the truckdriver and the cellphone..

“haanji Sirji”…omkar screeched amidst the grating noise of the gearbox "Damn!” he thought “cheapskate Nattoo!” he thought of his pan chewing, Laajo-wooing, potbellied owner of the rattletrap that used to pass for a truck about twenty years ago….the rattletrap which Omkar now drove …. “that whoring Nattoo spends thousands on lottery tickets but hands me a hundred and twenty rupees for the truck’s maintenance “rakh le yaar” he would go as if Omkar could buy the Tata factory with the spare change…


But he had to be polite. Ever since he quit his secure job as a clerk in the garment factory citing ideological differences with his work supervisor, becoming a driver for Jai Mata Di transport brought him more prestige in his native Lakhana than a clerk’s job which paid him twice as much (at least officially). Omkar mused for a bit while he screeched up another gear up Khanki ghat and concluded that the people of Lakhana had an unnatural respect for size. The villagers were fascinated by Gangoo who was rumored to be the tallest boy in the entire district. Speaking of size he thought his neighbour Gomti had the largest, milkiest ….”CLANG!!!” his musings about the lush Gomti were interrupted as he heard the unmistakable noise of a policeman’s lathi clanging on his trucks’ bonnet. He slammed his brakes…slammed in manner of speaking since the truck didn’t do anything even remotely as urgent instead dissipating speed like a vessel of boiling milk simmering down . He managed to calm down the juddering and decidedly nervous steering wheel and clambered down. His heart started hammering strangely and he mused again and realized this probably had to do with the bloody arrack in the back of the truck.


His stomach decided to shrink away from his hammering heart and sink down to his knees, which were setting a calm beat of their own. He remembered the SP had decided to clamp down on arrack ever since Khaderbhai had had decided to stand for elections.


The policeman rushed over with his lathi raised and face set in the kind of mean scowl that policemen are trained to use in the middle of a potentially fatal raid. He stopped and looked over at Omkar and glanced with a curious respect at Omkar’s left hand. Omkar himself sportingly decided to share in the cop’s curiosity and did some glancing himself. He realized the cellphone was still in his hand, and now that he thought of it, he remembered the burning sensation in his left ear from the tongue lashing Natwar had given him. “Malik hain ya driver?” the cop murmured in an almost seductive baritone. “he-enn?” Omkar murmured nervously, not quite matching the cop’s chocolate-rich tone.


“Aap Malik hain ya driver?” the cop repeated. The ‘aap” triggered off a whole chain of chemical reactions in his body, which calmed the knees and sent his tummy back to its original position. His body seemed to enlarge and steel crept into his tone “Tere se mathlab?” He almost convulsed as he heard what he had just said. But the cop reacted, in almost a mirror image of his earlier physical change and he seemed to shrink as he said “Aa—aapki gaadi…” Omkar decided to seize the moment much as his mother always said he was born to do and replied “haan hain tho? Akkal nahin hain tereko…ghaat pe gaadi roktha hain? Patha nahin hum kiske kaam se jaa rahe hain?” Omkar himself had no idea who he was referring to but decided that calling on a invisible higher power was called for. “phone lagaaoon kya?” he waved the cellphone menacingly.


The cop paled, as much as the madhya pradeshi sun allowed him to, “sirji …one look at you knew you were not a driver..! I was just trying to alert you about the dacoits in Khanki..!”

He clambered regally back into the truck and rested his head on the still-trembling wheel. After a minute, he got up, sent up a silent prayer for Natwar and his next seven generations. If it weren’t for Natwar’s suspicious nature, he would have never had the cellphone…he jumped as the phone rang “kaahaan pahuncha hain? Maa ke shaadi pe jaa raha kya?” as the familiar honeydewed tones of Natwar screeched. Life was back to normal.

entrepreneurship in india....

Big board meeting of big company in big bustling metropolis....

BigBossManfromBigcompany (BBMFBC): "We need to look for entrepreneurs in this country…to kickstart our business model..that will earn us untold billions...."

Many hundred miles and a dozen grazing cows away.....

an Ageing woman entrepreneur (AWE) in the hinterlands of S. India hears of big company's intentions and new business, and calls up BBMFBC.

AWE to BBMFBC: "Dear sir, I am an AWE - wanting to invest in your big compani's big bizness. We even have son with MBA working in esteemed but lowly position in your big compani."
BBMFBC: " yes yes…we are looking for budding entrepreneurs like you madam…..well …the investment is like in XXXX zillions of rupess…revenues of YYYY Gazillions of rupees and RoI of a mindboggling 14.28% - almost a FULL percent above what you would get by parking your money safely in the bank."
AWE: "Thank you thank you sir....please do let us know what else we need to do"
BBMFBC: "oh its simple.....please set up a private limited company with XX millions rupees as paidup capital, and email us details with sales tax registration etc. If you have no email, you can even fax! we will duly consider."

AWE to MBA-son: " son - BBMFBC from your compani has given us permission to invest in your big compani big bizness. We are planning to sell off all our cows for this investment and - "

MBAS: "Amma no..don't believe in these big companies - "

AWE: " son - you are educated but not wise. We are taking risk we know but for your future only!"

MBAS: "please don't sell off our cows - they are all you are leaving me in a diddly-squat inheritance!"

AWE: " don't worry son - we can double number of cows if we invest in this business now. Tomorrow, you can be a cow-king!"

MBAS: " Lord shivaaa - "

AWE starts marching to the market every day for best price to sell her cows, and meet investment criteria of BBMFBC.

After a few weeks......

AWE to BBMFBC:"Sir, our shiny cows gauri and kaveri are fetching good rates in the market, we are almost ready with investment- and wanting to invest - -"

BBMFBC: " oh madam, after deep consideration, we have decided that due to family relations with your son working our big company, we are unable to entertain your request for entrepreneurship in our big business.

Many regards".

GAS

We live in a phenomenal age....... an age where Heidi Klum, Kimi Raikkonnen and the Internet exist…… and my thoughts about the other two, readable as they might be, its the internet I want to talk about.

I have to tell you…the internet may have made the world many things…dumber...scarier...…but I have to say one of the profoundest impacts of the internet is that it has made the world an immensely funnier place. My blog and AW’s link about the average size of the female breast notwithstanding (http://www.damninteresting.com/?p=844)…. I am talking about Google Ad sense, specifically.

Well…I read about GAS a few weeks ago…..and in a flash of blinding foresight, I saw many millions of people discovering my blog and making it a part of their interesting lives, and their morning Coffee and Pot routine…I thought it might make sense (using the term loosely) to invest in GAS… obviously with primary goal of using the many millions that would pore in, to alleviate world poverty, and down a few beers while I was at it.

Google, of course, works at the speed of light, and within the blink of an eye (a fairly galaxy sized eye though ….it took 11 days), they had the application up and running on this site.

Those of you who know this site, know that although we strive to conjure up family sized wholesome entertainment content here, requiring almost no parental guidance (except that to type out the URL), it can be a bit sleazy at times….

My last post was fairly run of the mill….and it of course had fashionable references to smoking….and in the midst of reading my countless fan mail….(I have to delete comments every 3 minutes to avoid overloading the site) …..I see this...

Made my day.

Deeds...and Damn Dads...

One is used to dads being fairly benign influences during childhood…. the gentle rap on the knuckle for the occasional window smashed by the wild square cut…or errant facial hair.. and the odd knowing glance when one’s convincing mothers about lack of examinations being a recent educational trend that’s catching on fast….but like I said, mostly benign…or so I thought…until that fateful summer of ’97…

I started…on seeing two cigs on the bookcase, right next to the copy of the Godfather. And it wouldn’t have been cause to start, or even stir gently for that matter, except that I was seventeen, just beginning to enjoy the heady rush of early manhood, and inevitably, nicotine…and I was home from university for the summer break. And there they were…cigs on the bookcase… and no one home.

I pondered about it for a while… quickly filched the smokes and dragged 'em on the terrace. Deed done…mouth disinfected with Listerine..and some really foul chicken gravy (always the criminal mind) …I waited for my folks to come back home from work.

All went reasonably well when they did… they didn’t sniff out any carcinogenic behaviour.. enquired politely about falling grades, a touch more hostility about my increasing allowance needs…but like I said, it went well…

Next morning, a Saturday- I remember, after a fabulous egg and some sweet tea,...I was sprawled on the floor over the cricket pages.....Mom going over the Reader's Digest...“you smoke?” she said without looking up ….I started, with considerably more momentum than the previous morning…”ummm…of course not, mom.. what on earth gave you the idea?”…”Dad was saying last night….there were a couple of cigarettes on the bookca-“

“Oh that!” I carried on….with the air of one who’s seen the better part of the world’s pair of missing cigs being ascribed to innocent folk….”Oh that!....Hunch (a univ mate) was over yesterday afternoon….and he’s started to smoke these days, you know…and he smoked them…utterly disgusting I know…but what's one to do?”…"I see…for a moment there, I-" "Oh c’mon ma…me? smoke?” I uttered…with the perfect balance of righteous indignation..and nonchalance….”some more tea, ma?”

And that was that.

Until the next morning…..like a moment from a parallel universe...me poring over the newspaper and mom again in that matter of fact voice, as if she was carrying on from where she left off....”well.. you know…dad found it interesting….that hunch smoked TWO cigs….well.. you know…when two people are together….felt it was far more likely that he smoked one….and the other…you know…”

I collapsed into my crossword.

Masses..and class

So okay, Simpson, this one’s yours..! I’ll try and write it as well as you tell it…and we’ll both peel off for a beer, and decide who’s one up.

Simpson keeps telling us that we are stubbornly middle classed in our beer-addled minds, and no amount of wealth will ever change it. "We-can-never-be-cool!" he pronounces,...and last Sunday, he comprehensively got me.

Here's how it goes for the Classes…wake up Sunday morning generously hung over….shower, shave by noon…call the blokes for a round of chasers…toddle over to the gizmo shop…for a new set of Blaupunkts for the wheels… kill a few beers while good ol’ Mahmud handles the cabling…toddle back…whip out the Amex…tip a few hundred bucks…and go over the club and hit the pool. All in a day’s work.

And here I was… after having shamelessly codged the ol' wheels off my old folks… I couldn’t have a drink on Saturday night cos’ I was so excited about getting a “system” for the wheels. And that wasn't the worst of it. Not by a long shot.

Woke up at six thirty the next day.... twiddled fingers and banana chips until Simpson woke up.. and proposed the following strategy “Haul me over to young Kumar’s under the bridge and let’s get the cheap speakers you’ve been telling me about. Will buy you beer after.” Simpson, of course, agrees to most things that have beer in it… (I think that’s how he got married in the first place…).

We landed up at Kumar’s at about ten thirty on what turned out to be a nice sunny morning….. waded vigorously into a debate about systems… Kumar generally carrying on about tweeters, woofers and whathaveyous, me shaking my head and simultaneously working out impact on my fragile finances, and Simp just shaking his head. We eventually landed on a JVC ("Japanese, sir!) system with no guarantee (“24% discount sir, and of course, there will be no trouble!”)

Simpson vigorously nodding his support, and off we were. Kumar took to his wiring job with a couple of pliers and great gusto, knocked over half the car, but it very satisfyingly looked like a set piece of seriously demanding engineering in about four minutes. Simp and I trundled over to take in by-two chaias and cigs….talking about kimi’s chances in the 2007 season, poked around in the shop looking at mag alloy wheels, and racing steering wheels, basically stuff I could afford when I hit sixty, was divorced and on the right side of the alimony cheques.

Job done, we played a couple of floyd numbers on it… and we were good. “Do you take a credit card?” “Yes sir yes sir.. Only 2% surcharge sir!” This (the surcharge which worked out to 349 bucks) of course blew my financial projections right out the window. Simpson of course generously agreed to ride with me to the nearest ATM and draw cash. Kumar nodded understandingly but sent young Thippu (who doesn't have a major role to play in the story) anyway to keep an eye on us.

We were at the ATM in about forty minutes of breakneck driving (and I mean that-I broke mine on the speedhump on airport road…..and Simp was on the side of the car which didn’t have a suspension). Sweating a little in our Nike tees but then it was noon, and the car’s AC …ummm….it didn’t have one.

I rushed into the ATM….and realized I didn’t have my card with me. Simpson, thoroughly understanding as ever, wiped the sweat off his dripping brow and smiled at me...through gritted teeth “Now what? Use your credit card?”

I, being the middle classed clod that I am, and horrified of paying a "surcharge", of course waved away such rational courses of action, and traveled at rapid pace over to Chet’s who was nursing a beer over the Sunday crossword. At the end of a conversation which had furious pleading on one end and raucous laughter on the other, Chet lent me his card, and we drove to another ATM, while I rambled on about how we’d get this sorted out in no time. Simpson looked me squarely in the eye, “Do you have the code?” “Of course” I rushed off once again.

Simp decided to cool off with some fruit juice, and I was back just as he had the straw in his parched lips. “Umm…I think I have forgotten the code….” Simpson dropping the juice “Call Che-" “…but I kept trying and I think the card is locked now”.

So there we were...on a hot Sunday afternoon......with a fairly simple task of getting some speakers fitted on the car, beer promised at the end of it.......but simply not the way of the wannabe. One surcharge, one lost debit card, one blocked card with seriously pissed-off card owner, an eventually homicidal Simpson and six sunny hours later ....we hit the bar..........."Bagini Bar- Closed for the Afternoon”

Simpson looks at me…" We just weren’t meant to be cool, were we?”

B.A.D.

Oh hell..this isn't as spicy as, it suggests. In fact, quite the opposite.

I am going to be boring for a change, and "try to make a difference" by posting about the environment, and adding my readership of 2 (yep...has me in there) to this idea of all the bloggers in the world writing about one idea, in this this case -the environment. (http://blogactionday.org/). In case you hadn't figured out, that's what the post title stands for...!)

And this sets me off on a bit of a tangent- what can I actually do for the environment? And after careful thought and deep consideration, I have the answer for the world - Oral Sex without Foreplay.

Oh..I am sure the reasons are blindingly obvious -but I really must elaborate, for the less bright sections of my readership (And I have a vague feeling this includes me).

Why Sex- Well, its non-carcinogenic for one, and going by recent scientific studies, apart from scratching your armpits, (Equally engaging, but one tends to run out of armpits beyond a point) it is one activity that is engaging yet completely non-carcinogenic. It may be harmful in a lot of other ways, but it is definitely non-carcinogenic. It also has the delightful bonus of engaging two (or more if you are Swedish or Haryanvi) in one activity, hence keeping global energy wilfully occupied in lesser space.

Oral - Ah! you had me here. I was going to go for the real deal, but then realized this involved a lot of rubber production and subsequent energy consumption if one was to prevent the said environmentalists engaged in aforementioned activity from encountering various ailments or taxing the global maternity ward capacity.

Non-foreplay: This one's the key here. See-if the foreplay umbrella encompasses all activities from the whole candlelight dinner on the beach deal, moving on to chocolate ice cream for dessert(men of the world, have you been missing this one?), and then again onto various creams and oils, and you know how much global warming manufacturing three million KL of aromatic oils and fragrances involves, we have a no-brainer here.

So here we are then - this is what I believe the world can benefit from. If all goes well, 4.7 billion people around the world are going to turn up at work with aching jaws and funny breath but definitely to a perceptibly cleaner environment.

Green Peace!

Conversations....and Menopause

One of the things that set apart human beings from various other beings on the planet is conversation. Animals more or less have simple sounds and gestures and (apparently) use it to convey simple messages in a "I want food" or "Need sex" kinda way while Humans have developed complex syntax of words, gestures and intonations that can convey deep and profound meaning to each other.

Or So I thought....

Of late, I have begun to realize that the whole conversation deal works fine for the human race...up to a point ..somewhere around menopause...beyond which they lapse into deep and profound communication with themselves....and when people meet...the basic idea is to look for a few gaps in the rival's tirade...so one can continue one's conversation with oneself... loudly and vocally....

Mrs. Killjoy, an old family friend and also matriarch of a fairly screwed up family, over to have a cup of tea with my own fabulous mother....sitting on a porch on a fairly pleasant day...

My Mum "Spew's girlfriend is a very nice girl, you know....very sweet...and her parents...even nicer... Spewdad and I are planning to go over to Dilley on the 17th...."

Nodding from Mrs. K "....17th..yes....Motley (her maniac daughter in law) is also planning to go over to her folks place on the 17th...its been so long, you know ...and ever since she had a baby...."

Cluck clucking from Mum...."Apparently, they have been living in Dilley ever since spewgirl has been a baby.....and they are both so well educated you know.....They are both professors in university....."

Mrs. K still in her stride ".....and hopefully she'll get some time to herself you know...she has been planning to go to university for her post graduation, you know....between one thing and another....she's not really had the time ever since the marriage...."

Mum doing adequately herself "....and the good part is they want the marriage to happen as early as possible.....Mr.Spew Sr. also hopes that we can arrive on a date as soon as possible and start making the necessary arrangements, you know"

and on....and on...and amazingly....even more ...on....and the best part is, they finish their cups of tea, and look fabulously content with the whole exchange....having divested deeply inane content onto each other, They hug and they part.

Tea, anyone?

How are preparations....and more such

As a race, we are susceptible to change, and one of the changes is usually progress. This can be cut a million different ways but I think its safe to say that each generation improves vastly on the previous one, and is completely dumped on the wayside by the next. All this is fine, but there are some topics which bind these generations together with vines of mind numbing inanity, and one of them, to my utter grief, is weddings.

I am getting married in the next few days, and while I am quite looking forward to marriage in all its mundane fullness, it is the damn wedding which is getting my goat to roast over a slow flame.

"how are wedding preparations going?"

A fairly innocuous question, you might say, and innocuous I might agree, if I was haggling with my tailor a few hours before I am supposed to wear the damn thing and turn out in decorous glory to receive splendorously turned out guests, and badly wrapped gifts.

Not, and I repeat, NOT a full ONE HUNDRED days before the wedding. I just failed to see what on earth I supposed to be doing a full three months before the wedding. To me, my wedding prep was dusting off a suit and logging online to book some travel tickets.

and this question doesn't come a few dozen times. It comes in five times a day, day in and day out from every one...old tottering grandfolk, neighbors walking their dog, from the hot girl in tight tee you used to go jogging for, ex girlfriends from whom you were hoping for a "one for old times sake" rout in bed, bosses in the middle of appraisal meetings....it just doesn't stop.

And I still haven't picked up my suit from the tailors.

STBOTB #3...About spewnotes..circa 2007

"Spewnotes, in no way, intends to educate, inform, propagandize or entertain and aims (using the term loosely and thereby implying much less work), at best, to be something approaching a rambling read."

- Spewnotes,
March 7, 2005

Its been almost three years and I still talk utter bollocks.....

the day Eli spewed..

Cheers, Eli.

http://eliamma.blogspot.com/2006/12/so-spew-spewedand-how.html