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.

PURSUIT OF HAPP-"Y"- NESS

Merry Christmas to everyone. The holiday season has arrived, bringing with it hypothermic cold. The rate at which the chill is increasing in the winters every year, I feel the predictions for an upcoming apocalypse in 2012 isn’t far off really. This write is dedicated to all those hapless children who aren’t fortunate enough to gloat about the last toy they ripped to pieces, the last dress that isn’t wearable anymore, the last book they dog-eared, aye even the last night’s meal they just didn’t wish to eat.

My trips to Sambalpur always bring out a myriad of events which not only are heart rendering but also shocking to put it mildly. So here I was chomping down on some French fries( road side, amazing isn’t it?) I see these two girls(at most 8) trying their best to convince an unconvinced customer to buy some paraphernalia which perhaps was no use to him. After all what use could he put to, toy cars which looked they had survived the Ice Age? After much convincing he makes a quick deal and buys a balloon , perhaps only to shoo those kids away. These two bravehearts, appareled only with frocks that were thoroughly worn out, were nevertheless not shy of showing their gratitude with ear-to-ear grins and profuse happiness. They jumped in happiness after the customer was at a safe distance, perhaps feared that the apparent trade was something that was too good to be true. These kids are forced to walk 5-10 km everyday just to get 10-20 bucks which are just the paycheck to their fathers for being such a sorry-ass human being. The money almost always ends up at the illegal liquor stores . But still these kids wore such infectious smiles.

It really made me die a little on the inside. I mean how could I even grumble at those little things like allowances and make terrible faces after being denied a bike on my birthday? These kids faced so much more still they hardly even had sad eyes. Unable to quench my thirst of information I walk up to those girls and no sooner had I reached them did they start their familiar chants of “ Ye dekhiye bhaiya , kinta mast khilona hai. Aur yeh dekhiye kitna acha balloon hai. Isko agar aap chod denge toh yeh ud ke chanda mama tak pahunch jayega.” Amazing was all I could say. How could somebody be so unbelievably immune to their apparent misfortunes? I asked their names. “ Pinky and Milli” pat came the reply. My belief’s were confirmed after a chat with them. Their father was a good- for- nothing drunkard who beat these bundles of life after getting drunk every day. I and my friend each bought a toy car making these kids beam at us as if we were god send…..

And the best thing was what happened at the end… I heard them talk-“ Aaj papa ko paise nahi denge, chalo kuch khaate hai” said Pinky to Milli. Milli nodded in the affirmative… The girls had boiled eggs as dinner and smiled naughty smiles…. Live on rebels … live on...

p.s.- all my earning readers kindly visit the following link and see how you can make a difference. To the non- earning save a few bucks of your allowance and help these kids plzzzz. I will and you can too.

http://www.savethechildren.in/index.html

GOD-NESS GRACIOUS ME!!!

I am back. As cheesy as that sounds I always loved “ The Terminator” movie for that specific dialogue. Arnold with his “Pronunciation-experts-go-to-hell” English was just oh-so-brilliant. So was busy preparing for my IIFT tests. Thus the gap. Was thinking about what to write about when Shiv Sena gave me fodder with their comments critising Sachin. So here goes for my God.

First of all let me just give some numbers:

30000 runs with 88 centuries and 144 fifties. A highest score of 248* in tests and 186* in ODIs. 208 wickets in all. And still going after 20 years of List A cricket.

I mean how some people have the audacity to challenge the career (one way or the other) of the great man is beyond my rationale. But this is not about his cricketing career. So my God (read Sachin) goes on and says –“I am first an Indian then a Marathi”. And some people just lose the plot. Accusations whirl around about him not being a true Marathi, not helping enough Marathi players into the side, advising him to stay out of politics and the whole nine yards.

First of all kudos to Sachin for standing up to those Vandals, who for the dearth of better name, call themselves MNS. I don’t understand all this hara-kiri about such a seemingly innocuous statement. I mean if anything the man needs to be praised for wearing his heart on his sleeve and proclaiming such a statement that reeks of nationalism. But these hooligans, having nothing better to do, have jumped upon the back of Sachin. And having the backing of their parent organization the Shiv Sena is just a blessing a disguise for Raj Thackeray and his band of mischief mongers. I mean to say that Sachin hasn’t helped Marathi cricketers is a statement so far below the belt, it’s absolutely unimaginable. If by helping , the Sena means using his apparent power to include more Marathi Cricketers in the Indian team, the world will agree with me that is actually a blessing. I mean that comment was more insulting to Sunil Gavaskar, who the Sena proclaim, used his unwielding power over the selectors to browbeat them into selecting more Marathi crickets.

The Sena and now the MNS, for political organizations, have so narrow an agenda that it is unbelievable that they are branded as political parties and not terrorist organization. I mean isn’t disrupting the harmony of the country a terrorist activity? How is burning down Gift shops, on Valentine’s Day, helpful to the people of India. The abrupt disregard of the indigenous nature of the human mind to imbibe everything that is good in each culture has been starkly violent and mass- destructing. Raj Thackeray is nothing better than a Dawood Ibrahim or an Osama bin Laden.

I will wind up by saying that, leave the man alone. He has done more for India, aye even Maharastra, than all the people in your organization put together. He has made us all laugh in rejoice or cry in despair. He has made us believe in India. Your petty politics is way below his level.Let us cheer for the man that he is. The master blaster. Batsman Extraordinare. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.

p.s.: About my IIFT exams. Gud scores. Quanti might just kick me out though.

"HEARTLESS MAN"

It has been a long while since my last post. Been keeping busy with lots of things. So I apologise if any of you have been eagerly awaiting my posts. Although I know nobody was waiting for my blog that eagerly so my apologies are wasted. But I digress. The length of my blogs has been point of critique by many of you , so I try to keep this short.

So the other day I went to the Bank to apply for XIM, Bhubaneswar (Still laboring under the delusion that I am management material). I want to report one of the appalling that disgraced humanity. It was like a day where the elder people are paid their pensions. So the bank was crowded. It has always been one of my fascinations to view people in alien environments. It is always amazing how they react to it. So I kept looking at different people to the point of being certain times (One time I saw this kid picking his nose, and when he found out I was looking at him, he looked almost crestfallen. It was like he lost one of his favourite toys). So amidst this amalgamation of sights and sounds I saw something that created a profound impact. There was this man in his late 30’s dressed in what appeared to be decent enough apparel. He was dragging his mother who barely appeared to be able to stand up let alone walk. I can vouch for the fact they was not a ounce of interest of that woman to get her share of pensions (apparently good enough for such a display of aberration of humanity). That really left a taste as sour as vinegar in my mouth. I mean how someone could do something so cruel and vilifying to a person was above me. I mean are we brought to this world by our parents so that we can do something this pathetic. For god sake’s did the man even forget what that woman has done for him? The nine months she beared the pain of having a living soul inside of her. The painstaking efforts so that he could make himself someone of respect. Is this one of the aspect that makes us human?? The apparent absence of emotion for someone who has held you dear all their lives. I would rather be a beast with love for my mom rather than a heartless human.

P.S. Check this link. http://www.kalingakusum.net/ . This is something Rakesh Mohanty sir (Our Teacher for those of you don’t know him) started in 2008. Let’s all contribute.

DIWALI- festival of disappointments

Happy Diwali to everybody. This being my final year I was awaiting this years’ Diwali with the kind of enthusiasm that a child usually displays.in a candy store But things started going downhill from the week leading into it.



First my roommate,Samir, got afflicted with flu and to his credit spread it to 20
odd students in the hostel. Being his room mate I got affected with this new stream of virus I would like to refer to as SAM-FLU. So sniffs and cough ruled the roost and even a suspected swine-flu outbreak kept us humoured for the week. Just when I thought things could not get any worse Mr.X(identity kept hidden in case he stumbles upon this blog by gross single clicking), an attention seeking and power wielding freak of a teacher, brought out a notice which banned fire crackers . As bad as it sounded we still hoped some semblance of joy would be spared for us and we still went forward and got ourselves our favourite crackers. Come the day the sounds( isn't it ironic) weren't very promising . A visit by Mr.X and his favourite sidekicks at 4 p.m. warning us of the obvious punishments were right on cue. Still the crackers went off. Before I go forward I want to tell you of this supervisor guard who was an almighty grudge against me my room mates and friends for some kind of misunderstanding that I care not to comment on. He is a lousy son of a gun, in my opinion though. So at 8 pm this guard finds two of my friends trying to sneak off to drink of cuppa tea at our fave. Shop. He absolutely refuses to let them go through the gate. In the ensuing hullabaloo that followed the only thing that made sense in a twisted way was that the guard called Mr.X . He arrived with his trademark sniff of disgrace and started to blast off at one of my friends for going out. Aye even promising on god to rusticate him( the melodramatic little…..). Things turned from bad to worse when the faithful sidekicks of Mr.X started to fire left right and center in search of the so-called culprits.The melee was slightly defused in the end when we took upon us to downright slaughter the credentials of the guard. We still await the dis-co and the aftermaths that always eventually are hellish.
So went the Worst Diwali of my lyf.


Thank You my teachers for ruining my last year at my favourite place. I owe you a big one…