Truncated Love

Hi


Wazzup

H r u?

Gr8 gr8.

U liked the buk?

ROTFLMAO

temme

Gud

I lv u

Me2

I lv u 1/0

k. gtg. Brb.

Wtf?


lol. ttyl. Gtg.

k. tc.

U2.

Now that is what I call the expression of love in codes. Anybody care for full sentences, correct spelling and proper grammar?

Gtg.

Bolo Bollywood Ki Jai

Me: Hi ma, wazzup?


Ma: Hi beta. How is the job hunt going?

Me: Not much luck as of yet. Still knocking doors to get a campus job this summer.

Uncomfortable silence.

Ma: Worry not beta. Did you know, Smriti worked at McDonalds, serving burgers and cleaning tables during the start of her career.

Me: Smriti?

Ma (enthusiastically): Yeah, the Tulsi of Kyunki Saas……. And you know, Akshay Kumar was a butler in Bangkok. Rajnikanth was a conductor and Uttam Kumar was a clerk.

Sheeeessshhhhhh !!!!!!!!!!!

Welcome to my family. And this is my mom, sans exaggeration. If Bollywood offered degrees, she could have done her doctoral thesis three times over. She couldn’t tell a killer-smiles Tom Cruise from a gorgeous-looks Hugh Grant. Tollywood with all its Beder-Meye-Jyotsna (the snake charmer’s daughter Jyotsna) and Baba Keno Chakor (why is the dad the servant of the family) don’t hold her attention for more than five minutes. But when it comes to our own Mumbai film industry, the Bolly-cells run in her blood.


I have seen my friends growing up in conservative families where cable TV was a no-no. Going to cinema halls was a taboo till they reached college. Cable TV found its welcoming place in our home at the very beginning of its inception sometime in the early 90s. I have never really been interested in the TV. The cable connection was for her.

Imagine a mom who’d persuade you to go watch a movie with her, and in return, she will treat you to lunch at your favorite Biryani place, take you out for shopping, and promise you to buy whatever your heart desired. For some inexplicable reason, Bollywood has fascinated her as much as the hobby of lip-locking fascinated our serial kisser Emraan Hashmi. Well, Hashmi might grow old someday and find his kiss-eromones (the sub-family of pheromones) not cooperating. But never ever will a day come that my mom would stop raving about Bollywood.

In the 70's when good girls from conservative families never went to the cinema theaters, my mom used to go and my grand dad would bring the first day first show of every Hindi movie. I guess she has seen every movie that our film industry has ever produced, from Main khoon ki pyaasi hoon to Bahu bani Chudail, once and more than once. For ask her about a movie, and she could tell you everything from the protagonists to the directors, to which year it released in, which movie theatre she went to watch it, with whom, wearing what, eating what, and any other interesting episodes that might have ensued. Being from a not-so-movie-fanatic family, one of the reasons she married early was because she believed that while she was married, she would not have to convince my grandparents every time she wanted to see a movie. Both my grandfather and my dad must have spent a fortune getting the 1st-day-1st-show tickets for every Amitabh or Jeetendra movie. From the dhishum dhishums to the matka jhatkas and the choro bachao, she has seen it all.


One peek into the movie, and she could tell you the name, the entire story line, who raped who, who married who, and who fled with who. What more, she knows who is related to who in what way. Ask her and she will tell you amazing facts like how the Kapoors and the Bachchans are related because Amitabh’s daughter Shweta married the son of Ritu Nanda, who happens to be the daughter of Raj Kapoor. She will tell you how in Deewar, the casting was weird because Shashi Kapoor and Neetu Singh are father-in-law and daughter-in-law in real life. Ask her and she will tell you the entire life history of Dimple Kapadia, including descriptions of how she got married early, her marital problems and her divorce with Rajesh Khanna, her affair with Sunny Deol, and so on and so forth. And her Bolly-knowledge isn’t just limited to the Bachchans and the Kapoors of the older generation. She can confidently tell you how Amzad Khan (aka Gabbar Singh) died of a heart attack due to their unhealthy food habits and how his son (the same hero of Raja Ki Aayegi Baarat starring Rani Mukherjee) took a lesson out of this and reduced so many pounds in so many years. She can tell you the entire chronologic tree of the extended family of Kajol that includes people like Monish Behl, Nutan, Joy Mukherjee, Rani Mukherjee, and Shraboni Mukherjee (the jaate-hue-lamha chick from Border).


This reminds me of the TV serial Filmi Chakkar featuring Satish Shah and Ratna Pathak. Btw, Ratna Pathak is related to Deena Pathak (the strict mom from the Rekha starrer movie Khoobsurat), Supriya Pathak, and Naseeruddin Shah. You should see how animatedly mom match makes the Bollywood couples. She was so upset with the Abhi-Aish wedding, because she strongly believed that Abhishek should have gone for Sushmita Sen or Rani Mukherjee.


Naah, I do not trust his decision anymore. Even that old hag Karishma was no good for him- she told me all heartbroken one day.

But mom, how do you know who is destined to be with who?, I asked her, intrigued.

I know- she said with conviction.

Those were the days of my masters when I used to be all worried about getting a job post masters. That was the time when she had told me that like Shashi Kapoor in Deewar, I should be patient and well-principled. Man, the mention of him had brought back bland imaginations of me informing my sis who supposedly (am just imagining) would have had all the fun in life, daaru, handsome boyfriends, money, while I’d look into her eyes and say- Mere paas Ma hai. And my sister would look at me and scream-


Muahahahahhaaa……..

If dad would let it, I am sure our walls would have had expensively framed pics of people from the Bachchan family, Kapoor Khandaan, and the entire Kutton ka khoon peene waala Deol family. Imagine my plight one afternoon when I come home from work, only to see my mom with a swollen face and tear filled eyes.

What? You okay? What happened?

Yeah I am okay, and she started to wipe her eyes with the corner of her pallu again.

What? Nani is fine?- I asked alarmed. Is it dad? You had a fight with him?

No no.


Then?

Well, Lajja Shankar killed Professor Verma.

Who Lajja Shankar? Who Verma? Do we know them? Are they dad’s colleagues?

No…. she sounded irritated.

Then? Tell me….

I was watching the movie Sangharsh..(sob sob) and (sob sob)…..

Craaaappppppppppp………. I screamed out. See how your Professor Verma is flirting with the chicks in the movie Garam Masala…

Still…….. (sob sob)

Can you believe it, my mom is a fan of Sunny Deol. She is even a bigger fan of Adnan Sami, Akshay Kumar, Sonu Nigam, and Preity Zinta. When she told our neighbor aunty (who isn’t even enlightened enough about Bollywood to distinguish Akshay Kumar from Akshay Khanna) how Adnan Sami, Neetu Kapoor-Singh and Sushmita Mukherjee (the kitty-chick with the crater-faced Pankaj Kapur, who also happens to be Nilima-Sadak-Azeem’s husband and Shahid Kapur’s dad) were her idols because they had so dedicatedly lost weight, aunty asked if they were family friends.


Women have no life of their own. That Bhagyashree chick married a Himalaya loser and bas, end of career. And look at Kajol now. That way, I so very admire Dimple. And am so glad Sunidhi Chauhan separated from that Bobby guy and reconciled with her parents, she told me enthusiastically one day.

Hmm… in logon ke life mein ya pati ka sthan hai ya career ka (these people have the place for either the husband or the career in their lives), I said unenthusiastically.

You know how Rajesh Khanna and Anup Jalota were jealous of their wives?- she started animatedly.

Mom, I’ve heard it many a times. I am not interested.

Too bad, she looked irritated. Look at your other friends. You neither like movies, nor do you like discussing them. What would I do with you?


Well, that is my mom. She strongly encourages me to maintain a diary so that someday when I become famous, the diary can be made into the book of my life (like the book of Amitabh Bachchan). Her references and allusions to anything is mostly related to Bollywood. She once asked me if US looks the way just like it did in Kal Ho Na Ho and Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna. She once asked me if I could get a TV and a cable connection before she visited me. She wants me to wear a Manish-Malhotra type designer wedding. For years, she went goo-goo-gaa-gaa over the chiffon sarees Dr.Simran Mathur wore in Astitva-Ek Prem Kahani. What more, she is full of those adjectives for people like Kajol-type-laughter, Rani-type-husky-voice, Sushmita-type-beauty-and-brains, Bobby-Deol-type-sexy-voice, and Ajay-Devgan-types-deep-eyes. Ask her and she will tell you why Johnny Lever is called Johnny Lever, what is the real name of Sanjeev Kumar, how many movies have Amrish Puri and Sridevi acted in together, and how singer Sonali Rathod eloped with brother-in-law Roop Kumar Rathod and married him to free herself from that animal husband Anup Jalota who wouldn’t let her sing.

You think it is Filmy Chakkar? Yaar mujhe to kabhi kabhi chakkar aa jaata hai. So the next time you crave for some delicious homemade cashew chicken or mutton do pyaaza, you know what to scream?


Bolo Bollywood Ki Jai….

My Dad's Face

Talking about Fathers’ Day, I do not know what’s so special or fatherly about a Fathers’ day, but in a world where even every dog has its day (ahh!!! My puns suck big time, I know), I mean when there are days dedicated for everyone, from lovers to mothers, neighbors, chacha, mama, mausi, in-laws, outlaws, boss’ and ex-lovers, I did not see how fathers could be spared. So I decided to write a post about my dad. Not exactly a post about my dad, but definitely a post about my dad.


What a confusion!!!!

I was brought up with a typical middle class upbringing that included oodles of instructions about what to do and what not to do. The latter in fact vastly outnumbered the former. And my mom thought there is a universal antidote to every problem, or more correctly, to ensure that problems never ever arose in life. And the antidote was my dad’s face.

When I was a kid and I had wanted to break off the neck of that boy who borrowed crayons from me and then showed me his little finger for katti (a gesture used by silly little children, especially girls, to signify temporary discontinuity of friendship till parents intervened), my mom had told me- Don’t mess with him. Dad ka chehra yaad hai na? (remember your dad’s face?)

This way, my mom has strategically used the reference of my dad’s face for almost a quarter century now to keep me off the seemingly evils of life.

At four, I had wanted to ask some aunty why every time we went to their place, mom got the customary packet of mithai (sweets) for them while every time they visited us, they came empty handed. I was just curious about the mathematics of her hospitality. And mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?

At six, I had asked mom what was this whole story about the bol sakhi bol tera raaz kya hai song on Doordarshan and what exactly do those pills cure? Constipation? Headaches? Mom had rolled her eyes and said- You ask too many questions. Remember your dad’s face?

At ten, I had overheard Mary Aunty praising her big-butted fat ass daughter for nothing and I had wanted to make fun of her. My mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?

At twelve, I had wanted to ask my best friend if he has purchased a cycle. My mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?

At thirteen, we changed stamps and I had applied in a kids competition to get some money for purchasing some more of them (stamps and coins used to be traded as was in the barter system)I had asked my mom if I could apply to participate in the competition as well, just in case (the reason was instantly understated). My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?

At fifteen, I had told my mom that many boys from my class had girl-friends, and if I could go look for a girl-friend, and also buy that blazer for my birthday. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?

At sixteen, I had asked my mom if it is okay for me to try smoking and drinking at least once, just for curiosity sake. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?

At twenty one, I had told my mom that Malayali girls were a pain and I would prefer a cute looking North Indian girl. I had also told her that I want to get married. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- You’ll marry at 21? Remember your dad’s face?

At twenty three, I had told my mom that I do not want to get married anymore, North Indian or not, and I want to go out, see the world, travel US and Europe and Africa. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- What? Remember your dad’s face?

You get the drift, right?

I tell you, my mom has used my dad’s face as a protection aid to prevent me from every screw-up in life. But then, come to think of it. It is the very face of my dad that is responsible for my dysfunctional love life at an age when my friends have an active love life, married or not. It is my dad’s face that has prevented me from the adventures of getting drunk and calling names to various uncles or aunties and their baby-elephants haathi's mere saathi's. Every time I saw a good looking seemingly date-able girl, I was programmed to see my dad’s angry face, with blood rolling out of his eyes in streams and his nostrils flaring like a buffaloes. Every time I was expected to genuflect to these door ke rishtedaars (long distance relatives) while I wanted to scream- fuck off!!!, I would see the frame of my dad, hands crossed, with a stern expression on his face. Not that my dad is like that, but that is how I am expected to picture him every time I crossed the so called lakshman rekha of maan maryada. What more, I have been expected to see my dad’s face for certain apocryphal involvements with people, where I had no role. Like when I called mom the other day and told her that “X” is going out with a girl, my mom had sternly said- Remember your dad’s face?

Clearly this was an implicit warning about how I should refrain from doing anything the “good boys” do not. But what am I supposed to do if a 30 year old man is going around with a 25 year old girl? He takes her out on long drives, pays for her dinner, buys her sexy clothes, allows her to use his credit card, and provides a shoulder every time she wants to lean on (which happens some hundred times a day). At least his life is not as love starved, colorless, and boring as mine. Ab dhalti jawani mein jo mila.

Most recent conversation-

Me- Mom remember my neighbor? Haan wahi. Arre haan haan wahi. He had a baby girl last week.

Mom- err… I did not know he was married.

Me- oh come on mom. How many times do I have to tell you that getting married and having babies are two totally unrelated events?

Mom- what??? He is not married? What a shame. The girl’s parents would be devasted.

Me (excited)- on the contrary, the girl lives with her parents in California, and they were with her during delivery. He will be in California for the next three months, living with the baby, the girl friend, and her parents.

Mom- you mean as ghar jamai?

Me- mom !!!! they are not married. How can he be ghar jamai?

Mom- Just remember your dad’s face.

Me- errr……What do I have to do in this? I am not the boy friend, am I?

Mom- I don’t know. Just remember your dad’s face, that’s all.

At this rate, I just hope I don’t remember my dad’s omnipresent face then. Yes yes then. Arre you got it right, I really mean then.

The Cycle Of Crime

A picture is worth a thousand words. And a gesture is worth a thousand warnings. Was taking a stroll when I came across one of the many cycle stands. I saw this.




And this.
 

 
And finally this !!!!




Lol…. Amazing idea, whoever’s it is to get rid of the tires to carry while leaving the cycle frame behind.


I tell you, there are so many things to see and learn in life. Beyond the text books I mean.

Hidden Treasures

A lot has been going on and I’m dying to tell you about it. Ironically, a lot has been going on and hence I do not get the time to blog. Whatever be it, am working on a very interesting post. Just need some time.

I was just clearing up the table. This meant papers needed to be removed, files needed to be put neatly into cardboard boxes and put away someplace where they could be retrieved when needed. It took me longer than I anticipated, and I was covered with dust and grime. Anyway, a few hours of toil and aching muscles later, the files were put away, boxes shoved elsewhere and the place looked more in order. It is then that my eye caught on something. Something extremely mesmerizing that was hidden behind the files by the walls for God knows how long. I hesitated only a bit, wondering if it would be proper on my part to remove this.

I gave myself a look of utter surprise, wondering if this was the right age of be excited about things like this.  And every morning, I look at them mesmerized, wondering how different and yet how enthralling they could look. For many, these would have meant nothing more than few pieces of junk. For me, it was like a treasure hunt.


This is what I am talking about.

Worming Up-II

Nothing is as exciting as taking up new challenges. The most difficult challenge for me was to overcome the fear of letting worms crawl all over your hands, and yet not drop them out of fear and injure them. These are the tobacco worms the department has been breeding for decades now. My challenge was to learn the art of doing it rightly in 5 days’ training, and yet not feel sick every time I entered the smelly breeding room.


No worms as a prize to guess that I went ahead and took up the job. The first day, I just followed the guy who was training me. And I had no freaking clue about what was happening. This is the same guy who says bok of inseks and botton and who has sternly written instructions all over the place in wrong English (eg: please do not removed the machine). I was handed a checklist of some 50 things to do while he went around changing worm boxes, putting older ones into newer boxes, and categorizing them based on certain characteristics. If you happen to be in the biosciences or have a little interest about insects, you will know that most insects mainly have 4 life stages- egg, larva, pupa, and adult. These were the diagrams in the good old biology textbooks. The larval stage could further be divided into 3rd, 4th, and 5th instar stages.

Now….


My trainer has left for “botton” after training me to feed “insek” (he doesn’t pronounce “S”, poor thing).

I start my job at 8 every morning, first categorizing the larvae into different boxes based on the presence or absence of eyes and the shape of the head (let me spare you the details).



Then, I take the adult worms from the previous days which are no longer feeding and put them in dry wooden blocks. You know that they are ready to go without food when they smack the food all around the cups and a thick black line appears on their back. Here see the difference for yourself.






Once put in blocks, they go without food and in a few days, they all reach the pupae stage with the brown covering that makes them look like cockroaches.






After a few days, when the pupae turn black and soft from being brown, they are left in the cages where they emerge into adult moths.




The adult moths live on sugar water, and lay eggs on the underside of the tobacco plant leaf.




These are attracted to light and hence every time you take the plant out of the cage, you need to switch off the lights and have to know your way in the darkness. Once the plants are taken out, eggs are collected by gentle scraping with the hand without damaging the leaves. There are two varieties of worms, the green ones and the black ones. These are the collected eggs.




Three days later, the eggs are made to hatch on a thin strip of food. The food is a special diet made with calculated amounts of vitamins, antibiotics, and other stuffs and smells as horrible as the fermented dosa dough. In the pic, moisture is being wiped off the surface of the food block to be cut into pieces.




When the eggs hatch into thin hairy beings on the strips of food, they look like this.




About 200 of them are put in small cups everyday and allowed to grow.






After a couple of days, they are transferred to a bigger cup, and the cycle is repeated again.







 
Look how the worms get a grip on the food and dig it out with their pointed jaws.




Sometimes, eggs hatch out into weird looking creatures. Naah, this is not Surf Ki Safedi Lalita ji. It is just a whiter worm.




Challenges I faced


First, the sheer number of things intimidated me. There are 3 huge rooms filled with boxes like this and I had to know my way through them.



The second challenge was to put the larva into the dry box. These are extremely soft and the moment you hold them, they start wriggling their heads and butts. Yet you cannot afford to drop them or squish them. This is how they looked. [1] And this is how you put them into the dry blocks with your hands.




And this is how you put them into the dry blocks with your hands.




I remember how the guy asked me to use forceps to do that, and I was touched with his compassion for me. The next moment my high hopes came crashing down when he dutifully informed me that he wants me to use the forceps because he doesn’t want me to injure the worms. When I would put the worms into the boxes, they would wriggle their heads and crawl out. Soon, I figured out a way to grip them softly by the neck and put their head facing downwards so that it was difficult for them to crawl out.






Learning and knowledge gained-


I have learnt how to distinguish between a male and a female pupa looking for a tiny hole somewhere in the male pupa. Imagine the chaos holding a brown pupa which is wriggling itself furiously trying to locate a freaking hole.

It was a challenge to come to the lab every morning (even on weekends) and not faint out of the smell and the trauma of dealing with these creepy crawly things. The initial few days were so bad that everything I ate smelt of them. I would step onto something and jerk off involuntarily to see if I had stamped on an insect. I would be rummaging through my bag for a pen and then back off immediately wondering if some of those insects have crawled up into my bags. I killed so many insects by dropping them abruptly because they wriggled so much and I was too scared to touch them.



But eventually, things got fine. Eventually, I stopped using the forceps and started to hold them with my hands instead. The way they crawl and cling to the skin gives you a very uncomfortable feeling. But at least they do not bite. I mean these are merely spineless insects. Things could have been worse. I could be working in a lab full of white rats or sting rays, getting bitten by them every now and then. I could be working in a lab full of snakes. I could be working with the chimps, the monkeys, crocodiles or whatever. These are just tiny harmless insects.


Like I said, this job isn’t at all related to what I study. But one of the best things about this is the scope of a well rounded education. Even when you are a student from a different department, you could do so many things. You could work in the library, feed worms, take poetry classes, learn graphics designing, learn or teach languages, and so on. The opportunities are endless and diverse. This way you acquire newer skills, make new contacts, and get to do something different, even if that means dealing with wriggling, crawling green creatures.

I am so glad I didn’t chicken out the day I went to see what the training was like. And if you get my point, go take a break off your hectic work life and learn something totally new and unrelated. Not only does it teach you a lot, but it also acquaints you with things you could never think of.

And let me know the next time you learnt something which was totally unrelated to what you are specialized in doing.

Worming Up- I

This summer, I decided to broaden the periphery of my learning, and do something unusual. I was skimming through the students’ board for campus job opportunities in one of group's colleges when something interesting caught my eyes.


Needed someone to feed insects.

Now this was not exactly something I’d jump at, as if it was something mouthwatering like spending a day with John Abraham in Goa sans Bipasha Basu. However, I emailed the prof. and he agreed to meet me. He informed me that no graduate student had done anything like this before, and he also made it clear that the pay would be hourly and kinda okayish. Moreover, I’d be expected to work on the weekends. But this being the time when the course load is low, I decided to give it a shot instead of whiling my time in shopping malls. We decided on a week’s training before I took charge.

Day 1-
He took me around to show me things and introduce me to the guy who’d train me. It seemed that he was leaving town for a while and the department needed a temporary replacement. The first thing that caught my nose is the stench so very characteristic of any animal lab. While he introduced me to the guy and left, I could almost feel my stomach churning and crying to puke. My trainer was a Vietnamese guy, a short heighted fellow reaching almost till my shoulders with hair standing out like a porcupine. And here read his English.

Trainer- There are many bokk of insek here. I go to Botton so you take care and feed insekk.

I could laugh and laugh the way he funnily skipped the S alphabet and replaced it by a K. What more, I went home and tried to peak like him. I mean speak like him.

I was taken to a lab full of these worms at different stages of their life. Anybody with a basic idea of entomology would know that most insects go through four main life stages of egg, larva, pupa, and adult. My job was to keep the cycle going, which consisted of about 25-30 steps daily. Mornings would take me some 4 hours while evenings would take me another one hour.

The first time I saw the insects, I wanted to flee as far from the department as I could. Let it suffice to say that I am an extremely touch-sensitive person who has never even let a cat close till date in fear that the cat’s fur would brush on my skin. My nightmares consist of being in a room with insects let out, crawling all over me. It seemed that my nightmares we coming true after all.

My trainer told me to use forceps initially. I was pleased that he was aware of my discomfort. The next moment, all my high hopes came crashing down. He meant that I should be gentle with the insects and not injure them and squish them in nervousness or fear, so it is better that I start with the forceps initially.

Now here take a look at the worms. They come in two types, the wild type (green ones) and the black type.

   
 
By the time I had watched him doing stuffs on day 1, I had decided that I was not taking up the job. I could sell newspapers, work as a waiter, or do anything else. But it was a torture to spend five hours a day in such stench, letting hundreds of worms wriggle all over your hands. Come on, I was not really one of those shorts clad guys from the Discovery channel who got their kicks out of jutting their hands into snake pits.


Later that night, he came into my room to have a talk with me. He as in my alter ego, my second half that resides in me and talks to me during confusion and apprehension. And he told me this-

Look, someone has to do it. And you are helping someone in their research. If all this while you sold apple pies, now you are helping grow the apples. It might not be something as hot as learning to fly planes, but it is a job after all. If your dentist could make a living out of peeping and poring into people’s mouths (or worse still, think of your gynecologist), if masseuses could make a living out of oiling huge blobs of fat of strangers, if your local Govinda hair salon (pronounced as Gobindo heyar seloon) could make business chopping lice infested hair with dandruff, what was wrong in helping the department breed worms? For all the research you did with rat fetus, did you ever realize that someone actually does the job of extracting the rat fetus out of the mother’s body?

Will I decide to go out of the way and take up the job that needed me to be in stinking places with worms all around me? Will I help the department and also gain some very unusual experience in the process? The experience might not make me a stellar resume, but it is an art learnt and a skill acquired nevertheless. Will my altered ego convince me that no experience in life whatsoever goes waste? Will I mentally prepare myself to deal with the occupational hazards of the job where I would have to touch the wriggling insects, clean insect exuvia (the dead remains of the insects or the skin they shed during molting), and work on weird timings like 7 AM on a weekend? Or will I chicken out, spend the summer comfortably hanging out in shopping malls and hogging on pizzas and burritos?

Let time answer that.