Next stop, insanity

What has no legs but moves?

2007-01-07T15:25:00.000-08:00

It’s a blog.

I decided to move the blog to its own site. You may ask why. Because I will have more control over the presentation. If you ask my wife, she will tell you it’s because I can play with PHP and show off my programming skills. Don’t believe her.

Please visit my new place at: http://www.twisted-dna.com

If you have a link to me from your site, I would really appreciate it if you could change the link to point to the new site.

See you there.

It takes two to shop

2006-12-04T20:59:00.000-08:00

Buying a pair of pants was not easy when I was young. We had to buy cloth and have it stitched by a tailor into something that resembles a pair of pants. To buy the fabric for the pants, we went to a fabric store, where a guy shows you a variety of cloths from which you pick one.

Circumstances have conspired in a way that I had to re-live the experience yesterday. I am the kind of a guy who prefers self-checkout whenever possible to avoid human interaction. You can imagine my discomfort having a salesperson involved in the selection process.

When I entered the cloth store, my expectation was simple. The sales guy would throw some raw material for pants on the table, I keep shaking my head until I find the right one, pay for it and walk out.

When I entered the store, the salesperson asked what kind of pants I was looking for. I told him I wanted something I could wear to work if I ever need to wear formals to work. Without warning, he spread a light-orange colored cloth on the table. Did I mention I don't work at the circus? I explained to him, "I'd like something dark and plain, just like the way I like my coffee."
He: You want coffee color pants, sir?
Me: No! I mean, something simple. Plain. Dark gray, preferably.
He (shaking his head disapprovingly): No.
Me: You mean you don't have dark gray?
He: We do sir, but it is not the latest fashion. You must buy latest fashion, sir.

As prima facie evidence of latest fashion, he pointed me to a poster of Mahesh Babu, a young Telugu hero, wearing some sort of orange pants. I suspect most people in the US do not know Mahesh Babu and hence are blissfully oblivious of the fashion trend he is setting. I am not too compelled by the option. I insisted that as the prospective wearer of the pants, my preference is given priority.

As I went through the stacks of raw material, the salesperson was visibly dismayed at how barbaric my taste was and how ignorant I was about the "latest fashions." He kept pushing more flamboyant (and more expensive) cloths, which in my opinion are more appropriate for curtains rather than pants. Everything I liked was met with stern disapproval from the salesperson. He kept reminding me "For a man of your good color, you must wear nice colors, sir. You are picking all dull colors." ("Color" here does not refer to my race. It refers to my skin complexion)

The crowning moment of the shopping experience was when the salesperson suggested, "May be you should bring madam (my wife) along sir?" sounding hopeful that she would talk some sense into me.

After an hour of archaeological digging into the heaps of clothes, I unearthed something we both liked. I liked the cloth and he liked the price.

You don't even want to know the ordeal at the tailor.

Please pray for this poor man

2006-11-19T14:08:00.000-08:00

Take a man (or a woman). Tie him to a chair. Then, for 36 hours do the following:

Shout in his ear
Stand up on him and jump
Pull his hair
Cry sitting in his lap
Spill food on him
Keep calling his name relentlessly for hours at a stretch

Do you think he will survive this? I am embarking on an adventure to find out. I mean to say, we are traveling to India with our 21-month old son.

You might ask for what masochistic reason I am putting myself through it. Let me explain.

One of the unforeseen side-effects of marriage is that you will inherit a brother-in-law. These brothers-in-law don't just sit there and mind their business, they get married. And you will have to haul yourself, your wife, a hyper-active toddler and 400 pounds of baggage across the Pacific to attend the wedding.

That's not all. One fine morning my wife casually asked me, "You are going to wear a Sherwani for the wedding, right?" I had two options. I could say "No" and hear how geeky, old, crumpled, faded, distasteful, atrocious, did I mention geeky, my normal formal attire is. Or I could say "Yes" and look like the official clown at the wedding. I chose to tell her a toned down version of "You will have to hold me at gun point." She looked like she intended to do precisely that.

So please pray for me people. Wish me luck to preserve my sanity on the flight and dignity at the wedding.

Update
I survived! Both wife and kid have been extraordinarily well-behaved. Thank you for the outporing sympathy, empathy and prayers.

Shwerwani Update:
The groom himself decided not to wear a Sherwani and I got nothing to do with it ;). So I am off the hook for the sherwani. yay.

Pyramid of friendship

2006-11-15T01:29:00.000-08:00

For engineers like me who live in North California, Fry’s Electronics store is equivalent of a place of worship. We go there every week, pay our respects and part with some money. One weekend at Fry’s I was examining some ultra powerful headphones that are sure to make you deaf in minutes. I noticed a pretty Indian woman walking into the same aisle. I stared at her for appropriate amount of time and went right back to figuring out the fastest way to become deaf.

After a minute, she walked right up to me with a box of “Noise canceling Headphones” and asked me, “Do you know what these headphones do?”

I was surprised. It was clearly written on the box what they do, complete with the picture of a goofy looking guy on an airplane sporting the said headphones, in a desperate attempt to hint at where that gadget can be used. But no, she had to come and ask me. Is she flirting with me? Ooh, la la.

I pretty much read off of the box what the purpose of the headphones was. As she was thanking me, an Indian guy joined us and was introduced as her husband. After she passed on the knowledge I imparted to her, he asked me a couple of more questions and drowned me in praise, “Wow! You know so much about headphones! Are you into professional audio?” Is he trying to flirt with me? I am all confused now.

They introduced themselves enthusiastically, told me they were new in the area and asked everything about me. She even asked, “Where is your wife?” Hmm. What is going on here? Do they belong to the rumored Indian wife swapping club?

But we must give people the benefit of doubt. They could just be extremely nice people looking for friends in a new area. In a way I was happy that there are still outgoing and friendly people out there. That happiness lasted only until I asked him what he did for a living. Like a bucket of cold water, he told me, “I work for so and so company. And I also have my own e-commerce business.”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a clear sign of an Amway guy. At least one mystery solved. Nobody was trying to flirt.

In case you don’t know what Amway is, it is a pyramid scheme, followers of which believe that it will make them rich and help them attain nirvana. They live the rest of their lives like leeches pestering people to sign up for their cult. (I don’t mean to say leeches pester people to sign up for cults. Leeches have a little more dignity than that.)

Rest of the story was simple and pretty much a routine for me. I gave him my phone number. He called me in two days. I gave him an hour long lecture.

Because of the way they operate, I now look askance at every unknown Indian who talks to me. There is always this nagging suspicion that this guy could turn out to be Amway.

On a side note, a fellow blogger recently moved into this area. We never met but he and I chatted on G-Talk. One day we decided to meet for coffee. Before we closed the chat, he cautiously asked me, “You are not Amway or anything, are you?”

My friend and his opinion of a wife

2006-11-07T03:07:00.000-08:00

A few things are learned the hard way. I have circumstantial evidence that one of my friends did just that. I was tempted to say “I told you so” to him, but being a gentleman, I didn’t. I will just write a blog post about it.

Couple of years ago, this friend of mine (henceforth known as X), embarked on a voyage countless Indian-Americans embarked on before. A month long expedition in India to find a bride and marital bliss. Before he set sail, he called me one day. Anybody who grew up in India, or watched B-grade Bollywood movies, knows about the much hyped “First Night.” (If you don’t know what it is, it is the night a married couple, even they know each other only for a few days, consummate their day old marriage) Like many a young man, he too was nervous about it.

X: What do I do on that day?

Me: Dude, you hold the record for watching every porn movie ever made. Things should be clear to you by now?

X: No, my question is do people go all the way on the first night itself?

Me: I could check the census records but I don’t think they collect that data. But what does it matter to you what people do. Do what you feel is right.

X: Do you think she would be comfortable with it?

Me: That is an excellent question to ask her.

X: What if she is too shy to say?

Me: If she is too shy to talk about it, you should probably stop at the question.

X: But what if she doesn’t want me to ask questions and look like I don’t know what I am doing? I think women like their men to be manly. Take charge. Decide things for them.

Should I let him live in this happy bubble for some more time or burst it now?

Me: I believe most women like to be treated with respect. They would like their opinion to matter. They may want you to take charge and lead the way in matters such as taking the car out for servicing, but in just about everything else, they want to be a part of the decision making process.

X: You are Americanized. Indian women are not like that. They respect the husband. They want the man to be in control. They don’t like sissies who can’t make up their minds. Take my word for it, I am going all the way that night.

He is convinced that husband should rule with an iron fist. In his mind the picture is probably somewhat like:

Wife: Why should we always go to your favorite restaurant, can’t we eat Italian today?

Husband: We are going to Hooters, bitch. Now get in the car.

It’s difficult to argue if both of us are going by their opinions, not facts or statistics. I didn’t let the argument continue. X went to India. Got married. Got back with his lovely wife on the scheduled date, like clock work. I didn’t ask him what happened on the first night.

Recently, another friend of mine, Y, was getting married. X and I called Y together to congratulate him. I gave my usual marriage advice to Y, such as “Don’t get married.” etc. X was silent until Y asked him if X had any advice for him. X said flatly, “Don’t expect much action on the first night.”

Murqa

2006-10-30T22:16:00.000-08:00

Ever since Taj El-Din Hilaly spoke in defense of his sexual predator brethren there has been a lot of talk about burqas. But thinking about, I think men should wear burqas. There are actually a lot of benefits of wearing a burqa. Here is why:

You don't have to shave regularly
Your wife won't nag you saying "Didn't you wear the same shirt yesterday?"
We all have been in situations when you dash into a store to pick up one thing and run into somebody you know. You have to be polite and stop and chat. If you wear burqa, you will go unnoticed.
You don't have to put up a smiling face when a guy asks you, "Is it OK if I set the meeting at 5PM on Friday?". You can make whatever face you want as long as you keep your voice calm.
If you smoke, burqa provides another layer of filtering
When you are in a store and your wife wants you to buy something expensive, you can pretend not to be her husband and walk away
You don't have to be all macho and say, "Oh, it's not chilly at all." You can wear a sweater and nobody will notice
Nobody will know where you are looking. Just saying, not that you will check out girls or anything.
"Dressing up" for dinner only involves wearing formal shoes (These events will be called "Black shoelace events")
Host of excellent pick up lines like: "Hi, will you join me in my burqa?"
(Don't talk about hair, Don't talk about hair ) There won't be any more bad hair days (Damn couldn't stop)

May be I should start a new fashion trend.

Recipe: Lemon Olive Fuzz

2006-10-24T01:27:00.000-07:00

I always liked how those food blogs look, especially the pictures. I wanted to post something like that and here is my chance to shine. To give credit where credit is due, this recipe is invented and perfected by my wife.

Ingredients:

4 tables spoons of fresh lemon juice
1 table spoon olive oil

Procedure:

Mix the olive oil in the lime juice until it becomes sticky and slimy
Apply the concoction thoroughly to your husband’s hair
Note: Applying may be tricky because you may face some resistance. Blackmailing in some way works well
Make sure the mix is evenly applied to the hair and, if possible, to ears and eyes
Let the hair dry completely, while the slime drips on his t-shirt. Natural drying is preferred unless he mutters too many obscenities, in which case you can advise him to go stand in the sun.
There is an easy test to find out when the hair is dry. When you touch it, it should feel like uncooked Top Ramen (or Maggie)
Wash the hair. If needed, remove the grease with Pinesol
Don’t forget to compliment him on how silky the hair looks and feels – who knows, for a moment, he might actually forget that nobody in the world would notice a married guy’s hair, even if he dyed it orange.

(OK. OK. I know I exceeded my quota of hair posts)

A barbaric experience

2006-10-16T01:02:00.000-07:00

The cloth tightened around my neck rendering me completely immobile. He ran his fingers through my hair and said, “You have thick hair.” From the corner of my eye I could see the glistening knife on the table. Then he asked the question. I knew my answer had no bearing on the outcome. I know my fate has been sealed. He repeated the question.

“Do you want your hair short or medium?”

Yes, I was at the barber. As you can see, going to the barber is not something I look forward to eagerly. I generally let my hair grow until I have almost the same hairstyling options as my wife. Last week after finally yielding to my wife’s helpful hints and the annoyance of hair failing in my eyes, I dragged myself to my favorite barber.

The advantage with my barber is that he doesn’t leave a hole in your pocket, but the disadvantage is he might, on your skin. On the day I decided to visit him, he was apparently out of town and entrusted his uncle, an old Vietnamese gentleman, with mowing the hairy heads that wander thither. I didn’t view it as a cause for concern at the time.

After he worked on my hair for half hour with a variety of instruments including three kinds of scissors, a knife and an 18-cerntury looking electric razor, I started growing concerned about the state of my hair. He firmly assured me everything was alright and advised that I go right back to watching the TV. While I tried to engross myself in the game on the TV, which I couldn’t understand a bit of, he tried to make small talk by asking, “You are a fan of baseball, eh?” That jolted me to rapt attention, alarm bells ringing loud. Because it was football that was on the TV, not baseball. That is when I realized, that guy was practically blind! I tried to salvage my remaining hair by being his seeing eye, but without much avail.

Needless to say I emerged the barber shop looking like a poodle run over by a lawn-mower. That is the price you pay for not paying attention when a vintage Vietnamese guy is going at your hair like he never cut before.

Update:

Never has a photograph been so much in demand since The Sun printed Saddam Hussein in underpants. I wish I had a taken a picture as soon as I came out of the barber shop when the damage was most visible. After 10 days and some strategic readjustment, I have recuperated now. I promise to post a pic next time I am in a shape to provide quality entertainment.

10 Kinds of Saree Wearers

2006-10-05T23:13:00.000-07:00

From the time I was quite young, as young as 10 years old, I used to enjoy watching women in sarees. Ya, kind of an early bloomer. I used to categorize the women in some loosely defined categories. Here is what I can recollect.

The perfect 10s: The saree looks perfect on them, as if the saree-weaver had this woman in mind when he wove the saree. Each fold of the saree enhances their beauty and each thread seems to be happy to hug this women. They also invoke hackneyed poetry like this in onlookers.
A-la-Egyptians: They follow the Egyptian mummy wrapping method of wearing a saree. They cover each inch of their body with the saree, very efficiently hiding the gap between the waist and the blouse in miraculous layers of the saree. Makes you wonder if they are wearing one saree or two!
De-pleaters: Do you know the law of conservation of pleats? The number of saree pleats (called kuchchiLLu in Telugu) that originate at the waist must be equal to the number of pleats that end up at the feet. The women in this category are in criminal violation of the law. The pleats that start crisply at their waist lose their way around knees and end up in a lump at their feet.
Saree-capris wearers: These women's saree does not cover the full length of the leg, leaving a couple of inches of the legs uncovered at the ankles. Inadequate experience, rather than the width of the saree, is the root of the problem. A very bad way to wear a saree, especially if the texture of their legs generally resembles a wool carpet.
Luck-pushers: These women do wear the saree well, but somehow forget that their garment is held in place by a puny physical law called friction and that excessive tugging at it will render it out of shape. While wearing the saree they venture into tasks fit only for Romanian gymnasts, such as catching a running bus, moving furniture around and so on. As a result, 15 minutes later, the saree starts to look like it may fall off anytime. (But it never does, so no use following them around)
Sideshow artists: Women unknowingly fall into this category if they forget to make sure that the pallu (the lose end of the saree) is covering the side of their left shoulder. Whenever their hand is not parallel to the body, they provide a profile view of the body parts that are generally carefully tucked under the folds.
Pincushions: They use excessive number of pins to keep the saree in place and to prevent any accidental revealing of skin. It is a miracle how they manage not to tear the saree every time they move a limb.
Googlers: The most recently added category. The women in this category trust the Google-Gods to guide them through the unexplored territory of garment origami. Armed with online tutorials, a lot of imagination and blind faith in themselves, they become their own guinea pigs. These attempts could go either way, but alas, we will only come to know of the successful attempts and they all look stunning.
Wrap-duo: This category is not about the style of wearing a saree but about the act of wearing a saree. Some women are skilled enough at the art of saree wrapping that they can manage on their own. Some take a friend into the dressing room to help them wrap the saree. I don’t have any problem with that except that nobody ever asked me to help
Navel revealers: A mythical category. Rather, a fleeting category. Some women momentarily fall in this category because of some (fortutious) slip. The the saree gets readjusted faster than you can tell if it is innie or outie. By the way, I refuse to put movie heroines in the category. I should probably invent a new category for them, something like, “This saree must have been super-glued to their bodies to stay in that position.”

Little professors

2006-10-01T03:02:00.000-07:00

There are two kinds of kids. The first kind, when they meet me for the first time, hide behind their moms and start crying. I don’t know why. But when the initial shock wears off, we become best buddies.

The other kind develops an instant desire to get on my nerves and drive me up the wall. They do this in various ways, using methods akin to medieval torture techniques. I met one such kid when I was visiting a colleague. The brat was about 4 years old, showed above average reading and torturing skills for his age.

When I entered the house, he looked innocuous enough, playing in the corner with his flash-cards. But as soon as he spotted me, he carefully approached his pray and camped near where his parents and I were trying to have a conversation. He started interrupting our conversation repeatedly by showing me the flash-cards of animals, which mostly looked Martian to me, and provided gratuitous information on their names and habitat.

After a while he figured the game was not interactive enough for him so he took the game up a notch. He started showing flash-cards and asking me to identify the animals. I identified them with ease. When I confidently announced “Ring-tailed lemur,” his father helpfully informed the brat, “Uncle is just reading off the flash-card.” The brat went, “Hey, you are not supposed to read off the card.” What? Are you expecting me to recognize a ring-tailed lemur? Do I look like an expert in… whatever subject that studies ungodly animals like ring-tailed lemurs?

Round three of the game constituted the brat covering the name of the animal and asking me to identify. At this point, I made my intentions not to be part of the fun clear by ignoring the brat. But it is hard to ignore him when he stood between me and his parents shoving a card in my face. I looked expectantly at his parents hoping they would say “Let uncle talk to us kanna.” But no. They were actually looked at me expectantly to answer the brat. After a brief to and fro exchange of expectant looks, they won.

Brat: OK, what is this?
Me: Deer

The brat smirked. I didn’t even know kids can smirk.

Brat: No, it’s an impala

I don’t know. They all look like frikking deer to me.

Brat: You don’t know the difference between deer and impala?

I wanted to tell the brat how much I care about the difference between impala and deer but I was afraid the brat may not understand the reference to rat’s ass. I looked at the parents hoping they would come to my rescue. They looked very amused, smiling proudly at the brat.

The pop-quiz continued.

Brat: What is this?
Me: Rhinoceros
Brat: No, rhinoceros

He corrected my pronunciation. Alarmed, I looked at the parents. Of course they are going to sternly admonish the brat not to be rude. Nope. They had their proud smile plastered on their faces.

Brat: What is this?
Me: Horse
Brat: What is it called in Telugu? (Telugu is my mother tongue)
Me: It’s called “gurram”
Brat: No it’s called “gurram” (Pronouncing it like an American)

The parents laughed out loud at the cuteness. I was not laughing. I was not mad at the brat. I was mad at the parents. I felt sad for the brat. He will grow up with the reinforcement that it is okay to be rude and it is okay to insist that he is right even when he is not.

Of course, a few minutes after that I suddenly remembered a very urgent matter I needed to tend to.

Itsy Bitsy Indian Spider

2006-09-25T01:53:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up in India, I used to wonder why there was no Spiderman in India. Now I think I know why. Here is why Spiderman cannot survive in India:

He keeps touching the open electric wires and getting nearly electrocuted
120°F and 100% humidity. Imagine wearing a skin-tight spandex suit with a hood
That cheap Spider-suit he bought on the sidewalks of Mumbai keeps ripping off at uncomfortable places at inconvenient times
It’s very hard to focus on the task at hand with all those stray dogs chasing him
Since Peter Parker is a non-Indian name, he has to use some ridiculous name like “Pavitr Prabhakar”
Vishwa Hindu Parishad and Shiv sena put pressure on him to change the color of his costume to Saffron
Some fringe religious groups that worships spiders will get the government to ban taking spider’s name in vain. Since it is impossible to find an animal/insect that is not worshipped in India, Spiderman will have to go with lower life forms like “Hydra man” or “Entamoeba histolytica man”
In the slum areas of the big cities that have no buildings, Spiderman will be reduced to using a bicycle for transportation. It’s neither easy nor glamorous fighting bad guys on a bicycle.
There will be protests against the obscenity of his skin-tight suit with dubious bulges
Frequently gets tangled in kids’ kites and gets sworn at by the pissed off kids
Those Diwali rockets are a pain in the ass, literally

I stumbled on this Wikipedia article recently. Apparently there was an attempt at Indianizing Spiderman in a series of Comic books. The names they chose are hilarious:

Peter Parker – Pavitr Prabhakar
Mary Jane – Meera Jain
Uncle Ben – Uncle Bhim
Aunt May – Aunt Maya
Norman Osborn – Nalin Oberoi
Harry Osborn – Hari Oberoi

Those sexy, supple, white things

2006-09-19T00:37:00.000-07:00

(You heard about stuffing a turkey. Have you heard about “Guest stuffing?” It is a well known phenomenon for anybody who grew up in

India

. Forcing the guest to eat until the guest is an inch from throwing up is considered a hostly thing to do. Leaving any food that the host gratuitously pushed on to your plate is considered very barbaric)

An (Indian) acquaintance of ours invited us for an informal dinner. The moment I entered their house, the sexy thing on the table caught my eye. I mean the dessert, “Rasmalai.” I told myself that all I have to do is pretend to be eating the entrée for a few moments and then I can get my dirty hands all over the Rasmalai.

The dinner featured South Indian delicacies Idly, Sambar and lemon rice. My dinner plate came pre-configured with 4 idlies. Damn, I didn’t want to fill myself with idlies. Ok, not to worry. If I go easy on the lemon rice, I can do some well deserved justice to the Rasmalai.

I polished off the idlies with the deftness of an experienced South Indian. *plop* *plop*. Two more idlies magically appeared on my plate. I looked up in horror. The spatula wielding hostess was standing right next to me with a bowl menacingly full of idlies. “Oh, you are a young man, you can eat two more idlies,” she dismissed my horror with a wave of the spatula. I begged the hostess to control her effervescing hospitality.

I ate the bonus idlies too. As I was serving myself a carefully measured portion of lemon rice, I heard the host guffaw. “Don’t eat like a bird. That is why you are so thin.” Before I could fully comprehend the ominousness of his statement, the host moved with dizzying alacrity and before I knew, a lemon-rice-heap of the size of Gibraltar was sitting on my plate. I am sure a tear trickled down my cheek as bid farewell to any remaining hopes of getting to the Rasmalai.

I laboriously finished the lemon rice. I was so full that I could not even laugh at my wife throwing herself on her plate in an attempt to prevent the host from serving more idlies. But, like a wounded soldier crawling towards home country, I reached out for the Rasmalai. I had them in a cup and was about to eat when I heard, “What? You are already having dessert?” *Plop* There was Sambar on my plate. “I saw you didn’t eat Sambar.” At which point, I gave up.

Well the silver lining is the hostess gave me my Rasmalai to-go. So I did enjoy the sexy, white, supple things the day after.

Banana Ice Mist

2006-09-12T11:40:00.000-07:00

I saw this product at a local produce store.

If I add everything, what do I need the mix for?

Curse-co

2006-09-12T00:22:00.000-07:00

If I had to list all the places I hate to go to, Costco comes only second to public urinals in Indian train stations. It is as if everything about Costco is designed to make you hate yourself for being a cheapo to go there in the first place. But you have no option when you buy enough bran cereal to feed a horse and enough milk to bathe the aforementioned metaphorical horse in.

For people who are not familiar with Costco, it's a huge warehouse-like store that promises to sell cheap stuff, both in price and quality, if you are willing to buy in bulk. Their business mantra is, “Customers buy any crap if it's cheap.”

When you go to Costco, the torture starts with finding a parking space. It doesn't matter what time you go, the parking lot is full. The only spot you will find is the one right next to the shopping cart area. You could as well paint a bullseye on your car because somebody is going to hit it with the cart.

Then you walk across half mile of parking lot, find a cart and try to enter the store but the entrance is blocked. You can tell even without looking that some moron is blocking the entrance with his shopping-cart trying to find his Costco membership card, which he did not bring.

You push your way through to find yourself in a 100 aisle store in which the products are organized in what seems to be a complete random fashion. Otherwise, what logic explains toothpaste and tampons being right next to each other, not anywhere near other bathroom or women's products? May be Costco believes people brush their teeth with tampons? Or may be the products are placed in some secret order, something like sorted in reverse alphabetical order of the second letter of the product name. In any case, mere mortals take half hour to find anything in that store.

The other interesting fact about Costco is all their employees are incognito, wearing civilian clothes, roaming among the crowds completely indistinguishable. How else could they run such huge store while making sure not a single employee is around when you need help?

After you spent 2 hours to find 4 products and ready to get out of the place promising yourself never to return, you find out that the lines are a mile long. As you wait impatiently in the line, you notice that every other line moves except yours. You crane your neck to find out that the woman who just had her 75 items scanned is asking, “Don't you accept Master Card?” And of course she doesn't speak English.

I will stop the post here. Because if I continue, rest of the post will be nothing but obscenities.

Tadget gag

2006-09-06T02:09:00.000-07:00

Anuradha tagged me with the Gadget tag. The rules are simple, you need to talk about 3 fantasy gadgets you would like to have and tag more people.

When I was young, I wouldn't have to think for a second what gadgets I want. I would've told you in one breath: water-to-wine-converter, 2000-hour-TiVo and a woman-prettying-goggles (in case the wine didn't work). But I am a grumpy, mumbling old man now. All I ask is that the damn gadgets, I paid good money for, work.

Here is my fantasy.

1. Microwave Oven: Microwave oven is a machine that heats a portion of the food that is kept in it. To me it is a miracle how half the food is boiling hot and the rest is still frozen. Don't even get me started on the sensor cooking feature. It is just a short for "For people who still don't get it." My fantasy is a microwave that doesn't need to be spoon-fed.

2. Bathroom Scale. Either our house has utter disregard for Newtonian physics or our bathroom scale is a lemon. Move the scale ever so slightly, it gives you a new weight. Come on! I can't be gaining and losing weight every step I take. If that were true, I should be looking like a badly animated cartoon character when I walk. My fantasy is a bathroom scale that respects physics.

3. Paper Shredder: When I bought my first paper shredder, I bought a manual shredder. Little did I know that "Manual Paper Shredder" means I have to shred the paper manually, with my own hands. So I bought an Electronic paper shredder. From what I understand so far, it only shreds electronic documents. My fantasy is a paper shredder that shreds real paper and not cause side-effects such as a sudden urge to bang your head against the wall

I tag:

El Amigo Loco

2006-08-31T23:48:00.000-07:00

If any application form asks "Any disabilities?" most men should put down "Cooking." A majority of us, me included, can't make hot water without instructions. So when one such culinary Neanderthal friend of mine started a phone conversation with "So I tried to cook," I knew the ending would involve fireworks.

This friend, who moved to the US recently, has been a lavish patron of local restaurants. In a moment of hallucination he thought he could cook and bought one of those gourmet frozen chickens.

The instructions looked simple enough:

Preheat the oven to 400F
Cook for 45 minutes

So our friend followed the instructions, started the cooking and popped into the shower expecting to be enveloped by aromas of delicious chicken by the time he was out. In about 20 minutes, his olfactory senses were assaulted by the smell of a dead bird burning. Promptly followed by some smoke seeping in from under the bathroom door and high pitched smoke-alarm, for added effect.

As our friend streaked out and retrieved the ashes of the cremated bird, he realized the mistakes he made. Here are the lessons he learned from the experience:

When the instructions include seemingly non-English words such as "preheat" don't just skip over them.
When the instructions say "oven" don't automatically assume it meant Microwave oven

Is your girlfriend a computer geek?

2006-08-29T02:45:00.000-07:00

A colleague of mine narrated a funny story about how his girlfriend, who is a software engineer, got mad at his playing Solitaire all the time on the computer. She installed a parental control software to prevent opening games on their home computer and refused to give him the passcode. That prompted me to come up with the following list:

How can you tell if your girlfriend is a computer geek?
(You need to be a geek to enjoy this)

She always asks you, self-consciously, does my laptop look too fat?
She dumps you after she finds out your SIMS character cheated on her SIMS character
She describes a perfect date as, "At a romantic restaurant with good WiFi connectivity"
She emails you, "I am feeling kinky, can we have VOIP sex?"
Your friends call you with computer problems and ask, "Can I talk to your girlfriend?"
Her Palm Pilot can play better music than your Hi-Fi music system
She has more software CDs than music CDs
She has a USB powered sex-toy
When you decided to have a kid, she uses the computer to find out the most fertile minute of her cycle. Then she tells you, "There is absolutely no pressure"
When she put “I have the best rack” on her match.com profile she meant rack mounted server
She told you, "You had me at Hello World."

Booked

2006-08-25T01:43:00.000-07:00

Lalitha book-tagged me. So hear goes the tag.

ONE BOOK THAT CHANGED YOUR LIFE

World Atlas: When I was 7, I made a sexist comment on my cousin. She hit me with a hard-bound world atlas so hard that till now I never made a sexist comment again, even as a joke.

But, seriously:

Games People Play by Eric Berne: After reading this book I started looking at people, situations and conversations differently.

THE BOOK YOU HAVE READ MORE THAN ONCE

The manual for our Microwave oven: I read it 50 times and I still can't figure out how to set the time on it!

But, seriously:
Stephen Jay Gould's Hen's Teeth and Horse's Toes (mostly because I didn't understand it the first time). It's a mesmerizing book with juicy facts about theory of evolution.

ONE BOOK YOU WOULD WANT ON A DESERT ISLAND

Survive on a Desert Island: Of course :)

ONE BOOK THAT MADE YOU LAUGH

Playboy: Not only do you find pseudo-intellectual interviews of women with enough silicone in them to be qualified by FAA as a flotation device but you also find ironic quizzes such as “Are you completely truthful in your relationship” knowing very well that half the demographic that reads Playboy never admits to reading it.

But, seriously:
Code of Woosters by P.G.Woodhouse: It not only made me laugh uncontrollably until tears trickled down my cheeks but also amused people around me immensely because I was reading the book on a crowded train in India.

ONE BOOK THAT MADE YOU CRY

Check book, after my wife went out shopping with it.

ONE BOOK YOU WISH YOU HAD WRITTEN

American Constitution: I would have made it unconstitutional for anybody of Dubya’s IQ to be the president.

But, seriously:
Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens: The mastery over language and the subtle but scathing sarcasm always made me wish I could write like that.

ONE BOOK THAT YOU WISH HAD NEVER BEEN WRITTEN

Kama Sutra: Because of that incoherent book, now every time I meet a dimwit who goes, “Ohhh India, the land of Kama Sutra” I have to explain that Kama Sutra is a piece of junk with laughable content. India produced much better things than that. 90% of Indians never read Kama Sutra. The only interesting things in the book are the photographs of the white people doing it circus-style.

ONE BOOK YOU ARE CURRENTLY READING

Children's Story books: What else would any parent of young kid read every day?

But, seriously:
Echo Heron's Intensive Care: The Story of a Nurse: It's an autobiography of a nurse and about the tales of the Emergency Room. Must read for any sucker for medical stories.

ONE BOOK YOU HAVE BEEN MEANING TO READ

My wife's diary: I hear there is a lot of interesting stuff about me in there.

But, seriously:Michael Crichton's State of Fear: I am a fan of Michael Crichton. Haven't gotten around to reading this on yet.

I tag:

If you are not tagged here, don't celebrate yet. I have more tags coming.

Update:
The following people are also tagged:

Stupid users

2006-08-21T00:59:00.000-07:00

When we design software, it is a golden rule that the software be designed for the stupid user. You will be amazed how often users don't understand the simplest concept or don't see something that is staring them in the face. Every software vendor carefully idiot-proofs their software, even though the marketing material never mentions it (It won't look too nice on the product box to say, "Idiot-proofed for you").

A recent hospital visit reminded me of the importance of idiot-proofing.

I went to the doctor with a minor compliant and she promptly ordered enough blood tests to suck half my blood out. On a side note, I think the only purpose the blood tests serve is to confirm that I am serious about my ailment. If I am not serious, I would disappear as soon as I heard the blood tests mentioned.

I went to the lab holding a lab slip and waited at the counter while the nurse at the counter took care of everything except me. I gave her the customary cough. When that didn't work, I said, "excuse me." She looked irritated at the interruption and grumpily said, "yes?" The lab slip I waved in her face failed to elicit any gentler response. She tightened her frown a tad and said, "Place the slip in the box and take a seat." I did as commanded and waited for my turn to be desiccated.

A couple more people entered the room and went through the same routine, viz. wait, cough, interrupt and be sternly told "Place the slip in the box and take a seat."

My engineer brain sprang to action. I thought, "Instead of telling everybody what to do, she could write that on a piece of paper and hang it at the counter." I looked for a possible spot to hang the note and I was greeted with this sign: "Place the slip in the box and take a seat."

Craptastic!

2006-08-17T00:30:00.000-07:00

When software engineers in California are not dreaming about going skinny dipping with Angelina Jolie, they are dreaming about making millions of dollars by starting a software company. I do too. I mean the latter part.

I have an idea for this wonderful software. I don't know how to make the software yet, but a like a true day dreamer, I prepared the packing and the feature list for the software. Let me share my idea with you.

(Click on the image to enlarge. Read product description after the image)

What is Craptastic?
Craptastic is an amazing new software that reads a Bollywood (or other Indian movie) DVD and makes it into a movie that is actually watchable. All you have to do is pop the DVD into your computer, run the software, burn a DVD and watch it! You will never have to hurt your fingers again by holding the "2x" button for one and half hours.

Feature list:

Using modern and complex algorithms, this software makes Aishwarya Roy look like she is almost acting
Searches each frame and digitally puts a shirt on Salman Khan's disgusting bare body
Since most songs are rip off of English songs, those songs will be replaced by original English songs
Using digital pattern recognition mechanism, this software makes dying characters die as soon as they say, "I am dying" sparing the viewer the 10 minute monologue
By a patented new technology called ChildAgeCorrect, this software adds realism to movies by making children look at least as old as the dialogs they are spewing out. Warning: Most kids in movies will look 18
Coat color correction: Rich people in the movie will wear normal gray, blue or black suits instead of orange, green or lavender.
We all know how distracting those protean sweat patches under the armpits of heroes and heroines that are changing in every frame. This softwake make them look exactly the same in every frame
(Only for Tamil movies) Applies strategic pixallation in fight scenes where the hero is wearing a lungi.
And many more features!

Bonus software included:
MovieExperience is a great fun software that comes free with Craptastic. Applying MovieExperience will enhance the sound track so that your movie watching experience is closer to watching in a theater. Some features include:

Adds the voice of the annoying guy talking in the back row
Adds crying babies (up to 8)
Adds the voice of that 12 year old girl who already saw the movie and providing a preview of the upcoming scene
Adds whistles and hoots when the heroine's pallu drops
After the movie ends, it adds instant reviews in real voices like, "What a load of crap," "I want my money back" etc.

Order now!

I plead guilty of living in the US

2006-08-14T00:24:00.000-07:00

Last time I was in India, I went to visit a long lost friend. When I arrived at his place, on agreed upon time - like an idiot, he was not home. His dad assured me that he would return soon and insisted that I waited.

My friend's father, Mr. T, was an interesting guy, interesting being an euphemism for creepy. There was no end to his questions. He seemed to have an ax to grind against Indians living in the US too. He didn't sound like an average curious George, he sounded more like a lawyer arguing for my death sentence.

Mr. T: Where do you live?
I stated my name and address for the record.

Several questions followed that reiterated the accusations against me.
Mr. T: How long have you been living in the US?
Mr. T: Do you own a house? How much did it cost? Oh my god, for that price you can buy two houses in India.
Mr. T: Which company do you work for? Do you they have a branch in India? Oh, they will, soon.
Mr. T: How frequently do you visit India?

After it was established, beyond reasonable doubt, that I had been happy living in the US, he continued scornfully.

Mr. T: What platform do you work on?

These days, everybody in India, including retired Math teachers, know everything about software. Not to worry, I have prepared answers for these questions.

Me: I don't have a specific platform. My strength is in adapting to various platforms.

That answer worked well in job interviews. But he looked at me like I was retarded. He proceeded, speaking very slowly.

Mr. T: What language do you use?

My answer would've started with "Language is just a tool," but I knew Mr. T would interpret it as "I don't know any software languages. I am a complete moron." So went with an answer he could appreciate.

Me: I use C

Mr. T smirked like a lawyer would when the opponent's witness makes a blunder.

Mr. T: You use C? In this advanced age, even people in India are using modern languages like Java, Oracle and Cisco. You are living in America and still using C?

I didn't know which part to correct first. But I knew any attempt to enlighten him would be futile.

Me: Yeah, I never learnt Cisco.

At this point, Mr. T decided to stop beating around the bush and determine my worth.

Mr. T: How much do you make?

A question that is not considered too personal in India. If one evades the question, it would be assumed that one has pathetically low income. I gave him some vague number.

Mr. T: Do you get housing allowance? Vehicle allowance?

After I confessed I didn't even know that they were, his Math-teacher-brain worked like a super computer. He took my salary, compensated for inflation, dollar value fluctuation, housing market downturn and draught in Ethiopia. He arrived at an arbitrary adjusted net salary.

Mr. T: My cousin's brother-in-law's son, who works in Bangalore, makes gazillion rupees. Considering his house and car loan allowances, he is making almost as much as you make. So what is the point in your living in the US?

He rested his case.

My friend arrived and bailed me out before I could make an opening statement. I don't know how he interpreted my lunging to hug him and saying, "Man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you."

Don't misunderestimate the power of tag

2006-08-08T00:05:00.000-07:00

I was tagged by Mary Poppins. Rules of the tag are:

Say who tagged you
Say eight things about yourself
Tag 6 people

You see, I do want to do the tag, but most people know a lot about me already. Everybody knows (1) I am from India and careful observers must have already guessed (2) I am from the Southern part of India. It's not difficult to perceive that (3) I have at least one son and (4) at least one wife. Of course, everybody who recognizes Alfred E. Neumann knows (5) I am a fan of Mad magazine, from where I derive most of my juvenile sense of humor. I could say (6) I play a bit of Piano but nobody cares as long as they don't have to hear it. I am not going to announce to the world that (7) I am a huge fan of Frasier, because every time I say it people are asking me, "What are you, like 60?" When (8) I say my favorite author is P.G.Woodhouse, people who know me too well nod their head understandingly and ask, "Does he write good porn?" So what's the point in saying that either?

If I had done the tag, I would've tagged: Anand, Ekta, Casement, Nithya, Anu and Free Spirit (hoping they haven't done this specific tag yet).

As you can see there is nothing interesting to say about me. So I thought what's the fun in doing the tag as yourself? Why don't I do the tag as somebody famous? Like, say, our beloved president, George W. Bush!

So here is how Georgie boy would do the tag:

Tony Blair and I have pajama parties and pillow fights. We exchange hand-woven sweaters too
I bed-wet some times. It's not my fault. I can't get hold of Condi in the middle of night some times to get permission to go to bathroom.
My wife keeps collecting weird stuff. She has about a 1000 "I am with stupid" T-Shirts
I am the most intelligent man in the world. Last time I took the IQ test, the result came back as "Your IQ is not in the range of 50-220." Whoohoo.
I am very tolerant of other religions. Just to prove the point, I agreed to be the recipient of some Jewish honor at this party a guy named Mohel is throwing.
A lot of people confuse me for the CEO of Coca-Cola. They keep calling me "Coke Head"
Right now I am at my ranch in Crawford, "working" from home *wink* *wink*
I speak fluent English and Mexican

I tag:

Dick Cheney (Or he will spank me)
Kenny boy
Saudi King Fahd bin Abdul Aziz
President of Canada, Stephen Harper
That governor general dame from New Zealand
How can I forget you darling, Tony Blair

How handymen are made, or not

2006-08-03T23:37:00.000-07:00

The shower at our house has two settings - scalding hot or freezing cold. After getting burnt, frozen, burnt and frozen in the span of two seconds, I decided to do something about it last Saturday.

Here is the chronology of events:

10:30 AM:
Decide to fix the problem

10:45 AM:
Read from the "Do It Yourself Home Repair" book that the problem is easily fixed by changing the shower stem.

10:46 AM:
Google to find out what the hell a shower stem is

10:57 AM:
Groan realizing "Do It Yourself Home Repair" and I have disagreement on the definition of "easy."

11:20 AM:
At Home Depot

11:40 AM:
Still cruising Home Depot to find faucet stem. Ok, take a deep breath and ask for help

11:55 AM:
After the numbnut associate took me on the exact same route I traversed to find the stem, look for somebody who has a clue and ask for help

12:30 PM:
Back home with the stem

12:40 PM:
Shut off the water

12:41 PM:
thirsty. Curse loudly remembering I had just turned off the water. I deserve a coke anyway.

12:50 PM:
Take off the shower knob. Home repair isn't that hard after all

12:51 PM:
Realize I don't have Pipe wrench to remove the existing stem. Panic. Curse Home Depot. Curse neighbor's dog, for no specific reason

12:52 PM:
Oh wait, the new stem came with a stem wrench

01:00 PM:
OK, got the stem out. All I have to do is put the new stem in, call my friends and brag about it

01:01 PM:
Funny optical illusions. The new stem in my hand looks considerably larger than the opening it needs to go into

01:02 PM:
Holy crap. It's the wrong size

02:00 PM:
Back from Home Depot armed with right sized stem

02:30 PM:
Stem firmly in place, I am minutes away from a lazy afternoon

02:40 PM:
*&*%%! now the knob doesn't fit. This white threaded thing the knob has to slide onto, is too short. What the hell is this white tube thing called anyway?

02:45 PM: Look up my trusted "Do It Yourself Home Repair" and figure out it's called a nipple. Giggle like a school girl.

02:46 PM:
Need to figure out the size of the *giggle,giggle* nipple

02:50 PM:
Explain to shocked wife why I was looking up "nipple" on google

03:30 PM: Go to Home Depot. Explain to the lady associate, who jumped in front of me asking "May I help you", what I am looking for in phrases that do not include any human body parts

03:45 PM:
15 minutes of searching and the only nipples I found were of the red-necks walking around without shirts. With a sudden surge in gray matter activity, realize if the nipple doesn't fit the knob, buy a new knob. I am a genius!

04:00 PM: Back home. Everything fits! Whoohoo. But why is the water coming out of the wall though?

04:01 PM:
Goddamnit, I didn't tighten the stem enough.

04:10 PM:
Aha! All done now. All I have to do is brag about it, carefully skipping over the part where I dropped the wrench on my toe

911 cheat sheet

2006-08-01T00:54:00.000-07:00

In some random TV show I happened to catch a glimpse of, there was a woman calling 911. She was huffing, puffing, yelling, cursing and sobbing on the call to 911. Not many people mastered the art of calling 911 like she did. For those people who don’t know what to do after calling 911, here are some tips:

Speak as fast as you can. After all you want get the message across quickly.
Punctuate your account with abundant "Ohmigod"s for the dramatic effect.
Remind them multiple times, "Come quickly. Come quickly." Unless you tell them, how would they know it's an emergency?
If the operator doesn’t panic even after the above, telling her, “It’s an emergency, bitch!!” might jolt her into action
If it is a medical emergency, don't play the broken phone.Put the patient on the phone directly
Don't forget to start with an opening joke like, "A large pizza for delivery please he he he"
If the operator sounds like a cute girl, don't hesitate to flirt with her.They appreciate some fun and these 911 chicks are HOT.
When signing your house lease or when calling 911, it is important to understand the reason for each question.So for every question the operator asks, take time to ask "Why do you want that information?"
The operator might be very impressed and hence help quicker if you use the police jargon you heard in the movies, you know, "We have a 433 here. Dispatch 122 ASAP"
Call back every 90 seconds to make sure help is on the way

Please do take time to check out these real 911 tips: Link and Link

Speech is silver, brevity is golden

2006-07-27T00:35:00.000-07:00

Don't you hate it when your colleagues calling you for business purposes engage in the exchange of terms of endearment instead of getting down to the business? To me, it is a violent disregard of phone etiquette.

Take this example. Some time ago I worked with a team in India which was coordinated from the US by this genius named Anand. Since I was leading the team, people felt free to molest me by calling at 11PM whenever there was the slightest hint of a problem. So, as you can imagine, I didn't exactly let out an ecstatic squeal when I got a call from Anand. I would rather be done with the call as quickly as possible and get back to my previously scheduled programming.

When I get his call on my cell phone, I do see his name. So I know who is calling. Moreover, none of my friends call me at that time because they know what I would be doing – washing dishes, of course. So I pick up the call and say, “Hey, what's up?"

Here we have to stop for a moment and think about what the opening statement means.

If I say, “Hi, this is TD,” it means “I don't know who the hell you are so state your name and purpose."

If I say, “Hi?” it means “I know who you are but I can't imagine what perverted reason you could have for calling at this ungodly hour”

But if I say, “Hey, what's up?” it means, “I know who you are and why you are calling, so cut the bull and get to the point.”

But apparently Anand and I were not on the same page, or in the same book for that matter, when it comes to talking on the phone.

Here goes the conversation:
Me: Hey, what's up?
Anand: Hi... TD?
Huh? Unless my months-old son's voice started cracking reeeeally early, it has to be me!
Me: Ya, hi. So?
Anand: Hi, this is Anand
I KNOW that. I read it in 24pt typeface on my phone
Me: Hi Anand.
OK, NOW can we get to the point?
Anand: How are you?
Jesus F. Christ! Get to the effing point al-effing-ready

See what I mean? I hope people start respecting other people's time. It doesn't apply to friends though. I am happy if friends waste my time.

Oh, before I stop, I have to give you this gem.

Anand calls. I figure, if I announce to him I know who is calling, we can hit the ground running, so to sepak.

Me: Hi Anand. What is the issue.
Anand: (pause)Ya, Hi, this is Anand.
I already said that! Jesu... You know the rest of the story.

Harmless banning

2006-07-23T00:39:00.000-07:00

By now I am sure everybody knows the story of Indian government banning a few websites on the grounds of bad graphics, annoying animated GIFs and unbalanced HTML tags. (After visiting the sites I couldn't think of any other reason).

Apparently some bozo in Indian government defended the decision to block (via aditi). Hindustan times reports:

Officials defended the decision saying, "We would like those people to come forward who access these (the 12) radical websites and please explain to us what are they missing from their lives in the absence of these sites."

The following are the statements I hope I won't hear from the Indian government in the future:

"Yes, we shot all the beggars on the streets. Please explain to us what you miss in their absence"
"We understand that by lifting all environmental restrictions on all factories owned by ministers, we are posing a threat to the environment. But you won't feel these effects in your life time. So we like people to explain why they are concerned."
"We are banning newspapers from publishing any items of politicians or government officials shooting themselves in the foot."
"Yes, we made it official that the cops can beat up any suspected criminal at will. If you are not a criminal, why are you worried?"
"We will shoot anybody who compares India to communist countries"
"We are banning any scenes in movies that show two flowers touching head on. We realized that movies are using such scenes to represent inappropriate contact between a male and female. Please tell us how your movie-going experience will be dilated in their absence"
"We banned extra marital affairs. We asked people who miss such affairs to come forward and explain to us why. Not one person stepped forward so far.
"Yes, according to the new law, people on life-support systems in government hospitals must sign a consent form. We issued an emergency order to cut oxygen supply to all such patients immediately. We will circulate the form next week. So what's your problem?"

Outrageous advertisement

2006-07-17T21:31:00.000-07:00

You can't even blow your nose without offending somebody these days. It looks like people are just waiting for somebody to say something remotely related to them so they can get all upset.

So when I saw this great UNICEF advertisement I was thinking, while it is an innocuous advertisement, somebody will find something to complain about it. I tried to imagine how many groups/races/religions can think of something objectionable in this ad. Here is my list. Feel free to add your own.

The kid is black and the family is white. It has the implication that black kids should seek white family. It's offensive to African Americans
It depicts a man and a woman as family. It's offensive to gays and lesbians
What the woman is wearing looks remotely like fur. PETA will have something to say about that.
The way the kid is looking at the man symbolizes "looking up to father". Feminists will be offended because it's belittling woman's role in the family.
There is only one woman. Offensive to Mormans
The man and woman are not wearing wedding rings, indicating that they are a "family" out of wedlock. Offensive to the conservative Catholics.
There is no Asian representation. Offensive to Asians.
The woman is not wearing a burka. Offensive to half the muslim nations.
The woman is showing some skin. Offensive to the other half.
The woman is barefoot. Good. But she is neither in the kitchen nor pregnant. Very offensive to Republicans.
It's offensive to some Indians. I mean, we are a billion people and it's got to be offensive to some minority.

Harriet Carter

2006-07-17T01:13:00.000-07:00

Apart from the Mad magazine, Harriet Carter catalogue is the most funny book I get in the mail. If you don't know Harriet Carter, they are a mail-order shop with supposedly nifty household items. For some of the items are hilarious and some are down right stupid. Here are some gems from the latest catalogue.

Yep, there is nothing inhumane about blasting ear-piercing sounds into the dog's ears!

If you need a darn focus light to see the hairs, who's going to notice if you leave them there!

Dandy. But what the hell are those things that are coming out of the dog?

It's a product to listen to sounds from long distances, even whispers. Look at the guy's expression. Makes you wonder what kind of conversation he's eavesdropping on.

If you hate your neighbor, place this so that he gets a glimpse of it in the middle of the night. Works even better if he has a pre-existing heart condition.

For $7.85, why can't one buy a real shirt!?

WTF

Bump ahead

2006-07-12T22:31:00.000-07:00

My friend told me this juicy story. Let me narrate it to you:

He and his wife were at the mall last weekend where they ran into their ex-neighbor. She was an attractive woman, looked even better in the skin-tight number she was clad in. They, as expected, exhausted everything they could talk about in about 3 minutes, were down to “Um.. what else,” and, soon after, were on their ways.

As soon as she left, his wife turns him and says, with a sparkle of discovery in her eyes, “Did you notice!?” My friend was quite surprised that she was prompting him to discuss a topic so dear to him and goes, “Of course! I mean her bra must have a 4-inch thick padding! No way in hell she can be that obscenely big!”

His wife was taken aback for a moment. Put off, she says, “I meant, she is showing a little tummy-bump. I think she is pregnant but not announcing yet.” My friend vaguely said, “Yeah, I noticed that too” but they both knew he never got to checking out her tummy.

I won't bore you with what happened after they got back home but rest assured that he won't make that mistake again.

Take your best shot

2006-07-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

Since morning, my wife has been all giggles. There is no end to the badinage. A "Let me know if you really like it, I will stock up more" here and a "does it feel smooth and silky" there.

In retrospect, I should have doused myself in after-shave so she couldn't smell a thing. But who would've thought, what was claimed on the package, "fresh lavender scent" was not just a marketing gimmick? I overlook one small detail, and that's it, I open myself up for potshots for a life time!

But what would anybody do? When you are halfway through the morning shaving routine you find out you are out of shaving cream. Would you continue sans shaving cream risking skin irritation? Or would you use the canister in the bathroom that says "shaving cream", ignoring lavender scent, pink packaging and the picture of sleek lady's legs?

Look out!

2006-07-05T23:32:00.000-07:00

When I was driving the other day, the driver behind me caught my attention. My thought process was something like:

	It's a woman
	Oh! It's an Asian woman
	Oh my god! It's an Asian woman on cell phone
	Holy Crap! It's an Asian woman on cell phone checking her make-up in the mirror.

I can't think of a more dangerous combination on the road. I would treat such combination with the same respect I would treat an 18-wheeler going 100mph with no breaks carrying 10,000 gallons of gas. I would get the hell out of the way!

Ok, ok! I don't believe women are worse drivers than men. But what are stereotypes for if you can't make fun of people?

Not all Asians are bad drivers either. Some of them don't drive.

Indian Party – Blow by Blow

2006-06-30T01:33:00.000-07:00

T – 2 weeks	An evite for a kid’s first birthday arrives. You can count on the following things in the evite: picture of the kid, Indian restaurant venue and a shot at bland humor
T – 3 days	Evite reminder begging people to RSVP as half the people didn’t bother to respond
T + 00:01	Some guests, who haven’t yet learnt the meaning of Indian Standard Time, arrive and start searching for the hosts
T + 00:30	The hosts arrive with the kid. The kid is dressed in some suffocating miniature traditional Indian dress. The kid looks as if he is going to cry any moment and the parents assure the guests, “He is a little uncomfortable but he will be fine”
T + 00:31	The kid starts crying
T + 01:00	Majority of the guests start trickling in, an hour late, completely oblivious that they are actually late
T + 01:05	All kids start running around the function hall, chasing each other, bumping into chairs, tripping over wires and knocking over drinks.
T + 01:10	People try to make small talk, shouting over the high-pitched Hindi music played loudly through the cheap speakers provided by the restaurant
T + 01:15	The appetizers arrive. Typically it's Pakora + coconut chutney + some red mystery chutney.
T + 01:30	The cake is brought out and left on the table. Kids start hovering like fruit flies with their fingers itching to poke the cake as soon as possible
T + 01:45	Hosts and guests gather around the cake. The birthday kid starts crying uncontrollably, terrified by all the commotion
T + 01:50	Screams are heard as the designated photographer pushes through the crowd mercilessly crushing peoples toes
T + 01:55	Hosts freak the kid out more by shouting “blow the candles, blow the candles” and shoving the kid close to the candles, at which point the kid flaps desperately trying to jump out of their hands
T + 2:00	Of course, the cacophony of 50 people singing Happy Birthday in 60 different pitches
T + 2:10	Just when people start feeling faint because of starvation, the dinner buffet is ready
T + 2:11	Some non-Indians look quite confused as they thought the appetizers were the actual dinner and have already finished their “dinner.”
T + 2:15	People, having had their dinner and nothing else to do, start to leave

Chatter's guide to real life

2006-06-27T08:53:00.000-07:00

Chat/IM has become so prevalent a medium of communication that some times we may have to remind ourselves how the real world works. Here are a few things chronic chatters have to remember when dealing in real life.

It is not appropriate to ask "asl" when you meet a new person in real life. It is offensive, especially the "s" part.
When you hear something funny it is customary to exercise your facial muscles and exert a laugh. Saying "lol" may not be considered as an alternative
Do not be tempted to enact ROFL
Buzzing, nudging or any other form of physical violence to gain attention generally leads to misdemeanor charges
Do not attempt to have two independent conversations with two people at the same time
If you do attempt the above, bear in mind that, by a phenomenon too complex to explain, the said individuals can hear each other's conversation. So saying "hi" to one and "the loser is here" to other might lead to unpleasant situations.
There is a no real life equivalent of LMAO. Please do not try to invent one
You can't leave offliners. So don't shout something in a guy's cube when he is not there and expect him to "get it" when he comes back

Putting words in one's mouth

2006-06-23T00:58:00.000-07:00

Only a few things are certain in life such as death, taxes and the following chain of inevitability. You inevitably have friends. They inevitably get married. They will inevitably have a kid. You will inevitably receive an email from the kid! The email contains something like, “Hai TD uncle. I am already two days old. Visit my website at http://www.kids-name.com.”

I have been a recent recipient of such exciting email. I had no choice but to visit the site. I didn't even know it was physically possible to take so many pictures in 3 days. And there it was, the link I dread... “Sign my guestbook.” These days your affection is judged by the saccharinity of your guestbook entry.

I was about to grit my teeth and sign the guestbook when I realized that, to sign the guestbook you have to answer the poll question, “Who do I look like: my mom, my dad, both” How can you tell anything about a kid that young! I wish there was an option: “I will reserve my comments until you are completely out of the womb.”

In an ill conceived fit of rebelliousness, I decided to break all rules and not enter a guestbook message. Instead, I sent an email to the kid (kidsname@hotmail.com), and said something like: “Hey, nice pictures. We are so glad for you and your parents. Hope to see you in person soon.”

A few days later, I found out that I would have been better off entering the guestbook message. Apparently, my friend unilaterally assumed that I was incapable of figuring out how to enter a guestbook message and have insufficient linguistic skills to put my abundant love into words. So he, very kindly, paraphrased my email and entered it into the guestbook for me. Something like: “Hey dude. You are so cute! I love your pictures. I am so glad for your parents and their bundle of joy. I can't wait to see you. Lots of love and kisses, TD uncle.”

So I learned the lesson. Next time I will enter a goddamn guestbook entry oozing of sufficient cuteness and save myself the embarrassment of having attributed to mushy comments.

I kid you not

2006-06-19T23:24:00.000-07:00

When you move to a different country and, somewhat, adapt to a different culture, you get used to certain language constructs and mannerisms which, if used in India or with friends from India, would be received with confusion, frustration, sarcasm or a combination of all.

On my last trip to India, a friend of mine actually said, with genuine surprise and shock, “You changed a lot! You are talking like Americans, as if you are born and brought up there.” If, for one moment, you think that was a compliment, you don't know anything about sarcasm.

Here is a funny situation I gotten myself into on my last trip:

Me: Whatever happened to Mr. ABC?

Friend: Oh, you don't know, na? He became a disciple of a swamiji and has sworn to celibacy, ya.

Me: No kidding!!

Friend: (Quite angry) No I am not joking! Why will I joke about such things? I am not the kind who spreads lies and rumors for fun.

Me: Er... When I said “No kidding,” I was not referring to your comedic skills, you know. It was an exclamation.

Friend: I don't know. Talking like Americans has become a fashion these days.

The importance of missing her

2006-06-15T23:24:00.000-07:00

One of my friends has recently been going on several unexpected business trips. His travels have mostly been in the US but he is scheduled to go to Germany for a two week trip.

When I visited him and his wife last week, I inquired him about his upcoming trip. He quickly shhhh’d me. He asked me, sotto voce, not to bring the topic up because his wife was mad about the trip. Being his loyal friend, I promptly asked his wife what the matter was. She flatly said, “No I am not mad about the trip.”

When a woman flatly says she is not mad about A, it means she is mad about B, C, D and a bunch of other things. After some cajoling she finally revealed the real reason, saying “I am not mad about his going on the trip. I am disappointed (read furious) that he seems ecstatic to go on the trip, as if he were happy to be away for some time.”

I was thinking there was going to be some heated discussion but my friend, being a wise man he was, quickly initiated emergency procedures and apologized to her profusely. He assured her that he was going on the trip only because he had to and so on and deftly brought the situation under control.

Isn’t that funny? His wife was okay with his trip as long as he regretted the trip. And, he never felt the need to express to her that he would miss her as much as she did him. We men are completely ignorant to such subtleties I guess!

Blend in like a sore thumb

2006-06-12T01:24:00.000-07:00

Most of us*, Indian-Americans, strive to blend in into the American society. It's amusing to observe some of the measures we undertake:

We start rolling our "r"s. Unfortunately we can never pronounce Rs like the natives do. So we end up sounding as if we had some vocal cord deformity.
Most us who never wore shorts in life start wearing shorts as soon as we enter the US, choosing completely to ignore the visual abomination we perpetrate. Indians who venture into wearing shorts should take a look at themselves in the mirror. If one’s legs look like bamboos with hair on them, one must avoid shorts at all costs.
Start following American sports such as football (of course we call American football, football), baseball and basketball. Then we discuss these sports loudly with Americans at the water-cooler as if we have been watching these sports all our life
Try our hand at wit and make jokes when in a group. Humor is a very cultural thing. Unless practiced with caution, it often ends up with a bunch of blank stares in one’s direction.
Start using profanity. We used to say “What the hell, yaar.” Now we say “What the fuck.” We think using the language employed by plumbers and construction workers takes us one step closer to being American
Start drinking beer. Half my friends who drink beer never drank alcohol before. Now they drink beer to look “cool” at a party.
We start wearing wedding bands on our left ring-finger. If somebody doesn’t wear one, we say, “Oh, I assumed you were not married since you were not wearing a wedding-band.”
When in the company of Americans, we start blaming India and off-shoring for taking away our jobs!
When a new comer to US says “First floor” to refer to second floor, that is, the one floor above ground floor, we act all confused and lost.
When at office or meetings, we put our feet up on the table/chair and we keep them there no matter who else in the cube/meeting room, just to prove to ourselves that we are behaving like Americans.

*”Most of us” does not mean “all of us.” Not all Indian-Americans exhibit aforementioned symptoms and not all of them exhibit all the symptoms.

Half Nail, Half Polish

2006-06-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a girl at work yesterday. A very nice girl who belongs to the rare breed of “Desis with dress sense.” While talking to her, I suddenly noticed her nails. Her nails, with only patches of once vibrant and lush nail-polish left, were looking like an old weather washed wood fence. That nail-polish, mutilated by scratches and bite marks, clinging on to the nail for dear life, was a sore spot in her, otherwise impeccable, appearance. It was like a teeeny little bird dropping on a shiny new car. I wished she had either removed it completely or re-touch it to its full glory.

I know it’s none of my business, but, half peeled nail-polish looks quite ugly. It’s as bad and noticeable as patchy lipstick. I do notice such unintentional abstract art on nails from time to time and every time I do, I feel bad for the woman because her effort to look pleasant is spoilt by one little oversight.

Where is North?

2006-06-08T00:04:00.000-07:00

Here is a a conversation that keeps repeating.
The scene consists of me and my friend.

Friend and I entering stage left

Me: You Northies ...

Friend interrupts me, raising a stern hand

He (articulates ev.ery syl·la·ble): I am not a Northie

Me: Of course you are

He: I am from Nagpur, for God's sake

Me: My point exactly. You are a Northie

He: How does that make me a Northie?

Me: Are you from Andhra, Tamil Nadu, Kerala or Karnataka?

He: No

Me: Therefore you are a Northie. Anybody who is not from the southern 4 states is a Northie. Do I have to make it any clearer?

He: That's a demented logic

Me: What is wrong with you Northies? A guy from Nagpur claims he is not a Northie. A guy
from Bombay is not a Northie. The guy from Delhi is not a Northie nor is the guy from Kolkata. Let me state it for the record, you are all Northies.

He: Whatever. North is relative anyway

Me: That is what every run-of-the-mill wimp says when he knew he completely and miserably lost the argument.

He: I said "whatever," Madrasi

I lunge at him in rage, hold his collar and pull him towards me, his eyes are a foot from mine, my face contorted with anger. (didn't you see any South movies?) I speak in a hoarse voice, my spit splattering on his face.)

Me: Don't... ever... call me... a Madrasi. I am from Andhra.

I name thee bleep

2006-06-05T12:19:00.000-07:00

We all giggle behind the backs of Asians with funny names, like, “Phat Chin” or “Suk Mi.” But we, Indian-Americans, tend to be remiss when naming our own kids who are going to live in the US their whole life.

There is an immediate danger for kids with “lost in translation” names - the school bullies who infest the American school system. A brown skinned kid munching on chapattis is a target enough for these bullies. The doomed kid having a name from hell (or heaven, depending on which side of bullying you are on) is a cherry on top.

Consider the following names I heard recently. These kids are going to grow up in the US.

Harshit	He is my friend’s son who is going to start school soon! What’s worse is that, some above average bullies, who actually learnt the alphabet, may be able to tweak his last name into “head.” These kids can quickly put two and two together - ok, they probably suck at math - but they can put the words together.
Gopi	An innocent looking name that can be construed as a command to relieve oneself.
Asman	On the bright side, if the kid wants to become a porn star, he won’t have to search for a stage name
Anal	I kid you not! This is a real name.
Gayatri	References to sexual orientation must be avoided in names too.
Sukdeep	(I confess, I heard it on the Russell Peter’s show). If he had a brother, would he be called Sukdeeper?

Hopefully, nobody will name their kid “Fakrud.”

A Black day

2006-05-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

I don't take watching Hindi movies lightly. To me, it's like Russian Roulette, except that you have 1 in 100 chance of survival. That is the reason it was not until several of my trusted friends recommended me the Hindi movie "Black" I didn't dare face the Black-death like movie.

Let's first get the good things out of the way. The cinematography is one of the best I have seen recently. It's on par with the current international big-budget movies. And the movie has no songs, thank heavens!

Ok, now the bad things. In the first 15 minutes of the movie, I was disappointed to realize that this movie is a shameless and a very poorly executed rip-off of "The Miracle Worker," which tells the story of Helen Keller. It was never mentioned in the movie's promotions or anywhere else. Did the producers think nobody would notice? One must be blind not to see the connection (no pun intended).

If I have to summarize the tone of the movie in one word, it would be "melodrama." Since I don't have to, I will elaborate. Every actor, in every scene, played his/her part with as much exaggeration as possible. A character couldn't sneeze without over-acting it! I am surprised the movie didn't come with a disclaimer, "Any resemblances this movie has to reality are purely unintentional."

Amitabh Bachchan's action was mediocre, you would expect better from such an experienced actor. Calling what Rani Mukherjee did in the movie "action" is an insult to every person who ever acted. It is more like clueless waving of hands, twitching of face and shouting at the top of her lungs. She played the part of a blind girl. Far from researching for her role, I doubt if she ever saw a blind person. You ask why? For one, blind people don't go about running into walls and furniture in their own homes on a daily basis. She seemed to have convinced herself that sporting sun-glasses is sufficient to play the part.

About the screenplay, I don't know where to begin. Apparently, nor did the screenplay writer.

The movie had one of the happiest endings. I mean, I was very happy, ecstatic, that the movie finally ended.

Adaptation prohibited

2006-05-29T23:24:00.000-07:00

I am an Indian living in the USA. Whenever we meet a bunch of Indians at a party or a gathering, the topic inevitably turns to talking about advantages and disadvantages of living in the US. It's amazing to see that almost everybody I meet hates to live in the US. If they had a chance, they would go and live in India. But, alas, they constrained by uncontrollable forces. I never understand what it is that's really stopping them.

When my turn comes to speak, I generally simply say "I am quite adapted to this country. I can see myself settling down in the US." But people looks at me like, "And..?" Basically, they want to me say, "But someday I will return to the loving bosom of mother India." But I won't say it. At the moment I don't have any plans to move out of the US. Most people find it hard to believe that an Indian can live happily in the US. They start to look uncomfortable. They reiterate what's bad about US and why India is a better place to live. If I don't budge even then, they label me as "americanized," an anathema for any Indian, and/or a traitor who disrespects his motherland.

Most of the times, I give up and say, "But I do miss my family back in India. I can't get my relatives here, can I?". It's kind of a lie because I do visit my relatives often, almost as often as other relatives, who live in big cities, visit them. But by saying so I am admitted back into the clan. Order in the world would be restored.

Perpetually youthful Avatar

2006-05-04T22:33:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, I was short-sighted enough to play with Yahoo! Avatars. Yahoo! Avatars are kind of an image you create that represents yourself. You can choose hair color, eye color, apparel, accessories and so on.

What Yahoo! failed to mention at that time was that creating an Avatar is like sticking chewing-gum in your own hair. You can pull your hair out, you can't get rid of it.

The Avatar is very annoying. To start with, it doesn't look anything like me. I haven't looked like that in 15 years. And I never had such circus-freak hair, even in my dreams. To top it all, this stupid guy, who claims to be me, sticks the tongue out and winks at me each time I log in into email!

I have been searching for a way to disconnect myself from that ghastly image. No way! I couldn't find a way to delete an Avatar.

So I looked for a way to at least change the Avatar so it looks like me and, for pete's sake, keeps the tongue in its pie hole. Then I realized. You can only create an Avatar that looks like a high-school drop-out all ready to work in McDonalds. There is no way to represent an older person. So I am stuck with this teenie-bopper image for now.

What's more is, these Avatars are very popular in Yahoo! Chat and it is so unfair to majority of chat population that there is no way to create an image of themselves. Yahoo! should allow the following options to be added to an Avatar, so people, who, I am sure, are dying to be honest with their representation of themselves, can use them for their Avatar.

- Balding hair
- Dark-circles under eyes
- Drool
- White-trash look
- While they are at #5, missing teeth
- Pot-belly
- Dont-worry-i-am-a-nice-uncle smile (for people preying on pre-teen girls)
- Women's clothes for men (for posing as women)
- Accessory: Porn tape collection
- Accessory: Divorce papers

Hot Button

2006-05-01T22:19:00.000-07:00

Did you ever notice these fake buttons in cars? They are not really buttons but just plastic placeholders indicating that, in higher-end models, there would actually be a real button with a real function. Do you know why the manufacturers put these fake buttons? Just you remind you that you have been a cheap bastard when the time came to write the check. Just out of grudge that you have been smart enough not to buy the higher-end model with unreasonable and inexplicable pricing.

You know what's worse? Any time you are giving a ride to a friend and trying to show off the ultra-modern navigation system, which does everything short of actually teleporting you to your destination, the friend asks, "What does this button do?"

You: Nothing. It's just a piece of plastic
Friend: But it looks like a button
You: (Gee, did you figure all that by yourself?) Ya, but it does nothing
Friend: How come?

Here you have two choices. You could tell the friend you didn't want to pay exorbitant amount for the high-end model. Or, you can just say you don't know and be done with it. Of course, if you are a man, you would probably die before you admit you didn't know.

You: It does whiz-bang in a higher-end model.
Friend: Really? How much more would that model cost?
You: 4k
Friend: So if you paid 4k you could've got the whiz-bang?

Some people just love to state the obvious inferences. It's not that they don't know the answer. These are the kind of people who, if they ever stumble on a dead horse, would beat the hell out of it.

Madam President

2006-05-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

I was watching some random TV the other day and stopped at a channel that showed Geena Davis in an impeccable suit. It was apparent that it was some presidential drama and she was playing the president.

Then a guy enters the screen and calls Ms. Davis's attention by saying “Madam President.” I just cracked up. I never really thought about what the opposite of “Mr. President” is but "Madam president" sounds very funny.

Man! this has got to be the best fantasy show since “Xena, the warrior princess.” I got nothing against woman presidents. I think woman are as capable as men to lead the country. But the land-of-opportunties, land-of-equality, most-advanced-country-in-the-world USA will probably be the last country to allow a woman to be the president.

Anyway, I don't know what the name of the show I was watching. I am hoping it's not “West Wings”

Deadly humor

2006-05-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

I read a joke in one of the recent Readers Digests. It was under the “Life in United States” section, which, purportedly, prints humorous situations that happened in real life.

Here is the joke (I am paraphrasing):

I was getting operated for a cataract. A nurse came in and asked, “What eye are we operating on today?”. I said “Right eye is the wrong eye, left eye is the right eye.”

Huh? Anybody with half a brain and any desire to have their ocular senses intact wouldn't try their hand at such deadly humor. We keep hearing horror stories about doctors operating on the wrong kidney or men receiving mastectomies. I wouldn't try such humor.

Think about the nurses too. They already have a very demanding job. They can live without people trying to joke about important things. If I were the nurse, I would say, “Ha, ha, very funny.” and write “vasectomy” on the charts.

This second is mine

2006-04-29T12:41:00.000-07:00

A few years ago a colleague of mine said, "I am hooked on to blogging." I admonished him in a stern voice, "It is not appropriate to discuss illegal drugs at workplace." Then he explained to me in AOL-customer-service tone* what blogging is.

I tried my hand at a couple of blogs before and discontinued because of lack of time. But, in fact, blogging is like an addiction. I just can't stop thinking about starting a blog again.

A recent study said a new blog is started every second... my second has come.

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*AOL-customer-service tone: "Sir, using your left mouse button, click on the "start" at the bottom left corner, point your mouse at programs and click your left mouse button, point your mouse at accessories and click again, point at Notepad and click." (You silently shout, "Just tell me to open the freaking notepad you moron.")