And then she said…

Warning : Post contains slightly graphic content. Could very easily be thought of as distasteful by the general populace.

So if u're a prude, Go do something else in the interlude. But hey if u are quite the dude, Then maybe the humour's not quite so lewd.

(See that’s why i don't try to rhyme)</End Warning>

Imagine this. A 75 kg 6ft 3 inch mass of unadulterated enthu equipped with two left feet at-least-half-a-dozen left feet skipping and dancing in pure joy. That, if you haven't guessed it yet, was me, last Saturday.

The reason : She'd come in early. She wasn't supposed to be here until this Tuesday and yet she was here on Saturday. This sort of thing almost never happens. But hey I'm not complaining.

Right. So about her. First things first. She’s hot. You don’t get that feeling right away though. It takes some time, you gotta spend some time with her. Most people say she gets hotter by the minute. (:blush)

She’s the right size too. A couple of inches here or there and all would have been lost. But no. Not her. She’s just right. I have this rule, borne out of my many past predicaments. One of these was self inflicted, due to saturnine saturation on my tongue on one fateful day. But most of them were due to certain Satan-incarnates I call friends.

Anyway the rule is -

Involve yourself romantically in a relationship only when you know you can lift her.

or To put it in a crisp but crass manner -

If you can’t heave it, then you can’t have it.

Not to do this. Nah. Never . Its just good logic, don’t you think.

Anyway back to her. Lifting her was easy peasy. Nowadays I spend most of my spare time with her. And if all the other chairs are occupied I … ahem ahem … let her sit on my lap.

Our courtship was completely online (Yeah go ahead judge me). So I hadn’t really spoken with her in person. So this Saturday, you’ll understand when I say I was a little nervous, when

She said, …

(drawing semicircle on ground with my foot)

She said, … those three words to me.

She said,…

…

…

…

Welcome to Vista.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. My lady friend is indeed a laptop. Pretty lame, I know. But every blogger is apparently entitled to one lame post with that very guessable (oh-so-you-think-that’s-a-) twist ending.

Author’s note :

• To those who guessed it – congratulations on figuring out the obvious.
• To the utterly gullible minority that wound up feeling put out – Gotta hand it to you. You have a very vivid imagination. You are an eternal optimist. You’re probably the nutcase who when shown an empty glass, says – It is completely filled with air. Bravo!
  

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Now playing: Yes - Owner of a Lonely Heart
via FoxyTunes

Mayday on May day

Mayday Mayday Mayday

No I'm not cheering the day that is today, i.e May day. Why would I? When most of the rest of the world is out today enjoying the start of an extended weekend, I'm sitting here at work. And when I did complain about this fact, my father found it an opportune time to talk about how I'm the only person who actually is celebrating International Labour Day the way it should be - by working! Sarcasm runs in the family, I guess.

You'd think after working on Independence Day (Shocking, rite?), Republic Day, Election day (I'm pretty sure that at least one of these will invite criminal prosecution) etc that I'd have gotten used to all this. The empty roads, the closed eateries, the do-u-really-think-we'll-work-at-all-today attitude at office, yada yada. Despite the non existence of any kinda traffic on such a dreary day I managed to reach the office at exactly 12 noon. Courtesy, a couple of movies and a 3 AM shower.

Anyhow that's beside the point, my fast ending morning was already off to a winning start due to the very scarce public commute on a govt holiday. So I ended up waiting at the bus stop for quite some time and then finally got into a bus and sat down in one of those window seats. After giving the conductor the ondhu rupai change he asked for, I got my headset out and was ready to go Tubthumping with Chumbawamba.

Just then the gentleman, standing near the empty seat next to me touched me on the shoulder and said to me, "Seat ugierrshh ukksindhi".

We'll be singing
When were winning
We'll be singing

I went, "Wha ?". And then he did it again. "Seat ushierrggg usskkindddhi". Conveying a lot more urgency this time.

I did a vertical pan. Took the headset out. Looked him straight in the eye, pointed to the empty seat next to me and id, "Kannada Gothila". Geez! What is it with me and buses?


Again the hand on my shoulder. "Seat bwaaah ushhierggg uskkkindhi"

The newly introduced syllable, atleast 'that' should have alerted me.

He could take it no longer. He just dove right past me, put his neck out the window and puked his guts out. And I had the best seat in the whole bus, having what can be very readily described as a graphic visualization of the effects of badly brewed beer and/or a sensitive stomach. Or what the pros would call - a half boil. And then he went mattai in the seat next to me.

START MISIC -

Of how the thundu guy became just another guy

Just another dreary Saturday afternoon on a slow moving L70. I'd boarded the bus very near Ambattur (its starting point) and hence was able to secure a seat in the only place with enough leg room - the row at the very end, which is usually the very last place that other non-leg-room-challenged folk would choose because of the innumerable speed bumps.

But me, no, I don't get such luxuries and I've actually kindaa gotten used to it. Although my fellow passengers always have a weird look on their face whenever they see me decline a seat for so trivial a reason such as lack of leg room. Anyway thats beside the point and I will probably talk about it in a future post.

So there I was minding my own business seated at the fag end of the bus when along came the Thundu Guy and sat down right beside me. I wasn't too perturbed because these guys aren't much of a problem after they've attained nirvana ( in their case it is the act of securing a seat). Boy, was I wrong!

On a crowded bus waiting at a traffic junction in the sweltering Chennai heat it can be said with certainty that the likelihood of a good ol' fight is very high. And hence all personnel not trained in the fine art of bus banter and bickering must make way for worthier competitors. We'd just reached Padi and the bus was boarded by Bijli. I have no words to describe her. Suffice to say that even if Narasimha were to touch her then either Captain would be the one electrocuted or the entire Universe would implode. She was Vijay Shanthi + Sornakka + Neelambhari , all rolled into one.

Now the back row in a bus is a topic of fierce debate between the two genders of commuters. Whether its allotted to the fairer sex or if its free for all is still unclear. Me, I don't take any chances. I'm used to standing in buses, so what difference does it make if I were to stand for that extra couple of minutes. Unfortunately I'd just then gotten a call and was pretty busy on the phone when suddenly I realised I was about to be caught in the cross fire between Bijli and the Thundu guy. The initial barbs had already been thrown and bijli was ready to unleash her rage. Having seen a few such scenes in person, I did what every guy on that back row should have done. I fled that area. The fact that bijli's arguments were drowning out my mother on the other end also weighed pretty heavily in my decision to move to quieter surroundings.

By the time I'd disconnected the call I could see that bijli was really at the very top of her game. And the Thundu guy, was not gonna just sit around when he was being dis-nirvana-ted. When cornered, the two options available to any organism is Fight or Flight, and in choosing the former, the thundu guy made the biggest mistake of his life. What followed was a verbal bashing of the 2 generations on either side of the thundu guy's family. The thundu guy just about managed to drop the cliched 'Do you know who i know' line only to be confronted with an astute listing of possible characteristics that he and his 'political' friends possessed.

I am a good fan of a well paced "Podi" like the one in this song, but to use that as your only convincing insult repeatedly after the kindaa barbs that you've been getting. Lets just say that the journey from Padi to CMBT was a lot of things for a lot of people.

Entertaining as hell for everyone but one soul.
Hell for that one soul.
Educative for me.(all those new word-combos I wasn't imaginative enough to think up earlier...)
Life Affirming for bijli.

Much like Padayappa's thundu which falls to the ground at the end of the most amaklamatic scene of Tamil cinema, everyone on that bus saw that metaphorical thundu fall to the ground. And right then... the Thundu guy became just another guy.

A Martian Marriage

Lets talk Math. Specifically the controversial Drake's Equation,

N = R X FP X NE X FL X FI X FC X L

R is the average rate of star formation in our galaxy.
FP is the fraction of those stars that have planets.
NE is the average number of planets that can potentially support life per star that has planets.
FL is the fraction of the above that actually go on to develop life at some point.
FI is the fraction of the above that actually go on to develop intelligent life.
FC is the fraction of civilizations that develop a technology that releases detectable signs of their existence into space.
L is the length of time such civilizations release detectable signals into space.

Now this N is the number of civilizations in our galaxy with which communication might be possible. Unfortunately none of the values are calculable. But fortunately by very contrived mathematical models I was able to arrive at a strikingly similar equation.

n = r X fp X ne X fl X fi X fc X l

r is the number of eligible girls on earth.
fp is the fraction of those girls that don't already have bfs/gfs and/or husbands.
ne is the average number of those girls whom I even have a remote chance of running into.
fl is the fraction of the above that actually go on to develop life at some point. (And by life here I mean their existence of which I'm a part of i.e I must have somehow gotten to know them)
fi is the fraction of the above that actually go on to develop intelligent life. (You can add other adjectives like pretty, has a good sense of humour as well but that's only gonna take the numbers lower)
fc is the fraction of such girls that develop a tendency to like me and be liked in return.
l is the length of time such girls release detectable signals into space. (Meaning before they realize what they have gotten into and make a run for their lives)

So there you go, that is the number of girls out there for me. Whats ironic though is the fact that all the corresponding variables in the Drake's equation are arguably* larger than the ones in my equation.

i.e
R >> r
FP >> fp
and so on.

which can imply only one thing,

n <<<< N

Hence the number of girls out there for me is considerably smaller than the number of civilizations in our galaxy with which communication might be possible.

OK. So what do we do now.

Since the odds are obviously better with Drakes equation I decided that the next time a Martian makes contact I'm gonna propose marriage**.

* Don't ask me how, but if you still want to know - the calculation is based on heuristic analysis of existing stochastic simulations on individuals based on random sampling.
** Obviously, its gotta be a she-martian. Assuming they even have a notion of gender differentiation.

P.S this post is not to be construed as evidence of the author's growing desperation in matters of the heart. Rather it should be treated as what it is. An academic treatise on a matter of grave importance or BS spawned by a perennially bored brain.

How I Met Her Hair

My very-own-very-late Valentines Day story.

Just another friday night at KR Puram Railway Station. The train pulls in. The people try to get in as quickly as possible. I laboriously pick up my luggage and walk in. And we are away.

I dump my bag under the seat. Fasten up the middle berth. Bring the windows down. Plug in to the music and lie down in the lower berth.

And the song goes,

Aval varuvala. En pallamaana ullam vellamaaga aval varuvaala?

And then I was slowly drifting out of consciousness only to be awakened by that.

That thing that caused quite a furor during the Thiruvilayadal times.

That thing whose questionable natural scent was the reason for the debate between Nakeerar and You-Know-Who.

That thing which caused the opening of the proverbial third eye.

That thing which helps priyanka chopra weave out of her kung fu opponent's grasp in that Clinic Plus Ad.

That thing which was my first tamil swear word.

Yes.

I am talking about human hair. In particular about women's hair.

A lot of friends I know have a thing for long hair. I mean girls with long hair. Although I'm not into it as much as those guys, I'm definitely not averse to it. But that was not how I first reacted when that thing first tickled me.

A piece of advice, Just because a long black hairy(obviously!) thing is in your hand it doesn't mean you have to scramble out of your seat as soon as possible. Especially valid in case you are in the very cramped lower berth of a moving train.

I don't know if my waking up let the light in or the banging of my head cleared it but somehow my mind cleared enough to realize what it was. It was the flowing locks of a woman's hair or the more eloquently worded tamil koondhal, which had snaked through the gap alongside the middle berth and fallen into my very scared hands.

So I get up (without hitting my head this time) and look at her.

Well, she was no sameera reddy. But who am I kidding. I did not have the strength of a thousand elephants. She looked refined and pretty cute in her own koondhal-nonchalantly-tossed-aside-to-the-lower-berth way. My request to get her flowing tresses out of my sleeping quarters were worded thus,

You... Hair.... Down(Hand Pointing)....Take....Please(More of an afterthought)

Economic word usage I agree, but not very elegant is it?

She looked startled for a second. Then comprehends. Pulls the offending object(s?) out of the gap. Lets it lie beside her. Smiles a sheepish sorry.

I wave the apology off and get back to my now koondhal-free lower berth. Only after lying down do I realize how I'd missed a simple opportunity to strike up a conversation with her. I thought to myself there's always tomorrow and went to sleep.

Tomorrow did come. And I found my long haired almost-valentine sitting opposite me with her very own valentine from the other middle berth.

And that is the story of How I met Her Hair.

P.S: True Story. Obviously-exaggerated details are the author's entitlement considering his very poor luck.

Calling Honey - 044 26XXXXXX

As a sequel to the earlier post I thought I'd include something on what you should never call me.

My friends and I, we are, what you would call, secure men, meaning we are pretty confident about our orientation and inclination. Thus when we interlace our conversations with the occasional chellam or bujji or vooochi or kutti it is not a cause for alarm but should be seen as a representation of our very secure manliness. I am well aware of the fact that the usual greetings are machi or maapla or in rare cases sagala, but we are different.

At least that was how it was until a few weeks ago.

One fine Sunday morning, a member of the secure men brotherhood decided to call me up and ask about my plans for that day.

His greeting - 'Hi Honey'.

The person who picked up the phone - my unwitting father.

And since we are so secure about our manhood, we usually don't even wait to make sure its really 'our honey' at the other end. The dolt repeated the offending greeting two - three times. By which time I had realized something was wrong after seeing my father's reaction. Finally my father inquired as to who it was and then 'my honey' on the other side caught on.

He gave it to me, saying that the male caller was repeated asking for someone by the name 'honey' before asking for me. And then he went away still trying to make sure his ears were unclogged and that he'd really heard the word 'honey'. I just hope my family don't jump to any irrational conclusions regarding my inclination. Assuring them about that, is not a job that I want to be doing.

That said, I would like to assure all concerned readers that I'm as straight as a (looking for analogy) ... hmm ... as a (still looking)...

Sachin Tendulkar straight drive off Brett Lee at the SCG.

Now if my better half, if you are out there somewhere, a word of advice

During our future courtship, Never ever ... ever call me honey.

P.S:
1. How I wish this were a work of fiction? But this is too stupid to make up. Yup, its as Hetfield used to sing, Sad but True.
2. And the caller, pretty guessable. If you are part of my circle, that is.