Moving Day! Finally!

Phew. I have been living in a godforsaken limbo the past three weeks. I had little or no time for myself, let alone my friends, foes and hoes. Er, scratch the last one.

I have been constantly on the road (in the air, more likely) to Pune, Mumbai, Bangalore and God-knows-where, but finally, when I woke up today, I realized that this was the day I’m moving in to my new house. It’s a three-bedroom monstrosity and can only be described as awesome. I woke up with a smile on my face, forgot to download last night’s dinner and went on with packing all my things. I didn’t realize all the crap that had accumulated over the ages. No, I’m not referring to last night’s dinner – I meant my personal shit. Er, books, papers, badges, empty cigarette packets, unused condoms and other things. There was a lot of crap and I started disposing of them one by one. Starting with last night’s dinner.

“Don’t get women home,” shouted my mum from her room, as she combed her hair. I replied in automation, “Yes, mom.”

“Don’t drink.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Don’t smoke,”

“Yes, mom.”

Don’t get women home.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Where’s your girlfriend? Is she moving in with you? She is, isn’t she?”

“No, mom. We broke up.”


And she went on for another twenty minutes, dispensing advice like only mothers do. I nodded to myself and kept saying yes, while packing the mattresses, the pillows, the laptops, the phones, and other essential nothings. I almost forgot to pack my toothbrush.

So, an hour and a half later, I found myself struggling up three flights of stairs carrying my bed along with three other people. Twists and turns and acrobatics later, all my things were moved in. I came back to my house (or rather, my parents’ house. So cool!) and finished some minor last minute packing.

Phew! I’m moving in. Finally. Round of beer to everyone. I’ll let you all know when the party’s happening. Be there. Bring a date.

What The Fish?

What the Fish?Have you ever heard people saying the word ‘Fish’ instead of ‘Fuck’ in a sentence? I’ll explain exactly how annoying that is.

I dropped a piece of pie on someone’s carpet the other night and the woman said, “Oh, Fish!” I looked at her strangely and said, “No, ma’am. I’m Nikhil.”

It was her turn to look at me strangely and say, “No, I meant the pie.”

“Fish? I thought it was apple pie?”

She looked at me even strangely, half-angry at me for having ruined her carpet and half-annoyed at me for trying to be funny. I wasn’t being funny. In fact, I was genuinely stumped. I blabbered some incomprehensible apologies and ran out of there, and later realized that some people use fish as an alternative to expletives.

True, its a 4-letter F-word, but so is free, flan, flag, fork, fine, flip, flap, floo and fits, among others. Why not use these words instead of fish? And why fish, exactly? Is it because they’re dumb creatures who can do nothing but swim around all day long, staring at us with those cold eyes? Or is it because they have highly evolved sexual capabilities that threatens our potency?

The other day, someone asked me what the fish I was doing there instead of working, and I replied that I was fishing his happiness. He didn’t understand what I said and left me alone. So, if we were to use fish as a replacement for ‘fuck’, then here are a few things we could consider adopting in our vocabulary:

  1. Hey, baby. You’re so hot. Wanna fish? (Please, for God’s sake, don’t try this anywhere)
  2. Fish you, asshole!
  3. What the fish?
  4. Fish the fishing fishers.
  5. I didn’t realize he was such a fisher!
  6. I went on a fishing trip! Awesome weed, bro.
  7. Fish! I missed the bus.
  8. I got fished in the bank today.
  9. Fish me baby, one more time. (Fish you, Britney Spears!)
  10. … and so all the men started fishing all the women, happily ever after.

So on, and so forth. The list is endless.

But ever wondered what might happen if we actually want to go on a fishing trip with someone? I mean a real fishing trip, with boats, and water-bodies and fishing roads? Er, damn! The above sentence sounds so pervert! My point is that we’re probably ruining the sea-food experience of millions of people by using this alternative. Imagine asking a waiter in a restaurant for a fish, and he winks at you and calls you to the closet? Ugh! Scary thought.

So, let’s play safe and say fuck. Like normal people. Go on, say it. Make my fucking day.

How I Met Your Mother

The year 2030:

Kids, have I ever told you the story of how I met your mother? No? Well, sit down, shut up and listen to this story. No, you can’t go to pee now. This story’s important. Listen up.

The year 2010:

There I was, sitting in the small, cubbyhole office of a PR agency, trying to be something I’m not, and all of a sudden, a wave of sleepiness took over me. I don’t think it was the heavy breakfast or the fact that I had slept for just a few hours last night, but I think it was a realization that I am 26 years old and I don’t have any discernible achievements to talk about. True,  I had written a couple of books, and true, I had done a bit of traveling and dabbled with a lot of  careers, but I was 26, single and stranded without any life goals to be proud of.

Monday, the 28th of June was an eye-opener for me.

She walked into my life with a sweet little smile and a lot of hope. I walked into hers with an upset tummy and lack of sleep. We clicked instantly. It was a day I can never forget.

Not that I think about it, I’m sure it was the heavy breakfast, because as she walked into the room with a handful of papers for me sign, I burped loudly and caused her to shriek and throw me a look that said, “Ugh! Disgusting.” She followed up that look with the words, “Ugh! Disgusting!”

I apologized and got down to talking to her about the day’s work. I told her what needed to be done and I told her that I’d be leaving the organization soon. She looked shocked. Maybe at the ease with which I slipped that last news in.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t leave! What will happen to the bloody company??” she demanded.

I shrugged and said, “I’m sure you’ll manage better than I can. All the best.”

After twenty minutes of anger, pleading and threats, she realized she couldn’t convince me not to quit. So, she turned on her charm and said, “But who will I flirt with?” and battled her eyelids in a seductive fashion and thrust her chest at me slowly.

No kids, I’m not saying your mom was a slut. No, she was very sexy, and at that moment, I almost regretted my decision to quit. But sanity prevailed, and I did quit after a week. I started missing her seductive charms soon after, and about 67 days later, I got over her completely. I don’t quite know what happened to your mother after that.

The year 2030:

Until today, kids. I ran into your mother at the supermarket and she invited me over to lunch. I saw your dad too, but he was busy flirting with some hot cheerleader at the bean-counter, so your mom and I decided to let him have his fun and came here. Have you met my wife? No? Well, she’ll join us soon. She out there parking the car.

Nice story, huh? Oh, I could tell this story over and over, with twists and turns for 5 years. Okay, now you can go pee.

The Yamaha Enema

Reshaped Hip BoneTake my advice – if you have to travel for more than 3 miles inside the city of Bangalore, do not – I repeat – do not ride pillion on a Yamaha bike. Its been three hours since I’ve gotten off the bike after a 15-mile ride and I’m still walking slowly with my legs wide apart, wincing at every step and groaning at every fart.

I woke up at my friend’s place after an awkward evening with some close friends and my ex girlfriend. See what I mean by awkward? We ignored each other thoroughly (it was surprisingly easy to do) and spent the evening at opposite corners of the room, making conversations with common friends and our scotch glasses alternatively. I am usually very comfortable in social situations, but in this case, I was surprised we didn’t kill each other with blunt objects. It was a bad break-up and yes, you guessed right. It was one of the many reasons why I haven’t blogged in a while. Some people are hard to get over in life, and with the kind of history we’d shared, trying to forget this woman was particularly hard. But I’m glad it’s over and I’m glad the hate has trickled out of me to be replaced with the warmth of indifference. 🙂

Anyway, I digress. I woke up in the morning in my friend’s place and took an auto home, showered, shaved, put on some underwear and went out again. This time to the bank. After which, for some unknown sin of mine, my ass was subjected to torture the likes of which Guantanamo Bay has never seen before.

I was riding pillion on a friend’s bike – I was sitting on a bike after a good two-month break and it felt strange, alien. We had an hour’s journey ahead of us and I managed quite well, with minimal squirming. Each speed-breaker was a gift from heaven as I could jump up with the bike and shift my buttocks a bit to ease the gnawing pain. Once we reached our destination, we got some work done and headed back. One more hour’s ride in Bangalore traffic. My ass died a painful death. I’m lying on my stomach while typing this.

I got off the bike on reaching home, held my legs apart and felt the blood rushing into my ass-cheeks and the soft tissue just above the knee (I don’t know what this part of the body is called). My hipbone had undergone a major structural realignment and it is now shaped like a bike seat. Refer to the image for a better understanding.

So, I’m here at home, on my tummy, waiting for the world’s greatest woman to come online and dreaming of perfectly-shaped hipbones. Sigh.

Image Courtesy: Secret Government Labs. I can tell you but then I’ll have to kill you.