Have a good one!

I am not a very courteous guy by nature. Let me qualify it better for the sake of first time visitors to my blog.

I am not an a**. If we both meet at a perpendicular corner and crash head on I would of course say "Sorry" . I might still hurl an abuse mentally "Kannu ina pindaniya vechurka..tharudhalai". So I do maintain the Indian levels of courtesy. But here I am surrounded by people who ooze out courtesy like running nose. How much ever you try, involuntarily the presence is felt! Sample these: "Have a good one man" -- Imagine someone wishing this when I am about to go to the loo!! The point is, in my office, the way to the one bathroom place and way out are same.

So people presume that I am getting out of office and show immense courtesy to an unknown collegue by wishing me to have a good one!! I am going to teach these guys to say "Have a good on(e)ukku!" "Have a blessed weekend" -- I may need all these blessings with my new car and pretty hopeless driving skills for the first world. But come on. If I say thanks to your offer for "blessed weekend", does it not mean that I should deserve it and go on a trance the whole weekend? Dont shower religiously threatening courtesies when I cant take it.

I thought, may be its the way one should be and asked my collegue "How is it going?" (Not when he was on his way to the loo or back from the loo) He said "Great. So great that if its any better, it would be illegal" I hope he does not come in prime time TV inside a box with an unneccessarily oratorial reporter describing him as "Shocking acts of child abuse by John who sits next to Ashwin in his office"

With such unfathomable ludicurous courtesy calls and equally bizzare responses to courtesies, I decided to show the "constipated smile" when shown courtesy or when the person in the shopping mall aisle expects it from me. Better look constipated than corny!

You have a good one mate!

Some questions to Kamal - Dasavatharam

Kamal saar....some questions:

1. Govind (Scientist) invents bio-weapon. He then sees his lab monkey dying a gory death consuming. He then lectures that we should destroy the weapon. Lives are important. Why dint this wisdom dawn before spnding millions of tax payers money (I pay 35% tax with no economic stimulus returns you see)? May be Govind thought the weapon would be let into paramakudi wells and turn them into instant gobar gas plants to fuel our stoves for suttaplaam and vetha kozhambu
2. Why did Mallika Sherwat wear a swinsuit in that dance and have a net in the strategic place? Saddists!
3. Why dint Fletcher get a translator better than mallika, for tamizh? There was MS Bhaskar anyway. Or was she sent here because Delta airlines gave a buy one get one free offer, for tickets?
4. Has kamal heard of liposuction? If he does not believe in it, I suggest he develops a virus that can remove his excess luggage in his cheeks and thoppai. He looks like ponni raw rice one quintal bag, three of them stacked one above other.
5. How old is old? Paati kamal is 90 + years made evident by her voice. But she (especially her hands) make me feel she was an undiscovered evolution of Dinosaurs. She even had dry scales in her hand.
6. Doctor says "Avtar you are alright. Its a medical miracle. The bullet neatly removed your cancer cells. Now its just a formality of Chemotherapy". Sorry, this is not even worth ridiculing. Talk about a lecture from Kamal on saving lives and the doctor pokes needle into all cancer survivors, ridiculing their worst phase of fight against cancer.
7. How much did Kamal spend for make up? I would spent just 10 kgs of kuttuvilaku brand aatta. The effect would have been better. The left out maavu could have been used to kill the virus. If tata salt can ruin a million dollar virus, why cant chappati maavu do that?
8. Two FBI agents came to India to chase Fletcher and the bio-weapon. May be they dint finish the ilaneer till the end?
9. Why did Jayalalitha act in the movie? Was it because the movie dint have a weighttu character?
10. Karunanidhi and Bush share the dias in Chennai with Kamal. Kamal is a saddist. If not his gibberish is enough, he dons the role of bush, who is the king of gibberish
11. Pchh...no more questions...saving one...why the hell did an animated butterfly come on screen. Was it a screensaver to tell, the story is inactive for long or was it to say this movie and the thought behind it can be explained only by "chaos theroy"?

Ada pongappa!

Dasavatharam - Kamal in a Vijayakanth Starrer

I was never comfortable about Indian movies that took gimmicks as the USP. They can never make them to perfection like hollywood, nor can they leave out song-dance-fight-sentiment sequences.

I was hoping Kamal would never do such a film loaded with irritating gimmicks stretching his physical endurance to the limit. He has done that, in good style and very little substance.

The movie starts with 17th century Shivite-Vaishnavite ideological tussle with Kamal as the Vaishnavite protogonist who would kill himself than acknowledge Shiva as the supreme God. He gets crucified in the style of Jesus (save us) and gets sunk into the ocean along with the statue of Narayana. What makes me wonder is why this episode is needed? Is it all to say that Lord Narayana created tsunami 3 centuries later to save us from biowar? Or is it to show that Kamal has a muscular physique and he has a fetish to flex his biceps even as he lifts his hands to reach out to god?

Besides all these, the song sequence that lead to the immersion of the statue and the way the ocean has been created in graphics, does make us sit up and expect stunning visuals all through the movie. You will not be disappointed on this account (saving the last tsunami scenes).

The movie cuts forward to the present day USA where Govind (Kamal) works as a bio-scientist creating biological weapons. You may please avoid asking questions like "Why is Govind working as a bio-weapon scientist, when he does not believe in killing lives?". No stakeholder of the movie seems to care. The movie has a USA portion, there is Mallika sherawat, Kamal, car chases etc. Who has time to think about stichting holes in the story line?

So Govind develops this weapon and the owner of this venture funded lab decides to trade it with ..er...dont know who it is. Govind promptly removes the weapon (an NVS pattanam mooku podi sized dabba, which carries a deadly virus) to a safe (or thats what he thinks) place.

The next half hour of the movie is about swanky cars, fast chases, helicopter combing and some stylish encounters typical to hollywood. In the process we get introduced to the conman "Fletcher" (Kamal again) who brings loads of gore within minutes of settling down in the screen. (You are better off bending down to pick up your pop corn than witnessing the jigsaw style killing of the japanese wife of Govind's friend).

While you still wonder why an American could not have been hired for this role, the movie shifts base to India, where the bioweapon has been transported to. (accidentally in a cargo flight). Much to our relief, Govind encounters a gult supercop (Balram Naidu) who mistakes him for a terrorist that came with the cargo flight. This gult role a class act of Kamal. Strengthened with Crazy Mohan dialogues, the scenes involving Balram, Fletcher (who has followed Govind to india) and Govind set the floor on a laughter spiral. Kamal's role as a Andal's (asin) paati is another highlight of the movie. Kamal pulls off the 90 year old's voice modulation and amazingly, even the withered physique...

The bioweapon which gets to India as a cargo delivery, gets delivered to Andal's paati in Chidambaram. The weapon, through a sequence of rip roaring comic events get into the Narayana idol which is on a procession in the street. The rest of the movie is all about where the weapon travels and how the entire cast camps at Chidambaram to get the weapon. Its hard to reason out why Avtar singh (Kamal again) decides to come to Chidambaram for his live concert. He probably knows a thing or two about crowding metros and second rung cities being the growth drivers? Whatever! Jeyapradha is his wife (Kamal will never get enough of her I guess).

We also dont understand why the 7 ft muslim and his family (nagesh, KR Vijaya) were needed there, nor do we understand what Kamal tries to convey through Santhanam-Dalit leader Vincent (Kamal again) stand off. The kanyakumari-Trivandrum fishermen dialect could not have been delivered better. Vincent's body language, dialogue delivery and make up are sure case studies in their respective areas.

After a protracted chase laced with some amazing stunts and entertaining crazy mohan-esque climax chases, Govind, Fletcher,Balram naidu and the Japanese Kung Fu brother of the slain japanese girl all meet up in the skating rink in besant nagar beach (all trying to take possession of the weapon).

At this point, since we were all given liberal dosage of intolerably foolish and sub-standard logic and turn of events, we dint bother to check if indeed "Sodium Chloride" (Salt) is the solution to de-activate bio-weapon. We give in to believe that it is the case. Thats the only way we can end bio-war and the war on human kind (Dasavatharam-the movie).

What 10 avatars of Kamal (including that of Bush) cannot achieve, Lord Narayana achieves by creating Tsunami and heaps millions of gallons of NaCl (kadal thanni ba!) on the bio weapon.

When we think the movie should have ended, Govind goes into the lecture of atheism and picks a caricatured (courtesy: sriram, for this thought) iyengar girl's unrefined ways of proving God's existence, to prove his point that God indeed does not exist or even if he does, he is not better than bio-terrorists.

Firstly, Kamal should understand he is not a thought leader in the areas of existence or lack of god.

Secondly, even if he does believe he is, we are not there to pay for his movies to get his sermons..We are there to watch a movie. Period

Thirdly, when choosing some contrived stories with choppy execution (which he admits by bringing chaos theory unnecassarily to support to disjoint script) he should have spent less effort and donned just one role (that of the scientist) and should have left the rest of the roles for actors who have their real skins and acting flavors than pasting tons of plaster of paris and looking like disfigured ghost for most parts.

Better it would have been if Kamal had decided to direct the movie and let Vijaykanth act as the scientist. We would not have had much expectation and we would even have not minded if the cargo plane landed in Afganisthan instead of Chennai. Vijaykanth has made these things possible and believable in all his blockbusters.

No! As an afterthought, Vijaykanth as an old paati would have been the worst thing, even more dangerous than the bio weapon itself!

Narayana!

Vadai, Avial, Vazhakkai and a sumptuous serving of memories

My wife made 'vadai' today!

Its a big deal in a Tamil Brahmin's family, if you make vadai and it does not taste like adai. With liberal dose of vengayam and paruppu, it was definitely relish-worthy. I climbed on it and flew to those days when festivals in our house in munneerpallam revolved around 'vadai'.

Be it pillayar chaturthi or devasam, vadai is always an integral part of our full course lunch. Paatiku moonu manike muzhippu vandhirum. By 3 30 the entire thinnai, azhi and vasal will be filled with maakkolam (tradtional indian rangoli art made with liquid rice flour). Amma will take over from here and the rigor will begin with 'vadaikkaraikadhu'. For a family of 10 people mixie was never really an option. So she always resorted to 'aatukkal'.

Ambi is an integral part of every festival day kitchen. Ambi will always tak the mantle at the aatukkal. Based on his mood and hurry to get back to home, he may invariably pour more water. I still can hear my mom yelling "Kadangaran...thanniya vaari vitrukan paaru...mudiyadhu na naane panirpen'. I wont forget Ambi for life. My playmate, my chauffer, my entertainer and our servant who is actually an extended family member who is better than most biological relatives of mine. God bless him with good death and relief from his painful last days...

Coming back..so it all starts with vadaiku araikardhu and then vadai idradhu which is again a complicated art of laying the vadai in shape on a plastic sheet to give it the shape. In our iyer aam, we never rally figured this out. Vadai always was a skinny cousin to ones you get in hotels..

Nalla naal na enga athla moor kozhambu, vazhakkai podimas, avial, pachidi, kichidi ilama sapadu nadakadhu. However watery the moor kozhambu may turn out to be, thanks to joint family, it was still a must.

Even as a kid I figured out that the vadai made in our houses were not authentic as 'non -achaaram' vadai which had crisp periphery and roasted onions.

But my cousins and elders alike, liked the vadai and they circle around amma keeping an update of various stages...arachacha? thatiyacha? ethna yedu poirukku? nanna vandhirka?

Perimma oru vullal potukalama...

Moochu kaatama eduthindu kollaila poi sapdungo...paatiku therinja kathuva...

After finishing all houses, vadhyar will come to our house at 11 Am. Ambi (this is my dad) enga? ipothan vaaykaluku porikar appa? 5 nimishathla vanduruvar?

I remember appa with hair spread in all directions, smell of hamam, poverty of his mini-skirtish towel and the soap boxed inside his mug and the washed underwear and baniyan...

Dei raju engada ponan...koopdu avana...

Kannaaa...

An adhoc mental attendance of chitappas and athais will run through everyone's mind and they send me out to fetch them all for the boojai...

I remember appa turning to me and nodding when he says "vidhya balam..thathaiva...deiva balam..thataiva.." just to make sure I understand that I study well and he is doing his due by putting a recommendation to God.

Reflecting back, I did study well, earn well too. But life isnt that charming as it is in munneerpallam.

So ipdiya pannandu mani aaydum...

Samiku neivedhyam panniacha?

Perimma vadai eduthukalama?

Edukalaaam eduthkalam..with a tired sounding drawl from my amma, to the questions asked by Sriram and Karthick (cousins)..

Appa, Chitappa, Sriram, Karthik plunder the vadai..2 in hands, 3 already gone in...

At 1 amma would go "Dei appa engada...ippideee ovoru aathuka poi okaandunda ena panradhu...naangalam kaaalelendhu aduklaylaye iruka mudiyama...nerathuku sapta thane naangalum konjam kan asara mudiyum? Poi appa enga nu paaruda?"

In that summer veyyil, reluctant to step out, I would ask "Engamma popi pakardhu"

"Kazhuthai ketta kuttichevar. Raman aathla than irupar...ilena thozhu la irupar"

By the time I come back with him, Ponnamma (our servant maid) would have brought her trademark crispy onion vadai from her house. If you think good food is heaven, that vadai is right at the alter in the heaven.

Right in the center of pichumani iyer's rezhi, which hosted the likes of kanchi kamakoti century back, we would relish non-aachaaram (who cares) vadai in dozens...

By this time amma and chithi would have laid the vazhai elai..Amma kizhinjurku...kizhinja vera elai potukoyenda...

Elaya maati podu...ethana tharava solradhu...nuni valadhu pakkam...

vazhakka vendam...avail vandam...

pottu sapdra elam...chumma adhu vendam idhu vendam nu...this is appa..

vadaiave saptundrundha poruma... nalla sapda vendama (chitappa)...

Ipdiya we celebrate a festival...with lots of expectations, toil, competition for good food, advice, prayers and abundance of life...

Like they say life comes a full circle...dishing out its crispy events, spicy encounters, hurtingly hot experiences, melting moments...like the vadai ponnamma makes...

Aatha Naa Pass Ayten!!

Yadhatya kachav rudrahan...yeah ok...this right turn right?

udaha abhisuryaha...there you go...straight ahead...ok..yeah...

I was shifting between the slokam amma told me to say and responding to Al, the driving test administrator.

I remember, in India drivng tests are simple. A 40 year old man with a pad of papers will seat himself on the sidewalk of kottivakkam beach in the shades provided by the ponches of driving school agents and curious onlookers. Unless you are totally unprepared and mistake the tire for the driver's steering there is no way you fail those tests.

Here in the west, you have two levels of driving test. First is a set of 50 questions. 80% is pass mark and 30 mins is the duration. Frankly I always believed that safe driving on the road is a collective responsibility. I will drive recklessly and the other drivers should use their brakes when I need them to.

For me, to curb my instincts and write "The right of way is for an oncoming vehicle and I should wait for it to go before I turn" is like cowardly admitting "My wife has the last word in any argument and every next response is the start for a fresh one where I will lose".

But my instincts did rule at times and I made 40/50 exactly, which means I almost failed but for the karma I have done in my previous years. (This does not include the money you owe me. Send it by air mail.)

Rahu kalam, kuligai paakama, I enrolled myself for a driving class. That was a nice move but just that Mr.Sargent who was the instructor never changed his dresses in those 3 days I met him.His car was dirty, he was sweaty and he did tell about his sun glasses quite a few times that, I started having dreams in night with all the sunglasses trying to mug me at the burger king corner.

I realized he spoke the same things in same excruciatingly boring manner to every driving student. I stopped doing courtesy nods and realized that he never needed them in the first place. He talked and soon will die of compulsive talking. I dare St.Peter ask him anything at the gates of heaven or hell, lest he starts again about his sunglasses. Enough said.

The point about the second test is simple. You should parallel park your car without hitting the cones and then drive on all possible streets doing all correct things at right time and stay calm. And yeah, you should be alert, fake the care you normally dont have, if possible smile and give an orgy to the drivers in other cars. You should break like you are picking a flower from under a tree and yet the car should stop like a man who gives up to his wife. Smooth and submissive.

While you do all these, you should understand the nasal drawl they call as English here and show courteous smile and answers to the tet administrator as though he is your wife's father.

Even after you do all these needfuls there are some physical limitations you cannot correct. Blame your parents if you are under 5' 5''. These seats wont lean that forward, nor do their mirrors swivel that wide for an asian dwarf like you and I. So you start relying on the very instincts we use in India while driving and hoping that no American car driver in that vicinity had a fight with his wife or his/her pet has not hurt its mouth eating the extra large burgers.

I did all of these preparations first time and forgot to concentrate on the road. Bad take off. The admin yelled at me. The fifth minute I flouted a rule of giving "right of way" to an oncoming joker. I failed. I tried to say sorry that I dint mean really and talk my way through continuing the test. he dint toe that line. Too bad.

Without going too much into the money game involved, I must say the driving trainer and the admin made a lot of money on me. They now add to the list - a long one - Employers, Credit card companies, white collar theives who have ripped me...

So coming back to the first line of the post, I relied on God, Mom's advice and wishes from my wife to make it this time. Everything went perfect. Parallel parking happened so well that the admin (new one today) would give me a hug and cry like he has seen God. It dint happen. He was rather unfriendly or he has a tumor in his business end which needs immediate operation.

I did make a couple of mistakes, got yelled at. I gave back "beauty paegent" smiles and fake apologies. It included a meek smile when the admin asked "Go on dude...what...are you waiting for easter?". Finally I parked at the finish line and he congratulated me for job done (well is missing there, you see).

I am a qualified driver now, which means, the next time you expect me to yield you the way, I will show my middle finger.

Phir bhi dil hai hindustani!

Hey Howaayyyah!!!

The duties first!

1. Apologies and more of those to whom I dint say Bye! before I left Chennai!

2. Apologies for those unfinished/unattended stuff you may have because I left!

Now to the actual post. It gives me great pleasure (sorry for the toastmaster like speech) to write a post after a long time and this relocation is good, in that it made me come back to blogs!

Relocation is a very intense thing -- Physically, emotionally and urnially! Especially if you are on a 36 hours journey to your new location. Its tough. Come on, very tough I say. Especially when you sit through it. The back aches. The knee swells. The bladder balloons! And the tummy pinches. Beyond physical, emotional and urinal pain, its also a pinch on the tummy and a bite into my sleep.

The misery starts much before, actually! We start buying "Idhayam nallennai" sachets instead of 1 liter bottles, thinking that you are going to relocate anyway. The sachet falls over the night on the floor without fail. Relocation is irritating at least as much as cleaning that spilt oil. I curse it and go ahead with the reduced and limited offer life. The life that is between the start and end of a relocation cycle.

I stopped shouting at the servant maid for not cleaning the toilets. We are relocating anyway. We started worrying about the washed clothes. Will it come back after ironing before the day we leave. We have to pack them!

How many bags? Hard or soft suitcases? Should I take the Bangkok buddha we bought during our honeymoon trip? Should I pour the aftershave all over my face one last time, so that I will not have to face the dilemma of whether or not to carry a bottle with 1.5 teaspoons of aftershave?

Relocation is predominantly one big decision accompanied by so many meaningless and pointless decisions that have to be taken. My mom will want to know if I need the socks with one hole in each leg or will I buy a new one in the new location paying 15 times the Indian currency value for it. Its a decision to make. I made. I made such 1000 decisions that took 1 minute each.Thats almost 15 hours of time wasted on nothing, while I dint get to spend those 15 minutes, holding my mom's hands or hugging a friend or talking to the soul of the city which inherited me!

Like I said, relocation is a big decision. One that is like opening a flood gate and standing on the watershed side of it. Things maroon you till you get a log that "may" take you to some shore, if not sound and safe!

Moving from base is moving away from your nearest DVD parlor that lets you hold the DVDs for more than 5 days. Its leaving your father and mother childless for years. Its depriving the hotel waiter from good conversations he had with you.You no longer read ananda vikatan, nor do you have an opinion about Karnataka-Tamilnadu water dispute. You dont get the same haricut. You dont get a simple milk pouch. You are out. Out of your ecosystem.Your family. Your world that you care for, like and that cares for you! You are non-existant anymore.

Relocation is like rewinding the life of a toddler, robbing all the fun and gay and taking it to the womb and aborting it. Its abrupt, shocking and sudden.

But its not without fun, like its the case in any journey.

Brussels, it is. Airport Lounge.

'Neenga enga porel'

'New Jersey. Payyan anga irkan. Maatu ponnum velai pakra anga'

'Neenga madrasa?'

'Ilai naa madurai. I am a doctor there. My wife is also a doctor'

'Ena practice panrel'

'Skin and STD'

'STDnna?'

"Sexually transmitted disease nu soluvalonno,...adhan'

'oh..AIDS KEIDS laam unnda?'

'Aama, elam jothi le kalandurum'

Brussels doesnt understand this conversation nor does it care. But for me, this conversation between two sixty year old mama and mami reminded me of home.The home where people are of same color as I am. The home where an airport service desk employee cannot discriminate me by my color and accent and not respond to my question. Brussels did that to me.

Johnny Gaddar was a good movie. It was a pain killer in an otherwise cramped airline. It made me forget knee pain and bladder for sometime. The Indian food served made me feel like I was hijacked and in the custody of some mullas who cannot afford to make some good naan with butter. Terrible. As terrible as Aishwarya Rai's acting.

I landed in the port of entry. Big airport. Terminals connected by train. Just that no one told us that we need to take that train to reach a domestic terminal. Not even the fellow Indian travellers. We roamed around, with an aim to reach the domestic. It looked aimless though, for the onlookers as we went around in longish circles in the same elevators and escalators every 5 minutes.

Pakistanis like us. Some of them even think India and Pakistan should unite. They like Rekha. Parvez Khan, the immigrant without work permit was there with us for half an hour with his family and was worried about my wife's health. He felt she was not feeling good about something. He spoke a lot. Called my wife "Beta". I remember all of these just becuase that was the time I missed sleep the most and like his army, the Pakistani uncle was disturbing an Indian's peace.

New world order. Respect the queue. Fake your respect for people. Show courtesy when you dont mean it. Smile when you want to frown. Thats new country. Seven hours in its domestic terminal made me feel that the movie "Terminal" was infact a real story. We dint know what to eat, how to eat, when to eat. We could not use the phone becuase we were not aware. We dint know if we have to be in queue. We were not sure if our boarding pass was the right one and if the flight will take us.

Jet lag started hitting. We slept for a minute. Woke up the next. Fear. Fear of losing things, the flight. Losing our faculties. We dragged ourselves to the plane. It was bigger than my bike and less roomier than my car. I slept.

35th hour. Unholy hour. No one in the terminal when the flight landed. 1 AM. Negotiation with the trolley boy to pick up the luggage. The car took us down to the hotel. 30 minutes drive on the same road. I saw the road when it begun and thought, the hotel is on the road and hence its not a long drive. Those 30 minutes of absolute distrust on the arab driver, who reminded me of osama. We did reach the hotel safe, in that rainy night. But the mind was looking for something to go wrong and hence I looked around myself with cues...like arab driver, the road where the hotel is, the long drive that seemed unnecessary, the trolley boy, the deserted airport, rain!

Relocation disturbs mentally and subconciously!

The next day, the janitor female says "Hey Howwayyah". I was not in a mood to respond. but this part of the world demands courtesy and artifical ones at that!

It took a while for me to say "I am fine. how are you?"

It will take a while for me to mean "I am fine. How are you?"

Until then, I will keep you posted!

Of men and their waists

Let me first announce that I have taken the liberty of being a social anthropologist much to your detests and protests. You may know that I am neither that observant nor am I patient. But there are strange waist changing experiences in my life that happened quietly over the last 10 years that make me feel that I am qualified. So I go ahead....

Men (when they start becoming one) at the age of 16, start caring a bit about their waist. Thats for many reasons. I remember a few.

1. The much awaited graduation from nicker or arai-drawer or nijar to a full pant. This makes any man in the making, concious. The full pant should fit rightly to the waist so that it neither sweeps the floor nor does it reveal that bony portion above the feet. So waist suddenly becomes a matter of importance
2. Second reason they care about waist suddenly is that..well...i dont know..

When its 18, waist becomes a matter of utmost importance and distress. The man would have graduated from tailor stichted pants made out of vimal suitings to something from the authentic men's world of dressing - The Allen solly's and Louis Phillipe's of the world. Welcome to the world of men through 28 inches. Suddenly he feels like he has arrived. With the unnatural knowledge of Karl Lagerfield, Valentino Rudi gained from excessive watching of F TV, the man begins to believe that he is indeed fashion.

When he reaches 21, when its time to flex some muscles and get some girls up the alley the man's attention turns again to the waist. He embarks on a lifelong journey of trying to cut down the flab and conquer those two inches for the rest of life to look fit for his age. The war of attrition you may call this one to be. With the Allen Solly's and Louis Phillipe's still assuring him that, inspite of crossing 30 inches he is still a fit man, he goes on to woo the women who mysteriously stay put at 28 inches or even worse, 26 inches. I believe in the non-linearity of life and that's what people call as "hope" in a philosophical conversation. You cant get a more stark evidence of it when you see a girl at her 20 and at her 30. The waist size zooms from 28 to 38 or even 40 in some not so exceptional cases.

At 24 the man's concerns about his waist are different.He has already learnt the art of positive living. He knows words like obesity can mean prosperity as well. He realizes for a moment that, its ok to be 32 inches or even much more. What matters is what job he has and how it can win the best girl in town. Thats what he thinks, till he indeed gets that women out of sheer staying power, money power and luck. Then she comes into life and goes away like how the evergrowing waistline dodges men. After she's gone, a liberal intake of liquor and lot of gas about women make him swell to 34.

This time man tries and succeeds in most cases to marry of woman of (no longer his) choice through arranged marriage. Thats 27 years into this world. Parties, home food and lot of unqualified and undeserved attention from various quarters would mean that its time to be concerned about the waist. Now the waist starts a linear progression competing with his age. The sizes raise in proportion. 36 when he is 27 and 46 when he is 37 and 50 when he is 47.

He stops noticing his waist becuase the illusion of the disappeared legs remind him of ghosts and thats one scary thought, you bet!

Along comes the doctor who advises him to cut down on everything he can eat, smell and see. There comes the miracle! At 60, finally his waist size comes down to 36! But the journey has to go on for the human kind. His son is now 27 years old and on a journey of inflating his waistline while if its a daughter she would have just started the process of looking like a parabolic curve from the top angle!

Of men and their waists.

- The author works for an IT company. He is paid well. He is recently married and he like cooking and eating. His wife likes chocolates and butter.

Vital Stats: Waist (34 inches, when the tummy is tucked in firmly to the extent of jamming the lung walls)