Weighty Questions

A lot of things have happened over the past week. Apart from the fact that South Africa won the greatest One day International ever played and India is on the brink of victory, yours truly has made a resolution to shed some weight. Not that I have decided to do a whole lot about it. I am a strong proponent of the concentrate-so-hard-until-you-lose-weight school of thought. I started believing in this fundamental truth when the Buddhist monk-kid in Matrix said,” Do not try to bend the spoon; instead realize there is no spoon”. This was bolstered when I read, “when you want something with all your heart, the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it”.

Of course those of you, who are unfortunate enough to know me well, would have guessed by now that I have started talking about it already. I happened to casually mention this to a good friend of mine who was equally hell-bent on losing some weight, albeit for very different reasons. She was shocked when I told her that I had lost just a little less than 2 kg over the last week. A few expletives later on what a lucky *bugger* I was, she got down to taking some expert tips from me on ‘how to lose weight’. I almost chuckled when she admitted that she aimed at losing 1 kg a month. I almost got punched in the nose for that. Conversation was thus happening in a free and candid fashion when suddenly, out of the blue, she popped the question. Oh no, not that one, but one that is dreaded equally by mankind.

“Ganesh, tell me frankly, do I look fat?”

The fact that womankind has mastered the art of flummoxing mankind is evident by how intricately the question was worded. Allow yours truly the pleasure of taking you through the query in a systematic manner. Firstly, the line starts by addressing me directly. This precludes the possibility of me trying to pretend as if she was talking to someone else. Also jumping out of the third floor window is not a viable option because you may end up breaking your bones and would not be able to run again when she confronts you on the ground a few minutes later. Secondly, the word “frankly” takes care of whatever little ability men have at attempting a direct lie. Of equal efficacy is “look into my eyes and answer”. This is the reason, why you don’t hear men say things like,” You look perfect” or “The baby is so beautiful” or “We are just friends” to women. It is time to face it – lying to women can be a traumatic and a life changing experience for most men. Thirdly, she doesn’t ask me if ‘I think she looks fat’, she asks me if ‘she looks fat’. This makes useless the hedge that all men use at all times. You can’t start the sentence with “I think...” and later convince her that you were on top of 270 ml of Vodka and were not thinking straight.

Although, man has made tremendous progress when it comes to science, he has advanced little in unraveling the mysteries of responding in an intelligible fashion to women. Gibbering is still considered a satisfactory response to a compliment from a beautiful girl. There is very little downside to “unsatisfactory” response to a compliment. You are, however liable to get bonked on the head if you err in answering the question above. Changing the topic by talking about how this cute guy at work was checking her out is still the best way out.

Chasing Perfection

There are some days, which compel you to break rules. I broke one such rule today – blog about cricket. I had refrained from writing about cricket for the greater good of my not-so-crazy-about-cricket readers. So, if you are Indian and an avid cricket follower, then do read on. The lines that follow would in all probability make you swell with pride. If you however do not care much about the classic duel between bat and ball, I would still encourage you to read further. Who knows, if this write-up does make you sit up and take even an infinitesimally small amount of interest in cricket, I would consider myself successful - successful in doing my bit to make this world a better place to live in 

Writing about Cricket is complex business. There are times when you gush about how magnificent your team is and then there are times when you, well, do not. The fact that India got to the World cup final by decimating all the other cricketing nations made me feel proud of my team. The fact that they cowed in to Australia in that very final made me feel quite the opposite way. You would say nothing is absolute; it just depends on whether India won or lost on that day, right?

Wrong.

As the Indian score stood at 190/5 chasing 289 for victory, time almost came to a stand still. Kaif was making the long dreaded walk back to the pavilion, which felt longer for the batsman because he had not contributed numerically to the team’s cause. This scene was not entirely new for the Indian fans. There have been numerous occasions in the past, where India has come tantalizingly close to “finishing” things off and clinching the deal, but have faltered before scoring that most-important run. This however was a different day, a different opposition and a different Indian team. Yes, The New Age Indian Cricket team had arrived. Dhoni had arrived.

As the Indian score still stood at 190/5, Dhoni walked in to the middle with his familiar swagger. He went about setting things straight right away. A few nervous pokes, getting off the mark and a one handed boundary over the bowler’s head was all it took for him to get into his devastating rhythm. As nervous Indian followers bit their nails off, Dhoni did what he knew best. He pulled, cut, hoiked, drove, hooked and belted the leather out of the hapless Paki bowlers. Lesser batters watched in awe and admiration at the wonderful and unbelievable array of shots that he unleashed. Worth special mention were the consecutive offside punches for four off Asif, which crashed into the railings before the fielders could even move two paces. Then, there was that Rana Naved over which would have the unfortunate bowler having nightmares and waking up in a pool of sweat, in the middle of the night for some months to come. These swashbuckling shots more than just crashed into the advertising hoardings. They averted the famed Indian collapse and derailed whatever little hope the Pakis had of winning the match. The winning runs came in style off a ferocious hook played in a manner, which would have put fear even into the hearts of Larwood, Voce and Co. of the Bodyline fame.

While watching the match, it felt quite silly at times to be alone in the living room, hurling obscenities at the Paki bowlers and punching into thin air when Dhoni hit away to glory. However, nothing, sure as hell, in the whole world would have felt better. Well, I would have to admit that hearing Inzamam say, “We not fielding well today, that’s why we lose match...” in the post-match conference did come close.

Treat for Four

The pretty girl looked at me eagerly, her innocent big round eyes waiting in anticipation for any movement of mine. Her ears looked eager to catch the next words emanating from my mouth.

I looked long and hard at her, and then I looked longer at the menu card. Then I glanced at the placard kept on my table and turned to the Pizza Hut server to place my order.

“I will keep it simple.Please get that offer of yours - “Treat for Four” please!”

As soon as I uttered those words, I could see her eyes widen in surprise. I thought I heard a silent gasp.

A little background would be in order here. A “Treat for four” meal at Pizza Hut is the ultimate test. The ultimate value for money. A gastronomic delight in terms of quantity.It includes the following:
1.Two Medium sized Pizzas (10” me thinks)
2.A plate of Pasta
3.Garlic Bread (4 Nos)
4.Two cups of Soup
5.Two Glasses of Pepsi

You would normally think that waiters, servers, maitre d’ and others of the kind would be very subtle with emotions. Theirs is clearly not to stare and glare but to bare what comes their way. This young girl however, was clearly not able to hide her horror at the thought that I was going to finish off the “Meal for four” all by myself.

On a good day, where I have not had a lot of food in the evening, I actually might eat all of that for dinner. I like good food and I like it in plenty. It is true that the “Pizza” had left an indelible mark on me after all that consumption in the US last year. However, they say “Time heals everything” and they say that with good reason. After about 6 months of abstinence from pizza, I was all-eager to dig deep and dig plenty into the Pizza. However, she clearly overestimated my abilities on that particular day. I was just back from the Bryan Adams concert after about 4 hours of standing and singing. For a feat like this, you need focus and determination. I was clearly not in the “zone” then. Fortunately, my flat mate who is a shade over 6’5” walked in and sat at my table.

Her frown vanished, a smile appeared and blood returned to her cheeks. Understanding dawned on her and perhaps empathy also. She could now imagine two guys - one 6 feet tall and another six and a half feet tall lapping up the great “meal for four”. The next words she spoke came out fast and furious...

“Yes sir, I will get the soup and the drinks right away. The Garlic Bread would be here in 8 minutes, the Pasta in 6 minutes, and the Pizzas in 15 minutes. Have a nice meal!”

P.S. I rang the bell this time around.

The Friends Quiz

It has been sometime since I pampered myself, so I made a quiz about myself. Take it to find out how much you know about me.

Take my Quiz

If you score anything below 70, you better call me up and stay in touch !

Roads .....

I just got my bike transported to Bangalore. After three months of driving sedans in the US of A, life is back to plain harsh reality – driving in Bangalore. I haven’t had the privilege of driving a lot on these roads but after having had the opportunity to be an observer, I have some observations/pointers for the people who would like to venture on to these one-of-the kind roads:

1.So, do we drive to the left of the road in Bangalore? Yes we do, most of the times, that is. We start on the left of the road, and when we do not have any space left we move to right side of the road. This is a continuous process and it proceeds by moving to the next available empty space. Very much like draughts or chess, just that this requires much more dexterity, skill and foresight on our part.

2.We find lanes claustrophobic. I mean, how can a self-respecting driver stay in one lane all the time? We value our freedom of more than 50 years and extend the same to our roads. We like to switch lanes and demonstrate our skills on the bike. But then if this gives off the impression that we are all glamour and no responsibility, it is wrong. We never do wheelies on the main roads.

3.Unlike some countries, where honking may be considered offensive, we rise above such frivolous interpersonal issues. We honk for the sheer joy of it. We honk when we are making a turn, we honk when we see someone ahead of us, we honk when we see someone overtaking us. We even honk in a traffic jam. We Bangloreans are a spiritual lot and we believe in miracles. We believe that honking can miraculously clear the traffic in front of us. Though this has never ever happened, we still don’t give up. We are a persisting and a persevering lot, you know.

4.The roads in Bangalore do not have shoulders – more like boulders? Yes. Unlike some countries’ roads which have a lane which is not used by the general public, we don’t have such a system. We are strong adherers of that famous law by that good natured chap, Parkinson and we make sure that the traffic expands to fill the available space, even time at times.

5.Given our strong Indian roots, we have a strong sense of equality. This extends to our roads too. Everyone on the road is an equal, be it the Rs 12 K moped-wala or the guy who owns the Rs. 65 L Mercedes S class. Both take the same time to get to a place from a certain other place. We are all equal here in Bangalore. The Bangalore traffic is such a strict proponent of this philosophy that it would not allow even an ambulance with a critical patient inside to go through it. We Bangloreans however are not totally devoid of human sensibility. The ambulance blare sometimes is a pain.

All said and done, driving here is fun, uninhibited and full of frolic. Throw in the added excitement of having to deal with the excellent traffic constabulary here, (which by the way speaks only language – Kannada and mysteriously translates a fine Rs.100 to Rs.200 when spoken to in Hindi), and you have nothing short of a James Bond thriller - without his ladies of course. Roads in Bangalore as they say are like James Bond - licensed to kill.