Statue of Puberty

Our kids (in particular, the Ghoshs, the Iyers, the Kunders, Mehtas, Manniges, Palanys, Yederys, Raos, Joshis, Nadkarnis, Mathurs, Tanks) would one day exhibit a part of our genome (time to go woohoo) when their nursery rhymes go like …

Iyer’s kid
twinkle twinkle little star
how i wonder how you are
up above the world so high
appa amma in the sky
yeh jo chaand hai na ….

Alap’s kid
johnny johnny
yes papa
eating sugar
no papa
telling lies
no papa
open your mouth
go F#*$ yourself

Baangd’s kid
mary had a little lamb
little lamb, little lamb
mary had a little lamb
to kya mein naachu?
daaad, i want busta rhymes

Mannu’s kid
Baa, baa black sheep
Have you any food
Yes sir, yes sir
Three bags full
Sahi hai Sahi hai
Ma, i’m hungry, gimme thepla and undhio

Andy’s kid
Row, row, row your boat
Gently Down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.
I will still not tell Krupal’s kid
ki woh roti kyu khaata hai

Abhi’s kid
London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down.
London Bridge is falling down,
Lamba story hai, baadmein batayega

Paro’s kid
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
I willin’t tell you what happened afterwards

Bird’s kid
This old man, he played one;
He played knick-knack on my thumb.
With a knick-knack, paddy whack,
This old man, hey he’s my own dad.

Apoo’s kid
A B C D E F G
H I J K Let me go pee
Old MacDonald had a farm, E I E I O,
Now I know my ABCs

Pully’s kid
Ring-a-ring o’roses
A pocket full of posies,
Atishoo! Atishoo!
We all fall down.
This is not helping me Pa
Can i please study for my SATs

Harshal’s kid
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
AMD struck one
Intel struck nine
Hickory, dickory, dock
I want to clock my block

Alpu’s kid
Spiderman, Spiderman
Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman
(Interrupted by Dad)
“That’s not a Nursery Rhyme”
I know dad, I was teasing

Pals’ kid
Humpty Dumpty
Sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty
Had a great fall
Waaaaaaah Waaaaaah
MuuuhMeeeeee

Krupal’s kid
I’m a little teapot
Short and stout
Here is my handle
Here is my spout
When I get all steamed up
Hear me shout
I sound like my daddy
and bloj in my shorts

This post attempts to illustrate the choices made by us and their inherited follies. With that knowledge in order, it may also hurt sentiments of all those mentioned above and also turn nasty with riot bombs being hurled towards me by respective spouses. Worry not, coz I promise to bring their genome pools into a fresh batch of Nursery Rhymes as well. I sure can wait till everyone above ties the knot.

Also a third version will be created, which will have a mix-match of the husband-wife combined gene pool and direct attempts to assassinate their characters is quite obviously imminent.

Disclaimer: If any of the above families feel the need to dispute on the Rhyme selected and it’s inherited style, they may do so by actually procreating (usually takes nine months and a couple of years at least for the first few words to pop out) thereby proving that their respective kid sings the rhyme differently. All qualms of suing me will be taken in light spirit with mixing agents like cola or soda to be consumed at Alap’s place.

I would also like to invite you all to post alternatives to the above Rhymes in the comments section below, in true spirit, exhibiting all possible characteristics of the aforementioned (including me) with no qualms on holding back on assassination attempts.

Baangd: kaisa hai
me: full fit

Baangd: had booze last nite
now listening to rock songs and radin the guru’s advice
reading*

me: abey
i was with u boozing last nite at Alap’s
waste

Baangd: i know, i was just saying so

0130 hours
April 15, 2006
Chakala, Andheri (E)

The night was brighter than usual. The moon played its share of governing the streets, waxing ahead into time. The breeze was never there like always, with the still air subtly breathing down warmth and heavy drums of moisture. Mannu and I got off the rick next to the Petrol Pump. I met him and Baangd at OnToes, Juhu a little earlier where I also came across two of Baangda’s weirdo stoned dudes (ettes?), who apparently heard about Iyer’s grinds with Security guards (No, this breed don’t ask for Blog/MSN accounts. They’re more the ’striking that dreary conversation with the sleepy souls’ breed).

Back to ground reality (or Chakala), we notice this crowd gathered around our famous Navik, LP chain. Part of the junta seemed stoned and were ambling towards transport, while a few others seemed to not know if they already stamped into one of the bars or survived the hair of a pompous blimp (they just goddamn stood there). We stretched out to seek why there was this confusion and found our Pandus (Mumbai Police) banked outside Navik, trying to woo the crowds out of the bars.

Navik, LP and the chain that exists, have been known to stay open 24/7. I recollect this incident which had me and Mannu come out of Navik at 09:30 AM one day after hitching in at 2 AM. The ‘we did this for the first time ever’ part included in this act was coming out of a bar with the sun beating down on you (and also, sleeping for 18 hours thereafter – everybody home thought I died – response to stimuli of any kind was next to nothing).

Yes, coming back to the night at Chakala … we saw Navik, LP and all it’s brother’s and sisters shuttering down (with people still inside) just so the cops get bored and go home. But the cops apparently had other ideas. We stood on the other side of the road with traffic beaming around us alongside a few dozen men, waiting for the cops to clear the shine. But it never came to be!! The pandus stood their ground like brave honest men (or maybe they ordered to-gos).

Waiting for Tullee’s never a good idea and so we hitched upon the idea of making a back door entry. We recollected one of the nites when we were escorted out of Navik (again pandu attack from the front and shutters down) from the back doors. We niftily made our way to the back road (pitch dark – not that it made a difference to me) to the exact same place where we came off that fine night and voila!! found the back door throwing light at us. We scampered in, made our way through the kitchen (still not sure which of the lined restaurants we were going to) and into the main passage area. And there we lay. We had made it in. Something told us the night was yet to begin (not figuratively).

We went upstairs en route to our favorite sitting area and were flabbed to see a pleth of lukka public standing in the aisle area waiting to be seated. Both, Mannu and me sighed Fugggg mann!! in unison. We desperately tried to scope our way to a seat and luckily (God wanted us to have good booze quick, one would think) found a couple (two gudwa gujarati’s) holding hands and sitting on the same side of a parallel four seater table. We didnt think it to be fair to pass judgement on masculinity or gender then (we were starved for drip) and so we considered sitting there. Sharing tables is common practice in Indian bars BTW and so we politely asked them if they could sit face to face, so that Mannu and me also don’t look like two Gudwa’s (Konkani and Manglorean) holdiing hands. But the love between them seemed somewhat insatiable and they refused to budge. We complied (for lack of experience in dealing with the Gujju kind under influence and in love with the same gender, with that same gender seated adjacent, bah!). Now both these guds were wearing red t’s and their faces seemed like someone’s dog gave birth to them (face only). They spoke very little but somehow we did feel the action was happening somewhere else.

So we were sitting in front of the two GGs sipping onto the spirits that called us in, when outta the blue Bobby Darling’s colonial cousin (BDCC) decides to step in. That prompted both Mannu and me to scamper for the menu and check the name of the Bar. Where the hell were we? But hell no … it was the very same Navik we raised our spirits to I would think for a better part of our teens. What in the world is happening here man? Where have all the straight boys gone? These thoughts were running down our cells when BDCC decides to come towards our two GGs (who I’m sure wanted to lap dance in turns) and asks them if they were done. Mannu and Me blast out of turn to say “We’re just getting started …” but the two items (GGs) flash their credit cards indicating 1) that we’re further doomed, 2) that BDCC has two hunks to comply with for the night, and also 3) that the GGs ought to seek a room (finally!!).

As we sat there disgruntled, God throws in a quarter of hope. BDCC’s boyfriend (or something) calls in and asks him/her to come down just as we see the GG’s bill being paid. A glimer of hope? Yes indeed!! BDCC goes down, GGs follow suit, Mannu pushes me to quickly grab the end of the table and make it our own … Voilaaa we have it all for us now!!!

We sat there … kept shooing a few standies (told em we were expecting more dudes at our table and could not lend em out .. IOW .. buz off) and drank to someone’s glory .. told each other tales from the wise man’s oak tree (the barn below the tree) and made vague funny conversation. Just as we were assuming our presence in our seats (shifting asses for support), two hefty goonies made way to our seats, sat down and tried to be polite with “I hope you don’t mind”. We did but darn it, we decided to play good samaritans and have the weary travellers sip their methods.

To describe them, the guy next to Mannu had a deep and hoarse voice (you could almost hear his lower intestines vibrate) and looked like a management guru in the Bhai world; the guy next to me, mannu says, looked like Prabhu Deva. Hell yea, and these men were the kinds who would slip out the odd Browning 9 mm and shoot someone’s head off this planet.

They were quiet most of the time, PD was pretty much into his drink while MGB was into our conversation (which neither me nor Mannu remember). After a few more rounds of drinks, we came across the most stunning of scenes to ever pass our numb skilled minds on a drowny evening. MGB and PD after a brief murmur start pointing at the waiters moving around as if to target them for a crowning glory. They then pull out a restless face and look at us. We smile thinking that the pleasing personas that Mannu and Me exhibited more than matched/countered the dark side that lay in front of us.

MGB suddenly started raising that shrill voice outta his gut. The conversation went like …

MGB: B****od apna chakna kidar mara rah hai? (where the f*** is our snack?)
PD: hmm
MGB: (looking at PD) M***od, tere G**d mein dum hai tho tod ke dikha
PD: kya bhai?
MGB: Saale dum hai kya … aata hai saala! (do you have the balls to do this?)
PD: …
MGB: abey dum hai tho fek neeche plate ko, tod de plate B***od {bloody hell, show what you’ve got, throw and break that plate}
PD: …
Mannu and Me: (looking at whiskey glass and each other)

Repeat above instance about 10-15 times ….

PD: (finally picks the plate and throws it on the floor)

(The plate bounces and falls face down)
(PD and MGB look at each other while mannu and me do the same…)

MGB: B****od glass fek (throw the damn glass, f*****)
PD: (Picks the empty glass and throws it down)
(crash bam)
(broken glass pieces all over)
(moment of silence)
..
..
(waiters scamper to the accident scene and clean the floor)
MGB: abey c*****, apney aap ko hero samajta hai kya (f*****, u think you’re some kind of a champ)
PD: ??
MGB: yeh sab c*******, apun bachpan mein kiya malum (we used to do these crazy acts when we were kids, f****)
PD: ???
MGB: Andrew ko phone karu, b******* … saala aata hai (you wasted gut, should I call Andrew?)
PD: nahi bhai, Andrew ko phone nahi karo bhai (no brother, don’t call Andrew)

This conversation went on (second loop) for about 30 minutes with the management guru bhai shouting at the top of his voice and scolding prabhu deva, while mannu and me sipped on in confused terror. All this while Mannu was on the lookout for Prabhu Deva to snap out of his gut and pour a brawn of bullets down MGB’s numb skulled blab output area. But we called in for our bill and left the action for the rest of the gang to fulfill.

Incidentally as we left, MGB came forward with the most unexpected of apologies as if to say he was out of his emotional mambo out there and wishes forgiveness from the fine men that heard his story out.

… me thinks they wanted the table for themselves …

PS: The latest on Navik, LP tells us that it is being brought down with the Mumbai Road Widening Initiatives going into gear. There goes one more memorious adda. But hell wait … was there a basement entry door?

Apoo (low voice)

I almost gave up hope. There were so many times I questioned myself. I’ve made so many sacrifices but it’s all been worth it.

(beat)

There are millions and millions of mediocre people in the world Abhi. Isn’t it great that we aren’t one of them?
Abhi looks like he stopped breathing as he backs up in the store. Customers step between him and Apoo. Apoo becomes obscured and then blocked from view.

Out on the Street

Abhi emerges from the store slowly. He braces himself against a parked car and then keeps on walking in a nightmarish daze.
Camera pulls back as he blends in with dozens and dozens of ordinary people, walking on an ordinary street, in an ordinary city.

Fade to black ………………………

Night M. Shyamalan made the stunning movie Sixth Sense and followed it up with another stunner (not many felt so though), Unbreakable. Unbreakable made its mark with a remarkable script. A script which was incredibly linear yet had unrivaled depth.

Unbreakable was about opposites. It was about the strongest and the weakest, black and white, yin and yang. The story brought out the simple fact about nature; the fact that it deals with opposites in just the same way as we inexplicably do so whilst comparing individuals, objects, art, work, skill and sometimes immeasurable entities. Yea, don’t deny it, we compare everything. Shyamalan took that simple fact and extended it to a unified basis (put them on either side of a two point scale balance) that everything exists in duality. Built a story around it. Put a weak man (a very weak man) and a strong man (a very strong man) and made a Miranda on a superhero/rapscallion.

Coming to the point of why this story comes on my blog years after the movie came out is the real question, isn’t it?

Well yea, the characters in the script-skit on top had Apoo playing Samuel L. Jackson’s character Elijah and me playing Bruce Willis’ character David Dunne. Although there’s no real way to measure opposites, some think we come pretty close to Elijah and David.

Scene: Paro, Alap and Abhi are sitting in the car parked next to the pavement opposite Sony Mony, Irla. Paro’s in the driving seat, Alap at the back and Abhi in the front next to Paro. Alap and Paro are lighting their cigarettes. Abhi’s window is up (closed).

Two brown English Cockers are walking by with their master on the pavement towards the car. One of the two dogs spots Abhi through the front windshield. The long droopy ears go up and the tail begins to wag. The dog starts to drag the master toward the car. It comes close the door and starts pawing at the door. Abhi pulls down the window. Dog’s still pawing. Abhi opens the door. Dog struggles to climb up (note: this breed has a low torso, like a Daschund), but tries all its might and comes and rests its long chin and two fore legs on Abhi’s lap. Dog then looks up at him with tilted face. Alap, Paro and Abhi all go gurly with “awee”. Alap cries out to Paro, “quick, take a snap”, but dog master pulls doggie away.

This incident’s just one of the very many incidents with dogs that I have come across in my life. They just go gaga over me for some reason. Every time I come home late from office (or from drink sessions or usually both), I get escorted by the street ruffian doggies, who otherwise thwart anybody and everybody under the sun (especially so if you’re a bhaiya and you drive a rickshaw). They jog and dance alongside me and accompany me all the way to our building main gate from the society entrance (sometimes right up to our wing entrance), and then just walk back to run after hapless bhaiyas. There have been instances with ferocious bloodthirsty canines rippling up around me and sobering down their teeth and claws to sit meekly by my feet. My visit to the US also had firang doggies skip a breath when they’d sniff/spot me. They’d run up to me and start drooling over visible skin portions. It’s just incredibly amazing to experience something in this super affection scale.

I won’t go into stories that describe Apoo’s misfalls on the other side of this scale balance, (we all know about them already). Is it fair to say that Apoo and me fall in this amassing scale of opposites?

If yes then Apoo, here’s a note for you. You don’t have to search for the opposite side of You and in the very process, destroy a lot of innocent beagles by fending them off to the hungriest of canines. Don’t do that, you know where I stay (bang opposite your door man).

PS: I also need your comic book collection (or wait, did I dhaap them already?)

Very few posts on blogs actually go to the extent of describing your dear buddies. This unfortunately is one such post. I hate to admit it, but Baangd (OR “The Baangd”) often marks himself as the star-crossed court jester who knowingly goes to all extents of humane sacrifices to submit himself to the appeasement of his fellow beings (i.e. we, the underminers)

The Baangd, Vital Stats:
Height: 5′6” (approx … we think)
Weight: unmeasureable
Shape: Generally round (all over)
Distinctive appeal: looks like a Stuffed teddy/toy, sometimes sports a rose over his left ear

After the rains, we came across this hidious conversation on gmail … a mail titled “Alive……………………………..i had to do this………OTS”, after which you will find a factual fiction(al) tale of a typical nite at CT (Coastal Treat), so here goes …

Baangd: Inspite of many buffoloes dying in the floods, I managed to excape and live my life.
Paro: sud we consider this as ur good look or our bad luck?
Baangd: good look?
(long pause … 2 days … no net)
Alap: wat a fundoo conversation
(short pause … 1 day … lazy oafs)
Baangd: people, inputs pls
Iyer: i think rains have washed off the original text from the mails of both baangdu and paras…
the original mail still lies in the safe vaults of their sent items
Abhi: Are we meeting @ CT tonite?
Bird: Yes
Iyer: tumlog kyu karte ho yaar aisa (IOW, wimps & cries) mujhe kal belapur jaana hai
Paro: I won’t eat, it’s Saturday
Baangd: I like aunties …… OTS
Alap: wat a fundoo conversation
Abhi: Define “fundoo”
Iyer: (wimps & cries)
Bird: I hate my boss
Paro: Lets go for a drive
Alap: I have to go do tatti
Bird: Prawns pepper garlic kidar hai?
Alap: I’m alergic to prawns
Iyer: (Imitates Sanjeev Kumar) Yeh jo chaand hai na …. …. …. woh din mein …
Alap: hahaaa
Abhi: hahaaa
Paro: teheehe
Bird: (smirk)
Baangd: (burps) ….. tehehee OTS

(Mannu & Andy enter)

Mannu: Bhaiyalog .. kaisa hai … (hugs all around)
Mannu: Ahhh food!!!
Andy: Chal, lets go to boat club
Iyer: kya yaar tumlog kyu karte ho aisa (wimps)
Alap: Mujhe tatti aa rah hai
Bird: These prawns are stale
Baangd: I like chemical brothers … teheeh OTS
Fat Uncle on the side (pointing at abhi and/or bird): I know you
Bird: I hate my boss
Abhi: (to waiter … hand signalling a repeat)
Iyer: I want port wine
Andy: Aee humlog Goa jaate hai yaar
Baangd: teheehe OTS
Iyer: (wimps & cries)
Alap: be back after tatti
Mannu: (to waiter) … do plate tangdi kabab
Fat Uncle on the side: I hate my boss too (… and Bird and uncle hit off)
Paro: Lets go for a drive
Andy: Aee humlog Singapore jaate hai yaar
Baangd: I was fooled to buy unbranded orange sanitary napkins in a plastic bag for 200 bucks … OTS
Paro: Arey tuney woh Ad dekha … kya fundoo tha woh
Bird: (why don’t I have a screen guard for my PDA yet?)
Alap: (after tatti … to waiter) do plate bombil fry
Iyer: Ae mein ghar jaa rah hoon yaar
Alap: chup bait biatch … sit ..
Abhi: (slaps iyer)
Mannu: Ae NT Rama Rao
Iyer: abey Nishiganda Waad
Mannu: Ae Prabhu Deva
Iyer abey Suresh Wadkar
Krupal: Aee Maaunt Everaist (naah … krupal wasn’t there … but i had to put this man …)
Baangd: OTS
Alap: (to waiter) … do aur bombil fry aur ek chicken manchow soup, one by two
Baangd: I’m not having soup
Alap: Biatch, the quantity is more when we order one-by-two
Baangd: Oh oki … OTS .. tehehee … sorry (burp)
Mannu: Chal beach jaate hai
Abhi: Chal
Iyer: Tumlog kyu karte ho yaar aisa (wimps)
Alap: Lemme finish this man
Andy: Chal Ontoes jaate hai
Baangd: (burp) .. OTS
Paro: Mein ghar jaa rah hoon
Bird: (on phone) Aayi Mee yeto, Khalits Aai, Abhijeet Barobar
Bird: (on phone) Khalits hai Aayi
Baangd: tehehee
Abhi: Ae bird chal re beach jaate hai
Bird: Nahi re late ho gaya
Iyer: Mujhe bhi ..
Alap: Shut up biatch
Baand: tehehee
Alap: oki i need to go do tatti
Abhi: (to waiter) Bill
Baangd: (burp) … OTS

Glossary of terms used:
CT: Coastal Treat (our hub)
OTS: One toight slap
(burp): burp
biatch: bitch
tatti: shit
krupal: guest appearance (no other description available)

“Have a good one sir”, said Taylor, the pretty security lady at the airport. The good lady directed me to the second of the baggage claim areas for Northwest, which for some crazy reason was next to neverland, behind three other airlines baggage retrieval areas. Call this bad positioning or call this a sadist attempt at being creative in life or simply call it c’giri. The claim area arrangement was like this,

Gate 1 – Northwest Airlines – Flight 467
Gate 2 – Delta Air – Flight blaah1
Gate 2b – Delta Air – Flight blaah1
Gate 3 – British Air – Flight blaah2
Gate 4 – Blaah Airways – Flight blaah3
Gate 5 – Northwest Airlines – Flight 467

What the f$#$ man!!! After 18 hours of fly-time and 6000+miles added to my frequent flyer program, this!!

Oh but we did have some good enjoyable traps with Jack Daniels and Dewar’s White Label pouring thru the flight. It’s funny though how the drinks flow in the aircraft (OR rather how you’re treated when you casually ask for one more peg AND more so when you ask the same steward(ess)). If you’re in normal economy you will be given the cold stare followed by the nod which presumably says Yes (without the Sire). The economy class for a frequent flyer is much better though. This fact, the huge drunkard dude sitting next to me realized in the first 2 hours of flight (… I didn’t get the stares of course … I was a FF … well, except maybe from the odd desi chicks who it seems were looking at a six-footer Indian male in a plane for the first time … I checked my fly … all fine … no kiddin … they were just very freakin amused … no funny stuff hanging out anywhere … I’m generally good in planes and closed claustrophobic areas … hmm, I can market meself to with these thoughts).

Of course, I couldn’t help but stare at a beau meself. She looked like a cross between Jodie Foster and Cameroon Diaz with Jodie’s eyes and Camy’s jaw-line. Fortunately the rest of her attributes were tribute to her ma n (biological) pa, one would think. But anyways, most of us thought she was better looking than the two actresses combined. Now all the ladies in the house would want to know how we collectively came to this conclusion, righto? Well, we have our ways … it generally ranges from subtle movements in facial expressions to very callous but joyful forms of male expressiveness.

Some guys would go … “whoaaaaaaaaa meaaaaaan … whaadaa chik man”

While some others would pull a meekly “hey man … check her out”, Apoo n Me prefer to be dicreet in matters like this and generally don’t raise eyebrows and related body parts. Iyer, starts putting his best Sanjeev Kumar face and prepares to burn fuel (after he’s finished checking the guys out first). Bird would call for another peg. Alap, in the mean time will be coming back to us with the pretty’s number, mother’s maiden name, msn id etc. Fortunately/Unfortunately for her, on this flight it was only me and a few other dudes who would fall in apoo n bird categories. So the only shots that came about were multiple shots of liquor calls and the subtle stares of course.

Ko … so that was some good hours spent on the airplane going thru MUM-AMS-DET

And then came Detroit Airport, where sweetie pie Taylor helped my blind ass get my baggage. Hugs and blessings to you Taylor.

Before I even reached the baggage area though, I had to go through the immigration checks which happens to everybody who’s not a US citizen. Apparently, the rest of the world and by that I mean Asians alone and within that the brownies only are conveniently assumed to be terrorists, unless of course you prove otherwise. And so began my scrutiny. They took both index finger prints (left and right of course … how many more do you think I have) and also took a retinal imprint.

Now folks at the counter, I’m not gonna change my hands the next I come to this land. Yea yea, I know the retinal scans stand more for future arrangements, of times when you enter doors on the basis of ur retinal prints … blah blaahhghoo …

yea dudes … but common knowledge says this about me (in case you haven’t heard … it’s even come out in newspapers some say). I’m pitch black blind and I may choose to go for a brand new pair of eyes next week man … what do you do when I come again to this land and you find out that my finger print crosses against some Scottish drunkard. Would I be penalized? Or asked to go back home or stand in the corner on one leg? Or be asked to replace my old eye and enter? Or show proof that I didn’t kill the Scottish?

Yes I’m going too far with this I know (and I was kiddin bout me eyes too … god forbid that should never happen to me man). Also, for this to come from a techno freak is even bad. But I just wanted to pull one on the officer who interviewed me. This was the funniest conversation I had with a presumed non-techie.

Ok now, I’m primarily a functional lead analyst with my company in Mumbai and my purpose of visit stands purely for meetings n discussions over an enterprise wide application. We have to transition a process running here in the US, down to India . In simpler words … “I’m getting a process down to India ”

And I wanted to make it as simple as possible, but as luck would have it, it ended up being a fun filled tech babble yap … wait … not from me … but from Mr. IthinkIKnowItAll (or IthinkICanSpellDanger) Officer.

I’ll post the exact conversation (in classic conversation mode in the next post … this one’s getting a bit too long anyways)

But after the conversation or interview or scrutiny or whatever the crap that was, I came out (despite the fact that I got my i94 signed) a loser (think I lost weight too) and Mr. IthinkIKnowItAll Officer came out impressed with his assumed astute knowledge of technology. Also, he was so damn impressed by the work I do back home … mann he went nuts. He showed me out of the immigration area like I was some VIP … all the way out. I figured he was gay or just simply impressed by his own misinformation on himself.

What was good enough to cheer me up after this entire fiasco though was that I was not a terrorist. Only for a brief moment though, after which I reached the confused baggage claim area and all the blah happened there. The rest of the journey went well till I reached gate A21 (after 25 minutes of walking across the airport) for my final flight to Charlotte . Luck had good things in store for me there too … a part of it was being stuck in the aircraft (yes inside the grounded aircraft) for 5 hours and the plane was not even being hijacked or something … no fun man.

I may choose to write about this 5 hour fiasco too in another post as it seems I’ve run out of ink and wo.d. ma. st.. .lo.i.g h..cef…h

All in all, it was an eventful journey, with sweet Taylor , Unnamed hot Blondie, Fat Drunkard, Mr. IWillThinkOfNewSadNamesForYouEverytimeIRemeberThisIncident Officer, my Retina and my Angoota Chaap on electronic machines and of course yes The Smooth Scotch.

More gifts for the person who gets the dots in “wo.d. ma. st.. .lo.i.g h..cef…h” filled.