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.

Dudes, dudettes, respected married folk and Iyer,

Once again, it’s that time of the year when the drunken masters and lords of the land get together and make merry. This year though, with wayside commitments from a bulk of the community (and innocent kids getting married), our plans have taken a drifter into older habits (So no Matheran).

Nandanvan (now available on wikimapia.com), is proud to host a New Years party (don’t ask stupid questions like “when is it?” – they will not be entertained). This party promises to bring back the glory days of the late 90’s where new year parties in Nandanvan were a crazy botch. This time round we’re planning a theme event, the title of which will be announced soon (along the lines of something like a Sholay theme, where each of us gets to play a character in the movie and dress and behave in that manner thru’ the party – imagine Iyer playing Thakur with a shawl on his butt and Bird doing a Samba on t-top).

All other party elements – raunchy music, slurpy food, drinks in plastic bags and lighting (dance floor mayhem) are being worked out and we should find ourselves in trouble with the law in 7 days time.

Hope to see you all soon … you know where I live

Tootle for now

Thailee tullee (booze “retailed” in plastic bags) is common practice in rural India (and yes, cities too). A major concoction of breweries mixed to form one potent tipple. One of the known “brands” in the large and scaling thailee tullee market is Poonam (a girl’s name), which is available quite freely in the suburbs of Mumbai (not the girl, pervs).

I’m not too sure if any of us has tried their hands (feet, or maybe some opening, makes more sense) on these thailee blinkers (other than Bird), but trust me you, these drips sure have the power to throw one’s suspenders off.

The core essence is the formulation of a belligerent type of ethanol (ethyl alcohol and not methyl alcohol – which kills or gives a lifetime of free 24/7 loose motions … choose the better of the two options), commonly found in most other spirits (not the scary/funny ones … this one, most of us see and most importantly smell and consume). So alcohol (yes, Johnny, Old Monk, Bacardi, Smirnoff and our other exotic brothers) essentially combines ethanol and fruit fluids (and sometimes industry essence or ‘look and feel’ alikes). This Ethyl alcohol formation is further assisted by our fermenting kings & queens (fungi viz. yeast, but not quite), which makes what we so tetchily consume [somehow da booze doesn't quite seem all that interesting now, don't it?].

Alright now, we have this park called Lallubhai Park (some say Linkin Park branded their band on it, LP said no when I asked them though) close to where we stay, which has this bhatti (recap the famous Mithun dialog “yeh bhatti meri maa hai, aaish”). Ok, so this bhatti recently underwent trauma (no, Iyer and Bangd were not making out here … actually I’m not sure), but the reason was that our pandus (Mumbai Police) came all guns (or lame sticks) blazing at these thailee outlets. The funny part was that the raid was an accident.

Yes, two police constables went there at 11 PM for their bi-weekly dose. Now, the bhatti is designed to hold 6-8 people in an L-shaped drag (bar like). Our two heroes are seated on either side of the L (like lovers holding hands – but let’s not imagine this part). Anyhoo, one of the pandus suddenly catches a glimpse of his Inspector’s bike outside the bhatti. He immediately gets up without telling the other pandu and panics to the extent of stamping up on the immediate next dude. Glasses fall, panic spreads, pandu 2 still clueless thinks he did something wrong and pleads in front of pandu 1 to ask him what he did wrong. Pandu 1 still in deep panic decides to do the best thing that came to his jalopy mind. He pretends that it’s a raid and that he is the raid officer (four glasses already down). He starts smashing everything around him and shouts at the top of his voice. Pandu 2 oblivious to the pretence tries to hold pandu 1 (assessing by now that the ethanol has turned somewhat methanol inside pandu 2). He slaps him, which prompts pandu 1 to bellow the fact that their boss is outside. Pandu 2 evidently unable to make head or tail of what pandu 1 is yelling with the shoddier commotion inside the 5 square feet bhatti. And to add to the hubbub, in comes our Inspector (again for his periodic dose, unaware of his two associate’s hara-kiri as for that matter even their presence in there). Pandu 2 looks up at his boss and the tube strikes him (”ok, so the ethyl is still ethyl”, he thinks). And alongside pandu 1 starts smashing glasses and whatever’s visible within smashing range. The inspector looking at his two poptoos smashing around, comes in a does the same.

Now all three were there for the same reason but ended up doing something totally chaotic. The bhatti owner (and Poonam) lost out big time. They were taken in, beaten up and then released. The inspector too, I suppose lost out, sure he did … he didn’t get a single drop of that nectorous awe, that’s really badddd.

Little did the two hapless pandus know that their boss would also be coming in to chill his gut. I think there’s a lesson to be learnt here (no it’s not the corporate/management thingy, we’re so used to. This one’s just straightforward and simply put).

“When you’re committed to a questionable act and your boss shows up, don’t strike the booze. Booze is innocent man. Do not beat the booze. Write this one hundred times on ruled paper”

Ah now, where’s my Long Island. I wonder how long island would come about in a thailee!! Brillianto … Bird get me a pen n paper … lets have our business plan laid out for this exotic cocktail bhatti. Bird? Wee art thou? Bird? abey bha…

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.