2+2=7

Big Boss -"Do you think if we merge these two teams, we could achieve our target of reduction in the number of resources we currently employ so that we can reduce our costs?"

Small Boss - "Team A does nothing that Team B is doing!"

Big Boss -"Well. Yes. That is exactly why we have two teams you know"

Small Boss - "So why do we not want to keep it separate?"

Big Boss -"Because we want to reduce the number of people"

Small Boss - "But they are .. Soo.. Different!"

Big Boss -"Exactly. Think about all the buzz we could generate! We could say, 'Efficiency through Synergy'!"

Small Boss - "I don't mean to be rude, but then, merging A and B is not the same as saying 2+3=7. It is something like, let's get 3 out of the way and convert it into 2. Basically, you will end up doing 2+2=7"

Big Boss -"You are a magician. We are achieving even more than we think we would! You are promoted!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later that day, the diary of the Small Boss saw this entry:

"I said it was bad and he heard it as good. Or, does bad look good to him? May be, I think what is good is bad".

He struck all that and wrote again.

"Damn it. 2+2=7 and that is super synergy"

An Irrational Episode

It was not my intention to reach heaven. In fact, I wasn't even sure if I had reached heaven. There wasn't a board. No road signs. No skyline. No human beings. Well. No beings at all. I assumed it was heaven because it looked like I was standing above the clouds and the whole bloody place was white. I have seen the movies. If the place is white, it either means you are in the hospital or in heaven. Either way, you are dead or soon to be dead. Of course yes, there are other places which can be in an all-white form. Like the studios. The art galleries - minus the art. But then, there was one 'dead' give away which erased all suspicions about the place not being Heaven. Standing right in front of me, in all his glory, in all his majestic nonchalance, in all his 'I am so kind, I created the word 'kind' as there was no other word' smile, was GOD.

"You know, you don't need to address me as 'him'!". He boomed.

So it turns out that the rumors are true. He is telepathic. Oops. 'He' again.

"But then, I did not address you at all. I mean, I did not even open my mouth!". I retorted.

"You choose to forget that I am telepathic? Do not deny that your silly little brain thought, 'This must be that GOD. This must be him. Yes. I am sure it is him' "

Yes. My brain definitely thought that, which means, I thought that. But, seriously, there should be a way to address someone, even if that someone is GOD?

"But what is wrong with 'He'?"

GOD sighed. "The feminists don't like it".

"Ah. THAT I understand. Probably you should just send another prophet down there and tell everyone to call you as 'She' or 'Her'"

"Tried that too. Actually, tried that first. The male chauvinists did not like it"

"Hmm. Probably, you should go with 'It' "

"Well. The fundamentalists from both male and female parties don't like it. They are a powerful block you know"

"So, what do you want to do about it?". I asked him. I was slightly angry and a shade sad too. GOD, the father (..or the mother, or the force, or the one.. or.. the..whatever...) was supposed to be the super-wise one. He should be guiding us through our confusions. He should be giving us our daily bread; he should not bred more trouble by having gender issues! I mean, there are already too many gender issues on earth, why on heaven should that be in heaven too?! Isn't heaven supposed to be free from all issues earth related? Bah.  It's the more of the same everywhere. Nothing ever really changes anywhere. It's the same colour of a different shade, the same dish with a different taste, the same bike with a different headlight, the same everything with a slightly different something.

"I know what you are thinking" boomed GOD again. I think he is becoming a little fidgety.

"I heard that too. I am not fidgety!". He was clearly fidgeting. I should stop thinking before he strikes me down with his lightning, or trishul, or chakra, or whatever his (or her) current choice of weapon is.

"So", I said, with my 'I am so humble, humble as a word will never do justice to it' tone, "If you do not want me to address you as 'He' or 'Him', why are you in the form of a man?"

GOD now clearly had the look of a man who was asked the question, "If you just wanted someone to cook, you could have just got a cook. Did you really need to get married?!"

"Well.. err.. hmm.. uh.. you know.. uh.. it is.. well.. what do you say.. the norm?".

"The norm!" I literally screamed. "I thought you were supposed to be above all norms, and forms, and well, pretty much everything.. which is why you are in the sky.. above the earth, in the sky!"

"You don't get it" he sighed (boomed) exasperated. "I need to be accepted too"

The teenage problem now.

"People accept you.. which incidentally is the mother of all problems, as they do not know how to accept you, I mean, you have to tell them what you are. Probably tell them for good, what you are in reality!"

I was goooood, I thought. Terrific is the word. Who can get away preaching GOD about confidence, acceptance, and all sorts of psychological stuff.

GOD suddenly became all dewy eyed. He looked at me with the sort of look which normally says, "I just cannot understand what you are saying, but probably you make sense". He created a white coloured club chair out of thin air, sat on it with the grace of a cat landing on its feet after a jump, leaned towards me with a paternal look (it could have been maternal too, i am never really sure what is what), and asked, "So Vinayaka Rama, how do you think I should  look like?"

I was aghast. This really was a mind-boggling question. Whole civilizations have destroyed themselves going to war with each other about their interpretations of GOD, and here I am, a confused, lazy, jobless man, being asked by GOD, what should he look like? Should I tell him that he should just be what he is? But, will that not sound a little, preachy? 'Be as you are', seems a little too new-age-ish too. GOD may not like it. After all, he is pretty old.

"I am not old" boomed GOD again.

"A request GOD. Can you switch your telepathy button off for a couple of minutes? You see, I am trying to help you, and trying to help the world. Prophet or not, I should be able to profit from this at least. I need to think. And I really cannot think when you are looking into my mind like a dirty peeping tom. It's like someone trying to peep through the door when I am taking bath! If the person is a beautiful girl, I still will be able to appreciate the effort, but that's not the point. The point is, I do not like peeping toms and you, sir, are making me feel like you are one". I hoped I had not gone too far.

GOD smiled. He was regaining his touch, which in actuality was bad news.

"Erm" he said, "Switched off"

Finally. I can think without being seen. So, I cannot say, 'Be as you are' as it sounds very new-age-ish. But it may very well go with the song 'Come as you are'. I think that can be the moola-mantra. The chief prayer. The eternal hymn. I need to find that Nirvana guy, what's his name, Kurt Cobain soon. I hope he is in this white-land, though I do not understand, how can some one stand this place. Looks like a white washed garage with clouds for effects.

"Do you have an answer?". He boomed again. He really needs to stop that. All that booming can get extremely boring without some additional instruments joining in.

"Not yet.." I said and was about to continue when he stopped my thought process again, with a question.

"Tell me, son. When you are frustrated with the world, when you feel that nothing is going right, when you just want to go find some peace, what do you do?"

I shrugged with a sort of arrogance which said 'I am a cool dude with a reckless attitude'. "You know, yeah, as you obviously know, I just go and have panipuri"

"Bingo" said GOD and disappeared even without a 'Poof'.

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

The street opposite to the Ganesha temple in Koramangala saw a new panipuri guy that day. He was being harassed by the other panipuri-wallahs as he had barged into their territory to sell the panipuris. There were questions that were asked on the lines of, "Who the hell do you think you are?" to which the new guy did not have any answer for.

On another note, the evening newspapers that day were filled with reports of unnatural 'boom' sounds. Nobody knew what they were. Interestingly, they had stopped the way they had started - suddenly and without any prior notice. The Chief Minister blamed the Opposition Party for it while the Ruling Party President blamed the Chief Minister for it.  The ultra-religious section blamed the immoral people for it (which was everyone who did not believe in their side of the story) - they said GOD was angry with people as they do not pray anymore. People were angry with GOD for everything - they said, "Did that GOD really have to create all these people?"

For once, they were right.

Things to do when you don't see your bus for twenty minutes ..... and counting..

Check the time - Once in Two Minutes:
Yes. It helps to keep track of the time. So that you don't lose it. Do not read the books, do not listen to music, do not keep a check on the buses which are already in the bus stand, do not gape at beautiful girls (do not gape even if you are a girl and even if you are or not a lesbian) and the same thing applies if you are planning to gape at handsome guys. Just keep looking at your watch. If you hate watches, keep looking at your cellphones. If you are against being constantly connected, keep looking at the huge square, circular clocks in the bus stand. It does not matter if the time on the clock is accurate or not. Just have an eye on it. Slowly you will realize that you are not realizing anything.
Realization of unrealization is important. Also, it is important to realize that there are other things which are more least interesting than waiting for the darned bus to come. Like checking the time once in two minutes.


Inhale - Exhale:
Of course you would do it even without the tip. But there is more to this particular type of 'Inhale-Exhale' that I am talking about. This is something similar to what 'Art of Living' says - Give attention to inhaling and exhaling. You will not realize anything for the first couple of minutes (you can check the time - see the first tip). Slowly, you will start smelling smells which you did not know earlier existed. The first smell to hit you will be the wet pungent smell of the dustbin which is situated ten feet away. The second smell will be slightly confusing.
"Well well. I can smell the dustbin. But what is it with it? Is that a rotten tomato? Hmm. Probably it came with the sandwich. Sandwich?! How did I know there was a sandwich? Ah! I can smell stale cheese. That's right! And... chicken too ! So that was a chicken sandwich? Probably. Some onions too. Someone was really desperate to buy a sandwich in the bus stand. They ate the sandwich with the dust. Or.. they just ate the dust and threw the sandwich which is why I can smell the rotten tomatoes, the chicken, the onion, the cheese, but I cannot smell the dust. I think I am delusional! Now I am smelling a dead dog !"
Ok. Get back to just inhaling and exhaling. You boring piece of pig turd ! Huh !


Get Caught By The Cop:
Any city or town or village that you are in, you will definitely find a bar or a pub just a few meters away from the bus stand. All you need to do when you get bored is to go, have a drink, if possible - run away without paying the money, and sit in the bus stand in a place where everyone can see you and you can see everyone. Especially the cops. Sit still till the cops decide on just taking a walk. The moment you see a big belly and a long brown stick, get up, walk up to the big belly, and start a conversation. The topic can be as innocuous as, "Why do you have such a big tummy?" to as dangerous as "Do you actually think you are a cop?". A very important point here is to not stand still. Gravity should keep pulling you - once from the left and once from the right - and ensure that you lean on air, you lean on the tired, frustrated, passengers, you lean on the stick the man - who hopefully is a cop - is holding. Lean. That is the key. Talk. That is another key. And yawn. That's yet another BIG key. And don’t worry.
Remember that the police is for OUR safety. They will keep you SAFE! And most importantly, they will also relieve you of your boredom.
 
Eat. Talk.
If there is one activity that can charge even the best of the minds, it is eating. Ok, make it two. If there two activities that can charge the best of the minds, they are eating and talking. They are more effective when done together. Go to the earlier talked about sandwich shop, buy a sandwich, it doesn't matter what sandwich it is, stuff your mouth with a huge piece, call up your wife (or your husband.. depending on your preference and taste), shout at her (or him.. depending on how you want to perceive them), spill the pieces in your mouth on the floor, do not bother if you are spraying others with the saliva pasted sandwich bits, give them a cold stare for staring at you (how mannerless they are, eh?!), apologize (not to the sprayed but to your wife/husband), but say that you have just been bad when you could have been worse, snigger, and bang the phone down.
Throw the half eaten sandwich into the dustbin and hope that someone will do the Inhale-Exhale exercise.
 
Now, this is not the end of the list. There are better ones. And I hope I will be coming with them to you soon,

How To Waste Your Saturday?

Let us get this clear first. It is important that you decide you are not going to waste your weekend. Unless this decision is taken, all other things that you do, words that you speak, shows that you watch, are simply meaningless in every sense. Why? Simply because, the absence is felt only when you know something should have been present. We mourn for people who died, not for those who were never born.

Hmm. So this Saturday, you were planning to pay those bills, once for all, finally. The government gives a shit about your work timings. It does not care if you need to be at office from 9 to 9. All it cares about is the money that you cough up for the service that you normally do not receive. Which is why, you end up paying for the broadband internet which is either too slow to respond or too bothered to respond. So what is wrong with the online payment? REALLY?! Why do you think the bills are pending for the last how many ever months they are pending for? You see, the online payment system just almost always has some severe fault lines and only those people who have suffered at the hands of this atrociously inefficient form of bill payment system know what kind of a health hazard it is. To explain with an example, let us see what usually happens on a step by step basis.

1. You are in love with the internet. After all, it allows you to pay your bill online. Which means, you do not have to go in the horrible sun to stand in the horrible queues, look at the man behind the counter who is taking your money and giving you that horrible attitude.
2. You login. You still have that smug smile which says, "Fuck the queue. Long live internet"
3. You type in your card number. You type in your name and passwords. And with a content look on the face which can beat that smug, proud face of the teenager who has just experienced his first kiss, you click on submit.
4. You realize that there is an unexpected error.
5. You also realize that money has disappeared from your account.
6. Now you wonder, if it is not in your account and if you have not received the payment receipt, where the hell is your money !
7. After all the ramblings, the whines, the curses, and the load of anti-everything statements, you pledge that you are going to do something about it soon, probably next Saturday.

Half of your Saturday is now chopped and the bits thrown to the dogs. You see those blood thirsty mongrels pounce on the half that was thrown to them. The half that is not thrown but as ravaged as the eaten half stares at you like your parents who have just caught you making out with your girl. Ewww. Sick. Why could they not just leave?!

You have an urge to do something about the wasted half, you search for any washed clothes that you have so that you can go out, find that there aren't, which is unsurprising as you have not gone near the washing machine for exactly 33 days now, abandon plans to go out, and firmly tell yourself, "This is it. I am washing everything TODAY. NOW". You search for the pile of unwashed clothes, which is not hard to find as there is a small mountain of dirty, stinking, greyish brown clothes in the dark corner of the smelly room. You grab them all, carry them to the washing machine, pour a handful of extremely powerful detergent liquid, fill water, and switch the machine on before you dump the clothes in.

The machine doesn't run.

You switch it off. Check the wires. Check the connection. Gently tap the machine and switch it on again. The machine does not make even a sound. No whizzing. Nothing. You shake it, softly at first, very hard later, and still it stays the same. Silent. It just does not show even a semblance of life. Dead. As simple as that.

Exasperated, tired, depressed, you trudge into your room and slump on the floor like a wet towel. So, the bill cannot be payed because the internet hates you, you cannot go out because the clothes hate you, you cannot wash the clothes because the washing machine hates you, and you muse, "Why oh why, the world has so much hatred, i feel like a stale fish fry".

You decide against calling the repair man. You shudder at the prospect of trying to call him, being unable to reach him, and believing that even he hates you. No. That is for tomorrow. For today, you are just going to rest your tired back, lean it on the couch, take control of the remote, and watch Doctor Who. Ah. At least, he does not hate you. Phew !

So, by the time the shows are over (the obsession is not just with Doctor Who, which leads to the fact that there were many shows that captured your attention which led you to be in a reclining position till 9 in the night), it is 9 ! It is 9 !!!! The sun has set and you did not even realize. You killed your Saturday! You utterly loathsome son of a lovable mother! You strangled it to death! Why don't you cremate it? At least you can respect your dead Saturday in its death! You cruel Jabberwocky... Off with your head!

You are not a party animal. Well, since you are a cruel Jabberwocky, it's obvious that you are not a party animal. Anyway, since you are not a party animal due to various debatable reasons, you finish your dinner in a place run by Vijay Bhayya who has come from Uttar Pradesh - sometimes you wonder if he is a god sent person as he provides you those hot samosas with scalding tea - which is another debatable question, and you leave it at that. You walk back to your house, cursing yourself all along for the time that you wasted just by relaxing, lying on the comfortable couch, watching Doctor Who decimate the Daleks, and then you stumble across the question that you stumble across on every Saturday night....

... well.... I did relax, didn't I?

Wish You A Happy (?) New Year (&#@!)

It is that time of the year again.


There are celebrations marking the death of the year. Some claim that the death had occurred precisely 360 days ago, but in this world of conspiracy theorists, happiness-shredding-optimism-chopping sadists, professional party goers, these sort of claims do not tend to seep in. After all, if you cannot celebrate the death of the year where your resolutions died a natural death - probably 360 days ago - what can you celebrate? Death of your wife ? You got to be kidding. Do you really think she will leave you alive after that ?


This is that time of the year when there is a general optimism around the normally sulking cubicles. The smiles are radiant, the faces are hope-seeking (yes, it was supposed to remind you of heat-seeking missiles), the tone is very much sing-song, the walk almost looks like a foreplay for a dance. Secret Santa invariably makes his presence, whether some of the 'What the heck are we celebrating' people really give him a damn or not. Gifts fall from the skies, from 'Landmark's, from the 'Fancy and Gift Shop's, and from the old cupboard where the old gifts were stored. Well, don’t cringe. It is the spirit of giving that matters. Not the spirit of newness.


No. It is not that I hate this time of the year though. I don’t love it, and I don’t hate it too. In that regard, I am like an atheist who is interested in understanding religions even though not keen on joining any of them. An outsiders perspective of something that is unexplainable and illogical is always more refreshing than being a part of the queue which is leading to the school of irrational studies. December 31st to me is no more exciting than November 30th or February 28th. It is much more exciting than September 20th though, for the simple fact that I get paid on December 31st while September 20th for me is still ten days away from an exciting event. The dawn of yet another new number that is going to stay with you for fifty two more weeks, give and take, is to tell it in a very frank way, is more or less as exciting as saying, "This is the girl you are going to live with for the rest of your life and you can do nothing about it". If you are the 'Yay!' types, you have my sympathy for you know not what you are getting in to. If you are the 'Aarrggh' types, you have my sympathy too for you know you have been sentenced to death as the constitution very specifically bars your existence.


Now, in this short outburst of agony, surprise, and probably as you might have started wondering, ignorance, if I have managed to spike that glass of 'I am happy' drink with some god-knows-what bitter potion, I have done my job. I know that these bunch of thoughts look half cooked, under baked, malnourished, incomplete, but right now - I am just too bothered to even think about the new year that every one is really ecstatic about. It is enough hard work writing, it is a thankless job writing about things that you hate thinking about, and you expect me to go gaga about the new year celebrations? Huh. By the way, is it ok if I hate Lady Gaga as much as I hate new year celebrations too ? Because I really do.


Wish You A Happy (?) New Year (&#@!)

Digging goes bonkers

You pull out some boulders first. Then you find out that under the boulders are iron rods which are rusting. There is also a cement mixer, a sand-loaded lorry, a top-blown bus, a wheel-missing auto and a headless body of a young man.



"What am I digging here? Is this a historical site or a man-machine graveyard?" you ponder.



You also discover some pieces of marble. That white-stone which has made Taj the moon on earth was a surprise you are not prepared to receive. But then, you are not even prepared to find a body under the boulders when all that you are looking for is some copper coins and bronze vessels. Well, if you are lucky you might stumble upon coins made of gold and silver, but yeah, that is that. You don’t really want to discover a tomb full of jewels, nor do you want to uncover a truth which might change the world, that is not what you are digging for. A few not-so-precious possessions is all that you desire, for the more precious things you possess the less precious is your life and the lives of others connected with yours.


There are some pieces of plastic which have remained the same after all these years. God knows how long they have been here, you have dug pretty deep now, dug under the headless body. They still seem fresh, like they were manufactured a couple of months back in a brand new plastic factory which also manufactures plastic for those nauseatingly perfect, rather, trying to be perfect, Barbie dolls. You look at them with disgust, you now know why people in general, green people in particular love to loathe it. It just never goes away. Even if you dig deep. Even if you burn well. Even if you dump them in a sewage which ends up in the pristine blue ocean. It just never ever goes away.



You dig deeper. You don’t intend to find skeletons in a cupboard. You actually don’t expect to find cupboards there. But there it is. A nice, shiny, grown-up human sized cupboard. You don’t want to open it. You have strongly smelling suspicion that opening it will open a can of worms which will only multiply once they come out. There is an urge to still peep into it, but finally your mind wins over your heart. You push it aside, without opening the doors and dig deeper.


You dig deeper till you realize the dug hole is so deep you cannot get yourself out of the hole. Damn it. You aint got a rope. You aint got a ladder.


You look up and scream. You hope there is someone who will listen.


You despair. You realize.

 Before you get in, ponder. Have you brought a long enough ladder?

What you know, Is your problem. Period.

Overheard outside a meeting room which wasn’t big enough for 20 people, but then, that’s not the purpose of a meeting room, I mean, to accommodate. The purpose is to meet, if they wanted to meet. If you think that they could have met anywhere other than  a meeting room too, like probably in a lavatory as that is where meetings unofficially happen, that is completely your problem.

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

“This is awesome”

“I agree. I have never seen anything like this in my 30 agonising years”

“I mean, look at it. Who would’ve thought we could grow like this. Look at the graph. Rising and rising like a.. a.. you know.. say something..”

“As you said, awesome is the word”

“Isn’t that the word!”

“Yeah.  I guess you got it right this time”

A soft, gentle, almost-on-the-death-bed, doubtful voice crept across the meeting room like a sperm whale in the big bad beautiful blue ocean.

“Pardon me for my transgression here, but, aren’t we looking at the expense chart?”

“I have never seen anything like this in my 30 agonising years. Shoot the messenger”

DHISKYOON !