Prank

I once had casually called up my best friend, but I received a shock when I reached the wrong number. At that point of time, I believed that cross connections were not possible on mobile networks. This is how the affair took place.

I dialled 9820098200.

Me: Hello Tejaswini.

Voice at the other end: Tejaswini? This is Manoj Tiwari’s number.

Stunned, I apologized and hung up.

I dialled the number again.

Me: Hello Tejaswini?

Voice at the other end: Wrong number this is Anush Parekh’s number.

Now I was feeling jittery. I was sure I had dialed the correct number. I made a third attempt.

Me: Hello Tejaswini?

Voice at the other end: No. This is Rohan Dasgupta.

I hung up, nearly convinced that the world had gone mad. Sense dwelled upon me in a few seconds and I had the saner thought that the Dolphin network might have gone barmy.

I was slightly on the edge. I simply couldn’t fathom the fact that I was unable to reach my best friend’s cell number. I called up her boyfriend.

Me: Hello Arvind?

Arvind: Hi Natalia. Bolo, how are you?

Me: Arre, what is Tejaswini’s mobile number?

Arvind: (in a tone that expressed surprise and the obviousness of the answer) 9820098200. Are you ok? What happened?

Me: I have been dialling this number but a man is answering the call.

Arvind: No way! I am the only man in her life!

Me: Thanks for clarifying your status in her life but I don’t know what’s happening!

Arvind: Hey chill, she is at a friend’s place for some project work. Someone must be fooling around with her cell.

Me: Oh ok. Thanks I’ll try again. Bye.

Arvind: Bye.

This time I had got smarter. I dialled her number again but from my Mom’s cell.

Me: Hello, May I speak to Kumodini Agrawal?

Voice at the other end: This is Tejaswini’s number.

Me: Very good. Give her the phone!



P.S.: The mobile number used here is that of the Vodafone India helpline to prevent any trouble Bye!

Gluttony and the Laws of Economics

I am a food-lover. So is my friend a gourmet. Our love for good food goes to such heights that we don’t care a toss about customs and traditions when it comes to our gustatory preferences. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday are all fine for devouring all types of foodstuff inclusive of non-vegetarian fare. Every morsel of food is religiously chewed 32 times to enjoy the taste and nutritional benefits to the hilt. Fasting is a vice in our book. Prolonged dialogues on the pleasures of food, especially chocolates are a ritual. I can eat chocolates non-stop . CadburyFlake and Ferrero Rocher top my list. In my opinion, 1920 was the most important and eventful year of the 20th century as that was the year Cadbury launched Cadburyflake.

We have another friend who shares this trait of ours. Regrettably, this friend is a glutton. This guy shows absolutely no interest whatsoever in taking pleasure in the finer aspects of food, savouring the different flavours of the spices that linger on your tongue and enjoying the immense psychological delights that food provides us. All he seems to understand is wolfing down gargantuan portions of food and assumes that being a connoisseur of good food is equivalent gobbling down larger and larger quantities of food and drinks. It completely beats the point of culinary pursuits. He eats like a pig, stuffing his face on every edible thing in sight ; he eats humongous quantities of fast food , has an unquenchable thirst for soft drinks and commits the cardinal sin of likening junk food with delicious delights. That he is a dipsomaniac does not deserver special mention. He boasts that no amounts of alcohol can have any effect on the ability of his cerebrum and cerebellum to work in tandem with each other. Policemen around the planet will undeniably disagree with him and medical practitioners may consider this claim as a subject worth researching. I am willing to bet insane sums of money on his liver being as greasy as that of a duck destined to descend on our dishes as Foie gras. Well, to put it simply he celebrates the New Year 365 days of the year!

We had once collectively tried to drill sense into that part of his central nervous system that includes all his higher nervous centres; enclosed within the skull; continuous with the spinal cord i.e. his head. My friend attempted to bring about a change of the locus of feelings and intuitions i.e. heart. The timing was wrong. We were having a golgappa munching session. She first sought the support of scientific statements. She commenced her sermon by elucidating how his excessive food consumption could lead to hypertension, diabetes, cardiac complications, stomach ulcers, arteriosclerosis and every possible lifestyle disease that she had committed to memory. He rubbished her monologue retorting that he was convinced that scientists publish such gobbledygook simply because they do not have better alternatives for disposing off their research grants and doctors uphold these claims because they derive sadistic satisfaction by scaring all souls in sight. Result = zilch. It was now his turn to launch into a discourse about why and how he would never quit eating and drinking the way he does as he believed that he wanted to die a happy man, happy because he ate and drank to his heart’s content.

My objection to his elephantine consumption was more on the basis of economics. I told my friend to leave him in peace. My friend and I have studied economics. The gluttonous creature has not.

Me: Forget it. He won’t understand. Let’s wait till the marginal utility of all that he consumes hits zero and then becomes negative. It has to.

Friend: Yup you are right. The marginal utility has to hit zero, then it will become negative and finally he will suffer from something!

Gluttonous friend: What do you mean? (Chomping on golgappas)

Me: I think it’s not his fault. The Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility does not work in his case!

Me and Friend:

Gluttonous Friend:


I had, economically speaking, proved him abnormal.

Suicidally curious

We are told that curiosity killed the cat. Well I don’t know which cat but a few years ago, my little brother was well on his way to join that cat. As an eight year old, he was very cute, sweet and always enormously curious to know what his elder sisters were up to. I was in class ten at that point of time. Often, he would join me while I was studying; snuggle into my arms while I would read my textbooks. He would always be intent on reading my texts. He never managed to sustain his enthusiasm beyond two paragraphs at the most but I guess he would get a kick by reading out of a 10^th standard textbook while he was himself in class 3.

On fine day, he joined me while I was reading up the Science 1 (Physics and Chemistry) texts. He started reading as usual. That paragraph enumerated the precautions to be taken while handing electronic equipment. He had learnt for the first time that handling electronic equipments with wet hands can cause a shock; that we must wear rubber slippers or gloves while using such machines and especially electric sockets, etc. he asked if all that was true. I replied in the affirmative. He wanted to know what a shock was. I told him that it can cause a seizure (I faked one to explain what it may look like), burns and a heart attack which means that our heart stops working abruptly. He nodded seriously and went off to play as usual.

Three days later, in the morning, after he had had his bath, he was madly calling out my name from the bathroom. I thought he had forgotten his towel. When I went to look, this little devil already had a towel wrapped around him. I asked him what the matter was. The conversation that followed went something like this.

Brother: I am going to tell Mom to take you out of school. There is no need for you to go to school. They teach you nonsense in class 10.

I was stunned to witness my education being questioned.

Me: Why? What happened?

Brother: Come in. (Pointing to the bathroom)

Before I could even understand what was happening, he splashed handful water on the switchboard and turned on and switched off the switch for the geyser.

Brother: You see, your textbook is wrong, the switchboard was wet, my hands were wet, I am not wearing rubber slippers, I touched the switched board and I did not suffer a shock, neither did I die. I am still alive.

I rolled my eyes in disbelief. He actually checked whether he would be killed!

I understood my mistake and patiently explained what insulators were. It then seemed to dawn upon him why he was yet alive.

A Hairy Tale

Friend: Hi Natalia!

Me: Hi! Howz life?

Friend: Bad.

Me: What happened? Did you put up a few kilos? You seem to be in good shape.

Friend: No re! Stop kidding! I have a problem.

Me: Oh! If it is not weight, then it must be a boy.

Friend: Are you a mind reader or what?

Me: Nope. I am experienced. That expression on your face says that you are pining for your Prince Charming but you never told me that you have a guy.

Friend: That is because I don’t have one. I started liking one recently. But…

Me: He doesn’t notice you, doesn’t seem to be interested in you. Oh he doesn’t look at you!

Friend: (sarcastically) Thank you for completing my sentence. So what should I do now? How do I get him to at least look at me?

Me: Hey I am not a love guru nor am I an agony aunt.

Friend: Natalia help!

Me: (Sensing danger) Ok Ok. Let me think. Hey you have nice long hair.

Friend: Thank you for the compliment but how does that help me?

Me: Move around with your hair open when he is around. That will help you definitely.

Friend: How do you know? That advice sounds silly to me!

Me: You are a bad observer. Boys love girls with their hair open.

Friend: How do you know? Tell me that first!

Me: Haven’t you seen that Parachute Coconut Hair oil ad, with the jingle Gorgeous Hameshaa (Forever)?

Friend: So?

Me: That ad is from a man’s point of view. It’s a man singing about his favorite girl/ woman or maybe wife or girlfriend. It’s very different from other hair product ads which always extol the virtues of Shampoo X or Hair oil Y or Hair Colour Z! And those ads always have women talking about the benefits of the product. The Gorgeous Hameshaa campaign is different; it’s about a guy admiring his girl doing different things with her hair. Many of the women in that ad are with their hair open. That means that men prefer their women with their hair open. Women with long flowing hair excite men. I am sure!

Friend: You sure? Serious?

Me: Yup. I think open hair would work better than a low-cut T-shirt anyway!

Friend: Yuck. Stop joking! I am serious.

Me: Thousand apologies! (With folded hands, she was offended)

Friend: So tomorrow, while he will be hanging around the canteen during recess, I go there with my hair open, all prep and proper. He is generally there with his friends. I hope he notices me and likes me. We might even be able to get to the point of talking in a few weeks.

Me: Oh! (Sneakily) But let me warn you, even his friends will be excited if they see you like that. Open hair excites all men. By the way, excitement in such cases generally means an erection.

Friend: (Furiously) NATALIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At that point, I ran for my life.

It’s Raining Men, Hallelujah!

My friend: Tell me Natalia, have you ever seriously loved a guy?

Me: Yup. Next?

My friend: Just one guy?

Me: Hmm, nope, wait let me count them.

My friend: You're joking! Are you nuts?

Me: Nope, I seem to have a weird fortune with guys. Every time I like one I find out that he already likes or is dating someone else! Crazy isn’t it? But anyway, they were more like big crushes!

My friend: (Giggles) so tell me, how do you cope up in a situation like this? Can you just move on?

Me: Absolutely! Why should I create trouble for myself and the guy? It can get complicated. And besides, there is no harm if one guy doesn’t like you. India is full of men. Our predecessors have ensured that. They never wanted a situation where girls would have trouble finding dates!

My friend: Explain, explain! What do you mean by that?

Me: Well you see the sex ratio of India is 927 females per 1000 males. That means a surplus of 73 boys! So if I don’t get one guy, I know I still have 73 waiting in the line for me! Yipee!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My friend: Natalia you seriously are weird! And what if you don’t find a match even amongst them?

Natalia: No, problems! I shall simply register myself on http://www.bharatmatrimony.com/ or http://www.shaadi.com/ . «Invited groom for tall, FAIR, educated girl, slim, whatever will be my age/ 5’4”, working from educated family, teetotaller, non-smoker, non-vegetarian. Caste no bar. » The moment people read the word 'fair', I shall be flooded with offers! No problems at all. I assure you, someone or the other will like me that way. But I pray to God that I don’t ever feel the need to register myself on those matrimonial sites! I am not an uninteresting character at all!

My friend: Hey of course you are not! We are just imagining some hypothetical situations. (Gleefully) It’s bad for the boys! I pity them. They don’t have as much as choice as we girls do.

Me: Oh no! Not at all! They can always go to Russia, Japan, and many other East European countries! All those places have more women than men! In fact the last time I read about it, there were 884 males per 1000 females in Russia and 1040 females per 1000 males in Japan! So boys need not worry at all. However, their families would! I wonder how most Indian families would react to their sons bringing home a European bahu (daughter-in-law)! The guy gets past caste, language and nationality barriers in one clean sweep! Globalisation at its best.

A bony issue.

There are many words in the English language which make no sense. One of them is ‘Orthopaedics’. You see the word Orthopaedics comes from the Greek words Ortho – straight and Paedia – which means ‘child; so orthopaedics literally means “Straightening children!” Now orthopaedic surgeons are much more than 'Straightners of Children'. This word refers to one of the earliest medical treatments given to children born with malformed spines and limbs that would give them abnormal postures. This practice gave the name for the profession. How inadequate. I personally feel the word should be ‘Osteiatrics’. Osteo is the Greek word for bone and iatria means medical healing. So when we put the two together we get ‘Osteiatrics’, just like in Paediatrics. That aptly describes everything that Orthopaedic surgeons do. They medically heal bones, and therefore they should be Osteiatrians / Osteiatric surgeons. However I DO NOT PLAN to go about demanding a change in the name of this profession for the following reasons:

1. I do not want to irritate the orthopaedic community which wisely and rightly spends its time and resources on curing and finding better cures for debilitating bone problems.

2. I do not wish to look inspired by idiots who go around changing names for nothing. For e.g. Bombay to Mumbai, Calcutta to Kolkatta, Madras to Chennai and Bangalore to Bengaluru and so on. (I wonder why someone hasn’t yet made any noises about changing Delhi to Hastinapur)

3. I do not want to be considered insane.

But I still think that Orthopaedics should be Osteiatrics. That would be one more step towards logical words and spellings.

P.S.: My apologies to my father, an orthopaedic surgeon himself, for breaching / intruding / infringing / violating the name of his profession.

Valentine's Day in a village

Most Indians go holidaying to their native place or their village during the school vacations. The major Indian festivals like Diwali, Ganesh Chaturthi or festivals of local importance cause mass bookings on trains and buses, leaving the Indian Railways and State Transport services burning the candle at both ends. Going to the native place at least once a year, is almost the single most important thing on people’s mind during the run up to the holidays or the festivals. But one of my friends does not care a toss about the visit to his native place during the vacations or the festivals. This guy goes into the “going to the native place craze” during the run up to Valentine’s Day.

"Valentine’s Day is round the corner. I won’t be attending college. I am leaving for my village” was his regular refrain 3-4 weeks before Valentine’s Day during all the 4 years of our Bachelor’s degree in my agriculture college. Everything else seemed of tertiary importance (saying secondary importance would amount to an understatement). The first time I heard him talking about his trip to his village for Valentine’s Day, my reaction was something like this:

Friend: Valentine’s Day is approaching. I am going to my village. (He was talking to someone else)

Me: WHAT? What did he just say?

That day I could not ask him the reason for some reason. I simply assumed that he had a loving girlfriend, who longed for him in his village, who was more important to him than food, clothing and shelter and that he would consecrate the weeks before Valentine’s for her to make up for his absence during the rest of the year. My imagination did shift into an overdrive but I had to assume an answer for his inexplicable frenzy to visit his native place for Valentine’s Day. He sure did disappear for nearly a month before Valentine’s and returned only a week after Valentine’s Day. This was too much for me. What could he possibly have done during such a long period? Frenzied love-making sessions for a month? Or did he belong to some bizarre cult that had its own month long celebrations and customs for Valentine’s Day that were hitherto concealed from the eyes of the world? I had to ask him.

Me: Hi! How was your trip to your village this time?

Friend: Fantastic. It was more enlightening than last year.

Me: Enlightening? What do you go to your village during Valentine’s Day for?

Friend: For the preparations for Valentine’s Day?

Me: What do you mean? I am lost. Are you trying to tell me that your tiny, distant village in Pune actually celebrates Valentine’s Day?

Friend: No. We don’t do such things in our village. (Emphasizes 'such')

Me: Then what do you do?

Friend: My uncle cultivates flowers. He has 3 greenhouses where he cultivates all sorts of flowers especially the ones that are demanded the most during Valentine’s Day. You see he exports flowers to Europe. This time of the year, we face a shortage of labour on the greenhouse for tending to the flowers. (He had all my attention) I go there to help him out. It is the best time to learn about flower cultivation and greenhouse management. I also get to learn a lot from his manager who handles the export part. I work myself in the storage and packaging sections for the flowers. We have to handle those flowers like we hold new-borns. They are very delicate and even slight damages result in revenue losses. It is a mad race out there amongst neighbours. I didn’t tell you. Most of my uncle’s neighbours also grow flowers. They wildly compete amongst themselves to produce the best flowers. They even tease and mock each other about if someone's flowers seem inferior than their own. It is seriously embarrassing if someone else’s flowers are better than yours. It is back-breaking work but immensely satisfying. Our flowers leave for Europe a week before Valentine’s Day and then it is the accounts work that takes up our time.

Me: Oh my! I could not even imagine this. (I felt ashamed of the possibilities that I had imagined) It must be hard work. I bet you know all that happens in a greenhouse off pat.

Friend: Absolutely. I can handle a greenhouse all on my own. My uncle totally trusts me. I feel that I learn more on the greenhouse than during our horticulture classes. But theoretical knowledge is also important.

Me: That is great! Are the revenues good?

Friend: Yes. It depends on the orders. We earn up to Rs. 6 lakhs for 5-6 weeks of work. But these people (purchasers) do not always pay up on time. Europe purchases lots of flowers during Valentine’s Day. For that matter, even Bombay and Poona have a huge demand for even Grade 3 quality flowers. Valentine’s Day is good for business. I love it.

Me: I agree with you.

I had actually learnt how a certain farming community in Pune benefits from Valentine’s Day celebrations. They even admit that they love it. I appreciated my friend's yearly pilgramage to his village for Valentine's Day. I wonder what the Ram and Bajrang worshippers, who protect our “Great Indian Culture” and would by now be receiving ‘pink chaddis’ with love, would feel about this.