Of all means of transport, I like airplanes the most. This comes from a trouble-giver’s point of view because quite clearly, the number of trouble-takers per passenger is the highest in case of air travel. Even before you enter an airport, people start taking trouble.
Illiterate policemen try to make sense out of tickets while playing a game of match-the-alphabets on the ticket with those on the photo ID. Once, I had a horrid time trying to explain that it is not the “wrong date” on my ticket but is actually my license’s “expiry date”. Then you stumble upon the second set of policemen, for whom every car without a red lamp has come from the enemy territory. Their hand movements are so fierce that those poor lads who come to collect trolleys, strategically place them in the way of their hands to save considerable time and energy and thereby generate acceleration (of trolleys) and mass (on bellies).
You try entering the door-frame with a light that, I bet, would continue to blink in the same nonchalant way if its holding company is installed in a nuclear factory or as a prop on a movie set depicting operation in a hospital. The policemen next to this door take the match-the-alphabets somewhat seriously or rather give an impression of and take the time for doing so. They stand in front of each other so as to create a narrow gap between their security-pets, which by the way are not their problems. The permanent problem of their life is to discern passengers from bye-bidders. By design, these guys say the sentence, “Kahaa ghuse chale aa rahe ho?” after roughly every 4th person who tries to enter. One is dying to stand outside the gate at a wedding of such a policeman’s kid wherein he would be standing at the gate to welcome the guests. Not their fault really. Bye-bidders do try to sneak in every now and then so as to continue with their show of emotions for a few extra meters. All that these people want to do is sit on those hinged chairs, get a feel of the posh airport, grab a bite in the 10x shop and show off to people standing outside that they’ve done these three things.
Somehow the baggage screening section seems to be the happiest. I think I know why (or I have told myself so). The person who looks in your bag records the funniest items and shares them with other members just before closing hours. It’s true (or I have told myself so). Your fatey-puraane-rang-birangi you-know-whats do rounds of their cell phones!
One of the business tricks of the airline industry is to paint “n-2” boards saying “Counter closed” where “n” is the number of boarding pass counters. Long queues are characterized by one family member standing in each queue, acting like Anil Kapoor in mid 90s with hands spread out and neck springing back and forth in a manner to say –“Yeh apun ka ilaaka hai”. This is also the starting point of many stages where one needs to be careful of children. These children not only try to force their way ahead under your nose (and legs) but also cry foul if your trolley touches their feet. “Uncle ne pair pe trolley chadhaai!” While you are still thinking whether to open your mouth and say, “Bhaiyya bolo beta,” the crowd is already on to you, “Itna badaa aadmi aur itne se bachhe pe trolley chadhaa di!” When this happens, do not hesitate in pushing your trolley on the feet of three people standing in front of you for they weren’t actually there before the ruckus started. On reaching the front end of the queue, one must not get too involved with the person facing you. In order to win a verbal battle with these beings, one must belong to the parliament or kitchen or streets. Do not waste time showcasing your sense of humor/money/market/chivalry to the lipstick/powder/broken English plastered girl. There is very slim chance that you would meet her ever again and she would give in to your demand of granting you a seat of your choice or allowing you to carry a 30 Kg laptop bag (with clothes which refuse to come in the other bag) under the pretext of “My laptop is totally unlike you, ji. It is old and heavy.” (Good line, eh?) Beware! These people are known to sandwich dangerous questions like “Do you want to upgrade your seat to business class at only Rs.1500?” between layers of innocuous ones like “Are you having a good time at the airport? Are you going on a business trip? Are you carrying hand luggage? Do you use Axe deodorant? Are you free this weekend? Are you single?” This information is especially for those who nod “Yes” to everything coming from across the counter.
The security check counter is nothing but a behtareen mujaaira of strategic alliance between 20x to 30x shops and the airport. People are allowed to reach the counter after substantial zigzagging giving kids a substantial amount of time to take a look at Wafers, toy cars, water bottles and other fake need-fulfilling things. Water bottles are of course not allowed to reach the counters. A theory (just made up by me) says that the water collected at the counters magically finds its way back in sealed bottles to be sold 3 hours later. The policeman near the X-ray machine bellows “Apna mobile apne bag mein rakhiye (hamaara koi bharosa nahi).” Laptop carriers face a tough time here. I have seen a person taking time off to select the “Do not show hidden files and folders” radio button in order to hide his hidden files and folders from the X-ray machine. Even if just two passengers populate this area, one will be seen (by the other one, of course) arguing with the officers about either his safed baal kaatne ki kaichi or maaji ki khaasi ki dawaai or bachhe ke gaadi ke cell.
The stuff you buy in the waiting room area hurts you at around 50x and I bet you don’t spit or throw it away because of the 50 before the ‘x’.
Every time I get in the bus that takes the passengers to the airplane, I swear I have heard this extremely funny line – “Abe kya bus se le jaa rahe hai kya?” The speaker can be usually spotted looking around for supporters to laugh at the extremely funny line.
Irrespective of what you have been told by the blue TVs or the wildly fluttering black plates or the pilot himself, you will be seated in the aircraft for around half an hour with nothing to do besides looking outside, counting planes, hoping for a hot co-passenger, praying for a not-stupid-co-passenger, trying to work the blower, reading the instructions manual, coming across picture of a kid and then finally settling on to praying that a kid sits nowhere near you. If you are surrounded on all sides by kids below the age of five, do understand that this is where the boarding-pass-counter-person has registered a huge victory. The only positive side to this is that you feel that the sad music is being played exclusively for you. Also, this is where you start wishing that planes had operable windows. We have come a long way in this evolution course to now imbue the fact that in planes, kids go off like alarms. It is so obvious that it should be included in the airhostesses’ act.
Even people in deep sleep, wake up at the smell of free food. Conversely, wide awake people act fast asleep if food is to be bought. She tries waking you up. You refuse. You let her pass and call her out. “Excuse me, do you have water?” She is rugged and is your-rug-rug-se-waakif. “Sir, it will be 30 rupees.” You gulp at nothing; go back to sleep and start dreaming about the bottle you left at security-check.
Don’t know why but somewhere we believe that attaining nirvana would be an impossibility if we act as we are told for more than a certain amount of time t. This time t is reached as soon as the plane grounds. Cell phones come out by themselves as if they would assist in contradicting the pilot’s useless information of temperature, pressure, humidity and wind speed. Continuing with my betting spree (given that nobody’s eventually going to win or lose anything), I bet that some people carelessly start them (to attain nirvana), carefully disable roaming and say these exact same words – “Ha pahoch gaya hoon. Lene aa jaao.”
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Hair and Scare
It’s the year 2492 AD. Cars are a thing of museums and you step out of your home throwing kisses and waving collective goodbye to your cute girlfriend, wife and doggy (it’s legal). Suddenly a made-in-2491 AD high-tech ultra-silent truck (trucks are still in) creeps into the alley and zooms past you. You blurt out a “##@@@$#@!” while the look on each of the onlookers face blurts out the same clichéd, “Baal baal bach gaye!” You thank heavens for not being crushed; at the same time cursing the creator of this modus-dictum questioning why your “baal” are so important. That’s when you search the internet for “Why are hair so important?” and reach this post.
To differentiate man from other animals, God decided to add something more to the list of attributes like “social, tailless, unsatisfied and mean”. There was not much room so He decided to play God (imagine the movie titles saying – God as God!) to make it – by acting like a painter who’d paint new strokes to give new look to his creation every single moment.
The importance of baal is also reflected in what we are called as soon we come into this world – A baalak or a baalika. One of the first things we are trained to take care of is other’s hair. Remember – you were not allowed access to shiny sleek scissors and blades, not because you’d snap your fingers, but because (hold your breath) the shrewd adults thought that you’d cut their precious hair (or unfortunate wigs).
If you don’t realize the utility of hair, I am pleased to cite an example. A cunning cousin was very fond of creatures. He’d get stray puppies at home, fed them the entire fridge till they made mosaics on marbles by vomiting all over the place. My aunt used to give him a nice thrashing to deter him from acting Kutte-waale baba. But such a compulsive pet keeper, he thought of tiny pets. What follows was shared by him one night before we went to sleep. He spent loads of time in the sewage drains and got lice in his hair. He even got names for them. That was the last time we went to sleep together.
Another example that pops itself up is from a movie that I saw just last night. Both the leads are together in the tub (They’re married, if you want more details!). He figures out that they don’t have the tub drain stopper. Just then he whispers, “Can I play with your hair?” Of course, she allows him, and after 5 minutes of ruffling up he manages to get a drain stopper from her hair (Married or not, please do not try this at home).
Like sophisticated cockroaches, classy guys need signals to live their lives. That amazing signaling power is bestowed upon girls’ hair. Just like antennae, they have to be of the perfect length to pass a strong signal. Initially, they need not be all chamke-damke, even chipku-chipku will do. The chamke-damke demands will be put up later but eventually will be withdrawn if the guys’ wallets are taking an unsustainable hit.
I have been told by little birdies in huge corporations that even the most decisive CEO’s consult their friends/dads/in-laws if it’s the precise time to go for a cut. That brings us to the most important players in the hair care industry – the barbers.
One of the many irrelevant things that I figured out early in my life was that even if a four-feet-long haired sage goes for a haircut, the barber would spend most of his time snapping scissors at nothing! After I grew up to figure out that barbers aren’t necessarily barbaric, here’s what Prem bhaiyya, a highly rated hairdresser had to say about this air-snapping-trait, ”It’s our way of clicking Refresh on desktop. Nothing happens but well…it gives everybody the illusion that we’re working.”
You’ll be lucky to go through your entire life in the company of your hair. I know I have touched upon a sensitive topic. Hair fall is as (or may be even more) painful as a heartbreak - More because the affected parties are much more in number. Hair-fallen is simply crestfallen. Imagine you are at a restaurant and beneath those breads in your soup is an innocuous hair ball. (Sincerely hoping you are not having food as you read this). I am sure you’d yell out loud and clear, “Hair-aami ki aulaad!” On the other hand, if you are a housewife and want to seek a serious revenge on undercutting of hair care expense, you can launch a Baal-istic missile in his daal. Just make sure you feed him with your own hands, so that he doesn’t figure out that “Daal mein kuch kaala hai”.
We arrive at the sad stuff now- baldness. A shy literary genius filled me up on this. The word bald has been derived from balled attributed to fallen hair making formations in a ball-like fashion. “He has been hair-balled” has simply been changed to “He is bald”.
Now you see why hair, if not given due care, give rise to a scare? You may lose out on tiny pets, drain-stopper, signaling, revenge seeking! On the other hand, enough of the hair care industry. Anybody up for a partnership in the hair industry? Send your fallen hair to……
To differentiate man from other animals, God decided to add something more to the list of attributes like “social, tailless, unsatisfied and mean”. There was not much room so He decided to play God (imagine the movie titles saying – God as God!) to make it – by acting like a painter who’d paint new strokes to give new look to his creation every single moment.
The importance of baal is also reflected in what we are called as soon we come into this world – A baalak or a baalika. One of the first things we are trained to take care of is other’s hair. Remember – you were not allowed access to shiny sleek scissors and blades, not because you’d snap your fingers, but because (hold your breath) the shrewd adults thought that you’d cut their precious hair (or unfortunate wigs).
If you don’t realize the utility of hair, I am pleased to cite an example. A cunning cousin was very fond of creatures. He’d get stray puppies at home, fed them the entire fridge till they made mosaics on marbles by vomiting all over the place. My aunt used to give him a nice thrashing to deter him from acting Kutte-waale baba. But such a compulsive pet keeper, he thought of tiny pets. What follows was shared by him one night before we went to sleep. He spent loads of time in the sewage drains and got lice in his hair. He even got names for them. That was the last time we went to sleep together.
Another example that pops itself up is from a movie that I saw just last night. Both the leads are together in the tub (They’re married, if you want more details!). He figures out that they don’t have the tub drain stopper. Just then he whispers, “Can I play with your hair?” Of course, she allows him, and after 5 minutes of ruffling up he manages to get a drain stopper from her hair (Married or not, please do not try this at home).
Like sophisticated cockroaches, classy guys need signals to live their lives. That amazing signaling power is bestowed upon girls’ hair. Just like antennae, they have to be of the perfect length to pass a strong signal. Initially, they need not be all chamke-damke, even chipku-chipku will do. The chamke-damke demands will be put up later but eventually will be withdrawn if the guys’ wallets are taking an unsustainable hit.
I have been told by little birdies in huge corporations that even the most decisive CEO’s consult their friends/dads/in-laws if it’s the precise time to go for a cut. That brings us to the most important players in the hair care industry – the barbers.
One of the many irrelevant things that I figured out early in my life was that even if a four-feet-long haired sage goes for a haircut, the barber would spend most of his time snapping scissors at nothing! After I grew up to figure out that barbers aren’t necessarily barbaric, here’s what Prem bhaiyya, a highly rated hairdresser had to say about this air-snapping-trait, ”It’s our way of clicking Refresh on desktop. Nothing happens but well…it gives everybody the illusion that we’re working.”
You’ll be lucky to go through your entire life in the company of your hair. I know I have touched upon a sensitive topic. Hair fall is as (or may be even more) painful as a heartbreak - More because the affected parties are much more in number. Hair-fallen is simply crestfallen. Imagine you are at a restaurant and beneath those breads in your soup is an innocuous hair ball. (Sincerely hoping you are not having food as you read this). I am sure you’d yell out loud and clear, “Hair-aami ki aulaad!” On the other hand, if you are a housewife and want to seek a serious revenge on undercutting of hair care expense, you can launch a Baal-istic missile in his daal. Just make sure you feed him with your own hands, so that he doesn’t figure out that “Daal mein kuch kaala hai”.
We arrive at the sad stuff now- baldness. A shy literary genius filled me up on this. The word bald has been derived from balled attributed to fallen hair making formations in a ball-like fashion. “He has been hair-balled” has simply been changed to “He is bald”.
Now you see why hair, if not given due care, give rise to a scare? You may lose out on tiny pets, drain-stopper, signaling, revenge seeking! On the other hand, enough of the hair care industry. Anybody up for a partnership in the hair industry? Send your fallen hair to……
Sunday, October 18, 2009
I m mature
For starters, “this is not about hating maturity” – that is what I have told myself before actually starting. Also if you are looking for maturity of bonds, women, etc. - shoo shoo hut hut – far you go from my eyesight (crude translation – courtesy Wheel Supreme).
There are some things you don’t have but you really really want them. The list can go on and on. It might be a GI Joe, high heels, a flat tummy, the other guy’s girl, the other girl’s guy’s other girl or any combination of these or simply for that matter, just some guy/girl (late entry - ability to blog to match the awesomeness of earlier posts)! And then there are some things you don’t have and you don’t even want to have – a persistent itch at the wrong place, an allergy to the most sensual perfume, fake praise, Reshamiya’s brays, Balan’s fats or Sawant’s stats.
For some, maturity falls (that too, flat on its face) in the second category. It just doesn’t come naturally to some. It is just like combing your hair every single day before going out. Have an interview? Practice a straight face. But just like you have a bad hair day, you might have a bad maturity-façade day. And then? Imagine this.
He asks, “Tell me your short and long term plans.”
You have a throat clearing ceremony, sit straight in your chair, look straight at him and start off, “After I embark on the journey of my professional career, I want to mould myself in the culture at ____, which is valued so highly in the corporate arena.” A momentary pause and you think – ‘Oh my god! The mole on his nose looks like a fly!’ Now if that happens, God save you from giving him a “Phbbbbbbbbt…hahaha.”
OK I am not going to dissect the origin, emergence and stemming out of immaturity. If you thought that I could actually do it, here – “Phbbbbbbbbt…hahaha”
So what do immature people think about and how do you spot one?
Read this as “while doing” – “they think about or actually do”:
So why do these people act like this? From where I observe, there’s just one answer – there is no answer. It’s like that particular scene from all movies – Hindi or English. When the doctor takes out the bullets from a body, they show him ceremoniously putting them in a bowl. It doesn’t have any meaning. But well, the tinkering sound of the bullet does sound great! (If you didn’t get the analogy, refer to the last bullet in the bullets before this paragraph.)
I know many of us feel like acting immature. But there is some strange force in the world that makes us to be the way we are and take a stand for – ‘I m mature.’
Yes. I do seem to hate maturity.
There are some things you don’t have but you really really want them. The list can go on and on. It might be a GI Joe, high heels, a flat tummy, the other guy’s girl, the other girl’s guy’s other girl or any combination of these or simply for that matter, just some guy/girl (late entry - ability to blog to match the awesomeness of earlier posts)! And then there are some things you don’t have and you don’t even want to have – a persistent itch at the wrong place, an allergy to the most sensual perfume, fake praise, Reshamiya’s brays, Balan’s fats or Sawant’s stats.
For some, maturity falls (that too, flat on its face) in the second category. It just doesn’t come naturally to some. It is just like combing your hair every single day before going out. Have an interview? Practice a straight face. But just like you have a bad hair day, you might have a bad maturity-façade day. And then? Imagine this.
He asks, “Tell me your short and long term plans.”
You have a throat clearing ceremony, sit straight in your chair, look straight at him and start off, “After I embark on the journey of my professional career, I want to mould myself in the culture at ____, which is valued so highly in the corporate arena.” A momentary pause and you think – ‘Oh my god! The mole on his nose looks like a fly!’ Now if that happens, God save you from giving him a “Phbbbbbbbbt…hahaha.”
OK I am not going to dissect the origin, emergence and stemming out of immaturity. If you thought that I could actually do it, here – “Phbbbbbbbbt…hahaha”
So what do immature people think about and how do you spot one?
Read this as “while doing” – “they think about or actually do”:
- Walking– bowling a quick imaginary ball and playing it stylishly (often seen at airports)
- Thinking about the environment –The only bad thing about it being that you don’t have enough trees that will allow you to swing like Tarzan
- Writing forms – making up answers and having a good laugh thinking what would’ve happened, had it actually happened
- Being alone – playing akkad bakkad bambai bo/ think about innocent crimes and talking to themselves in rhymes
- Watching movies – dozing off/making up a story with an unimaginable alien twist
- Dancing – discovering a breath-taking step and actually stealing the show by doing it (e.g. one finger in the mouth accompanied by a vigorous shake of the neck)
- Eating – Smelling everything before eating and then making morsels, arranging them in the plate and naming them before eating each one
- Drinking – When the glass is full, making bubbles by blowing in to the straw and when it is empty, sucking through it to make a really interesting sound
- After blowing your nose in the handkerchief – looking at the handkerchief to see if you have managed to make a map of any country, followed by another attempt and then another.
- Swimming – Going in the water ,singing a song and asking the other person if he could make out the song
- Writing blogs – Wondering if you can actually make a word by mixing the alphabets
- Explaining things –using unrelated analogies
- Discovering that the laptop has become unusually hot - getting clothes out of the closet and quickly start ironing them
So why do these people act like this? From where I observe, there’s just one answer – there is no answer. It’s like that particular scene from all movies – Hindi or English. When the doctor takes out the bullets from a body, they show him ceremoniously putting them in a bowl. It doesn’t have any meaning. But well, the tinkering sound of the bullet does sound great! (If you didn’t get the analogy, refer to the last bullet in the bullets before this paragraph.)
I know many of us feel like acting immature. But there is some strange force in the world that makes us to be the way we are and take a stand for – ‘I m mature.’
Yes. I do seem to hate maturity.
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