An open letter

An Open Letter to the (would- be) esteemed members of the ‘Ram Jharoka Cooperative Housing Society’

Dear Sir

Today in the afternoon while on the mission to find a suitable dwelling for ourselves, I and my wife saw your advertisement on a giant hoarding touting 1, 2 and 3 BHK flats available for sale. Naturally we decided to visit the construction site. I admit that we found your construction of an impeccable quality; the flats were very spacious and suited our requirements very well. Half an hour’s discussion with the person at the sales office and everything was sorted out. All that was left was to decide an auspicious date for paying the token amount.

But as it is with life, the moment you think everything is sorted out, life throws a bouncer at you; sometimes you duck in time and sometimes it goes right through the visor of your helmet hitting somewhere between your nose and the teeth; mercilessly shattering both. In my excitement on finding a suitable house I had overlooked a critical fact. Yes Sir, to my utter helplessness and your extreme disgust I was born in a Muslim family.

For a moment; when your sales person told us about the ‘no-muslims policy’, an overwhelming rage gripped me, an excruciating desire to pick up a stone and shatter the glass wall in your office; the way you Sir in your infinite wisdom have shattered mine, consumed me. But it was only for a moment. Though you may find this hard to believe but despite being raised in a muslim family my parents have always taught me never to hurt anyone (even a glass wall).

Hence ignoring the watery eyes and the deeply humiliated look on the wife’s face I quietly left your sales office.  Sir, I have to tell you that I completely understand your point of view. It was a muslim who many centuries ago ruled you and committed horrible atrocities on you, it was a muslim who a few years ago smashed aircrafts full of innocent people into a building bursting with activity, it was a group of muslims who fired indiscriminately at innocent citizens. Yes sir it was a muslim but it was not me.

Sir, if you would have looked properly at the person standing next to you lighting candles to commemorate the victims of the Mumbai terror attacks you would have seen me. It was me holding your hand in the human chain that we had formed as a mark of protest against all terrorist activity. It was my SMS comment harshly criticizing Pakistan and ISI that had flashed on the news channel strip after yours. You saw me sir, at the Roop Singh cricket stadium shouting my lungs out cheering Sachin when he became the highest run scorer in an ODI beating Saeed Anwar’s record of 194. You had shared these moments with me Sir, but now that you know my name you refuse to even share a huge building complex with me.

Sir I wish to inform you that my wife is a pure –vegetarian and I very rarely eat meat. I can give it up very easily as I equally like vegetarian food. We don’t smoke or drink and if you have the inclination I would love to invite you to the rented house where we currently live, you will find it sparkling clean with the best levels of hygiene maintained. Sir I have no connections whatsoever with any underworld gang/ terrorist organization/religious fanatic groups and the likes. I and my wife have honorable jobs at globally reputed companies. Sir, I dare say that you could easily mistake us for your own son and daughter-in-law on a day you forget to take your glasses on your routine walk at the park. But Alas you know my name. 

Sir, I know that whatever I say in my defense, you will never bear me in your society. You have your reservations and I respect them, however humiliating they are for me.

I only ask you this one tiny favor. Next time when you put a grand eye-catching advertisement selling houses in your society, please for the love of God, please, don’t forget to include a rider saying, “NO MUSLIMS PLEASE”…..It will save me and my wife a lot of pain.

Thanks   

Work Life Balance or Four habits of highly effective husbands

Wrote this piece on balancing work and family life for the company magazine 'ebuzz'; was received favorably, actually i am being modest, it was widely appreciated by all the three employees who read it....

I thought might as well share it with a larger audience, I mean the four people who read my blog of which one is my wife, one is my best friend, and the two read it because I regularly leave highly appreciative comments on their blogs...

Here it goes...

Imagine getting up everyday before sunrise; while your spouse is blissfully snoring, you have prepared the dough for the chapattis, chopped vegetables and readied other ingredients for lunch. You run to open the valve on hearing a shrill whistle followed by muffled gurgling sounds from the concealed plumbing. You come back to the kitchen, make tea, toast bread, cook lunch, pack it into lunch boxes for you and your spouse while your spouse merrily pulls the bed sheet over the eyes to avoid the early morning rays that infiltrate the bedroom through tiny gaps in the curtain.

If this scene looks familiar or is an every morning phenomena in your house, beware you won't be celebrating many wedding anniversaries in your life.

With both husband and wife working it is imperative that both contribute equally to the household work as well. I really want to strongly convey to all married-men that such things are intolerable, please show some courage, wake up your wife ask her to help you in the day to day chores. Make it very clear to her that she cant seep like that while you slog every morning. And when you do that remember to hide away everything that is made of metal or even hard plastic…yes yes even your blackberry. Who knows when thrown by an enraged female a black berry can cause more damage than a .7 caliber bullet.

Jokes apart, this is a serious issue. I know we guys are inherently lazy and household chores are boring. But there is no way out. When your wife works all day in office like you, she deserves some rest at home. The best way to go about it is to divide responsibilities and make it very clear who is responsible for what work. You should take the initiative in this because that way you can take all the less tiresome work.

For your convenience allow me to present a list of household chores that can be done without considerable efforts. Be sure to grab them fast before your wife realizes…

Do the dishes

Though this sounds boring it actually is a very easy chore. Be sure to use a lot of cleaning agents, that way you won't have to scrub hard. While rinsing the dishes use a lot of water, keep the tap running at full speed. Chances are that when your wife spots this she might ban you from washing the dishes in order to save water.
(This works…..I swear)

Sweep the floor

Hold back your swear words, this is for your own good. But you have to master the trick. With broom in one hand keep an eye on your wife. The moment she turns away sweep everything under the bed, or carpet or sofa or anything that can hide the rubbish. Within minutes your house will be sparkling clean with absolutely minimum efforts. Don't worry nobody will know your secret, who in their right mind would look under the bed?

Wash the floor

Volunteer for this work like you really want to do it. Knowing your habit of wasting water the wife will not allow. Make a big fuss about it, put your foot down. Refuse to do any other work instead of it. (make sure to stay out of throwing range) If you are lucky then you will get away with no other work assigned to you.

The trump card

Whenever you are assigned with any household chore act very enthusiastic, but in the back of your mind think fast…there are a whole lot of excuses but make sure they sound genuine. The best thing is to invent an injury that hinders you from standing, walking, bending etc. But be careful, this can be counter productive. (I don't need to tell you why). So all my married friends out there with working spouses hope this article helps you in achieving the revered work-life balance and bring peace and happiness in your married life. (pardon me for using words like peace, happiness and married in the same sentence. I am just a novice writer you see).

Life after marriage Part II

The security personnel walked straight upto us and the following conversation occurred:

Security personnel looking more imposing than Mathew Haden: Sir, Photography is prohibited here.

Me looking like Sourav Ganguly batting against Bret Lee: Umm…err…i…Sorry….i….sorry…

He simply turned around and walked away paying no heed to my monosyllable apology. I heaved a big sigh of relief and made a mental note to throw away the New York DVD as soon as I reach home – such movies do affect your thinking. We quietly proceeded to Gate no 10 and parked ourselves in the waiting area. The view from here was even more spectacular; but the wife’s stern countenance more than clearly conveyed – Don’t even think about the camera. We still had an hour to kill and being in an affair for more than 7 years meant unlike other honeymoon couples I had no propensity to hold hands and giggle ever so often. Here is a snapshot of our conversation in the waiting area:

Me: ‘You know, there are only two companies that make commercial passenger airliners’. Pause …waiting for her to ask which are those companies?

Wife: hmm…

Me still not discouraged: ‘Boeing which is based in US and Airbus a subsidiary of EADS based in Europe’. Pause…’There used to be a third company called Mcdowell Douglas but Boeing acquired it way back’.

Wife feigning interest: ‘Oh I see’

Me fooled by the fake interest: “Yaa, you know what was queer about Mcdowell Douglas? Their planes had engines mounted on the tail fin.”

Wife: ‘Oh they have samosas at these stalls!’ Gets up abruptly and walks towards the food stall.

Any other guy in this situation would be overwhelmed with embarrassment. But not me; I have a 7 years experience; an eternal optimist. I am sure the wife will one day actually take interest in my ramblings. Till then I will pursue my writing hobby.

So unfazed by the humiliation, I followed the wife to the food stalls and ordered a plate of samosas. I think the ‘samosa makers association of India’ would be well within its rights to sue the airport food stalls for defaming such a deliciously mouth watering snack. We managed to gulp them down with great difficulty. If you are thinking why didn’t we just throw it away; let me give you a little insight on your personality.

You have never seen the price-card at an airport food stall

or

You are the descendant of the Shiekh AL Aaamir AL Fitly Rich AL Oil wells AL Feraris AL Palaces AL Camels AL Haram

Now back to my ramblings. The wife had started to get worried, it was 1520 hours and still there was no announcement asking us to board. Another ten minutes passed yet nothing. Other passengers were also looking perturbed. Finally at 1540, the loud speakers blared with some unintelligible squeaky noise. It took us a minute to realize that they had hired the chipmunks from the ‘Alvin & the Chipmunks’ series as announcers.

I was up to the challenge; I knew I could decipher the announcement if I concentrate hard. I closed my eyes and waited for the chipmunks to take the mike. Though I listened with great assiduity, I could only decode three words – flight 163, delayed, half an hour. That was all I needed, I had done a good job, no one else could figure out anything. Like a messiah I announced to the nescient crowd the fate of flight 163 – it was delayed by half-an hour. This message had a terrible effect on the wife, though on the surface she maintained a calm demeanor, beneath she feared that her jinx had got stronger; it will not allow her to break free; she would not cross the accursed borders of the state.

I had quickly assessed the gravity of the situation; I knew I had to do something. …(being in love for 7 years these things come naturally to you)., hands clutched tightly around the arms of her chair; eyes closed tight – indicants of stress marred her otherwise beautiful face. I moved closer to her, sensing me she opened her eyes. I crept even closer, my lips nano-meters away from her cheeks. In an inconspicuous maneuver my lips were touching her right earlobe. I drew a deep breath and with all the melody I could muster whispered sweetly in her ear.

‘Honey can you please pass the economic times’

Till this date I have not figured out why the wife reacted the way she did then. She did pass the ET though but I thought she said something that sounded very similar to ‘tucking mustard’ in an undertone. 

Half an hour later, I suddenly became aware of a thousand pleading faces gazing at me; the chipmunks had taken the mike again. I listened intently and much to the angst of the fellow passengers translated the bedamn announcement. Flight 163 delayed another half an hour due to technical reasons. Air India was trying very hard to keep up its reputation – one hour delay that too on a domestic flight…only Air India can do that. The wife had tensed up again; I knew I had to do something, the economic times was rather boring; should I ask her to pass the Mumbai mirror. For some reason she had reacted very strangely to the economic times request – I decided to play safe.

Me: “These PSUs I tell you, I shouldn’t have booked Air-India”

Wife: “I told you, but you never listen”

Me: “Oh come on, look at the positive side of it. We have such a beautiful view of the airfield. Half an hour would past just like that watching the planes taking off one after another with the bright logos of Kingfishers and Jet Airways.”

Wife in an undertone: You are such a “sick mustard”

I don’t know what she meant by that, may be I didn’t hear her correctly or may be she calls me mustard lovingly. Women, I tell you!!!its so difficult to understand them…

To be continued...

Life after marriage

The best period in a married man’s life (yes there is one; albeit brief) is the one that starts right after the wedding ceremony ends. It’s the part I have been looking forward to everyday in my seven years of courtship. And finally the dream came true…

I had meticulously planned each and every move; carried out extensive research which involved talking to a friend whose friend was a friend of someone who knew a thing or two about such things. With such painstaking planning and a faultless execution that would put the best neurosurgeon to shame, my long pending desires were accomplished in a most delightful way.

Let me take you through this most fascinating time of my life. The journey to Goa with my newly wedded; brand new wife (Did u guys really thought I was gonna tell u about the..…hee hee hee).

The wife had never been outside the state of Maharashtra and as for me; I had been to Goa only once, that too on an industrial visit during graduation days. The only memory I had of Goa was of puking in an auditorium during a presentation by the Goa Port Trust. In hindsight I think the idea of going for an Industrial visit to Goa is like going for a pilgrimage to Vegas. Imagine the stress it puts on budding minds – competing to drink as much vodka as possible in a night and then attending a presentation about the growth in shipping tonnage or things like that by pot-bellied PSU managers the next morning; the puke was inevitable. (I don’t know why the wife keeps saying that I get off-track very easily. She feels my thinking is a disparate assortment of random thoughts with seemingly little or no connection with one another…may be she is just jealous). So what was I saying… umm… shipping industry… err…no..umm…yaa… industrial visits are planned…err…what the heck…umm…umm…Yes honeymoon to Goa.

So on the 12th of Dec 2009, I and my wife of a few days boarded the new super deluxe air-conditioned blue Vagon-R taxi for the domestic airport. The wife wanted to fly some fancy airlines like the king fisher but I put my foot down. It had to be Air India. I convinced her (read pleaded) that in such turbulent time we should fly our national carrier; we should try our best to help the white elephant survive the financial turmoil even if it meant risking our lives in some pre-historic, second hand airbus 319. Finally her patriotic sentiments got the better of her and she relented. (The fact that Air India offered the cheapest tickets had no bearings on my decision to fly Air India; honestly….I swear…quit smirking…)

I think I mentioned somewhere that the wife has never been outside Maharashtra. Well there is a story to it; she has a jinx on her that thwarts her from setting foot outside the state. Every time she tries to do that some calamity strikes like the deluge in 2005; terrorist attacks; a Himesh Reshmiya movie release etc and her plans have to be cancelled or indefinitely postponed. This time we were desperate to break the jinx. So as a precautionary move we left home at 1100 hours though the flight was scheduled at 1530 hours. Luckily we reached the airport without any mishap a well 3 hours before the flight time. After checking-in at around 1300 hours we were on our way towards the waiting area for gate no. 10. We found ourselves walking through a passage separated from the airfield with a huge translucent glass wall. Though most of this glass wall was semi-opaque a narrow stretch across the length of the glass wall was made of transparent glass that provided the passersby a spectacular view of the airfield crammed with Boeings, Airbuses, private jets and helicopters. There were tractors with trailers attached carrying luggage to & fro from the airplanes. From our point of observation these tractor trailers looked like they had been handpicked from Noddy’s toy town and placed at the airfield; so miniature; so tiny; criss-crossing across the monstrous Boeing 747s. Then suddenly I felt my hand almost involuntarily creep towards my wife’s handbag; I pulled out my Kodak C190 digital camera.

I had a feeling that this might be a mistake; but as if under some spell I started clicking picture after picture of the field; zooming in and out with my digital camera. After a few shots my discomfort vanished and I graduated from taking pics to shooting videos. I shot a very beautiful video of an Airbus taking off. I had lost all sense of time, I had no idea how long I had been shooting oblivious to the surroundings and then suddenly I felt a very strong tug at my arms. It was the wife, looking almost hysterical she pointed towards a man; more than 6 feet tall with shoulders so broad that even Mathew Hayden would look like a baby in comparison. The man wore a uniform with a weapon dangling at his left shoulder and was walking intently towards us. He was accompanied by a female officer who was the exact opposite of what they show in the sleazy deo ads.

I realized I had made a terrible mistake; taking pictures at an airport in a city which is almost always on a high security alert; an airport- which is always on the radar of some bloody terrorist organization. My mind started throwing terrible questions; what will they do? Will they detain me for questioning? How long will that take? Will they torture me? Why did my parents name me Jalaluddin? Any security personnel are bound to get suspicious when they hear that name. Will they torture me? Why…why I had to be such an asshole? We would surely miss the flight, Was that the wife’s jinx? Surely that jinx was working. It had defeated us. Our honeymoon would now be spent in prison?

Watch this space for more....