Numerically speaking...

How much did the baby weigh?
It’s already nine months, and he hasn’t started crawling yet?
He is three years old, have you put him in school yet?
Beta, How many marks did you get?
What is your rank? Oh, you lost the first rank by 2 marks?
How did you lose the centum in Maths? So what if it is by only one mark, a centum is a perfect score. Anything less is imperfect.
How fast did you run the 100 metre race? What?? You came last?
What is your height? At your age, it should be more.
How much did you score in X std?
How much is the cut off for admission in that college/course?
What is your CAT percentile?
How many calls did you get? How many did you convert?
What is your CGPA?
How many job offers did you get?
What is the package? What is the take-home? What is the variable pay?
How much is your increment? What was the bonus?
What is your weight? Waist size? It is too much for your age!
How much rent do you pay? What is the area of your house?
How many girlfriends do you have?
When are you getting married?
How many kids do you plan to have?
What is the price of your home? How many sq. ft?
How many homes do you own?
What did you pay for that car?
When do you plan to retire?
How much money would you want before retiring?
How much is your mediclaim cover?
How much is your pension plan?
Oh, he is dead! What is his life insurance worth? How much did he leave behind for his kids?

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For a guy who makes a living crunching numbers, I am sometimes fed up of people measuring everything numerically...

The Great Daruwala, again!

Inspired by this... Thanx Amit Varma for the link...

I came to know you want another cow,
I offer to help you figure out how,
I also know that you are in a great fix
As you search for the Wimbledon no. 6!
From Bejan 'Daru'wala, With Love…

During the Roland Garros Slam
when Rafa went Wham Bam Bam
I supported you, and even made a large punt
Against the Man Who can Snort and Grunt
But your pathetic showing made me go “Oh Damn!”

I’ll tell u something new, “Approach the Net!”
Don’t let Rafa win a single damn set!!!
Go back to your strength, serve and volley...
btw, do keep in hand a really large brolly,
Bcoz if it is Wimbledon, you’re bound to get wet!

The key to your game is Mercury and Sun
It does also help if you can make Rafa run,
Get some women to jump out of their seats and go wild
and scream out their lungs, “Rafa, will you father my child?”
Rafa will lose focus, and you’ll remain world number one…

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PS: For those who missed it earlier, Bejan had advised Sachin too...

Arbit PJ-ing

You know, there are times when I am really bored... this is when I decide to inflict some pun-ishment on my friends...

this is one of those times... (some of these would have been my g-talk status msgs... others are new... all are original, since no one that I know of comes up with such crap...)

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Q. Why is Beckham no longer a good footballer?
A. B’coz when posh comes to shove, he backs out.
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I called my agent one day, “The Sensex is tanking. I am broke.”
He replied, “I’m broker.”
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Q. What did the lawyer say when asked for the secret behind his magical success?
A. If I tell you, I’ll have to bill you.
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Man 1: My wife gives me a hard time.
Man 2: I wish mine did.
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I just had a hair- raising experience. I went to the stylist.
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What did Mama Eagle tell Baby Eagle?
You can’t have your snake and eat it too.
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Once they invited Ravi Shastri to do commentary for a F-1 race. He started off, “And the Ferrari car took off like a racer bullet”.
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SPJIMR specific…
I was doing group work with Deepanand once. Suddenly the devil appeared before us. Man, that day, I was really caught between the devil and the DeepC.

ok, so that was really arbit... but this is what you get when you work on crap all day...

Adios... and to finish it... "In which state of India do they hit you with words?"... "Pun-jab"...

aargh... let's close this now...

Me and my shitty job...

Regular readers of this blog (yes, such unfortunate souls do exist!) would remember me talking bullshit...

Well, just when I thought I was over and done with projects involving undigested remnants of bovine animals' dinners, I find myself with another, for lack of a better word, interesting project...

Well, there is a mineral clay which is used in lots of places... but the primary use for it is cat litter... yes, you heard that right... cats are trained to drop their unholy shit in litter boxes which are filled with this material... and this makes it easier for disposal apparently...

so now I am searching my way through google, trying to find research reports on how many household cats are there in USA and Europe (more than 50 million), how many of them are toilet trained (data still unavailable), how many tons of shit they generate (if I don't get data, I'll have to extrapolate... if a buffalo can do 5 tons a year, a cat should do __ tons a year... something like the question they ask in consulting job interviews on campus), etc etc...

I sometimes wonder how I always get to poke my nose into such projects... but I still love it because, after I submit the report and the boss says "It's such a crappy report", I could retort, "It was meant to be... after all, the report has to be consistent with the end product."

So, for all those people who are complaining that they are doing shitty work, or cribbing that their bosses stink, I have just one thing to say: "You ain't smelt anything yet!"

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PS: The same mineral is used in face creams and mud packs... now we know why women get into all those catfights...

Rains... Capitalism... and a stupid story...

Raju watched the two of them walking hand-in-hand, obviously enjoying each other’s company. The guy was wearing what looked to be an expensive jacket, and jeans fashionably torn at the knees. “Such rich people, and they still end up wearing torn clothes”, thought Raju, looking at his own clothes which could do with a stitch or two. The girl was wearing tight jeans which ended just below her knee, showing off some well-toned calf muscles. “Nice legs”, thought Raju, “but I have seen better.” Finally, his thoughts returned to the business at hand, “I wish they would buy some bhutta”.

Raju was a fifteen year old who sold different things at different times of the year, along the stretch of concrete that was called the Marine Drive promenade. During the summer, he would hawk cold water bottles and kulfi, switch to buttered bhutta during the monsoons, and finally to garma-garam masala chai during the winters. Raju also attended the evening school run by the municipality, where he had to switch to after his father lost his job. His father had had big dreams for his son, but the loss of job had turned him into an abusive drunk. Raju also had big dreams for himself, but the fact he dreamed them up during his naps at the night class did not help those dreams.

The couple also sighted Raju and his bhutta paraphernalia as they walked along. The girl jumped at the sight of the warm bhutta, which would be rendered tastier with a dash of some red-coloured masala. She was reminded of her mom’s advice, “Don’t eat anything outside during monsoon. You’ll fall ill.” Bah, some doctors never switch off from their profession and become parents when they come home. “Mom, Dad, I know you run a successful clinic, and have earned a reputation for yourself in this part of town. But, puh-leese, I’m not one of the sundry patients that you free from the disease called too-much-money-and-as-much-hypochondria. I’m your daughter, let me enjoy my life”, she thought. She smacked her lips, both from the thrill of disobeying her mom’s food curfew, and the warm smell of the bhutta.

Raju too smacked his lips, though not too visibly. He had seen the girl look longingly at his bhutta stall, and knew the couple would soon come over soon. Couples were easy prey. You could quote a higher price, and the guys wouldn’t bargain, not in front of the girls they were desperate to impress. Not like those old retired uncles, who had given up impressing anyone, and haggled like you had asked them to hand over their entire retirement fund and their ancestral property. Raju fanned his stove with a flourish, and let out a shrill “garma garam bhutta… maska laga ke”…

The guy heard the pitch and cursed silently. “Damn”, he thought, “this bugger is going to fleece me now. But I can’t say no to her now, not if I hope to have any chance of my own treat today. And what the hell, I do like the salty taste on her lips after she’s had the bhutta.”

“I love rains. The pitter-patter sound, the smell of the earth, the relief from the sticky hot summer… the bhutta with the butter, the hot-chai with the pakora, the walk along Marine Drive with the waves spraying sea water in your face…” the girl was excitedly telling her partner.

“I hate the rains… the roof in the classroom leaks, the gutter flowing along our shanty is already overflowing, and there is a rumour that the BMC would demolish our slum next week. All three sets of my clothes are wet, and I hate the musty stink when I wear them,” Raju thought.

The couple bought the bhutta, munched away happily, hopped into the car parked nearby and zoomed away. Soon after, the cop with a heavy paunch (“after all, all that hafta has to end up somewhere”) came along and chased Raju away.

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Two years went by, and Raju passed out of the municipal school with flying colours. He was granted a scholarship and went on to do a graduation in commerce.

One evening, there was a class on economics. In between sporadic bouts of naps (“the habit of napping during the evening classes refuses to go away”), Raju heard his teacher monotone away, “Capitalism is a system where the Government follows a laissez-faire policy, and market forces determine everything. It is not the Government’s business to run business…”

Raju thought, “But capitalism is what forced my dad to become a drunk wastrel. He was employed in a PSU that was privatized, and soon after, the new owners fired away workers in the name of down-sizing, and I had to leave my private school because my father couldn’t afford the fees…”

“Capitalism helps a nation achieve its full potential… It may not always result in equitable distribution of wealth, but the trickle-down effect…”

“trickle down… trickle down… funny, how capitalism is like the rains… people who are sheltered from its wrath enjoy it, see the good things in it, enjoy the bhutta and the waves and sit in their cars and watch the water trickle down their windows with joy… people who are homeless in the floods hate the rains… people who have nice jobs, good cars, fifty varieties of everything in shopping malls love capitalism... people who are jobless from the capitalism induced down-sizing floods hate it,” thought Raju.

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Raju excelled in his studies, was granted another scholarship and went on to do an MBA. He told himself that one day, he would work for the benefit of street children and poor people.

On the final placement day, he was given two job offers. One with a micro-finance institution which would not pay much, require him to travel to the rural interiors, but would give him a genuine chance to really make a difference to some people’s lives. The other with an MNC bank, all plush comforts, fat bonus and package, company accommodation in the posh part of the city, and a company leased vehicle.

He thought over the two offers, reflected on his life so far, and signed the form for the placement sign-out.

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Two months later, as the rains hit Mumbai with a vengeance, Raju rolled up the windows of his car, watched the rain drops trickle down the window, turned around, kissed his girlfriend and said, “I just love the rains…”

And, as an after-thought, he said to himself, “I love capitalism too… I liked socialism as long as the Government sponsored my education and ran evening schools… but no PSU micro-finance organization can match the comforts of this MNC job… I support any -ism as long as I can benefit, and that makes me a true capitalist at heart…”

God... and His sense of humour... and some senti conversation... basically random post...

Warning: Long, senti post...
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God sure has a weird sense of humour… so would you and I in his place… imagine having the power to do anything you want… imagine the power to make anyone do anything you want…

So, once upon a time, twenty five years ago, God decided to play a prank on this world… well, maybe not on the whole world (He had already done that thru one Mr. George W Bush)… but He decided to make life miserable for some select set of unfortunate people…

And thus, while no jackals howled and no vultures screeched (or at least I did not hear any), I was born… but God did not stop at that… no sir, He is too naughty for that…He ensured that my parents gave my a very god-ly name… and not just one… like any self-respecting marketer, he threw in a “buy one, get two free” deal… not on the kids, on the names…

But then, this is not about God and His pranks… this is about the conversation I had with Him, on my birthday…

Me: “Hi mate… had planned to come and meet you at the temple, but sorry I couldn’t make it… something else came up…”

God: “it’s ok buddy… have you never heard of ‘Man proposes, God disposes’?”

Me: “well, I have never proposed to anyone, leave alone to you… so how would I know?”

God: “thank God, oops thank me, you haven’t… imagine the plight of the poor girl who would have to spend all her life listening to your PJs.”

Me: “I know… but then, my mom will take care of that… after all, arranged marriages are like socialism, where a higher authority ensures you get something, irrespective of whether you deserve it or not…”

God: “dude, let’s not even start on the market versus state thingy… if the marriage market were capitalistic, you would be scratching the bottom of the pyramid… and trust me, there is no CK Prahlad in the marriage market to direct gullible girls to that market segment…”

Me: “yeah, I know… forget the girl… what I’d really like is a Ferrari… and a Malabar Hill bungalow maybe…”

God (clutching his stomach): “hohhoh… Ferrari indeed… do you even know how to drive… don’t do this to me man… my stomach aches if I laugh this hard…ROFL”

Me: "I'd like to see you actually ROFL... in fact, I'd like to see you ROFLMAO"

God: "well, I can roll on the floor and laugh your ass off..."

Me: "oops... I forgot that you are all-powerful and all that... sorry..."

God: "hmm, that's more like it... you should learn to show some respect... now, what were you asking? oh haan, Ferrari... hohohahahooo... get a driving license first idiot..."

Me: “alright, alright, maybe I don’t know how to drive a car… but if I can afford a Ferrari, I can surely afford a chauffer…”

God: “yeah indeed… keep dreaming…”

Me: “what’s wrong in dreaming? After all, I dreamt that I’d be a millionaire by 25.”

God: “And are you?”

Me: “well, I maybe off by a coupla zeroes…”

God: “see…”

Me: “but then, that shouldn’t stop me from dreaming…”

God: “Indeed it shouldn’t. Keep dreaming. You can’t face reality anyways…”

Me: “Now, why would you say that?”

God: “ever looked into a mirror after waking up?”

Me: “of course… do it every day… and I see a very handsome being…”

God: “ok, lemme correct that… ever looked into a mirror with your glasses on?”

Me: “oh… you mean… oh my… so, it is the glasses that make me look bad?”

God: “duh… the glasses make you look… blind bugger…”

Me: “but what does looking good have to do with wanting am Ferrari?”

God: “nuthin… am just playing safe… next thing you might ask for a babe to go with the Ferrari…”

Me: “hmm… that would be nice…”

God: “greedy pig… I have given you so much in life… and still you keep whining for more”

Me: "like? from what I can see, with my glasses on, you haven't given me much..."

God: “a loving family, friends who care for you in spite of you being, uh um, you… a nice job, and enough food to fill that fat tummy of yours…”

Me: “hmm… I am thankful for all that… but a Ferrari on top of all this would be nice indeed…”

And before God could raise one of His four arms and give me wonn tight slap, I got a phone call and I woke up…

It was from home, wishing me “Happy Birthday”…

And I suddenly felt thankful for a loving family, friends who care for me in spite of me being, uh um, me… a nice job, and enough food to fill that fat tummy of mine…

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PS: Birthdays always make me senti… snif snif… ppl who expected PJs kindly excoos… the PJs would be back in full flow soon enough…

PPS: All those agnostic/atheist buggers who run around screaming “God doesn’t exist”… shut up… He does exist… atleast for the purposes of this post… now be honest, tell me, if He decides to give you a Ferrari, would you say you believe in Him?

The Land of the Kama Sutra...

Sometime, very very long ago, some kinked up guy let his imagination run wild, and came up with a book on the 'Art of Loving'...
Little did he know that centuries later, every pseudo-journalist in the country would take his name and the name of his book as their stock argument for any debate...

Yes sirree, "The Land of the Kamasutra" seems to be the most abused term in the media today... we'll see how...
Some weirdo politician realizes that what was one of his VIP perks (watching half-naked firang chicks gyrate) is suddenly available to the masses in the name of 'cheerleaders'... now, if every tom with a dick can enjoy the privileges of VVIP, what is the point of being a VVIP... something like every guy driving around with a beacon flashing on top of his vehicle... so, the netaji in his infinte wisdom and in the interest of serving the nation decides "Cheerleaders must cover up"... and bingo, you have journalists protesting... what they use as an argument is not the cheerleaders' right to do what they please, the people's right to watch what they please... no sir, leave such logical points aside... what we'll use is our brahma astra... "How, in the Land of the Kamasutra, can a politician be so regressive?" Indeed, how sir!

Then, one MF Husain does a nude painting of some Goddess, or of Bharat Mata herself... now, I am not going to go into the merits of allowing or disallowing "freedom of expression"... for a moment, set that aside... again, journalists and learned judges are not going to say "let us protect freedom of expression"... or even "let us leave an old man and his wild fantasies alone"... no, what they'll say is "How, in the Land of the Kamasutra, can people be so prudish about nudity?"...

and thus it goes on... Mahesh Bhatt will make his heroines parade around half-naked, and say "In the Land of the Kamasutra", this is nothing... Emraan Kiss-me will do the only thing they taught him in his acting school... when people protest about them not getting a chance to get up, close and personal with miscellaneous starlets, Emraan would not ask "Who's your uncle, mister?"... no he would say, "In the Land of the Kamasutra..."

A Miss World contest will be held, beautiful ladies in skimpy swimsuits would proclaim their ambition to save the world, foolish people would protest that they don't want to be saved by bikini clad bimbos, and the organizers would not say "What's your problem, buddy?"... they would say, "In the Land of the Kamasutra..."

At this rate, sychophants of various orders would kiss the ass of Madame S, and justify it saying, "In the metaphorical Land of Kamasutra"... Manmohan would bend over backwards to accommodate the demands of the Left, and justify it saying "bending over backwards is a rare position in the famous book..."

Finally, the next time I read this, I would like to take the newspaper and shove it up the journalist's you-know-where... and tell them to read what Mr. Vatsayayana had written about the pleasures of shoving things up people's you-know-wheres...