Should he , shouldn't he ? Does it matter ?

I have tried. And tried. And tried . To resist the temptation to write about IPL and its on going saga , but as this long read pretty much shows , I have failed. Anyway , this is much more about cricket . And my love for it. So here goes. For the gentleman's game.

I first started watching cricket with the 95-96 Tri Series in Australia featuring West Indies and Sri Lanka. Something about the numbers caught my fancy. I was obsessed with numbers during my early stages with life ( just to make it clear, I was not overtly good at maths . Maybe I had ADHD.) However number were something that fascinated me. And here was a game which could induce an orgy with the calculations that could be made. Averages, Strike rates , Run rates , reqd run rates and what nots. It was love at first sight . Since then its been 17 odd years . And what a great time of cricket it has been. Greats have come and gone. Rules have been reformed . New formats have been invented. And obviously IPL has happened. 

When the IPL debuted , it wasn't exactly a breath of fresh air . Its much maligned predecessor ICL , saw to that. But somehow it changed everything. It gave us cricket addicts a different reason to cheer for cricket. It wasn't much of a secret that cricket's short format was dying an untimely death. It was not that things were not happening in the 50 over format , but it had become extremely stale . And what we had seen in the ICC World T20 ( the Joginder Sharma over and the Misbah brain fade , you remember ? ) had sufficiently whetted our appetites and left us wanting more. And it was at this time that Lalit Modi , took an existing idea and wrapped it up in parties (rave and otherwise) , foreign players  and dollars , lots of them. And thus was born the IPL. The auction was something that drew our attention , with some pathetic players being bought up for huge money and some modern greats and made for T20 players being ignored. It took off famously. It had its thrills and spills . But most of all , it had what that sultry Vidya Balan as Silk Smitha says with that hot pout "Entertainment! Entertainment ! Entertainment ! " . It gave us a reason to believe in teams and support them. Us people who had all floated into EPL and soccer , wanted clubs to support. And with IPL franchisees coming in , as Ravi Shastri would say " This is just what the doctor ordered" . And we went on with the MI vs CSK battles . Some even had heated fights in the TV rooms of our hostel. (Remember the Biswa Bhai and KK bhai fight . !!!) All in all it was a great first tournament. And there was a romanticism in the fact how Rajasthan won , minus all the gold and glitter , that made IPL so famous. Suddenly , the  Asnodkars, the Kulkarnis, the Gonys were household name. 

The success of the IPL made the people involved in it dizzy. I mean the parties reached height that would shame some billionaires . At least it would have , if they were not at the IPL parties.  Lalit Modi , was now the messiah for TV cricket and he kept reinventing the tournament , with things made for advertisements like DLF maximums, the strategic timeouts, the direct to internet feed etc. Things were all rosy and good. 

The state cricket associations of India have been known to be instrumental in all that is wrong with the cricket of the country. Where talent matters to nought and nepotism rules. It was under these circumstance that A rather stern faced individual , N Sreenivasan ,  took over the TN cricket association. His immediate ascension plan had become clear to all. He had enough money. Now the power of it all , was in his radar. Sure enough he started making climbs in the BCCI hierarchy. His influence was evident from the way rules were changed to the conflict of interest clause and he was allowed to buy CSK.

His interest in cricket was a pure business one. The cement market was doing good and with no risk in the foreseeable future , it was time to invest time in some other profitable industry. And in India , what better than cricket. The alarm bells had sounded. To be fair none of the owners had any notable previous interest in the game. Perhaps that in itself that was worrisome . But as the seasons progressed , we could see other owners slowly but surely turning up at the games. Nita Ambani , Preity Zinta, SRK all were regulars at their teams games. We relaxed. Obviously cricket had won over the business part of the IPL. We heaved a collective sigh of relief. 

We could not have been more wrong. 

As seasons of IPL rolled on there was a mistrust from all concerned about Srini Mamas conflict of interest. I mean how could a BCCI shareholder , have his money invested in only a group of players. Isn't that absurd? Even the Supreme Court felt that way. However , this was just an observation and not a judgement ( which is pending ). And thus Srini mamas juggernaut kept rolling on. IPL was starting to be in the news for all the wrong reasons. Players caught at rave parties, misappropriation of funds by the then IPL owner , Lalit Modi. It was all going too far south. 

IPL matches are fixed! This was perhaps what most IPL haters and even a few balanced individuals have stated more than once in their lives. And come the sixth season of IPL , they had a chance to say "We told you so!" . Well some what. Although evidence of matches being fixed have not revealed itself ( Come to think of it, It would be highly unlikely that matches are fixed. Why fix matches when you can make insane money by fixing overs ?) , but when Sreesanth, Chandila and Chavan were held for questioning and later arrested , a cloud of desperation hung over cricket. 

I was not a rampant cricket watcher since 2011. The world cup win had somehow taken away any desire to watch any more cricket matches. But somehow I still loved the game. It was like this . Imagine you have a long lost friend. You have not talked for a long time. Yet, somehow in your heart of heart you absolutely love them. You love their company . And everything else. Mostly however , you just reminisced , your days in the sun. It was same with cricket and me. When I heard the news of spot fixing and especially of Gurunath whatever, I wont say I was shocked. But i was deeply disheartened. Inspite of the cynic in me yelling "I toldya!" , it was sad to know that it was all true.

Lets make it clear. I don't believe MSD has had anything to do with the fixing scandal. I would be shocked if that would happen. But , it is obvious from the team selection that it doesn't hurt to be a Chennai player. Maybe it is just that captain trusts you when you have already played under him. That makes sense too. However some of it becomes unbearable at times. For supporters and cricketers alike. 

I think it is high time that , cricket is handed back to the people who deserve it. And with due respect to Sreenivasans of the world , it is high time that cricketers took control of the BCCI. We can't afford any more gaffes like the Sivaramakrishnan gaffe. We can't have people selected just because they play in the President's club team. We can't have any more spot fixing. It is high time that the board and the cricketers come clean . And we cant have any more I will setup a probe, lets have a committee bullshit doesn't cover it. I am sorry , it just doesn't. 

The scariest thing about it all is , how we as a nation have now lost faith on the cricketers we used to swear by. The MSDs of the world don't inspire confidence when they don't say a word , in the ruse of not wanting to upset the guys. The Kumbles, the Sachins , the Dravids have not stepped up enough to reassure the faithful and in turn they have lost their faith. We are all starting to think the unthinkable. What if this was fixed , is plaguing our minds. Worst of it all, we have now an assumption made that all interesting matches with turning points are fixed. Which is not fair to anyone. Neither the cricketers who have given their blood and sweat earlier so that the present crop can enjoy the laurels, nor the administrators , nor the groundsman , nor the spectator. Especially the spectator. 

I don't care if Sreenivasan doesn't step down. It is better if he doesn't step down.Either way it doesn't matter. With or without him , BCCI needs to execute one the biggest cleanup ever in history. Without that an early death of cricket in India , is now not seeming that impossible. It needs to be done. If not for the next crop of youngsters who take up the bat or the ball, at least for that person in the crowd who shouts "Sachin ! Sachin!! drumbeats...".

You owe us BCCI. And its time you deliver.

A Good Manager, How I see It

This is a follow up to a recent status update of mine on Facebook about managers.

https://www.facebook.com/sanketm/posts/4588907397899

So who are these god awful creations ? And why is the general consensus about them as positive as about the growth of Sehwag's hair.

Although there do exist a few managers who are good , who are generally helpful , who sell their kindey and give the money to you so that you can throw it into the drain and talk about it later, most of them are bad. I mean really really bad. I mean ,shout into the ear of 2 days old babies and laugh sinister laughs after that, bad.

Add to that the general perception about managers doesn't help their cause much. I mean

1-They are these people picked out of these A-League B-schools which you can't get into (because negotiations about your barter deal for your liver and a seat fell apart because your liver could not be considered as one whole organ. Damn those extra shots of tequilla.)

2-These are people put in to "manage" your very existence with Excel sheets. I mean you can't even put an extra fart a day without risking an escallation.

3-These people were once rumoured to have hearts and brains. Which they eventually threw away because it wasn't close enough to the hind parts of their bodies and hence incapable of spewing shit all over the place. Also they got quite a deal from the Blackberry makers for this act of theirs.

However the point of writing this post is not to go on and on about how managers are,however fun that might be. It is indeed a true story about how the middle finger on a human hand developed itself only  after the advents of managers. However I digress. So , this  is more to make the new generation of soon to be suited managers aware of how to live up to the impossible expectations of the employee and be a "GOOD" manager.

I have got five tips , which I am sure would reap great benefits for people who want to stop resembling assholes for a living.

1) Believe the employee: 9 times out of 10 , the excuse/reason you hear out of your employee's mouth is a white lie. A real white and shining one. However there is always the chance that this is the one time he is speaking the truth. So don't question his excuses. Stand by them. Whatever they say, be it " I just had an accident and it is taking time for the brain transplant" or " I just saw a unicorn and am trying to chase it , to find if it really will lead me up to the start of a rainbow" believe them. Because these lame excuses are what makes your employees , your employees. Or else they would be in some rich ass company making fat cheques for pouring chocolate over their doughnuts and making patents about square slightly rounded icons.

2) Cater to their ego: No human being hates adulation. And no one loves a manager who doesn't send out appreciation mails. So appreciate. It doesn't matter what the appreciation is about . There is no such thing as deserving appreciation. Everytime you thank an employee , he deserves it. Because here is a guy who has had formal education for twenty odd years and yet you are there to show him right and wrong just because you had two extra years of sleepless nights at your b-schools. Come on. That is lame. So next time you get a mail : "I have completed the hatching of eggs as discussed. I sat on them long and nice for the two hours that we discussed. Also to make sure they hatched perfectly i sat an extra hour" ,send out an appreciation mail. Because they deserve it.

3) Dont have favourites: Every manager commits the sin of picking someone as their favourite employee because of some personal qualities of the said employee. Let me break the myth. It never works. I mean , yes , this said employee might be housing homeless kids and helping blind men cross the road everyday, but do not let that cloud your judgements. Every employee was hand picked by a recruitment team , which most probably signed your offer letter as well. So dont go making one favourite, for which every person other than the said employee would keep judging you and label you as partial ( Which you mostly are most of the times. ). So even if you have to compare a mass murderer whose crimes have not been proven and an angel whose wings are in your eyes, don't pick anyone. Instead go to facebook and write about it.

4) Try to feel what they do :  Every manager has to accept a simple fact. They are paid much more for doing much less "WORK" as per the traditional definitions of "WORK". Don't try to make the employee feel that you have a tough job because you have a thousand mails and people to answer to. They won't understand. They have not been yet been brainwashed by b-schools about how really important managers are. So save the speech. Instead try to learn what they do. Nobody is asking you to sit with them for three thousand hours a day . But a small gesture of helping them out with an issue or taking up a small task of their goes a long way. Even small talk about their family and giving them halfs off works. Remember, most of these people are just starting on a journey to hate the managment. Don't give them more reason by calling them up at midnight and expecting them to do everything you say. And don't call them names in whatever language. You know like "sanki(in Hindi)" or "work shirker" or "lazy" or "not committed". 

5) Plan and Care: One basic thing that every manager tends to forget is the actual planning that is the reason they are paid the money they are. And by planning , I dont mean piling junk up in an excel sheet and adding a date to the final column. Cause putting random dates on random events are why Mayans are such shit future predictors. So don't be. Instead use your experience of interpreting bull shit when it is spoken and give the employee a couple of extra days to complete his task if such an instance is picked up by you. Also dont assign tasks as if this is your help at house. You can not say "Get me one kilo sugar . I will make kheer" at 6:00 pm and follow that up at 7:00 pm by "Get me Milk and Chocolate. I will prepare Ice Cream. Also throw this sugar in the nearest dust bin". Because, first , you dont pay him. It is a company. A central figure who pays you too. Rather alarmingly more also. And second more often than not he loved the Sugar. And you absolute disregard for this will make him get bad milk and way past expiry chocolates. Because he has already started to believe you don't care. And hence plan and care.

So thats that. I am pretty sure , most of you who would read this , would understand how much I love my managers (SARCASM, for those of you who have a Sheldon problem). And also how much I would want some of them to follow these 5-point therapy session , so that people can stop hating them so much. Perhaps even think that they are an essential cog in the machinery. Oh well, now that is just wishful thinking, i know.

Guwahati , How I see it

So I am pretty sure everyone knows what happened in Guwahati. If not well the gist of it is, a girl was molested outside a pub on Guwahati . She and her friends were reportedly ejected out of the bar for improper behaviour. What followed , has been so well video documented that I need not even say anything. 

Like most of us ,I have been quite shaken by this incident. And i know writing a note , is hardly any help or comfort to the victimised , but that is a start I feel. So here goes.

P.S. Long read ahead

// The girl deserved what she got. What was she doing in a pub anyway //

This is one of the reactions, that have been doing the rounds. First of all, I am sorry that i have to share my planet with these people. I mean what sort of sick justice system do these people believe in? What the girl was doing in a pub is nowhere near the right question to ask. It is like those CSI episodes. Where you have to introduce a red herring just so that the producers can depict what sort of a sick age we live in. I mean generally these are not the guys who pull the trigger, or snatch at women's ass. But given a scenario to speak/ write the most outrageous comments these people will obviously walk with the cake. Just anything for a little 15 seconds of fame. Nothing more. And if you thought that this is something that is very rural in its origin, just look around you and you will be ashamed. 

// She must have been scantily dressed .//

I have not watched the video and dont know whether she was scantily dressed or not. But really, again it shames me how human beings always find a reason in the victim. People are obviously distressed with what happened. And they will always find a way to blame the victim. Because it is so damn easy to justify and judge what others do. To all these people, I would ask two questions. If you were in that mob what would you have done? Would you have snatched at what remained of the girl's dignity? And also , do you think if the girl was wearing a fucking bed sheet it would have mattered? Do molestations and/or rapes happen only when girls dont wear bed sheets?

// The men who did this must be hunted down and lynched//

I confess I have harboured that thought. But does it really help? All this hate begets hate, would it not make the world an endless series of Game of Throne episode, where people would just keep on dying with no reason or rhyme attached. Yes, what the people did was shameful. Indeed they deserve the worst punishment designed by humans. But all of it should come under the blanket of law. Because , the alternative where people are just hunted down and killed would create such anarchy . that no one would be able to stop the repurcussions.

// This is just a media thing. Things will die down with time. And the culprits will walk scot free //

I hate to think that this is not really that far from the truth. Out of sight , out of mind is something that we human have ingrained in our basic instincts. And once the outrage dies down the molesters will walk out of their dens and enjoy drinks. Maybe in that same pub.And rapists everywhere will continue raping women. And however revolting that sounds , that is what will keep happening. Unless something is done.

// What can we do , the goverment is too stupid/powerful for us to intervene //

The government is "By the people, For the people and of the people". So, you cant just put up your hands and say I cant do a thing. Like one of my friends said " Too easy to push it on an abstract super-organism, too difficult to gulp down the hard fact that we are a part of it too." I mean there must be one guy in the Govt. who wants the culprits here there and everywhere to be brought to justice. His reasons might be self- promotion. But yeah, would it not be right to back that one person. 

// But so many rapes happen everywhere. How does bringing these specific culprits to justice help solving the bigger problem? //

I bet if Abe Lincoln said the same thing about begging in US of A a,Jenner said the same thing about small pox we would still be facing those problems . But they did not. They started of at a point and expanded their views. And rest as they say is history. I mean , hell, the universe started with a singularity dint it. My point being , there always has to be a small start. The dominoes would then start falling and we would finally reach the sea change that some of us desire.

// So what can we do? Everyone says the words, nobody is in for any action. //

 Maybe you can't do anything with the case at hand. But overall there are so many things that can be done. Starting of with small groups who report cases of harrasment , molestation , rapes in the locality. Sounds a fairly easy thing to do. And I speak from experience , and I know a lot of you also have had the same experiences , where you are silent witnesses to harrasment of friends and or people on the streets. I still harbour feelings of incredible resentment towards myself for not saying a word, when people of my college used to sit at a tea stall and cry their throats hoarse with unbelievably harsh and harrasing comments to the girls who walked that road. If not anything , we can at least spread the awareness by blogs, written articles , memos etc to prove that we are in this together. Lets take a stand. 

// You are all words. What have you done? //

Nothing. And i know most of us have done nothing. But lets start with this. And at least wipe the guilt stains of our minds that build up with every incident of rape reported or unreported.

P.S. Guys / Girls in my Area, lets form a group. Kick this out, wont we?

Two Years: How I See It

If you are like me, and have hit the two year mark in any company and pretty sure you would be sharing my views in the following lines.Or maybe you would be that rich baba and baby of rich parent, who shit money and whom Samsung Galaxy S3 has so kindly given the tag of "humans" (remember designed for humans) relegating us to the lowly subhumans using Blackberries and Samsung low end phones. So here goes, for whosoever is concerned.

Note : Long Post ahead. 

The first thing that hits you when you think about your two years old in your company is How remarkably fast,time has passed. I mean i know 90% of my friend list are like the next Einstien and know everything about the so called God particle. And i know everyone would scream how that time moving fast is a physical improbability. But i swear, tell that to us hapless souls who have been jilted so throughly by the last two years that you might just get a slap across your face. I mean,really, the transition from slightly large boy with a cute face to so obviously fat it hurts your eyes has been so seamless and almost timeless, that you begin to wonder that there is some other wordly force in action. I mean anyone who has not gained weight in two years of service, is quite obviously an anomaly. 

The next thing that would obviously be on your mind is how pathetically bitter we all have become. I mean , yes , in college we all had obnoxious people to deal with. Like we have now. But somehow we have all had enough of obnoxious people. Somehow, we all feel that we have reached a stage of life, where you are not mature enough , if you have not tweeted/update a facebook status with a #FML(Fuck My Life, for noobs) tag. Somehow , the elastic band of mental take-in has been streched beyond repair. 

The third thing that strikes you , are the marriages. All around. I mean it is almost as if all your friends are on mission. To prove to you that somehow marriages are the next "I am going to buy a PlayStation". I mean dont get me wrong , I would love to be get married with someone special and broadcast to the whole world the same. But really I have had months where 10 friends get married. And that is almost unbearable. What with the incessant photos and "The best looking bride/groom ever" comments that follow.

We can never ever over look the managers in any walk of life. And in these two years, we have all had managers who make Kancha of Agneepath fame (sorry for  the bollywood ref but just going with flow) look like a innocent kid who just had a lolipop stolen from him. I mean some of them are so unbearable , that you begin to believe that somehow the whole world is conspiring to make you tweet "#FML" at least once a week.

Also , as you grow older with the two years spent, you tend to realise the Myth that is "TGIF(thank god its friday). I mean yes occasionally you would have a great Friday. Where you would return home early , and log into Facebook and post really sick "#FMLs" on status updates. But most of other Fridays you would return home late  , and log into Facebook and post really sick "#FMLs" on status updates. 

Moreover, as the two years get over, you are suddenly faced with the fact that you are now almost as ancient as Dinosaurs. Or Lal Krushna Advani. Because you still are tweeting/talking about Music, Movies and Series when all the world around you is talking about biking(kazim :wink wink nudge), fashion photography(too many to wink and nudge) ,aesthetic photography(i am officially out of winks and nudges) and what nots. And all you can say is "Wow! #FML". And, also you would have that one friend who has seen and read Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris and now is an aggressive Atheist, whose only motto in life is to join Religious/Semi Religious groups, barge them with their secular views and get kicked out of these groups.(you all know who i am talking about here. eh piyush)

Then again, you would also have certain people who seem so ancient with their views you almost feel as young as Shahid Afridi. I mean there always would be Shiv Sainiks of the institute you studied in , who would abuse you beyond all limits of decency that age brings. Just to prove a point , the opposite of which is almost moot. I mean how does "What if you had a fight with your father, would you go out and abuse him?"(dosed with amounts of expletives that are normally used by jackie shroff when he does a polio ad. you know the mausi thing.) a reasonable reply to someone who quite frankly got all his points about the Institute spot on, i would not know. 

Overall, all of us would be clueless as to what is happening with our lives. And would have no idea where we are going with our lives. Would be hating our managers. Would have deleted Facebook accounts or comtemplating doing so or would have deleted and reinstated the accounts so many times that instead of the login screen , it just shows "Do you want to delete your account?" . 

Unless you have just got selected in MBA colleges. Then you would have no time to think about all of this. You would probably be doing your assignments now. With no time to read this. And would probably be waiting for another 3-4 year , when you can tweet , update #FML statuses without having a TLDR (too long dint read) notes to worry about.

P.S. Cheers people. Life is not all gloomy. Remember we still have things like the Jackie Shroff polio retake ad to make us believe that we were born for a reason. Ab chal Maushi Chi ****. Sleep on that.

A Big Fat Indian Wedding

Disclaimer: All of this is fictitious and does not bear resemblance to any wedding that the writer has attended in his life time. The writer confesses than some of these events may have happened at some of the wedding event he has attended or has heard about in his lifetime. However any resemblance to any character or event should still be treated as a by product of the over active imagination of the writer. And treating thus as same only, can make this a enjoyable read. So indulge yourself.

I am sure everyone has see enough Hindi movies and/or been to enough weddings in their lifetimes to have a general sense of what Indian weddings receptions are all about. Here is a slightly over the top version of that.

The first things that hits you when you enter a wedding in the Over courteous host. I mean for all his life he would have started a conversation with you with the trademark , Behen-daud and Maa ki Ghodi , but cometh the day , cometh the "I am so happy you came." and the over the tops hugs. I mean at some time during the whole hug ceremony , where the host would go around hugging everyone that entered with you, you get a slight omen of things to come. But like life , you know you have to soldier on.

The second most obvious things that happens is no matter how big your group is , there is always that one person who failed to turn up. And the HOST would always turn to that Topic. Wouldn't matter if you turned up with Sachin Tendulkar at the wedding, the only thing that the host would say is " Couldn't Rabi make it? How sad. It would have been nice if he would have come" .All you intend to reply to that is " Fuck you , man. I drove like twenty kms just so that you can man hug be and break two rib bones of mine. I forked out a thousand bucks so that your sister ( the bride) could have a nice gift. And all you care for is that one guy who is back home , lazing around with a beer in his hand and his girl friend on his lap? Fuck You." And you end up saying is "Yeah, sad."

Speaking of gifts. Who has not heard that legendary quote. "You did not have to bring a gift. That is so nice of you". And at that precise moment your mind is trying to put the words "I did not have to bring a gift? Could you not have mentioned that in the Wedding Card? I mean i took out the money out of my secret stash kept away for the Next iPad release. " into the mouth. All your tongue could feebly mouth out of those feelings are " Are nahi. "

The worst things about gifts are not the money they cost, or the effort you put into choosing them , although they are bitches of the worst demeanor. It is the actual handing of the gift to the Bride or the Groom. I mean here is someone who you have not spoken to in your life. And dont intend to speak for the rest of your life. But for that day, those few minutes , he is your friend , philosopher and guide. You stand there awkwardly trying to hand over the gift and skip all the sacrilegious glances of the people who have got gift of much larger sizes. And all the bride and/or the groom wants to do is teach you what life is. And how to live it. And how he was lucky in love. At one point you just want to stamp on his leg and break the gift over his head. But patience as we all know is the key.

If you are lucky if it just a friends wedding, or a friend's brother's of sister's wedding. All hell would break break loose if you are actually one of the relatives. Here you are trying to mind your own way and trying to draw as less attention to yourself as you can.But who are you kidding. I swear some of these old people of the family can't find newspaper if it under their eyes. But they can spot you from one mile away if you are at a wedding.Invariably you end up deciding whether you would touch their feets or just a namaste would do. You settle for a slightly bowed namaste. And the questions that follow. Sheesh. I would rather stand better chance of clearing the IIT exams with a shortened time limit."You have become so thin. Don't you eat"(Yeah right. For a road roller you mean. And no i dont eat. That is something i regard as a waste of time). "Beta, when are you getting married? You have reached that age. Don't we deserve to see a "bahu" in our house before we depart from this world. (If only i could kill myself now.) "Have you selected a girl. Is she Brahmin? (I dont even know who you are. And for my views on marriage and casteism please refer to my FB page and twitter handle).

And when you have braved your way through all that, knowing that there is always light at the end of the tunnel( read Food), you would have seldom expected that they take the light at the end of the tunnel so literally. That camera guy who roams round the room with some halogen lights in his hands, trying to catch you at your most heavenly moment with the food, when you are oblivious to the suffering all around and tearing apart that piece of chicken with obvious disdain. Yeah him. Well fuck him. If i i had shotgun in my hands at those times. If only.

The food in itself is a bit a journey. I mean you invariably end up select the worst dishes to eat. On your way back , people all around you are telling you about that great Mushroom dish or that amazing Fish curry. And all you could stuff down was overcooked pieces of Chicken and undercooked Basmati.

And as with most Bad Indian things , they save the worst for the last. That Photo session. With the over jealous host and the trying to be brave groom and the pretending to not know a thing bride. That drives a hole through anyone's heart. And everyone in the group wants a picture to be taken from their Digicam. So after fifteen minutes of all the melodrama, you are finally ready to leave.

And your nursing your broken ribs. The host promptly sees your discomfort and adds a big bear hug for all good measures. "Thank You, for coming. This would not have been so not good , if you had not come." As if. Save those words for the Groom , Mother-ducker.

And thus is celebrated an Indian wedding. With all its pomp and bravado. And a bit of Deadening of Living Cells.

MANHOLE-d

He tried remembering how he had got down here. All he could get from racking his brains was sounds and lights. And alcohol. Lots of it. He could remember himself downing shots after shots. Not pausing for breath, not pausing for etiquettes. He could get a faint recollection that he was trying to get drunk to forget something. And by the looks of it it had worked.

He tried rummaging his pockets in the faint of hope of something solving his mystery. He had his wallet. Which gave him all sorts of information about himself. But they were not something he had forgotten. He looked at his Driving License. The surprise of having your photo taken was quite evident from it. A thin question was visible on his lips and a basic incredulity everywhere else. He kept looking for something in his pockets. Something. Anything.

Keys, coins, phone and hand kerchief later, he finally hit jackpot. A small crumpled up sticky note. In his eagerness to know , he almost tear the note into two parts.

"Call me -1234567890"

The note was written in some red colour ink. He just willed himself it was not blood. Not freaking blood. The handwriting was all neat and tidy. Like someone had hoped that he got the message. And got it clearly. He tried to remember who had given him this note and a faint memory sprang up.

"Hey beautiful, can i buy you a drink"

"Why not ? Sure!"

"Hey Mr.B can i have a Long Island Ice Tea and a beer."

"Coming right up ,dude."

"So before we get drunk, do I have the privilege of knowing your name?"

"Ooooo.. That is so lame. And perhaps the worst pick up line ever. Anyway for what it is worth , I am Prabha"

He stifled a huge laugh. He was sure that person he remembered saying those lame lines was somebody else speaking from his mouth. How lame was that? Privilege!!!!Anyway lame or not , he still got the number! How he ever did that after that line was a mystery! Anyway, take that , Manav! In your face. He remembered a bet of some sorts with Manav, with the lady's number in the center of the wager.

He clutched that note harder as if it would help him remember. But the alcohol in his system was a tough enemy to fight. He felt himself feeling nauseous but controlled his urge to puke his stomach out. He remembered his friends in High school saying "Puking just makes it so much better!". He knew that was true but he could not risk spilling the "Beans" in this place. Not quite.

He looked around the place. There was moss all around. The stink of the place was pathetic. There were puddles of mud everywhere. And it was dark. Dark enough to get him in a contemplative mood. Or was it the liquor in his streams?

He took out his mobile. No signal. He switched on its torchlight. The ominous Battery Low warning crept up and he knew he did not have long of this light. He could see walls. And all sort of Graffiti on the walls. Some proclaiming true love , like one between a certain Raghu and Rani, some showing existence of Underground crews , some just cuss words . One thing this proved was human being were aware of this place. And that cheered him up a bit.

He tried to get up and a killing pain shot through his entire body. He had tears in his eyes and an involuntary scream escaped his lips. He tried to pinpoint the source of his pain and could see that his leg was bent in a funny way. Not a way in which human leg can bend. Now he was scared. A broken leg, a memory that wasn’t quite helping him out and a place that resembled his worst nightmare. He screamed for help. Five times. The place seemed to mocking him with echoes.

He tried focusing his light elsewhere to have some clue as to where he was. He saw a ladder that looked like it could use a renovation or two. The ladder was very like the ones he had seen in some Hollywood movies. These ladders were the route into

MANHOLES!!!

He was inside a freaking Manhole cover. And by the looks of the darkness all around the Cover had been pulled back on. Just as realisation hit him , his mobile whimpered and went out , taking with it his only source of company.

He tried to think calmly and figure out some way. The alcohol kept making him scream. But all he could hear were those echoes.

He knew he had to move up the ladder some way and lift the cover up to get out. But his leg and his strength were not really his best resource at the moment. Yet he tried. Crawled to the ladder like a baby. On his way to the ladder, he let out very audible gasps of agony. The pain was intolerable.

He kept thinking of all the survivors tale he had read in the Reader's Digest. How everyone had these burst of energy come out of nowhere to help them in their quest of survival. Where were these now? When he needed them?

Somehow he made it to the bottom rung of the ladder. Then started the ordeal. Slowly he tried climbing up the ladder. Five rungs he had climbed when he could not bear the pain and let go. He landed on his bad leg and screamed in agony.

He knew not how many tries he had made to climb up the ladder. He did not even know what day it was or how long he had been down here. All he was sure of was he had enough of the trying. He could not bear the pain anymore. He was thirsty , hungry and god knew what else. He just wanted numbness to surround him now. And if that numbness came through death , so be it! He thought about what people would be affected by his death. His mother was all he could come up with. And maybe "Prabha". He was now laughing like a lunatic. He remembered his favourite song and it was so apt in his situation. He tried singing it.

"There's a lady thats sure, all that glitters is gold

And she buying a stairway to heaven"

Led Zeppelin was his stairway to heaven. Yet no Led Zeppelin could help him now, now when he needed a stairway out of this hell. He could almost feel his life escaping out of his body. Slowly and surely this place was wringing the life out of him.

He tried looking up to where the manhole cover would be. He tried to will it to open. Maybe some sort of Metaphysical ability he had and he had never known. It did not budge.

And just like that he remembered the days events. Maybe it was the alcohol wearing off or maybe it was the life flashing before ones eyes cliché everyone talks about.

"So Prabha what do you do? And drink up please coz my questions will kept getting lamer."

" What I do? You seriously dont remember me?"

"Remember??"

"Wow ! That is a shock! You seriously dont !"

mumbles incoherently

"Ha Ha Ha! I had you boy! I so had you."

"You are bad!! Very very bad."

"You dont know how bad I could be.."

"Why dont we take a walk and you tell me!"

"Hold your horses Romeo.."

"Oh come on, a walk cant possibly hurt you."

"Ok. Lets go. This place is killing me anyway"

........

"Oh leave all this boring talk of bio data will you. Dont you know how to hit on a girl."

"I will show you if you give me your number."

"Oh , that way! Wat if i like playing hard to get?"

"Oh come on. Just give it to me wont you!Please"

"You really know how to play the charm factor ,eh?"

"Ok here goes."

She reached out into her bag. Pulled out her lipstick and a sticky note.

"And this something to make you call."

She reached out and planted a full kiss on his cheek.

"Bye! Waiting for your call."

He remembered walking with a skip in his step and not seeing the open manhole cover. He remembered the pain and fainting from it.

His brain was not under any duress anymore. He knew what had happened. He could remember that kiss. A smile waltzed on his face. He could hear sounds. As if the man hole cover was being moved. Dismissing it as a figment of his imagination, he tried to say his final prayers. He could see light coming from the manhole cover. Smiling at the games his mind was playing, he tried lying down. The manhole cover was finally open. His body was limp. His soul had found its stairway to heaven.

Ramblings of a Serial Killer

I am no ordinary man

I am THE KING

Immortal to the core, regal to the definition

Engrossed in a hunt , I draw blood at ease

Lofty heights I have ascended, in my pursuit of peace

I am no ordinary man

I am the HIMALAYAS

Looking down upon the commonplace treads of men

Meditating my will upon inferiors, I cause avalanches

Weak minded natural forces, but plegde their allegiances

I am no ordinary man

I am THE PACIFIC

Engulfing wishes and aspirations with watery muscle

Waves upon waves I govern, I bring about tsunamis

Flaunting bravado beneath tranquil skies , despite the turmoils that exists

I am no ordinary man

I am SATAN

Enticing your unadultered minds into temptation

Creating illusion of faith, i command souls and free will to abject damnation

Stark naked truths have i burned away, in my establishment of destruction.

I am no ordinary man

I am GOD

Causing pain to you in unimaginable ways

Propagating the false assurance of religion, I create hoards of piety driven zombies

Encompassing men within the Ten Commandments, boundaries and creed of celibacies

Or perhaps an ordinary man is all I am

Slashing jugulars and shooting innocent men is what I revel in

Obsessive and Schiophrenic, I cast pall shadows of persitent ignominy

Noboby cares for my existence, I am a rug for all they care

The police sirens ring like death knells, Cornered to the point of no return

The final slash justifies the means, (..blood..) finally cleanses my aches

The world falls silent around me, even the death bells aren't heard anymore

So dies an ordinary man... or maybe I am THE KING.