Murphys-in-law

Introduce yourself.

Before I could begin the recital, that other guy inside me tugged at the vocal chords.

Please let me do it, he said, just this once.

No way, I ignored him and started the performance, freshly oiled from the umpteen rehearsals and poetic workshops.
"I'm Murphy, from Kannur, Kerala. I did my Engineering in electronics from... "

Words froze as the guy pulled the chord back again, like it was made of lycra.

That prick has thrived inside me, and grown more persistent through the years.

Stronger, louder and older.
He now demanded to be heard.

Look Murphy. You know where this is going. He whispered into my diaphragm.

Where? I asked, nonchalantly.

If you'd cared to notice the board outside, you'd have seen this is a fucking investment bank.
Do you know what that means?

No. I blinked. So?

So? So my dear loser, let's get the hell out of here.
Before you open up your ignorance for public display and embarass yourself again.

No man, you dont understand. I've changed. I'm an MBA grad now.

Haven't you heard our daily morning prayer?
I know everything. I can do anything.
If there is something I dont know or cant do, it doesnt exist.
I know everything. I can do anything.
If there is some...

Murphy, Murphy... Murphy! The impatient brat hit hard on my eardrums.

Ouch! What??

Look, let's get this straight. You maybe a pro at this, but I'm done with my share of insults. Okay?
I just cant let you walk me into yet another of these horror shows.

C'mon man, its just an interview, I pacified him.

Yeah right! My balls it is.
When they ask you something you dont know, you answer things that make a couplet from the Aramaic Bible sound kindergarten.
And in the rare occasion that they ask something you do know, you answer some mugged up horseshit and make them regret asking at all.
Then they laugh at you and...

Hello, what the... I interrupted. No one's EVER laughed at me.

Yeah well, don't they often say that you are this great godsend guy and blah-blah... but not suited for their profile?

Yeah that they do...

He sighed dejectedly.

From where I sit dude, i can see much more. They all laugh their asses off!

Huh?? What the...?? Fuck you... you noisy.. irritating prick. I was furious. That's so insulting.

Yeah, isn't it? Welcome to my world.
Okay look, let's forget all that. Just lemme deal this guy, and we'll walk out of here before you know it.
Jobless of course, but with our heads held high atleast.

I also happen to be your conscience, man. So trust me.
What say?


I considered. If what he says is true, i've been laughed at for quite sometime now.
Unless there was a Guiness entry for that, it probably wasn't a good idea anymore.

I looked at him and frowned.

Uhm? What say? So shall I?, he asked hopefully.

I nodded reluctantly.

Whoa! Okay. Thanks man, you wont ever have to regre...

Ugh... just take over the microphone and get it over with it already, will you?

Okay okay cool... Sit back partner.


---------------------------------------------------------

Murphy II got into action. He analyzed the interviewer.
No older than 35 years tops. Well dressed.
A pair of glasses covering a pair of eyes that were full of life not long ago.
Sarcastic aggression and a play on youthful freedom would piss him in no time.

Sir, you were saying?

You were introducing yourself gentleman, He grunted.

Ah yes! well, incidentally it's all there in the resume sir. He pointed at the three page garbage.

There, before you.

The man shot two glances through his glasses. One each at Murphy II and the garbage.


Okay well, seems you are a BTech in electronics. Why the jump from engineering to MBA?

There we go, thought Murphy II. Bite him.

Hmm... A bad decision sir, truly.

Jumping to MBA?

No. Doing the Btech.

So the jumping did pay off?

Well, I didn't say that now, did I?

So would you say that?

Uhm well... if I do land this job, I'd have to say that now, wouldn't I?


The man stroked his forehead, peering hard. This was indeed a strange candidate.


What do you know about banking?

Ah well...

And no textbook definitions please...

Thats great sir, cos I hardly know any. Ha ha.
So anyway, banks are usually full of lockers. People keep and take their money from it.

Okay, only that?

No... well, some just do the taking part. You know, the bank robbery and stuff.

He paused. A fleeting wave of suspicion.

So how many types of banks do you know?

Well... (counting) three.

Really? Which all? He continued checking the resume.

Money banks, Blood banks, and tsk... sperm banks.


The man dropped the resume.

Time to leave, thought Murphy II. Mission Accomplished.

So have you heard of investment banks?

(What the...)... Yeah sure.

You know what they do?

Yeah i mean... they are also usually full of lockers. People keep and take money.
You know, in..vest..ment and out..vestment.

Okay, so what is NPA?

(Christ. He is not buying any of this. Up the sarcasm, Murphy II urged himself)

Is it like the National... P.. Political... Agency? No wait a minute, must be Alliance. Right?

Hmm... then what is a Non Performing Asset?

Gee I dont know mann... But if you wanna see a 'Non Performing Ass', ask my mom.

She calls me something close to that.

Interesting... so do you happen to have any specialised skillset?

Yea! I can blow perfect smoke rings even in the middle of Katrina.

Okay, so where do you want to be five years from now?

Ah well, maybe on a beachfront villa in Florida keys... Pina Colada on one hand...

and on the other, hot chicks with titties the size of hawaiian watermel..

Okay okay got it, got it..

He looked down; thinking.

Murphy II broke into cold sweat.
If I'm not outside this room by now, which I obviously am not, something is really wrong.

Or is he Father Teresa?


The man cleared his throat.

So why should I hire you?

Trust me man, you shouldn't.

Then why did you appear for the interview?

Well, dad didnt go to work today.

So he's at home, and your idea of escape is an interview table!

No actually, he's outside. He took me here.

Oh now that's sad. He smiled.

Tell me about it.


A minute passed. The man kept peering through Murphy II. He felt stripped.


What is it that you are playing at, Murphy?

Huh sir?

You obviously dont want this job. So what is it that you would like to do?

Uh well, I rather like the idea of doing nothing. Wouldn't that be fun?

Ha ha. Sure yes! Only the world doesn't quite work that way.

Not yet, it doesn't.


Another few seconds passed in silence.

Murphy II lost the plot completely.
The man cleared his throat again.


Boy, you are what I looked like 10 years ago. So I will tell you something.

Murphy and Murphy II looked at each other.

I always wanted to play rock. I played well.

A friend of mine wanted to play football. He played well too.
I do not know what is it that you want to do.
But, if you dont respect your instincts now, you will regret it every fucking day of your life.

Trust me.

The Murphys didn't blink.

So good luck with it.

He flipped out his personal card.

And if you ever need a job, you have my number. We all have to eat, don't we?

But I hope you never call.

The Murphys stood up and shook hands with him.

And if you need someone to hang out with, you have my resume, said Murphy II.

They parted over laughter.

The door creaked open.

A female voice screeched.

Next candidate, Murphy. Is Murphy here? Hey, please wake him up. That pink shirt.

Shit. I opened my eyes. Shit.

This way please.

Bloody Docomo assholes.

----------------------------------------

Good Morning.

Please Introduce Yourself.


I waited for a tug at the vocal chords. Nothing happened.
Looks like it's just me then.

I inhaled deeply, and recited dutifully.

I'm Murphy, from Kannur, Kerala. I did my Engineering in electronics from LBS College of Engg. and MBA from... (*some text missing*)

LMAO.

Bro is typing.

Bro: man, seen ths?… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz7awSWzC9s

Me: Hey. what’s it?

Bro: cnt u jst watch it? y ask?

Me: Okay okay. Just curious.

Sent at 9:15 PM on Saturday

Bro is typing.

Bro: saw it? nice na? anothr smart fuckbag swami. literaly.:)

Me: hm. so true. One great career option actually.

Bro: LOL. as if u hav so many odrs! :D

Me: Ha ha. Touché li’l fucker.

Bro: btw, had read somwher tht ‘saffron’ is grt for an active sexlife. nw we knw y… LMAO. :)

Me: Ha ha... err. LMAO?

Bro is typing.

Bro: ??..

Me: LMAO = ?

Bro: laughin ma ass out (duh!)

Me: Oh okay. So how’s life? College n all?

Bro:Well nuthn much. usual borin story. urs?

Me: Uhm, not much to go. Course ends in April.

Bro: whoa! Kewl... u get to idle at home b4 me man! ;)

Me: I hope not. Time for me to finally find some work, don’t u think?

Bro: so u werent actualy searchin all ths while? LOL :D

Me: Aw, c’mon man…

Bro: heh. hey brb.

Me: Where u goin? Pub night?

Bro: hw hilarious! gotta tak a piss man. c u in 2.

Me: ha ha. K.

Sent at 9:25 PM on Saturday

Bro is typing.

Bro: Hey. m back.

Me: Hmm. Me watchin Hitch. U seen it? kinda funny.

Bro: Nopes. Horror?

Me: No no. Rom com. Will Smith n all. I’m tryin to figure which made me laugh more. This or My Name is Khan.

Bro: Oh fuck u.

Me: No seriously. Your khan guy looked like small wonder with weak batteries. Lol.

Bro: Yeah rite. the highest grossin hindi movie overseas. smal wunder huh?

Me: And back home?

Bro: nt importnt. target is met.

Me: Yeah the darn NRI’s, right. Nostalgia Reeking Indians. Ha ha.

Bro: uh man. u r so unfunny.

Me: And u r so weird, fancying that loser. You ask me, he shouldn’t be allowed miles near a movie camera.

Bro: u still use apostrophes and capital lettrs, n u r talkin of weird? LOLOL!

Me: Ha ha. Long time since we fought over him, no?

Bro: mm. thot u learnd to liv wid the fact tht he rocks.

Sent at 9:35 PM on Saturday

Me: So how’s ur love life?

Bro: Duh?

Me: That fair chubby girl with nice hair. Cuz told me. Don’t pretend.

Bro: Fuck u man. u and her too. n cuz too.

Bro is typing.

Bro: u expctn me to be a pussy weeper like ya? no way senor.

Me: whoa, why rattle my bag son. just askin.

Bro: yea well. dont. i hate it.

Sent at 9:39 PM on Saturday

Me: You know Amber Valetta right?

Bro: mm. she died?

Me: Doesn’t she look a lot like Natasha Henstridge?

Bro: where? which part?

Me: manners man. I’m ur big brother. :)

Bro: pfft. buzz offfff.

Sent at 9:45 PM on Saturday

Me: Does your tweet mean anything in particular?

Bro: course it does.

Me: okay.

Sent at 9:48 PM on Saturday

Me: you play farmville?

Bro: no. lame shit.

Me: oh. But many of my pals seem to love it.

Bro: exactly.

Sent at 9:55 PM on Saturday

Bro is typing.

Bro: moms callin 4 dinner.

Me: Really? already?

Bro: ya. its 10.

Me: Man, time flies talkin. Don’t it?

Bro: yea ya einstein. get ur ass up. shes startd shoutin. r u fuckin deaf?

Me: Ha ha. These apple headphones totally get my vote. really noise proof, u know.

Bro: LMAO. me goin anyway. pls do arrive down b4 she blows it. cya.

Me: Hm. Nice talkin. :)

Bro: yeah rite.

Me: No really. Long time. Felt nice.

Bro: u fag. jst come dwn.

Me: LMAO!

Bro is offline. Messages you send will be delivered when Bro comes online.

The Grandospection

Mom’s voice climbed up the stairs again, panting in exhaustion. Trying to wake me for the uncountdreth time. Only this time it had something different to say. Something that… well, made no great arrhythmic aberration to my slumber.

Granpa is coming to visit you.

Adam Young, Owl City’s lead singer asks me through the headphones, The grandfather clock seems to have chimed family time! Should I buzz off?

I am absolutely convinced that the question was more out of the blood-curdling memories of his own personal experiences with grannies, rather than courtesy towards his latest fan.

Oh no Adam, stay stay. It’s okay.

He hid a chuckle in a loud strum of bass, and continued playing.

I went back to sleep.

-----------------------------------------

How are you feeling now, son?

I woke up with a start, and felt cold hands on my foot. The texture was too uniform and hard to be human.

Hi granpa.

Keep some windows open son. Fresh air and sunlight is great for the body and mind.

He went ahead and unlatched some, while I blinked and stayed on the bed.

Also gives some warmth to the room, you know.

But it’s not really cold in here.

Then why are your legs tucked under that blanket? Granpa asked with a smile.

Patience meter is showing below 50% and fast thinning.

What the hell? I didn’t even wake up yet. Oh yeah right, dad had forced an early shutdown last midnight. It seems viral fever could worsen on prolonged exposure to laptop screens. That logic had eaten up a week’s patience reserves.

Damn. Just when I needed it the mostest.

'Cos I like it so' would have been my ideal response to gran’s question, but I settled for a shrug and a smile.

I also do it sometimes son. I also wear a wool turban covering the whole of my ears. But by morning, it would have fallen off though. Ha ha. He laughed loud, showing that protruding yellow tooth of his.

I managed a smile.

--------------------------------

I didn’t know you were sick son. No one told me. You know how it is between me and your grandma. She never tells me anything.

They rarely spoke. About anything. She was perpetually angry. The only known reason being, he was a respected postmaster and an even more popular communist activist, and tended to the society more than home. A version he refuses vehemently.

But today when I was reading the paper, I overheard her on the phone with someone. From whatever I could pick up, I figured you were ill. So how are you now?

I’m fine now granpa. It’s just the weakness now.

Oh, that comes with viral. Will go in two days. Don’t worry.

His brother was (is?) a doctor and owing to that exposure, he considered himself an authority in most common ailments. Homoeopathy is hardly ever considered seriously, but we kids never refused those pills. Those little balls of sugar; in tiny plastic bottles with colored caps.

Possible nose blockage also right? I also had breathing troubles when I was a kid, you know. Made me breathe through my mouth all the time. Which is why my teeth are like this. Ha ha.

Tell me about it. (!)

I flashed my teeth braces for him to see. He got the hint.

Ha ha. My son, where were such things at our age... Even if there was, who could afford it? My dad was a school teacher. Have I told you that story?

Here we go.

I nodded in exasperation. Yes you have granpa.

It costs you lakhs to learn MBA, doesn’t it? Can you believe my high school fees were 5 Rs? In those years, one could buy a sack of rice for that money!

This is not good.

And you know, a sack of rice could feed a family of five, three meals a day, for a week.

This is just not good.

------------------------

He continued. From one thing to another. Picking up an insignificant little nugget from the last sentence of every big paragraph to form the basis of the next big paragraph. And the big paragraphs kept coming.

I heard, never listened.

But I watched, in slow motion. His face was animated, the trembling hands making many actions to symbolize relevant portions in the current story. He looked like a story teller on home consultation.

I could sleep. I’ve slept in the midst of bigger noises. But it would be rude. Wonder where all my moral quotients go for tour when I snore before all those poor professors.

Heck, I pay their salaries.

I stood up and walked around the room. Kicked my brother’s ball around. No, that soft blue and white one.

It bounced and went out. Thank goodness. I followed it.

And he followed me.

Your single room is big? Can you play like this there? How many chairs are there?

One. (How does it even matter, grandpa?)

So if someone comes in, they’ll have to sit on the bed, right?

Yeah. Right.

-----------------

Mom came in with tea and biscuits. She realized my situation and winked.

You shouldn’t buy these cream biscuits you know. They’re bad. He said and took a bite.

Mom whispered to me.

Show him some pics of your college on your laptop. Otherwise you know his capacity to talk.

And you think that will stop him mom? Seriously?

-----------------

Son, your tea is getting cold.

Yaa Granpa. I took out my cell phone and started texting my brother.

Who are you calling son? You getting bored of all this talk?

Oh no no. Go on. It’s just sms.

I didn’t tell him it read, ‘someone has to ask grandpa to shut up. I don’t want to be the one’

-------------------------------

An hour and many decades later, he gets up from his chair.

Looks like you are getting bored son. I think I will leave. I could sit till lunch and go on. Ha ha. But I’ll let you do your things.

For the first time ever, I felt hit.

There’s no power back home right? Mom told me it’s under repair. Why don’t you watch some news and stay for lunch? Mom asked on his way out.

We kids used to hate him for spoiling lunch-time TV with news on every channel.

Oh no. I rarely watch news these days. Can’t even finish reading the papers.

The pain of having to watch his party’s current status was evident, if you knew where to look.

He walked on.

His small frame casting a shadow of history.

---------------------

I knew I would get over it. But I didn’t want to.

I kept thinking.

He has stories. Loads of it. Everyone does.

Pretending to listen is the least I could do.

The only written letter I’ve ever received was from him, from Dubai.

It had great stories too.

Now I dread them.

I hate my parents asking me so many questions.

I hate it when my dad tries to crack a joke.

I hate it when they forget something I said.

I hate it when they fuss over my headache.

Why?

Why when I so willingly subject myself to endless crap by so many arses?

Why when I spent hours on phone listening to nothing but murmur?

Why when I tolerate irritating pricks all day long?

Why when I listen to pathetic jokes and force laughs?

Why when I bother people by opening a bag of chatter shit myself?

And why do i know i will do these exact same things again?

Why?

Because I am an asshole?

True story.

-----

Epilogue: (Added 262 minutes later)

The thermo is showing 99! You have the damn fever again. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Shut that damn laptop and come down here!

But, what has my poor box got anything to do with my fever?

Not fever, it can cause eye strain and headache moron!

But I don’t have a headache.

Yeaah. Not now you don’t. But it will come!

Whaat?!

His fan was put in full throttle yesterday, maybe that’s why.

But did you tell me not to?

Why do you always argue like this? You could do with a bit more control, u know!

Aarghh... These people!

I can see my brother laughing. Can't see the joke he sees?

Look at Me.

The Legal Age of a Superstar

AR Rahman, 43, is not a composer.
He is a way of life. A method of expression. A celebration in human form.
His travails are famous. His experiments worshipped.
He has whatever it takes to make Vince Vaughn jig to Kuru Kuru Kangalilae in chaste Tamil.
And that, in a true blooded Hollywood rom-com.
He is a superstar.

Sachin Tendulkar, 35, is not a cricketer. Not to many billions.
He is an entity whose faculties are believed to transcend the recorded realms of human capacity.
He is a power brand whose boyish smile alone can unite a nation. Even India.
He is the average agnostic’s answer to Jesus Christ.
He is a superstar.

Cristiano Ronaldo, 24, is Portugal’s best export since cashew nut.
It is said that with the nickel he jumped places of work, entire Canada could buy big Macs.
And they didn’t mean the burger.
He is a superstar.

Emma Watson, 19, has BoyDestiny write and sing a song in her adoration.
While just two months into teens, she was tenth in The Hottest Female Stars list of that year.
She owns one of the world’s most famous panties.
She is a superstar.

Katelyn Tran, 14, the youngest finalist in the Greenfield Philadelphia Orchestra Competition, is hailed to be a revelation with the piano.
She is a superstar.

Mauricio Cesar Baldivieso, 12, is South America’s youngest first division soccer player. His introduction sparked the coach’s resignation.
Nevertheless, he is a superstar.

Megan Fox, 22. Keeps websites busy.
Sreelakshmi Suresh, 11. Makes those websites. Twice daily.

Colbie Caillat, 24. Ana Ivanovic, 21. Juan Martín del Potro, 20. Hayden Panettiere, 19. Gael Kakuta, 18. Dakota Fanning, 16.

All superstars.

----------------------------------------------------------

Our protagonist, 23. MBA student.
Confused. Jealous. Cynical. Miserable. Et al.
Currently wondering what went permanently wrong.
Does nothing worth mention for a living. Or existing.
He is a superstar. NOT.

From a very early age, he was fascinated by superstars and their never-never land.

Like Simon Pegg called it, the ‘other’ side of the door. It seemed like a TFT screen with a billion colors, running an incessant stream of fairytale ingredients. Glitter. Laughter. Flashlights. Tuxes. Gowns. Swarovski. Black limos. Bubbly. Gossip. Wild fans. Gracious waves. Autographs.

What a world.

He wanted it. Have that door opened up for him by black-suited white-gloved men. To bask in whatever was at the other side. He was sure he’d love it.

At 10, there was time. He had no idea what to do. Still encouragingly, all superstars he knew were older.

Destiny knows its way.

He thought he was biding his time in school and college. Just minor gas stops before a Vegas worthy bang.

Days passed. Biding continued. Though by now, the actresses he drooled over didn’t look a lot older than his college mates.

Something wrong Houston?

Hell no, just adjusting the coordinates. We’re on course. Don’t fret yet.

He grew older. And the newsmakers grew younger.
Microcontrollers. Girlfriend1. Dumping1. No sign of door.
DotNet. Work. Salary. Girlfriend2. Dumping2. Nothing happened.

By now, many of his idols were half a decade younger.
Earning trillion times than he will ever. Enjoying high life.
Post grad. Economics. No stardom to be seen in miles.

Something seriously amiss.

He sat down and thought.
Fate is not my new girlfriend’s old boyfriend, to owe me a favor.
So I’ll go on my own. Find that fuckin’ door.

Introspection.

Make a list of superstars. Find their claims to the door. And weigh your options.

First striking fact: Most are girls. Not a viable option now. Too late. Cross.(X)

Second, most are in showbiz. Easiest way in.
But good looks? (X)
Histrionics? (X)
Any godfather, like for Uday Chopra, Tusshar Kapoor? (X)
Sorry then. Better luck next…. life.

Damn. Even Kim Kardashian’s sex tape is called Kim-K-Superstar.
Hey, but how about that?
No way. Not even your cupboard keyhole would come to bed with you. Particularly in record mode.

Problem: Plain Unattractive.

Cure: Protein powder. Teeth braces.

Result: Very soon old pal Jobin cries, “Man, you look more awful than ever. If that’s possible”.

---------------------------------------------------------

Okay now, but doesn’t Franck Ribery look worse? He hopes.
So the answer to stardom is football? Hurray.
Get on the turf and kick some balls. Now!
Dribbles, step overs, back heels, all work well. Until play begins.
But how does Messi do it so easy?

“He creates the space, you darn idiot”, says Suresh.
Creates space? What is he, Isaac Newton?

Seriously dude, now’s not the time to enter sports or showbiz.
You’re too old.
Heck I know. So what do I do? I just wanna become a damn star.
So find some place where you’re still young. We mean like old boy games.
Politics, Journalism, Sensory Robotics, Capital scams, Serial rapes…

Or wait, how about Direction? Movie making? They take oldies, you know.
Hell yeah, that’s true! He pondered.

Florent Malouda, 29 is labeled an ‘ageing’ left winger, while Christopher Nolan, 37 and Farhan Akhtar, 35 are ‘young’ directors with ‘fresh' blood.
Zinedine Zidane, who’s only as old as Nolan, is considered extinct.
Ayan Mukherji, 24 and Géla Babluani are just anomalies.

Perfect.

Only that you don’t look like one.

Pray why?

Well, in a nutshell, you are like a character that would most likely be played by Jason Biggs in a B-Grader. Unnecessarily sweet, nauseatingly diplomatic, delivers lines that make you throw up on popcorn, everyone thinks you are gay, and the other hero ends up with the girl you fancy.

Wow, that was a nutshell?

Directors have personality. Not sugar balls.

So, what do I do?

Show the maturity of a sperm, says his mom.
You are such a kid, and that’s why she left you, says a good friend (who prefers not to be named).

I’m on it folks.

Problem: Lack of Maturity

Cure: Look around. Learn from people who are mature.
Like Anurag Pillai. Or Manmohan Singh.
So no more smiling. Brooding will be looked upon as thinking.
Two weeks on strict regime.

Result: classmate Kris comes over. Takes a deep look at him. Says the following.

“Hey, we’re doing a movie spoof. Ghajini’s hero is the lead role. And you are,

Short- Check
Not fat- Check
Looks dumb and doesn’t talk in buckets- Check
Adept in Brooding, frowning- Check”

Slam dunk bro. You’re our hero.
Thanks, But they say I’m too old to start acting.
Whoever asked you to act? Just be yourself. We’ll do the rest.

And so, for one day, our protagonist becomes a 23 yr old star.
No limo. No interviews. No Armani. But a star nevertheless.
He gets the taste. It’s good.

And so, he is proposing a new bill.

The Legal age of a superstar.

“No person under the age of 20 should be permitted to perform any activities of special mention, involving considerable talent, and in the unforeseen event that such an act is performed, all efforts should be made to keep it discreet until legal age is reached”

He will meanwhile wait to hit 40 (and look like 30) to direct his first movie.
Until then, Sigh!

DID YOU KNOW?

Superstar Heidi Klum just added another curve to her superbod. She got pregnant!
Yeah, you are welcome.