Business@Lack Of Thought

Imagine this: You own a rich stock of an absolutely non-essential good that half of the world does not want. Now, the powers-that-be have forbidden the explicit purchase of said stock and have prophesized terrible things (power cut during mega serial, gold price dropping _after_ you buy expecting a rise) who do not heed their words. Consider that said target audience have a strong belief in all prophecies and sundry, so much so that they would undergo worser things to ward them off. Now, you have a sea of stock, a bunch of doomsday predictions and an absolutely uninterested market. To paraphrase Dirty Harry, "Do you feel lucky ?? Do you ??".



"Draft a personal marketing policy considering individual buyer behavior", says the Yale graduate. "A cross-sectional deep dive of data needs to be collected", announces the one from Dartmouth. The Cornell graduate says "We need to try the 'Lionel Robbins' theory to verify the market's liquidity before trying anything". The shop-keeper at the corner of North Usman Road yawns and announces "Aadi Mega ThaLLupadi" thereby proving the killer marketing theory of all - the one immortalized by a leading economist of South India, Mr. Kounda Mani - "Free Giving, Phenyl Drinking".

The trick is straight forward and the worst kept secret after 'Who is India's real Prime Minister'. Calculate price X, Increase the price to Y, decrease the price to Z such that Z is greater than X. Don't pray and waste time. Just open the doors wide open and start raking in the moolah. Still no crowd ? Rope in some 'artistes' depending on your budget. Choose from Sneha hip-hopping in Times Square to some dial-in show hosts from Sun Music selling clothes to a mermaid (who, incidentally, is known for wearing nothing or next to nothing (in case of children's books)). If nothing works, try the Saravana Stores (the Real Madrid of the ad world - all stars, no bizz) way where, as a climactic touch, the CEO walks up to the TV screen with a big smile. The TV goes kaput, but business goes ka-boom. Hard to believe, I know. But ask the lady smiling end-to-end at the pseudo-killer bargain she made, and you decide to quit your Ivy League college and open a platform shop on North Usman Road.

Courtesy AMT, some shops which are largely unknown outside the corner of the street they are in manage to get serious air time, Market-out actors get a new lease of life, TV channels manage to fill out their ad slots like a breeze, Ranganathan street defies physics and other known human sciences yet again, the saree stores clear unwanted stock and get paid for it, people buy stuff that they don't require and yet convince themselves they are the winners. In every corner of every shop, the quintessential shopping companion carries diapers, feeding bottles and has leaves sprouting off his feet. Yep, that's about even.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

A Matter Of Time

Prologue

Philip couldn't sit in his seat for too long. The fight with Sophie this morning over breakfast was still haunting him. It was a simple matter of a slightly spicy breakfast which got worse with Philip telling Sophie this wasn't the first time and Sophie asking him to try making breakfast from tomorrow on. That touched a nerve, and being made for each other, the feeling of anger was mutual and simultaneous. After the war of words, both of them didn't utter a syllable throughout the trip to their respective places of work. After a few hours simple rational thinking resulted in Philip's temper becoming remorse. He had decided. He was not going to let a few milligrams of chillies get between him and Sophie. He wanted to apologize and get it over with. Most importantly, he knew what was probably the best way to get it done.

Philip & Sophie - 2007 AD

Philip picked up his mobile phone and after much thought, typed out the words "Sorry" and sent it to Sophie. He waited with bated breath for his phone to chime with the message "It's okay sweet heart". A few finger nails got ripped apart, but the phone still wore that dead pan expression. He thought for a while again and typed "I said I am really sorry, and I do mean it". Moments passed, but the phone didn't budge. Remorse became Unease.



Cursing mildly, Philip looked up his instant messenger and found Sophie online. If she wasn't going to respond to his message on the phone, she has to reply online. Thinking about it, he thought it is was probably better since it would cut the excruciating wait for messages on the phone.

"I am sorry", he typed and waited for the messenger to indicate that she was typing.
"I said I am sorry. Can we just get over it ??", he typed again. The messenger was decidedly mum.
"How many times do I have to say it ?? Can't you just say you are okay ??" was followed by "It wasn't my fault alone, okay ?? If I can apologize despite that, what is your problem ??" and later by "Thats it, if you want to be so stubborn, I can be twice as much" and thankfully concluded with a curt "Bye". Unease had decidedly morphed into Anger.

Philip picked up the land-line phone. Trembling in anger, he dialled her office number only to be responded with an engaged tone. "She did it on purpose. She unhooked the phone on purpose", he told himself. Anger, after having clouded his judgment, had promoted itself to become Rage.

And Rage does what it usually does when residing within a short-tempered young male with access to emails. Within a few minutes, Philip had spewed a few kilobytes of venom into Sophie's mail box. "That should teach her a thing or two", he proudly told himself - clearly not understanding the meaning of the word "proud".

Elsewhere, Sophie, who had forgotten to bring her mobile, was distraught that she couldn't apologize to Philip because the network infrastructure in her office had gone bonkers. In a corner of her mind, she was wondering how good it would be if Philip also felt the same way at some point of time in the day. Just as she was about to give up and leave for the day, the network came up. And so did an indication that Philip had sent her an email. She knew it, Philip had apologized profusely, the sweet heart that he was. She couldn't wait to send a message saying she was sorry too. She opened the mail and started reading.

Philip & Sophie - 2007 BC

Philip climbed on his horse and set out to meet Sophie. He met her, started apologizing, got stopped before he could complete his apology, was apologized to, hugged, told he was such a sweetie pie for having travelled so many miles on horseback through mountains, deserts, forests and other assorted landscapes for a simple apology and underwent lot of other general mushy things that would not be mentioned in this blog out of respect to Philip & Sophie. However, this blog, armed with that inside knowledge, would safely say that they lived happily ever after.

Epilogue
If you have learned the lesson about how any new scientific invention can never, ever replace human face-face communication, but unhappy that the 2007 AD version of Philip & Sophie have ruined it for themselves - read further.

Lot of things happened during the "Philip & Sophie - 2007 AD" story line which were cut for brevity. Philip's unexplained feeling in the deep end of his stomach after sending the email, him receiving a call from Sophie's best friend who wanted to convey a message to her but couldn't since she wasn't picking up her mobile phone and not responding to messages, a long thought process where he added one and one and arrived at two (in other words: realize that he had screwed up just about everything), a frantic rush to somehow get his hands on the mail that he sent, realizing computers weren't built to suit slip-ins and slip-outs, an undoubted gift from God when he remembered her Unix mail password which he used to log into her mail server and delete the message without a trace and a few less kbs in a mail which said how sorry he was about the whole thing in the morning which he sent seconds before her network came up. The mail, coupled with the few apology messages that Sophie found in her mobile at home, led to series of events later that evening which would continue to remain Philip & Sophie's little secret. To pry them would be plain uncivilized, but yes, in all certainty, they lived happily ever after too.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Once In A Blue Moon

A leaves his Virudhunagar home early in the morning with his wife and 18-month year old kid. He makes the trip to Madurai in record time and leaves his family at his wife's place. His son lovingly tugs his shirt asking him to stay. A replies "Baby, I have some very important work to attend to. Let me finish it get back on the double" leaving a kid heart broken and a wife concerned.

B has his business clients from the Ramanathapuram-Tirunelveli belt in South Tamilnadu upto Bubaneshawar in the East. B is an MBA. B also owns an upmarket Honda Civic which none of his other friends have. B manages more than one business at a time. But he would give all that up today. All that, and even more.



C never believed in the 24-hour clock idea. For him, the night began at 10 and then, after an hour or so, it was 8 in the morning. It made perfect sense to him. After all, who would want to do anything at 7 am in the morning ?? Today, for the first time in his 30-year stay on Earth, C realized that there exists something called 4:30am in the morning. He actually pinched himself when we woke up today and immediately vowed he cannot repeat it for any other reason, any time in the future.

D has a big problem. He isn't sure where to go. He can go to Salem, but there is no guarantee he can get one. He can go to Hosur, but he needs a Panzer to travel on Hosur Road. Finally, he sets his eye on Kolar. Heck, he would have gone to hell and beyond if he had to.

E and the missus get stuck in a major traffic jam near home. As they slowly inch their way up the flyover, E gets a good view on why the traffic is jammed. Trying to control himself and failing miserably, E asks if he can just take U-turn and head straight inside. The missus gasps at the general sophistication level of the crowd waiting outside. E is secretly glad the missus never made the trip to madurai cira 1996. Pushing his luck, E asks the missus if she can ride the two wheeler to work alone since he has "some urgent work that has come up". The missus politely indicates her displeasure by breathing a hole through his jacket by breathing fire. E bites the bullet and dutifully obliges by riding to work. But his time will come. In the next two days. It better.

The economy reports a sudden jolt in dairy products, camphor, lottery tickets and card-board.

Hey, Its not every day you have a thalaivar movie released.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

A Pinch Of Salt

1. "Ah, I know why you are not seen outside on the weekends" followed by all-knowing smile.
False. When the two houses that matter to you claim to be in the same city, but are so far apart that when it rains in one place, it's blistering hot in the other, half your weekend is spent inside a Santro cursing the Industrial Revolution.

2. "Things are so easy after marriage. All that you have to do is relax on the couch and wait for the food to be served to you"
Blatant Lie. They forgot to fill you in about the part where you clean up the kitchen while aforesaid provider of food is busy watching VH1.

3. "A (wo)man is a [wo]man's best friend"
Myth. Its the Microwave. And The Refrigerator.

4. "Wow, even your names start with the same letter. You are truly made for each other"
Prevarication. You should see the gravity defying stunts that happen over the remote control.

5. "When you see the missus do things you cannot do, you puff up with pride"
Fabrication. When the missus does Tanjore paintings for a hobby while you cannot draw a straight line even if your life was one the line, yeah right.

6. "Whatever stress you are under, vaporises the instant you see your dog wagging it's non-existent tail in glee at your mere arrival".
True. Blissfully True. So thankfully true.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Nethu Rathiri Yamma

Everyday I walk into office with red-shot eyes, the inevitable question of "Did you lose sleep last night" is raised. Everyone seems to have convinced themselves that its because the of the World Cup and I choose to let them believe. Saves a lot of embarrassing questions.

Before I go into this blog, a few disclaimers
1. I am not ashamed of the fact that my first time was in my late 20s.
2. I am not ashamed of the fact that it was almost an every day affair at home till few weeks back
3. I am not ashamed if people think I am not acting my age by posting about all this.



The problem in our country is that we always put up a very closed projection of ourselves to the public. We frame a set of 'rights' and 'wrongs' for our children. Thus, children aren't given the right exposure at the right time and when they become adults, its only obvious that they get attracted and even become enslaved to all that they missed when they were younger. If only I was allowed to indulge when I was younger, I am sure I would have gotten over it years back and this new found craze wouldn't be as demanding as it has become.

My first time (obviously when I was alone, what were you thinking) was just plain earth-shattering. But just as addictive. And after a while, you start telling yourself you are not addicted, but are just interested. But the truth is there for everyone to see. Closed rooms, prolonged hours with yourselves, showing physical strain and tiredness, the usual - I was well and truly an addict. This makes the part where you come out of the closet to explain things to people doubly difficult. I have had, and am still having a difficulty. But not anymore. Not after this blog.

My one request to all my brothers and sisters out there. Do not be afraid to confess. You are not alone. It is only human to develop a taste for it. Don't heed those sniggers from behind your back. They are all ignorant or jealous or both. Just keep getting better at what you are doing. One day, they would all know what they been missing.

Note : Text below emboldened, increased in size and generally made prominent after
a) a few mails which range from minimal insult to outright libel
b) a few mangled cooking pans at home. Surprisingly, their misshapen form resembles my silhouette.

Viva Final Fantasy XII. Viva God Hand. Viva PS2.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Stomp The Yard

Average Joe's list of moonwalkers starts and stops with Neil Armstrong. Average Joe was recently informed that Salsa is not always a sauce. Average Joe pretends to look sloshed every time he is invited to a dance. Average Joe doesn't even dance in his own bathroom. Average Joe strongly believes that he is a few light years away from Dancing. Average Joe couldn't be farther from the truth.

Having Average Joke taking dance classes is like asking a Great White to register in the Summer Swimming Course. Every Average Joe is born with one inherent talent that rears it head when the right time comes by. Welcome to the world of Tappanguthu. In the next few minutes, you, the reader, are going to invoke the Tappanguthu beast that was peacefully sleeping inside you and everyone around is going to have their hearts up in their throat - one way or the other.

The first step to a good Tappanguthu dance is footwork. So, you sway your feet like a peacock or you are nimble like a doe ?? Please continue your grace and choose another art from. Tappanguthu is not for you. Not ever. The real Tappanguthu star is blessed with a complete lack of footwork so much so that he needs to be reminded that he cannot keep two paces on his left leg successively. Tappanguthu has just one major move which is a one-size-fit-all. Imagine a leech charging at your left foot from straight ahead. Kill it with all your might. Imagine another leech, this time at your right foot. Kill it. There is a third leech and a fourth. Even a fifth. An army of them. Now kill them alternating between your right and left foot. By the time you kill the 153rd, your footwork is tuned to Tappanguthu. Take a look at exhibit 'A' - Thalaivasal Vijay in "Kavalaipadade Sahodara". Look at his feet and their synchronized movement. Can he possibly be doing anything else than slowly, but surely, killing leeches ??

The second step is efficient use of hands. The old school believes that the art got it's name from the position of the fists which are rolled in, ready to punch. However, the neo-classicals have decidedly recommended against this. A good Tappanguthu always originates with open palms, which are usually shown at the partners face, chest, hips or other convenient areas. When there are two dancers, they trade the 'kuthu' alternately between each other. While Average Joe A pumps at B's face, B pumps at A's chest. After an agreed number of 'kuthu's, they trade places and continue with the same vigor. A cautionary note: The part where both of them agree on a said number of 'kuthu's is very important to prevent life threatening injuries and is hence highly recommended. Exhibit B has Dhanush and Chaaya Singh from "Manmadha Raasa". Enjoy the bilateral, symmetric exchange of 'kuthus'.

The third step is creative usage of the face. Other art forms strongly believe in the maxim 'the face is the index of the mind' and try hard to fit in all the nine emotions into their curriculum. But considering how difficult it is for the dancer and equally painful for the watching public, Tappanguthu offers to simplify it and creates a singular emotion which encompasses the crux of the art. For want of a better word, we will call it 'Lazy Anger'. To distinguish itself from other art forms which primarily use the eyes to emote, Tappanguthu uses the tongue. Extend tongue. Fold tongue inwards. Clamp it with teeth. When tongue is in place, half close both eyelids. There, Lazy Anger. Exhibit C has Vikram in "Gemini Gemini". Look at the lazy look in the eyes and the anger in the tongue. Just perfect.

The last, and probably the most important, component of Tappanguthu is the pelvis. Legend has it that an American with long sideburns, big glasses and funky hairstyle once attended a three day symposium on Tappanguthu in Vadipatti (in the outskirts of Madurai). Totally floored by the creative juices the locals let flow during their jamming sessions, he took his learning back to his country. His pelvis is now history. The pelvis is to Tappanguthu what the safety pin is to a grenade. Unleash one at the right time, and the effect can be quite explosive. Imagine pumping air into a cyle using an air pump. Now imagine that pump being parallel to the ground. Now go with the music and fill 'em up tubes. Exhibit D has Simbu, Nayanthara and Reema Sen from "Yamma Yamma Yammamma". The sum total of pelvis thrusts, if used with a cycle pump, would have inflated all four wheels of a bulldozer.

I can see you breathing heavily, folding your tongue in anticipation. Your feet are ready to move and you rub your hands eagerly. Your pelvis is off the hook. The Beast is waiting to be unleashed. It demands to be fed. Feed it well with "Vaala Meenukum Velangu Meenukkum Kalyanam".

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Happy Women's Day

- Rap is lame. So is Hip-hop. Not to forget Trance. Rock Rules.

- Professional stenographers take hints. Men will fumble despite being given a three-page essay on "what to do, when to do and how to do". If we have to know something, it's easier when we are told.

- In theory, a candle-lit dinner is a candle-lit dinner even if it is taken during a power cut at home. What value-add does an open-air restaurant have ??

- When we look at other women, we always think like anthropologists. Yes, that is more like it.

- "Yes" is not "No". "Yes" might even mean "But Don't Count On It" or "But Not For Long", but definitely not "No". In fact, "Yes" was invented to be opposite of "No" and can never mean "No". Even in exceptional circumstances.

- Every time we hear "Basically, I am looking for a nice guy", we take a deep look into ourselves to see if we are really Columbian drug lords.

- Formula1 is not just driving a car in circles. It is definitely better than jewelry shopping, where most people keep going in circles.

- Diamonds are forever. But life isn't. So let us all live life first, and think about diamonds later.

- We forget our debit card pass codes. We forget our email passwords. We forget our deadlines. So it is not like we intentionally forget any birthdays.

- We are all not Hugh Jackmans out here. But it would be nice to appreciate the fact that we aren't all Charles Mansons either.

- Curd rice is a dish. Making it needs expertise and it is most definitely an upgrade over Hot Water and Instant Noodles.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Eavesdroppers Inc.

Heard from the bell tower of The Cathedral in Notre Dame/Somewhere from inside The Swamp/ The basement of Opera Garnier/ The Ball Room of the Palace in the Enchanted Forest

"You give us courage. You give us hope. And you give us the confidence that women sometime do make really hasty decisions. Go on, Brother"

On top of an electric pole 100 metres from a well lit building on Outer Ring Road

Crow 1: Scarecrow !! Scarecrow !! (violently jerks and falls into a coma)
Crow 2 (looking at the audience at large): Yes, that is what 'Arunthur and his shirt-tucked-in look' does to us.

Somewhere deep in space

An invisible spirit: So, do you finally concede defeat Mr. Rao ??
An invisible Narasimha Rao: Yes. I do. I did smile once during my marriage reception. This kid here is a piece of art.

The Board Room, Van Heusen Headquarters

Chief Economic Officer: Sir, our plan worked. We clandestinely made Arunthur wear a Louis Philippe suit and now, no one would touch them with a barge pole. I hear the spectacle was quite abominable.

The Idioms Committee, Oxford Dictionary

Data Entry Operator: Are you sure you want to do this ?
Chief Editor: Yeah, yeah. Change "Fish out of water" to "Arunthur in a panchakacham"

In the neighborhood

Earnest Aunt : "All my friends told me that my son-in-law reminds them of someone they know, someone familiar, someone who plays ...."
Smug Arunthur : "Yeah, many say so, especially if they had watched watched Mission Impossible or Mr. & Mrs Smith recently"
Brutally Honest Aunt: "the evil (fill in much-maligned blood relation here) in (fill in generic ekta kapoor's 'K' serial name here) that comes on Star One in the afternoon "

Nalaguraidhoo Island, Maldives

(On watching a sunbathing Arunthur)
Wolfgang Gunther: I wud keill to haav da tan dat guy haas. Ja.
(After a few minutes of patient observing)
Olivier Platini: Monsieur, lookz likez ze waz bornz tannedz.

At the Grand Buffet in The Maaniya Restaurant

"Can you pass me that tuna salad"
"The grilled beef was brilliant"
"Did you try those golden-fried chicken popsicles ?"
"Believe me, I was full after trying two servings of the minced lamb sausage"
"Excuse me, could you help me find out where the bowl of yellow dal is located ??"

A Coral Reef few nautical miles from said island

Nemo: Daddy, what is that thing curled up like an orange furball with fins, all dehydrated on the deck of that boat ?
Marlin: That is over-enthusiasm wrapped in a life jacket, Son. Dory, what should you avoid when you are sea-sick ?
Dory: I know this, I know this. Ermm, uhmm, ahem.

Taped conversation between a legal luminary and a determined wife

"I have double checked it. You do have complete legal immunity if you smother him with a pillow next time he wakes you up at 5 in the morning on your honeymoon trip to celebrate an Indianapolis Colts Touchdown, Superbowl or not".

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

A Few Good Salesmen

All the foreign documentary makers who have stereotyped India as a country of snake-charmers and cows need to be given a second chance. They can be offered a trip to this road on an auspicious day, and assuming they make it out alive, be asked to re-evaulate their options.
Excerpt from "Welcome to Death Valley a.k.a North Usman Road".

A big poster of a young lady with lots of love for her father in her eyes overlooks the entrance into one of the leading Jewellery shops. It reads "If your daughter doesn't deserve a platinum ring, who else does ??". Within no time, a whole line of fathers with lots of lover for their daughter queues up. Clearly, its not just the mega-serials that tap our sentiments.
Excerpts from "Mega Serials and Their Hidden Agenda"

When Lady A is thinking Parampara Pattu is probably the way to go, Lady B suggests Swayamvara Pattu. Lady C disagrees because Samudhrika Pattu clearly beats them hands down. However, according to the Lady D, that is because they haven't seen Vivaaha Pattu. Somewhere among all this, the store owners laugh their way to the bank and the original weaver from Kancheepuram who made all the four sarees is wondering what all the fuss is about.
Excerpt from "Nobody's Fool"

"This is not the Yellow color that I wanted".
"The Magenta would have been great if it had the border of the Teal one".
"I saw a beautiful saree when I got married in 1978. Do you have the same design for my daughter ??"
The Salesmen could answer "Errmm, there is only _one_ yellow according to the Rainbow", "We don't have that because it would suck" or "The only thing that has stayed the same since 1978 is the Ambassador and we can't give you that" respectively. But he can as well kiss his job Good Bye.
Excerpt from "The Thriving Art of Salesmanship and The Dying Salesman"

"I want this problem fixed".
"I want the feature that Solaris has in this operating system"
"We badly need a solution"
The software fraternity answers "Upgrade to the new release", "Thst is Solaris and this is not" and "You are not big enough for us to spend our time on you" respectively.
Excerpts from "1001 Famous Excuses for Software Folks"

Clearly the software mafia (includes Directors, Managers, Leads, Engineers, Response Center - the works) is the biggest whiner in the history of God's creation. Consider any one listed above from the software fraternity. Workplace is air conditioned round the clock, Free internet, At times free grub, Yearly raises as a right, Free petrol for the select few, Free car for the select few and a probably the best introduction into the marriage market. All this and they barely have to sell anything. Sofware Folks, get a life. Saree Salesmen, I bend my knee and bow my head to thee.
Excerpts from "The Life and Death of Saree Salesmen."

Women always pick the 'n'th saree where 'n' is a complex number that is a derivative of the table's strength to withhold sarees before giving in, the jealous look on the neighboring women's eyes and the strength of the pre-planned collective gasp of amazement let by every salesmen in the floor on cue when they think enough is enough. Popular criteria like a bored and dejected male companion, proximity to lunch time, the last train back home are myths.
Excerpt from "Da Saree Code"

On an average, it takes 72 women hours for a benchmark shopper (Read: Case where there are no visible tears in the eyes of the salesmen and the companion) to buy three sarees. It takes 15 women minutes for a benchmark shopper to buy a Veshti for the male companion. Reason: _Each_ shop has a _zillion_ varieties of sarees. All shops have _the same two_ varieties of veshtis.
Excerpts from "The Dominant Sex Alright, But Which One ??"

If a Double-Sided Saree costs 68000 rupees, wouldn't it be prudent to buy two sarees for 34000 each since
a) one cannot wear both the sarees at the same time
b) two people can wear two sarees while it might be a bit difficult to do it in a double sided saree without breaking the Laws of Physics.
Of course, there is a basic assumption that 68000 bucks for two sarees is within cardiac-arrest levels of the man.
Excerpt from "Favorite Last Questions By Men"

Bold men have tried to force their wish on the saree selection process, but have been rebutted with the unwinnable argument "The saree happens to be the _only_ thing that I like in this whole marriage. Do you want to disappoint me on that too ??"
Excerpt from "Championship Point"

Encouraging the favorite pastime of men (constant complaining for no apparent reason), Keeping million households alive by their wants, Keeping the economy of otherwise struggling areas like Kancheepuram unlike their male counterparts who are bent upon contributing to filthy rich money barons like ITC, UB and the likes, Yep, that demands a standing ovation from all Men (disgruntled or otherwise) to all you Women out there. Go Girl.

Andhar balti (Sommersault) in the end I agree, but undeniably true.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Our Story

Conceding that this blog is inspired by the genre-defining "Pudhu Pettai" would be an embarassment. Let us say the truth lies somewhere closer to the fact that I am no good at Science Fiction stories. With studios churning out epic after epic with an ever-increasing body count and gallons of ketchup-blood, unsurprisingly, I decided to narrate one of the bloodiest encounters from my own personal life.

A rainy evening in Madurai. 4 teenagers standing around a friend of theirs, all of them seemingly agitated. The camera swoops in on them from the roof of the nearest building and freezes on each of the guys with a voice over.
Voice Over: The guy in the center, breathing like a 1770s locomotive, is Veerasamy a.k.a Veera. Veera is a curious kid with an interesting disposition. If he wanted to know how the color Green would look like, he wouldn't hesitate to kick Dr. Bruce Banner in the face. The guy next to him is Anbu. Anbu aspires to be a terror to any batsman on the field, but in reality is a terror only to the parents of a teenage girl who lives next door. The third guy is Kannan. Kannan is one of the biggest optimists anyone has known. He watches every Vijayakanth movie on the day of the release hoping that atleast this one would be good. That lean thing between Guy #3 and Guy #2 is definitely not an electric wire. That is Muthu a.k.a Baasha. The undisputed leader of the band and yes, a live wire. That fat thing right next to Muthu is not a sack of rice. That is Arunthur. He is not worth describing.

The camera now shows Veera up close, heaving. Cuts to a black-and-white sequence in a hand-held camera of a fight between two teams playing a cricket match. Veera heaves. Cut to a b&w sequence: the umpire declaring our team as winners and us, particularly Veera, laughing at the losers who swear they wouldn't let us play the Final if we ever get there. Veera heaves again. Cut to a b.w.s: Veera, on his way to the Final, runs into said team and rubs it in. Veera continues to heave. Cut to a b.w.s: Veera, on the way back home, gets way laid in a dark alley by guys equipped with dangerous weapons. Veera doesn't appear to stop heaving.

The camera now swivels around the rest of the gang. Each one showing a distinct facial expression that can be caused either by indigestion or extreme rage.
"When ??"
"8 PM"
"Where ??"
"5th Ave and 14th Street"
A nod of the head and the message is understood. We are going to hit back. They don't mess with us. Heck, Nobody messes with us. With no words spoken everyone hurries back home. When everyone is back and ready to leave, it hits Arunthur that folks didn't go home just to change. Arunthur commits the biggest blunder that hitman ever can. He forgot to pick his tools.

"Be right back", says Arunthur and runs home. His first weapon of choice is always the sickle which the maid uses to cut thorny bushes. As he lifts it high up seeing the glint reflect on his face, Cut to b.w.s. with h.h. camera and shaky effect : A much younger Arunthur coming home after watching Devar Magan, seeing the sickle lying around, trying to imitate the scene where Kamal picks one from behind, drawing a straight bloody line from the coccyx uptil the neck, dropping the sickle, suppressing a scream and running to the shower. No, not a sickle. Not too handy. It was then that Arunthur finds his Excalibur.

Cut to the rendezvous point and everyone notices a movement in the darkness. Arunthur, spurred by his new found courage, takes a step forward. Veera puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him.
"Never enter the dark. That is where they have people hidden in vehicles with weapons", says Veera, scanning the darkness with his eyes. Arunthur's courage takes the next flight to Timbuctoo on a one-way ticket. People hidden in vehicles ?? Who are we dealing with here exactly ??

"Ahoy. Is that you guys ??", screamed Muthu.
"Yes", came a strong voice back.
"Come out from the darkness. We want to see you", Muthu screams back.
A beat.
"No, you guys come here", this time there was a visible twitch.
Arunthur and folks look at each other.
"No, you guys come out".
Silence.
"No, you guys come here".
After some heavy persuasion and prolonged screams of "You first", both the gangs decide to take a few steps forward and meet in semi-darkness which is exactly when the lightning cracks, showing us a glimpse of the opponen't contingnet. Clearly outnumbering us 1 to 2. Muthu and Veera walk up to meet two from the other gang while Arunthur is now hanging at the tail end of the pack with the others, trying to remember how he walked into this.

Everytime Veera screams at the top of his voice pointing fingers at the opponents, Arunthur winces when they are going to scream to the mercenaries hidden in the dark. "Try to look least bothered. Don't let them see you bleeding. It's okay to be scared, but don't show it", Arunthur tells himself. As the animated discussion with over-exaggerated movement of limbs goes on in the middle, Arunthur looks from end to end for that hidden vehicle and it's illustrated occupants and mentally finalises the escape routes for him and his friends if and when the opponents give the "Go Ahead" signal (Read: Running for dear life with Army of men yelling expletives chasing). At the end of the discussion, the signal comes. Only it was Muthu waving for the rest of the gang to join in. A truce had been achieved. But what happens next takes everyone by surprise. The opponents want to apologise to Veera. Game, Set and Match - Us. No chases, no weapons, no blood and the War has been won.

Walking back home, smarting over this political victory, Arunthur slowly wipes off the sweat from the back of his neck when no one is looking. Veera suddenly stops all of them.
"Everyone did well, but Arunthur, you were awesome"
"Me ?? Eh .. Really ?? Umm, Why .. exactly ??"
"You know that careless look in your eyes, scanning the area for surprises and not to mention, your size. That definitely put them on the backfoot"
Arunthur has made his bones. Arunthur is now a force to reckon. The next time anyone is in trouble, Arunthur is going in and will do his thing (careless look, hand gestures, looking end to end) and scare the crap out of mobsters. Arunthur might even wear a tuxedo and make offers that people cannot refuse.

"Actually, it was nothing really. With my tool in hand, I don't think I will ever be scared".
"Tool ?? What tool ??"
"This", says Arunthur, showing his Excalibur. A letter opener. Even if the sharpness didn't get them, the rust would have.
"Sheesh, you brought something, this, for what ??"
"I don't know. What did you guys bring ??"
"Nothing".
"What ?? Nothing ?? But all you guys went home !!"
"I went to wear my belt", quips one.
"I went to change my slippers", chirps the other.
"I had had heavy lunch in the afternoon", confesses the third. Arunthur now knows it wasn't anger on his face in the introductory frame with the voice over.
"Seriously, you can't cut even wet paper with this letter opener" and everyone laughs.

Arunthur contemplates a career in mountain climbing and diving head first from there.

From the end credits:

- The "opponent gang" that had around eight or nine people, all of them severly malnourished.
- The dangerous weapons they used to hurt Veera are widely known as hands and legs.
- The word "Tool" does not convey the punch the word "poruL" conveys in Thamizh. Nope. Never in a hundred years.
- It didn't rain that evening. The wet look was included to give Arunthur and his friends some authenticity.
- Arunthur only scratched a portion of his back trying to take the sickle from his back. But more blood means more realistic and hard hitting, and by effect, cult classic.
- 5th Ave and 14th Street are probably in NewYork. In Madurai, you have Keezha Maasi Veedi and Azhagar Kovil Road. The real incident happened near some nameless alley opposite Bhai Kadai.
- A little "extra-fitting" to an average story never hurt.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Lightning Strikes Twice

Dear Mr. Murphy,

Hope you doing well. In fact, am positive you are doing well. Because I am not. Where do I start ?? Maybe with the fact that you plotted the receipt of my invitation letter on a Friday afternoon ?? Yes, that meant I can get it across to the travel desk only on monday.

On monday, you ensured that I looked my worst (ah, just a figure of speech. my last "looking best" was in 1980 when I was taken to a studio for a portrait). You also ensured that there was a crazy rule in the embassy which required me to have a visa picture with a white background - which means that I cannot use my standard, digitally-enhanced, homo-sapien look-alike photo that I usually give. You strategically increase the temperature that day to ensure that there are no significant differences between my face and a kuwaiti oil well. You make me lazy enough not to shave, but active enough to pick up the reddest shirt that mankind has ever designed. The staff at the embassy would have been wondering if this was a request to "donate generously for my cardiovascular operation on my left toe" or "to intimate all nearby police stations on sight and stay a few hundred metres away at all costs".

You delay the visa by a day quoting "late receipt". You delay it by another day quoting "high inflow". You delay it for yet another day quoting "in transit". Just when I was about to use that as an excuse, you send it across to me in pristine condition, guess when, on a friday evening - yes, after elvis had left the building. You make the travel desk folks set a time of 11am on saturday to receive the passport. You make me decide in favor of staying back at office over night instead of having to make two trips to office. You make the travel desk folks give me my passport after four excruciating hours of wait where I almost ate a biscuit packet including the cover. Just as I collect all my documents and head out you tap me on my back and say four letters. E. C. N. R. I hear three more words. B.A.M. I also uttered a four letter word which rhymes closely with duck.

Hungrier than King Kong, I lug my bag around and walk out and you throw open the water taps of heaven. When I dare to take it head on, you open it up even further. I give up and run back into office. You slow it down because the fun is just about starting. I fall for it and you catch me at a traffic signal where the wait time is 130 seconds. This time, you just open up all the valves. I go home wet wanting to get some work done and you chuckle at me saying I left the power cord at work. I remind of you the battery and you remind me that I drained it already at work, thanks to my laziness to bend down and fix the loose plug.

I still have monday to get my ECNR. You still have time to suddenly declare a national holiday and close out the passport office for a week. I am not carrying any formal wear. You can suddenly make it a country wide practice there. My laptop is slightly older, you can safely crash the hard disk. I would be going out in the open today, you can throw down a lightning and finish it off once for all. Ah, you wouldn't do that, would you ?? Who would kill their favorite poster boy ??

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

English Tuitions

Practical Joke : noun - A mischievous trick played on a person, especially one that causes the victim to experience embarrassment, indignity, or discomfort.

is what the Bartender did when we begged him to change the music played from a mind-numbing trance number to something else. He promptly changed to "Jhalak Dhiklaaja" remix by Himmesh Reshmaiyya. Thanks to Beckham, Baawa and Rumkumar (sic), I escaped Death by Dismal Music.

Doomsday : noun - Judgment Day.

would be the day when orkut, a social networking site where single wo/men find themselves "kewl, hawt or bindaas" and want to "make fraandship" because the person is question has a "beautiful name and face", is banned at work. A walk down the aisle for coffee and all I can see is multitudes of screens showing the same bluish background of orkut with pictures of people taken in standard set pieces (Statue of Liberty, Snow in New Jersey, Times Square, ) with standard hobbies (read books, watch movies, listen to music) and standard testimonials (cho chweet, great guy, best buddy).

Perennial : adjective - Lasting an indefinitely long time

Underperformers and the next word that comes to your mind is the Spanish Football team. True to their billing, they lost their match to a french team that wouldn't be out of place in a charity veteran's tournament. With Torres, Villa and Xabi, they can only go higher. All this makes the job easier for overhyped Brazil (Yes, you read it right. Over Hyped). Germany, with 11 players on a field and few thousands off it, would scrape through Argentina making it even easier for Brazil. England would beat a Deco/Cristiano/Costinha-less Portugal with a clumsy Crouch header in the dying minutes, again helping out brazil. Italy would feign yet another dive and win against Ukraine while Brazil would kick the crap out of France as a revenge for 98. Germany would peak against Italy while Brazil would whizz past England. By the time of the final, Germany would have lost steam and a lacklustre Brazil would win again. Half of the world will go "I told you so" and we will get back to our daily lives. Duh.

Heartburn : noun - A burning sensation, usually centered in the middle of the chest near the sternum, caused by the reflux of acidic stomach fluids that enter the lower end of the esophagus. Also called acid reflux, cardialgia, pyrosis.

is slightly similar in sensation to the pain that anxious parents go through after watching this new songathon from the increasingly innovative Sun Music. As some hopeless song blares in the background, the foreground is alive with SMS messages, 10 out of 20 are a "I luv uuuuuu soooooooo much Sindhu/Pooja/Ilavarasi/" with the other 10 being "miss u 2 Dhanasekar/Ravikumar/Senthil Murugan". Mind you, nothing against people in love or PDA, but an error-ridden SMS on a braindead program on an also-ran television channel ?? Sun TeeVee, I bow to thee.

Tactless : adj - Lacking or exhibiting a lack of tact; bluntly inconsiderate or indiscreet.

are those Interior Decorators at Westside Garuda Mall who put the Women's Lingerie section right outside the trial room. Stand there and get burnt by fiery glares from other women. Move out feeling odd and fail to nod your head when the missus comes out wearing her new stock looking for your approval, and get burnt by the woman. Darned if you do, Darned if you don't.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...