'Cook'ing up a story...

The Husband: My friend’s coming over this Saturday. Finally you guys will meet!

The Wife: Oh that’s awesome! Can’t wait! Finally I will see him in person rather than just talking on the phone with him.

The Husband: Yeah…so what are you going to make for dinner?

The Wife: Umm...can’t we go out for dinner? That will give us some time to actually talk.

The Husband: It would be nice if you make something at home. He should also know what a great wife and cook you are.

The Wife: *Frowns*

(The rest of the conversation is not mentioned here for reasons of abusive content but you, the smart reader can more or less imagine the rest of it.)

A regular conversation on a regular bright sunny day took a nasty turn for the 30-something wife.

She was eager to meet this friend. She was eager to have long talks with this fun friend. She would make him feel like a member of the house, and not a guest. Then why, why was it necessary for her to cook a meal for him to please him? Since he was just coming for the evening, why couldn’t they have that one meal at a restaurant? Wouldn’t it be better if they could talk about movies, and the economy, and work, and life over a meal served to them by angels called restaurant chefs?

Because. If they were to stay at home, things would be a little different. She would be busy making food two hours prior to his arrival. When he would come, she would sit with him for a few minutes only to be interrupted by the soup boiling on the stove. And then she would lay the table with bright new crockery and all the delicious recipes. When everything's ready, the men would make an appearance at the table. She would serve them. He would say all the wonderful things in the world about her food that he is still licking off his fingers. The wife would be delighted. The husband would be proud.
 

And then the two men would get up and head to the couch to continue their heated discussion about how the last basketball game could have been better if only Derrick Rose was back in the game. And the wife would gather up the dishes and wash them in the sink. Then after just an hour, she would also join the men where the friend would ask her about her life and how she is doing. Few more minutes and the friend would announce that it was time for him to leave. Goodbyes and see yous. The friend would offer genuine thanks to the wife. And a couple of nice meeting yous later, the friend would leave.

As stated before, if they were to stay at home, things would be only a little different.

And leave the wife wondering – “when did I actually meet the friend I was so eagerly waiting for amidst the mini tornado in the kitchen?!”

It brought her to thinking. Would it be such a bad thing if the wife proposed to go out for dinner instead of cooking at home? Would it be such a terrible idea if the wife asked to have a quality discussion over ready-made restaurant food? Would it be awfully sinful if she refused to spend half a day in the kitchen and instead preferred to actually chat and be friendly to the friend?

The husband said that it is good Indian tradition and values to greet a guest with food. The wife denied saying no to that. Maybe she did say no to being the provider of the food, but she didn’t say no to food per se. Maybe she wanted to use the excuse of the friend to escape what she did anyway for everyday of the week. Would that make her a terrible wife? And a terrible host?

So maybe, after the meal, the husband would be deprived of the words, “You have an amazing and caring wife back there. I had a great time with you guys!” Maybe he would have to hear “Your wife is amazing to talk to. She is fun to hang out with! I had a great time with you guys!”

Now, would THAT be such a horrible thing?

Why, thought the wife, is it necessary to prove to every outsider that she is a responsible and good wife? Why can’t this be reserved for the husband himself? Why does she have to prove her cooking skills and her multi-tasking talents to every friend and every relative? Isn’t it proven from the healthy and not-at-all-pale-and-not-sickly looks of the husband?

But the wife dare not say such words aloud, lest she may be labeled a feminist.

She would rather call her friends for dinner. And then she would ask the husband to get down on his fours and do a 100 push-ups so she can also show off to her friends what a wonderful man she has! J

Disclaimer: ‘The husband’, ‘the wife’ and 'the friend' in this article are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely co-incidental.

FB...and other drugs

The 72 year old woman walked into the ‘Facebook Addiction’ therapist’s office only to see that there was no place for her to sit. The room was fully occupied – old, young and even kids! She knew she would have to spend good time in the waiting room for her turn. She glanced over at the next room in the building, labelled ‘Smoking Addiction’ and wished she had a smoking problem for there were only two patients there and ample place to sit.

She walked into the room, passing by the crowd that was staring with wide eyes; either into the blank walls or into the screens of their smart phones. A young fellow with an over-grown beard and never-combed hair handed his seat to the old woman saying, “I am too anxious to sit anyway. I found nurses, engineers and technicians for my city. But I still don't have a contractor."

Next to her was a young boy in his early teens frantically shaking his legs. She asked him why he was so nervous and he said, “Before I left home to come here, I updated my status…it’s been 45 minutes since and nobody has ‘liked’ it yet…I really need to figure out what happened…why is this happening to me?!”

The woman said with a smile, “I know the feeling. When I started out on Facebook, I used to put up funny status updates, you know the kinds that are LOL-worthy…but there were times when none of my friends ‘liked’ my updates. So I returned the favour by not ‘liking’ their pictures. It’s okay. It will be all right.”

“You seem to be very mature. Why are you here anyway?”

“To kick off habits my family doesn't approve of…sigh..”

“How did it all start with you?”

“My best friend from college, all her fault…her son introduced her to Facebook and she sent me an invitation. I wasn't even aware of such a thing before!”

“And then you were hooked?”

“Oh yes! I created my profile and before I knew it, I found myself on Facebook more than five times a day…and more times at night. You see I have friends from other time zones so there are many updates to catch up on. My husband doesn't approve much of it. He doesn't like the light flashing in his eyes in our dark room in the night.”

“Why don’t you try hiding inside the blanket? I used to do that with my small TV to watch football, till my mother caught me…”

“Son, we all get caught”, she said with a contemplative look, “Why do you think I am here?”

“Why do you like it so much?”

“It makes me forget my personal problems. Everyone is so happy on Facebook. They are always attending parties and wearing colourful clothes. Nobody has a job or stress. It’s like I am living a Karan Johar film.

Also, this year I had the best birthday ever! So many people posted on my wall. Some even sent me a cake on Facebook. But I am upset at those who didn't wish me. I mean, it’s on Facebook. What excuse do you have for forgetting?! ”

“True. Say, how many friends do you have?”

“In the real world, I have 8 friends but on Facebook, I have 732. It makes me feel social and wanted. I am even friends with Mayank Shetty”

“Who’s he?”

“Dunno. But he’s got more than 2000 friends, so must be famous.”

“That’s true. Making connections is the best part about Facebook. I know exactly what’s happening in the life of my school classmate and her newest boyfriend. Not that we are great friends but it feels special to be informed.”

“Yeah, yeah…even I connect to my girls from school and college. I hadn't heard from them in decades but now it is good to know who’s working, who’s retired, who’s still beautiful, who’s not…I love browsing through their profiles and pictures…I have even copied from their profiles. Apparently they have seen all the latest movies and read all the latest novels. They even have great political and religious views. Impressive stuff!”

“Do you do anything besides checking others’ profiles?”

“Of course I do! I play a lot of games on Facebook.”

“Yeah. Like Cityville and Farmville?”

“No, Warlords. I am ‘the Undead’. Nobody messes with me!”

“Don’t you go out and meet people?”

“Nah..that’s too much work. It’s easier on Facebook, no need to put on make-up or look good…no need to take a bath or put on perfume. Everybody looks so pretty on Facebook because they put up only their best profile pictures. One of my girls is using a picture where none of her blemishes are visible. Go Instagram!”

“Which profile picture are you using?”

“I spent a lot of time looking for a good picture but I realized I didn't have any Facebook-worthy picture. You see in my times, we used to take pictures for memories…not for getting approval of others. So I had to get out of my house and go to the nearest beauty parlour.”

“To make yourself prettier?”

“Yeah, that too. I also took a picture with two of the most beautiful girls there. That’s the picture I am using. With those two beauties flanking me, nobody notices me and I get all the likes.”

“It’s all going good for you. Why is Facebook a problem then?”

“Last weekend, when I was on Facebook, I saw a message on my wall from my son: “Just thought you should know Ma, we have moved out of the house couple of days ago.”

“Oh my god! Then?”

“What else?! I unfriended him, of course!”

Something so ordinary...

Something so ordinary as the way you smiled at me

And made my day.

Something so ordinary as you moved the hair off my forehead

And said all those things I wish you would say.

Something so ordinary as your tucking the covers around me

Or just standing by the door and watch me sleep.

Such an ordinary look, and yet you looked deep inside of me.

Unknowingly you stilled something so restless inside of me.

Catching a little lie, so ordinary

Playing along, even more ordinary.

Something so ordinary your head in my lap

And my fingers in your hair.

Something so ordinary the sound of your breathing

My sense of comfort that you are still there.

Laughing at all my tantrums, something so ordinary

Missing them when I don’t throw them, even more ordinary.

Being yourself, something so ordinary

Being my whole world, not all that ordinary.

Such an ordinary life

Such an ordinary lack of momentum

Like we are caught up unawares in a loss of time

And then you unknowingly cover my hand

And tell me all over that you won’t leave.

Love will stay…

…In all your ordinary ways

“Very few people believe in God.”

“Of course they do. Billions of people believe in God.”

“Four billion people say they believe in God, but few genuinely believe. If people believed in God, they would live every minute of their lives in support of that belief. Rich people would give their wealth to the needy. No one would be uncomfortable in the thought that they might have picked the wrong religion and blundered into eternal damnation, or bad reincarnation or some other unthinkable consequence.

A belief in God would demand hundred percent obsessive devotion, influencing every other waking moment of this brief life on earth. But your four billion so-called believers do not live their lives in that fashion, except for a few.

They say that they believe because pretending to believe is necessary to get the benefits of religion. They tell other people that they believe and they do believer-like things, like praying and reading holy books. But they don’t do the things that a true believer would do, the things a true believer would have to do.

It is not belief to say God exists and then continue sinning. When belief does not control your most important decision, it is not belief in the underlying reality; it is belief in the usefulness of believing.”

-Scott Adams, God’s Debris: A Thought Experiment

"It is not the critic that counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly, who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds."

-Theodore Roosevelt

Romance goes Mobile

Whilst we were young, what terrified us the most about schools were the surprise spelling tests; terrified of being unprepared for it and messing up the spellings. Two decades hence and a world of a change later, spelling tests are still the most terrifying subject, this time for the teachers. With the ‘sms generation’ and the rapid increase in the ‘let’s-tell-the-world-every-damn-uninteresting-thing-I’m-doing-in-140-characters’ population, correct grammar and correct spellings have become an ancient concept.

I indulge a lot in sms, oh yes I do! I think it is the single most effective and inexpensive tool to be in touch with people (whom otherwise I wouldn’t want to be face-to-face with) According to some survey, about 4.5 crore smses are sent across daily, some across miles and others just a few meters.

Mother: “Y r u nt cming dwn fr diner swthrt...ur dad n I miss u”

Kid: “Crckt mtch goin on...wl cum soon”

If you had no trouble reading these words, then you, my friend, are addicted to smsing too. You are also a member of the organisation created to butcher English like never before. Membership is open to all. The requirements are pretty basic: forget spelling, forget punctuations, forget the lecture that your English teacher gave you when you said, “I am not understanding why grammar be important.”

Also, you can write anything in an sms and people will even make good meanings of your msg (message). But sometimes, it’s easily misunderstood too. Like when my friend wrote “u gv me lc”, her boyfriend proudly replied “I know, I always give people good luck!”, her confused aunt replied “I don’t remember when I gave you any lace” and I was simply apologetic “Oh my god! I am so sorry dear, I didn’t mean to give you lice!”

The character constraint even takes off your burden to type a lot many letters. What used to be “I love you so much” became “luv u so mch” to now a very simple “lv u”. Speaking of reducing the burden, the “Send To Many” option helps you from typing it over and over again to multiple recipients! Not just that, smses also give you all the privacy you need. You can effortlessly read messages from your girlfriend while doing something important, such as having dinner with your wife.

Having said enough, I love technology. It does wonders for me, with many of my close ones not staying in the same city as I do, I would be absolutely exhausted from visiting the mailbox every other day sending out handwritten letters. Instead, I have it all at my fingertip – phones, smses, emails and other such networking aids. So let me not push my sarcasm to that extent that Vodafone gets miffed with me and disconnects my number, so here’s to technology!!!

And it’s not all that bad. Smses actually have allowed couples to get more intimate, to break beyond the restraints their cultures and values have imposed upon them. Even a simple “thnkng abt u” brings a smile to a wife’s face, allowing her to feel closer to her husband and look forward to seeing him again, as soon as the Test series is over.

Survival of the Fittest, Redefined

I have often marveled at the thought of meeting a sane person hailing from a busy city like Mumbai and a crowded country like India. I didn’t realise it much till I actually opened my eyes and started taking notice of activities around me. Right from the morning when I wake up and not get water in the tap to the minute when I step out of my house to catch a bus to work to going to a trial room in a mall on a Sunday (or any other day of the week, it hardly makes any difference really) to watching a cricket match in the stadium to getting sweets from the shop on a non-festive day to even waiting for the elevator in my building to reach my home in the evening, I realised – I.Live.In.A.Very.Crowded.City!

So what is it like to live in a country of nearly 1.21 billion people, a country that’s one-third the size of Canada, yet has thirty times the population? What is it like to live in the second most populous country in the world, dangerously close to the first one being China and very far from the third one being United States of America? And to top it all, what is it like to live in the most populous city of India-Mumbai?!

It’s not that bad. Really. It’s not all that bad (as people think) even if you happen to be the last person on the bus. You can very well enjoy the view on the last step of the bus while hanging to the door and convince yourself that getting on the bus is much better than getting in the bus. Sure you cannot stretch your hands and your legs, sure you will be travelling with a few others on the outside of the bus, sure you will be grabbing on to whatever you can, be it the frame of the door or the next person’s shirt sleeve, but you will actually be one of those many who know what it means to “catch the bus”.

Buses and trains in Mumbai pronounce our population better than any other medium. Although rickshaws are fast catching up with people spilling out of them at any given time. Trains are often crammed with people, beyond their capacity. While some passengers get the seats, many others are pressed together in the aisle, close enough to know what each other had for lunch.

When the bus is packed to its maximum capacity, getting on and off is a major challenge, but so is getting in and out. You could try to empty the bus by screaming out that there is an explosive in the bus. However, with the frequency with which they are found almost everywhere in the city, yelling out “Oh my God! Amitabh Bachchan!” will empty the bus faster than anything else. Another method could be to drop to your hands and knees and crawl between people’s legs and reach the exit. Although, experience teaches that this method doesn’t work that well, considering the women of our country wear saris.

While Amitabh Bachchan can very well empty a bus, what he cannot empty are movie theatres. We love movies and we love cricket. So when half the population wants to watch every latest blockbuster, the chances of getting tickets on the first day are similar to the chances of running into Rakhi Sawant at a ghazal concert.

In India, you stand in the line everywhere. You stand in the queue to get a movie ticket, you stand in a queue to take a leak in the public toilet, you stand in the queue to vote for your candidate at the general elections, you stand in the queue report a stolen bike at the police station, you even stand in a queue to get out of a boring lecture by any renowned philosopher. Long queues are a norm. If you accept the fact, you save a lot of energy spent in cribbing about it everywhere.

When you visit a doctor, the receptionist may be poor in grammar but she’s not incorrect when she asks, “Are you patient?”

It is a fact that Indians encounter crowds almost everywhere. With this sudden revelation, I marvel at how everybody is dealing with the immense population and its exaggerated growth of 10 million every year. So much that if rabbits would be having general meetings, they would use the phrase “breeding like Indians”.