The Problems of Being Ravan-II Or Ravan's travails with demonetisation and other things

Taking off from where I left it last time, or rather continuing from where I left it last time because, well, the situation has changed. If you haven't read the first part, please do here: The Problems of Being Ravan

Scenario: A morose Ravan is sitting on a chair outside Nandu's tea stall somewhere in Delhi. In his right hand he's holding some pink papers. In his left a cellphone. Lord Ram appears, all tanned (from his Sri Lanka trip) and beaming like a 1000-watt bulb.

Lord Ram: Ravan, dude, what's up?
Ravan: Look Ram, I really don't have time for any of your bickering. I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders and I don't know if I can take it any longer.
LR: Whoa, dude, like you are really out. Tell me what happened?
R: What happened? WHAT HAPPENED? You don't have any clue, do you? The world's gone all topsy turvy and here you are standing there asking me what happened?
LR: No, seriously, what happened?
R: (flashing the pink papers in his hand) Look at this. Do you know what this is?
LR: Nope, why not enlighten me, pun intended?
R: These are the new currency notes that have been brought into circulation by the government in your country. Can you see this? This is PINK in colour. Do you think a man's man like me is going to be seen pulling a pink currency note out of his raw, but faux, bull's hide wallet? I mean, I can imagine seeing it coming out of my numerous wives' wallets in their dainty hands with pretty fingers with pink nail paint. But me? No, sir. I am going to wage war on these notes.
LR: War? On these notes? Like seriously, how are you going to wage war on lifeless papers? What about our war? And where did you get these from?
R: I don't know. I need to call my trusted advisor and ask him how. And no, I am not going to fight with you right now. And I got these notes from the teller at the bank. I had to give him back the old currency notes. I got gypped there too. I gave him 4000 bucks and he returned only these 2500 bucks. I am beginning to get really exasperated. The fellow said it's good for the nation and that if I had to prove my loyalty to the nation, I shouldn't crib.
LR: Why ask your advisor? Why can't any one of your 10 heads think up of a nefarious scheme?
R: We've all got headaches looking at these notes and this cellphone and thanks to all this pollution.
LR: Cellphone? Why? Couldn't figure it out, could you? And what about pollution?
R: No, we figured it out well and good. Problem is we can't use it. My beautiful Lanka has so much better air quality. Here, all I get to breathe in is car exhaust fumes, people's farts, bad body odour. I've got a bad cough and I don't even smoke!
LR: Huh? Why? One too many heads with a pair of ears each? And yes, the air quality in Lanka is far better.
R: The problem is that I can't get a conversation of a decent length in without the call dropping. I've been trying to call my Prime Minister for the last half hour and all I've managed to say to him has been "Hello". After that the call drops or doesn't connect properly. I've got a 4G sim which, I think, is disabled like me. I've run out of balance and have only these currency notes with me which are usable. I need to get a new Jio sim.
LR: Oookkaayyy. Minor hassles, don't you think? Why not go back to Lanka?
R: I can't!
LR: But why?
R: My ride's stuck in traffic! Some clown has also managed to put a deep scratch in my gold plated fenders. I am going to find him and kill him.
LR: Tsk, like, dude, why don't you just go <poof> and head on back to Lanka? You are a great lord and can do that, can't you?
R: I can't.
LR: But why? Have you forgotten how to do that?
R: No. My disability pension rules say I can't do anything that the others can't. So, I have to wait for my ride. It's already 3 hours late.
LR: Say, you wanna hitch a ride with me?
R: You'll give me a ride?
LR: Sure, why not? I can tell you about where all Sita and I went in Lanka and enjoyed.
R: Oh cool. Help me up, will you? Where's your ride?
LR: Stuck in traffic!

WCF (let your imagination run!)

Sri Sri Ravishankar has his heart in the right place, but he's not thinking things through.

The World Culture Festival that is going to take place over three days - March 11, 12, 13 - has already generated enough controversy to last the country for a whole year and maybe after that as well, but that isn't really what is needed now. And in India, culture is religion and religion is everything. Each and every aspect of our 'culture' is drawn from religion.

Having faith is a good thing, but that doesn't mean that faith takes precedence over everything else. In this case, the Yamuna floodplains which have been taken over by the preparations for the event have led to the uprooting, or cutting, of numerous trees that hold the soil together and prevent widespread flooding during monsoons, but has also damaged the homes of many birds that were commonly seen around there.

Prior to the massive ugliness being erected on the floodplains, one could spot Black Kites perched on pillars sunning themselves in the cold mornings waiting for their wings to dry and then take to the air, lifted up by their mighty shoulders and thence soaring even higher on thermal currents. Over the last two weeks, I haven't seen a single black kite in that area.

The land on which the World Culture Festival's stage has been set up was once home to many species of tiny passerine birds which have now been made homeless by the wanton construction there. What's worse, the pontoon bridge that the army has set up for the event floats over the waters of the Yamuna and is in an area that was once home to waterfowl of different species.

The Okhla bird sanctuary is just a stone's throw from the venue for the event. Think of the damage the incessant noise - generated by people, loudspeakers, generators - of three days of events and the garbage that 35 lakh people - yes, that's the number of devotees expected to visit the event - will generate and how badly the environment there will be damaged. The Yamuna is already polluted, the water birds that live around the place are already feeding in poisoned waters - a tragic situation considering that it is in the heart of the capital of a country. The only wildlife seen around there these days is animals that walk on two legs, wear shades and clothes. Oh yeah, there's also some elephants, but it seems Medusa had a go at them and they are now all rock! I even saw a beheaded head (?) of a suitably decked pachyderm lying around there with his eyes pointed to the skies urging the gods to smite down the ignominy being built there.

The river is already dead and now with this event, we are going to kill or get rid of whatever lives around the river. In a city that is already suffering from immense pollution, we are inviting lakhs of people to come visit the event over three days. Sign boards have already been erected even in Gurgaon directing people to the venue. (This, chidren, is called Mass Madness, or March Madness) Think of the pollution levels that the city will have to face. Delhiites would do much better if they were to take a day off from work on Friday and get out of the city for three-four days.

In a tweet Sri Sri says, "I appeal to all parties to not politicize the #WCF2016. It is to unite all cultures, nations, religions & ideologies. Let's come together!" I ask you, what is the point of uniting when there's nothing left to live for? When you've already killed Mother Nature and there's nothing left to save? Isn't that redundant to what our ancient texts and holy books teach?

In the end, religion will not save you. In fact, the only thing that could have had the power to save you - Mother Nature - is being slowly but brutally killed with your religion and by holding such events.

The problem with us Indians is that for us, religion comes foremost. We don't think twice before setting up a pandal and going all hammer and tongs in praise of the lords who, I am sure, if they exist and have some semblance of common sense, have noise cancelling earplugs stuck firmly in their ears and are ignoring the praying, pleading masses.

For us Indians, religion is something that we need to do in and with the public. How else will one get recognition for being "very religious"? Looking at the jamboree that is going to take place between March 11-13 on the Yamuna floodplains, the sadhus of yore had it all wrong when they went into the jungles to meditate and find god. If only they had had the foresight and the knowledge of putting up some loudspeakers and a dance floor with some DJ playing some hip number with some Mandakini dancing in front of him, he would have attained nirvana or moksha sooner. Alas, those sadhus wasted their lifetimes living in the jungle, meditating atop a rock, unfortunately getting their butts bitten by red ants or suffering some other ghastly fate. Amateurs, I tell you. The modern day Babas have perfected the art of religion down to a science. And that science is pretty much evident right here in Delhi with the World Culture Festival. Or #WCF, if you please. Yup. It's the age of twitter/facebook/instagram religion where your karma gets counted with #es!

Beat that, you sadhus of yore!

RIP, little birds of Okhla Bird Sanctuary and Yamuna floodplains.

The death of a bookstore... or the death of a city

A city is not just buildings and people. A city is the words that it speaks and reads. For any city worth its name, it is an extremely sad day when a book shop has to down its shutters and walk into the sunset while shaking off the dust of the collected books off its hands.

The day a bookshop closes is the day a city's soul dies. There are no tears, no mournful songs are sung, the funeral is held with the flick of a switch that plunges the entire shop into darkness.

The darkness, I presume, hides the pain of each letter printed in a book. The darkness hides the fact that the city betrayed those words and left them to die.

In Gurgaon, I have seen more book shops shutting down than I would be comfortable with. The first one was Crossword at 32nd milestone which shut down and went out without so much as a whisper.

Then came Books and Beyond. A favourite haunt for me, my wife and my son, Anhad, who had become good friends with the manager. Quill and Canvas, in Galleria, shut down soon after that. Thankfully, it was just relocating.

The latest, a place where I have spent hours with my family browsing through books and music and toys, is Landmark. Yesterday, when I walked into the store, there was a smell of desperation, a smell of despondency in the store which lay almost half empty.

My initial reaction was that they must have organised something here that's why most of the stuff had been moved around. But then, screaming loudly in their silence were the empty racks, an employee sitting on the floor stacking playstation games into a carton, a woman sitting on a console table that once housed the PS3 where my son used to play games, empty racks moved into a corner ready to be moved out of the shop and bare wall clips from which once hung an array of headphones and other assorted gadgets.

I love the smell of books. Anhad loves flipping through old books and even before he starts reading a book, he raises it to his nose and inhales long and deep. I once asked him why he did that. He told me, "It is perhaps the sweetest, most comforting smell in the world after the smell of rain".

I asked an employee and he said that the store was shutting down. I asked him when. He just said, "Soon. Maybe March".

I grew up surrounded by books. I can't sleep if I don't read a book. I buy books as if I am afraid that if I don't buy them I will never get them. I have a morbid fear of running out of books to read. I hoard books and I am proud of it.

Never in my life have I ever felt more sadness than yesterday.

Death is never a happy sight, no matter how heroic, brave or tragic or unfortunate it is. Death is death. Death is the final release of a soul from this mortal life for us living beings. But how do books die? How does the written word die?

Somewhere, a promising new author is sitting and writing his first words on a computer. Will he be able to finish his book before the bookshops all die? Will digital have the same charm and appeal as the paper? I don't know. But what I do know is that for a city to give up reading, is for a city to stop breathing.

I have a dream. One day, when I am old and retired and have nothing to do, I will open a bookshop. I'll probably call it, "The most comfortable place on earth" or maybe, "The last bookstore ever" and I, surrounded by all the books of the world, shall sit in that shop, which according to my dream, is on a solitary beach or maybe a floating bookshop which floats around on the waters of the world for all eternity.

Then, maybe, just maybe, I won't have the morbid fear of words dying or of running out of books to read.

The Problems of Being Ravan

This is a humour piece. No offence is intended against any person living, dead or fictitious. No offence or disrespect is intended towards the disabled or those born with certain disabilities/deformities. Please read it as it is meant to be... a humour piece, nothing else.

Circa: A long long long long time ago.
Scene: The finale of the Ramayana. Lord Ram and Ravan are locked in their epic battle and both of them have shot off more than half their arrows with little to show. Ravan has had a couple of his heads knocked off and is finding it increasingly difficult to defeat Ram.

Lord Ram: Give up, Ravan.
Ravan: Nothing doing! In fact, actually, I am going to do something.

<Poof> Ravan disappears in a blinding flash of light. Lord Ram blinded by the flash, manages to perceive that his enemy has managed to open a time vortex and disappear. Furious, he jumps in after Ravan.

<Poof> Ravan appears in modern day India at a government office in Delhi where people are lined up in a queue waiting for their turn to peek through the 3"x3" window and utter some gibberish that results in them getting some money. Wondering what it's all about Ravan asks the next man.

Ravan: What's up, dude? Why are you all standing in line here?
Man (takes one long look at Ravan and his eight remaining heads and eyes his sword suspiciously): Get in line!
R: What for?
M: To get your benefits. Have you filled up the form?
R: What form?
M: The form that will get you the disability pension. Or don't you want it?
R: Why should I want a disability pension?
M: Umm... ok, physical deformity pension?
R: What physical deformity?
M: Don't you have like, some extra heads, y'know?
R: Foolish man. Those are not extra heads. They are useful heads. How else do you think I am known to be so well-read? Each head has a brain that has read a lot of different things.
M (shrugging): Your wish, though I seriously suggest you fill up that form and get in line. I think the end of the line is outside that door.
R: OK. I shall fill it up and stand in line, only to gather a new experience.

Just then <poof> Lord Ram appears out of the time warp.

Lord Ram: Running away, eh, Ravan? But you can't escape me! Today you shall meet your destiny.
R: Ram, I seriously am not in the mood for any more fighting. I am busy.
LR: And why are you not in the mood to fight?
R: Because you called Rajinikanth over such a trivial matter. We could have sorted it out between ourselves. Why did you have to get him involved?
LR: Hah. Crying foul now, are you? Serves you right. Good shall defeat evil! And what are you doing with that paper? Is that some new evil plot you are hatching on it?
R: No, it's a disability pension form.
LR: Disability pension form? What in heaven's name do YOU need a disability pension form for?
R: To get a disability pension!
LR: What do you mean disability?
R: I've like, got y'know, like ten, sorry, now, eight heads?
LR: So, how does that make you disabled?
R: Hush, these days it's called physical handicap or deformity, if you please.
LR: Really? So, how does that make you disabled?
R: You know everytime I have to go through a door? Well, I can't just walk through it. I have to siddle past the doors sideways, like a crab, y'know. It can be very tiring. I asked the royal architect to break the doors and build new ones so that I could just walk through them. Do you know what he did? He told me to get my heads examined and to keep the best one. The rest, he said, should be discarded!
LR: Really? He said that? Tsk, I can imagine.
R: What's worse is when I am laying with one of my numerous wives.
LR: How is that worse?
R: You know, while I am hard at work trying to do what's right, the rest of the heads will start peeking and start whistling or giving directions or start taking some other wife's name. It's a real put-off and a head in the wrong place. Can you imagine, I can't even do a proper 69 with any of my wives! I need to call in 9 others so that each head is satisfied!
LR: Tsk, I pity you. You carry on standing in the line to collect your disability pension. I'll just scoot on, collect Sita and hike it back to Ayodhya. What say?
R: Yeah, and I would like it very much if you would ask Hanuman to stop burning my castles for fun. Oh and while you are at it, would you like to go around Lanka and see the sights and sounds of the place? There's some beautiful beaches we have back home. Let me know if you like it. I am putting in place a tourism plan for the island and would like some feedback.
LR: Sure. Is there some special package you are offering?
R: Heck, dude, I am standing in line here for a disability pension and you want a special package? Not fair, y'know. Now sod off and let me collect my pension.

A Fictitious Dialogue between Superman and Batman IV or The non-existent love life of Superman

Scene: Superman sitting in his Fortress of Solitude looking all grim and sad. Batman walks in looking as pleased as a Panda whose stuffed himself with some nice juicy bamboo shoots.

Batman: Yo, Supes, what's up? Why the long face? Why so serious, to quote the Joker?
Superman: I am sad, that's why the long face and, incidentally, I was born with a long face, unlike yours!
B: Bah, you've got no sense of humour. What's bothering you now?
S: Um... nothing.
B: C'mon, Supes, I know there's something bothering you. Tell me, what unfortunate philosophical dilemma have you encountered now?
S: It's just... no, never mind.
B: Tell me, Supie.
S: It's Hugh Hefner.
B: Heff? That old rabbit? What about him? Has he discovered one of your weaknesses?
S: No, nothing like that. It's just that I am jealous of him.
B: Jealous? Of an old man? Why? He's got nothing on you!
S: Actually, he does. He's almost 80, dying and yet he's got rooms full of naked girls falling all over him because they want to be with him. While I, with all my superpowers and all, am stuck with Lois.
B: But, Supes, Lois is a nice girl. She'll probably want to marry you and have kids with you... super kids.
S: No, she doesn't. She thinks one super jackass is enough for the world. Anyway, she doesn't want kids who are stronger than her.
B: Hmmm... that would be a problem. Listen, I gotta go.
S: (perking up a bit) Why do you have to go now? Is there something I can do? Beat up a supervillain or someone?
B: Nah. I got a date with this hot blonde chick. Don't tell Rachel, by the way. She thinks I am somewhere in northern Europe on some business, while she's at her sister's place babysitting her twins.
S: (With his jaw dropping to the ground and creating a crack in the earth) You've got a date with a blonde chick? Now, I am becoming jealous of you!
B: What for? Okay, tell me what happened with Hugh.

Batman: Tell me, Superman, What was Rachel doing at the
Playboy mansion?

Superman: I told you, she was having fun, just like you
last weekend! What do you want? A video recording?
Ask Spiderman for that. He's got lots of those and her's!

S: You know, early today morning, I was flying around town making sure there was no crime happening when I flew over the Playboy mansion and I nearly fell out of the sky. There were all these girls there in the mansion partying in the lawn around the pool. They were all looking so beautiful. All those tiny bikinis, nice taut bodies. Man, the things I could have done with all of them.
B: Well, Playboy mansion is known for that kind of thing. In fact, I have a key to the house. I can go there any time. I was there just last weekend and boy, did I have fun.
S: Hugh gave you a key? Why hasn't he given me one? You are making me feel worse.
B: Oh sorry. Listen, I'll leave you to your devices (looking around the empty Fortress) and well, let you sort it out yourself. (Thinking, thank god, he hasn't said a word about Rachel!)
S: Rachel was there.
B: Where?
S: Playboy mansion. She's not at her sister's place looking after her twins.
B: Huh! How do you know?
S: I flew over it, remember? And with my super eyesight, I can see better than you can at any given time and anywhere even in your darkest batcave.
B: What was she doing there?
S: Who?
B: Rachel, who else?
S: Same thing that you did last weekend.
B: What do you mean?
S: Having fun!
B: What kind of fun?
S: The usual kind.
B: (Getting exasperated now) You aren't making any sense, Superman. Tell me exactly what did you see?
S: Exactly what I saw was your girl, Rachel, having fun at the Playboy mansion.
B: Aaarrgghh... what exactly was she doing?
S: I told you, she was having fun!
B: Tell me, Superman, what was Rachel doing at the Playboy Mansion?
S: I told you, she was having fun, just like you last weekend. What do you want? A video recording? Ask Spiderman for that. He's got lots of those and her's!

Batman flings himself at Superman to hit him, only to be blown back by a blast of cold air from Superman.

A Fictitious Dialogue between Superman and Batman III or The love life of Superman

(If any Superman, Batman, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, Mary Jane or Rachel lovers are hurt by this, be cool, guys, it's just fiction!)

Scene: Superman sitting in his Fortress of Solitude looking all grim and sad.

<Enter> Batman with his usual flourish and penchant for theatricality.

Superman: You know something? For all your finesse and all your gadgets and all, you are too loud. I could hear you coming from miles away.

Batman: That’s because you have super-hearing. A normal human wouldn’t have heard it. You are an alien freak.

S: True.

B: So what’s wrong today? And before you begin, I warn you, don’t you go anywhere near Rachel. Last night I was about to motorboat her when I remembered our talk and ended up going limp on her. I doubt I’ll be seeing her sometime soon.

S: Yeah, I know. I heard Rachel scream and kick you in the head. I had a good laugh.

B: Supes, you are ruining my love life. I can understand you have problems, but that doesn’t mean that you have to make my life miserable.

S: Sorry. I didn’t mean to, but well...

B: So, tell me what’s bothering you now?

S: Spiderman was here just a while ago.

B: Yeah, I know. I saw him limping out of here. He looked as if he had been run over by a lawn mower. What happened?

S: I had to beat him up.

B: You? Why?

S: Because of Mary Jane.

B: Who Mary Jane?

S: Spiderman’s girl.

B: Oh yeah. Ugly chick that. Nothing like my Rachel.

S: That’s what you think. Ask him.

B: Let’s not go there. So what about Mary Jane?

S: I got drunk last night.

B: And why did you get drunk?

S: You know how I’ve got this super soft corner for Wonder Woman and how badly I want to get in those tight latex panties of hers?

B: Yeah. I know.

S: Well, I decided to do something about it and asked her out. She refused, saying she couldn’t go out with me. When I asked her why, she replied, “Because we are Super Friends”. Man, was I heartbroken. So I went to the pub to get drunk and hopefully pick up a chick who would help me take my mind of my problems.

B: So? What’s that got to do with MJ?

S: Actually, I was not in my Superman suit and was at this pub on the 40^th floor of a high-rise building. Nice place. Great views of Metropolis all around. You should go there some time.

B: Ok. You went to a pub, got drunk, so?

S: Actually, MJ was there and well, we got talking.

B: So, did you bring her home? Is that why Spiderman was here?

S: No, no. I didn’t bring her home. I was having beer and she asked me if it was nice. I told her it was fantastic. I also told her it was so fantastic that after downing one beer, I can fly. She didn’t believe me. So, I downed one beer and stepped to the window and jumped. I took two rounds of the building and came back. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

B: So?

S: The stupid woman had her beer and went and jumped out of the window. There’s an MJ-sized blood stain on the road there now, not to mention a two-foot deep pit. Apparently, she bounced a couple of feet when she hit the road. And she was screaming, “I am flying. I am flying. I am flying.”

B: So... she’s dead, is it? You killed her.

S: No, I didn’t kill her. I just didn’t save her. There’s a difference.

B: Well, you did tell her that the beer could make you fly.

S: Dude, beer or no beer, I can fly. I am Superman. She wasn’t. And I specifically said I can fly, not she could fly.

B: Oh boy. So what did Spiderman say when he was here?

S: He wanted to know why I did it.

B: And?

S: I told him that I thought he needed saving, so well, there it was. Anyway, Spidey had earlier cribbed to me that she’s only great to look at; otherwise, she’s got a fused bulb for brains. And she’s hardly any good in bed; actually he used the word “web”.

B: Oh boy. So what did he do?

S: He tried to hit me.

B: Really? Fat lot of good it must have done him.

S: Yeah, he broke his hand. Anyway, he tried to hit me a number of times and ended up hurting himself.

B: So how did you get him to go home?

S: Oh simple, I showed him some of Rachel’s nude pics and told him she was looking for a boyfriend.

B: WHAT?? Where did you get the pics?

S: That’s for me to know and you to find out.

B: Superman, I am gonna kill you.

<Sounds of Batman hitting Superman and each time crying out in pain.>

A Fictitious Dialogue Between Superman and Batman - ii OR The Pleasures of Being Batman

(If any Superman or Batman lovers are hurt by this, be cool, guys, it's just fiction!)

Opening scene: Superman (all dressed up with nowhere to go and looking all haggard with a month-old beard, unkempt hair, blood shot eyes and wearing a clothes peg on his nose and ear plugs in his ears) sitting on a chair in a dark room in his flat, shivering and crying. Batman is standing beside him and looking around at Superman's Fortress of Solitude.

Batman: Superman?
Superman: -- (no answer)
Batman (moves closer to Superman and pull out his ear plugs): Superman?
Superman (jumping up and grabbing the ear plugs from Batman): Don't touch those. Those are the only thing that are keeping me sane.
B: Yeah, I know all about you and your problems. Can you hear me, though, with those ear plugs?
S: Yeah, I can. Super hearing, you know.
B: Can you hear the rest of the world also?
S: Yeah, I can. Super hearing, you know.
B: Then those ear plugs aren't any good, are they?
S: No, they aren't. Super hearing, you know.
B: Dude, listen. Why can't you be like me? All cool, y'know.
S: What do you mean?
B: I mean look at me. I also have an equal sized pad and my pad has so much more character to it. Your's, well, this fortress needs some drastic changes. Be like the bat, dude, cool!!!
S: What do you mean, be cool like you? I am cool, only I'm getting tired of some of these superpowers.
B: Dude, I hate to rain down on your parade, but tell me something. The only thing you have going for you is the fact that you can fly, isn't it?
S: Yes.
B: Well, birds can fly, too. As can some other superheroes and some of your villains. But well, let's look at what all's cool about me and uncool about you, shall we?
S: Bruce, I am so cool that everything here is made of ice. Can you get any cooler than that?
B: Sigh. Supes, you know nothing about being cool, do you? I mean... look at this place. It's just icicles standing or hanging or lying at different angles. There are no hidden, surprising corners. Nor do you have any gadgets like me.
S: What do you mean gadgets? I don't need gadgets. I am strong, I can fly, I have x-ray vision, super hearing and super sense of smell.
B: Dude, you are so out of sync with the people. No wonder the only person you've managed to get close to is Lois.
S: What do you mean?
B: You know to be a superhero is like being a brand. There's things that every superhero needs in order to get close to the masses... to make them love you.
S: Like?
B: You gotta have a nice cool ride with lots of buttons and flashy lights in it. So that the next time you rescue someone, and take them somewhere in your car, they can look at all those lights and keep wondering, "wow, this guy's sure got a lot of stuff in his car." Take, for example, my Batmobile. It's good looking, black as night, has lots of fun stuff, basically it's every male's wish come true. Every male in the world has wished for a car like this at one point in his brief, boring life. Now, when they see my Batmobile, imagine what they think. I've got a Batmobile. What've you got?
S (mumbles): Subway!
B: See? Subway's not cool, dude. You gotta have a fantastic ride. After all, the ride is important if you want some action with a chick, right?
S: Well, I can see why. I took this girl out flying after I rescued her. And well, she was so scared of heights, she shit in her pants. I had to spend the whole weekend washing my costume to get the stench out of it. Y'know... wash, blow dry it, wash, blow dry it... still smells, sometimes.
B: You've got issues, dude.
S: I know. ok. That's a car. What else?
B: You've got to stay cool... like really cool cool, as in keep your temper in check.
S: But I am always cool.
B: No you are not. Sometimes you get angry and well, you do a Hulk. Oh boy, now that's a superhero with some issues. And when he changes into that Green beast, the only thing he can say is, "Grrrrrr" and break things up, other than jumping about like a kangaroo.
S: He won't like it if he got to know you called him a kangaroo.
B: Yeah, don't tell him that. He's likely to go "Grrrrr" and start pounding my ass all over the place. And I love my ass... and Robin's... and Rachel's...
S: Yeah, I know, smelly, loud farts Rachel.
B: Now, don't start that. We've already been through that and you know I didn't like it.
S: Ok.
B: Third thing that you gotta do is you gotta learn how to relax.
S: Ok. How am I supposed to relax? Yoga?
B: Nope. Look at me. When I get tense, I go on a murdering spree.
S: Murdering spree?
B: Yeah, I play Call of Duty: Black Ops or God of War. Man, those two games are fantastic. Those two games let you do to the bad guys what you can't do in real life. I mean how many people have you killed in real life?
S: One only, actually, and that too I was forced.
B: You need to be able to approach people in your costume without the girls thinking you are looking through their clothes.
S: I can't help it. I see a nice curvy chick and boom, my x-ray vision kicks in and well... there it is, Superman junior at attention.
B: See? That's what I am talking about. Fooling the people while making them think that you are helping them. See my mask? I got an x-ray scanner built into it. The chicks don't know. They think I am blind as a bat and come close to me... giving me better views of their bodies through their clothes.
S: You are no better off than me!
B: Dude, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
S: I guess you are right.
B: You gotta have fancy gadgets in your fortress, dude, like I have in my batcave. I mean look at this place. This place is so full of empty space. You can build a home theatre in here... set up a nice music surround sound system, a dance floor, some secret passages... all the rest of the superheroes can come party at your pad here. And oh yeah, you gotta have a secret makeout room... you can bring Wonder Woman here some days and well, make the beast with two backs.
S: You all will probably end up cutting up the walls to get some ice for your drinks. But that bit about Wonder Woman sounds interesting.
B: Think about the possibilities, dude.
S: Maybe I'll bring Rachel over, one day. I love the way she swings her ass when she walks.
B: Don't do that, dude.
S: Oh yeah, now I get it... Rachel AND Wonder Woman, a menage a trois... goody.
B: (lunging at Superman to hit him) Claaaaaaaaarkkkk.... stop it...

Run, Fatboy, Run!

102! That’s kilos! That’s me!

Unwittingly and unknowingly I have managed to get myself into the three-digit weight category. How and when it happened, I don’t even know, but suffice to say that it has happened (I guess it was inevitable!) and I now look at the daunting challenge of having to bring myself back from the brink and into the two-digit weight category.

Some would say losing a couple kilos is easy. I agree with that, but the task becomes all the more scary considering that I need to lose about 20 kilos to get my sweet-16 V-shaped physique back.

My weighty revelation took place on December 30, when while weighing my mom’s suitcases (she was flying back to Majitar) I unwittingly, and as a joke, stepped on to the weighing scale. I had a tough time looking at the number as my awe-inspiring girth was hindering my line of sight. The first inclination of something being wrong came from my son Anhad’s reaction. He looked at the numbers on the scale and then he looked at me and then back at the numbers and went, “Oh beta.”

Next to react was my mom. I am sorry, I am not going to put those words down here. Suffice to say it was something about how I had better shape up quickly. But would someone tell me what the damn thing was reading? No!

Finally, taking a deep breath, I sucked in my stomach and leaned over a little. The big red needle stood like an admonishing finger at 102. I shifted this way and that hoping it would show a slightly reduced number. That big red needle refused to budge and stood its ground at 102. (I now consider that big red needle no friend of mine!)

Since that day, a few very curious things have happened that have been reminding me repeatedly of my weight. Let me list out a few of them here (Please bear with me; I need to off load this weight!).

EVERYTHING PROTESTS

Soon after discovering how heavy I was, I decided I wanted a cup of tea to wash that unpleasant fact down. So, with a piping hot cup of tea in my hand, I went and plonked myself on a sofa in front of the TV. I still don’t know if what happened next was because of my weight or because the damn thing is weak. So, as I sat on the sofa, it creaked. But it wasn’t just a creak, it was more of a wail that went on for about 3 seconds before stopping abruptly. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back. The sofa protested again. I got up and moved to another sofa which, in my household is referred to as my seat. I love that sofa. It doesn’t protest or do anything and stoically braves and bears my massiveness. I have since made it a resolve to sit only on that sofa and not on any other sofa.

WITH GREAT WEIGHT COMES GREAT INSTABILITY

I doubt I shall ever live this down, but well, I have to record it. The same day, both the kids and Bhavna wanted to go out to the park. The kids wanted to go run around and Bhavna just wanted to get out of the house. So, for a change I accompanied them.

At the park, Anhad had the brilliant idea of having a race. Now, I was an athlete back in my heydays and used to win a lot of races. I told Bhavna and Anhad that they would lose since I could run very fast. Both of them laughed at me. But I knew better. I knew I would defeat them and how.

So, having picked out a clear runway, all three of us stood in line and at the call of “Go” all three of us took off. As I had expected, I took a fantastic lead ahead of the rest of them. Later, I was told that I shot ahead of everyone like a man possessed.

Since I was running after nearly 10 years and at full steam, I was enjoying the feel of my lungs expanding inside my chest with the rush of air into them and feeling my legs moving like a pair of pistons. I was beginning to feel like Diego from Ice Age and was planning on singing “Whoo! My paws are burnin', baby, are burnin'! I gotta tiptoe! Tippytoe, tippytoe...” as soon as I finished the race.

About three-fourths the way to the finish line was when it happened. I felt something go haywire in the perfectly oiled machine that I used to consider my body to be. I realised that I was in danger of losing my balance and tried to control my speed, but to no avail, I had already lost the plot, my brakes had failed, yet the engine was pumping along at full power like those of a downed submarine that is drowning and being driven to its own death by its engines. I was going so fast I couldn’t feel the ground under my feet. Suddenly, I felt my left ankle twist and found myself flying. The only difference was that instead of heading up, up and away a la Superman, I was hurtling towards the ground a la a brick!

I crashed! My left hand and shoulder hit the ground first followed by my head. I got a scratch on my forehead, both knees were scraped, my left thumb and right knee both got black and blue bruises.

Finally, like a crash-landed plane, I mowed to a stop and rolled over. I couldn’t believe I had taken a tumble. ME! That fantastic running machine of yore that used to win races, that used to leave the opponents eating my dust. I saw Bhavna run up to me after what seemed like ages. She looked at me, asked me if I was ok and then ran off to finish the race(!!!!). I laughed some more and then got up and ran after her. Suffice to say, I finished the race and came second.  I would have won had I not decided to take a crash course in flying.

EXPANSION IS THE ORDER OF THE WAIST

There was a time when I used to pride myself on how well I had maintained my body. My body was my temple. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, a hint of six-pack abs etc. Over the last 10 years, I’ve let my body go. Now, my body looks like a decrepit old temple around which a slum has grown up. As a result, some parts of me have taken on massive proportions.

My waist, for one, which used to be a pert 32-inches is now bordering on the verge of turning into a size 38. Thanks to my expanding waist, my belt now looks as if someone shot it with a machine gun. It’s got holes at all kinds of distances. Some holes are barely millimetres apart, while others have a minimum one-inch distance between them.

Thanks to this expanding waistline, I have now realised that round is also a shape. However, both Bhavna and Anhad tell me that an inverted cone is a better and preferred shape. Meanwhile, my daughter, that pocket rocket, has taken to using my stomach as a table/tabla/bouncy and what have you.

REDEMPTION

Over the last couple of days I’ve pondered over a few options to lose weight. While there are a lot of them available, almost all of them involve me spending a heady amount of money. The cheapest option I’ve got is free and involves me waking up early in the morning and going for a run and doing some free-hand exercises. Later, when I’ve got some kind of control on my weight, I guess I shall have to join a gym.

I promise to do that. As soon as the weather improves and the cold goes away! Nope, I am in no mood to give up the warmth of my quilt and getting up and going out for a run in the cold!

Cheers all!

A Filmmaker's Dilemma

A fictitious dialogue between Mahesh Bhatt and Pooja Bhatt (with apologies to both of them):

Opening scene: Mahesh Bhatt, sitting in his office. In front of him are two photographs, one of Sunny Leone in a bikini and another of Priya Rai in a bikini. Bhatt looks from one photograph to another, shakes his head and continues staring. Though the air conditioner is running, Bhatt's forehead is beaded with perspiration.

Enter Pooja Bhatt.

Pooja Bhatt: Hi daddy.
Mahesh Bhatt: Hello, beta.
PB: Why is it to cold in here, daddy? And why are you sweating like this? Your shirt is drenched.
MB: I have a major decision to take and I don't know what to do.
PB: What happened, daddy? Tell me.
MB: Well, you know that girl, Sunny...
PB: Yes, yes, I know her pretty well. She acted in our movie Jism 2, she's an adult star and you gave her a chance to get out of adult movies and into something more respectable--mainstream Bollywood.
MB: Yes, you remember how I had gone into the Bigg Boss house and promised to make her the leading lady of my movie and I kept my word.
PB: Yes, daddy, I remember. What about it?
MB: What do you think of this girl? (He holds up the photograph of Priya Rai and shows it to Pooja.)
PB: Whoa... she's got... are those real?
MB (looking quite puzzled): What? Is there something wrong with her?
PB (still staring at the photograph): Are her breasts real? She's got a huge pair!
MB: Now, how would I know that? Maybe they are, maybe they aren't.
PB: Ok. So what about her?
MB: Her name is Priya Rai, she also goes by Priya Anjali Rai. She's another Indian adult star in the US. She's coming to the Bigg Boss house soon.
PB: Oh... so?
MB: I am wondering, should I give her a role in a Bollywood movie?
PB: What are you getting at, daddy?
MB: You know how I gave Sunny a break? I am thinking I should give Priya also a break if she comes to the Bigg Boss house.
PB: And why would you want to do that? Haven't you had enough fun staring at Sunny's boobs?
MB: How do you know I was staring?
PB: Daddy, I've worked with you and I've seen you working with her. So, don't give me all of that. All you men are alike.
MB: No, we aren't. Randeep got to hold her, I didn't. He even got to touch her body while she was wearing a bikini.
PB: Oh please, daddy. Don't be so childish. Start acting your age. What are you going to say next, "Jao main nahi khelta?"
MB: Oh, I won't do that. I won't give up a chance to play with Priya.
PB: Uff, daddy, get a grip on yourself.
MB: Anyway, I am seriously thinking of casting Priya in my next movie.
PB: And what is the movie going to be about?
MB: I don't know. I'll figure out something.
PB: Come up with something that will sell and give you some good reviews and coax people to go see the movie.
MB: How does it matter. It's Priya Rai. Once people see her on Bigg Boss, they will come to the theatre to see her assets, which I shall make sure are put on display nicely. Not fully, but nicely. I will have to make something that those idiots at the useless censor board of ours will pass.
PB: Daddy, I think you are taking on more than you can handle.
MB: Oh, don't be silly. I can handle more than one girl at a time. See how I managed you and Alia?
PB: Daddy, don't be ridiculous. We are your daughters. Those two are porn stars.
MB: Trust your old man, child. I can handle more than it seems. I haven't lost the hair from the top of my head just like that.
PB: Yeah, I know. While you are at it, why don't you cast the two of them together? More assets to display and earn from.
MB: Fantastic idea. You truly are my daughter.
PB: You had doubts? Are you suspecting my mother of being untrue to you?
MB: No, no, I was just saying, baba. You take things too seriously.
PB: Well, of course, I have to. God knows what you might end up doing next. Who are you going to cast opposite Priya? Randeep again?
MB: Umm... no... I was thinking... I'll cast myself.
PB: Daddy, you've lost it. You can direct, but not act. You can't act. You don't have a single bone in your body that can act. Heck, you can't even act as if you are sick, talk about acting in a movie.
MB: Well, it was just an idea.
PB: Very bad idea.
MB: Ok, ok. You decide then.
PB: Ok. What are you going to call the movie?
MB: I have a fantastic name for her movie. One that will rock. It's out of this world, really.
PB: What is it? Surely, not Jism 3?
MB: Not at all. That's too mundane and I think Sunny owns that now. She bought the name out recently and I think her Sunlust productions is planning a series of movies based on name and the story.
PB: Really? How much did you sell the name for?
MB: Wel...
PB: What?
MB: I gave it to her free considering she was apt for the title... "Jism".
PB: At this rate you are going to drive us bankrupt.
MB: No, that was just a one-off.
PB: Ok. So what name have you thought for Priya's movie?
MB: Shareer.

Titoo, Pinky and the chowmein

This is a piece of fiction. Don't take it personally.

I was speaking to a friend of mine the other day. He is a conscientious man. The problem with him is that he thinks too hard... sometimes so hard that he forgets what he was thinking about in the first place. It's quite complicated with him. He begins thinking and then somewhere down the thought process, he loses the thread and goes off on a tangent only to realise that he's lost the end of the original thread and has forgotten what it was all about and then continues to wander aimlessly in the complicated, twisted maze of his erratic, deep thoughts.
So, like I was saying, he and I were having a conversation. We were at his place. He'd just returned after buying his week's quota of groceries. Now, this friend of mine, let's call him Titoo (I am sure he doesn't want to be named, and sorry, dude, I couldn't come up with a better name!), is an exceptional man and an out and out foodie who loves his chicken tikkas and Chinese. But sometimes he takes his exceptions way too far. Till that day, he had never bought groceries, much less got down to cooking it at home. His philosophy in life till then had been, "let someone else cook it, I'll eat it and pay for it".
So, I was understandably quite shocked and surprised when I saw all the groceries at his home. When I reached his place, he was busy trying to cut a lettuce leaf into a perfect circle to sit atop the cheese slice and onion rings that he had meticulously planted on one half of a bun. In one hand he held a pair of scissors and in the other the lettuce leaf. A scale and a pencil lay beside the chopping board. Beads of perspiration shined on his forehead and dripped down into his eyes.
With slow, painstaking meticulousness he managed to cut a perfect circle, or something resembling a perfect circle to place in his bun. Pleased with himself, he looked up at me and smiled like a delinquent juvenile who's managed to do something heroic.
Still quite shocked, I asked him, "What, exacly, are you doing?"
"I am making lunch," came his reply.
"For who? You don't have a dog or cat or any pet who would like to eat that."
"No, no, it's for me."
Now that was a vexing statement coming from him. This man who had in his past 33 years only entered the kitchen twice by count--both times ending barely short of a disaster--was making lunch for himself.
"But you can't cook. You can't even boil water. You turn on the geyser when you want to make yourself some black coffee."
Grinning like a mad scientist with drool running down one side of his lips and hair growing out of his ears, he looked at me, placed the other half of the bun atop the lettuce leaf and in excruciating slow motion lifted it to his mouth and took a dinosaur-sized bite of it.
As he moved his jaws up and down in that masticating motion, he said, "Lackf a bit of falt, pepper and oregano, otherwife itf ofay."
"Well, have you considered sprinkling some salt on it or in it before eating half the bun in one go?"
Stunned that such a simple idea didn't strike him, he stopped chewing and looking quite sheepishly at me, he reached out and picked up the salt shaker and added some salt to the bun sandwich.
I stood there looking at him as he relished each bite of the sandwich with muffled mouthful mutterings of how fantastic the sandwich was etc.
I was getting curiouser and curiouser as to the reason why he was making his own lunch. Had he fallen on bad times? No, he couldn't have. The bugger comes from a family that is rich enough for him to live comfortably without having to move a toenail to earn it.
Sandwich finished, he washed it down with a diet coke! A diet coke for a man who thought beer was water! Diet coke! Was he ill? No, couldn't be. He has the constitution of a tank with multiple armours that has been let loose around an anthill.
"Dude, care to explain what's happening? Since when have you started making your own meals and begun drinking diet coke?"
"Just today."
"Why?"
"Actually, I want to lead a life of no sin."
"Oh, so you are turning vegetarian and are not going to eat any more meat, is that it?"
"No, no. I am not going to give up non-vegetarian. It's just that I don't want any food to lead me to commit a crime or anything."
"Food leading you to crime?"
"Yeah, you know it was in the newspaper the other day that eating chowmein leads to rape as it imbalances the hormones or something like that. Some great guy came out with this finding after an extended research."
"Really? Tell me something, what if Pinky (his girlfriend, name changed for understandable reasons!) eats chowmein and comes and rapes you, would you hate her for it?"
"She won't rape me."
"Why? After all she'll have had chowmein."
"Dude, I broke up with her."
"Oh Christ! Why did you have to go do such a daft thing? After birth, Pinky was the best thing that happened to you."
"Yeah, I know. I wanted to make sure that she wouldn't rape me or vice versa."
"You've lost it."
"No, dude, I haven't lost it. In fact, I don't want to end up raping a woman after eating something that is likely to cause my hormones to act up and drive me to do something mad. What do you think my mom and dad would say if they found their son, that's me, in case you didn't know, being prosecuted for rape or something worse? I've decided that I won't be going to any places where there are women who wear short clothes as that also leads to rape."
"I can understand your dilemma, but what are you going to eat?"
"Pinky's agreed to cook for me."
Oh boy, this was getting confusing for me. What kind of a twisted tale was it that he was telling me. I was definitely sure that this wasn't the time or the season for April fool's day.
"But didn't you just break up with her?"
"I did. It's complicated. We won't be boyfriend-girlfriend, we won't date, or go out for movies, but we'll eat together and she'll cook some nice home food."
"Okay," I said, nodding my head in a state of disbelief.
"And yeah, I've told her to wear something that covers her up properly."
Let me tell you something about Pinky. Pinky is the hot girl from next door who you want to marry but who your mother thinks isn't good enough for you. And yeah, she only wears shorts or jeans or such clothes that highlight her curvy body.
"Dude, I seriously think you need psychiatric help. Let me call Pinky. Between me and her we'll take you to a good doc, what say?"
"No, no. I am perfectly fine. See how lovely and juicy this radish looks. Imagine this in a paratha with some nice curd and a cup of tea," he said, as he fished out a radish from his grocery bag.
I called Pinky.
Pinky picks up. Sounds low, as if she's been crying.
"H..h..hello."
"Pinky, get to Titoo's place immediately."
"Wh... what happened?"
"He's lost it, says he's broken up with you, asked you to cook for him and that he's only going to eat home-cooked food."
"Yes, he did that."
"Are you going to take this idiot's antics lying down? I am leaving his place now, by the time I come back in the evening, he had better be sorted out."
"Okay." Now she sounded a bit upbeat. I think it was simply the idea of beating Titoo to pulp at work in her mind.
That evening, rather, later that evening, I reached Titoo's place.
The door was locked from inside. There wasn't a sound coming from the place.
"Oye Titoo, open the door, you jackass," I hollered as I rang the bell.
I heard some shuffling going on inside and then came a sound.
"Dude, can you like come back tomorrow morning?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I am fine."
"What did you have for lunch?"
"Uh... Chowmein."
"What about Pinky? Is she ok?"
"Uh... yeah... she's fine... sort of... "
Now that was a worrisome answer.
"What do you mean sort of?"
"Uh... she had chowmein and came here."
At first I didn't quite understand... and then it struck me.
Laughing, I went back to my car, got in and drove off thankful that my friend had been cured.

A Fictitious Dialogue Between Superman and Batman OR The Trauma of Being Superman

Warning: Some readers might find it offensive. Please don't take it personally.


Opening scene


Superman (all dressed up with nowhere to go and looking all haggard with a month-old beard, unkempt hair, blood shot eyes and wearing a clothes peg on his nose and ear plugs in his ears) sitting on a chair in a dark room in his flat, shivering and crying.


There's some noise coming from the other room as if someone is moving around there.


Enter Batman.


Batman: Superman, what are you doing sitting in the dark?
Superman (whimpering): I can't take it any more, Bruce.
B: What is it? Has Lex finally found a way to defeat you? Where did he manage to get the Kryptonite?
S: No, No... It's...
B: What is it, Clark? Tell me. Who has done this to you? Do you want me to call the JLA?
S: No... They can't help. Neither can you. It's me.

"Save me, Bruce, Save me."

B: I don't understand, Clark. What could you have possibly done to yourself? You are Superman! The man with the coolest, most awesome powers in the world. You can spin the earth around if you want, you can fly, see through walls, you are faster than a speeding bullet.
S: I know, I know. For you and the rest of the world I have these great powers, but they don't know what it's like to have them. They are always at work. I can't switch them off even if I want to.
B: So? What's the problem?
S: I...I don't want these powers.
B: Whaaaaat? What will happen to Superman then? Who will fight Lex Luthor and his devious schemes? Who will save the earth from every murderous meteorite or asteroid that comes hurtling towards the earth threatening to wipe away all of humanity?
S: I don't know. I don't want to be able to hear everything, smell every thing or see through walls!
B: Huh? I don't understand.
S: You know I have this fantastic hearing ability? I can hear a pin drop a hundred miles away.
B: Yeah, I know. Like the rest of you everything is super. What about it?
S: Do you know what is the worst sound that a man can be forced to hear? The sound of someone letting loose a wet fart! Forget the sound of the pin dropping, I can hear every fart that is let out in this world by every single human... from infant to adult. Forget people's farts, I can hear animals farting. Now, think you have to listen to that sound every single minute coming at you from every direction. My super hearing is such that I can even hear what to a normal human would be a silent fart! For you a fart is within the human hearing limit. My superhearing acts like an amplifier and leaves every one of them ringing in my head. At times it feels as if someone put my head in a huge bell and rang it. I get headaches that don't go away.
B: I am sorry I asked.
S: Worse still. You know what is worse? It's the ability to be able to smell those same farts that overpower my hearing senses. I know, just from the smell of the fart, who has had what food recently, who has had sex and who hasn't taken a bath. Sometimes, the smell is so potent that I can almost taste it. Why do you think that stupid robot managed to hit me the other day? Because it was of one person who had gathered around to see me fight the robot. That idiot let out one of the foulest farts ever. I was overpowered by that smell and couldn't react. I wanted to get away from it. While I was debating whether to stay and fight the robot or get away from it, the robot managed to take a good swing at me. I did, however, manage to defeat the Luthor's evil robot in the end, but that fart has left me scarred for life, Batman. I can't go on like this.
B: Boy, and I thought the world had troubles.
S: That's not all.
B: Oh, what's left?
S: I think I am turning into a sort of pervert.
B: (raising his eyebrows suspiciously and taking a step back) How? You aren't going after men, are you?
S: Bruce, this is no joking matter. I can see through walls, Bruce.
B: Yes, I know, Clark, you can see through walls, so?
S: Did it ever strike you that I can also see through clothes?
B: I figured that a long time ago. So, what about it?
S: Well, everytime I am flying through the city, guess what I see?
B: What?
S: It's like having my own soft-porn channel. I see women... naked through their clothes.
B: And?
S: Like, last week, I was flying through the city and towards a disaster site when suddenly I spotted this young girl... she was 22 years... I checked her driver's licence. She was walking down the road wearing a pair of yellow jeans, a green tee-shirt and sneakers. Before I could realise it, my x-ray vision kicked in and I saw clear through her clothes. Boy, she had an ass or what? And guess what? She wasn't wearing any panties! And those titties, I just felt like boxing them. Each one of them was the size of a melon.
B: Clark, why don't you go spend some time in the himalayas? Go medidate and take your mind off things. Or, since you can do it, why don't you go medidate on Pluto for some time?
S: Bruce, do you know what Wonder Woman is really like under that costume of hers? She's H-O-T... hot! And her pubic hair is shaved to spell WW. And guess what Batgirl is really like?
B: Superman, it's OK. Don't talk. Just keep quiet.
S: Batgirl's got a weird bondage fetish... she's usually got clamps on her nipples when she's wearing costume. She's always hot, man. I think you should do her sometime soon. She'll like being whipped, I think.
B: (Getting uncomfortable) Uh, Superman, don't.
S: Why? Don't you want to know what each of the superheroes looks like naked?
B: No, I am getting uncomfortable here in this costume.
S: Too tight, is it? Not enough space for the bat to rise up?
B: Uh... yeah... I think I should go...
S: Before you go... your girl Rachel... do you know she lets out some of the loudest farts possible, but underneath her clothes, she's hot.
B: (lunging at Superman to hit him) Claaaaaaaaarkkkk.... stop it...


A scuffle ensues even as the curtains come down.

Delhi's car owners and their fascination with weird bumper stickers

Bumper stickers! The next time you are driving, slow down from your maddening speed and take a couple of moments to look around you. While you are welcome to stop and smell the roses, let me draw your attention to the cars that zip past you with the man, or the woman, staring at you and snarling away to glory, while you take it a bit easy.
A word of advice: if you have a bumper sticker on your car or have something written on it, stop reading right here.
Now, for all those still reading, on to the subject at hand: bumper stickers.
Bumper stickers originated sometime in the 1940s soon after the first cars were put out in the public market. The first known bumper stickers used as advertisements were for Rock City and the stickers usually covered most of the bumper.
Today the stickers are used for many things, anything from religious to humour to endorsing a candidate in an election in the US. The UN even recognises them as labels to identify the origin of cars that cross borders quite frequently.
Now, with globalisation and the opening up of the Indian economy came fancy cars. Where you only saw a BMW in a western movie earlier, you now see them a dime-a-dozen on the road. Along with these cars came the concept of bumper stickers.
And like all things Indian we decided to add a twist to the whole concept and make it our own in our own twisted way.
So, instead of bumper stickers what we have now are rear windshield stickers. Bumper stickers were meant to mean something. In this light, take a look at some of the bumper stickers around you.
What does the sticker, “Dad’s gift” or “Mom’s gift” on the car’s rear windshield say about the owner of the car? That he are a total jerk who pestered his dad or mom to buy him the car even though all he deserves is a kick up backside? Or, that the driver’s mom and dad have spoiled him so much that they wanted him to have a car and he, in order to show his gratitude or love towards them, got said sticker pasted on his car?
Think about this one: “Down payment by mom, EMI by wife, Enjoyed by me.” So, basically, the driver’s mom and wife are rich, while he is just a poor driver, is that what he are trying to say?
Here's another one: “No girlfriend, no tension”. What it actually means is that the driver of the car is a loser and doesn’t have a girlfriend and isn’t getting any action, while the rest of his gang or comrades or acquaintances are living it up.
A similar one to go with this is “Us bewafa ki yaad”. Dude, she dumped you or cheated on you, deal with it, don’t announce it to the world. Anyway, there are other fish in the world, so what if one got away?
A slightly arrogant one that announces the driver’s virility and high libido where it was supposed to mean something else goes like this: “Loins of Haryana”. Does this mean that the Innova on which it was spotted is the driver’s “loin” (if yes, then well, that’s one jumbo-sized set of loins) or was the word entirely misspelled from “lions” to “loins”. I’ll go with the misspelling.


Here are a couple of similar stickers:

• “Loss of money, Out of mind, Vaste of money, End of life”
• “I hait girls” (yup, those are the spellings, written in a flaming yellow font, of hate on the car)
• “Love is sweet possion” (Should have been poison, unless he meant potion).

Let’s move beyond statements of love and such and take a look at some of the other in-your-face kinds of decorative statements.
Among Delhi’s youth, there are a couple of benchmarks that identify you as an “arrived dude”:
a) The number of girls you’ve slept with or are dating or have “pataoed” (whether you’ve been dumped by all of them or discarded like a used sanitary pad by one or more of them is something else altogether, we’ve already been there; read above), and
b) How much alcohol you can hold.
From the second benchmark comes the sticker, “Jatt risky when tipsy”. I ask you, are Jatts, no offence to them, a separate breed of human beings? Isn’t everyone risky when tipsy? Or does it mean that anyone who is tipsy, by dint of being tipsy, is a Jatt? But then again, when you spot stickers like “Jatt Boyz” splashed across the back of a car, you do tend to wonder, “What is it with these guys? Does being a Jatt automatically make you something different? I mean are they supposed to be a better class of people, better built, better everything?” If you get the answer, let me know.
And then there’s the very, very cryptic, “It’s me” with a black hooded figure pointing its fingers at the shrouded figure’s face staring back at you from the back of the car in front of you. You wonder “Kaun hai yaar ye”, don’t you? Next time, see if you can come parallel to the driver, roll down the window and say, “Hi, Me”. Though, I doubt the driver would understand what you are hinting at, but at least you’ll have made a new friend and his name will be so easy to remember: “Me”.
Another thing I don’t get is, ok, you’ve got yourself a fancy SUV or whatever, why, after having got that fancy ride and having got it registered in Delhi or the NCR, would you want to paste on a number plate of some car in California or some other US region? Is that the licence plate number of your car in the US or wherever you were before returning to Bharat Mata? More likely, it is a copy of the licence plate of the sedan your tayi’s chachi’s son’s bhua’s beta’s nephew is driving out there, while you are so proudly sporting it here on your car.

I can just imagine the conversation you must have had with the relative abroad:
You: “Tinku, teri gaddi da number ki hai?”
Tinku (a little offended at the use of the familiar name): “What’s it to you, man?”
You: “O das na, yaar. How number plates look there, I want to know.”
Tinku (fidgeting on other end of phone): “I’ll mail you a pic of my car’s licence plate.”
You: “O nai Tinku, tere lasens di nai, number plate di photo bhej.”
Tinku (looking exasperatedly at the phone): “The number plate is the licence plate.”
You: “O yaar, tussi bade advance ho. Number plate te lasens ik hi hai?”
Tinku: “Yeah, nice talking to you to, bye.”

A couple of days later, you check your email and find a mail from Tinku with the photo of the “lasens plate” (his mom got him to send it).
You (addressing your son): “Oye, Pappi, aa photo di lasens plate banwa leya."
 Next day, you take your car out with a flourish, drive over the neighbour’s plants in his outdoor, street-side garden while you are reversing and put an extra coat of polish on the licence plate so that it shines. If you had your way you would have put huge signs directing everyone’s attention to your car’s newly acquired “lasens plate”.

And by the way, if you didn't have this conversation, good for you, but you still have the US number plate on your car, or don't you?

Here’s a list of some of the more memorable stickers:

1. Beer is cheaper than petrol. Drink, don’t drive (Sound advice, I would say)
2. Hell was full, so I came back
3. God is relly busy, May I halp you? (No, thank you, I can ruin my day perfectly without your help!)
4. Horn broke, watch for finger (Cocky!)
5. “Amli jatt” (Another Jatt quality, I suppose)
6. Nobody remains virgin life fucks everyone. (Never a truer word was said)
7. I am the best! (don’t even dare question or argue that)
8. My brother is in the army (Oh, great. Is this another way of saying you can score cheap booze from the army canteen to impress your lazy ass friends and show off to that girl you’ve been trying to patao for the last three years with her not giving you enough ghas?)
9. It’s my Grandpa’s road (Baap ki nahi to kya hua, dada ki to hai!)
10.  On my way to work... PLEASE KILL ME (umm, no, we won’t. If we suffer, you also suffer)
11.  Mum to be on board (with two cute prams beside the middle line) (Good luck to you)
12.  Princess on board/baby on board (this one is usually spotted soon after #11 and the car invariably has a middle-aged old man behind the wheel. Maybe he’s called “baby”, I don’t even want to guess about the princess bit.)
13.  Wife and dog missing... reward for dog. (think what you will, but am sure, the guy isn’t married)
14.  Toyota/Ferrari/Lamborghini decals on Tata Indica
15.  Car sickness is the feeling you get when the monthly payment is due
16.  On a Mahindra Renault driven by an old man—“Dad says, puttar no aashiqui”
17.  My day is not complete until I’ve terrified a complete stranger (written in one of those horror-type fonts)
18.  You may be rich, but I am single
19.  On a Reva, “Emission impossible” (You rock, dude!)
20.  Love is trash, girls need cash (reminds me of Agent Smith’s dialogue in Matrix “Only the human mind could have created something as insipid as love.”)
21.  Chal Rani, dhande ka time hai (this was behind a truck, but makes you wonder, no?!)
22.  Loose wait, don’t wait (yeah, those were the spellings for lose)
23.  Girls are looking smarty, but heart is very dirty
24.  Girls R injurious 2 health
25.  My other ride is ur mom (Seriously, dude, you’ve got issues, do/talk to your mom)
26.  Maaf karna, kad zara lamba hai (behind a car carrier in Gurgaon)
27.  Horny ok please (had too much Viagra or didn’t get any action at all?)
28. Wail for side(!!)

Last but not the least (these were spotted behind Maruti vans being plied as taxis: “Black Perl” and “Captn Jacks Pairo” or the absolutely inimitable “Gems Band” (put it in the comments if you figure that last one out).
If I missed out some of the more interesting ones, put them in the comments.