Forwarded Few

This is a collection of selected forwarded emails. They range from the mundane set of poor jokes, to some anecdotes on life , further to some perspectives and furthrest into the creative instincts of some close friends.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Decisive Women

Women...

1 . (Whatever)

Men: What should we have for dinner?
Women: Whatever..
Men: Why dont we have Mexican?
Women: No not Mexican, the last time i got pimples on my face
Men: Alright, why dont we have Si Chuan cuisine
Women: Yesterday we ate Si Chuan, today too?
Men: Hmm..... I suggest we have seafood
Women: Seafood is not good, I got diarrhoea
Men: Then what do you suggest?
Women : Whatever..



2. (Anything)

Men: So what should we do now?
Women: Anything
Men: How about watching a movie? It's been a long time
Women: Watching movie is no good, it's a waste of time
Men: How about we go for bowling, or some exercises?
Women: Exercise on such a hot day?
Men: Then find a cafe' and have a drink
Women: I am off caffeine
Men: Then what do you suggest?
Women: Anything



3. (You decide)

Men: Then do we just go home?
Women: You decide
Men: Let's take the bus, I will accompany you
Women: The Bus is dirty and crowded.
Men: Ok we will take a cab
Women: Not worth it... for such a short distance
Men: All right, then we can walk. We can enjoy the weather
Women: I am hungry, can't walk.
Men: Then what do you suggest?
Women: You decide
Men: Let's have dinner first
Women: Whatever...
Men: Eat what?
Women: Anything...

Gujju Pronounciation

Sano...........Snow
Egg-joss.......Exhaust
Fota...........Photos
Lipti..........Lipstick
Phast..........Fast
Phlowur........Flower
Gilas..........Glass
Palty..........Party
Gorment.........Government
Peeja..........Pizza
Punch..........Sponge
Die Vos........Divorce
New Brand......Brand New
Istill.........Steel
Bowel..........Bowl
Jee TV.........Zee TV
Juniversity....University
Istawbury.......Strawberry
Isscooter......Scooter
dismiss.........Screwdriver
Kale...........Tomorrow and Yesterday
Vija............Visa

Friday, March 13, 2009

'Gaiety' in Iyengar Household

Iyengar Boy - "Mom, I've decided to get married."

The Seshadhris were only too ecstatic to here these words pop out of their elder son's mouth, yet afraid at the the same time. After all, their son did study in theUnited States for 3 years. And from what they heard from their neighbours, the States "do things" to perfectly normal sons. What if he wanted to marry a white girl? The blasphemy! How would they ever
explain to their relatives?

"Indian no?", Mrs. Seshadhri asked, nervously.

"Iyengar...."

"Oh thank god! Chamathu da nee. We'll see the girl tomorrow! And I'll have to call all our relatives to inform them. Ha! First I'll call your aththai. Her son went to the states and ended up with one of those...punjabi a? Ya, punjabi-o ennavo. But my son? Chamatha Iyengar ponnu paathutaan."

"Amma..."

"What? I know I'm getting excited but its not everyday your son gets married! First ponnu paakanum. Give me her address."

"I can't give the girl's address."

"Why not? " interrupted Mr.Seshadhri. "Is it because they don't know Its okay, we'll convince them"

"No, its because there is no girl"

"Ennada solrey?" chorused the parents.

"I am in love with an Iyengar, yes. But its not a girl. Its a boy"

Silence.

"Is this some kind of TV show? Is some shanniyan going to come with a camera and say all this is some joke? I know! Vijay TV-la Simbhu is doing something like this. He's going to come now, isn't he?"

"No mom, nobody's behind your almirah. This is real. I want to get married to him and him only"

"This is not normal, you know that?"

"Appa, who're you to say that it's not normal? How do you know that it isn't normal? I want to get married to him and that's the end of it" and he stormed out of the room.

The Seshadhris were appalled, and did what any other parents would do when presented with such a private confession. They called the entire family over to discuss it.
Mamas, Mamis, Thathas, Paatis, Chithappas, Chiththis, Aththais, Athimbers, Perippas, Perimmas and a motley crew of cousins promptly assembled to exchange their views over filter coffee and masala vadais.

"Enna kodumai Seshadri idhu"

"This is not the time to joke, its a very serious issue pa. Namma community-la this is just not done"

"Are you sure about this? I mean was he joking?"

"Will anybody joke about things like this? Avan serious-a dhaan irukaan.

He's gay."

"Amma Amma, what's a gay?" interrupted 6 year old Achu, loudly.

Silence.

"Sshhh, Achu. Go play outside with Kichu." said his visibly embarrassed mother.

Achu promptly ran outside hollering KICHU! GAY-NA BAD WORD DA!
"Kids"

"Yea. I'm hoping he gets a girlfriend soon."

"Shree, he's 6"

"The earlier the better. And I'm so not sending him to the US"

"Not everyone turns out like that. My son married a perfectly nice girl. Enna, she's punjabi. But very nice girl."

"You know she has a beard, right?"

"Oh please! At least she's a girl."
"Enough enough. This is not about her daughter-in-law's beard. Idhu konjam serious-aana matter."

"Yes yes. There are so many fundamental complicationsLike if this marriage does go on, who gets to be the Maapla veedu?"

"Chechu make it clear to them that we will be the groom's house. We will demand our rights"

"Hey, who gets to tie the thaali?"

"Will there even be a thaali?"

"Maybe they'll tie a golden poonal around him"

"One more doubt. The girl usually sits on her father lap when they tie the thaali. Does this mean that the son sits on his mothers lap? How does that work exactly?"

"Yea! And then usually the girl wears that special koora-podavai before she ties the knot. Do we have to get this guy a koora-veshti?"

"Atleast you'll save on all those silk sarees."

"And that Mehndi thing. Unless your son wants it, of course"

"Hahahaha! Thats so g...nothing"

An uncomfortable silence followed, but was swiftly interrupted by the Periappa.

"Come to think of it, that golden poonal will weigh a lot"

"Does your future...err son-in-law cook?"

"Aiyo! Don't call him son-in-law! I don't even want this to happen!"

"Maybe you should do that. Vidaatha. Then he'll come around"

"No way, then he'd elope. Odi poyiduvaan!"

"Thats not good for the family name."

"Thu! As if marrying a boy is very honourable."

"And besides, eloping-na, usually the girl runs away, gets a baby and then only gets accepted back in the household. This is how it is in all tamil padams"

"Ok, but how the heck are these guys going to get a baby?"

"My point exactly, so they won't elope"

"Which is worse. What if they get together like those villains in Vettaiyaadu Villaiyaadu?"

"Aiyo! That's a movie about homosexual psychopaths! You're son is too sensitive for that. He cried in the climax of Kabhi Khushi Kahi Gham, for heaven's sake!"

"Appove we should have noticed..."

"You think there's some kind of homeopathy treatment for this? Or Ayurveda? Some kashayam or something?"

"No no, its a state of mind. No kashayam can cure it"

"Or should we send him to a psychiatrist?"

"Illa. Those psyciatrists are Peter parties. They'll end up brainwashing us about how we are educated and must accept him the way he is"

"Adhaan pannanum" said Mr.Seshadhri, finally.

The entire household went mute.

"You mean...we have to get him married? To that...that boy?"

"Yes"

"Only then, he'll be happy."

"Aiyo sentiment thaangamudila"

"My decision is final. I'll go call him and find that other boy's number. I have plenty to talk to his parents."

The household watched him go with a rather stern resolve in absolute silence. The only sound was the jowku-jowku of Paati eating Vadai.

"Enna paati? What do you think?" said one of the cousins, finally breaking yet another uncomfortable silence.

"Ennadhaan payyana love pannaalum, atleast Iyengar payyana paathu love pannane, adhuve porum"

Monday, March 02, 2009

The Travails of Single South Indian men of conservative upbringing

Yet another action packed weekend in Mumbai, full of fun, frolic and introspection. I have learnt many things. For example having money when none of your friends have any is as good as not having any. And after spending much time in movie theatres, cafes and restaurants I have gathered many insights into the endless monotony that is the love life of south Indian men. What I have unearthed is most
disheartening. Disheartening because comprehension of these truths will not change our status anytime soon. However there is also cause for joy. We never stood a chance anyway. What loads the dice against virile, gallant, well educated, good looking, sincere mallus and tams? (Kadus were once among us, but Bangalore has changed all that.)

Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified advertisements or that maternal uncle in San Francisco thinks otherwise. Name him "Parthasarathy Venkatachalapthy" and his inherent capability to combat celibacy is obliterated before he could even talk. He will grow to be known as Partha. Before he knows, his smart, seductively named northy classmates start calling him Paratha. No woman in their right minds will go anyway near poor Parthasarathy. His investment banking job doesn't help either. His employer loves him though. He has no personal life you see. By this time the Sanjay Singhs and Bobby Khans from his class have small businesses of their own and spend 60% of their lives in discos and pubs. The remaining 40% is spent coochicooing with leather and denim clad muses in their penthouse flats on Nepean Sea Road. Business is safely in the hands of the Mallu manager. After all with a name like Blossom Babykutty he can’t use his 30000 salary anywhere. Blossom gave up on society when in school they automatically enrolled him for Cookery Classes. Along with all the girls.

Yes my dear reader, nomenclature is the first nail in a coffin of neglect and hormonal pandemonium. In a kinder world they would just name the poor southern male child and throw him off the balcony. "Yes appa we have named him Goundamani..." THUD. Life would have been less kinder to him anyway. If all the women the Upadhyays, Kumars, Pintos and, god forbid, the Sens and Roys in the world have met were distributed amongst the Arunkumars, Vadukuts and Chandramogans we would all be merry Casanovas with 3 to 4 pretty things at each arm. But alas it is not to be. Of course the south Indian women have no such issues. They have names which are like sweet poetry to the ravenous northie hormone tanks. Picture this: "Welcome, and this is my family. This is my daughter Poorni (what a sweet name!!) and my son Ponna lagusamy (er.. hello..).." Cyanide would not be fast enough for poor Samy. Nothing Samy does will help him. He can pump iron, drive fast cars and wear snazzy clothes, but against a braindead dude called Arjun Singhania he has as much chance of getting any as a Benedictine Monk in a Saharan Seminary.

Couple this with the other failures that have plagued our existence. Any attempt at spiking hair with gel fails miserably. In an hour I have a crown of greasy, smelly fibrous mush. My night ends there. However the northy just has to scream "Wakaw!!!" and you have to peel the women off him to let him breathe. In a disco while we can manage the medium hip shake with neck curls, once the Bhangra starts pumping we are as fluid as cement and gravel in a mixer. Karan Kapoor or Jatin Thapar in the low cut
jeans with chaddi strap showing and see through shirt throws his elbows perfectly, the cynosure of all attention. The women love a man who digs pasta and fondue. But why do they not see the simple pleasures of curd rice and coconut chutney? When poor Senthilnathan opens his tiffin box in the office lunch room his female coworkers just dissappear when they see the tamarind rice and poppadums. The have all rematerialised around Bobby Singh who has ordered in Pizza and Garlic bread. (And they have the gal l to talk of foreign origin.)

How can a man like me brought up in roomy lungis and oversized polyester shirts ever walk the walk in painted on jeans (that makes a big impression) and neon yellow rib hugging t shirts? All I can do is don my worn "comfort fit" jeans and floral shirt. Which is pretty low on the "Look at me lady" scale, just above fig leaf skirt and feather headgear a la caveman, and a mite below Khakhi Shirt over a red t-shirt and baggy khakhi pants and white trainers a la Rajni in "Badsha".

Sociologically too the tam or mallu man is severely sidelined. An average tam stud stays in a house with, on average, three grandparents, th ree sets of uncles and aunts, and over 10 children. Not the ideal atmosphere for some intimacy and some full throated "WHOSE YOUR DADDY!!!" at the 3 in the morning. The mallu guy of course is almost always in the gulf working alone on some onshore oil rig in the desert. Rheumatic elbows me thinks.

Alas dear friends we are not just meant to set the nights on fire. We are just not built to be "The Ladies Man". The black man has hip hop, the white man has rock, the southie guy only has idlis and tomato rasam or an NRI account in South Indian Bank Ernakulam Branch. Alas as our destiny was determined in one fell swoop by our nomenclature, so will our future be. A nice arranged little love story. But the agony of course does not end there. On the first night, as the stud sits on his bed finally within touching distance and whispers his sweet desires into her delectable ear, she blushes, turns around and whispers back "But amma has said only on second saturdays..."