30 August, 2009

Hear me…

Well you could hear me if I still had my voice. Thanks to my enthusiasm, I have been trying to sing over the new amplifiers we bought for the college, I had lost my voice as of this morning. I try to say something and all that comes out are squeaks and hisses. Almost sounds like Parseltongue. My voice just decided to leave me this morning. She didn’t even leave her phone number, just spent the night and left. I could have at least gotten a cup of coffee for last night. Anyway, the girl who sat next to me in class was quite happy that I had lost my voice, as I normally bug her to death with my incessant talking and muttering. She admitted it by the way.

This time I was really worried because I’ve got a performance coming up in a few days time and am expected to do the back-up vocals. My vocalist has threatened to kill me if I don’t find the voice. There begins my quest. As always, people always have tons of remedies to suggest getting well. The usual salt-water gargling, tea-drinking, honey and hot water…. I think I recollect someone asking me to drink bat-blood as well! Oh wait! Hangover from the really hilarious Bram Stroker’s Dracula. Will comment on that towards the end.

I have been drinking hot water all day and my voice from a hiss turned into a squeak which I believe was sub-sonic. One can always trust friends to treat you well when you are unwell. The rogues made me talk a lot and issued tons of verbal abuse just to get me to retort. Needless to say, I did. Saying ‘F*** you B**ch’ just does not hold the same kick when you’re near zero decibels and sound like a little girl. And I conclude by yelling ‘ I’ll get you scoundrels when my voice is back…you shall see….you have not heard the last of me.’ And this sounded like a very young female version of Sachin Tendulkar.

Through all this, one friend was kind enough to make a really awesome cup of ginger tea. Hoo boy, that did the trick! My voice is back. Not in full form, still the occasional hissing, but at least I don’t sound like a little girl anymore. Waiting till tomorrow morning, then I am issuing a verbal dual to all those guys who made fun. It’s going to be one of those ‘Your Mamma’ joke sessions.

Your mamma is so fat, when she jumped for joy, she struck oil…

Your mamma is so fat, when she stood on the weighing scale, it said ‘one person at a time’

Your mamma is so fat, she died, walked through pearly gates and got stuck….now, no one can enter heaven.

Coming to Dracula, please watch the movie for the intense acting skills of Keanu Reeves. His ‘NO’ has so much emotion, that it drives you to tears…tears of laughter that is. This was where he honed his acting skills for intense scenes in the Matrix where he so emotionally says,’ I know Kung Fu’. Not to forget the hopeless British accents and terrible dialogues. The movie was anything but scary. I was laughing most of the time. And Anthony Hopkins, is a way too uncool Van Helsing. The movie is a mere fart in the face of all vampire movies…even Twilight ( Movie of rich…high society metrosexual vampires…frickin glam boys) was more Vampire-ish than this one. Since we’ve revamped Batman, Iron Man, James Bond…why doesn’t someone work on Dracula too???

27 August, 2009

Murthy in a Mercedes

As compensation for all the cruel things he does to me, the good lord does bless me with these great micro-events in life. One macro-blessing was admission to this college. Anyway, religious mumbo-jumbo out of the way and let’s cut to the chase.


Yup! That’s the headline. Awesome isn’t it? Isn’t it everyone’s dream at some point in time to own a Mercedes Benz, or at least travel around in it? And yours truly, even without having been a part of any major business setup, as a mere average-grade student got to travel around in a Mercedes Benz. Okay, if that does not tickle your fancy, how about I put it this way to you –


(I can hear you going WHOOOOOOOOAAAAHHHHH!!!!)

The college organized this event which focuses on the various successful women in management and Dr.Kiran Mazumdar was the Chief Guest for the day. The college had chosen another girl and I to be the buddies for Dr.Shaw. This meant we were glorified Chihuahuas who were expected to trot behind her and help her out with anything. Think of me as a blue genie – “ Your Wish is my command!” (That just sounded weird in my head).

With guests of this stature, we can’t expect to drive them around in a normal Indica. Out comes the style and Nikhilesh is smiling from ear to ear. Mercedes Benz baby!!! Needless to say, before I got into the Benz, I behaved like a complete villager taking photographs and telling all my friends, and …ahem….well-wishers! That car is gorgeous! I do believe I have found my motivation to study. Must own a Mercedes Benz….I must admit, I liked the BMW of my friend much better! But then, imagine me, a mere student getting to sit in a Benz. You should have seen all the peasants turn green.(One day he sits in a Benz, and the rest are peasants….Sheesh! The things money can do to people)

As far as Dr.Shaw goes, it was a decent conversation. I don’t know much about biotechnology. So ended up playing the ‘foodie’ card, and since we are both from the same town, talked about a lot of restaurants. I need to thank dad for taking me to all the top-notch places in town at least once. This way, I am not acting like a total pauper in front of the richest woman in Asia. Turns out her favourite place is ‘Sunny’s ‘ in Bangalore….It’s a fabulous place, except that I need to sell my blood, and maybe a sliver of kidney to eat there. I guess that’s where Dad plays an important role, by giving me glimpses to what one can get if they work towards a good career. He’s always taken me to all the fine restaurants at least once to show me what it must feel like to be rich and successful. He also once rented a Limo when we were on holiday in London. That still ranks number 1 among cars I have been in.

So, let’s take stock of all the famous people I have met at college Shashi Tharoor,T N Seshan,Madhur Bajaj, Rahul Bajaj, Adi Godrej, Jamshyd Godrej, Dipak Jain, Anand Mahendran and now…Kiran Mazumdar Shaw. Hopefully, I can join this elite list one day…apparently I need to work really hard to get there! I am unable to upload the picture as the college has really "fast" bandwidth.

Also, one of my great friends from the infamous gang had a baby boy this morning. So, yours truly is now an uncle. Feels odd, from now on I can no longer behave like the immature childish one in the group. But so cool, the gang has been together since class 7. That’s nearly 14 years….and now we’re all grown up. I still think of us as the little kids from class 7. Cheers to the new-born baby! Welcome to the world!

23 August, 2009

Unusually Religious

Religious congregations are generally the last place you would find me spending my time. But quite oddly, I am either growing old or senile thanks to the lack of good food and ale. Now, don’t mistake me for an atheist, for I do believe in the presence of a God, a Supreme Being and puppet master manipulating our lives. Except, my belief finds worship not in the form of daily feverish prayers and insane rituals like fasting. I am more like the protagonist in ‘The Fiddler on the Roof’ who spends a good time of his day merely just talking to God. At least, with that, I understand my prayers rather than say them in a language I can’t comprehend.

Now, why all this talk about God? We brought it a Ganesha Idol for the Ganesh Chaturti celebrations. I’m normally quite cold when it comes to participation in such fanfare. But for some odd and unexplainable reason, I found myself actually eager to do the whole dancing to drums and helping bring the idol inside the campus and decorate the place for tomorrow’s celebrations. Many friends back home were shocked when I told them that my evening was spent doing this.

Even now, there are reasons to which I can’t explain why I am feeling unusually upbeat about the festival. And for once, it isn’t for the Prasad at the end of the function. I actually enjoyed the whole affair. I think I have reached that point in life where you need god’s assistance to get through the day as your fate is no longer in your hands….or I have reached that stage where I am so bored, that any form of partying is accepted. The entire day was sort of fun. Apart from the usual Ganapathi-Nikhilesh analogy jokes. Some samples are:

Dude, the Ganapathi’s tummy is smaller than yours!!! Go on a diet !

Dude, don’t steal any of the ladoos….

The best one yet…. Dude, don’t stand next to the idol! People won’t know the difference as you are so fat!

Haahahahahahahahahaaahahaha !!!!! Someday I tell you, these thin people making fat people jokes are going to get what’s coming to them.

I am reminded of the ‘ Ganapathi baba maurya’ procession of class 2. I joined the new school a day before the Ganesh Puja. This school was in Maharashtra, at an island near Mumbai. Some of the more enthusiastic seniors thought that it was auspicious that such a healthy child with the surname ‘Murthy’ has joined the school so close to the Ganesh Puja and paraded me around the school on their shoulders like a conquering hero. Well……that’s what I tell myself! But I did get the parade and everyone screaming ‘Ganapathi baba maurya….’. Come to think of it, all the dances in school that I was in had me in the most important role - the Ganesh in the center who got the opening act with all the nice girls dancing bharatnatyam around me! I remember, I once got so bored, that the left hand that was up supposedly blessing the audience, slowly drooped and towards the end, I gave a quick wave at the audience! Needless to say, the dance teacher yelled her lungs out at me….and I was rocketed into the ‘hall of weird awesomeness’ !

22 August, 2009

Pappu Might Dance Saala

Here comes a dark secret from the labyrinth that is yours truly. A secret revealed only to a chosen few. A secret so sacrosanct , that it could rattle the very foundations of logic and reason. A secret that even God did not realize he was creating. Here goes – I like to dance!

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! You? Dance? As in move ? Actually move? Physical labour?

Yes! Me! Move….wiggle …jiggle…whatever you call it?

YOU? Seriously? You’re kidding right…

Nuh-uh….I like to dance!

The above was a conversation between I and me. Yes! It is true, despite the extra burden I carry around…yours truly is quite enthusiastic about dancing. Alas, I must whine that the thin world has not given me the chance to do so. Well…because I look ugly doing it! There are something’s fat guys were not built to do, for everything else, there’s Mastercard to buy that size-me-up meal at McDonalds.

The college internal events team sent out mails to everyone looking to enroll for a ballroom dance workshop. Yours truly was quite excited as finally he may have the guts to actually attend a formal dance class. Alas, the mailer said that one was expected to enroll with a partner!

The organizer was joking right?

Nope! Turns out he was not! If one does not have a partner, they are expected to send in their names and the girls would pick. Oh well, there goes the dance dream again! Reverting to cocoon and safety of delivering expression trough headbanging and mosh pits.Pappu might never dance saala. BTW, I am sure A.R.Rahman wrote that song, keeping my life as reference. Pappu guitar bajata hain…. Pappu ke paas hain MBA….you get the picture! Oh, Pappu can’t dance saala either!

20 August, 2009

The Big Slip....

We had yet another college inauguration, this time to appease the local political folks and ensure that they don’t give us too much trouble. The chief guest for the evening was none other than the deputy chief minister of Tamil Nadu, M K Stalin. It is a big deal, all these political rallies down south. Yours truly was called upon to deliver the MC job of welcoming the guests and go through the usual song and dance routine. I had a friend well versed in Tamil who quite graciously handled all the tamil bits and quotes, lest my tamil lands me in the boot of the car, next minute I am swimming with the fishes. There was a battalion of journalists from numerous newspapers and TV channels. Tons of supporters of the deputy CM and the usual riff raff that has nothing better to do with life, than to follow politicians along. Lights in my face, the whole show.

Now, a lot of blood has been split in the path of me getting the role of co-host. Not many people were happy that only I was doing the hosting gigs, and wanted a slice of the pie. Anyway, the politics and egos aside, d-day and I am co-host, probably for the last time. Anyway, for a very odd reason I felt slightly pressured by the scenario. The normal cool and calm approach which has served me all these years was found missing. Yours truly was actually nervous. I looked absolutely handsome in a suit…like a young Sean Connery in James Bond if I may say so myself. Honestly, some of the girls did say I looked quite nice in a suit. Needless to say, I was gleaming from ear to ear.

Deputy CM comes, all running like clockwork. I speak loud and well, not a fumble. All running smooooooooth. Too smooth.We come to the end. And then, God decided to pay a dirty trick on me and make me a total…donkey’s behind…in front of nearly 500 people. I see on the sheet of paper in front of me the words ‘ Extremely Distinguished Guests’….but my tongue sees something else. And out on the microphone, just before closing the speech I blurt ‘EXTINGUISHED GUESTS’.

Say whaaaaaaaaaaaat????????

Somewhere, Billy Joel is singing, ‘We didn’t start the fire’.

Two words ruined a days worth of preparations, ruined the glory of the suit and ruined my reputation for being an immaculate speaker. Thankfully, 90% of the crowd were not well-veresed in English, so some saving grace in all this.

YIKES! I just gave the wolves blood for eternity. All well, all great and just two words made everything go down the drain faster than the time it took for you to reach the flush handle. I finish and want to hang myself. Two words… that’s all it took. There were the press guys with TV cameras. I can see it; tomorrow’s headlines:


And that is how my possible magnum opus went down. In the burning flames of a Zeppelin. Wait, but weren’t the guests extinguished????? As expected, the wolves have got me by the jugular and am the butt of jokes at college. Well, it is a welcome change from all the fat boy jokes at least.

17 August, 2009

The 'essentials' of Mandarin

I might have mentioned this earlier, in case I have not, here goes. We have a course in Mandarin (Chinese to the lame man), and most of us sit in class pronouncing words in a fashion that would put every china man to shame. Three terms in and we are expected to get the meanings to most of the words correct, however, since the course is non-graded most of us don’t really make the effort to learn.

This ends up with us giving the nice lady who teaches us a fair amount of blood pressure. Mandarin is basically a language which describes actions to refer to things like Camera, Airplane, electricity,etc. For example camera means something like ‘machine that stops pictures’ or something equally long and tedious to explain. Black tea for example is called ‘red tea’ in mandarin because the colour is technically red. An odd red that reminds me of certain mishaps in the chemistry lab.

We all ought to get most of the verbs and adjectives in place, but alas. We fumble quite well. Today somehow was an exception. I had done no prior pre-read for class. Today’s class was on ordering food and ale in a restaurant in China. And when the teacher asked us for meanings of words, from the deep reaches of my dark soul, yours truly knew the meanings to all the words. One or two may have been a fluke, but all of them. Yikes! Even the teacher was shocked by my extremely active performance in the class which is a stark difference from my normal subdued self. (You know I’m BSing when I say I was subdued). Each and every one of the verbs, adjectives were right. I knew the difference between the various types of meats one ordered. The various types of ale. It was as though I was in some trance state of affairs and every word was correct. The force was with me.

Teacher comments: How come you’re getting everything correct today? I’m really impressed and happy.

Fat boy retorts: It is food. And that’s the one thing I am good at.

Some of the more studious students refused to believe that I was running on instinct and were under the impression I was doing my pre-reads. Am sure that I have sent some back to their rooms totally baffled as to how I got almost all correct. They'd probably feverishlys study for the next class. Alas, the only outcome of this is that no matter what I do or try, I will be a foodie at heart. And as there is nothing more essential than food, yours truly has learnt

By the way, I know how to order Bejing roast duck in Mandarin…that ought to impress the ladies!!!

16 August, 2009

Goodbye my friend

Today was the first time I actually put on some sad ‘goodbye’ music and wept. Today I lost a loved one. I lost a good friend who has been there with me through thick and thin. We’ve spent long afternoons, writing and learning some great music. Spent many a drunken evenings singing tales of joy and friendship. Spent times of absolute anger finding peace in the music of the greats, today… I lost my first acoustic guitar.

Well, I did not lose her as such, but thanks to an act of God, the guitar toppled over and cracked at the neck. I was taking a break during a jam session and I placed her against the desk. She normally never falls down . Today, for some unearthly reason, I turned around to see her topple over and crash into the floor causing a deep crack right at the junction of the neck and the body. Immediately, my eyes filled with tears. Reaction similar to a kid whose candy just got stolen and there was not a darn thing he could do about it. The crack was too deep and beyond repair. No quick fix or tape would help. Alas, her time had come.

Some of my fondest memories are with my guitar. I remember the first day we got her home, all spick and span. I was beaming from ear to ear. I didn’t know a thing back then. But then over the years, we’ve spent many late nights and lazy afternoons learning some of my favourite songs. I clearly remember the first concert I ever played way back in college. The first song was Metallica’s ‘Nothing Else Matters’. She and I have been through at least 4 bands as far as I can remember. Through her, I bought life to some of my favourite artisits and music from all over. I’ve always found a certain peace when I played her not matter how angry or depressed I was. She has probably been one of my greatest companions through the confusing times of engineering college. Music has now become such an integral part of my life that I can’t imagine a day without me listening to music. And it was this guitar that allowed me and encouraged me to play on. A lot of people say that no matter how hard you try, you never forget your first crush. Well, I think my guitar just won.

Goodbye good friend, we’ve had some great times. Thank You for all the music we’ve made together. Thank you for just being there in my life. Thank you for the magic.

A toast to Nikhilesh’s first guitar (2002-2009). May she live forever through all the guitars that will come forth in my life! Amen !

14 August, 2009

Not meant to be

There are some things in one’s life that are just not meant to be. You can try your best, but it will never happen your way. My focus on today’s whining session is my experiments with modeling. Like I tell a lot of people, I am a role model…sorry…that was to be spelt roll model….to many. At college today, owing to an upcoming fest, there were try-outs for the fashion show. I normally am well aware of what events I am good at, and what events I need to keep away from. Somehow, I think the excessive lectures on IT implementation sent my brain away to sleep.

Today was just one of those days where dressing sense was meant to go bad. Thanks to the fact that I had not washed my clothes in a few days, I was left only with a red pair of shorts and red jersey. Well, I wore that and went for a game of fottball. Quite obviously, I was the object of everyone’s attention. Out came all the Santa Claus jokes that I have got so bored of hearing, that they really don’t bug me anymore. I finish a football game and decide, oh well; at least I can go heckling at the models strutting their stuff.

Mistake one; never show up at a try-out where you know for a fact that everyone is better than you.

So there I am, in my all red gear heckling the models. (Grapes are sour eh????)I normally never listen to anyone when it comes to trying out funny stuff, but like I said, my brain had checked out for the day. Thanks to a little coaxing from people around, yours truly decides that he has what it takes to hit the ramp …that too in his matching red shorts and jersey. One must find it commendable that the boy does not lack confidence. So there I was, in front o f my peers, attempting to walk the ramp.

A few seconds in and I start to feel a disturbance in the force. And then it hit me. No! It really did hit me. One in the crowd thought it would be cool to have a bouncing ball around to give it a sports theme to go with my outfit. Well, his aim was far better than he thought it would be. He throws the ball, just as I turn….WHACK !!!!!!The ball hits me right in the face sending my glasses flying. All of a sudden, I sort of blank out for about 2 seconds and start to hear birds chirping. What does one do when such mishaps happen on the ramp? Quite the obvious, the show must go on. I completed my cat-walk ….a little dazed though. Now I know how those cartoons feel…all those pretty stars orbiting ones head. For reasons, unexplainable, I did not feel embarrassed one bit.

Now, I’ve gone through my fair share of public humiliation on stage, but I believe this was the first time someone threw something at me. Well, at least I maintained composure and completed the darn thing. Am now supremely sure that I am never going to even attempt anything that is remotely unnatural to me. I have never modeled and probably never will hence forth. Once is enough. Imagine if I do this on a stage, good lord…all those tomatoes and eggs. Omelette anyone?

Some things were not meant to be. I even thinking that I was capable of modeling is just a case of poor judgment. I have made better judgments when not sober. I mean, what was I thinking attempting to be part of a fashion show? Oh wait….I wasn’t thinking!

10 August, 2009

Game forgotten

Hey, have you all heard of my prowess in sports and all the great sports stories I’ve had? No????? Well, that’s because I have none. Alas, this short and stout tambram is not exactly a sporting icon of any sort. When it came to sports day, I generally played the role of the jester a.k.a the chubby boy who ran like a baby Rhino. My prowess on the sports field has been limited to falling down, tripping over my own thighs, stopping 7 seconds into the race for a breather and have the team pass me on their second lap, and much more. With regard to sports, the only game I have been tolerably decent at is football. I stank at tennis and table tennis. Basketball and volleyball skills are appalling. Hell, I even suck at carom and chess. Let’s not even get started on cricket.

Needless to say, the obstacle race wasn’t any fun to me either. Alas, it’s boring when you have all super athletes clocking records and what not, one does require some comical relief. Send in the fat boy so that he may get stuck in the tire. Anyway, after many years of long painful sports moments worthy of YouTube (thank god it came into vogue after I hung up my running shoes) I accepted my place among the nimble and the quick as ‘the bulky and slow’.

Always being the chubby boy, you tend to get picked last for everything. But then, everyone has some place in the world, and my place was soon discovered when I was picked last. The guy who was picked last was generally made to be the goalkeeper. And yours truly, until recently was one the most formidable goal keepers of his time. I remember way back in class 3, the first sport that I was exposed to was Hockey. We were all made to stand in a line. While the rest of the boys stood proudly with their hockey sticks, chest out, shoulders straight, at the end of the line stood a cute little chubby boy ( remember from previous posts…I was cute!!!) who really didn’t care about what was going on and generally stared at the sky thinking about lunch. Coach comes up and looks at the line, chubby boy not aware of what was going on; in any case, he was going to be picked last. A name is called. Chubby boy still thinking about lunch. Next minute the chubby boy is rudely woken up from his day dream by the coach throwing a tennis ball at him. Coach scream, “ Nikhilesh, wake up. Come here! Put these gloves on. You are first!”

“What ????” thinks the chubby boy, “Me??? First????” There must be something wrong…maybe it is an example of how ‘not to play hockey’. Much to the boy’s surprise, he was actually picked first. That was it, the start of a great career, gold medal for the Indian Olympic team, day dreaming continues. Boy is rudely awoken once again with a ball being hurled at him at near break-neck speed. Boy ducks to save life ! Coach screams, “Boy, you are fat….you are the goal keeper. Your job is to stop it. I am sure you can take a beating or two…stand still”.

And with those golden taunts began the only sporting career I have had. ‘Chak De India’ moment…ain’t it???? I made quite the decent goal keeper in hockey. The same continued into football. Last guy picked was the keeper. Soon enough I got a reputation of being THE keeper teams wanted and chubby boy was being picked first. Pretty soon, I got bored of the role of being ‘The original wall’ (Sorry Dravid) and soon moved up to defence. Now, you won’t believe it, but back in the day, I was quite the defender. I knew where my feet were and where the ball was; I knew instinctively where people would pass and where to pass myself. Great ball control. Except the fact that I could not run too fast, or if I did manage to pick up speed, the momentum made it difficult to stop. Still, one of the best defenders in the school team. Wasn’t too bad at college either. Soon enough, chubby boy gets drafted into the office team. All goes well until Chubby boy one day believes he is a striker.

Nothing like people believing that they are something great, but then there is something called physical limitations. It’s kind of like if a cow actually believes it is the one in the nursery rhyme and tries to jump over the moon, alas it will fall. In similar fashion, this Rhino fell too ; ripping a few nerves in the leg. Out of action for two years. I’m back playing football, a game I claimed to know. I am playing like a total newbie, making all the fundamental mistakes of passing, kicking, running. It is nearly disgraceful. I ought to quit while the rest of the football players have some respect for me, but then, like John Nash says, ‘with every attempt, my chances of winning drastically improve’. Thank the lord I have understanding people who still ask me to come and play, even though they know I am going to mess up. Back to being picked last. Full circle….what goes around….takes an elliptical orbit around the fat guy….So here it is, the great sportsman has forgotten to play the only game he knows to play and is now officially pathetic. Some men were made for sports, some men were made for intellect and then there was I. Sports just is not for some people.

07 August, 2009

The Bad Suit Chronicles

Most of you would have read about the extreme joy and thrill of me buying my first suit. By the way, the Raymonds ad does not deliver on its promise….still no damsels. Anyway, earlier in the term, we had a tailor come to college and take measurements for suits for everyone. Now, I’m a little finicky when it comes to people like my tailor, barber and the works. ( All the signs of a spoilt millionare). The first thing that really put me off with this guy was the fact that he was pretty much staring at me and yelling out measurements to his assistant who quite feverishly noted every detail down.

Rule One – you don’t look at me and guess the size. I am not a prize ham at a fair where you look and guess the weight, winner takes home the closest guess. I kept telling him to please take measurements and to stop sizing me up. But to no avail… “Waist…44….Legs 41….”. Needless to say, my mind is racing with a picture of me in the suit that he was going to have delivered. And when the suit came last week, well….let us put it this way, I was not disappointed. Not only was the colour a hideous shade of blue (a shade worn by the guy who takes orders at the AC section of an all veg restaurant in Chennai), but the material just felt so repelling against my skin. The fitting of the coat brought back memories of the horrid school blazer which one was expected to wear, and even that seemed like sunshine in front of this audacity for a suit. No style, nothing. A plain old boring suit. The sleeves were way too short, the shoulders tight. The only saving grace was that the buttons managed to come together…obviously with a lot of me holding my breath in and turning purple in the face.

The trousers were a sham. The waist barely made any room for expansion. Now, think of all those fancy seminars I might attend and the luscious buffet being served. Yours truly cannot tuck in as…oh well…the tailor decided he’s eaten enough for a life time. The waist region was so small I could forget trying to pull off any style by standing around with my hands in my pockets looking suave. I barely managed to get the pinkie finger inside the pockets. The pants needless to say were quite short and made me resemble the great Raj Kapoor from Shri 420. The one good thing the pants did was accentuate my rear. I was so afraid to sit fearing that …..oh well…you get the pretty details.

Here comes the killer part. When I wear the suit and stand in front of the tailor, he goes ‘ekdum first class….’. I was hoping he was being sarcastic, but no, He actually thought it looked good on me. When I began pointing out the flaws, he goes, (translated from hindi)’ Sir, wear it for some time, you’ll get used to it.’ “USED TO IT…..” was he delusional? I can’t eat, I can’t breath, I definitely don’t look my usual handsome self, and I was to get used to it? How about you wrap me in some bandages and dump me in a coffin in the middle of Egypt…I could get used to that too. I told him that he needed to get realistic and increase the size. Guess what the reply was, ‘ Sir, I think you have been eating too much since the time I took the measurement…”


One minute I’m all dashing, the next minute I’m getting a weight-loss lecture from a two bit mickey mouse tailor. What has the world come to? I’ve heard of double takes but this was ridiculous. I’m standing there with the trousers barely allowing any breathing space and I’m being given a lecture on weight loss.