Domain Maximus

Hello people. Kindly excuse the erratic update schedule of the blog. An MBA is proving to be a greater hindrance than I thought. So bear with me and daily columns should happen, albeit not always in the mornings…

The dance party yesterday was a rousing success. Great turn out, great enthusiasm and much dancing. And more importantly “Bin Tere Sanam” played 4 times or so. I’ve played that infectious thing 40 odd times this week. I hope thats not a disease. My neighbour thinks I’m losing it and should visit the counsellor here.

The counsellor has those questionnaires with all those questions. (What a stupendously redundant sentence. I noticed as soon as I was done typing it. I could have edited it. But it was so stupid I had to leave it in. Goes well with the general climate of the blog.) And at the end of some marathon ticking of check boxes it gives you a profile of your mental well being. A rather cheerful friend of mine got the freaking surprise of his life after a session with the counsellor.

He was expecting to get one of those “be more confident” or “a little more agression is all you need” type feedback things. The counsellor had no such subtle intentions. My pal was told that he had had a disturbed childhood and now suffers from a split personality. He is now inconsolable and finds deeper meanings in the fact that he has chosen both finance and marketing courses.

Partha wanted to know who I was supporting in Euro 2004. Football. The beautiful game. I come from a rather footer crazy family. My earliest sporting memories are of watching some world cup or the other. Names like Rossi and Maradona. And we have some soccer pedigree too. Dad and uncle played for their universities and for a few local clubs. When I was in school, even during the most hopeless of examinations, we used to get breaks to watch football on TV.

Nothing bonds the men of the family like watching footer at 3 or 4 in the morning literally huddled around the TV. We weren’t allowed to play the volume high. (You don’t argue with my grandmom. She has an iron hold on the daily menu at home. If she heard as much as a whimper it was cold rice, dal and pickle. We are mallu. “Death before vegetarianism” is our state motto.) Well there was one female cousin who was an avid footer fan. But she once switched channels mid-match to check a cricket score. She was never allowed near the TV during a match thence. (”Football over everything except Biryani” is the other state motto.)

If you walk into any village in Kerala, especially the north parts, during an international tournament, you will be forgiven for thinking you were in some international fair. Every house will have its alignments clearly visible. There will actually be Brazilian and Argentine flags hung outside. For the duration of the tournament some village nooks and corners are renamed “Baggio Nagar” and “Ronaldo Puram”. You dont walk into a tea shop and talk football till you clearly knew who was the local favorite.

People while ignorant of most international events and news, are on top of the football pages.

Q: “Who is the coach of the Brazilian team?”

A: “Simble maashe. Werner Luxemburgo”

Q: “Who plays left back for England?”

A: “Depends. If they are playing 4-2-4 it is Cambell other wise….”

Q: “Where was the Berlin Wall built?”

A: “Allepey?”

Shocking. And offices and shops are open only as long as watching the match is possible. Employees think nothing of coming early and going on strike immediately so they can go home before 5 to catch the match. Even the electricity board is in the act. If its an important match the “temporary load shedding” power cuts (which have been on for over 10 years I think) is put on hold.

Indeed I wish I was in Kerala right now for Euro 2004. Theres nothing like walking around town in the evening listening to the opinions everyone has about the matches. Dont be surprised if you walk into Shaharban Hotel on the main road and hear the paratha-maker shower obscenities on the Germans for not playing a sweeper and taking it to goal difference.

England is my team. Though I daresay France may win it again. But I do hope Beckham and team face them in the finals. There is talk of projecting the match in a big screen at a plaza in the institute main building. Yummy.

By the way today was my second day of the LEM course. Lectures in Entrepreneurial Motivation. Taken by an alumnus its been fascinating so far. The prof plays real tough to make you reject job offers and hit the entrepreneurial track. I’ve decided to hit out on my own after college anyhow. But it is great to hear support and encouragement coming from the mouth of a guy who risked it all 25 years ago and today sits on a 1000 crore plus empire.

Currently working on investing in a retail project and possibly running it a year from now. Finger crossed. (Have no fear, the book will happen…)

And guys I need your comments on another thought. I really really feel like kicking off an “ad concept”/copywrite/”thinktank” type firm sometime on campus itself. Run it from my room using a website and stuff. With the help of a few friends, maybe even the blog, thinking of pitching for some small work from companies and aquaintances. Who knows… if it clicks it may have a future, it it doesn’t… well I’ll try again then…

Hmm… I think I will work on it. Think of a name maybe. You guys… I am depending on you all…

Yawn its been a long night, with much introspection and considerable football. Portugal and Greece have made it through, while Spain goes back home emptyhanded yet again. They had a lot of chances and didn’t make a single one count. Wonder what the paratha-maker would have to say of that…

There is nothing that can knock the wind out of your literary sails like a “not as good as usual” comment. Or after everything someone leaves the comment “can do better”. Ugh. Thats an unbearable one.

So I do all I can to serve you the best most wholesome bits of written nonsense daily.

I have a friend here. I send her a copy of whatever I write as soon as I am done and ask her to tell me whether she likes it. (We have an internal instant messaging thing. Sometimes I think it is a little too instant for my liking…) Then I wait with bated breath till she replies with her feedback. Intense moments of tension. It takes the better part of a couple of hours to polish off a post. And all it takes for her is one word to put it all in disarray.

If she says “good” I know I am done for. That means its as funny as genital warts and needs a makeover immediately. I run away for introspection.

However if I get a smiley in return its paydirt time!!! It has tickled all the right spots. I know this one is going to be at least a ten-commenter.

The next question I always is if should I post it. The responses can mean many things:

1. “your wish”: Warning warning, refrain from publication. Will cause drastic loss of fan following.

2. “if it is ready”: Hmm… post is good in spirit… but sucks over all…

3. “post it”: Hit counter will keep turning but no book deal in sight yet…

4. “yeah yeah”: Magnum Opus. Staggering genius. Post it.

And I take whatever she says very seriously. If I post one thing without her approval rest assured the comments will be as cheerful as an overnight vigil. So if you ever think one of the posts is a little icky… well its cos I didn’t listen to her…

Talking of overnight vigils. We’re having our first all night dance party today. Loud music, many dancing people, extreme socializing. I do my bit to level the floor too whenever theres ones happening. Though I do have my cribs about some of the dance moves the public is expected to do.

Now I can do the arms in the air punjabi thing, and the sliding around with elbows stuck to side of body funk thing. But what really irks me is anything which involves moving up and down at the knees. You know that bending backwards, or that cossack type crouching up and down thing. Those I refuse to do whatsoever. Its not that I cant do them. No I can. No seriously I can. But not completely. I can wiggle and shake myself down till my tush is almost on the floor. Then I have a slight problem… I cant come back up again. My knees just can’t pull the rest of me up again. I try very hard… I grunt and pump and try to throw my arms in the air for leverage. (And make it look like some weird punju house fusion dance thing…) But nothing happens. So I give up.

“Moments before left foot of man on right makes curdrice out of the left man’s privates. Chilld looks on in anticipation.”

Its particularly irksome when your dancing with someone (I will not go so far as to say girl or woman. While I may make up facts and distort truth, I will not lie about getting a woman to dance with at IIMA. That remains a thing I hear about but have never seen. Like God. Or women who say “I like a man who can make me laugh” and mean it.) No last year there was a senior guy. We used to do swing a mean leg on weekends. Suddenly half way through the routine he’d start that ridiculous sit down and get up thing. I would just stand there. Waiting for him to be done with that part and then pick up from when he was back to his full length. Was most self-esteem depleting.

Anyone catch the Sweden Italy match yesterday? Italy was without Totti who was suspended for spitting. (In cricket they lick it, spit on it and rub it on their groins and then throw it at someone. But its cool and gentlemanly.) Well the moment of the match was when this happened:

No that is not a life-sized soft toy. That is a normal human being. Yes he can bend that much. Yes he can see the bottom of his foot. And yes he did a score goal.

These are the guys who give us part-time footer players a bad name. These are also the sort of guys who’re just dying to go to a disco and listen to some loud music. So then they can promptly do that ridiculous sit down and stand up thing. While we fat funny people stand around making women laugh for nothing. Dammit.

Okay now if only she would read this and approve this post… Fingers crossed…

Yawn. Have one class today at 4:25 in the evening. So I slept like a log till mid-day, lunched, ran a virus check and here I am. Sorry for not having anything up by morning. There is only so much I will do for no money. (Though I must admit it has been hot in the comments sections… Ladies ladies… one by one…)

Finally got a Dave Barry compendium. The one with him sitting in a pool wearing a suit. And it dissapointed me. Not his writing. The guy is fantabulous. He is my third favorite role model. (After Peter North and Mohanlal…) No what upset me was this blurb from the NY Times on the cover. “Mr. Barry is the funniest man in America and we should encourage him. Buy this book.”

Dammit. If the funniest man in America needs that sort of support, I dont even want to contemplate writing a book. Even if I was the funniest man. I think it just proves the point. People love comedy but wont buy it. I can see someone reading my book at one of those big bookstores and thinking…”Haha.. this guy is funny… how much is this book.. whoa… now where was that “Cannibal Co-eds in Hotpants”..?”

You don’t see “please buy this” blurbs on Penthouse Letters do you?

Talking of blurbs, have you read the ones on any of those Dan Brown books. Good god. It must be an art form in itself. I’m sure there are these entire departments in book companies writing them. And they can make anything sound supercool. Hmm.. lets say they were going to reprint something boring and slow. Like any prescribed textbook at IIMA. Suppose they had to sell telephone directories. The blurbs:

“Staggering character detail. Breathtaking scope and breadth. A magnum opus. Two Thumbs Up…”

“If you like numbers The Chennai Yellowpages is the perfect book for you. Its got millions and more. An all night page-turning addiction. I wont be surprised if this flies off the shelf…”

“Finally the natural successor to the Western Railway Timetable. An inescapable work of research and complexity. Pathbreaking in detail, gut-wrenching in relentless, brilliant suspense…”

“If theres a better work in alphabetic name ordering BUY IT!!!”

“From the best-selling author of the Pharmacies Almanac of India, another formidable work of scholarship. Go on vacation just to read it on the plane…”

Where do I apply to be a blurb writer…?

The idea of being a superhero really tickled my fancy. (Horrid term that, “tickle my fancy”. I can’t think of one part of my body I would call fancy. Well crafted maybe, but not fancy.) But then I sat and thought about various aspects of a superhero’s life. And guess what. I dont think its a bed of roses as it is made out to be.

No I think the superhero would have a pretty ordinary life. In as much as he would hate going to work everyday, and even if he liked it he would have to cope with the wife and family. (For the purpose of analysis let us make up a superhero. Lets call him “Fantabulous MBA-man”.)

Fantabulous MBA-man (FM): Honey, I’m leaving. Will be a little late tonight.

Wife: You listen to me Mr. Fantabulous MBA-man. You promised we’ll go for the childrens’ school play. You better be here by 7.

FM: But theres a meteor heading for earth as we speak. I have to save the world.

Wife: Why cant you save the world tomorrow?

FM: Darling you know as well as I do that Superman is down with the flu and Mega-Nri Mallu-man is gone to native place for his vacation. There is noone else.

Wife: What about Ultra-quick Digestion Man?

FM: He did badly on his last quarter evaluation. HR has transferred him to back office for two months.

Wife: And I bet you’ll be flying around with that scantily clad “ThunderThighsWoman” fighting your pesky meteor…

FM: Darling we have a professional relationship. And besides she doesnt like wearing that but thats all the uniform allowance she gets. Next year I swear she’ll get something better ok…

Wife: Sob sob… you dont care for us anymore. You beat that “Zero Libido Man”, “Mr. Vegetarian” and “Professor Halitosis”… But you dont even once ask whats happening at home and to the children…

FM: Baby, you know I love you. Its the hours and the work. I just dont have energy for anything else. Darling you dont love me anymore?

Wife: I love you. But I need you at home. My man has to be at home…

FM: I swear as soon as I make it to a Grade 2 Superhero I’ll be home a lot more ok. I’ll spend quality time with the children…

Wife: Everyday I look at “Time and Space Distorter Man” and his family and wonder why we cant have the same…

FM: But he can… never mind baby… It’ll all change soon.

Wife: Sob sob… ok…

FM: Babydoll as soon as I get “Horrible Gult Accent Man” trained and ready I should really have a shot at the top. Someday I will be up there with “Perfumed Flatulence Man” and the supreme council. With my own super car, super jet and comic book series.

Wife: bye love and take care…

Evening…

FM: Hello, darling, I have to stay back for a while. HR wants us to fill in our “Weekly Lives Saved” report and budget “Lives saved after unforseen tragedies” for next year.

Wife: That was the last straw Fantabulous MBA-man. If you want me I will be having a few drinks with “Increase Organ Sizes At Will Man”’s place.

FM: Dammit she cut the phone… Wait a minute… “Increase Organ Size at will Man????!!!”…

See suddenly I dont want that life anymore… I think I’ll just seduce a rich single dowager types with my physique (read body hair) and live for ever in peace and her-money.

P.S. That superhero thing would make a killer sitcom no???

P.P.S. I started Business French classes today. In three months I should have an accent, lose weight and have a goatee. Then I will call myself Pierre… then the comments on the blog should really get wild…

P.P.P.S Days after I get a 1 GB Gmail account, now I have a 1 GB Rediffmail account. What the f@#$ is wrong with the world? What the hell am I? Customer Complaints at ICICI bank???