Before the time of cellphones, we had a landline phone in our home. It was quite handy. It provided midnight updates on leaked question papers and helped plan mid day movies after bunking school. I could see from my mum's body language that she was not convinced with the new device; especially when girls called her son. She managed to find out even if the girls spoke in a man-ish voice.
And then came cellphones. You had to buy one than face the indignation from the voices that echoed 'So you don't have a cellphone?'
My first cellphone was the legendary blue brick. It was the most useful cellphone I have had. My mom endlessly played the snake game and my sister threatened to break my head with it if I didn't share my pocket money with her. I, on the other hand, kept staring at it for months, waiting for it to ring. It taught me patience.
Many years later, cellphones have only become useless. They no longer are large, heavy and strong. So I can't moonlight anymore as a burglar armed with a cellphone and threaten people. I can no longer call pretty girls under the pretext of having forgotten my home number and so called them to ask if they remembered it by any chance.
On contrary, I overheard a couple of 142+ IQ women discuss that cellphones are nature's devices to counter the epidermic called men. They said cellphones emanate certain magic rays that kill men's 'little armies' which help them make more men. Infact, they said it is a grand design that began in the 17th century when the English travelled to most parts of the world. Of the many things that the English took with them, long pants with pockets was one of them. It took the English two and half centuries to make the whole world wear pants. Soon came the cellphones and the cellphones went into men's pockets. The rest is yet to be seen.
As I walk along the corridor with my personal phone in my left pocket and my office phone in my right pocket, I wonder if women are hand in glove with nature. Or why would they buy pouches and handbags for their cellphones inspite of wearing pants? I bet they already have an underground secret cloning facility to keep them multiplied.
29 September 2009
23 September 2009
Kiran in Kashmir
For a while now, I have been writing just about myself. That was because I was trying to mind my own business. But now, Kiran is going to Kashmir and what a waste this blog would be if I didn't let the world know that Kiran will be in Kashmir.
So why is Kiran going to Kashmir? Because Kiran wants to go and live in Australia. While many may wonder what madness prompted him to travel from Kerala to Kashmir to reach Australia, those who are familiar with Kiran will understand that there will be some method in his madness.
Kiran always looks to follow someone in life. For example, in exams, he tries to write the exact same answers as the person in front of him. So now he wanted to find someone who had recently relocated abroad and do the same things he/she did that took him or her out of the country.
I was one of them. So he decided to study all the things I did in the last one year before I left. The thing that stuck to him most was my road trip to Goa earlier in the year. He knew that a road trip to Goa will take him to England, so he wanted to go somewhere far enough to be ensured to go to Australia. The farthest he could imagine was Kashmir. So Kiran is roadtripping to Kashmir.
Kashmir always brought a nationalistic fervour in Kiran. So he wanted to travel to Kashmir in a way that will tell the world he is a Mallu. So Kiran is hiring an Omni; one way. On his way back he plans to glide down to India Gate in New Delhi with his umbrella. Reasons later.
On the way to Kashmir, he is also dropping in at Sivakasi to pick up as many fire crackers as he can. He is tired of cowering at every person who has a back pack since the Bombay shootout. So he plans to single-handedly destroy all the terrorists in Kashmir with the fire crackers. He has watched Gadar 5 times and so has adequate knowledge to single-handedly finish the job.
Kiran has also seen many English movies as backup for Plan B. In these movies, the victorious soldiers always parachuted to the city; which is why he wants to glide down to India Gate with his umbrella for his Param Vir Chakra. He has not found any place yet that sells cheap parachutes. So if you know of some place in Kerala, please contact Kiran and help him in his nationalistic cause.
But something was missing in the whole plan. If Kiran wanted to go to Australia, Nitin will also want to go to Australia; ofcourse without incurring any cost to himself. So I rang up Nitin and asked him what he was upto. He is removing the spare tyre in the Omni's boot and coiling in instead.
So why is Kiran going to Kashmir? Because Kiran wants to go and live in Australia. While many may wonder what madness prompted him to travel from Kerala to Kashmir to reach Australia, those who are familiar with Kiran will understand that there will be some method in his madness.
Kiran always looks to follow someone in life. For example, in exams, he tries to write the exact same answers as the person in front of him. So now he wanted to find someone who had recently relocated abroad and do the same things he/she did that took him or her out of the country.
I was one of them. So he decided to study all the things I did in the last one year before I left. The thing that stuck to him most was my road trip to Goa earlier in the year. He knew that a road trip to Goa will take him to England, so he wanted to go somewhere far enough to be ensured to go to Australia. The farthest he could imagine was Kashmir. So Kiran is roadtripping to Kashmir.
Kashmir always brought a nationalistic fervour in Kiran. So he wanted to travel to Kashmir in a way that will tell the world he is a Mallu. So Kiran is hiring an Omni; one way. On his way back he plans to glide down to India Gate in New Delhi with his umbrella. Reasons later.
On the way to Kashmir, he is also dropping in at Sivakasi to pick up as many fire crackers as he can. He is tired of cowering at every person who has a back pack since the Bombay shootout. So he plans to single-handedly destroy all the terrorists in Kashmir with the fire crackers. He has watched Gadar 5 times and so has adequate knowledge to single-handedly finish the job.
Kiran has also seen many English movies as backup for Plan B. In these movies, the victorious soldiers always parachuted to the city; which is why he wants to glide down to India Gate with his umbrella for his Param Vir Chakra. He has not found any place yet that sells cheap parachutes. So if you know of some place in Kerala, please contact Kiran and help him in his nationalistic cause.
But something was missing in the whole plan. If Kiran wanted to go to Australia, Nitin will also want to go to Australia; ofcourse without incurring any cost to himself. So I rang up Nitin and asked him what he was upto. He is removing the spare tyre in the Omni's boot and coiling in instead.
14 September 2009
Hair styling
Cutting your own hair is not such a good idea; especially on a Sunday evening when all barber shops in your town are closed. But I had a reason to cut my own hair. A haircut costs £35 - the money that Rajinikant's hair stylist earns in a month. So I decided to take the matter into my own hands.
I now understand why priests in temples have one small bunch of hair at the top of their heads that is longer than the rest and why some people wear turbans. Cutting your own hair does not always end with the desired result.
The good thing about cutting your own hair is that by the time you are finished with the cutting (which is by the time there is no hair left to cut) you would have styled yourself with 9 different hair-dos. The not-so-good-thing is that the 10th hair-do, which is the final one, always looks the same. It looks exactly like what it would look if you put your head into a burrow full of hungry rats that have not been fed for 13 days.
It will be a very defining moment when I meet my colleagues in the office tomorrow. If they have a laugh at it, I can always blame in on recession and who knows, they could pool in some money for my next hair-cut. But if they like it, then I could have a weekend vocation. I should even think of applying for a patent for my fork cut and retire with all the royalty money I will get from the franchising.
Patent-pending fork cut
I now understand why priests in temples have one small bunch of hair at the top of their heads that is longer than the rest and why some people wear turbans. Cutting your own hair does not always end with the desired result.
The good thing about cutting your own hair is that by the time you are finished with the cutting (which is by the time there is no hair left to cut) you would have styled yourself with 9 different hair-dos. The not-so-good-thing is that the 10th hair-do, which is the final one, always looks the same. It looks exactly like what it would look if you put your head into a burrow full of hungry rats that have not been fed for 13 days.
It will be a very defining moment when I meet my colleagues in the office tomorrow. If they have a laugh at it, I can always blame in on recession and who knows, they could pool in some money for my next hair-cut. But if they like it, then I could have a weekend vocation. I should even think of applying for a patent for my fork cut and retire with all the royalty money I will get from the franchising.
Patent-pending fork cutIf you too are thinking of starting your own hair styling brand, I must warn you that it is not such an easy job. Not only does it take 3 hours to complete, but for the next 3 months nothing would grow on your head - not even dandruff. You have to be ambidextrous; to be able to handle a pair of scissors on your left hand while you operate the hair trimmer on the right. Did I mention that the hair you cut sticks to anything and everything 5 feet around you? Getting rid of it is not easy. But I have a solution. You can wash it down your drain, if you didn't mind your hair clogging your entire street's drainage system.
All barbers cut hair. But they never always end up with patent pending hairstyles. That is because they do not know what I know - yet another of my accidental discoveries.
Half my hair was turning white. While I could fool the Europeans that one of my parents was Finnish and the other Indian; which is why half my hair is white and the other half is black, these second generation Indians in the UK don't believe what I say.
When you have an issue that needs attention, ignore it. When you like to make an issue out of nothing, call your mum for advice. ' Use parachute. How you do think Asian paints make their black paint?'
So that is the secret formula. Every drug has its own side effects. My secret formula has its own. Instead of the 5 feet radius, your hair sticks to a 10 feet radius, and your face, and your shirt, and the mirror, and the trimmer.
Post hair cut question: Are hair trimmers water proof? The mess was so much, that I put the trimmer in a bucket of water mixed with Pantene shampoo to wash off the hair. I am sure they are. Would they have thought about guys like me when they make hair trimmers?
All barbers cut hair. But they never always end up with patent pending hairstyles. That is because they do not know what I know - yet another of my accidental discoveries.
Half my hair was turning white. While I could fool the Europeans that one of my parents was Finnish and the other Indian; which is why half my hair is white and the other half is black, these second generation Indians in the UK don't believe what I say.
When you have an issue that needs attention, ignore it. When you like to make an issue out of nothing, call your mum for advice. ' Use parachute. How you do think Asian paints make their black paint?'
So that is the secret formula. Every drug has its own side effects. My secret formula has its own. Instead of the 5 feet radius, your hair sticks to a 10 feet radius, and your face, and your shirt, and the mirror, and the trimmer.
Post hair cut question: Are hair trimmers water proof? The mess was so much, that I put the trimmer in a bucket of water mixed with Pantene shampoo to wash off the hair. I am sure they are. Would they have thought about guys like me when they make hair trimmers?
7 September 2009
cats, cows & karma
A wise man once told me that the brain can process or hold only a certain amount of data and this is an independent constant for each individual. That is why some women are able to hold on to information that is 20 years old and other men are unable to simultaneously munch their breakfasts while watching two and half men. But the individual constant is a fixed entity for each individual. That is, the sum of the total amount of data one can hold on to one's head and the total amount of processing the head can do is a constant at one particular instant. My abysmal record at remembering names should indicate something to you all about my brain.
The law applies to me but with a clause. That is, the constant is not restricted to the head but to the whole body. Which explains why I get my blog ideas when my IQ is drained through my ears in meetings at the office or when I am contributing my humble bit to global warming from the toilet.
Last Saturday, I had an English breakfast, a Japanese lunch and an Italian dinner. I did not know the English, the Japanese and the Italians did not get along very well and no sooner there was a world war. The bloodbath and destruction caused led to my spending several hours in the closed confines on my closet. As my body got rid of the warring parties and more of itself, it had more processing power than it had had in a long time; which led to the serendipitous discovery of the truth behind karma and rebirth.
According to version 8 and later versions of Hinduism, every man and woman will have 9 lives to live. Depending on what each one does in each of these lives, one will be either be promoted or demoted in the food cycle (Applies only to Hinduism believing Hindus). So if you did certain things you can keep your human status and eat chicken. However, if you did other things, you will be demoted to a chicken and other humans will eat you. By the time you complete your allotted 9 lives, all your parts would have worn out. So you are sent to a place popularly known as the hell where you will be thrown into a sea of fire to be melted and reprocessed along with other people who have completed their 9 lives. This new molten people will be used to generate more brand-new 9-life species.
This is something that many people already know. But what they do not know is that you do not die in one life to go to another. Rajini almost spilt the beans in one of the songs in Baasha when he speaks about dividing one's life in years of 8. What really happens is that there are 9 facets of life and each of these lasts for 8 years (which explains the cumulative average lifespan of species at 72 years). The allegory to dogs or cats or cows or chicken is only what you closest resemble to in each of these facets.
The period when you are shit scared about anything and everything is when you are a chicken, from where comes the expression 'you are such a chicken'.
The period when you don't do any work but sit and shit in the same place and keep eating all day is when you are a domesticated cow in a cowshed.
The period of life when you graze around women is when you are a goat. It is likely for the grazers develop facial hair growth, especially under the chin during this period.
The period when no amount of humiliation would dislodge you is when you are a buffalo.
The period after you wake up in a stranger's apartment with 2 teeth missing after a 12 Jack Daniels night and you swear never to drink again is when you are a camel.
The period when you are unsure of what you want to say to people and so just hang around nervously is when you are a cat. Thus the expression 'cat on the wall'.
The period when you carry your girlfriends' shopping bags while she shops and shops; and shops is when you are a mule.
The period when mid-life crisis engulfs you and you spend all your night chatting with 30 year-old truck drivers masquerading as 18 year old damsels is when you are an owl.
The period when you are too old to walk that when you cross a zebra crossing you hold up the traffic for a mile is when you are a snail.
The period when you have posted close to 100 such crappy posts is when you have ceased all your usefulness and are going to hell.
The law applies to me but with a clause. That is, the constant is not restricted to the head but to the whole body. Which explains why I get my blog ideas when my IQ is drained through my ears in meetings at the office or when I am contributing my humble bit to global warming from the toilet.
Last Saturday, I had an English breakfast, a Japanese lunch and an Italian dinner. I did not know the English, the Japanese and the Italians did not get along very well and no sooner there was a world war. The bloodbath and destruction caused led to my spending several hours in the closed confines on my closet. As my body got rid of the warring parties and more of itself, it had more processing power than it had had in a long time; which led to the serendipitous discovery of the truth behind karma and rebirth.
According to version 8 and later versions of Hinduism, every man and woman will have 9 lives to live. Depending on what each one does in each of these lives, one will be either be promoted or demoted in the food cycle (Applies only to Hinduism believing Hindus). So if you did certain things you can keep your human status and eat chicken. However, if you did other things, you will be demoted to a chicken and other humans will eat you. By the time you complete your allotted 9 lives, all your parts would have worn out. So you are sent to a place popularly known as the hell where you will be thrown into a sea of fire to be melted and reprocessed along with other people who have completed their 9 lives. This new molten people will be used to generate more brand-new 9-life species.
This is something that many people already know. But what they do not know is that you do not die in one life to go to another. Rajini almost spilt the beans in one of the songs in Baasha when he speaks about dividing one's life in years of 8. What really happens is that there are 9 facets of life and each of these lasts for 8 years (which explains the cumulative average lifespan of species at 72 years). The allegory to dogs or cats or cows or chicken is only what you closest resemble to in each of these facets.
The period when you are shit scared about anything and everything is when you are a chicken, from where comes the expression 'you are such a chicken'.
The period when you don't do any work but sit and shit in the same place and keep eating all day is when you are a domesticated cow in a cowshed.
The period of life when you graze around women is when you are a goat. It is likely for the grazers develop facial hair growth, especially under the chin during this period.
The period when no amount of humiliation would dislodge you is when you are a buffalo.
The period after you wake up in a stranger's apartment with 2 teeth missing after a 12 Jack Daniels night and you swear never to drink again is when you are a camel.
The period when you are unsure of what you want to say to people and so just hang around nervously is when you are a cat. Thus the expression 'cat on the wall'.
The period when you carry your girlfriends' shopping bags while she shops and shops; and shops is when you are a mule.
The period when mid-life crisis engulfs you and you spend all your night chatting with 30 year-old truck drivers masquerading as 18 year old damsels is when you are an owl.
The period when you are too old to walk that when you cross a zebra crossing you hold up the traffic for a mile is when you are a snail.
The period when you have posted close to 100 such crappy posts is when you have ceased all your usefulness and are going to hell.
3 September 2009
Career plan
Year: 2007
Time: Appraisal time
Manager: So Raja, you are a bright and intelligent kid. Obviously you would like to move up the corporate ladder. And me being your line manager, I have an obligation to help you chart a career path. To help me do that, could you tell me what you would like to do in 5 year's time?
raja: I don't know. I have not thought about it.
Year: 2008
Time: Appraisal time
Manager: So have you had a chance to think about your career aspirations in the last one year?
raja: I did think about it and I could not arrive at anything.
Year: 2009
Time: Appraisal time
Manager: Now you have come to a point where you will have to say something about what you want to do with your career
raja: Give me 6 months. I will come up with something
And so now, I have the arduous task of finding out what I would like to do with my career. If I could not have found an answer in 3 years, I do not think I will be able to bring forth something in 6 months. Nevertheless, I will list out the options I have and try to arrive at what is best for me.
My manager can not blame me for not proactively thinking about my career. I infact thought about it quite early in my life. When I was small I wanted to be a farmer. Not just that. I wanted to be the best farmer in the world. So I bought a potted plant and tried to grow it as best as I could. I learnt from my biology classes that plants work in the morning and sleep in the night. But I wanted my plant to work 24 hours. So I bought a carton of RedBull and made it drink every drop of it. The result...
My experimental plant on steroids
Superman teeth
One Thursday afternoon, I was watching Forrest Gump when it struck that I could grow shrimps like Forrest. But noone eats shrimps in India. All people eat is rice, chicken and fish fry from road side stalls. That was my big idea. I could grow fish and become a millionaire. My first attempt at fish culture failed as all my fish grew legs and turned to tadpoles and jumped out of my Nutramul pond. If only people ate tadpoles...
A few years later, I realised that my dad worked 5 days a week all round the year. He never had quarterly, half yearly or annual holidays to go fishing or to climb trees or to play hide and seek. I did not want to grow up and work 5 days a week all round the year. So I sat up thinking about jobs that will provide me with quarterly, half yearly and annual holidays. Teacher! I was going to be a teacher. And like usual, the difficulties seeped into my head later. What if the students asked me questions? Could I say ' I will leave that in choice' There was also this moral obligation for the future. If an interviewer asked me what electromagnetic theory is, I would very fluently answer that it is a theory that combines electric theory and magnetic theory in an effort to save writing time in exams. But if I taught that, our future generations will not be able to steal jobs from America.
The answering questions problem arises only if I thought students subjects that had difficult questions. What if I thought easy subjects with easy answers, such as drawing? But showing my drawing exam papers from school is never going to get me a drawing teacher job especially when I have managed to pass only half my drawing tests, and that too just barely.
You are asked questions only if you teach. But if you did something, you can always pretend that you are busy doing stuff and get away with it. Carpentry can be one where I can do stuff such as unnecessarily shaving wood and pretend to be busy! But my carpentry experiences from college are not very encouraging. I once dropped a vernier caliper into a lathe machine and proved that vernier calipers could be sheared up to 0.1 millimeters. I also managed to nail the wooden tray I was making into the working table. If I could nail the tray, I could very well nail my hands and that will not be a pretty sight.
I can't be a computer engineer as I have proved enough number of times that I do not have the IQ to do programming. Nor do I want to be a market researcher. There is no challenge in the job when you have already researched the entire ether-world. I could be an actor if not for the girls that will throng me. I also hate to dance shirt-less on snow capped mountains.
In the last 6 months, I have become a wonderful cook. More and more people have been showering accolades on my cooking skills and less and less people have been running to the bathroom. But cooking is a dangerous sport. I have to live every day of my life with fire, smoke and knives and I end up in tears half the days. So me being a peace-loving person, I think I will have to pass that on.
My cooking has become so awesome that one of my guests didn't even spare the spoon
Time: Appraisal time
Manager: So Raja, you are a bright and intelligent kid. Obviously you would like to move up the corporate ladder. And me being your line manager, I have an obligation to help you chart a career path. To help me do that, could you tell me what you would like to do in 5 year's time?
raja: I don't know. I have not thought about it.
Year: 2008
Time: Appraisal time
Manager: So have you had a chance to think about your career aspirations in the last one year?
raja: I did think about it and I could not arrive at anything.
Year: 2009
Time: Appraisal time
Manager: Now you have come to a point where you will have to say something about what you want to do with your career
raja: Give me 6 months. I will come up with something
And so now, I have the arduous task of finding out what I would like to do with my career. If I could not have found an answer in 3 years, I do not think I will be able to bring forth something in 6 months. Nevertheless, I will list out the options I have and try to arrive at what is best for me.
My manager can not blame me for not proactively thinking about my career. I infact thought about it quite early in my life. When I was small I wanted to be a farmer. Not just that. I wanted to be the best farmer in the world. So I bought a potted plant and tried to grow it as best as I could. I learnt from my biology classes that plants work in the morning and sleep in the night. But I wanted my plant to work 24 hours. So I bought a carton of RedBull and made it drink every drop of it. The result...
My experimental plant on steroidsI concluded that plant nutrition probably was not my forte. So I turned onto nutrition for human beings. I worked to prepare my own magic portion that will provide me infinite strength and put Obelix to shame. I noticed that whenever I refused to eat or drink something, my parents told me the goodness of that particular food or drink. Some made you grow taller, some made you stronger, some gave you x-ray vision, and the list went on and on. So one afternoon, when my parents were away, I managed to gather all those foods and drinks, mix them in a pot and boil them to a paste. I made small tablets out of them. I had a friend who was anxious to become superman before I did; so he had a go at the tablets before I did. I think it is unnecessary to explain that it didn't go very well.
Superman teeth One Thursday afternoon, I was watching Forrest Gump when it struck that I could grow shrimps like Forrest. But noone eats shrimps in India. All people eat is rice, chicken and fish fry from road side stalls. That was my big idea. I could grow fish and become a millionaire. My first attempt at fish culture failed as all my fish grew legs and turned to tadpoles and jumped out of my Nutramul pond. If only people ate tadpoles...
A few years later, I realised that my dad worked 5 days a week all round the year. He never had quarterly, half yearly or annual holidays to go fishing or to climb trees or to play hide and seek. I did not want to grow up and work 5 days a week all round the year. So I sat up thinking about jobs that will provide me with quarterly, half yearly and annual holidays. Teacher! I was going to be a teacher. And like usual, the difficulties seeped into my head later. What if the students asked me questions? Could I say ' I will leave that in choice' There was also this moral obligation for the future. If an interviewer asked me what electromagnetic theory is, I would very fluently answer that it is a theory that combines electric theory and magnetic theory in an effort to save writing time in exams. But if I taught that, our future generations will not be able to steal jobs from America.
The answering questions problem arises only if I thought students subjects that had difficult questions. What if I thought easy subjects with easy answers, such as drawing? But showing my drawing exam papers from school is never going to get me a drawing teacher job especially when I have managed to pass only half my drawing tests, and that too just barely.
You are asked questions only if you teach. But if you did something, you can always pretend that you are busy doing stuff and get away with it. Carpentry can be one where I can do stuff such as unnecessarily shaving wood and pretend to be busy! But my carpentry experiences from college are not very encouraging. I once dropped a vernier caliper into a lathe machine and proved that vernier calipers could be sheared up to 0.1 millimeters. I also managed to nail the wooden tray I was making into the working table. If I could nail the tray, I could very well nail my hands and that will not be a pretty sight.
I can't be a computer engineer as I have proved enough number of times that I do not have the IQ to do programming. Nor do I want to be a market researcher. There is no challenge in the job when you have already researched the entire ether-world. I could be an actor if not for the girls that will throng me. I also hate to dance shirt-less on snow capped mountains.
In the last 6 months, I have become a wonderful cook. More and more people have been showering accolades on my cooking skills and less and less people have been running to the bathroom. But cooking is a dangerous sport. I have to live every day of my life with fire, smoke and knives and I end up in tears half the days. So me being a peace-loving person, I think I will have to pass that on.
My cooking has become so awesome that one of my guests didn't even spare the spoonMoving on to less dangerous sports, I could be a marathoner. It is easier to take this up as I already have a plan to take on the marathon. But I am not going to be the best in the sport. I will blame it on my being a pure bred Dravidian. If I were an Aryan (pure-bred or mixed) I would have been larger than what I am now and larger men have longer legs. So if I took 4 steps to cover 10 feet now, I would do that in 2 steps with my Aryan legs. So all Aryan runners will easily surpass me and I won't be the best in business. There is no point in doing something if you are not the best at it.
Which brings me to where I was 3 years ago. My appraisal is in a year from now. So I can think of it then. I think I could be a procrastinator.
2 September 2009
Red-dy Gar-u
When I was 6, I wanted to be an automobile engineer. I imagined that when I grew up I would build cars and jeeps and the entire nation would run on my 'V' badged super cars. As preparation to my future, I made my parents buy as many miniature cars as the number of outings we took - even if the outing was to the next street grocery shop.
At 16, when hormones worked overtime, my preferences changed and I decided to be a taxi. Like when I was 6, I wanted to prepare for it. So when my parents bought their first 800 like many other Indians, I sneaked the car out as often as I can. After a few initial bumps and scraps I learnt to drive in quick time. I had a good father who rivaled and sometimes surpassed me dumping the car that we cancelled each others' damages. Mum did not know our deal.
Soon I realised that being a taxi driver is not such a good job. Thanks to television, I was enlightened that the job of taxi drivers also had other duties such as buying vegetables, picking up the ironed clothes from the iron-man and washing dishes. The first two were acceptable; but washing dishes? You know how I cringe to touch water. So to soak my hands entirely in a pool of water was not something I could do for the driving job.
My car building plan was still at the back of my head. But I dropped it when I was in my second year of college. I had solid reasons. I had to complete a course called Mechanics of Solids which is fundamental for mechanical engineers. And usually mechanical engineers specialised to become automobile engineers who made cars. But midway through the course I realised that all I was making in the course was zeros. By the looks of it, I could only make circular tyres from the zeros. An engine-less car is no good. So I dropped the plan as I was intelligent enough to know when to give up.
Now, at 26, the mad rush for cars resurfaced again a few weeks ago - but this time to own a car. So I bought one with Jinku's money. I was happy that I could make atleast one part of my car dreams come true, but there were some practical niggles.
First, the UK rules are not as good as Indian rules. In the UK, I am not allowed to park anywhere I want to. Not just that, I have to pay money to park MY car! And; I have to remove the car in less than 2 hours in most places. What a scam. Even when I pay money, I don't get value for the money. I can not park the car the way I want to. I will have to reverse park and parallel park in many places. Why are the British so keen on inserting their cars between other cars? Don't they know it is vulgar to do so in public in many cultures and Britain being a multicultural country must spare a thought for foreigners from other cultures? But the best of all British queerness is that they have speed cameras to spot you if you drove fast. The primary use of a car is to travel from point A to point B as quickly as possible. So what sense does it make to limit your speed?
It is not just the road rules. Buying a car is not just buying a car. One has to get a car insurance which is half the price of the car and no sane man will find logic in it. Even if I crashed my car once every 3 years, instead of just the repairs that the insurance company pays for, will I be not able to buy a new car if I saved up the money I used to insure the car? There is more madness. But I have to stop right here as my tom-tom is alerting me of a security camera watching me rubbishing British rules. But before runaway, come to think of it, what use are the speed cameras when tom-toms know where exactly the cameras are located and warn you a mile before the cameras spot you!
At 16, when hormones worked overtime, my preferences changed and I decided to be a taxi. Like when I was 6, I wanted to prepare for it. So when my parents bought their first 800 like many other Indians, I sneaked the car out as often as I can. After a few initial bumps and scraps I learnt to drive in quick time. I had a good father who rivaled and sometimes surpassed me dumping the car that we cancelled each others' damages. Mum did not know our deal.
Soon I realised that being a taxi driver is not such a good job. Thanks to television, I was enlightened that the job of taxi drivers also had other duties such as buying vegetables, picking up the ironed clothes from the iron-man and washing dishes. The first two were acceptable; but washing dishes? You know how I cringe to touch water. So to soak my hands entirely in a pool of water was not something I could do for the driving job.
My car building plan was still at the back of my head. But I dropped it when I was in my second year of college. I had solid reasons. I had to complete a course called Mechanics of Solids which is fundamental for mechanical engineers. And usually mechanical engineers specialised to become automobile engineers who made cars. But midway through the course I realised that all I was making in the course was zeros. By the looks of it, I could only make circular tyres from the zeros. An engine-less car is no good. So I dropped the plan as I was intelligent enough to know when to give up.
Now, at 26, the mad rush for cars resurfaced again a few weeks ago - but this time to own a car. So I bought one with Jinku's money. I was happy that I could make atleast one part of my car dreams come true, but there were some practical niggles.
First, the UK rules are not as good as Indian rules. In the UK, I am not allowed to park anywhere I want to. Not just that, I have to pay money to park MY car! And; I have to remove the car in less than 2 hours in most places. What a scam. Even when I pay money, I don't get value for the money. I can not park the car the way I want to. I will have to reverse park and parallel park in many places. Why are the British so keen on inserting their cars between other cars? Don't they know it is vulgar to do so in public in many cultures and Britain being a multicultural country must spare a thought for foreigners from other cultures? But the best of all British queerness is that they have speed cameras to spot you if you drove fast. The primary use of a car is to travel from point A to point B as quickly as possible. So what sense does it make to limit your speed?
It is not just the road rules. Buying a car is not just buying a car. One has to get a car insurance which is half the price of the car and no sane man will find logic in it. Even if I crashed my car once every 3 years, instead of just the repairs that the insurance company pays for, will I be not able to buy a new car if I saved up the money I used to insure the car? There is more madness. But I have to stop right here as my tom-tom is alerting me of a security camera watching me rubbishing British rules. But before runaway, come to think of it, what use are the speed cameras when tom-toms know where exactly the cameras are located and warn you a mile before the cameras spot you!
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