Going Home

After 19 long years, and I mean really long years, I am finally going back home. I can't really call it home, but yes, its my place of birth for sure. Even though mom's no longer there, and neither is her cooking. I don't know how my room looks like anymore, or rather if its still there in the first place. My little garden patch that I laid with my little bare hands (can't forget how much my mom yelled at me for all the wet mud that I brought into the house afterwards on the carpet!)

I don't know if the garage wall that I used as a goal post to practice my swinging free-kicks is still up. I really don't know what to expect when I go back.Even though, its just bricks and walls now, to me, it will always be close to my heart.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I came to India as a war refugee during the first Persian Gulf War, as a brat spoilt to the tee. Brash, aggressive, stubborn, proud, snobbish, oh oh oh, I had it all. And I was just 12, to make it worse. All my dreams of playing professional soccer for Man U were shattered in a flash, when the Air India flight landed in Mumbai. Yea, that was my dream or rather goal in life, so to speak at that point of time. I could see nothing else but soccer. The same year, West Germany was playing a dream World Cup, and the war broke out in the middle of the tournament. So I missed out on a lot of the matches, but was lucky enough to catch the semifinals and the finals in India. I still remember jumping up and down when Lothar Matheus raised the cup, and my grandparents looking at me in disgust like a chimp escaped from Rani Baug.
Soon after that it became evident that I could no longer return to my homeland, and would therefore have to school in Bombay.

That is from where my real learning began. The day I commenced school in Bombay.
After that everyday, I learnt a new lesson. I learnt the true meaning of sorrow, sadness, grief and realised that they were just not synonyms, but actually meant different emotions.

I saw illness, helplessness and death.

These 19 years have prepared me to face the world. I know I can battle anything that comes my way now. I think, I am ready.

Wish me luck

Second to none

How does it feel to be second best? What I mean to say here is that how does it
feel to be the second person in someone's life? The second man in a woman's
life, or the second woman in a man's life. Does this always occur or am I just
being over precarious?

I have always wondered, does the person subconsciously compare the current
partner with the previous person. Do they draw comparisons in the habits,
tastes, attitudes, hobbies and general behavior? Does it happen for sure? I
guess it does happen once in a while, though not consciously but without making
an extra effort in drawing comparisons. However the big question here is, is it
fair?

Is it really fair to compare the current partner with an ex-flame? Well, to be
fair both these people are two different individuals. And by law of nature no
two human beings can be similar to each other. So is it not unfair to bring up a
comparison in this scenario. Then why do people tend to do this mistake, why is
it that they err with this basic human principle. Where is it that the line
should be drawn? When do you realize that its cruelly unfair?

And this is a vicious cycle, as once the comparison game begins; it creeps into
every aspect of your life. While dining, food habits are noticed, food
preferences are noticed, postures are noticed and all compared with the previous
partner's. It gradually creeps into clothes, wardrobes, favorite color, favorite
shoes, and everything that this person does. The noticing turns into concerned
watching and the eyes peer every action, every word said, the mind begins to
work overtime on such things. And the result? Frustration

The solution: pick up that yard stick and throw it in the ocean. Enjoy the uniqueness of the person in your life for who he/she really is, and not for who he/she compares to.
Think about it

Chota sa lappie

I have seen so many people carry more than one cellphone with them all the time. I could never figure why most people do that. Is it the need to have an extra number or is it possible that the person is not aware of dual Sim phones. Whatever the case maybe, I have found it quite hilarious to see people juggle multiple phones, especially when they ring around the same time.

Now I am also going through a similar situation, but not with cellphones. I am contemplating buying a new laptop, a smaller one, which is easier to carry. I already have a 17-incher at home and believe me, it’s a pain to carry around. I am looking for a nice 14-incher, maybe even get adventurous and try a VAIO for a change. But then thinking of the costs, the miser in me steps up and thrashes the idea. (Bummer)

I could ask friends to gift it to me, now that would be exciting, but there is still about 3 months to go for my birthday. (Double bummer)

Is someone out there listening? Please to drop a nice little notebook in my lappie… Cheers

How to handle these Claws!!!

For as long as I can remember, in the last two and a half decade of my life, I have never had finger nails to worry about. Primarily, I have been a serial nail-biter (if such a term exists, then that is definitely me) since the age of 6. All the threats, reprimands and even the fear of capital punishment at the hands of my parents did not deter me from peeling off my nails offering sadistic pleasure to both my teeth and tongue. This went on for most part of my life, and absolutely no one has been able to make me let go off the habit. That, however, changed with MJ. When MJ came into my life, the habit (of chewing my nails) somehow lost its charm. Not that it went off overnight or vanished like magic or something. But it took some consistent whacking and a lot of plich-pliches to get me to stop putting my fingers into my mouth.

Now that objective has been achieved, and for the first time in my life, I have these long nails on both my hands. It’s an achievement that deserves an astounding round of applause, but having said that I also have a series of issues with this new nail status of mine.

You see the thing is that, like I mentioned earlier, I have never had nails on my fingers, so never had to deal with them or maintain them..etc. the works. I could easily scratch as and when I pleased, where and how I pleased. But with these claws on my hands now, I am in a bit of a fix. Everyday I give myself deep scratch marks all over my body, and when I say all over, I really mean all over. While scratching my face I end up leaving long nail marks, even my ears have been subjected to this battery of abrasions and marks. My head is full of them as well, and so are my arms. Not to forget that I being the direct descendant of the hairy gorilla, have the habit of scratching my jewels in my sleep too. So you can imagine, just about how painful THOSE marks are when I do wake up. (Ouch, damn well, ouch)

Another thing is that I can never wash my hands without getting at least an ounce of soap scrapped into my nails. I mean how is a person expected to wash their hands, without getting the soap stuck in the nails? I think in the past month or so, I must have eaten at least one bar of soap, courtesy my nails.

Then, being a desi buffoon, I am used to eating by hand. Not that I don’t eat by spoon and fork, but the hand after all is the hand, yaar. There too, while picking the food from the plate, I end up scraping the plate with my claws. The noise that it makes is so damn irritating.

So, here I am looking for solutions to my nail issues.

Firstly, I think that there should be a printed manual to teach new converts like me how to handle life with these nails. All the way with diagrams, arrows and pointed self-explanatory images, on how to do routine things with these long claws and not get injured in the process.

There should also be some videos, DVDs etc.. that show how to wash hands without getting the damn soap stuck in the nails. And then if one does get a bit of soap stuck in it, then some sort of a product should be invented that can get rid of the soapy flakes and give the user the satisfaction of having a set of clean nails.

Prez falling

We had two Presidents in recent times that have fallen during office and injured
themselves. Fallen, literally!

Shankar Dayal Sharma toppled over when he was trying to get up and greet a lady
delegate, and our current man.... APJ fell off and broke his shoulder while at a
public meeting.

I wonder what the world thinks about our country, with our Prezzys falling over
like that...

I can relate to the CIGAR incident, when a Prez was caught with his pants down.
That was fun!

For a dumb-bell or two

I don’t know if this is a serious problem, but I think I am suffering from some
sort of a problem. It occurred to me that maybe my physical appearance gives off
a very different image from what I really am.

It struck me a bit vehemently last evening at the Gym, when this slimy looking
instructor kept pestering me al the time. I have been a regular at the gym for a
fortnight now, and every time I used to see this guy hanging outside at the
reception flirting with the female receptionists. Yesterday was some sort of a
staff meeting or something, as the main boss of the gym; basically the guy who
pumped in the money to set up the place was there to inspect the proceedings.

Now, our little Tarzan was trying to show that he was a very dedicated worker
and was pestering me to gain some brownie points. He kept following me around
all through the gym and kept on pestering me about how to do the exercise and
how many times to do it. I was patient for a while, but once it got to my head I
asked the guy if he was a qualified instructor, or rather if he had some sort of
a degree as a fitness instructor.

My question really shocked him, and he said he doesn’t need one to be an
instructor. The audacity to counter back with this statement, “there is no such
degree” really made me want to entangle his neck in the roller-ride, but I
controlled my anger. I asked him to leave me alone and concentrate on the job at
hand, scoring brownie points with the receptionist.

He got the message loud and clear, and left me to workout in peace.

As soon as this episode culminated, three instructors came up to me and thanked
me for getting the sore-eye out of the way. Apparently, because of his proximity
to the admin staff, and his butt-licking skills, he was promoted above the other
instructors.

Now these guys have a bloody degree and are qualified Gym-instructors, yet an
ass-licker over rides them each time with his own set of gobbledygook.

(Sigh) I thought the ass-lickers were only around in the corporate world, but I
guess I stand enlightened now. Even small pesky places like gyms, have their own
set of ass-lickers.

Dream book

I have been away a long time from the journal. And in the time a load of things
have happened around me. I am not sure where to start from and what to mention
here. Because of the things that have already passed, a majority has evaporated
into thin air.

I managed to get the story out for my book. At least the final structure that i
will now work on. I spent two years changing it, and now i have finally decided
to draw the line and not change it anymore.

When i look back at what i had originally thought of, and how the final
structure has shaped up. I am amazaed at myself. I am amazed at the ability to
think up so many variations and combinations for the story.

I am glad i finally stopped changing it and will now be able to work on the
chapters in detail