Oh Calcutta! - Part 1.

Click to read the series on Facebook: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3.
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"City of joy." - Dominique Lapierre

"Bollocks." - Oscar Wilde

They say Calcutta grows on you. It's an acquired taste.

To start with, you might hold a hankerchief over your nose trying to avoid the morbidly foul smell as you enter the city, only to be repulsed by the smell of your own sweat, thanks to the lovely weather. But then you start appreciating the blatant mediocrity that this place is. Because, admit it: if you did have options, you would obviously not be here. 

"I electrocuted myself in my balls everyday. That got me through Calcutta." - Mark Twain

Appreciating mediocrity is Calcutta's DNA. They loved their Orwellesque Commie delusion for 30 years. And right when it looked like capitalism would finally make some progress, they uninstalled Dhotiwalas to instate an even more regressive regime that called every naysayer and their daddy a Maoist. Poriborton and how!

They are intellectual people who love their carrom boards and their tobacco. Collectively orgasming over Robindro Shongit and everything else slowass, it's a wonder they love a sport as fast and furious as phutboul. Collectively fervent of the glorious past and the kaalchaar, they can't hear a word against Sotyojit Ray, Sourobh Ganguly or even Osok Dinda.

"Bring back Dada, bring back Dinda." - Every Bengali Ever.

Durga Puja is on: the biggest carnival of the year. The only 4 days when the city has a semblance of nightlife. Extraordinarily curvaceous females in cheap mascara that flows down their cheeks with gallons of sweat, draped in backless blouses disgustingly wet under their arms. Sex starved males ogling at the aforementioned curves  sitting at Maddox Square, high as a kite. And groping every gropeworthy mound of flesh in gropeable distance.

Groping is an Indian art form which has been around longer than LK Advani. But what makes it special is that the chicks don't seem to mind during these days. Much like the traffic police that is so emasculated that one can't help pitying the poor sods.

"You are my chicken fry. You are my fish fry. Kabhi na kehna kudiye. Bye bye bye." - Bappi Lahiri

...to be continued.

"Bring back Dada, bring back Dinda." - Every Bengali Ever."Bring back Dada, bring back Dinda." - Every Bengali Ever.

A-Z of B-school placements

This article was also selected to be published on America On Line (AOL)'s Coolage. Find link here.

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Year after years, generation after generations, everything else on the campus comes to a screeching standstill. We call it the placement season. XL-culture manifests itself in its divine unadulterated form when throat cutting competition is lubed with pampering and support. Presenting the A-Z of this extravaganza which, invariably, makes some eyes well up with satisfaction while shattering some dreams forever.

The terminologies might vary across B-schools. But the essence remains the same everywhere.

A- Attendance Call: You smoke that puff, chew that mint, make that phone call, read that report, cross those fingers, take that breath and pee those pants.

B- 'Bahot companies hain be. Load mat le.': You aren't getting shortlists for hours. The guy next to you has got eight. It is then when this quote of the season suddenly finds its way to you through every piehole you come across.

B- 'Bahadur Bhaiya, please report at the Logs desk.': For some weird reason not even known to Team Logs, Bahadur Bhaiya is more sought after than the Placecom Secy.

C- Cactus Tree: The official band of XLRI. All vocalists. The wake up call. Masterpieces include 'Chad gaya upar re', 'Choli ke peechhe kya hai' and 'Mujhko Ranaji' among others.

C- Controls: Wannabe Godfathers beating the same old offer-refuse quote to death for ages now. Hugest contributors to Indian GDP through BishuDa. Pastimes include drawing lines and dots on pink sheets.

C- CV: A4 size tissue papers for company representatives. Also used for shortlisting.

C- CRISP: The unsung heroes. The thankless CEOs.

D: Day 0/1/2: Larger the number, more widened the a-hole.

E- Extended shortlist: This is when you start believing that God exists and that He's one hell of a sadist.

F- Final round shortlist: The closest you can get to a job and still not get it.

G- Group Discussion: You say it best when you say nothing at all.

H- Holding Area: Best compared to a public toilet. Who's outside wants to get in. Who's in dies to get out.

I- Interview: The Gadha-Baap metaphor.

J- Job Loss: The disease with no cure known to man.

K- 'Kat gaya, bey.': Your favourite reply to any question asked to you regardless of the context.

L- Logs: A superset of Cactus Tree. Job description includes watching movies with earplugs, waking up people and lying to corporate bigshots to stall process on Placecom's behest. (I was a Logger :D)

L- Long term goals: Sawaal Dus Crore Ka. You know nothing about it. The interviewer knows that you know nothing about it. You know that the interviewer knows that you know nothing about it. You still bullshit. He laughs inside.

M- Master CV: The sum total of what you haven't done in your life and have managed to get it verified.

N- Notice Board: A wooden whore copulated by a Controls guy every two minutes.

O- Offer: Orgasm.

P- Placecom: Secret Service that never lets truth get in the way of 24-carat haggling. Activities include talking in hushed voices and oscillating in suits with no destination.

P- Pecking: Placecom sponsored Viagra leading to some serious KLPD. Contemporary Swayamvara.

P- Psychometric Test: Brainchild of the mind-numbingly important department of Human Resources. Purpose unknown.

Q- Questions: Cues that start the noble phenomenon of lying. Also, what company representatives are obliged to do in between cigarette breaks and hitting-on-the-HR-chick sessions.

R- 'Random process hai bey.': The usual reponse to 'Kat Gaya Bey'. Normally followed by 'Sutta maarega?'

S- Services Girls: The only reason why there are no riots. They make the rape worthwhile.

S- Small Audi: World's most densely populated space capsule with all basic amneties inside for survival. Mating ground for Controls.

S- Skirt: A widely common feature of successful Group Discussion participants. Usually results in Day zero signout, quality inversely propprtional to length.

T- 'Tell me something about yourself': In this very order, these five words spell doom. HR's idea of a full-tossed delivery which, in essence, is a beamer.

T- 'Tera nahi hoga toh kiska hoga?': Intended to be a rhetorical question. Answered by 'Skirt waali ka'.

U- 'Uski kahan lagi?': An inexplicable obsession with people you think are less deserving.

V- Verifier: The God who you never bother to talk to after the process.

W- Well Call: A cue to go missing. Usually followed by a quick phone call to Logs.

W- 'Walk me through your CV': A manifestation of the height of laziness. A lesser evil than 'Tell me something about yourself'.

X- XL Bonding: Respect! Impossible to explain to someone who hasn't been through the process.

Y- Y chromosome: An insurpassable handicap.

And when it's all over, Z- Zzz: The surreal sleep that had been eluding for a month. Usually followed by celebrations of unforeseen dimensions.

Boyfriends Rejoice, Chintu Pissed

This article has been selected to be published in Rashmi Bansal's 'JAM:Just Another Magazine'. (Find online link here.)
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This article was also selected as 'Tangy Tuesday Pick' on Blogadda. Find the link here.

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My sequel to this article was published on FAKING NEWS!! Find the link here.

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The Telecom Regulatory Autocracy of India (TRAI) has come up with a new pigeon off its hat. No consumer shall be allowed to send more than 100 sms per day from September 27. 'This is it! This is how the world's gonna end in 2012,' exclaimed a perspiring Chintu profusely thumbing his way to glory. 'This was all I did all day! Copying Ramesh Srivats's tweets and sending them to everyone on my contact list. Or, forwarding anything remotely funny that came my way.'

Chintu aka 'StudMale17' – as he likes to call himself – is worried that the babes might not 'dig' him anymore. He said, 'Shayari se ladkiyan patai jati hain, maamu.' When asked about when he last went out with a girl, Chintu got agitated and threatened to spam the correspondent's inbox if he didn't leave immediately.

India Against Corruption And Almost Everything Else (IACAAEE) has announced another fast-unto-death in opposition to the new regulation. 'The constitution gives us the right to send as many SMSes as we like,' remarked a visibly stoned ICCAAEE president, 'Or something like it.' He also added that a Lokpal would not have let such draconian regulations get passed though he seemed to have no explanations how, as usual. Our sources tell us that the IACCAAEE camp is pissed by the fact that they won't be able to send any more mass-inflammatory SMSes that rhyme so much every line ends with the same word.

The Frustrated Boyfriends of India (FBI) is celebrating, though. They have changed their tagline to 'We have a life, now'. The association members seemed to have been victimised for years by continuous tele-stalking: a phenomenon mastered by the urban Indian girlfriend who needs continuous text updates about her beau's whereabouts, whatabouts and whyabouts along with a daily minimum of 50 texts that smelled of mush and cheese. The celebrations were short lived, though.

FBI's counterpart 'Girlfriends of India: Just Ossom' - that has no logical explanation why they use the acronym GI-JOE – has issued a new charter of demands that makes it mandatory for every boyfriend to own a dual-sim cell phone and send at least 190 sms/day. When asked about the relaxation of 10 texts, the spokesperson answered that the remaining would be used by the girl to vote for her favourite contestant at Splitsvilla through her boyfriend. GI-JOE also approved of FBI's new tagline and allowed them their booze party of the month.

Also celebrating is Indian Beliebers, the national chapter of Just-in Bieber Fan Club. They left an official text to the correspondent that read: 'Nw wl d wrld relyz hw u can typ lyk us n sav chrctr spce. V stnd crrctd.' The correspondent will get back to you once Justypography experts have deciphered the text that seems to have originated from the area surrounding Rahul Gandhi's residence.

Ravi Shastri and The Orgasm

Disclaimer: Adult material. If you're below 18 or feel offended by graphic images of lovemaking or simply are a jerk/prude, DO NOT PROCEED. Also, if you're not a cricket maniac, I'm sorry.

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I'm sure anyone who has ever watched 10 cricket matches in his life has seen/heard him. He is the chronic illness this beautiful game has been suffering from for at least a decade and a half! He is someone who makes you wish cricket could be karaoked. He is someone who can say exactly the wrong things at exactly the right time making you wish you could slit your throat right when your team is about to smash those winning runs.

We stand united in our hatred towards him. But recently, I decided to think 'out of the box' as Mr. Shastri puts ever so clichedly. I noticed a pattern. A string of steps. A hidden sequence to the Holy Grail: an orgasm. And boy, was I stunned! He's an absolute belter of a commentator.

It took more than a week but here it is. The secret code. His most infamous lines that have fucked our ears beyond repair if arranged in a particular order narrate a porn film as great as the likes of Naughty America. Voila! [Mind it, the sequence is the key.]

The build-up

• I get a sense that something’s gotta give.
• I think he has been tempted into indiscretion.
• It will be a tricky chase under lights.
• He’s got the license to go for it.
• They are in with a chance now.

The 'Out'

• That looked out.
• Oh, he flashed and he flashed hard.
• He’s hit the cover off the ball.
• Fans are having an absolutely great time.
• The new ball is crucial.
• That’s a biggie.
• It can’t get bigger than this!

The Foreplay

• He takes his time to get in.
• He knows where the leg (stump) is.
• First hour is crucial.
• I think he has given the finger.
• Up goes the finger.
• Oh, that was a tentative poke.
• He played that with soft hands.
• It was all hand-eye coordination, no feet.
• He really has quick hands.
• He's got a good arm.
• It’s the kind of game where anything can happen.

The..ummm..THING!

• He might give it the Full Monty.
• He’s the the kind of player who likes the ball coming on to the bat.
• He’s decided to use the long handle to good effect.
• And...he goes for the big one.
• That's edged and taken.
• That was close.
• He went hard at it.
• That went like a tracer bullet.
• When he hits them, they stay hit.
• He is knocking around.
• He is mixing it up nicely.
• You just can't snatch the momentum.
• It's all happening here.
• He has given it the kitchen sink.
• He has disturbed the furniture.
• It might go down to the wire.

THE BIG O!

• He didn't know where the boundary was.
• I just get the feeling.
• At the end of the day it doesn’t matter how they come as long as they come.
• What an absorbing session!
• That will do his confidence a world of good.
• That's just what the doctor ordered.

Well, at the end of the day, I guess cricket is the real winner.

Why MBA?

Type a 'why' on Google and the first suggestion that it throws up is 'Why MBA'. If you've landed here through Google search, I pity you. Please do not be under any illusions of enlightenment. Leave.

People all across the country, even Sri-sri-ek-hazaar-aath Arindam Chaudhuri, have torn their hair apart only to find themselves more confused every time. Some versions of Ramayana narrate the sleepless nights Rama spent in the endless pursuit. Even some great saints have been known to observe extreme penance to find the Ultimate Answer.

I still puke at the sight of brown newspapers. I still can't figure out the head or tail of an annual report. I still think that market research and statistics are buckets of shit. I still don't know how a stock market works.

But it's not been for nothing:

• I can define 'core competency' without falling down laughing
• I reply to 'What's Up' using a SWOT Analysis
• Requests for financial aids to parents are referred to as IPOs
• I ask my four-year old niece what the 'mission statement' in her life is
• I advise friends to lend some semblance of 'sustainability' to their relationships
• I talk to my girl about our future in terms of all the 'value' we can 'co-create'
• There are never less than six tabs on my browser
• 'Ctrl' is the most pressed button on my keyboard
• 'Reply to all' is my default action on reading a mail
• I make daily diary entries in MS Power Point

But the biggest 'value-add' to my life till now has been the mastery over GASing. For the uninitiated, GAS expands to Global Action Strategy. It refers to the art of blabbering/typing absolutely fucked up bullshit to a captive audience.

It usually starts with an epiphany - "Damn. I do not know jack about this" - usually followed by a quick reference to The Handbook Of Versatile MBA Jargon starring the likes of 'value', 'sustainability', 'strategy', 'organisational', 'leadership', 'hierarchy' and 'culture'. And then starts the quest for the Holy Grail: Frameworks!

Frameworks have been the most crucial inventions to mankind since sliced bread, wheels and condoms. For starters, these are lethally effective weapons of gas construction sired by jobless academicians and money-laundering consultants available to the rest of the world in hour of need/greed. The best of lot, my personal favourite is called a "Two-By-Two Matrix". TBTM is a motherfuckin' gem that swears to generalize even the most specific phenomena on earth. No person, animal or thing has ever been able to escape it's venom.

So, why MBA? The closest-to-acceptable answers are fat pay cheques and networking. If grades are any indicator of the cheque's flab, mine is bound to be severely malnutritioned. And networking, tch. My scorecard on this front shows all red. 553 days into the hallowed portals, I'm still as clueless as Manmohan Singh!

Here's FedEx take on the evil.

Some Text, One Video and Six Images

There's this asshole of a Surd (link) whom I usually approach whenever in a dilemma and always regret thereafter. Having decided to participate in a national-level video-making competition (organised by 9XM) just one hour before the deadline,I went to the same chimp. We procrastinated for twenty minutes: better known in B-school circuit as brainstorming. Basically, all we could come up with was the fact that we could not come up with anything on such strict timelines. Meh. So, we gathered other equally-worthy-assholes-in-their-own-right and made this. Voi-fuckin-la.

They didn't shortlist us. :| [Die, motherfuckers, die!]

On the other leg, this series of six print ads that I made for Axe Deodorants in straight 60 minutes did get a shortlist. Yay.

I'm Sorry

The last post raised a lot of eyeballs. There was flak from all quarters. The dumber sex got all trigger happy, threatening of dire consequences if I didn't take down that post. Damn, this world of VHP, Raj Thackeray and women!!

I somehow got their tempers in control by promising an apology to the womenfolk worldwide. Here it goes.

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I'm sorry.

I'm sorry because I didn't realize that you didn't have the intellect enough to understand the disclaimer. Although you decided to read further at your own wish and peril, just like you always decide to choose the wrong prick as your guy knowing everything about him, I should have taken more care. You obviously didn't choose to be eternally retarded. It was forced upon you.

I'm sorry because I called a spade, a spade. I wasn't as politically correct as you always are. I didn't appreciate you for my vested interests. I didn't disguise intentions in puffery and seduction as you always do. It was honesty, a concept as alien to you as USBs and URLs.

In fact, while I'm on it, I just realized I'm sorry for a few other things as well.

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I'm sorry about how you must feel when you think about how big a curse you've been on man-kind. From Troy to the epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata, you've been the reason of betrayal and bloodshed. Closer home, you are the reason behind 89.97% of the scuffles at school and you don't even know that.

I'm sorry that you suck at mathematics. Numbers make you dyslexic and pukish. Logic and reason elude your pea sized brains as well. I sometimes cry at nights, thinking about how unfair must this world seem to you: a world of walking supercomputers - males! Hang in there. God must have alternate plans for you: like a sex change operation.

I'm sorry that you are attracted to men seven point five times your age. Or probably, it's just fashionable. Or, for that matter, it's something like Lyin' Eyes. Whatever it is, I'm sorry that it's the only way you can drive a Ferrari while you still have baby teeth.

I'm sorry that the only way you can get a ticket is by cutting the queue.

I'm sorry that the only way you can win beauty pageants among similarly challenged species is by being exemplarily dumb. [link1] [link2]

I'm sorry that the only way you can finish assignments is by acting dumber than you already are and letting some big-hearted guy help you in pity.

I'm sorry there's a wiki how page dedicated to you that reads "How To Act Like A Dumb Girl" [link]

Enough. I'll let this do the talking. [lyrics] [video]

Do you want more or I'm sorry enough already??

Lucky Bastards

Disclaimer: Meant to offend. Go screw yourself.

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I don't think of females as the inferior species. I think they're just dumb.

It's not their fault, really. They're just wired this way. It thus becomes our duty to accept them as they are, always making them feel they're "special". Poor souls - misconstruing pity for chivalry.

Anyway, this post is not about them. Quite contrarily, it's about us. \m/

Here's why we were lucky to be born with a wee-wee and the wisdom chromosome.

• We don't have to guzzle down liquids we can't even afford to smell, sport hairstyles that make us look like buffoons and play sports we don't even understand to be"cool".
• We don't have to spend one-third of our lives looking at our own reflections in the mirror. We recognize ourselves way sooner.
• We don't have to shave more than one-twentieth of our body.
• There is no concept of "tomgirls". We are happy with what we are.
• We can afford our underwear.
• We buy shoes we wear more than once.
• Cockroaches are scared of us.
• We understand music.
• We don't wear t-shirts with quotes at exactly the places we don't like people to stare at.
• We aren't hypocrites. We accept that we think about sex all the time.
• We don't substitute sex with chocolates!!!!
• We think chocolates are sweet brown confectionery. NOTHING ELSE!!!
• We don't eat more than our dietitian recommended when we're depressed.
• We don't have a dietician.
• We are never depressed!!!
• We don't have to harp on about our right to equality to settle down for a "33% reservation".
• We don't need a "beauty sleep". We sleep when we want, where we want and how we want.
• We don't believe in keeping wastes in our body. The world is our urinal.
• We don't care if our best friends forget our birthdays. We wonder if they don't.
• Our clothes are comfortable. We can stretch, bend and run in them.
• We aren't destroyed if someone else wears the same outfit at a party.
• We don't appear in advertisements of products for the opposite sex.
• We can wear whatever we want to a water park. (if clothing's a compulsion)
• We choose "just the right gifts" in 58 seconds straight.
• We don't fake accents.
• We don't use creams for everything from fairness to "enhancement".
• We don't stuff our clothes to look "big".
• We know stuff about the Italian Mob.
• We know the difference between a USB and a URL.
• While fixing a bulb, we don't have to stop and think which way to turn.
• We don't have to seduce our bosses for a promotion.
• Our clothes are never wrinkled. At least to us.
• We know no one cares about the fingernails.
• People look into our eyes when we talk.
• We can afford to wait for year-end sale schemes.
• Our phone bills are minuscule.
• We don't know what peach, burgundy and magenta mean. We don't care.
• We find beauty in everything. And everyone.
• Our shampoos don't nauseate us.
• When we take more than five minutes to take a bath, we're having fun.

We don't think we rule the world. We would rather prefer beer, porn and someone to clear the mess we leave behind.

P.S. Contribution from a fellow lucky bastard Sakya: We know if we're oversized. We don't ask rhetorical questions like "Do I look fat."

Comes Without A Title*

Okay, this is like the lamest attempt at humor.

Doesn't it happen sometime when you hear a movie title, a certain someone comes to your mind instantaneously. There is not even a remote connection between the two but the title fits so aptly on him/her that we cant stop chuckling. Here are some of the chuckles that I've had with Hollywood titles in the Indian context.

Any fit not understood by a reader will be duly explained. Kindly leave a comment. Also welcome are similar "connections". Let the creative juices flow (:

Artificial Intelligence - Rabri Devi

No Country For Old Men - Sourav Ganguly

Die Another Day - Ajmal Kasab/Mohammed Afzal

I Am Legend - Arindam Chaudhari (Think beyond the IIMs)

2010: The Year We Made Contact: Kishenji

Before Sunrise - Baba Ramdev

Jackass - Raj Thackeray

Jackass Number Two - Pravin Togadia

Minority Report - Mayawati

Italian Job - Sonia Gandhi

All About My Mother - Rahul Gandhi

Baby's Day Out - Varun Gandhi

I, Robot - Manmohan Singh

Clueless - Pratibha Patil

The Insider - Lalit Modi

Say Anything - Shashi Tharoor (On Twitter)

What A Girl Wants - Sunanda Pushkar

Down With Love - Shashi Tharoor

Up In The Air - Praful Patel

Con Air - Poorna Patel (Praful's daughter)

Wanted - MF Hussain

Almost Famous - Abhishek Avasthi

In The Name Of The Father - Uday Chopra

Dead Man Walking - Ashish Nehra

Life Is Beautiful - MS Dhoni

Interview With The Vampire - Shakti Kapoor

The Man Who Copied - Pritam

Scent Of A Woman - ND Tiwary (CM in sex scandal)

Definitely, May Be - Virender Sehwag

Kiss Of The Dragon - Shilpa Shetty

Zack And Miri Make A Porno - Mika & Rakhi Sawant

Meet The Parents - Jaya Sawant (Rakhi's momsy)

Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex - Sherlyn Chopra/Khushwant Singh

Extra Terrestrial - Krishan Kumar

A Beautiful Mind - Charles Sobhraj

The Innocent - Salman Khan

Basic Instinct - Swami Nithyananda (The Swami in sex scandal)

Beauty And The Beast - Sania Mirza & Shoaib Malik

Dirty Dancing - S. Sreesanth

Cruel Intentions - Raghu Ram

A Fistful Of Dollars - Madhu Koda

Boys Don't Cry - S.Sreesanth

Dumb And Dumber - Riya Sen & Raima Sen

Cast Away - Rahul Dravid

50 First Dates - Deepika Padukone

The Gods Must Be Crazy - Kamaal Rashid Khan

Bad Education - Arjun Singh

Devil's Advocate - Ram Jethmalani

Sound Of Music - Baba Sehgal

School Of Rock - Himesh Reshammiya (Jai Mata Di, Let's Rock :P)

Knocked Up - Neena Gupta

Whatever It Takes - Shit Rukh Khan

* because I couldn't think of one!!!!

Confessions Of A Bloody Erection

I'm a man's worst foe. Damn, you say and I come into your life. Sometimes, you just fear me. I'm quite fond of making appearances at the wrong places at the wrong time. Sometimes you call me up, subconsciously. At others, it's not your fault. I come uninvited. I just love fooling around with your psyche. I love it when you really gotta pee, but you cant get up. I drool over situations when you are with your parents watching television and your dad asks you to get a glass of water. That's my all time favourite time of appearance. And at such times, I make sure that the more you wish I go away, the more I wake up. I’m the reason wallets now are being promoted to the pockets in front. If you are a new client, I love making surprise visits. With acquaintance, I tend to make you more comfortable and listen to you more. Gradually I handover my autonomy to you and surrender myself to your whims and fancies. But for that, you need to train me just like a Ninja gets trained – who is seen only when he wishes to be. From being a master, I’m now your slave. Well, almost.

I'm a man's best friend. Aloha, I say, and come into your life. Sometimes, you just love me. I provide you with confidence in the hour of need. I do fail you at times but that's just too naughty of me. Don't panic as I do it with everyone. How else on earth am I supposed to prove my worth? I'm just a call away, though. You gotta call it right. And when you or your special someone does, I appear in my full majesty bringing smiles all around. If it weren't for me, life would be so hard, pun intended. I am not so kind to everyone, especially if you have spent a considerable time on earth. But the medicos have come up with a stimulant. You know, I have weaknesses as well, na. Its the V-word. It makes me weak at the knees and facilitates my appearance whenever I want to ditch some old bugger. Anyway, I love spreading joy, happiness and ecstasy. If it weren't for me, the world's favourite and the oldest sport would be so hard, pun intended again. And there wouldn't be any life. I'm the creator.

I'm full of blood. That makes me Erection, Bloody Erection. And just like Mr. 007, I like it ‘shaken, not stirred’.

You Know What I Did This Summer

Summer Internship. Sales. FMCG. Jharkhand.

For the uninitiated, this means that the two months are NOT being spent in any cozy air-conditioned office with transparent walls and free internet. Instead, I’m living out of a suitcase ‘touring’ all of Jharkhand. This also includes the interiors with terrestrial connectivity worse than the jungles of Amazon. Anyway, it’s an experience of a lifetime. An account follows.

• Every address has ‘Near Hanuman Mandir’ on it. I wonder how many fans does the H-Man have in Jharkhand!
• I’ve come across incredibly innovative spellings and grammar. “Please your on laggage”!!!!!
• I have been sneezed and coughed upon in the face so many times now that I’m looking forward to being spitted upon – the Holy Grail.
• I have peed in the most unhygienic of places, sometimes after climbing hillocks of garbage!
• I have travelled in the most ‘rocking’ of vehicles – the desi version of Disneyland swings. My spinal cord seems wrecked for eternity.
• I met a person called ‘Birbal’ for the first time in my life.
• I have grown fond of Sattu – the desi Gatorade.
• The dust on the roads and places named Telmocho, Chas and Tipudana give me the feel of Latin America.
• I have pissed off a sales officer so bad that he has asked me not to call him up ever again.
• I have travelled in an auto-rickshaw without headlights on streets with no light whatsoever at eight in the evening in thunder, storm and rain. Talk about blind trust!
• I have come across a dilapidated hut named ‘Indian School of Learning’ that guarantees ‘100% placement’.

Half of this period has been spent in Ranchi. For people never been to the place, it is merely a newfangled capital of a newfangled underdeveloped tribal state. But the exponential rate of “development” has led to explosions – of population, traffic, pollution and noise. An account follows.

You know you are in Ranchi when:

• The roads are narrower than Keira Knightley’s waist: far worse than the by-lanes of Jamshedpur.
• You find no traffic lights but traffic police on squares in 2010!
• The traffic is excruciating for the size of the roads.
• All school buses are yellow in colour and are the biggest culprits in traffic jams.
• Stuck in a jam, if A is behind B and B is behind C, all three are honking at the same time.
• In a jam, if you don’t stick the nose of your vehicle up the ass of the one ahead, some vehicle is bound to cross the road from the gap in between.
• The rickshaws turn at ninety degrees without a whisker of a signal.
• Bumpers and potholes included, there are more speed breakers on the road than the rest of India combined.
• There is no civic sense – AT ALL!!!!
• There are no dustbins – AT ALL!!!!
• You find a lassi hawker everywhere. Fortunately, the town is a sucker for it.
• The favourite evening snack is Chinese food, especially rolls and momos. The extent of craze makes one wonder if it was once a Chinese colony!
• If you are on the opposite side of the road to Big Bazaar, you have to drive for 2 kilometres to come back to mall’s side of the road.
• Big Bazaar is a big big sham. It takes less time to shop there than to cross the road at 10 in the morning.
• The service in restaurants is abysmal and is not a function of prices charged.

Anyway, its just a matter of 20 odd days and it gets over for good! Pray to God that I get strength enough to survive through all of this!

:o

Disclaimer: If you smell sexism, trust me, you are a hardcore sexist by heart. Kindly get your egos shrunk, minds broadened, maturity upped and irritabilities switched off. Freedom of expression is what I was born with.

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They say science can explain everything – from falling apples to shining trails of light in the sky. But lately I have been bewildered by some of the greatest wonders of the world. The phenomena I’m talking about are not new at all. In fact, as impossible as it might sound, they date older than Shit-Rukh Khan. These have been an integral part of our daily lives, intertwined in such a manner that we no more marvel at their subtle existence.

These are some of the greatest mysteries. Unnoticed. Untalked about. Unsolved. But ultimately baffling.

One. I hear the fairer sex is sick of the better sex staring at their so-called assets in full daylight. If caught in the process, the “starer” from the curious sex is given so cold, mean and snobbish looks by the “staree” from the presumptuous sex that the former from the victimized sex has no option left but to un-stare. But would anyone care to explain why would the dumber sex adorn the pre-mentioned assets with t-shirts that sport a. catchy quotes b. crazy fonts c. flashy colours d. all of the above and beg for attention?

Two. Our action hero is waiting impatiently for her girl on their date on the thirty-second floor of a Rajasthani fort in Mumbai. He has the glow of fresh blood sucked out (khoon pee jaunga!) from the one-eyed villain who murdered his father in the last century. Back home he has a younger sister knitting on a wheelchair and a mother dieing on a shabby bed. And the heroine arrives. In no more than five minutes, we find the couple singing duets and dancing acrobatically!!! My common sense fails me everytime I try to find logic behind Bollywood couples “dancing” on dates. What’s this fetish? I mean, there are a million things to do (by the doer sex) or talk (by the talker sex). But why, of all the things, sing and dance?

Three. If that’s not all, the amazingly secluded terrace suddenly gets crowded by twenty people dancing behind the two (strictly equal number of males and females dancing in pairs as if it’s a group-date). I wonder who first thought of this masterstroke of placing uncles and aunties behind our couple on their date!! “Dance, India, Dance”!!

Four. Ever wondered when you accidentally enter the ladies’ section while ambling around in a shopping mall and some ladies’ tees catch your fancy? Almost all the quotes are always full of pseudo-attitude and inexplicable airs around them. Have you ever seen a guy sporting “Here comes trouble” or “I will date everyone but not you”. No. I mean, what’s with this show of unwarranted air? What exactly does the show-off sex want to show off? If you are your “dad’s bad girl”, be. Why do you have to stick in our faces? I’m sorry, babe, but if your t-shirt says more than you can pull off about how independent and obsessed-with-freedom you are, you are no better than Paulomi 2.0 from MTV Roadies 6.0!!!

Five. Another huge mystery is how some of the people from the inexplicable sex turn total sluts post-breakups. Swearing by their guys’ names when in a relationship, how can they find comfort in every damn pair of arms that comes their way? Apologies if all this hurts you, but all I can understand is that you were always a hippie by heart smothered by a relationship, the end of which not only provides you with sympathies from all quarters but an all-encompassing license to flirt. Why did you pretend to be in a sincere relationship, then? I feel happy for the guy who broke up with you.

There are a few more like:

· Why didn’t mythological characters have surnames back then (ala raVun Gupta)?
· Why does a doctor’s handwriting always suck?
· Why is the class name always written in Roman numerals on the classroom door? (IV ‘C’)
· Why don’t people remove air travel tags from their luggage?
· Why don’t we hear songs like “Thaade rahiyo, o baankey yaar” or “Na na kartey pyar tumhi se kar baithe” anywhere else but while playing the Indian game of Antakshari?
· Why doesn’t anyone else smell foreign hands of Cadbury-Kraft in the weakening of Indian economy when a one-rupee coin is replaced by an éclairs candy pan-India?
· How on earth did Shit-Rukh become an actor?!!??!!
· What is the purpose of KKR’s existence except merchandise-selling?
· Why do you go through all this shit on my blog?

You are welcome onboard if you are either of James Bond, Indiana Jones or ACP Pradyuman. The mysteries are unending. The answers I want. Feel free to take a shot in the space provided below.

Hiya!

Thanks for all the nice pings and mails and comments of appreciation. Honestly, it was humbling!I never knew so many people missed me here. I suppose it wouldn’t be possible to maintain the same frequency of posts but I’ll try to keep up. Also, rest assured that I will read all your blogs and comments and mails and tweets and reply to them in due course of time. Also, I see a few new followers. Great choice! :P Thanks again!
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I’ve been off my blog for twenty days now. For nerds knowing what radioactivity is, my blog is made up of a hyper radioactive material called khuja-lee having a half life of a million years. For the “kewl” junta, it implies that occurrence of a patch of such cessation of activity on my blog is as improbable as KKR winning an IPL match, or even more.

The reason behind this rare phenomenon of ‘judai’ is the occurrence of another phenomenon – Summer Internship. Without going into the details of the experience - which calls for a totally separate blog altogether – it would suffice if I say it’s been a heavenly experience till now.

Some of the retailers I’ve visited for data collection have treated me worse than they treated lepers in Latin America in the 30s. The heat is awesome: I start wondering the moment I find myself not sweating. Scorching sun has suddenly made the back of my neck magically granular. The traffic of Ranchi has raped the gears of my bike so bad that I wish Kieren Pollard hit me for a six everytime I have to crawl at less than ten kmph for ten minutes at a stretch.

Rewinding, the internship commenced at the city of joy (I wonder who called it that first!) – Kolkata. For someone who has lived all his life in one of the most planned towns in India, Kolkata was a synonym for paranoia. And it lived upto the (un)expectations. An account follows.

You know you’re in Kolkata when:

• The cabbies start “bargaining” from Rs. 280 and end up taking passengers for Rs. 80!
• The platform security check-up is a gigantic sham as anyone can bypass it through an eatery on the corner called ‘Comesum’ with two doors!
• The waiting room on the platform is on the second floor with fifty stairs!!!! (Grrrrr)
• The traffic jams every two minutes – right, every two minutes – raise no eyebrows at all: such is the level of acceptance!
• Girls in airtight jeans and more make-up than Shilpa Shetty buy lingerie with their boyfriends on the footpath!
• The crowd makes you think that all of the one billion Indians live in Kolkata!
• You find people crossing the roads running on the zebra crossings!
• You find kids bathing in full shame-shame costumes at the hand pumps by the side of the streets with more than average traffic!
• You sweat like a pig!
• There are no dustbins – AT ALL! The whole city is one big shameful crapbag!
• Everyone, I repeat, everyone smokes!!

God help the city, especially on the grand eve of the biggest festival of all time – an IPL match – when everyone seems to go insane.

Anyway, I guess I’m back on the blog and would be more frequent than the Haley’s Comet from now on. So what have you been upto?