A tale of two seats

Warning: Outdated post. Kept hidden away because of its slightly embarrassing nature. Posting it in an unexplainable ‘middle of the night’ urge to come clean. Will surely regret it in the morning.

It was, unquestionably, the worst of times.

And, indeed, the age of foolishness.

Let us start, as is customary, at the beginning, when, in a sudden spurt of enthusiasm to watch Aamir’s latest offering ‘Ghajini’ (which was more than a tad disappointing), I booked 2 tickets to the first show for the day of release. I had never before been to the legendary ‘First day, First show’ of any movie in my life and was more than considerably enthused by the idea. Since the pre release hype surrounding the movie was exceptionally high, I decided to book tickets in advance.

And that’s when I made my first mistake.

I booked 2 tickets.

Two. 2. Do. Dόs. Eitnain. A pair. A couple. One, and one upon that. Which was one more than the number of people who were part of this epic plan at that time. Me.

It was Thursday, the day before Christmas, which was then leading up to a perfectly placed extended weekend, the said weekend being positioned just before New Year’s Eve. Wonderful.

The first round of “Do you want to catch a movie this Thursday?” round of messages did not receive a healthy response. Most people, it seemed, had made rather elaborate plans for the whole duration of the above mentioned days in an effort to maximize the ‘leave applied vs holidays already available’ ratio. (This being the guiding principle behind every Indians’ vacation/visiting home’ plans. Most westerners will take a yearlong sabbatical to explore the world. An Indian will use up just enough leave to stitch together the holidays with the weekend and be done with it, even if it means limiting his vacations to ‘Parents/Spouses’ Parents’ for years on end.)

With just a couple of days left for D-Day, complete panic had begun to set in. It had never before happened that I had watched a movie alone in a multiplex. To me, it was the height of loneliness. After the initial round of close friends, I contacted nearly every person I knew in Gurgaon. (Yes, I went alphabetically down my phone list.) . Without success.

When on D-Day, I was still companion-less for the movie, I revisited the initial list of people whom I had avoided inviting for various reasons, including ‘Hardly know him/her’,’Has boyfriend/girlfriend-therefore can hardly be expected to be free’, ‘is a big bore’, ‘will think I’m hitting on him/her’ among others. The only criteria still remaining being ‘Has strong B.O’.

It will suffice to say that on Thursday evening, with half an hour left for the movie, I still had one extra ticket.

And that’s when I made my second mistake.

I would probably have decided not to go for the movie if I had anything at all better to do that evening. Anything. But short of staying at home and watching old movies and new commercials, I had zilch.

Standing in line to enter the movie hall, I realized what a peculiar situation I was in. Presenting only one ticket at the entrance involved the risk of people behind me realizing that I was unaccompanied in this particular movie plan. My elaborate plan to escape this mini-embarrassment involved presenting two tickets at the counter and explaining in very clear, loud terms to the guard that my friend, who was rather unexpectedly delayed, was going to turn up shortly, and getting him to swear, on his life, that he would allow him to enter the hall on the weight of his (fictional) name on the back of the ticket.

In about 2 minutes, 50 people sitting around me were going to discover that I was watching the movie alone. But these two people standing in the queue behind me would never know.

…

On my left was seated a young couple. The guy, to put it very mildly, was an A**hole. The girl was just plain dumb. (This I infer from her complete lack of retort/response/rejoinder at any of the highly dimwitted and ridiculous comments that the guy in question was making on a continuous basis). His idea of a good movie experience involved loud cribbing (he probably thought of it as refined criticism) of every scene throughout the entire movie.

I tried everything. Sideways glances. ‘Head completely turned towards him’ glances. ‘Head completely turned the other way in disgust’ glances. Loud ‘Tsk’s (with combinations of my head turned either ways). When nothing worked, I did the unthinkable. I got up and shifted to my other seat. (I had that unique luxury, in case you’d forgotten)

My third mistake.

What I had not counted on was that the old couple on the right, which was watching the movie in respectable silence up to now, was hardly watching the movie at all. In fact, they were in the midst of the heaviest ‘making out’ session I have as yet witnessed in a movie hall.

The worst thing was that I could still hear the A**hole from my left while now having to also endure the old couple and their indecent antics on my right.

Though a precedent may not exist of this particular situation, I was pretty sure that shifting back to the other seat after once having shifted out of it would not have been a socially acceptable thing to do.

So I leaned back, ignored everyone (tried to, at least), and suffered through the rest of the 3 hour plus movie.

…..

Nowadays I make double sure I have confirmed company before I book tickets to any movie.

And then, just to be safe, I don’t.

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Peek-a-Boo!

After you, M'lady

Just not my day...

This post was written over a period of 1 1/2 hours in a cramped seat at 11000 feet while on a Spicejet flight from Delhi to Bombay.

The time is somewhere between 9:30 pm, which is when the flight took off, and 11:15 pm, when we’re expected to land. I couldn’t cut it any closer, since I’ve switched of my cell phone to conserve battery. I don’t want to be stuck in Bombay (can never get myself to call it Mumbai) without a phone when I get down.

Even as I’m typing this, the captain has just announced that we have been given a landing time of 10 minutes past midnight. This night is definitely not getting any better.

The only saving grace is that I have more than 3 hours of battery life. So here I am, typing away in 7 font size so that no one else around me can see.

On my right is a lady reading the book, “Beyond the secret”. She seems the quiet intellectual type. Definitely not the ‘let’s crib about how late this flight is’ type. The guy on my left is bored. Very. Has borrowed my magazine on retailing and is flipping through the Ads, spending inordinately long amounts of time on the ones featuring females.

The really interesting people are the family behind me. Husband, wife, kid, husband/wife’s mother, and husband/wife’s sister. By some process of decision making, it has been determined that Dear Dad will take care of the kid today. The kid is making it quite the task. Dad is trying to calm the exceptionally restless kid with typical male clumsiness and ineptitude.

He is under the illusion that taking care of spoilt kids on the airplane is definitely part of the Airhostesses’ job description. In between juggling with food trays, handing out tea and coffee, and charging people outrageous amounts of cash for these, she is getting her stocking pulled down, her food trays scattered, and the coffee cups molested by the young rut. Not to mention getting kicked in the ankle a few times for good measure. If ever there was a day when she felt like killing a passenger, today would be it. If she initiates it, I’ll gladly join in.

Being a woman, her anger seems to be focused on ‘Dear dad’ while mine is more concentrated towards the Kid. Between us, I guess we could take on both of them.

The kid has proceeded to kick my seat from behind every time he sits down with his Dad, post which he stands up and pulls my hair, all of this accompanied with high intensity screeching and wailing.

‘Mommy’ couldn’t be bothered less. Same goes for Mom-in-law and sister.

I have forgotten to carry my earphones. I did remember to carry a couple of books, both of which I deposited in my check-in baggage. The copious amounts of data I need to carry out my office work has ensured that I have by now deleted everything ‘Fun’ on my laptop that needs above 10 MB of space. It’s a company laptop; meaning no games either.

I have not had anything to eat since 12 in the afternoon. Was late for my plane, and just managed to reach in time for check-in, thereby squandering any chance of a meal before takeoff. My seat is on row 28, due to which I had to wait for a good 1 hour after takeoff for the nice airhostess lady to appear at my side, only to hear her very politely say the words “I’m sorry Sir, but we are out of vegetarian meals”. After 5 mins of rummaging in her tiny mobile ‘kingdom’, the only think she manages to find is a bag of peanuts.

I am allergic to peanuts.

….

While I am typing this, I can see the airhostess walking in with feedback forms in hand.

Time for some sweet revenge…

A peek through the looking glass

(Warning: Slightly disgusting toilet (humor?)/descriptions)

You walk up to the toilet door. It’s closed. From Inside.

Let us consider the various possible options of what could be happening inside.

a. Someone is taking a dump.

b. Someone is taking a dump.

c. Someone is taking a dump.

Pray, tell me, in which of these circumstances would it become necessary for you to take a peek inside and reconfirm?

I had an opportunity (an urgent need, rather) to visit a public ‘toilet with a difference’ recently. Each of the toilet doors had a good 1’ X 2’ sized window in the upper half of the door. Clear glass. Double sided. Bang at the eye level of the observer (if he so chooses to spend his time). Apparently the ‘public’ part of ‘public toilet’ had been taken rather literally in this case.

What possible reason could anyone have had to put up windows on a toilet door? After considerable contemplation, (part of it carried out in that very toilet), here’s my take on it.

This technology marks the start of a revolutionary new communication system across the toilet door. In the coming years, it shall completely replace the existing wordless communication protocol for Indian toilets, which for the ignorant, goes thus.

…

Man Outside Awaiting His Turn (MOAHT): Knock (“I’m waiting outside”)

Man Inside Taking a Dump (MITD): Hmmm… (“OK”)

…

MOAHT: Knock Knock Knock (in quick succession). (“I’m still waiting”)

MITD: Uhmm! (“I know!”)

….

MOAHT: DHUM DHUM DHUM!!! (Loud Knocking) (“What the @#%@^$ are you doing inside??!”)

MITD: … (Silence) (“What do you think, you moron?”)

…

MOAHT: (Tests handle of bathroom) (“I’m going to break this down. This doesn’t seem too strong”)

MITD: (Makes shuffling noises with feet / turns on the water, both being indications of him nearing the end of his business inside)

…

MOAHT is joined by ‘Man In Support of Man Outside Awaiting His Turn (MSMOAHT)’. This can be inferred (from inside) by the extra pair of shuffling feet, and the healthy amount of conversation carried out in grunts and ‘tsk tsks’ by the couple outside. MSMOAHT then grunts, knocks and tests the handle of the toilet all at once. (He can afford to do this since he’ll be long gone by the time MITD comes out).

The sound of a toilet being flushed is heard from inside, at which point MSMOAHT takes his leave, having successfully completed the mission. Moments later, MITD opens toilet door, to be met by a very dirty stare and a loud ‘TSK’ from MOAHT. MITD avoids any eye contact and heads straight to the wash basin. (Note that MITD successfully avoids any physical confrontation by the simple act of holding his dirty hands in front of his body at all times during this encounter)

To sum it up, this progressive new ‘Window’ technology would revolutionize the field of ‘across the door’ toilet conversation in India.

MOAHT would peek into the window with a questioning look on his face. He could also raise his eyebrow for purposes of clarity. (The thumbs up sign for ‘How much time?’ would not be a good idea since it could be mistaken for ‘All the best’ which would also be very applicable in the given context)

The combination of the expression on MITD’s face and its magnitude (Pain, Joy, Bliss, Anger, Frustration etc) would be, under most circumstances, more than enough information to accurately guess the amount of time required for MITD to finish up.

In some ambiguous cases, MITD could hold up his fingers to indicate expected time of completion.

Unless his hands are otherwise occupied.

Peeing on republic day

Amidst all the patriotism and desh bhakti on republic day, you still have to pee. No matter what other activity you choose to abstain from (like drinking, for instance), peeing is something you really can't help. No matter what special activity, patriotic or otherwise you are carrying out, there’s no escaping the ultimate truth in life. You have got to pee. You get together somewhere, watch the march past, hoist the flag and make that proud salute. Then you go around and find the nearest bathroom (or isolated area with/without cover) to relieve yourself.

You listen to all these emotional patriotic songs. ‘Mere desh ke logon’ and ‘Desh mere’ among others. You also pee. That's life.

But what you definitely don’t want to do is to pee while listening to the patriotic songs. At least not when the song is ‘Jai Hind’.

You walk unsuspectingly into the mall washroom in between the movie, unzip, and are blissfully going about your business. It is then that you hear the strains of ‘bolo mere sang, jai hind, jai hind’ in the background. But by then it’s too late to stop. You’re in middle of it. There’s no turning back. You can’t block out the song either. You’ve caught it now. It can only get louder in your head.

You’re stuck there, peeing while repeatedly listening to arguably the two most patriotic words possible.

Why would any self respecting mall play loud patriotic songs in the washroom? On Bose speakers nonetheless. What do they think people are doing while in there? .

For a moment I wanted to complain. But only for a moment. I did not, for two reasons.

One. It was republic day. India became a proud republic on this very day. We are celebrating the 59^th anniversary of that proud moment. Not a time for complaints.

Second. I’d now finished peeing. Remember how everything’s fine with the world when you’ve just peed. It’s difficult to be angry when you’ve just relieved yourself. It’s like the beginning of a new life. You want to zip up, wash your hands and start life over again. Definitely not a time for complaints.

So I finish up and saunter away, the song still running in my head . ‘Bolo mere sang,…. ‘.

In my defense, I tried my best not to pee to the tune.

Very Funny

"Very Funny!"

Beyond a doubt, the singular most inappropriate comeback ever.

It
a. Is not funny. And definitely not 'very funny' (contrary to what it would like us to believe)

b. Is not sarcastic. Insulting and venomous maybe, but sarcastic it is not.

c. Is not relevant. The wider the potential application of any comeback, the lesser the relevance to current discussion/wisecrack/joke. Especially joke.

d. Is not witty. Duh!

e. Is ineffective. It manages to convey disgust, boredom, irritation and much more as a group, but fails in effectively conveying any one single emotion of these. Now you’ve insulted the poor guy (or girl, if you must) but have not given him a reason why. Nor does he have any idea what part of his rendering you did not like. And therefore, leave him with no scope for improvement.

Crack the same “very funny” comeback a couple of more times in the evening and you’ve performed on normal conversation the verbal equivalent of a 'garrote'.

f. Is the final word. And not in a good way. Manages to leave absolutely no option for anyone else to come back with a better comeback (pun unintended). It’s a dead end. A phrase that brings with it only prolonged and deathly silence.

Until the next thread of conversation is brought forth by yet another fearless individual, to be valiantly debated upon until someone says those magic words. ‘Very Funny!’

And finally, (to put an end to this rather long, meandering, and completely irrelevant rant), you cannot, repeat, cannot use this phrase while also appearing to be smart.

Smartass, yes. Smart, no.

Of Shiny Floors and Bathroom Doors

(Warning: Contains disgusting descriptions and gross observations)

My compliments to the ones who have already realized what this post is about.
For the unaware, my apologies.

Let me get straight to the point.
I have nothing against shiny floors. Nor do I hold any significant disregard for the conventional bathroom door. (Or ‘toilet’ door rather. As we Indians like to put it. In our unique, ‘what’s to be embarrassed about?’ tone).

But when the bathroom door in question is somewhat short (from the bottom) and to be found placed over a rather shiny floor, …

(I refer to the commonly found partition between adjacent cubicles in most public toilets, and the exquisitely polished floors below them)

…

(Take a few moments to visualize it. Don’t let me hurry you.)

Office. Mall. Airport. Multiplex. Everywhere.

It’s like they’re following you around. Dedicated to the task at hand. Challenging you to take a shit without stealing a look at someone pulling up/down his pants.

You can t help it, can you? They have you cornered. You’re sitting there with nothing to do. It’s taking some time. You’re being patient. You’re planning what to do with life once you’re outside. Your eyes wander. … PHOOF! It’s right there. You’ve seen it now. You can’t help it. The image is imbibed in your mind. It won’t go away now. You might just as well stop trying.
And stop cringing. He can see you too.

And try waiting for the guy to be clear of the place before you leave. The last thing you want is to connect a face to the ass you just saw.

And they have accomplices. The washroom attendants. It’s like one big team. Meetings every other night.

“We need to start working together here. You guys concentrate on keeping me clean. I’ll do the reflecting and you guys over there will provide the angles. I want those peeks coming in thick and fast now”

And the tiles are always so plain. No unwanted designs. No rough surfaces. Committed to giving you as clear a view as possible.

For the doors, it’s all about hitting the right angles. I’ve noticed how they always make them the perfect height. Just enough to leave something to the imagination.

Like a sexy dress…



I have trouble falling asleep at night.


P.S: I am fully aware of having used the word ‘sexy’ in this blog.

after you, m'lady

Make up your minds. Please.

Get together somewhere. Have a chat. Pull out each others hair. Or whatever it is that you do to solve conflicts.

Let us know. We’ll arrange for accomodation. Drinks on the house.

At the end of it, just let us know, please, in clear precise terms, exactly how chivalrous you want us guys to be. We really don’t care much for suggestions, indications or implications. Just make a damned list. Keep it simple. Do’s and Don’ts.

Fact is that we can’t live with constantly having to evaluate every situation to determine what small random (to us) act of chivalry you are obviously expecting us to perform.

The way I see it, there are essentially three levels of chivalry. Level 1 is the absolute minimum a guy has to perform to escape being branded an uncultured ogre. One extra unwarranted act and we are bang in the middle of the “what a fake!” zone. Two, and we are somewhere in the “Oh! He’s flirting with me” area. These being separated by very thin lines, the exact locations of which are among the best kept secrets of the female world.

You’re lucky if we’re even paying attention to what you are saying. If we are also attempting to comprehend what you are trying to imply behind those words, we are practically in danger of brain seizure. Expecting us to also fit in all those little cute things like pulling up chairs, holding doors open, and letting you in before us in queues etc is surely a tad unfair.

Why the sudden outrage? I was recently slapped (verbally, mind you) for … wait for it… being too chivalrous. I let her into the line before me for dessert and was met with “ye chivalry sab ek din ki hi hai bas, kal se line pe aajaoge!” (this being my first day in a new office). No, I had no idea who the nice lady was then.

I am currently in the process of proving her wrong. I am the guy who’s religiously holding on to all the possible chairs and doors in the office and having lunch at the end of the line. (In the process, I have subsequently discovered that she’s not totally evil). But I shall continue to persist. Until I absolve myself, or die. Of cold. Holding an open door.

"After you, M'lady"