Thursday, June 20, 2013

Queue-ki naaki

Not so long ago I was shipped to Dubai. And I have lugged this blog along in my large brown bag. And here I open it first thing at the Carrefour super duper hyper store. Thanks to the forever due FDI in retail we havn’t yet discovered the Ikea meatballs (or was it horse-meatballs?) and the serpentine queues in India.  Or for the latter, have we?

 At the Mumbai local ticket counters, at the immigration department at airports, at the passport office, at the college admission counters, at the ATM, at the bus stop, at the water tap and also at Mcdonalds? Delhi ofcourse, is not included in this. There, you just mob around for everything, call out names,  and rape someone if you can.

 Anyway, back to queues (did you know it is spelt like this?), if you have ever been to one, chances are you agree that they are highly frustrating!

These forever 21 queues (21 is the number of people ahead of you) make me hate mankind (and womankind) and hope I was in a country, where they sell guns with 21 bullets in supermarkets, so I could shoot the queue ahead of me and suffocate the billing executive under the 21 corpses.

 Even in a store with 21 queues, it always seems that you are stuck in the slowest one. Its either the slow billing executive who can’t count money right, or doesn’t have keys to the teller, or it could be one of those annoying customers ahead of you who want to change their mind about items just after they are scanned, or those who want to reach out to pick chewing gum 7 feet away from the counter after all their items have been scanned, or better still, there are stealers who stuff a bag inside a bigger bag, thinking it won’t be noticed and they could have it for free. Whatever the reason, the ice-cream in your cart will sure melt before you reach the billing counter.

 Worse is when you are standing at the express counter and a hot looking girl walks to the guy at 7 and points to her buns. This guy is the typical “chomu” who is too happy that a girl spoke to him and she let him stare at her buns. Even though they were edible ones. Apparently she had only one item to scan to she can jump the queue. And the chomu lets her. And how many items did he have? A pair of slippers. While, I at number 21, can fume and do nothing else.

 Take my suggestion, if you want to remain sane, don’t ever go to a supermarket on a weekend if you have less than 20 items to buy. Its not worth the heart-ache or the back.

 PS: Have you heard that song "Isshq ki naaki"...?What is "naaki" anyway?

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Lust at first sight

She crossed her legs as she stared at her own reflection on the glass panel at the metro platform. Adjusting her hair she craned her neck to see the metro arriving. The train arrived, and she stepped in. "Al abwabu tuglaq", "the doors are closing". And just then, their eyes met.

His steel grey eyes looked like made from the same glass she was staring at a while ago. A few strands of hair strayed on his forehead from his perfectly gelled mohawk. His lean tall structure stood firm and unperturbed by the moving train. He looked at her straight in the eye, but he wasn't looking. He was thinking.

After a brief pause and a soulful glance, that seemed to melt her in her shoes, he went back to reading on his tablet. Not realizing what he was inflicting upon her. He looked deeply involved, carried away and in control at the same time. His laptop bag snuggled between his legs on the floor.

Despite the dark business suit that covered his frame, she couldn't stop admiring the sculpture it camflagued.  She stood next to him. Close enough to smell the Givenchy perfume he was wearing. She noticed the intricate network of veins on the back of his hand that moved as he swiped screens. She adjusted her dress, and her hair and tried to look out the window. But his presence was just too distracting for her.

Lust at first sight. She thought smiling at herself. And put on her wayfarers.

"Al mahakkal kadima hiya Abrajul Emarat"

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Talking Stomach

Some people like to talk a lot. Well, I am not one of them. But my stomach makes up for it. It has the guts (literally!) to break into the awkward silence of any room, be it an office, a funeral or a classroom. Ok, this might just be turning into a very gross subject for some of you readers, but well, there is an elephant in the room I am trying to address. And unfortunately that elephant is in my stomach.

Reading from health and wellness posts online, I conclude that many of you must have experienced some sort of growling in your stomach when it raises an alarm that your body needs food. Sometimes these sounds a more like murmurs, sometimes little louder so you can hear it.. or maybe your loved one can hear it, if sitting very close. But mine are more like roars from Jurassic Park. Even the water in the glass begins to shake. And now I am exaggerating. But they are loud enough so that everyone in my modest office of 4 can hear them. Although, I try to type really fast and create camouflaging sounds, I am sure it manages to break through the walls of my stomach and into the ears of those who may or may not understand where that sound is coming from. I eat my words and swallow them with water, but that doesn’t help either. The only thing that helps is sneaking out, snacking in, or snickers.

You know, I suspect that there is some sort of rhythm or secret message hidden in it. It happens at the same time everyday - between 10:30am and 11:30am. It growls, and whines and mews and most definitely says something. Maybe it is saying that my hair is looking very good today. Or maybe that I am a great driver. Maybe it is just blabbering like little babies and expects me to give company.  I don’t know. Maybe it is a song growing in my stomach. They say that good music comes from inside. Hmm. I’ll know someday.

And I ate an elephant for dinner last night. Stomach that!