Shhh, don’t laugh loud

Laughter is the best medicine, no doubt, but laughing out loud may land you in a soup. Don’t believe? Well, this friend of mine had this habit of laughing loudly at the drop of a hat. We were returning home in a crowded Mumbai train and cracking jokes all the way. A grumpy guy sitting next to my friend was trying to doze off, but was regularly interrupted by the thundering laughter. Mr Grumpy’s snoring reminded me of the hiccup of a lion. Whenever his head dropped down, his eyes half closed, my pal’s “roar” will shake him up.
And he could take it no more.
“Why don’t you laugh softly?” he suddenly sneered at my friend.
“Why don’t you go home and have a great sleep?” I reacted.
Naturally, two groups formed. One suggested that my friend should reduce his volume, while the other felt that the ill-tempered man should have tolerance in public.
But the overall sympathy was in favour of Mr Grumpy.
“Poor guy, he must be under tremendous pressure at office. Maybe he has two wives and is caught between devil and deep sea,” I could hear some people muttering. But I could not laugh out loud and suppressed it into a smile.

An eye on spectacles

Those who wear power glasses have a distinctive advantage. They can choose what to see and reject those they do not want to. When I spot a cockroach in the bathroom, I just remove my specs, run for the broom and attack. Sans glasses, all I get to see is a vague image. Klushh.. The poor guy is dead.
It is also my habit to hold my specs in my hand while walking/jogging (if at all I manage to shirk my laziness). The other day a lady came close to me with an angry face. “Pavithra’s daddy. I am waving Hi to you and you are not even responding!” she complained. It was my neighbour, but damn it, how do I know that without my glasses?
My gardener friend from Sri Lanka wanted a printout with his name. He was going on leave and wanted to paste it on his baggage. Tomorrow? He asked me five times. I nodded. As expected, I forgot. When I was walking on the road, I spotted the yellow uniform and surmised my friend would catch me. I removed my specks and kept walking as if I had not seen him. When I came close, I felt odd and put on my specks. Shucks, it was some replacement and my friend had already gone on leave.
Did you ask why not contact lens? People complain I look too handsome if I wear contacts. I am not interested in film roles boss.

Thy name is destiny

Do you believe in destiny, asked my friend.
My instant reply: “Yes.”
Will explain. We were staying at Ghatkopar, Mumbai, that time. Me and my brother’s family were preparing to leave for Nashik. It was a cold evening. A group of children were playing cricket outside our Pant Nagar home. I do not know why, I just picked up the bat and told the boys, “just one shot.” And I hit it. Like a bullet it went and knocked a woman crossing the road, right on her head. She fainted. The usual crowd gathered.
The children screamed: “It’s uncle, uncle.”
Stupid, I wasn’t “uncle” that time. I wasn’t even married.
Anyway. They tried keeping onion near her nose, splashed water, and tried all superstitious things. I couldn’t hide, nor face the crowd. It was embarrassing. I dreamt, God forbid, if she dies! Am I going to jail? Fortunately, she woke up a few minutes later. I repeatedly apologized. She said she was fasting and hence felt giddy. I still pray for her. Imagine the course of my life in a worst-case scenario.
Ask Paulo Coelho, he’s so fond of the word “Maktoob” (close to the word – destiny, in Arabic) that he will give more explanation on destiny.
Mahatma Gandhi was travelling to South Africa on a ship when a storm shook the vessel. He has mentioned in his book that it’s a miracle he survived. Imagine the course of Indian history without the great Mahatma.
Forget all this. Don’t laugh when I say my path changed at the loo of The Times of India. I just entered the wash room when the business editor then of Mumbai edition, RS, saw me and said, “You Madrasi. You keep cribbing about poor pay under Government Wage Board system. Would you like to go to the Gulf?”
“If the pay is good,” I replied.
Within months, I landed at the Dubai airport and eight years have gone by.
Now, do you believe in destiny? You better do. And the way to beat destiny is to work, work and work without attachment and, of course, enjoy life and whatever it brings in.

Stirred and shaken

Can washing machines wash off our joy at times?
Yes, they can, if the users tend to be a bit careless.
The story goes like this. I was recently presented a new dress by my wife.
And imagine how well your handsome friend (of course, me. Why you laughing, silly?) would have looked with this dark blue jeans and a white shirt. I went around Dubai and Sharjah thinking all pretty girls had set their sights on me. I know, I know, no one did, except that cross-eyed camel, now are you happy?
I forgot to tell you that I have this nasty habit of reading newspapers in the washroom. And I had placed a newspaper above the washing machine before moving off to office. My wife, meanwhile, picked up the dress along with some the expensive ones of my relatives (eh, some consolation) and put it in the washing machine. Only she did not realize that she had added the newspaper along with the clothes.
You should see the condition of the garments after the newsprint wash.
Hey, an idea: Why don't you try this wonderful experiment and feel how I feel.
PS: This is not the first time. My sister cleverly put my spectacles into the machine along with my clothes on an earlier occasion.

Czech to Chennai

I was in my hometown Chennai for a visit during May this year. Me and my brother were traveling to a suburban area and we entered a roadside restaurant.
As I was placing orders, I saw a European tourist with a heavy bagpack entering the eatery. She looked around curiously and before I could say “Hi,” she approached me and asked, “Where is the restroom please?”
I guided her. She asked me to take care of the baggage. Returning after three minutes, she thanked me. “Welcome to Chennai. Where are you from?” I started off.
“Well, it’s a place called Czech Republic,” she replied casually.
“Oh, you are from Prague,” I continued.
She looked surprised. Many people here have not heard of my country, she said. “I better know. Klaus is your president, right (I hope so)?” I asked.
She was a little impressed. I introduced my brother and we parted as good friends. She said she was proceeding to Pondicherry for a meditation session.
Personally, I have high regard for tourists. No one can deny that there are also brutes among us who misbehave with such goodhearted travelers. I feel rage gripping me if I read any news of travelers being illtreated. If there is a proposal to stiffen punishment for crime against tourists, I will be the first to raise my hand.

Dusty romance

Little children in my building have an ingenious way of communicating with each other when they leave for school. They scribble messages on the dusty sidewall near the stairs with their tiny fingers for their friends. “5pm near the main gate,” “Blue colour dress,” “Today cricket,” are some of the messages they write.
When I asked a child whether others do not rub it off, knowingly or unknowingly, she replied: “So far, nobody has done so as rubbing it off means they have to clean up the dust, which no one likes.” The only person who could clean up the place is the watchman, but he is too poorly paid and does not mind a dusty spot here and there.
Last week, while passing by, I noticed “5pm blue dress.” Eager to see the children playing in blue dress, I kept a watch that evening. Hold your surprise. A teenage boy and a girl, in trim Navy blue dress, were busy chatting with each other in a romantic setting, oblivious of the fact that two jealous eyes were snooping from the first floor.

A lesson for a scoundrel

A close friend of mine, a rather pretty Arab woman, was sitting in a Dubai-Abu Dhabi bus when she had a “crawling insect” sensation near her right shoulder. She tried to rub it off and got engrossed in her book.
In a couple of minutes, the same feeling recurred and she presumed a cockroach may be the villain. When she tried to rub her shoulder, she realized there was no cockroach, but it was a middle-aged man at the back seat who was the misbehaving scoundrel.
In an impulse, she got up, showered a few blows, spat at him and screamed: “Are you not born with a sister?”
The rogue obviously had not expected such a turn. He got up pleading with her “sorry sister,” before vanishing through the front door. The other passengers did try to hold him, but he made good his escape.
“I am proud of you,” was all I could tell my friend.

Not childlike, but childish

The cute little boy and girl were hiding under the staircase when I
entered my building. With a tense look, they signalled me to move on
and I did so politely. After taking a few steps, I turned back to
see another man entering through the door.
"Baaahhhhh," the children screamed at him.
"Ooofff..," the man acted as if he had been ripped apart by fear. Typical innocence writ large on their face, the children ran with glee and laughter.
My mobile tone interrupted my thoughts. "I will be at your home in 10
minutes," declared my nephew.
"Why not play the joke on him?" I told myself.
Eight minutes must have gone by.
Klinggg…the door bell rang.
The corridor lights were off. I saw through the door peep hole “my nephew” with a bag. Well, my nephew must have brought some gift pocket! Wow.
I clutched the door bar and with a sudden jerk screamed bahhhh…
The man threw the plastic cover in his hands and out went sugar and
rice, spilling all over the corridor.
What's wrong with you? he yelled. The grocery delivery man.

Rain and pain

Through my glass window not protected by curtains, lightning flashed on my eyes around midnight. The rumbling thunder made me uneasy. Winter has returned to Sharjah. But what made me roll around restlessly on the bed was the growling in my stomach. I had been trying out a new restaurant for the past two days, and it proved a costly experiment. Turn right, left, upside down – nahi, nein, la (no in Hindi, German and Arabic), nothing worked. At around 1am, I managed to get up and gulp two digene tablets..and like blogger-friend Lori who prays for single parents, I prayed for married bachelors forced to fend for themselves. Dunno when sleep embraced me, but the alarm at 6.30am was promptly put off and I slept until 9am.

Foul etiquette

In this modern age, it is surprising that certain people lack even basic civic sense. A sneezing friend recently came so close to my face that I had to run for my life. On several occasions, people nearby used to run helter skelter when he started coughing.
I remember how I was witnessing a soccer match holding a Pepsi glass in my hand. An acquaintance sitting next to me often grabbed the glass whispering “Just one sip please.” I was so embarrassed I had to give the entire glass to him after some time.
I am very sensitive about the use of my own handkerchief. The other day a relative visited home, took permission and entered the wash room. He was back in a minute after splashing water on his face. And without any hesitation, he grabbed my handkerchief placed on the table and wiped his face, thoroughly. Let your imagination run riot on how he would have done this. After he left, I had to discard the piece.
A female colleague gifted me a nice black cap lying that I looked like Shah Rukh Khan when I wore it. As soon as I entered the office wearing that, a coworker picked it up from my head, wore it and flashed a smile. That he was sweating profusely is another matter. You guessed it right. I just gifted the cap to him and walked off.

Lazy fellows

Procrastination. That’s one of the worst diseases one can suffer from, and I am a victim.
I resolved to go on a long early morning walk and set the alarm at 5.30am. Clocks never fail unless ditched by the battery, and so the alarm went off promptly. Creeeee… I got up, altered the time to 6.30am and dozed off. The action was repeated until I was off my bed at 7.30 am. Exercise? Forget it. This fight against laziness is a routine affair where I often lose.
Last month, I decided to pay off the utility bills in time. On the way, I met a friend who invited me for a cup of coffee. My determination fell flat before his persuasion skills. A hot cup of coffee and sour gossip. A deadly combination. Bills? Forget it. Can pay next month.
Result: A warning from the authorities that my electricity connection would be cut off. I had to run to pay the bill on the last day. Which I did, naturally. But there was some consolation. The line was long. I patted myself. “Cheer up; there are several lazy fellows like you.”

Fashion passion

The way some people dress up seems to be getting funnier by the day. I saw a short man merrily walking around a famous Sharjah mall wearing just a blue mini-shorts and a white innerwear on top. It is now normal to see people walking around on the footpaths in their night dress during daytime.
And there was this guy who had a colourful antenna wired across his ears and protruding high above his head while listening to a song, which made him look like a perfect robot.
The messages on the T-shirts some pretty girls wear also make for funny reading. "I am looking right up there," declared one, while
another cautioned "Not for naughty eyes."
Some girls should scrutinize whether high heels are a boon or a
bane. The other day, a girl was trying to run and catch a bus while
wearing one such shoe. At least, three times she fell on the way.
By the time she reached the bus stop, the vehicle had moved on.

Gadget obsession

E-gadgets are literally driving some people nuts, or what will you say about the man who went round and round on the footpath of Al Wahda Street yelling on his mobile phone, with his hands shaking up and down and in the process almost slapping a passerby.
This is not just to do with the handsets. The other day, I was walking along with a friend and tried to convince him that he should have a look at my blog at least once.
"What?" he said.
Surmising that he was eager to know more about the blog, I started explaining various subjects that had been touched. Nearly three minutes passed by. "So promise that you will have a look at the site," I concluded.
It was then that he removed his earplugs and replied: "Sorry, I was engrossed in that Bollywood song. What were you saying?"
I looked like a fool.

Buy & cry

Customer is the king/queen, they often say. Is it true?
There are quite a few occasions where I felt more like a victim than a king.
Just a few samples: I bought a branded T-shirt at an international airport, wore it for a day and found that the pocket was almost peeling off thanks to poor stitching. I took it to a roadside tailor and suggested he sew it up. Sew it up he did, but he also did something he could have easily avoided. He tried to iron the shirt and in the process burnt it, leaving a big hole. As if the rising prices have not left enough hole in the pocket already…
During a recent visit to the Meena Bazaar area of Dubai, I bought an expensive (no, I am not joking) branded cellphone. Within weeks, the display went off. “It must be a virus. We cannot do anything,” declared the shopkeeper. I approached another shopkeeper who blamed it on “LCD problem.” Needless to say, I shelled out quite a few bucks on getting the LCD replaced.
Recently at a shopping mall, I chided my wife for picking up tomatoes at random. “Go for the packed one. See how inexpensive it is,” I suggested. She protested initially, but fell for the bait. When we went home, her face went red as the tomatoes, as we found that almost half of them were damaged ones.

A prick of conscience

Millions across the globe go to bed without food, lamented a friend.
“You have a good heart. At least you think about them,” I praised him.
“Many people fail to understand what is right charity. A rich man in America reached a place where a group of roofless people had taken shelter. He picked up his purse and started distributing $100 notes and before anybody could ask him who he was, he had gone. Somehow, a tabloid reporter tracked him later and asked him about his background. The man replied: “I was one among them earlier.”
Hmm.., I listened intently.
“About 25,000 people die every day of hunger or hunger-related causes, according to the United Nations,” he reeled out statistics.
“Oh God,” I exclaimed.
“The good news is when it comes to charity many UAE residents score over others,” he continued. “There are several cases where people in distress have received financial help from anonymous donors.”
Suddenly I woke up. “Why are you giving me a lecture on charity?”
“Here’s a Dhs40 bill. Please donate,” he thrust a receipt into my hands.
“You are the kind of volunteer that charity campaigns need,” I patted him before heeding his request.

Under control

Taking a walk on Al Wahda street, I bumped on my old friend who runs a photo studio.
“Why is it every other person we meet on the street is either stressed out or restless these days? Is it because of globalization?” he asked an innocent but tricky question.
“It depends on individuals. You choose between money or happiness,” I started my discourse. “Money cannot buy happiness. You know, a friend of mine quit a job with a five-figure salary. She is happy now with half the pay,”
“You mean we should opt for jobs with lesser pay? he joked and continued: “My business was going great guns a few years ago. But now rent and inflation are making my life miserable.”
“Don’t grumble. Try to find ways to cut costs and earn more,” I was sounding like Socrates.
“How come you are sounding contented? Is your domestic budget under control?” he asked.
“I should say ‘yes’ as of now,” I replied. “The bank has just cleared my loan application.”
rr/Oct.14, 2008

Anger buster

Everyone gets angry at some point of time. But some get angry too often. I entered office after a long vacation and a colleague greeted me with: “You did not even bother to mail. I am angry with you.”
I tried to reason with him. But  no use. I told him a story I had read. A monk was sitting under a tree discussing with his disciples when that country’s army commander, who was passing by, stopped his vehicle and approached him. He asked the monk: “I want to know about hell and heaven.”
The monk replied: “I will tell you. But, by the way, who are you?”
”I am the commander,” replied the man in an arrogant tone.
“Commander! You look like a butcher,” mocked the monk.
Anger writ large on his face, the commander whipped his knife and charged towards the monk. “Well, this is hell,” smiled the monk. Ashamed, the commander put back his knife and sought forgiveness. With a repentant face, he said “I am very sorry.” “This is heaven,” came the reply.
“The story is fine. But don’t you think it is impossible to control anger?” he asked innocently.
“I have read psychologists saying that among the best ways to control anger are; talk to a friend you can trust; count to 10; get or give a hug or just take a walk,” I replied.
“All okay, but you are no better. You get angry at slight provocation,” my friend said.
"I don’t think so.”
“You do,” he insisted.
“No…,” I screamed with fury.
“There you go..,” laughed my colleague.
rr/Oct8

Two little ‘monsters’

At a time when people are too busy to find time even for their own families, guests are often considered pests. One can imagine the plight of the host when a visitor enters the house along with two mischievous kids.
I had a taste of this experience last week. I was merrily walking near the famous Clock Tower in Deira Dubai when a familiar face greeted me. “Hey. You have forgotten me?” he yelled. This was followed by an accusation: “These days people forget even their own relatives.”
I whacked my mind repeatedly and recollected that he was a distant relative.
“Why don’t you drop in tomorrow?” I asked as a matter of courtesy. And the price I had to pay was heavy.
He landed with his wife and two young “monsters.” The first casualty was the TV remote control which the boys grabbed as soon as they entered the house. In no time it was broken. My wife had laid out a new carpet which we usually take out only when visitors arrive. As the family sat on the carpet, my wife offered coffee. The younger boy, who was engrossed in a heated argument with his sibling, sprang for the beverage and down came the cups of hot coffee, adding a new decoration to the carpet. I thought the parents would thrash the boys, but the mother quickly remarked: “See how naughty my son is.”
Not naughty, but a terror, I told myself.
While parting one of the boys rang the door bell six times and our neighbour came out, flashed a dirty look and disappeared with a “be careful” warning look.
It's six days now and my wife is still not talking to me.

RR/ Oct.6, 2008

The secret behind secrets

“You do not know how to keep a secret,” chided a close friend.
“Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead,” I replied quoting Benjamin Franklin.
“Why did you tell William that Khan is visiting Dubai? Khan had specifically told me that his was a secret visit,” she fumed.
“I did not know that, sorry,” I pleaded.
“The other day I had told you not to tell anyone that I had bought a new car. But when I entered the office everyone asked about it. Now I will stop telling you anything meant to be a secret,” she went on.
Her argument went on like this: Secrets at times drag us to prosperity – we can decide, can open our heart to our own, without getting derailed by others’ comments. You never know where you are placed in one’s heart – friend or foe!!!!!
I am of the firm opinion that secrets kill debates. It is better to share views and exchange ideas.
Anyway, I was amazed by her ability to hold on to secrets.
“I wish I could keep secrets like you,” I replied.
She fell silent for a minute.
“I cannot keep secrets either,” she suddenly yelled.
Why?
“If I could have, I would not have uttered them to you.”
RR/Sept.30, 2008

Better to zip lip

A masters in English literature, my friend never tires of using idioms at the drop of a hat.
After a heated debate last week, he hit back at me saying: “You are bent on creating a storm in a teacup.”
“I am not,” I replied.
“Fine words butter no parsnips,” he replied. I had to check out from Google that it actually meant talking is easy, but talking is not action.
“Why are you angry? In a debate, you have to listen to the other person’s point of view,” I tried to pacify him.
“Don’t judge a book by the cover. Look deeper,” he said.
Fed up of his idiomatic jargon, I bid adieu promising to meet him in a day or two. And meet I did. Only this time, I saw a punch mark on his face.
What happened?
“It’s that stupid Joe,” he replied. “During an argument I told him ‘beggars cannot be choosers,’ and he assaulted me.”
Why?
“He thought I was calling him a beggar.”

RR/Sept.24, 2008