a man like Gandhi become a fake Armani T-shirt wearing terrorist.

What can I say, except Non-Violence? Its gone, di.

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Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Goodbye Tuesday

I am aware that it's been a while since I updated. There's been quite a bit of pressure from the work front and hence I was compelled to spend most of my time pretending to analyze a bunch of spreadsheets.

The week was quite eventful, I must say. It opened on a rather morbid note, with the date of my results being announced. I had my trademark I'm-done-for face the whole day in the client's place and the accountant, P was visibly concerned. When I explained the reason for my twisted expressions, he was only too happy to explain that he too had written the same exam as I did and spoke about passing the exam in the same manner as one would about passing an LKG addition test. "Vaazhkayila edhuliyume na thothadhilla ma" (I've never failed in my life) he said, in a manner that Rajnikanth would have been proud of. P may be 40 and fat, but you gotta hand it to that guy for his never think twice attitude - whether its to pass an accounting entry or scratch his crotch in public. In all honesty, if that guy clears and I don't, I'm taking a day off to go and throw bricks at the Institute building.

But more than my results, the issue which is seeming to cause tsunami like waves in the household is the whole swine flu scare. My mother seems to have taken full impact of all the ZOMG-swine-flu-we're-all-done-for type stories that have been doing the rounds in television news channels and papers, so much so that she has gone on a disinfecting spree. Amma actually bought one of those jumbo Dettol bottles and sanitized every last pillow cover, as a result of which our house smells like the corridor of Apollo Hospital. I understand the whole better-be-safe-than-sorry deal but I sincerely feel that allowing me to bunk office, err, avoid possible swine flu habitats would be more effective.
Come to think of it, I'm actually happy that my mother didn't prevent me from going to see Kaminey because of the flu. The deal was that we would be seeing it in Ega due to budget constraints among the peer group. Although Ega is renovated (read - no more compass holed seats), 99.99% of the crowd continues to be, Maarvadi. In the Shahid-Priyanka kissing scene, there were multiple hoots and whistles all around for a solid 2 minutes. I mean, I understand that they're a cute couple and all but this was absurd. My friend helpfully explained that almost all of them would sit for a second show just for this one scene. When I inquired as to why, he told me that they were too "excited" to see anything the first time and would actually watch what was happening only the next time. On a completely unrelated note, I thought Kaminey was a very fun movie.

Moving on, the week also saw a sharp increase in my s/km (no of vicious stares/kilometre) measurement. For all those who haven't driven in Chennai before, anyone who drives a car in this city are subject to vicious stares for no apparent reason from guys on bicycles who are convinced that their road presence is second only to the Chief Minister's, and other random people who insist that the middle of the road is the best place to stare at shop windows. While them plebeians may insist that the apparent cause of the increase is my complacency in the acceleration department, I would like to think that people only stare in my direction because I'm cute. But then again, why they would do so venomously is something one must ponder about.

Keeping with the whole theme of traffic, if there's anything that I find more pissing off than the woh-my-baby-be-my-sexy type english lyrics in Tamil songs these days, its these morons at the traffic signal who skip the signal when the orange comes on or get ahead when there's still around 10 seconds of waiting at the Stop sign. As if that it isn't obnoxious enough, these guys also honk incessantly in case your vehicle is blocking theirs.
Not judging here, but I'm pretty sure the guy in the TVS 50 whose path to glory I was blocking wasn't James Bond/a Heart surgeon with an emergency appointment/an international drug smuggler who is being chased by Interpol. Then maybe, his haste was understandable. But here's a man, whose emergency at the max, is meeting his attu girlfriend in Nageshwar Rao park for some lunch time louwings, who was honking as if his life depended on it! I didn't give him way though, which meant that 6 seconds later Mr.KLPD would overtake me and then turn around and shout at me in the same manner the Indian cricket fan would whenever Sreesanth comes to bowl. 3 seconds later he got caught by the Traffic Police for not wearing a helmet. It's at times like these that you're all the more certain that there is a God.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, you are allowed to be jealous of my glamourous lifestyle.

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Sunday, April 26, 2009

Over heard.

"She reads books that has sex in it!"
My mother discusses my tastes in literature with my father, whose answer was "she's old enough".


"...A certain Aussie coach who has some misguided ideas about multiple captains.."
Writes "socialite" Minnie Menon about John Buchanan, the man who coached the Australian side which was once deemed invincible and went on to win 3 world cups in a row.

"I don't like boys. Not only are they stupid, they smell after games* period."
My 13 year old sister. You can't argue against that kind of logic.



"Stalin is coming in this route with his men. Indha pakkam traffic will be stalled for the next 20 minutes"
The neighboring car owner tells us the reason for the hold up near Nungambakkam's Gemini Flyover, probably the city's busiest and most important junctions. We were a family in a car. We could wait. But what if we had been an ambulance?



"Yaarunga sarath babu? Ennoda vote amma-kku dhaanga" [Who's sarath babu? My vote is for Amma]
The autorickshaw driver in my street on asking if he'd vote for sarath babu

"How old are you? 20? Stop thinking like a teen and start thinking like a grown up. Do you even know who votes? Not your demographic, that's for sure. The people who vote are the auto drivers, your neighbours' maids, the guy who wipes the tables.... and they almost always vote for 1) people their family has always voted for, 2) people from their caste, and 3) people who give them money. The best Sarath Babu can do is come 3rd, after ADMK and DMK. He could have done something had he started early, like right after the Youth icon award, but it's too late now and you can't sway people in India in such a short time. And besides, even if he loses, he wins - his business gets more publicity and he gets more popularity to even try standing in the next election. But you voting for him is just taking away one more vote that could have gone to ADMK to defeat DMK. Its important that ADMK wins, because they will ally with the BJP. See, the thing is, when you know that a deal is going to be unfair, you might as well make it unfair in your favour. Don't vote for Sarath because you think it's "the right thing", because in Indian democracy, "the right thing" to do is almost the never the right thing to do."





* games - PT in our school is called "games"

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Thursday, April 23, 2009

In conversation with Lalit Modi

A statistical analysis of Lalit Modi's recent 5 minute impromptu interview with the former beefcake of Indian Cricket, Ravi Shastri.


No of times Lalit Modi said the word TRP in a sentence - 15

No of times Lalit Modi said the word "Merchandise" in a sentence - 13

No of times Lalit Modi said the word "Sponsors" in a sentence - 19

No of times Lalit Modi said "Soldout Tickets" in a sentence : 23

No of times Ravi Shastri said "cheerleaders" in a sentence - 21


And you thought the IPL was about the cricket.

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Thursday, January 15, 2009

An Almost Magical Evening

After much convincing (and some mild threatening/fit-throwing) I had dragged my family to the Chennai Sangamam in Venkatanarayana Road on the 13th. To cut a long story short, it was brilliant, something that one doesn't see too often in the city. It was probably the closest that one back home can get to an authentic Village Thiruvizha. The crowd however, was extremely large and my mother immediately began fretting - Kozhandhellaam kaanampona enna aardhu? Yaaravadhu kidnap pannita? (what if one of the kids get lost? or get kidnapped?) to which my father, like always, had a reply - "Yevan kidnap pannaporan unoda pasangala? Apdiye panninaalum avan rendu naalula bondi aayiduvan. In case tholanju pona..." (who's going to kidnap your brats? Even if someone did, he'd become broke in a couple of days. In case they get lost...")
"Tholanju pona?"I interrupted. "Oru kudumba paatu vechukalaama? Na tholanju pona edathulerndhu paadren, vandhu kandupudipeengalaa? Ilena oru dollar-a renda odachu..." (Get lost? Shall we have a family song? If I get lost, I'll sing it from one end, will you find me? Or shall we split a pendant into two....) 
"I was going to say I'd  call you on your cellphones, but andha kudumbapaatu idea pudichirku. Edhavadhu TR paatu set pannikalaam!"

However, before we could actually decide upon a family tune, the sound of drums beating blasted our ears, the evening had begun. The performances were something none of us had seen anywhere, except maybe in Ramaraj's Karagattakaaran movies. What was amazing was the continuity of the performances, how they followed one another in an extremely smooth flow, we just didn't have any time to look away from all the colour. 
There was this one particular performance of Dappankoothu which was noteworthy. Upon further investigation, turned out these gentlemen were from the very prestigious TASMAC school of dance. However, the performance had to be cut short since one of their key dancers (and singer) had the sudden urge to run towards the nearest dustbin and stick his head in. Which was a pity, because they were extremely entertaining. 
At around 9.30 pm, we had to leave since my sister was really really hungry and when she is really really hungry, she tends to snap at people and talk like a rhino with a stomach disease. Hence we had to cut our little field trip short and head towards a restaurant nearby since the queue at the food stalls looked like it'd take next Pongal for us to get anything to eat.
On our way back, there was a line of Jakkamas (Fortune Tellers, usually old women). I had always always wanted to get my hand read by a Jakkama. Even my sick-rhino-sounding sister was intrigued. The Jakkama took my hand and let a deep sigh, in an attempt to sound mysterious and all-knowing and took my right hand. 
"Unoda raasikku..."she began. "Aayisu getti....padippu, velai elaam nalla varum, pannathukku korachalle illa..." She looked at my face for a minute and continued "Amma appa sella ponnu ma nee....Mangalam on vazhila vardhu.....Ameriga-la settle aava ma..amma appa sandooosama irupaanga" she finished with a special flourish on the sandoooooosam. 
(For your sign, long life...education, work will be good, you have always been spoiled by your parents,  auspices are coming your way, you'll get settled in the US, your mom and dad will be verrrrrry happy) 
My father, who was standing next to me hearing the whole thing with a rather amused look on his face,  quietly handed a 20 Rs note to me to give her, which I dutifully did. 
As we walked back to the restaurant, I was still on my good-prediction high. What disturbed me was that my father still had this cheshire cat grin spread on his face, which was quite undutiful-fatherly since he was supposed to be happy in a non cheshire cat way if his daughter had a good prediction.  
"Nalla vishayam dhaan sonna la? Apdi enna sirippu unakku?" 
(She said nice things right? What's the grin for?) 
"Nee paakala?"
(Didn't you notice?)
"Enna paakala?"
(Notice what?)
"Ava frauddu di. Ponnungalakku left hand dhaan paakanum, ava baatukku thapaana kai-ya paathundu edho olarina, nee vera adha nambitta. Mothathilla 20 Rs donation."    
(She's a fraud. For women, you have to see the left hand. She just said something and you believed it. On the whole 20 bucks donation)
Like I said, an almost magical evening.

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Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Kalyanam Chronicles

How can you not love Indian Weddings? The smoke, the noise, the Mama (Purohit) shouting at everyone and of course, the hapless bride and groom who have no clue about what’s happening to them amidst the sea of people so fervently trying to shake their hand. I personally love weddings, even though every wedding has at least 5 incidences of complete strangers pinching my cheeks and asking me to recognize them, along with a compulsory comment about my growth rate.
Of all my favourite marriage memories is the one that happened 2, or maybe 3 years ago, takes the cake. I was a lass of 17 then, naïve as ever, with the charm and the grace of an elephant in a tutu. It was yet another one of those weddings, full of pomp and smoke, and midway during the Kasi Yatra ceremony, (yes, that is when the groom supposedly walks out of the wedding with a handy umbrella saying he wants to become a single dude for life and the father of the bride rushes out to convince him to marry his daughter) was when I saw him.
He was tall, maybe 5 feet and 10 inches, give or take, not very fair, not very dark, a killer smile, great hair which flopped over his sricharnam-ed forehead and a lean physique.  Bharathiraja movie soundtracks started playing in my head. And I, of course, in a very ladylike fashion, stared at him through out the whole ceremony with my mouth hanging open.   
I am to believe that till date, thankfully, he didn’t notice the creepy girl, because he smiled at me once the ceremony was over. While people around me will say that it was one of those “ok-weird-woman-now-that-i-smiled-you-can-stop-staring” smiles, I’d like to think it was an “I’m-so-charmed” smile. Well, now you know why they call me the eternal optimist.
An hour or so later, after finishing lunch, I saw him, talking quite animatedly with my mother. What luck! I thought to myself. Now I’ll finally know who he is.  Making sure he was out of earshot, I asked my mother in a very casual tone as to who the young man she was talking to so spiritedly was. My mother raised her eyebrows, which was surprising considering I was being so casual. Maybe the fact that my eyes were popping out of their sockets gave me away.
“Avan a?” 
(him?)
“Aama ma, yaaradhu? Na avana munaadi paathadhe illa” 
(Yea, I've never seen him before)
“Avan dhaan X oda peran” (He's X's grandson) Offered my mother very helpfully, unaware of the fact that I may not have a sprinkling of an idea as to who X was.
“Adhu yaaru ma X?” 
(who's X?)
“X di. Y paati is there no, her brother’s grandson.”
“Y paati a?”
“Aiyo, Y paati! Your paati is there no, Y paati is her cousin. You must have seen her in P’s wedding”
My mother, once again was ignorant of the fact that I may not have any living memory of P’s wedding considering I was only 6 then. All I cared about weddings then was whether ice cream would be served at the end of the meal and playing musical chairs with myself. 
“Therila…nyaabagum illa” 
(Dunno...don't remember)
“Ippo unakku ennadi venum?”
(What do you want now?)
“Illa…andha payyan enaku epdi related?”
(no...how's that guy related to me?)
“Very simple di. He’s Y paati’s brother X’s grandson.”
“Sollu ma…” I poked, hoping she’d say something like mora-payyan (In my defense, I had been diagnosed with the deadly disease Magnificus Salivatis, commonly known as Jollaria. Also I was but an inexperienced child of 17)
“Unakku avan Anna”
Anna. Brother.
Have you seen those moments in the cartoons where glass breaks, and everything comes to a screeching halt. It was one of those moments. Brother apparently.  I watched my mother talk to yet another aunty I didn’t recognize. But turned out she knew me and had very fond memories of me pissing on her saree when she came to my house 14 years ago. Just as I was about to give her my well rehearsed fake smile, I noticed a very very good looking boy standing behind her.
“This is my son ma, H. Nyaabagum irukka? You’ve played with him and all.”
As he flashed his dimples, I sincerely wished I remembered.
As the middle aged women continued their conversation, H started talking. I don’t remember what he talked about or what we talked considering I was paying more attention to his dimples. But I remembered only one thing. The show must go on. 

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Thursday, September 4, 2008

Say what?

Preeti tagged me with the Quotes tag. I did something similar to it once but then again, you can never hear too many gems of absurdity...or was it wisdom?



"Naanga idchcha morapeengo, neenga idchcha eshoosh me" - 
(If we bump you, you stare, but if you bump us, 'eshoosh me')
Saadhu Shanmugham ponders upon the many ironies in life.
When my father was a teenager, the only timepass he had was to hang around in the street with an interesting assortment of small time trouble makers and wastrels. This included the Shanmugam in question who was either high on pot/ganja or sleeping. The wisdom (fuelled by marijuana) that he spouted was of course, one of a kind. 


"There is no free lunch in life" -
Pattabhi Ram, my Financial Management teacher
Pattabhi, Pattu for us, his students is a seperate class of teacher. His casual tone, the way he goes "Use your calculator, yaar" are something unique to him. This is one thing that he keeps saying in class - nothing comes without effort. There are a million other proverbs/quotes which conveys the same thing but somehow, this just sounds cooller than the rest.


"When a normal man touches current, he will get a shock. I am Narasimma. If current touches me, current will get shock!" 
Vijaykanth teaches us mortals what our physics teachers didn't.  

"There is no charge for awesomeness...or attractiveness" - Po the Panda. In case you haven't watched Kung Fu Panda yet (the blasphemy!), smack yourself on the head and see it. 


"Somberi Saavugraaki, navuththu ya vandi-ya!" - random auto guy
(Move your damn vehicle you lazy asshole!) 
When i had just started driving, I was still getting used to gear shifts. This one time I had gone way too slow for second gear because the lane was tiny and I was nervous, which resulted in the car making an almighty halt. As I fumbled with the gears and keys, trying to make my car start again, the auto guy behind me decided to teach me some roadsense. I might not be a great driver but that auto fellow was talking as though he was Schumacher and was not used to going any slower than 100 km/hr. I started my car again alright, but extra slow, occupying the middle of the road, making sure he couldn't overtake too. I think that was when I first started enjoying driving in Chennai. 




I tag you. Have fun.   

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Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Week in Pictures

Behold, the SENSEX. Our client office (PNB House, PM Road) was a stone's throw away from the core of Indian Business. The manager was only too happy to take us there and was polite enough to not laugh when we went on a snapping frenzy. It's not everyday when you see the building which is the main cause of premature balding among Indian men today.















The view from our hotel room's balcony - The Brabourne Stadium. My room mate was pretty apprehensive though, more so because the view from our senior's room was fantastic, directly facing Marine Drive. We consoled ourselves saying we would wake up to a place where Tendulkar has hit centuries whereas they had to wake up to mushy couples doing their thing oblvious to the Uncle-jis and Aunty-jis huffing and puffing along Marine Drive.








Marine Drive at Night. We'd come back from office at around 7.45 pm and (actually the staff there would drive us out) get back only at around midnight after dinner. Marine Drive is the best place to waste time. While my colleagues would go on a picture taking spree I'd just sit there and tune out, in an attempt to figure out life, the universe and everything. Ofcourse, knowing me and my course of thoughts, I invariably ended up giggling, which I'm sure would have creeped my colleagues out to no end. But it is definitely the place to be, safe in the late hours and even if you don't figure out the meaning of life or where your life is heading, it temporarily takes you to a world where there is no hassle, no problems and no complications. Although its not permanent, its nice.








Gateway of India. When we went there, it wasn't the most impressive of sights, especially because renovation work was going on. We spent close to an hour here, trying to find a Bhelpuri guy who was apparently featured in the Times of India. Our mission was unsuccessful but we were after Bhel with a vengeance. Finally we spotted one Bhel fellow in Colaba. Even though it wasn't the best, we were strangely happy. Bhel does these things to you.
I loved every single detail in the Taj Mahal hotel. It's something else. Right from the historical background to the Top designer stores inside it today, it screams Bombay!
No trip to Bombay is complete without the pigeons!
My first trip on the infamous trains of Bombay. Figuring out the Mumbai city railway systemwas quite an ordeal but I'm really glad I did take a ride on them. It was great. And I'm really proud of this picture, I was at my inconspicuous best when I took it. Apart from the aunty staring into my phone as I took it and the kid in the queue who kept pointing at me as though I'm some kind of terrorist, nobody noticed!








Leopold's! For all the hype about how it's been around since 1871 and the Shantaram mention, I found the food to be remarkably average. The coke in my coke float was warm. But the grilled sandwich was ok. I managed to go to Leopold's twice. The first time, my cousin V (Yes Adi, V is for V only) took me there for dinner. The pasta was also decent. Service was kind of lousy though. We totally embarrassed ourselves singing along with the music that was playing. Our rendition of "Hero" was particularly sidesplitting, it was actually intended to be cruel and unusual punishment to the cafe for bringing our garlic bread 45 minutes late.











I love the taxis of Bombay. The rickety Fiat cars were our lifeline there. And they use the meter! At this juncture, isn't it the same petrol prices prevailing across the country? Then how is it that it's only in Namma Chennai that meters 'kattupadiagaadhu'? Go figure!
Home & dry. Nothing quite like the smell of Madras garbage to arouse the senses into embracing your hometown now is there?

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Thursday, May 8, 2008

Worked Out

"Your stamina is lower than average madam. Your back strength...average. Your legs are pretty strong. Your flexibility is very very low. On the whole...you're not fit, I'm afraid."
I had spent not less than 25 minutes (of contorting my body into a variety of amusing shapes) with that trainer and I was already feeling like a contestant on American Idol. And this was at 6.15 in the morning, which would explain my incredibly clever comeback.
"Okay I guess.."
"Yes madam, just because you're not fat doesn't mean you're not fit. There's a difference. Here, in our gym, that's what you'll become. Fit, madam. Ours is the best in Chennai."
I knew this was a bad idea. Already this guy was launching his marketing speech on me.
"Ok madam, before I take you for your workout, you'll want to know your target, the weight you want to lose."
"Uh..ok"
"Raise your arm"
I raised, thinking he was going to wind his inch tape around my arm or something in order to calculate the fat in my toe (He'd been doing all these loony calculations throughout the morning). Then this guy takes this plastic instrument, it looked like some hybrid between an engineering student's protractor and a blunt compass.
O-kay.
"Don't move, madam please"
And before I knew what was happening - he pinched my hip . I kid you not.
And I just stood there, caught between massive giggling (I'm ticklish, what did you expect?) and half-madness at the fact that some random trainer guy had just used his apparatus on my hip.
"You'd do well to lose an inch or two madam. Here there only."
"Uh, okay" I was still confused as to whether I should feel offended or not.
"Right then, since you did all those tests, we'll keep your workout light today, 10 minutes on the treadmill. This way please"
I followed him into the swanky gym where he led me on into one of their fancy extra large treadmills.
"10 minutes" he smiled.
As soon as the machine whirred into motion, something else whirred into motion. My head.
"Hi, there"
"Huh? Oh its you. Where are your other friends then?"
"Oh you mean the cynic, the amar chitra katha dude, and the golti-gaaru?"
"Yea"
"Oh those guys were me, actually. I was suffering from multiple personality disorder. So I created a Nasser-psychiatrist personality to cure myself."
"Clever"
"I know right? Anyway, what you doing here?"
"Dad's idea. Apparently sleeping till 9 in the morning is some kind of unholy crime. Fitness schmitness."
"He's right. You're not fit"
"Oh, please not you too"
"Then increase the speed, slow poke. You've been on 4.5 for 30 seconds now."
"That was because I was talking to you, wise ass"
I increase the speed to 6.5.
"Enough?"
"Yeah, ok for now."
"I can't believe I'm taking instructions from a voice"
"I can't believe you let some guy pinch you"
"Lorrd, don't remind me."
"Right then, I'm bored. Let's take a look at your fellow fat losers now shall we?"
"Fat losers?"
"Yeah, people who lose fat. What did you think?"
"What do you think I'd think? Check out those guys lifting weights on my left"
"So gay. Those guys are so gay. Oh man dude on left just patted the other guys' abs. This is hilarious! Now this guy has to reach for his pants and...wait a minute, you don't watch gay porn right?"
"Ew no!"
"Figures, I couldn't predict his next move. Anyway, you're going to get one live show from now. Have fun. Right, lady on treadmill 3."
"Wow, she's sooo thin. Why the hell are people like her coming here if they're so thin already?"
"Fitness madam. Just because you're not fat doesn't mean you're not fit. There's a difference."
"Aiye thu"
"Look at that lady. Pah, she's been running for quite some time now"
"Big deal, so she runs"
"I don't see you giving her competition, Milkha Singh"
That was it, I had enough of this voice. I press the harmless looking '+' sign on the console. 6.7...7.2...7.8...8.5....9.
I run, it feels exhilarating for exactly 2 minutes and 40 seconds.
"Fuck"
"Not that easy huh Milkha Singh? Run, run."
"Oh yeah, I'm running. I'm running"
"Hey, they're playing that song you keep listening to, that Akon song"
"Oh yea, hey ladies drop it down...Belly dancer"
"Yea...hey, hands off the console!"
"But Akon just said so, drop it down! Can't I drop it down?"
"No, run. See, your eve-teaser has come."
"You mean my trainer. Oh great, that guy has to see me running for atleast 5 minutes. He called me a slob in the morning"
"He called you a slob and pinched you? Wow, I envy that guy's job."
"Right, why the fuck isn't he leaving? ask him to go!"
"He's talking with that grandma there. I think he's teaching her to operate the exercycle."
"Shit he's looking this way"
"Shit is right. Stop waving your arms about like some badly trained back up dancer. Run like a professional! Stop acting like one old lady!"
I wheezed.
"Good gracious woman! You're 19! Its the age of unlimited youth and energy. Run!"
"Who told you I was 19? I'm 81, actually.81. 81 year old women don't run, they walk on slow speeds. Can I do that now, please?"
"Don't you dare touch that console, wait till he goes atleast, God woman, have you no dignity?"
"Dignity? To hell with dignity! I want my legs to function properly! I can't run anymore. This is painful!"
Just as I reach for the '-' button, the trainer comes by my side.
"Enna madam? Lowering speed a?" he asked with a smug look.
"Illa...just...increasing..."
My hand was out of my control. I increased the speed to 10.5.
"Good" he said. "Continue, madam"
"Shit, lalu, I'm impressed. You DO have dignity." exclaimed my schizophrenic buddy.
"What I have," my inner voice wheezed, "is pain. Why isn't he going?"
"He's checking on your progress"
"If he doesn't go now, I'm going to give him a progress."
"You're funny"
"I know. Right, ask him to go."
"What's wrong with you? I'm a voice, don't you even have an ounce of logic in you, woman? Now send him a telepathic message. Like Professor X."
"Oh, full of logic, that one. This friggin console is so screwed up! Every second is like 3 seconds."
"Sweetie, that is one second, it's perfectly fine."
"No its not"
"Yes it is. You dont count like you usually do for hide-n-seek. It's onnnne. twooooo. threeeee."
"Shut up!"
"Geez...I'm going to pretend like you didn't say that now. And whats with the speed decrease? You're back at 6.5"
"I wanna be alive by the end of this session, dear god, my muscles are rustier than...than...."
"Than what?"
"I dunno, can't think of anything funny"
"Your muscles are as rusty as your wit, girl"
"Dude! You're funny!"
"I know, I kill myself on a regular basis."
"Like, whatever man. I hate this damn treadmill. I hate fitness. I was happy being a rusty muscled couch potato. Hell I didn't even mind when Appa named that mini-pumpkin that grew in the Garden as Lalu. I hate this, I hate this. I hate...homina homina"
"Who's homina?"
"No no, cute guy on treadmill 4. Wow, he has an iPhone! I have an iPhone too! Awesome!"
"Wow, he has elbows! I have elbows too! Awesome!"
Wait a minute, you have elbows?!"
"Thats not the point! Alayudhu paaru alpam....You've caused enough damage to your own sanity with all your lousy boy problems. Don't you ever get tired of drooling at random good-looking guys?"
"Is that a trick question?"
"Ei, idiot"
"What idiot? I have had enough today! Frickin dad wakes me up in the middle of the night and asks me to go to this place, and I come and some GUY pinches me and then I have to find out the hard way that my most of my major muscles are half dead and then ..."
"IDIOT, stop"
"I'M HAVING A HARD MORNING! WHATS YOUR DAMN PROBLEM?"
"The treadmill you're so furiously stomping, yeah?"
"What about it?"
"It stopped 30 seconds ago."

My muscles are less rusty now. Nothing else is worth mentioning.

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Now playing: Barry Louis Polisar - All I Want Is You
via FoxyTunes

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Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Need for Speed

After 10 months of procrastination, I finally signed up for Driving classes. I had registered for the "special" class. There was nothing even remotely "special" about this, only the fact that I had to drive one otta (useless) santro car instead of the usual otta maruti 800. My instructor was a sotta (bald) middle aged guy. He beckoned me to sit in the front passenger seat and started questioning me
"Sooo What are you doing ah?"
"CA sir"
"Oh oh oh. Ok."
"Ok"
"Now you want to drive ah?"
No, I came here to learn how to make sambar.
I nod my head anyway.
"Yes sir"
"Ok ah. In KG classes, you lerrn. Yae faar Aapil, Bhi faar Baal, See faar Cayt. That is KG ah. Driving-gu, you lerrn, Yae faar Akkselaraturr, Bhi faar Brake, See faar Kletch. Understanding ah?"
I nod my head vigourously.
"Understanding means repeat-tu"
"A for accelerator, B for Brake, C for Clutch" I repeat, feeling more like an idiot with every syllable.
"Layft feet on kletch. You put kletch and then put gear. And you release kletch ah. 2.5 inches. Called-du biting point ah. That time you STAMP accelerator ah. Understands?"
STAMP accelerator. Got it.
"Woh-kay! Now you are ready ah. Come this side."
I get out of the car and get into the drivers seat and take the steering wheel into my hands. I feel a strange sense of power.
I turn the key and in my excitement turn it a bit too long, making the engine go Vroooooooom.
Instructor mama gets tension.
"Enna ma, want to driving race ah? Sumal turn, SUMAL!"
The santro was so otta that I had to summon quite a bit of energy into pushing it in, and to add to my stamping woes my instructor was hollering 'Push! push! push-ah! Full!' that would have put a gynaec to shame. After finally pushing the clutch and changing the gear, I conveniently forgot the next step so the car groaned forward for 2 feet and stopped.
"Akselarator ma, you forgot ah? Trying again?"
I follow his instructions properly this time and manage to get the car running. The car moving gave me such a high that I forgot to take my foot off the accelarator.
"AIYIYO! Speed ma! Speed no! Speed slow! Not so fast on first giyar ah. Brake brake."
I snap myself out of my NFS dreams and get back to learning to gear shifts.

I drove 4 kms for my first class. By the end of it, the instructor mama had a few hairs in his sottai head astray. But I thought I did it pretty well, the turning bits especially ("Aiyiyo! Left-tu! Turn turn! Aiyiyo! Vegetable man! Horn ok, horn! horn!") .
"Ok ma. You are fast ah. Come tomorrow, same time ah. Okay tata bye bye. Go walking slow ah."
"OK sir, bye bye" I say all enthusiastic.

As I walk away, I can hear him mumble something about retirement.
I have a feeling that I will get my license very, very soon.


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Now playing: MIMS - This Is Why Im Hot (2oo6)
via FoxyTunes

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