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Love in the time of swine flu


Monday:

The crimson clock gadget to his left showed 9.42 AM, Monday and some date.

Dates were insignificant to New Folder. It was a fine Monday morning.
Not that days mattered, but Mondays had a charm that was universally appealing to jobless blokes.
What if the start of the week meant a start of something new? Something life-changing? New folder hoped so, just like he hoped on every other Monday prior.

It could just be another day of staring at those mundane green fields in over-glossy wallpapers. Or maybe some fresh action; and if he was particularly lucky, even get some better files. Files that served some important purpose to the master, so that he visited more often.
(The current ones were for use in the dark, and this meant that even though 3 years old, he didn’t even have a proper name).
No one in the history of folders had been called ‘New Folder’ for more than 6 months. What a shame.

It had become really boring inside the window after the last contact departed. He was actually a shortcut; of something called Tune-up Utilities 2008. He wasn’t particularly friendly and was almost always working. But like the previous folder dude had said wisely, even cocky, self-obsessed shortcuts are better than sitting alone in a window.
And that also meant that his longest standing friend, the puny but authoritative Mr. Pointer would come in more often. Not to click on him of course, but would wave an occasional casual ‘hi’. He was a busy man, Mr. Pointer. And by the way, he looked especially handsome these days after getting a CursorXP makeover.

Do these packages work on us folders I wonder? No I guess. We all always looked the same. Yellow, glossy, bland and boring.

So then, it was a fine Monday morning. Master gone to class. Another full day of no work. A coin’s toss away from either wallpaper-watching or Sleep mode.
But unknown to New Folder, this Monday had some plans of its own.

Click click. Someone’s at the window’s door. It’s Mr. Pointer.

Hey Pointer, great to see you today. Looking smashing as usual, huh!”, New Folder relished any form of cyber contact these days.
Yeah well, thanks. You aren’t all that bad either”. The usual cold reply when he is busy.
He has some files copied with him for delivery. Hope it is for me.
Looks like you are finally getting company; these are for her”. Pointer said with a wry smile.

Damn. Not again. Why don’t I get any deliveries? How long will I have to carry this ‘Monica Bellucci in Malena.mpg’ and a truckload of other such low-clarity, low-size shit.

But hey, did he say ‘her’? (!)
Wow sir, that’s good news. But ahem, how do you know it’s a she?”
Mr. Pointer ignored that question and with a majestic swish, hovered over ‘New’, then ‘Folder’, then gave a slick click. And there she was; a glowing yellow beauty. Cute like a Picasa shortcut. Fresh as a newly formatted pendrive. And her tag said ‘New Folder 1’.
Hope that will change. Someone who looks like her deserves a pretty name.

She blinked frantically at the surroundings. It was white nothingness all around. And then her eyes caught another admiring pair, that belonging to New Folder. He immediately tightened up; put the tongue back in his mouth.
Hello ma’am”.
Before she could return it, Pointer pounced on her.
Hey watch it man”, she reacted angrily. New Folder couldn’t suppress his laughter.
Right click. Paste. Delivery done.
Just like they’re supposed to be. These girls”, Pointer said with a dismissive shake-of-the-head. One more click. Some keystrokes heard. Old tag is erased. Her new name is ‘From Norah’.

And boy, I know it because I create them”, Pointer answered New Folder’s earlier question. And with the same wry smile, left the window.

She fiddled with her beautiful yellow icon that Mr. Pointer left astray with his boorish ways. After making sure everything looked pretty, she looked back at New Folder, who had spent the entire five minutes in wondrous admiration.

Hi there, missed your name”.
New Folder hated this part. He shrugged, and replied with a sad smile.
Well, what can I say? It’s quite unfashionable. New Folder”.
Hey, it’s a cute name.” She looked at the wallpaper behind. It had changed to a sunny Austrian valley. New Folder felt she looked like a princess in that background.
What’ve you got inside there?”, he tried making a conversation.
Huh? Well, I donno. I’m just too angry to check now. The arrogance of that Pointer guy! Hmph. So, what you got?”
Damn. How do I tell her.
Well, it’s something confidential. So much so that Master opens me only in the night, and mostly when he is alone
Oh, okay. You must be really proud”. She said with raised eyebrows.
Oh yeah, I wish!
Quick. Change of subject. “Hey, let’s call you Norah. What say?
Yeah, that’d be nice. And how about I call you Newie?
God! That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me. Thank you Mr. Pointer.

I can check your contents if you’re still cross”, Newie said shyly.
Okay. But please make sure you don’t dirty the place. Some men, u know
Newie looked in slowly and sprang out with rolled up eyes and a digital sigh.
What?” Norah asked worriedly.
Newie said pensively, “Well, it’s very sad. But you seem to have swine flu.”
“What’s that? And why is it sad?

Well it’s a deadly virus. You know, like Trojans. Heard even Norton can’t heal it.”
Who’s Norton?
Damn. She didn’t get the joke.
Ah well, it’s a… well anyways, it’s bad. Master’s gonna be real pissed.
What! So I am going to get deleted, am I?” Those pretty little eyes welled up.
Ha ha hey… relax. Was kidding; all you have is some webpages on Swine flu and a pptx file on ‘10 things about swine flu’, both from his friend Norah Baker in the US
Norah laughed out in between tears. “You rascal folder! You scared the bytes out of me!”.

To Newie, it was like watching sun’s fresh rays seeping through the wet foliage after a heavy rain. He was reminded of a beautiful old Vista wallpaper. He was in love.


Tuesday:

Norah was quite busy. Her files were kept being emailed to Master’s friends. Though not directly molested by Pointer, she was being disturbed incessantly by Gmail’s attachment window. This required her full attention, and consequently Newie was left alone, jealous and bored.
Hope this is the last one Newie”, she cried out while still working.
Yeah, I can wait”. Love in the time of epidemics never works.


Wednesday:

Both had nothing to do. They watched the new wallpaper for some time. It had some really smooth pebbles.
Newie showed her around. Told her of a few things he learned. Like for instance no folder can be named ‘Con’. Norah was impressed.
She also learned of Recycle Bin, a place where really useless folders and files go. Some never return.


Thursday:

Both still had nothing to do. They watched the new wallpaper for some time. It had really smooth big round pebbles. On a corner was written ‘Rakhi Sawant’.
At around 11pm, Pointer barged in.
Can I borrow him for some minutes please? “, he asked with an apparent smirk.
Oh sure, anyways I was about to sleep”, said Norah smartly.
Newie proceeded to do his confidential duty. “Goodnight Norah”.
What, she has a pet name?” Pointer was amused.


Friday:

Newie was wondering why he wasn’t bored of wallpaper watching anymore.
Also why Norah appeared so enchantingly pretty, though she was as yellow, glossy and bland as any other folder he’d seen before.

Pointer barged in again. And clicked on Newie without a word.
Dear god, it’s a right click. What’s he up to Mr. Pointer?
How do I know?”
“What’s the matter Newie, Is he troubling you?
”, Norah looked intensely.
Aw shut up girl, none of your business”. Pointer was easily irritated.
Oh god, please don’t it be a cut or delete”, Newie prayed from the bottom of his cache.
Pointer hovered mischievously on ‘Cut’ option for what seemed like ages to Newie, and later coolly went to ‘Send To’ and clicked on ‘Maverick (G:)’ from the submenu. A progress bar popped up.
Newie, where are they sending you to? You bloody nosy pointer!”, Norah was restless.
Hey hey, it’s okay dear. They’re just making a copy of mine to Master’s pendrive. I’m going nowhere”.
“Oh okay. But thought you had very confidential data”
“Yeah yes, of course. But some friend in urgent need maybe
”. Newie was embarrassed shitless.

Mr. Pointer was laughing out in gallons.
So she doesn’t know what you have?” He bent over and asked in a whisper. “Shall I show her your thumbnail view?
Oh come on, I know you can’t do that. You click where Master asks you to”
“Oh really? Then how about I hover over you and show her some filenames? Master will blame his optical mouse and she’ll get the hint. What say my dear ‘Newiiieee
’?”.
Pointer pronounced the new name with intense sarcasm. The kind loners had for newly-in-loves.
Why’re you doing this to me, huh? It’s not my fault that I have those files man”.
“Hmm... was just testing bozo. Man, listen to me. This is getting too far. Fragment it now”.
“Why, I can’t have a relationship just because there can never be two pointers?”
“This isn't about me, you idiot. You are just two fucking folders. God knows when either of you gets sent away for good.”
“It’s quiet out there you two. What’s happening?
”, Norah broke it up.

Newie looked at her and thought. Come what may.


Many Saturdays later:

They were watching a particularly sensual sunset in France.
Winamp was graciously acting stuck and playing John Mayer’s ‘Your body’s a Wonderland’ for the 7th straight time. Master was uttering some not-so-kind words.
Why the flying fuck would you stop responding, you lousy player?”
Winamp winked at Newie. Newie smiled gratefully.

Mr.Pointer could have sworn the two folders looked closer than icons were ever supposed to be. And he had bad news. He had just delivered some files to a new folder guy on the desktop. Files like the one Newie had for eons now. But better clarity, longer, and heavily sized too. He sensed a disaster.

Right click on Newie. Dear god.
The click made the pair turn around in shock. A menu popped up.
What’s it this time Pointer? What does Master want?” Newie’s clock-cycle shot up a few gig hertz.
Pointer resisted looking in his direction and went where Master took him. Past ‘Open’, past ‘Share with’, past ‘Scan with Antivir’, and further down. Goodness, what’s he making me do?
It’s just another ‘Sending to’ Newie, be cool”, Norah tried to conjure a smile.
Pointer somehow knew it wasn’t. He went past Send to, Cut and Copy with a regret that astounded him.
Fuck it, these are two fucking folders and I’m doing my job”, he tried reassurance in vain.

The moment Pointer found his edges fly past the ‘Create Shortcut’ option, his heart sank.
Next stop. Disaster.

Newie had stopped talking. His eyes shut.
Norah was trembling.
Oh god, No. Mr. Pointer, No. Please don’t do it. Please… Sorry for everything I said. Please don’t do it. Please don’t take him away. I beg of you. Please”, she was crying a binary river.
I’m trying you stupid girl. I know him more than you do.

Pointer stopped responding to Logitech’s directions. He was going to get blasted by the efficient mouse. But that’s okay. Just don’t do this Master. Please.
Now what’s with the fucking mouse?”
Master turned to the keyboard in exasperation. Delete button always worked.
Newie asked with his eyes still shut.
Is he pressing Shift, Mr. Pointer?"
I, I… don’t know man, I can’t see
One keystroke heard.
A progress bar popped up. Deleting New Folder. 3 minutes remaining.
“Tell me Mr. Pointer. Did he press Shift?”
I don’t know Newie. I just didn’t see”.
23 seconds remaining.
Newie, I just wanna tell u something”, Norah started in convulsions.
Pointer looked away. What’ve I done.
12 seconds remaining.
No Norah, hold it. It was beautiful. Don’t give it a name”, Newie said. He saw everything clearly.
2 seconds remaining.
Mr. Pointer. You were great. I will miss you. But tell me, did he press Shift?”
The popup vanished.

The vast expanse in the white window looked emptier than ever. Not knowing what to say, Pointer left the window, the silent weeping of one lonely folder echoing thunders in him.


Two weeks later. Same window.

Pointer took one last look at new guy ‘Cristiano wallpapers’ and Norah chatting up.
He was very good at Portugese jokes about Spanish footballers and Norah crackled with laughter every time he mady any. She ignored Pointer like swine flu, a very bad virus she'd heard of somewhere.

He thought with a smile. It’s the age of Windows Seven.
The age of newer, better versions. Daily updates, clean-ups and free upgrades.
Where memories are faster and easier to erase and rewrite.
Where it's a new world every day. Literally.

New Folder didn’t know the new rules. He still had a heart for a cache. He thought he was special.
It’s a great thing Master had pressed shift.

He simply was outdated.

What've I done?

Regret, in my life, is a feeling with rarer occurrences than orgasm.
But today, on my train home, I was engulfed by it.
No. Not the latter. It was crowded.

Well, after sleeping of boredom for quite some time and later getting bored of sleeping for even more time, I started considering the events of the previous few days. And then in a fleeting fraction, I realized something that shook my lethargy like shampoo foam off a terrier’s backside.

I was wrong.
I should not have written what I wrote.
It was impulsive. Over reacted. And biased.
And I regret it with all my heart. Honestly.
Oh god, what’ve I done?

The guys who thought the same way as I did, would find my self-acquittal a big letdown. I know. But what’s true is true folks. Our arguing won’t change it. We were wrong.

Maybe I was sleep-walking and over excited.
Maybe as the fired-up ‘non-MBA’ youngster said, I was being arrogant, lousy, not weighing the facts and was ‘filtering’ data to fit my not-so-hidden agenda.
Maybe as the fired-up MBA youngster said, I was writing s*** and trying to defend some f***ing a**holes, and that he didn’t f***ing care about the s*** I wrote.
Maybe as the Mr. Politically-Correct-Niceguy put it, I didn’t look at the greater good, and that we poor Indians get treated like crap everywhere, and that it could be me or you. Who knew?
Maybe as Mr. Diplomatic said, I didn’t look at ‘both’ sides of the dime.

They were all right.
And I was wrong.

Little did I know such a subject had the power to make foes out of people at two ends of the world.
Little did I know it was of such significance at a livelihood level.
Little did I know I knew bloody little about it.

And I am sad. I should have thought twice, thrice before spewing out such garbage. But what’s done is done. I’ve surely hurt a few people by it. It was inadvertent, and I am sorry.



For the uninitiated, the issue I'm talkin about is my International Business exam paper.
It had one question, “Is India’s ongoing pact with the ASEAN countries good for us?”
I thought, yes of course. More bilateral relations. More trade. More money. And I wrote two paragraphs about how beneficial it was. Just like many other blind nuts who were arrogant enough to 'filter' whatever they required to fit their 'agenda'.

But no fellow men, India is in trouble.
Countries like Malaysia, Indonesia etc have a covert plan to replace India as the textile destination and put Laos in its place. It’s like dethroning the ‘undisputed king’ and putting a minnow midget on his throne.
It would affect millions of jobs and a cluster-industry as such and of course is a matter of ‘national pride’.
So, the answer is both Yes and No. I should have known.
So now what? Marks gone. 'Negative impression' registered. 'Lousy' writing revealed.

But then, what do I know about debating? Nothing.
What do I normally write? Intellectual s***.
Do I ever look at ‘both’ sides? Never, unless it’s a woman.
So, maybe this is all I can come up with.
Damn Me.

I should’ve written that choice question about ‘Swine flu and Globalization’. That at least has only one side to it. And no agendas either.

What’ve I done. (chuckle!)


Overheard:
Nikola Tesla: I sense an obsession. No good will come of it.
Robert Angier: Hasn't good come of your obsessions?
Tesla: At first yes, but now i'm their slave. And they will choose to destroy me.
Angier: If you understand an obsession, then you know you wont change my mind.



No more of this. Promise.

Folks,

I feel really silly having to post a second account on a lousy verbal flirt who is so bloody full of himself. But his outrageous antics seem to have no fullstops, or commas even; and his idiotic fans are outraged at the drop of a hat, knowing they have very little ground to defend, and think they can substitute abusive lingo for reasoning..

So for them, this is the latest. The man was addressing mediapersons at Mumbai, after returning from his 'ghastly' trip, and he snubbed the allegations on the whole thing being a drama (finally someone had the sense to ask!), by the following comments.

"It wasn't a drama. I don't want publicity. I hate people who rake up religious issues for their personal gains. I don't want to sound pompous here but I don't need publicity to promote my movie. I am too big a star for that."


Is anyone laughing with me or am i alone?

But then sir, why did you wear that 'Om Shanti Om' t-shirt while watching a cricket match in the stadium and saw to it that the cameras spotted you in your luxury pavilion, jumping up and waving for every single shot, no matter who played it?

Why sir, do you go to every single product launch possible close to your new releases, and talk more about those movies, and quip unabashedly about other stars, than the product itself?

And why sir, did you call yourself India's biggest brand? Is it 'branding' as in publicity, or as in that medieval molten rod used to mark the behinds of donkeys? The latter makes perfect sense.

Anyone could cite countless activities he's done over the years to see to it that his weakening charisma (which is the only selling point of 99% of his movies), is displayed with tremendous prominence. Anyways the point is, he's landed himself in a soup, and he knows it.
Promoting is not a crime, but have the bloody balls to admit it. Both him, and his really fucked-up fans.


And if I still am the only one who's laughing, I've found company in rediff.com's Sudhir Bisht.
His fantastic article is at:
http://movies.rediff.com/report/2009/aug/18/why-srks-detention-isnt-a-disaster.htm

And no more of he-who's-name-is-Khan. Promise.

My Name is Marketing

No. This is blasphemy. Acrimony of the highest order. Completely unacceptable.

You fuckface Americans have no idea who you’ve messed with. You have insulted India’s national treasure and thereby smeared a permanent tar mark of insult over our nation’s pride, integrity, sovereignty (and many other such goodness-knows-what civics terminologies).
Our sleeps are shaken. Our making-it-big-in-US dreams are shattered. How can we ever look at your white-as-pigeon-shit faces again without contempt?

You tried it once with some nutty rocket scientist by the name of APJ Abdul Kalam, who also happens to be a former president. We didn’t mind that.

You also try it daily on many other frequent flying Indians, who contribute more to your GDP than McDonald’s does. We don’t care.

But this? No way Uncle Sam. No fuckin way.

Like our beloved federal Minister of Information and Broadcasting, Ms Ambika Soni reacted, it will be tit for tat. And tit not as in what you buggers think.
She was weeping when she said this, “It has hurt ever Indian. And if somebody will be again and again causing hurt to us as a nation, then I think our government should put some kind of reciprocal arrangements”. Sob, sob. (You have a spare napkin Sonia?)

Great lady of pride, she has always been. Bite that, you Yankee dumbasses.


MBA (My Butt is Aching)

Spending lakhs for learning marketing from a business school feels like an absolute waste of time and resources. There’s so much to learn from people and places. The art of attracting customers, it seems has to come from within, not Philip Kotler’s oversized textbook.

Like, I had gone to a small electronics shop in Chennai to buy a headphone. Understanding that I was choosy, the sales guy decided to help me out before he lost a buyer. He took out a set, put it in his ears, plugged it to a player, pressed the play button and suddenly sprang back like he was shot in the head, and then exclaimed, “my god my ears! It blew my ears. Ohhh”… and pulled it out instantly. The prestige touch was to look dazed and recovering from the shock.
I decided in thrilled glee, I gotta get that one. How much is it man? Or do you want my wallet?

Nobody taught him that trick. Or strategy as we call it.
And nobody told that devastated looking mom in Central station to ask her little girl to stand outside National Durbar hotel and cry to people coming out with their tummies full, that she hasn’t had anything in three days.
And the best part is, it always works.

India’s biggest superstar hasn’t got my degree. But he knows what to do.
Mostly it’s all heavily planned, and some very few times like last week, it’s a matter of presence of mind.

Newark airport, New Jersey.

Sir, could you please come in for a little checkup? Seems your name popped up. Also there’s a slight confusion regarding your luggage. This way please sir.
Superstar thinks. It’s a random check. I know.
They know who I am. I’m sure I saw a smile. Nothing will go wrong. After all, I’m the world’s best, innit?
But hey, I’ll be late for the dance at the Independence Day party. Shit. Shit.

Interrogation has to take place according to the set of rules and routine questions. No matter who. No matter what. No matter where. It naturally took some time.

Fuck. It’s just bad luck my name popped up. No wait, could this be a stroke of terrific fortune? I have an idea. Karan will love it. Oh, I’m a genius.
Where’s my Nokia phone? Let me dial NDTV. No, that would make it kinda obvious, with Dharma’s partnership and all. Let’s go for CNN-IBN.
“Hello, hey this is Badshah. You know what, I was really hassled at the New Jersey airport because My Name is Khan (this part was repeated in spite of crystal clear network)...The couple of hours of interrogation wanting to know if I know anyone in America while all around people were vouching for me from India and Pakistan”

What followed is a poetic paragraph of ridiculously funny lines that makes your insides tumble over. It seems our man never wanted to be in that place. Wonder why most of the songs have San Francisco’s bridges and his kids love Disneyland. He also says it’s happened many times before. Then why go about it now, Badshah? Oh yeah the release of some movie about 9/11 and stuff, we heard. Shush!!!
And he had almost decided he would never go back to that country again. Before Obama could intervene from a summit in Greece, our man reconsidered and said he'll come back only for his fans. And not for Gucci. Sigh! What a relief.

Good friends joined in soon. Juhi Chawla was inconsolable. She went on to compare it to Brad Pitt getting stripped in India. Like Suresh says, might’ve been her favorite wet dream. Osaka Muraiya!

And matter gained the expected momentum in no time. India raged and writhed in pain. Marches organized, from Badshah’s house to Salman Khan’s house. From Salman to Bachchan parivaar. From there to Akshay Kumar’s house and that poor guy thought they caught him unbuttoning again.

US embassy cried out foul. Envoy clarifies officially that it was never about name. People like Janata Party President Subramanian Swamy says it’s outright ridiculous, and that even Americans like Senator Edward Kennedy get checked and interrogated in their airports.
Who listens? Damage done. Initials guaranteed. Multiplexes from Gurgaon to Jacksonville booked brim. Badshah happy. Karan happy. And to the assholes who said Ghajini’s marketing strategies were the best so far, try beating this!

And to us, the so-called future managers of tomorrow: No amount of research or class hours in Strategic Media Planning can get you anywhere close to this brilliance. No lectures on Brand Management and Consumer Behavior will give you this panache. No cost reduction techniques will tell you how to manage such an economical blow up.

Kudos to you sir, must come over some time and take a seminar.
Sure son, will there be a dance number after that? I’ll take Bebo along then. I’ll revolutionize education like I did cricket. And oh, I drink only sprite in seminars.
And sir, the trick to make all of this look less obvious to the pathetic Indian diaspora?
Son, remember just one thing.

My name is Khan.


Disclaimer: This is just a bitter allegation, supported only by obvious facts and common sense. But if it was that shorter Khan, we could’ve been sure. He had exclaimed in his personal blog about the accidental discovery that the caretaker of his newly acquired home had a dog with the name Khan, to create a controversy to publicize his nephew’s movie. He was even found sitting beside Medha Patkar. He would do anything. Yuck!

Stop n Stare

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be
Oh, do u see what I see...

OneRepublic obviously doesn’t know me from anywhere. But they are apparently clairvoyant enough to sniff out a guy’s vision disorder, from halfway round the globe. Cos some lines from their talismanic song seem right at me.

And yes, I have a sight related problem. It is called staring. Intensive, focused, immovable staring.
To elaborate; my eyeballs have a habit of getting stuck on almost anything. This usually stretches up to many seconds, sometimes minutes and in some classes where the preacher’s voice is too arrhythmic that I can’t catch my usual winks, STARING at the greenboard lasts hours.
The scariest part of this whole exercise is that I have no idea what I am looking at. It could be anything from the dangling earrings of a cute classmate, her fastrack watch strap that matches her sky-blue salwar shawl, the minimalist belt buckle of a cocky bald professor, or the patterns that little plants make on my bedroom window.

Thus I see things that others miss. For instance, did you know one of Ghajini’s street thugs is rich enough to wear Converse and Levi’s?
Anyways the point is, with strange powers come stranger reactions. So before you guys get jealous of possibly the last person you’d ever get jealous of, listen to this.

Executive express, 7.20 pm.

I’m sitting opposite three hunks. All are in cool multicolored attire, denims in different shades of blue, some slick steel watches, and in all probability are medical students.
To my utter horror, I found a girl on my right who looked just like the last one who broke my ‘very-breakable’ heart. And I don’t mean that cocky bald professor. She was so damn cute and was traveling with her dad who seemed to have a frown from birth. So looking in that direction was automatic suicide.

I took out my cell phone. With Kanye West blaring and nothing else to do, my body switched on superpower mode. Without my consent, of course. So apparently I was looking at, for an embarrassingly long time, at the contours on the boys’ denims. Especially the zipper area. I was thinking it resembled the hills that we were passing by, complete with valleys, ridges and tiny rivulets. Midway I was confused if the jean was Trigger or Spykar. The yellow ochre stitches looked like one of the two. I stared sharply.
Then, the guy shifted in his seat. That is when I noticed they had all turned silent, and were looking at me with a sense of violent suspicion. I looked up with a jolt, and knew at once that smiling was a bad idea.
“So you think my Dickens is a joke, huh? He’s taller than you, you desperate pervert…”, his eyes told me.

I looked away. Shit.

Alleppey Express, 9.30 pm.

I don’t know what’s with my superpower and trains. That is where I always get humiliated. And this happened sometime ago. Thought I’d write in increasing order of humiliation.
A Tamil family of three was sitting opposite me. Dad, mom, and a not-very-cute girl of 3 years tops. I was on a call from my mom. The same boring questions about what I ate, my luggage security, other blah.
Superpower mode was switched on, yet again. I had no idea what I was looking at, until the Tamil mom stopped knitting and in a frenzy, pulled down the girl’s frock further down, to cover whatever was visible of her tiny dark legs.

Sweet fuckin Jesus! My mouth was split wide open. My eyes pleaded to her.
“Ma’am o dear ma’am, what is she some months old, rite??.... I had a bad dinner, and if I look any bit desperate, that is the reason why… I am not as wicked as I might come across…” and a lot of sorry’s.
Everything fell on deaf ears, eyes rather. She muttered something in disgust.
My goodness, I can’t stand it. Where the fuck is my berth?

Epilogue:
It was this time of the year that I normally announce the ‘Best pair of balls in my body’ award. I sent a little note to my eyes, the surefire favorites.
“You guys thought you’d win it again this year? No, you and your wayward ways are a disgrace and a danger to my livelihood and hence are disqualified. Consequently, the only other pair is declared automatic winners even though they haven’t done anything to prove their existence as yet. Mend your ways, and try again next year.”

Kudos balls!
 
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