THE BALD AND THE BEAUTIFUL by the Chauvinist

After having watched Quentin Tarantinos Pulp Fiction,I wanted to be a contract killer.However,my dad didn't quite get my job description.I failed to convince him I must admit.I was still friends with the fat guy with thick specs who had poked me on my rear with a compass.So people had their doubts as to why I was hell bent about being a contract killer.
I was pretty convinced about the fact that real men were killing people.Eastwood,Connery,Stallone,Arnold Schezwan nigger(or however thats spelled) everybody.One way or the other they all were doing the same thing ,killing.
I had to grow up to be a high school boy to realize that my dream wasnt quite possible.
Most of the guys where athletes or into some kind sport.This gave them shape and me shame,i wasnt part of any.I could beat somebody at ludo or even monopoly,but running behind a ball with a dozen other people who have muscles you could BBQ on sunday and still have leftovers till next weekend wasnt happening at all.
I assured myself that sports was the real deal.I felt nothing close to a man.The only people I could connect with in a game were the cheergirls.Both them and I were doing pretty much the same thing,ofcourse I wasnt wearing miniskirts.
My belief lasted till the guys team lost to the girls team in the finals.

I started to take karate classes to finally get the feeling of doing something manly.
I spent most of my weekends watching Martial arts movies and trying them out in front of a mirror.I was all set to become bruce lee,it'd take a month or so I knew,but then I was finally going to be a real man.Bruce never happened,it was all bruises.Apparently there were more women taking self defence classes than men.The assault demos would require the guys in the class to be rapists or psychos trying to assault women.This was ofcourse a hypothetical situation,but my female partner didnt think so.
I wasnt surprised as to why men turn into psychos.

When every bloke started to get 6 pacs,i was tempted too.I rang up a friend who already had one(or six.) and decided to meet him for coffee.
He started off with workout sessions and supplements.It didnt seem all that hard.He then went onto the diet plan,i asked for the check.

I then took up smoking,that was manly.I was liking it.It wasnt all that hard. I started to take green tea as well,i had read in a magazine about the benefits of antioxidants for smokers.The very next issue mentioned how smoking affects the sperm count,I quit.

Eventually I got the manliness mantra.Baldness it is.A real man would go bald.
Scientifically right too.
Clint Eastwood is bald,so is hard to die man Bruce Willis.Connery,Jason Statham,Vin Diesel,Steve Jobs,all the real men!
I have a hairline thats depriciating like the pre android phones in the market.Im getting manlier by the day!
My long haired guy friend wasnt pleased at all.He brought up Jackie Chan.He claimed none of the bald men could do what Chan does .True,exactly why I dont consider him human.


Cheers :)

The Chauvinist

WHO’S THE MAN?   by the feminist

Just recently, as a result of boredom,   I was eavesdropping on my cousin while he was happily reciting all those cheesy lines from cheap novels to his girlfriend, or as he might say ‘his one and only white swan’.  After five minutes of eagerly pressing my ear to his bedroom door in the hopes of finding something to blackmail him later and failing, I was about to forget the mission and go to sleep when suddenly, I heard something unbelievable.

My brother was giggling. Yes! Giggling like a little school girl. Now this wouldn’t have come as a surprise if only he wasn’t so adamant on acting like a tough dude all the time. Of course, when I asked him about it, he first denied it and then reluctantly admitted to it insisting it be a called a ‘manly giggle’ for that is what it was.

Men aren’t genetically disallowed to giggle, cry or lay their emotions out on a platter.  But as soon as they do, we label them gay. The society forces them to shove all of their emotions into a dark cave and trap them inside. Therefore, not their will but rather, people around them influence their actions.

If somebody tells me to be myself, I would definitely throw a rock at their face because the moment you start being yourself, someone somewhere will start digging a grave for you… or rather, you would start digging your own grave.

This is a fact that men all around know. They might be spotted wearing light eye makeup and straightened hair in countries like Japan and South Korea, and girls will surely swoon over them. But the moment they step out, they will start wearing baggy jeans and cool shirts for the fear of being counted under the same head as Justin Beiber. Not to offend his fans, but come on! Would you rather call him pretty or handsome?

Calling someone a man is all about what culture we belong to. So next time you spot a guy wearing a skinny clothes and mascara and labeling him gay, stop a while before saying, he’s not a man…

The Feminist                                                    

HALOO by the chauvinist.

My friendship circle has a very small radius.My cousin in grade 2 probably has more friends.Ofcourse he is as stubborn and annoying as yours,but he can name all the players in the cricket team.
Somehow,I fail to posses respect for the tradition of cricket worship in my country.This unfortunately,has a lot of consequences.
Everytime i go to a gathering,i'd have to pour myself a drink and sit with a bunch of Men who stare at,eh,goats.

Sit and stalk women,thats pretty much all I'd do at a party.Not that I was complaining,but after a while you start to lose interest,especially when most of the women present are triple your size,twice your age or have boyfriends who look like they've come out of The Expendables movie.

I was itching to make friends.I considered walking upto a group and squeezing into their talk.I had done that once,the gentleman were busy talking about how certain rules of the game should be altered when I jumped in and stated how unfair the buckminister rule is,only later to realize that it was actually called the duckward lewis method.They got to know that i didnt know either of the two and I ended up losing the title of the genius/intellectual I had earned by staying away from the common man's conversation.

The situation demanded me to formulate a new strategy to make friends.After an hour, a couple of drinks and a "Eureka" I headed to the loo.
People talk about how they make friends at the bar,spa and theater.A world full of strangers and I was in a loo to make friends.
My first victim walked in and headed to a pot.I decided to go up to one that was a few away from his.I greeted him and we kickstarted a conversation.He was a good talker and pretty brainy too.Soon there was a problem.I had finished leaking,but he hadnt.This put in a dilemma,you wouldnt leave a friend at a dinner table when he isnt done,but then how long can you linger around for?
After washing our hands we shook them and I asked him to carry on as I had more people to meet.I spoke with a lot of men,and the last friend I made for the day was the washroom cleaner whom I had brought into a conversation by intentionally toppling the trash bin over.
I was convinced that the only method to possibly meet everybody at a party was to stay in the loo.I was on the top of the world for inventing this fabulous technique.I felt like Mark Zuckerberg.
The bubble burst soon as I opened the mens door to see the womens' door right across.

Ever since,I've been trying to develop a technique to make friends with women,but I havent made much of progress I must admit.
My technique I should say works only with men.This is because a guy wanting to use the loo would excuse himself and walk into one,whereas a woman would go to her girlfriend and then the friend would call her friend and then there would be a dozen chics giggling all the way to the washroom,like a bunch of annoying schoolgirls on a field trip. Offlate I've been working hard to tweak my technique to tackle the issue.The biggest obstacle however is that I dont know what a womens' room looks like.I've never been to one,not as yet.

Cheers :)
The Chauvinist

OF BUGS & INSECTS by the feminist

Of Bugs & Insects… 

Do you hate home cooked food, prefer to eat oily junk food 5 times a week and still not get a pouchy tummy? If you can, then congratulations! Give yourselves a pat on the back and relax, for you are most definitely the teenage college group who have been given the supernatural power to do nothing but eat tons and tons of food and still not be a victim to the dreaded ‘ salad diet’ syndrome. And if you are, then I’m sure your wives and girlfriends have already said everything there is to say and will I save you further embarrassment and not comment on the one pack muscles that you are the proud owner of.

I bet all of us at one point or the other have narrated a very fascinating and interesting tale of how much we are capable of gulping down our throats without choking on it in one go. And our friends have looked at us with admiration and maybe if you look closely, even a few jealous looks. That is the moment when we resemble that character from the Scooby dooby show.  Of course not the dog, I meant shaggy, the tall thin guy with the eating capacity of a gorilla, remember? Tap your - hidden from the world – cartoon network side of the brain and you would know it to be true.

So once you’ve stumbled across the fact that junk food tastes far better than home cooked low fat, low cholesterol, low everything food; you would without fail try to distract your mom from cooking and take her out by buttering her with all kinds of honey coated words.

However, I’m sure your view would change as soon as you are forced to eat the food that they serve in the mess, which is if you are ever unlucky enough to go away from home and land up in a hostel in the middle of nowhere. Personally, by the way they chop vegetables, I think they must be meat butchers before this job and were punished and forced to cook for us. And the utensils they serve you food in would undoubtedly be cleaner if you give it to a cat to lick it. And then right when you make up your mind and sit down to eat… BOOM! You would suddenly notice that you are meant to share it with another creature that you find struggling inside the curry. If this isn’t already enough, some of the days, you might even know precisely the length and the texture of the cook’s precious hair.

The sole person that gains anything out of this is your mom. Because next time she prepares bacon for you at home, you would be grateful and eat it with a big smile on your face!

The Feminist. 

BANG A LORE MR. BOND by the chauvinist

I was quite happy to see mr.ethan hunt chase the villan down to india in the 4th MI. My happiness vaporised soon as the bad guy stepped into the Sun Network Tv Broadcasting company claiming it to be some kind of a space research centre,to hit the big fat red button that'd turn the moon pink or make marijuana legal.
This year,the british agent mr bond was to come down to india.I guess its been quite a while since the gentlemans' slept with indian women.However,the stubborn Maharashta govt authorites,who are probably tom cruise fans,dissapproved and Bond just flew back home.

Id say Bond lost hope too soon.He shouldve flown down to Bangalore.Not that the women are any better,but the film would certainly have good twists.

Bond,being british we could assume kickstarts his day,just like the other english gentlemen;with a cup of tea .Dont be startled if u find a tequila glass on his breakfast tray,thats precisely the size of the glass in which Bangalorians have tea.
After his Raagi Upma,If bond was to take a rickshaw which mostly comes with a clueless driver,he'd probably have to ask for directions to a young geek in a white shirt and a weird shaped tie with a laptop case,he'd be told to head straight down the road and take the left turn at the dead end.
Apparently,Bangalore is someplace where it is quite possible to take a left or right from a dead end.So,if the bad guys manage to chase mr bond to the dead end of a tunnel and bond winks,dont misunderstand,hes probably showing off because he has a left or right to take.


Now,things are gonna be hard if bond has to break into an office to steal highly confidential files from a computer or copy itunes from the bad guys ipod,as every office with a computer I can think off in Bangalore has a night shift.
With pretty much nothing to do,Bond could go bar hopping.But the biggest disaster for bond comes after his shaken and not stirred drink.Bond is used to finding himself in a bed with a woman or more after he places 3 aces on the green table across which a one eyed or handed or legged or headed bad guy sits.
Unfortunately,gambling is banned.If bond thinks he could get a woman to his bed with a coupla salsa moves,tough luck.Dancing is banned too.

The rickshaw driver,whose fare would be more than twice the price of his rickshaw with him in it is most likely to be the baddest of the bad asses from the whole of bad ass land.
However,bond would be pleased to know that he could press the button on his steering wheel to pop the machine guns out of his tata nano and shred the rickshaw and the driver to pieces,the cop who has probably witnessed the kill would settle for half the bribe he asks for.
Infact the traditional clothing is just perfect for Bond business..Bond could use his dhothi as a parachute to jump off coconut trees and park his car in there otherwise.

Cheers ;)
The Chauvinist

THE BALLE BALLE DANCE by the feminist

The Balle Balle Dance 

What would you need to throw a big party? At the very least, perhaps an exaggerated amount of dishes, gallons and gallons of alcohol, couple of days running around planning themes… in short, way too much tension and too little fun.

On the other hand, gather a couple of Sikhs around with no money, no food, no plan and it’s still going to be a pretty brilliant party by itself. I had heard plenty of ‘sardaar’ jokes while growing up and I won’t deny forwarding some of the funny ones to my entire phone contact lists. I had also been warned by some of my friends about their anger and advised to keep my lips stitched together or the possibility of me missing my front teeth would be very high.

But it was only a few months ago that I actually had the chance to make friends with some of them. Though cautious at first, I soon began to notice their friendly and good humored nature and started interacting with them more freely. They have the ability rarely seen in people – the ability to make fun of themselves and being carefree about it. If you asked me to do the same, I would probably turn redder than a beetroot in embarrassment and use my bag as a monkey cap to hide my face!

I was invited to one of my Sikh friend’s house for lunch one day. Out of curiosity to know more about their culture, I accepted. Oh scratch that, I’ll admit it, I went for free food! I met his family, exchanged a few words in greetings and we all sat down for lunch. Simple paranthaas, curd and lassi. All things fattening and delicious looking! As we begin, I noticed how casual and informal the whole arrangement was. Everybody gathered up on one single cot, playfully conversing with each other, betting over who could finish their glass of milk and lassi first. What a feeling! Even if you tried to block all those positive vibes with all your might, you couldn’t.

As I became close friends with some of them, I suggested maybe we could all go for a dance party or something. They looked at me like it was the craziest idea they had ever heard of. Dressing up and spending money just to get an entry in for a dance party? Kidding right? Two of them got an empty bucket, turned it upside down, drummed on it, another guy got some crackers, and there we all were in beggar street clothes dancing like maniacs. At first it really did feel like a monkey dance, but as we got into the rhythm I could tell that I was enjoying myself more than I ever had in all the dance parties and clubs combined.

The simplicity of it all blew me away and I realized that is why they are always happy, smiling and laughing and ever so content. Being simple is the key. No exaggerated plans, no show, no meaningless words. Just simple everyday things to keep them happy. They showed me the true meaning of being down to earth. Maybe I too can learn their art of simple living someday.

The Feminist

PATRIOTIC POPCORN by the chauvinist

The inner voice in me,unlike yours does not preach.Its simply programmed to tell me when i need to do my laundry or call home or maybe burn some calories.
When it tells me that i've been lazying around for a while,Id put on a shirt, denim and tighten my belt to such an extent that it wouldnt fall even if an annoying school kid decided to hang onto it.

Everything buckled,id head to the local train station to try and get onto a local train.This,i believe is the most effective workout of all,especially when the platform ticket is as low as Rs.2

If you are new in town,you'd probably assume that the people out here dont go to work and simply keep switching trains all day.The crowd on trains

usually reminds me of the holocaust scenes from Schindlers' List.

You might even force yourself into believing that the world is to end that evening.I did.

The crowd is funny too.Everytime a man with facial hair and a cap puts his bag on the overhead compartment,all the eyes on the train would be on him until he picks up the bag and gets off the train.

mumbaikars,for all you know,he might just have a couple of pairs of boxers he has'nt washed in a while.Now that is most unlikely to blow up.

Bombay,i believe is the only place where you cannot possibly find a bite without Pav(Bread).Vada Pav, Batata Bajia Pav,Kanda Bajia Pav,Samosa Pav,Maska Pav,Burji Pav,Misal Pav,Pav Pakoda,Pav Bhaji and the list just goes on.

Mumbaikars eat pav all day.Though i love my Puttu And Kadala curry back at home ,i'd be equally happy if you served me some cereal and orange juice or Puri Bhaji and Chai or even a cup of strong black coffee and two slices of bread along with a bullseye with or without the yolk in place.(That probably says how modest i am!)

Another issue here in Bombay is finding a place that serves Beef.

Even with a million animals in the world that serve no purpose to mankind whatsoever,us indians had to pick the cow to be our god.HOLY COW!You couldve easily picked a Tiger or a Horse or a even a Pug for that matter,but u had to pick something that's probably much more delicious that any of the above.

Fellow Indians,if Cow is your god, I EAT YOUR GOD!

But if i was to believe in a superpower,id probably worship my dabbawala(lunch box delivery man).He is probably the superman in the neighbourhood.The person works all throughout the year and serves even if you call up an hour prior to your lunch time.This seems quite impossible to me.I keep telling people that i wouldve stayed in school if i had to work 6 days a week and 8 hours a day and heres' a bloke who doesn't take a break.I have my doubts as to whether he has 15 wives,but i consider it ill mannered to enquire.

Bombay is full of surprises.If you step into a Bar and decide to enjoy a smoke along with your drink,that huge bartender with a dragon tattoo on his right hand and a scar on his left cheek would show up to tell you that you aren't supposed to.This is something that i dont understand.A bar is not a place where an old woman with a heart condition is likely to show up dyingly to catch her breath.One does not go into a bar for yoga or meditation either.People drink in a bar and consumption of alcohol is injuries to health anyways.So,you wouldnt die because the bloke at the table right across lights a cigarrette.

So,its a sunday and you decide to catch your favourite movie,well,Bombay doesnt fall short of surprises there too.This is infact the lamest stunt of them all.Right when you have settled down on that soft seat with a stupendous pack of popcorn,tattling with your friend about the chic in front,a very fmiliar song  would start playing and all the folks would jump onto their feet.You all confused over the act would have the whole glass of coke all over your pants while getting up,identifying the song to be the national anthem.

A close friend and I have been called a wide variety of names because we simply remain seated while the others show respect to the country by standing up for the national anthem with spicy samosas in hand.

Strangely,despite all the mess here,people absolutely love the place.I wonder why.I'd probably understand once' i leave this place,go back home,put on some weight and decide to hit the gym.

Cheers! :)

The Chauvinist

MY ANGEL by the feminist

Have you ever once thought about how many hours a girl spends doing her eye makeup? Or

deciding what clothed to wear and what shade of lip gloss would go with the dress? And you

would think she is crazy and this is a waste of time. I think it is an unproductive activity as well.

But needless to say, I am a girl and play the role of a crazy fashion maniac sometimes too!

So on the day of a very important event happening in my college, I was all dressed up.

Complete with pretty jewelry and straightened hair. Now you see, even though I had done all

this to boost up my own confidence and feel good, compliments are always welcomed. So the

moment I stepped out of my room, all the other girls threw in compliments about how the new

style suits me and makes me look like a princess.

But I didn’t get any compliments from any of the guys I knew. Maybe one of the fifty guys said

something along the lines of how I looked a little ‘different’ but that just frustrated me even

further. As obvious as a new shade as a new shade of nail polish may seem to a girl, if you ask a

boy to spot the same, he would rather go fix a complicated electric appliance. . It’s not like I’m

miss popular and fish for self appraises but come on! One simple compliment of you look nice

from a boy would have sufficed me.

At the end of the day, when I failed to gather any extol, I was so frustrated that I wanted to pull

out the very first ever hair that grew on my scalp. But then came my angel, oh how I loved him

at that moment. He took one look at me and told me how pretty I was. This one little note of

observance made me fly in the air.

Maybe his intention was not to make me as happy as I was, but sometimes even the most

simple compliments can make a difference in somebody’s day.

The Feminist.

SHE FELL FOR MY COOKING by the chauvnist.

I have a friend who cooks pretty well. Though i enjoy her food, i've never  actually complimented her skills just so i dont hurt the male chauvinist in me.

Even with my least appreciative attitude,she'd call me over whenever she  found time to cook something that she tore out of a weekly or something.

The dishes would mostly be exotic.Now,exotic means two things to me-it  would have a name that I wouldnt be able to pronounce even if I took french  classes for over a 100 years & the quantum of food on the plate wouldnt be  enough to fill the tiniest of cats even after the third serving.The latter is what  bothers me the most as Im used to people who call me over when they  probably get a crate of beer and tonnes of junk food.

The dinner would mostly start with wine and end with a dessert as against  the beer and marlboro tradition im used to with my folks.

She,being the Connoisseur would sip the wine and let her taste buds tell her  the history of the wine while i'd be trying hard to recall the google search I  did a couple of hours back on holding the spoon and fork correctly.I'd wait  for her to pick up hers and follow suit so that i dont end up confusing her  as well.As the main course progresses she'd fill me in on the  history of the dish and i'd be contemplating on whether a third serving  would fill me.

With my only knowledge on the topic of food being eating,i'd have pretty  much nothing to say on such occasions and would continue doing what i  know best.

Things were pretty fine until the day she decided to ask me about my  favourite dishes.I wasn't sure as to whether she was expecting to hear  Kerala Paratha and Beef fry,but i certainly wouldnt change my tastes for a  woman that i wouldnt even try to flirt with.

The incident sort of hurt my ego and i decided to follow cookery shows on  Tv.Im used to listening cluelessly to guys swearing at each other over some  Real MAD  beating some ARSE a nail everytime i step out for coffee or  a smoke!Now that i watch tv,I started to tell them how Jennie and Sussy got eliminated  after they overspiced their Thai Chicken Soup and failed to please the judges.They'd give me a look,stare at each other and take a step away from me.

With hours of Tv shows,i totally forgot the sole purpose of watching them  and was getting emotionally involved with the participants.

However,i figured a way to tackle the problem.I'd call her up earlier and cunningly enquire as to what she was going to be cooking for dinner,

I'd google the dish and find out the details so that i would have something  to open my mouth for other than eating at the table.Alas!it worked! But the second time it didnt go well as i ended up memorizing details for an  entirely different dish as this particular dish spelled totally different from the  pronounciation as it was French or Braile or something.

With my wrong pronounciation of the dishes and elaborate  explanation,she was impressed and  thats exactly when i wished for the  ground to crack and take me right to hell as she now wanted me to cook it  for her!

The next morning,she asked me to jot down all the ingredients that i would need to cook.I sat down with a Pen and Paper,it was just like that day in school when the teacher decides to give u an undeclared test when you dont even remember her name or what subject she teaches.(They used to call it a 'Surprise' test in my school,i still havent figured out why,because for me a surprise is always a pleasent one!Unlike finidng a dead body in your car trunk or your boxers in the oven.)

There was no getting away,i had to cook.I was certain that i wouldn't be able to pull off the dish when i couldnt even pronounce it right!

So,I decided to tag along with her for shopping.

The Greengrocery section is particulary something i hate.Women would be all over the place.If you decide to be a gentleman and give the poor old lady behindyou  a chance to pick out the tomatoes from the box,you'd be standing there the whole day waiting and finally when you do get your turn you'd be left with an  empty box apart from the rotten tomatoes,while the neighborhood enjoys warm tomato soup.

I had all the vegetables that looked pleasing to the eye,the attendant warned me about a carrot being bad,but i ignored,it looked brilliant to me,the color tone was just perfect,he probably had to get his eyes checked.

My vegetables made absolute sense.Atleast to me.

Once we got back,I poured myself a drink and decided to put on the apron. I started off chopping vegetables while the meat defroze.

I put in some art into this task as well,there was absolute symmetry in every chop.You could create a million brilliant patterns with them,look at it and hallucinate.I was feeling like an actual chef.For a second i even considered switching my profession.

Soon she appeared in the kitchen after having changed  and sat on the platform sipping on the single malt whisky.This was making the chef in me very uncomfortable for i knew she could tell that i couldnt cook for shit.

So I somehow convinced her to go watch Tv.

Without her in the kitchen,i was getting back onto feeling like a chef again.

After having cooked the meat and vegetables with whatever ingredients i could lay my eyes on,i was able to get a good looking gravy.

It was'nt tasting bad,not good either.But after all,its an exotic dish,its just gotta have a weird name and has to be served in such a manner that you would have to wash just half the plate after finishing.

After the artistic plating i called her in.She came in and looked at it.She put on a smile and decided to put it on the table while i prepared the salad.While i turned around to my chopped vegetables to get started i heard something shatter.I rushed to the Dining hall.She had fallen for my cooking!she was flat on the floor along with the shattered plates and my art.I stood still.At that point,though an atheist i actually believed there is God and i thanked him for avoiding the bigger disaster that was to come.I picked up all thats on the floor and dropped it into the garbage except her.I dont know if she had intentionally dropped the plates and simply laid down on the floor,if so,u just saved yourself from a lot of medication my friend.

Cheers! :)

The Chauvinist