Adam versus madam - railgaadi feat.

“Dude, F 21, getting in at the next stop!”

I opened a curious eye from under my blanket and looked below. A group of boys, all in the age bracket of 20 to 22 sat hunched in a circle on the lower berths. In perfect synchronization, the train sounded its siren in the background, to give this all important piece of information, the aura and atmosphere it so richly deserved.

“Dude, how does one impress a girl?”

I was fully awake now. It wouldn’t be right to lie down when such worldly noble matters were being discussed. And it really was a question of the ages, one that had troubled most of mankind throughout evolution.

“Dude, you need to be different. She should think you are cool. For eg. Tell her you are a dirt biker or a salsa dancer, she’ll fall head over heels for you”, said one of the species.

I wanted to tell him that all he looked like was a dirty broker but stopped short when the yokel began to gyrate his hips in a supposed seductive fashion. I do not want to be harsh to a young man but I could testify in a court of law that the copulation process between two giant pandas in full heat would be comparatively more graceful than what we were now being witness to.

“No man, who is interested in a biker? One has to be an achiever in college, like a sportsman or an accomplished musician.” I liked this second fellow, he seemed to be talking about people like me. Immediately, I was transported back to my engineering days, aaah the days when I lead my branch team to victories galore. Strangely none of those sequences had any women trying to molest me, nor even tear off their clothes and scream my name in joyful ecstasy, not even give me as much as a platonic hug. Pushing cricket behind, I moved my reverie to the college stage, the platform where I had moved my body just like Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy insisted we all should. But then again. Of course, there was the occasional girl who smiled at me in the corridor, but mostly I was only waltzing with Bashir, or Rohan or Sanjay or Muthuswamy. I was positively glum now.

“It is all in the mind, brothers”, a third hero declared, raising one eyebrow condescendingly. With one eyebrow raised high up on the forehead, he looked like a cross between the Rock and a cock. The poultry variety, not talking of err weapons here. “One should plays the game ofs the minds with the womans.” With that kind of grammar, he was playing good games with my mind too.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with all you guys. Can’t you ever stop talking about women?” the fourth guy denounced. There is always one fellow in every group who believes that by rebelling against popular culture, he can appear cooler. He was nodding his head in a knowing way, agreeing with whatever he had just said himself. Usually, such men take no more than thirty three seconds to keep their hearts on the platform whenever anything remotely close to the xx chromosome walks by. Che Guevera looked on grimly from the tee. The others kept quiet desperately trying to come up with some other topic.

“Anjali Bhatia”, said the one who had masterfully scanned the charts, in a sad voice. “Bhatia? Same surname as mine!” exclaimed the rebel. He was already seeing himself get wedded to her, I just knew it. Che Guevera cannot ever win over Shahrukh in India.

At that moment, she walked into the compartment and so pretty was she it seemed as if time had stilled forever. It was actually the train that had stopped but such occasions demand better metaphors. The rebel had completely given up his stance, and had closed his eyes in blissful submission to the fragrance that had suddenly overwhelmed the surroundings. A gentle breeze started from somewhere under our feet and swirled gently around our cheeks. Outside, a man was screaming at another, but it sounded like twenty one year old Lata Mangeshkar was singing at an opera.

And that’s when a man walked into the compartment, and held her hand. “Brother .. must be brother” each one of us were screaming inside our heads. The ‘brother’ now put his bag next to hers and they sat in a small space that rightfully should have been hers alone. They were not paying any attention to us. Instead, it seemed as if they were oblivious of the entire world, and only had eyes for each other. Must be long separated brothers and sisters. Strangely, the breeze and the fragrance had disappeared too.

I lay back on my berth, and the world was a monstrous place again.

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The light of my life

Have u ever, on returning home after months of absence, been greeted by a dog who on sight of you loses complete control of his tail, whose eyes twinkle with oh such selfless love that makes you wonder whether your own feelings for anyone could be so unselfish, whose body rocks with a fervor and gay abandon that put your own dull enthusiasms to shame….. that my friend, is love.
This one’s straight frm the heart (as if the rest were from the intestines!) , and I have been wanting to write abt it for long, about my dog, coz there’s noone who makes our family happier than dear old Hector .

For all those who have figured out that his name’s Hector, my my , arent we all Einsteins! Lol, naah, as far as i can remember we almost never refer to him by his “legal” name; the names change faster than the clothes of a heroine in a bollywood number. Last time I went home, mum was calling him Shamsher Singh (most common name given to hindi movie villains), and just for variety, we'd interperse that with 'Durjan Singh'. Why anyone would name a cute looking spaniel (He's probably a foot in height and sneezing is the most violent activity in his regular day, especially when i tickle his nose) as 'Durjan' is beyond logic, but noone ever credited the Narayanan family with much logic anyway ;) At other times, we have also called him 'gullu singh' , 'sunday singh', 'Bow Bow Singh' (the most innovative and un-doggy name ever!)And yes, he's always a Singh. Oh the worst’s yet to come. Its when when my dad suddenly remembers that he’s mallu (I mean dad, not the originally british and now a remixed pseudo Punjabi cocker spaniel) and during those rare, profound moment, you can hear a deep voice from the bedroom calling for “Ramakutty” to come have a biscuit!!!

Ramakutty has no pride in his roots, and will scoot full speed to his daddy dear for biscuit, crumbs, even a whiff of food.

As i type these words, I go back into time when lil Bow Bow Singh first came to our house. It was a cold February morning, and most people were snuggling under their warm blankets. A car screeched to a halt, in a cosy little Noida street, and I scampered out to greet the arrivals. A cute little furball was nestled in amma's arms. I bent forward and kissed what i thought was the furball's forhead. I still do. Everyday.

One day prior to that event, Dad had insisted, that it shouldnt enter the house n should only sleep in the verandah. That night, Hecky slept in my room, and next day onwards, on dad’s pillow. He still sleeps there every night.

Have you all seen Shrek? In part 2, there's this cat, Puss, who makes these adorably innocent expressions, blinking with an intensity that would make the coldest hearts melt in a jiffy. I think it would do the makers good if they used Shamsher as a model for portraying innocence. He, like all other doggies, would look at you with his incredibly big brown eyes, whenever you have something nice to eat, and as hard as you may try, you'd relent and share the food with him. (Yep, its Hecs who taught me the art of blinking, though i dont use it for food.. err i use it when i talk to girls abt …mmm “intellectual global issues”)

For all the men out there, who are as shy to approach women as I am (Heh heh, yeah right!), lemme tell you that the surest way to let the girl whom you have been dying to speak to for the whole of the last decade, open a conversation, is to walk non chalantly towards her direction, golden white spaniel in tow. You can also whistle a little tune to yourelf and look in random directions admiring everything except for her under the sun( My My, what a beautiful dumpster!)Statistics prove that I own fifty percent of my 'active' social life to my lil mutt. Every evening, in Noida, I would enthusiastically announce to amma that me and Hecky were going for a walk and master and mutt would shake their little posteriors and step into the world. Of adventure. Of excitement. Of girls my age and pooches his age. Of innocence. As we combed the colony that sheltered us, nine out of ten times as a girl passed us by, she'd stop in her tracks, look at Dumdum Singh, squeal "chooooo cuuuuute" and then ask me if he was friendly. Right on cue, Hecky would raise his paw and the girl would react as if he had just invented a nuclear reactor or a new sunscreen lotion! I would then proceed to tell her, in my deepest voice, about Hecs, about myself and by the end of the conversation i’d know her house address, her number, blood group blah. Afterwards when she’d leave, master & mutt would congratulate each other on their success. lol! Yep, we are like this only. :P

Not that Hecs didnt have his “fans”. Whenever his Majesty deigned to step out of the house, all the females of his species would start trotting behind him. And Mr Smarty pants would roll his eyes, turn up his nose, pout, n would walk away chin up (but obviously feeling all happy happy inside). Oh he was the stud of Sector 55 NOIDA, no doubt.

If anyone’s wondering, about Hecky's skills as a guard dog, on that topic, i have only one word for him -HOPELESS! Some years back, while i was away from home in college, some thieves broke into our house. They cut their way in through the window bars, went into all the rooms, and basically ransacked the house. The only room they din enter was my parent’s, who were fast asleep in their a.c room (obviously Hector was fast asleep too. Remember, dad’s pillow?). Anyway, the next day when the cops came, a lot of people were at our place, and dad had taken leave from office. Everyone wanted to know how the dog had reacted, and how come he didnt hear the thieves and bark.. guess what was Hector’s reaction.. That dunderhead wasnt in the least bit ashamed as you all probably think he would be. Instead he was really happy to see so many people, and delighted that dad hadnt gone to office, and while everyone was scolding him, he’d run upto them with his ball in his mouth asking them to play. Even otherwise, noone’s ever scared of him. He barks at the gardener, the milkman or any new person who’d come to our place, but as soon as they’d call him ‘Gullu” or pat him, he’d follow them as if he was their’s only. My mum insists that all the males in our family are a bit soft in the head. Hmm ..

I smile whenever i think of the fifty thousand cute, stupid things he’s probably done, feel a lot of pride whenever i get reminded of the incident when my cousin’s dog was licking my hand, and Hecs out of sheer jealousy jumped at that dog, though he’s probably one eight of that alsation’s size ; feel emotional when i think of all the happiness that he’s brought into our lives.

My dad’s not a very emotional person. Though he loves us a lot, like many other men, he doesnt show affection physically. I dont think i ever remember him hugging me or my sister, since we grew up, and I really dont seem to mind that coz I'm a bit like that myself. He’s a very serious,reserved, knowledgeable person (yeah like me! ;) )and not one who gives way to emotions. But you have to see him with Hector to know what i mean when i say that Hecs has brought so much happiness into our lives. As soon as my dad would return from office, and remove his shoes, Hector would run away with his socks and dad would chase him all over the house. The two of them would be scooting around the dining table, jumping on the sofas , running out into the garden, and finally their little game would finish when dad would get completely exhausted. During this entire act, me, mum and my sis would be just standing there, smiling, looking at the two of them and wondering how that mutt brings out the child in my dad. They play this game everyday after which dad gives him a piece of Brittania cake and claims that he’s the “best doggy” in the world. And if me or my sis dare to eat a slice of Brittania cake, dad would scold us and tell us that its for Hector!!!! Ye gads, someone take him to a doc! Even otherwise, when dad’s had a particularly tense day in office, or is terribly worried, he’d just go sit alone in his room and this fellow would go sit next to him. Dad would proceed to pat him, rub his ears, and magically, all the tension, worries, anxiety would just get absorbed by Hector. You may think im crazy, but try trusting me when i say that it really happens.

Well that’s all for now. I could go on n on, but then you all will start yawning. So for all the doggy lovers out there, a big thumbs up from my side, and for the rest , you just have to own a dog to understand what im talking about.

I'll leave you with this thought: "Every boy should have two things. A dog, and a mother, who will let him have one"

And this is why mai aisa hu!

Over the past few days, i have heard rumours that there are a “few” people who believe that i have a tendency to praise myself in my posts..I wonder what gave them that idea, lol! ;) Anyway, i have decided to be fair as usual, and this time around, im not gonna tell you any of those true stories, incidents in Mr Narayanan’s life when he bravely helped damsels in distress, saved the cheetah from extinction, not even gonna tell you that i was the actual pioneer behind India’s nuclear power project, not Mr Weird Hairstyle Kalam. Instead today I'm gonna share some of the incidents that have had a saddeningly deep impact on my life and have scarred me forever.

Its all my parents fault: At the tender age of two, when a child’s mind is having its first impressions about the world, when a tiny toddler is still in the process of learning various educational things like “the art of spraying a new tablecloth, or, better,a human being with one’s biological “tools”..( a quick squirt right when he picks you up is the first thing they teach you in that brilliant book “Things you can get away with when you are a baby” ), I was subjected to vicious child abuse. In a nation which is still largely besotted with the male child, here was a family, which wanted 2 daughters, and when God didnt choose to listen to their prayers, mum decided that it was okay if she had a baby boy coz he really wouldn't be able to stand up for himself when she’d dress him in girly clothes. And everywhere we went, men and women of all kinds would pick me up, play with my cheeks and exclaim “What a cute little daughter you have?” (Now you know why i am the way i am? now u feel sorry for me?!!!). All i did was stare back with big eyes, coz i still hadnt learnt how to speak (Amma says I never spoke till Iwas four, and after that I never stopped.)

If you think this was torture enough, you are wrong. There were other incidents too. My parents had a belief that the only times i looked “photogenic” was while i was having a bath, and as soon as my “essentials” were off, and id bravely stand under the shower( with a look similiar to that of a doomed prisoner’s when he’s staring at the noose), they’d start clicking pictures. I was intelligent enough though. I'd quickly place the mug strategically over regions of the anatomy that God endowed men with, so that they could squirt all the walls in the neighbourhood and the world in general.Sometimes a soap case substitued for a mug, at other times, id dive into buckets, or duck behind the commode… all this to save my honour!

I see some of you already have tears in your eyes,and feel like screaming at my parents for their “behaviour” but dont do that. They are my parents and i am Shravan Kumar. You can instead offer your sympathies to me in the form of cash, gifts or treats.

School: When I was in 7th standard, I fell in love. I mean, that was the first time. There have been numerous instances of the same kind,since after that.It usually changes faster than the seasons in a year, but back in that glorious summer of ‘96, i knew that I, Neeraj Narayanan, would take 12 year old Megha Mathur, one day, as my lawfully wedded wife , and would take care of her in sickness, in health,in rich or poor,during football worldcups and maybe even during cricket ones, until death or Pamela Anderson do us apart. The fact that that pretty little angel never realized all these things isnt of much significance, the fact that she knew I existed made me happy enough. I was the geekiest looking lad in the schol and she was the most beautiful girl in the planet. So one day, gathering up all my courage, i went to her seat ,my eyes on her throughout that fateful distance upto her seat. I even got up with a gracefullness I din expect myself capable of, after i fell head first into the floor when a dratted boy tripped me. Anyway, i put my hand suavely on her table and asked her how she felt about me.

You actually fell for that!!! No you nitwits, though I had intentions to ask something of the sort, the words that actually came out of my mouth were “Did you bring your Megha, English book?” It made her laugh and I pretended that I had said it in purpose. We began talking and it felt wonderful. She cracked a joke and I laughed loudly , guffawed in fact, tossing my head back(like a horse)and laughing thinking that it would make her happy. It might have, but funnily enough, her face changed colour and .. was i dreaming? she even looked frightened. I wondered if I had forgotten to brush my teeth in the morning, and thats when i felt an excruciating pain in my left ear. Apparently, the teacher, who had arrived in class, wasnt very happy about me not realizing that he was there, and neither did he like me laughing uproariously. He held my ear the entire time, while “escorting” me out of the class, and i could hear a class of 40 laughing along. {sigh!}. Megha and i never got married.

While in my 12th standard, I was travelling in a public bus once. When I got in there was just one seat empty, next to a girl. I sat down displaying great sophistication. Before i could entertain thoughts of “falling for her”, my eyes fell on three rowdies, probably in their mid 30’s, sitting in front. They were all sitting face towards us, and looked “drunk”. Soon, they started passing lecherous comments at the poor girl sitting next to me, and it was,frankly, disgusting. There were about 15 people in the bus, but nobody dared to say anything.Though being a hardcore bollywood fan, i knew that there was no way I could fight even one of them, leave alone 3. But the $%$#% wouldnt stop commenting, and it made me mad. In my most threatening voice, Iasked them to stop, and before I could tell them that they’d be thrashed by me if they din listen,they were all upon me & I was smacked left right centre. It would have probably continued for the whole day, if the conductor hadnt pleaded with them to stop. They went back to their seats and we were subjected to verbal abuse, till, finally the girl, and I got off at a busstop. We left without saying a word to each other.

There are numerous other incidents where i have been acutely embarassed, but i wont share them with you. Shan’t tell you that my seat partner in 6th standard, Neha, always beat me in hand wrestling, or the play -”Ekalavya” when i over acted so much (i was one of the Ekalavya’s bhil friends and ended up speaking more lines than him), that for the next showing of the play, the dramatics club gave me the role of a “tree” in the forest where Ekalavya and his friends played.Being an enthusiastic chap, the tree (me) kept on moving throughout the play. Later when the teacher furiously demanded an explaination, i claimed that it was very windy and i was depicting a “swaying tree”.Shant tell you that last time i went to Kerala, my parents told me that we were supposed to inaugarate a family temple, and I'd have to wear a dhoti(1st time). And right when the priest offered me “prasad” the whole dhoti came off. The priest was in the general ward the whole of next day, and from then on, has handed over the responsibility of the “prasad sharing” to unlucky juniors.

But just coz i said all dis it doesnt mean im any less a stud. And there will be a day when anybody coming to my house, will look at me with awe, fear and respect.
But only if mom stops showing them those darned #$#$%#$ bathroom baby photographs