DAD AND THE iPAD by the Chauvinist.

Everytime my dad comes to me for figuring out what a particular button does on his phone or tab,i'd secretly laugh out loud at him.Thats probably the only  time when i get to feel superior to him.I'd even make him wait at times,just so to take revenge for all the occasions he made me wait to get the remote,change the bloody news channel to put on Tom and Jerry. 

I was the tech guru back in my childhood.I could tweak and fix software issues on most computers and customize cellphones for all my uncles and aunts.

The good days came to an end with my kiddo cousin growing up.He's way too smarter than I am at things.He can figure out any damn gadget in a matter of minutes.

While i was walking around with my DSLR the last time i was home,he decided to stick around and watch me.Aware of the fact that he was eyeing me,i tried to make it look much complicated than it actually is.I changed my exposure a couple of times,played around with the scroll only to revert it back and take the shot.

After the shot I put on Mark Walhbergs' look from the movie Shooter and made it look as if i had just shot a president.

He walked to me and asked me if he could shoot with the DSLR,I was convinced that operating this would be a blow to the tech guru image he had stolen from me and happily handed over the camera.

He walked around for a while and came back with shots,the shots were compositionally wrong,but then he had managed to get the shots without any technical mistakes.The exposures were just right and the shots were steady. I said nothing and packed my gear.

I remember breaking my head over some setting on my phone that i couldn't tweak.Convinced that i couldn't solve it myself,i took it to the in house genius.He didn't quite like being disturbed during his daily dose of Cartoon shows.A  blue fat cat from japan was fighting the bad guys while i decided to wait.He solved my problem soon as the cat went away.

The new cartoons i must say lack quality and charm.All the new cartoons have people beating up each other and blowing things up!If you happen to see the new Tom and Jerry,you'd actually consider throwing the TV out of the window.The new tom and jerry look as if they've got typhoid and diabetes respectively.

The bloke who called the tv an idiot box,was an actual idiot. Tv was fun back then.Not anymore.

I grew up with my parents telling me every now and then about how they grew up without a TV or a computer and climbed trees or plucked fruits as kids.They'd play this card everytime i switched on my PC to game,this would put me in a situation.Growing up in a city that had trees only in public parks or between roads,i really couldnt climb trees even if i wanted to.My friend suggested that i tell them this,but after all they grew up without a TV or a computer, i didnt want to hurt their feelings.I actually felt bad for them.

However,their words made me realize a big trouble that was to come right at me.They could buy sympathy from me because they grew up without a computer or tv,but what am i going to do when i have a kid.Apparently,I did grow up with a tv,computer,gaming console,cellphone and a music player.I had even bought myself a DSLR in high school!!

I'd have to stand with my head down in front of my kid when he decides to switch on his gaming console every evening!I don't really know if there would be yet another revolutionary evolution of technology like the one that has been happening in the last 20 years or so.

I haven't lost all hope I must admit.If the rumors of the world coming to an  end is true,i'd be able to save myself from the embarrassment i'd have to go through with my kid.I wouldn't actually mind if we have to start right again from the stone age after 2012.I could cherish the days of the iPad and make my kid jealous!


Cheers :)

The Chauvinist

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