Sequel to the art of being idle

This is obviously part 2 of the earlier "The art of being idle", dedicated to all Sarkari staff. I am in love. With the Government offices, the salubrious climate where no one is working, but everyone seems to work and absolutely in Divine love with the ettukal besari (8 diamond stone studded nose rings) sporting Divas. Here are few more specimens that you ought to know, if you want to engage in a booming laughter, of course!

Artful dodgers

These people are the easiest to locate. They will be the busiest in any section, typing away like mad on their computer screens, their eyes never shifting from the keyboards. Only when you watch them carefully you can see the concealed mobile phones where they whatsapp the near and dear, kept kissing their keyboards. Why would a lovely lady smile when she types the total number of wagons holding different commodities? Ain't so funny, right? Unless the wagons contain gold and she is getting a share of it, why would she smile like silly?

The moment you bring them a file, they point out to the sea of files on their table, wave over wave of dust settling on them that you will be hit by a dust cloud the moment you are anywhere about 10 metres from the lady. Dodger looks at you with pleading eyes, bats her eyelashes and fans her non existent sweat as she says she is too preoccupied with her work. If you insist, well, she says 'aye, aye captain' and goes to the next office at once, where the airconditioner welcomes her with open hand and condescending coworkers pull out chairs for her with smiles. Mind you, dodgers are always the beautiful of the pack, they look cool, dress pweetty and have that killer smile, which when you try to imitate looks like an eerie smile of a zombie!

You insist further, she escapes to the restroom. Now, these are the real restrooms, where the banter of women starts from their mother in laws and ends with the sons of the mother-in-laws, who are the gentlest of the souls next to the Mahatma! Try however hard you might, you are never going to get work done by dodgers, period!

Fanatical Fashionistas

Should I preen more here? The fashionistas- each section has one of them, mind it, only one of them. They dress up like a small child lost in a fancy dress contest, resplendently dressed, boisterously made up and walking the corridors as if they are shooting for the Vogue! The less said about their dresses, the better. Tuesdays and Fridays, you can see each vying with the other as brand ambassadors for Pothys and RmKV silks, the summer has brought out the cottons. You name the variety, you see it. Venkatagiri, Chanderi, Kanchi, Bengal cottons competing with each other, fashion tailors weaving their art as intricate blouses and these divas flaunting them. 

As for the make up, you would be amazed at the perfectly chiseled brows, lashes replete with mascara, eye liners applied with road-rollers and lipsticks ranging from fifty shades of red to fifty shades of nudes. As for the hairstyles, your eyes will pop out at the range of lose hairs flying everywhere. Your lunch on a friday in office is never complete without a fistful of hair entering your food pipe. Hair hair everywhere- be it your file, or your key board or your lunch box, the fashionistas ensure you have a taste of their Khula hair! 

Don't you dare to look at them at 5.45 pm. The mascara and eyeliner around their kohl laden eyes, lose hair and lips stripped off gloss and lipstick, give them the look that can kill. Their looks in the evenings could kill the ghosts from the Exorcist! Mind it, rascala!!

Unworthy awardees

Every section boasts of one such specimen. He will be the front 'runner' for every award. He is proactive, creative and the boss' henchman. Entire office switches over to 'silent' mode the moment our hero walks in. He has everything in his finger tips- starting from what soap the missus of the boss uses to what tic powder the boss' dogs prefer. His main duty is to the boss's wife, his dog and himself, not necessarily in the same order. Every year, his name will feature in the awardee list and each year he stoops to new lows to reach new heights. 

You can seldom see him in office, though. He will be busy attending to household chores of his immediate boss, than pondering over some dirty file in office. You will be left wondering in which way he impressed the boss, while you, the hardworking ant of the office is left with your tattered pride to pick up. He follows never kiss the boss' *** and tell. I betcha he does it with clinical precision! Never ever enter into 'Who is big?' contest with these kind, unless you want to end up buying choiciest vegetables for the missus of our boss;)

Power packed Politicos

This tribe- the farther you remain from them, the better. To them, every tile in the office floor is a chess board, every one of the staff, pawns. Their game is chopping down anyone in their way of achieving their goal- the goal of becoming an assistant level officer. You would wonder at the levels of power packed in their games, if such politicos are a couple in your office, the game gets interesting. Black, white, black, white- the moves enthrall you, weaving you inside the game and by the time you know of the game, you will be a lost pawn! 

They know every Tom, *** and Harry. Their contact list in phone screams of the who's who in town and they would be sharpening their claws and waiting for their next prey. If you know nothing of them and walk into their booby trap, you are OVER! My best advice would be- avoid them as the bubonic plague;)

Petty Pilferers

Ah! I love them. Their talk is so sugar coated that at any given point of time, if they ask you to die, you will very happily chop off your head and hand it over to them in a golden platter. Such is their skill in looting your work and getting credits for what they never knew. The knuckle head is so talented that you will never know when he undid your underwear and washed it in public;) My! My! Such talent in overshadowing other's work and stealing credit for anything about which they know neither the a's nor the b's. 

Never disclose anything you know to them, their tongues are like the iguana's. It can stick into your brain and pilfer whatever little is available in your already shrinking cerebellum. On borrowed feathers they do a 'nach baliye' while you, who should actually get the credit for will be left with a nagging boss and equally nagging wife!

Ah...the people in a government office! I can never get tired of writing about them. They are the creatures that fascinate me. I have a longstanding affair with studying these specimens at close quarter and this study may please be named- " psy (office)chiatry"! Watch out and tell me about other specimens you have come across. Would help me with writing one more blog post, dedicated to our Head Office :P

p.s.: Still stuck at the Capital of our state and I wonder if the gas I am inhaling is oxygen or hydrogen sulphide! Would have been happier if it was nitrous oxide;)

p.p.s.: I've decided not to be HOT, the climate is hotter than me!

p.p.p.s.: What is the basic criteria for passing a promotion exam in office? Simple, you ain't need no brains :P

The art of being idle

 Warning* Extremely dangerous post ahead for Sarkari staff, read with utmost caution, save yourself from embarrassment and don't cringe. Switch on your lighter veins...Amen.*

Of late, treading on the murky waters of government offices and their complex labyrinth of politicking and back stabbing, I am STUDYING the art of being idle. Yes, you read it right, the ART of being idle. Not that it is an easy subject to broach, but the professionalism with which it is being done in these offices is astounding. Guinness Record Book ought to take lessons from these people, not the poor dabbawallahs of Mumbai. A careful, analytical, hypothetical study conducted has revealed the following types of people you come across every day in these offices-

1. "Idli"ng idler

As the name indicates, this person adores idlis, only next to Kushboo. His life is for the idlis, of the idlis and it ticks by the idlis. He will be the last person to enter into the office, 9.45 and in he barges balancing his heap of bags like a professional rope walker. Signing the muster roll, his first job is to open his delectable looking Tiffin box and gobble the white fluffy idlis dipping it duly in a cauldron of spicy sambar. The rate at which his mouth opens up and engulfs those sinfully mouth watering idlis is directly proportional to the rate at which he opens the files. Yes, you read that right- FILES! Washing his hands, he walks to and fro the Supervisor's table, not lost in thought, but lost in the count  of idlis that he had consumed.

By the time he arrives at the figures, the coffee wallah comes ringing, the fragrance of kaapi permeating the office's otherwise dingy smell. Shelling out a five rupee note and whiling away another good hour, our 'idli' man is now ready for work. He opens the file before him. His eyes play hide and seek, akin to the newly weds harrumphing on their honey moon. He has eyes only for her. His lustful eyes size up her. She is drool-worthy totally, he is going nuts with his want... to touch her. To open her and to feel the soft creamy skin and to hold her, pull her near and sink his hands in her, his insides twist...merely by looking at her- his lunch box! Tupperware had made a kill when it introduced these shapely lunch boxes, sucking out the money of such poor idlers. Dressed in pink, yellow, green and blue, tall, short, curvy, slim and sleek, she sits on his table bewitching him, beguiling him. Come lunch hour, he pounces on his beloved lunch box, his speed giving Schumacher a run for his money!

By the time lunch is over, his eyes are closed in the sheer bliss of having his lunch box all to himself for the next half an hour. His bulging waistline speaks volumes of his love for his lunch box. As his eye lids droop, images of hot, fluffy idlis dipped in sambar swim by his senses and he snores away happily. His slumber is disturbed by the Chai bell at three pm. Sipping the poisonous liquid with aplomb like a regal czar, he casts dubious glances at the file that now looks worn out and weathered due to the constant beating it takes of being opened and closed umpteen number of times. By four, he finishes his tea, comes totally energized and when you think he is going to start his work, voilà, he has his next task cut out- cleaning his boxes. Balancing the entire set of colourful boxes he treads to the wash room, almost licking his boxes neat and clean, lest the missus fire him for his incompetence. By five pm, he is all ready, packed and set to go home. Yet he sits rooted to his chair, his eyes transfixed on the office clock. He longingly casts glances at the minute hand, waiting for it to touch 45 and when it is 5.45, our idler bolts out of the office, putting Bolt and his records to shame. Day after day, it is the same vicious circle, run in and run out for our dear idler.

2. Inert reverent

When I say reverent, this has to be a 'she', definitely. She too barges in at 9.45, yet signs the muster only looking at her astrological chart that says raagu kaalam and auspicious time. Her open hair whipping her face says that she has took bath today, mind you, she has a strict schedule of bathing only on religious festivals and Fridays. Her face has that 'inner halo' emphasised by the pound of turmeric she had applied to her face in the morning, the combination of talcum powder and turmeric is deadlier than grease, I say! The moment she sits in her seat, she pulls out her favourite saint's picture where he sits cross legged with hands blessing her. This picture hides half her monitor yet she seldom is bothered. So long as His protective gaze is around her, nobody, mind you, nobody can trouble her.

When you think the monitor is switched on and she is starting work, she dutifully takes out her 'sloka' paat and starts with her daily prayers. An hour of pious chanting by heart, she opens another note and when you think she is going to type that letter, she starts writing 'Sriramajayam'. Hey Ram! Of all the places he had been, he would have never imagined being summoned by our lady at the middle of his morning tapas, when she writes two pages 'sriramajayam'. The next step would be, as you presume, work. No, you are mistaken. Today being a Friday, who would take care of the array of Lords sitting in photo frames hanging on the office walls? Our madam dutifully has bought a kilo of milk sweets, flowers for the Lords and takes out all the Pooja vessels lying in the dilapidated trunk box. You see, by evening she will collect money for Pooja of the whole month. Ringing the bell, lighting the camphor, agarbathis bellowing, the Lords are summoned to the office, to bring in prosperity. And boy, yes, our madam is prosperous by all standards, her hefty chains and handcuffs...oops...bangles jingling away.

Lunch hour arrives by the moment our Pooja is over and madam shovels her lunch. Next is the time for retrospection of the Divine, thinking and sleeping over Him will cement her place in Moksha. A hazy evening studying few more slokas and she is ready to get back home to her Lord of the Domestics!

3. Slothful sleepyhead

Of all the 'productive' staff, he is the best. The moment he enters office, he is hit by the 'sleep' bug. Eyelids drooping and walk staggering, he enters the office dutifully, right time. He signs, sits in his place...Atta boy...way to go. The moment his behind hits the chair, he goes to sleep mode. Nah...don't you think he closes his eyes and sleeps. He meditates, in fact deep meditates with his thoughts and ideas centred on...nothing. He is the Dhyaan Baba, doing penance in office and no one likes to disturb him, what if he wakes up and curses??? Other than our Dhyaan Baba is our notorious peon, who comes to office armed with the day's newspaper...After spending the first hour hallucinating in the office, our peon moves to the top most floor of the building, with vantage views overlooking the sea, with the gentle breeze blowing and ruffling his hair. Spreading the paper he stretches down, performing Nidraasana. He visits office bang on lunch time and continues his sojourn upwards for rest after lunch. By 5.45pm, he appears at the doorstep, fresh as a rose, poised to go home to his darling wife who would be awaiting him with a cup of steaming coffee...

4. Lethargic Unionist

Nothing much to add to this personality, who is busy all the time, roaming the corridors hunting for work. Categorically, rhetorically, he is all the time willing to work, but is anyone willing to give him work? Well, he starts work and gets a call. He restarts and gets a meeting call, he re-restarts and ends up in a fight over a coffee. See, he is absolutely ready to work, but the staff wouldn't let him, right? Apart from office work, he has the job crafting letters, posters, arranging meetings, dharnas, hartals, and the most important work of all....collecting subscription. Do you know how hard it is to collect money for union from a sarkari staff? They want transfers, retentions, bathrooms, rests and tell me gentlemen, do they all come for free? We need money...helluva lot of it. You got the moolah, let them dish it out honey...If everyone cares about work, who will care about everyone? Only our Unionist will. So the next time he asks for money, better dish it out, rather than flimsy excuses like 'my daughter is getting married' or 'my mother has a surgery'.

Apart from these specimens, we have the nose picker, tooth plucker, head scratcher, chappal reviewer, check out checker and the list seems to grow longer than the Great wall of china. Whatever they do, or fail to do, the wheels move on...oblivious to the din and the noise. You are not the Atlas. You are not Hercules. No one is going to raise a plaque on your cemetery saying you were revered by the office. Have no qualms, no reservations. It is after all office and you are entitled to relish every bit of it. Yet, for the sake of the people, including you, who pay the taxes, do justice to the job you are in. That has made you what you are, after all.

P.s.: This post is dedicated to ahem...all those friends in office.
P.p.s.: Wishing Mother Teresa does her Second miracle to attain Sainthood...let the khakis get some brains;)
P.p.p.s.: The after effect of three months in these kind of offices- I have gained 3kgs. To hell with the weighing machine. When does it weigh accurately??? ;)))

I, the missus

This is one more post bordering on feminism, neo-feminism or narcissism...reader's discretion absolutely essential ;) Lightning stuck me one morning, as I was spreading the washed clothes on my favorite treadmill. What was I doing here? In a no man's land...deep in the desert, where civilization existed only beneath the abayas and where life seemed to oscillate between the mundane and the prosaic. Time seemed to have plunged into an abyss of sheer silence and darkness. 

When did I last see the sun? When did I feel the wind whipping my hair? When was the last time I hummed the latest song? Latest now meant few years before...and movies meant blurry images on TV where I had to make out the images of a hero and heroine romancing as shadows...shadow...that described me better. I had forgotten what I was. 

"I" ceased to exist somewhere in that flight between Chennai and Saudi Arabia. "I" was someone with a Central Government job. "I" was someone who had friends. "I" had an identity. I was a self-made, working woman- a mother of two. I loved my job. I enjoyed to draw my pay from the ATM. The feel of fresh, crisp notes slithering in my hand which was the fruit of my hard work was a powerful aphrodisiac.

All that "I" was ended the day I landed up in the desert, pulling the kids and pushing the luggage through the haunted airport lounge. "Cover up properly" was the first comment from the husband. Cover up...stay indoors...keep silent...don't walk beside me...your hair is showing...pull your scarf..don't look at the other males...be careful...don't board a taxi alone...don't go out of the house alone...the list of "Don't Do's" went longer than my grocery bills. Too much of being tied down and I forgot what "I" was. 

Hours of cooking, cleaning, mopping and sleeping...that was all I did. My whole wide world was a 1500 square feet flat with a sloppy washing machine and a stuffy kitchen. All that changed one fine morning. I had to rediscover me. The miracle did happen. A laptop did all the magic. A blog was born and so was the freelancer. Writing an anonymous blog is a luxury that not many could afford and voicing your opinion in various burning issues on world politics in Arab world is a humongous task. 

Being a woman in Saudi Arabia is itself a confinement and breaking the stereotype of an Indian housewife with nothing to do rather than pampering her ever growing muscle mass is an arduous voyage intertwined with grit and determination. Yet...I found a way. The letters to the editor column of Arab News daily paper was sprinkled with fuming anecdotes and anti- Pakistan, pro-Tamil views, courtesy my new found passion for writing. When I started receiving mails as feedback on my letters from unknown persons...I was overcome with glee. 

I was here to stay. I had made a mark- as a woman who was bold enough to voice opinions in a totally male dominated, exclusively Arab ruled Kingdom and I loved every bit of it. Cloud nine blog was receiving great reviews and finally..."I" was someone with an identity. "I" was a successful blogger, an equally successful freelancer and a perennial happy go lucky housewife. And with equal aplomb I landed back on Indian soil. 

That was when all hell broke loose. The country looked new, everything came with a price tag- friendship, honesty, dignity and affection. This is again a metamorphosis, I am learning the ropes afresh and two years back in my job, I am yet to find some proper footing. Life for the 'missus' is happy as always, provided we don't lose the identity of the 'miss'. 

Marriage and moving to a foreign country is just a chapter in the story of life and we need not ghost-write someone's tale. It is after all, our life. We do exist beyond the diaper changes, grocery bills and stinky kitchens. There is a blogger, writer, poet, wife, daughter, mother and sister within me. I can always don the mask that suits me better any time I want. No other name excites me like being called "Akka". Being addressed Mrs. L or the 'missus' of L never made a difference in my life. Despite all the struggles, I wouldn't say my life is all rosy and bright in my profession, "I" still live as "I", not the 'missus' alone! Never lose this "I" for being the missus or the mommy...Its your life after all, babes ;)

p.s.: Sorry about the erratic posting in blog. I am indeed busy traveling and unraveling the mysteries of life ;)

p.p.s.: This video should not be the p.p.s....should have found its place in the post. Ladies out there... enjoy watching ;)

 p.p.p.s.: How does one 'sit simply' idling in an office? In a crash course on idling and picking ear in a century old building at the State Capital. Another post on how to 'sit simbbbbly' follows...keep hooked ;)

The Photobsessed

I am omnipotent. I am omnipresent. Any picture you get hold of in my neighborhood, you can see my toothy smile. Hordes of albums overflowing the closet will have me and only me. I am crazy- 'picture crazy' or rather 'posy-crazy'. I love to see my shadow everywhere. I adore me, no matter how bad the mirror growls. No matter how much my bike's rear view mirror abhors, I love looking at me. I love posing for pictures, I wish I could push the bride and bridegroom away from the reception stage, if it is decorated with my favorite orchids and lilies. 

I simply love me. I love the camera better than anything else in the world- no sir, the falooda is no match to the shot where I hold rare orchids and smile! Cloaked in megalomania, I attend all family functions with a desire to look ravishing...dashing and what not. The moment of glory allures me as the newly married couple go left right and away. 

The queue of well wishers with bouquets and gifts snakes down the entire hall and I can feel my make up playing peekaboo. First it is the sweat on the forehead trickling down, peeling out the powder and then mascara follows suit. It is the eyeliner next...my eyes wear their own self inflicted dark circles and by the time I reach the stage, voila! I look directly out from Mars. The cameras happily click away and I plaster a million dollar smile to my face, along with the dripping makeup colors. I love smoky eyes...one can't say if you have tried deliberately to ape the witch of a horror movie. If you get to see the picture in the album a few days later, you will regret stepping on that stage ever! 

I betcha! How much ever we don makeup, the picture definitely sucks, big time!

Life ain't so bad, mademoiselle! I am a sucker for flowers and waterfalls and butterflies and mountains. Imagine posing with a yak, with your mouth twitched in a so-called smile, while all you wish to do is shriek at the top of your lungs and dash away. Poor yak! If only it could talk;) I love blowing bubbles and wish someone could click me blowing bubbles the whole day, 24*7. There was once a poor lad stuck with me who finally did a Houdini act when I waved at him for taking the 1214th picture blowing bubbles!

This was probably the 1213th bubble picture, I guess ;)

I can bend 180 degrees for that perfect lighting. I can stand on all fours to make a flower look close to me. I can rotate my head 360 degrees to pose for a panorama shot. I can kill a fly if it is anywhere inside the frame of my camera and I can be still and silent for a full minute if someone is clicking away my picture. Imagine....o-n-e-f-u-l-l-m-i-n-u-t-e of silence from this motor mouth for a picture! Now I know why husband dear loves to click my pictures often!

That would be the sleeping on anthurium pose number 99 :P

I love exploring peculiar shots in wild wild forests. I am a walking leech magnet and they just love my O negative blood. The suckers always know when I try for that perfect 'greeny green' shot and cling to me like the death itself! Do they deter me? Nah! I look perfectly alright and smile away while my inner mind and brains go exploding at the thought of some blood donation camp I put up for the leeches;) 

Do I look afraid of the leeches? They bit me anyway and committed suicide;)

I suffer from acrophobia. But that doesn't deter me from posing over the cliff overlooking rolling meadows where grazing sheep look like small white balls. That doesn't irk me a bit when I cruise in the cable car clicking away selfies like mad, all the time while my insides shake like leaves in a storm. That doesn't stop me from depicting my favorite mudras atop temple stairs, as my salwar billows and wind howls in my ears. 

Oh yes! All I could think of was- "Dear God, if I don't slip and fall, I shall write a post about it and mention your name;)

Can you believe? This is a selfie;) Didn't I tell you?

The best thing about my photo craziness is the patience I learned. A lifeless beach, a 'no one in the frame' snow capped mountain, a secluded and serene park where the lonely woman..ahem...me, sits pondering at the yonder grasslands...all those pictures smile at me back whenever I pick up my hard disk after a hard day. The smiles and fond memories keep flooding back. To this happiness, I can endure any number of leech bites, panic attacks, heart failures, temper tantrums and wedding receptions! A toast to the most beautiful, graceful, lovely, heavenly, flowery, shining woman- ME! Yayyyy!!!

Now tell me, which is the sunflower or who is the sunflower? :)

p.s.: Post after a long gap. Echoos me ladies and gentlemen. I am enjoying a summer vacation sans the kids;)
p.p.s.: All nail- biting and cussing...not for the 40 something bachelor or the 56 inch chest chaai baai. It is reserved for the CSK Vs. KXIP! India is one cricket crazy nation, full of 11 billion 'as you name it' Mr Bernard Shaw!
p.p.p.s.: I love the power cuts. Brings down the electricity bills, you know*wink* 

The other side of the counter!

Hands on experience of almost a decade in Enquiry counter of a railway reservation office and I wonder how I am still sane and 'sound'. Everyday at the counter is an ordeal. Every shift a nightmare! The perfectly designed counters ensnare you with the tiny opening called the 'window' smaller than a mustard. Placing your mouth and ear at a vantage point so you can hear the passenger needs the precision of Abhinav Bhindra with his target.

A morning shift can always land you in trouble, mind you. The 'opening date' booking enthusiast would have forgotten to brush his teeth for the last two days and floss for a few years. You can secretly wish you could wear Armstrong's space suit to save you from the spray- a finely scented spray, far more effective than the pepper spray can idling in your hand bag. 

The evening shifts are no better either.  Hundreds of night trains plying across the nation run on diesel? Nah! They run on alcohol! Seriously...it is duty bound to drink booze and dance with the train if you have a night travel. If the dude's ticket is not confirmed, he is definitely going to gun for you- poor enquiry clerk with his 'booze scented' queries. You need an aspirin to clear your head and come to senses in the night after an evening shift.

The way questions are shot at and the speed- a rapid fire round of Siddharth Basu will take a beating. Always expect the most asked 'intelligent' question of all times- "Madam, will this ticket get confirmed?" Hope so, Sir, probably Waiting List 400 in second sleeper will get confirmed if they run two more trains the same day, same time. Tarot reading skills might be of help here...or rather you can look at the imaginary crystal ball and shake your head, say, " I think it will get confirmed, Sir". Or better call Paul, the Octopus to predict if Mr Sivasubramanian travelling on April 14th from Chennai to Delhi by Tamilnadu Express with waiting list number 200 will get a confirmed berth...

You need special skills to make the passenger understand train numbers. You say 16188 for the 21st time when he asks you one more time...is it 16128? Some stalwarts write down the train numbers on applications themselves to avoid counting all the numbers like a KG kid! I am number - obsessed! I love to blurt out all the 5000 odd train numbers to the glass counter with a window 5 miles above my head!

Then there is our Doubt Dhanabal. Mr Dhanabal always has a doubt that the counter clerk is cheating him his hard earned money. He gets ticket in window 3, checks the fare in two more counters and finally comes to the enquiry with questions like 'what is the single fare? what is the senior citizen fare? what is the child fare'. He is so methodical that he sits back in a chair, counts 1 to 10 with all his fingers, at times uses his toes and fingers on his legs too to count. All this you can watch without a smile, mind you. One smile at him, he comes charging at you!

There is "i know everything, you know nothing" Mr Kalyanasundaram. He knows all train numbers, all status and fare, all quotas. Only thing he doesn't know is where the hell he is headed to. He asks availability in all classes, all dates, all trains and finally books a pooled quota waiting list 50 when you can smile sweetly and wish he gets his berth confirmed;) 

Ahhh...can you forget the 'enquiry families'? The whole family is on an enquiry spree. They prepare in advance a questionnaire to be asked, the order never changes, the tone remains the same and the family members attack you at regular intervals with the same questionnaire. Be glad if the family is small- 5 or 6 members. Imagine what would be left in your mouth if the number shoots to 15 or 16;) Someone has to carry you back home in a stretcher!

Be prepared to never laugh or even smile when you are asked " which platform does the Gorilla express arrive?" ( ahem...It is the Kurla Express!) or " Can i book a ticket for sambak gandhi express?" ( That would be Sampark Kranti Express!) "Is there a separate queue for Taatkal" ( That is tatkal;)) And there are few who refuse to acknowledge Karagpur and Gorakpur are different, Kashi, Varanasi, Benares are the same. 

Thank your lucky stars if you don't encounter  a senior citizen who forgot his hearing machine at home. Imagine how you would feel when your stomach churns for food at 1 pm and this gentleman approaches you sans his hearing machine with a hundred enquiries. You are doomed! 

The next time you encounter someone in the enquiry without a smile in her face, please know that she is over worked. Know that she has shouted out her lungs to someone. Know that the chair in which she sits has seen atleast 10 summers. Know that she has children back home wailing for food. Know that she is simply a 'human' too!

p.s.: This is what a shift in enquiry counter can do to you;) Extremely bitchy post!

p.p.s.: Seriously trying to overcome the writer's block. Probably it is now the size of a boulder!

p.p.p.s.: Summer in my place is a bliss, provided you sit at home 24*7 under the AC and transform into a frog. Even then, I would be searching for the Frog Prince :P

Journey to the ICU and back...

Beware! Lengthy post ahead...

The feel of being pushed wakes me up from the slumber as i hastily try to grope what is happening around me. Sleep pulls my eyelids like a lady love on a shopping spree and i try to hang on to sense like a lovelorn teen hanging on to his wallet. Lovelorn teen won momentarily as a nurse clad in green scrub looms into my vision. She is animatedly talking to someone and i crane my neck to see who it is. A male hospital attender in white. Sparks were flying between the two and i could see cupid with his bow floating near the ceiling. Well, so i have died and on the way to the Pearly Gates, i think. I get to meet St Peter at the gates, no big deal. Happy at the prospect of seeing the Holy Saint, i close my eyes.

Just as i drift, i hear the attender saying- " Indhamma konjam ganam. Epdi thaniya thookurathu..." ( "This woman is huge, how to lift her alone?") How dare he? He may be a Guard at the Gates, how could he talk of my slightly(!) overweight torso? I try to speak, words go gurgling and all i could do was wag my index finger weakly at him, hazy if it was index or middle finger, now, though. 

This time as i stir, the sound of eerie shrill beeps rent the air. So, i must have come to some oven kind of thing, i muse. Sure, technology has touched God too. Instead of conventional pots and fry pans, He has updated to convection! That is sweet. As my eyes close, i notice the oxygen mask plastered to my nose. Oh, now they do critical care in Hell too? And then do i notice the pungent smell of anesthesia. Good Lord, now i am going to throw up. I try to send a signal to someone, my hands flail and i do the despicable thing. Throw up. With that little adventure, i sleep again. 

Image courtesy- cartoonstock.com

I wake up again to the beeps that are now rhythmic. I try to call someone and end up saying a "ga ga ga" that sends a nurse scurrying to me and i note the scores of beds nearby. Hallelujah! I am alive. Too happy, i mentally do a jig. That is when i hear the loud aaaaaaahhhh from the bed near by. A senior citizen in his eighties, the gentleman moans in pain. I wish the ICU had more space. Breathing in to the face of the other patient isn't healthy. The nurse comes, holds my hand, checks the pulse and looks at me pensively as i mutter meekly- " What is the time?" She looks at me incredulously, rolls her eye upward and says- "nine o'clock". 

Heavens! It's been three hours! Now i really want to see my beloved. As if God heard my prayers, he walks in, comes to me with his brilliant killer smile, holds my hand and says- " You are alright, dear. The surgery is over, they removed the tissues. But it was a little bigger than what they had thought. So they removed a larger chunk." 

And he leaves with a nod. Excuse me? Larger chunk? God! I ain't Angelina Jolie scared of BRCA1. Still the sample was for biopsy, not a mastectomy, right? I try to look down at me. All i could see was the hospital gown. Funny gowns. I try to count in vain the red checks in it. May be they should give us gowns with flowers printed in it or landscapes. My choice would be a Tom, Jerry or even angry birds...And few XL size gowns would always save us patients some grace!

I count from one to one thousand, tell my 8th table twice..( wrong as usual...the 7 eights and 9 eights always confuse me and put me to sleep). Sleep still eludes me. I motion for the nurse again and ask the million dollar question- " When are you shifting me out of ICU?" Impatient now, she barks, "eleven o' clock" and turns away. Now i was getting all itchy. I felt like going to the loo and i even felt like getting up and walking out. My limbs definitely wouldn't budge. 

The nurses attend other patients' calls and this time i summon the nurse again. "What?" she yells and i ask for water. " No water. You have IV running." She turns on heel to walk away. No madam, i think fast- i ain't finished with you, yet. " I want to go to the loo", i say weakly. She moves on as if she didn't hear me. "What was that?", she is inquired by her colleague and she says loudly- " That biopsy case is a trouble". Ah...how dare she? I got a name, girl, i say to myself. The beeps, the moans, intermittent yells all continue, as i lie wide awake waiting for my Prince to rescue me. He came twice, was promptly told they too were trying their best to send me out. I blink at him, make faces from inside the ICU as he stands, watching me acting like a caged monkey in the zoo.

Finally, help arrives, the attendants wheel me out of the ICU. The nurses heave a sound of relief and look a bit amused at my wave and wink. They must have thought, 'they operated on her brains?' Whatever, the journey back was uneventful- except that i fought with the hospital attenders and front office for outsourcing food, for not supplying essentials on time, for delaying discharge summary and for not giving clean linen. By the time i walked out of the hospital, the entire crew said- " Hallelujah". And i too- the biopsy was normal- " Hallelujah!"

UP the Karma!

Why does this always happen to me? I do a thorough research, visit an array of shops before finalising the product, but they always fail me:( Someone said- "the household appliances you buy always are determined by your Karma". I think in my previous incarnation, i was born Kamsa and i murdered all them seven children who now are reborn- as my fridge, washing machine, mixer, gas stove, A/C, TV and laptop. And boy, how they exact their revenge! Women these days can seldom live without these gadgets and gizmos. Do we worry about the erratic power supply that plays hide and seek with us? Never!

The memory of our first fridge dates back to 1985, when we were the first family in our town to own a white Godrej 165 L. Mother was so possessive of it that she never let us, the three musketeers, any where within 1o feet radius of her fridge. She remembered her lesson well- my elder brother once tried to push his wailing younger sibling aged 6 months into the fridge during a power cut. The innocent elder brother wanted his little brother get some cool air and stop his incessant wails. Only when he tried to close the door did mother notice the little hand dangling out of the fridge! Imagine her shock. Elder one got the beating of his life that day;) 

The white mammoth, heavy Godrej worked relentlessly for almost 20 years. Wow! A fridge that worked without a hitch for 20 years! Wow! Must have been a Guinness record! As days went by, the white elephant looked a tad out of fashion, which mother refused to acknowledge. It breathed its last after successfully completing twenty years. We gave it a decent burial- exchanged her for another green Godrej which has worked a decade in mother's home, still going strong. Mother had by now become a fervent Godrejist! When i married and my uncles gifted me a fridge, she was shocked when i asked for a LG fridge. I seriously had no idea how the new brand worked, but mother prophecised- "You will regret this one day!"

My electric/ electronic gadgets always fail me, ASATC- As Soon As They CAN, which is ironically just the day after their warranty expires. The recent addition to the failure list is my brand new Whirlpool fridge which lost its compressor, seven months within its purchase. I wonder how mother used the same mixer for 10 years- i had to recoil my mixers' motor umpteen number of times, exchanged it once and have shelled out a fortune in maintaining the current piece that sputters and groans like an old engine off the tracks. And the cooking gas- it has an 'on and off' relationship with my lighter. They love each other and click the moment i strike some days. At times, the lighter boy just doesn't want to touch the burner girl. I have exchanged three stoves so far, in a span of  10 years! I wish the current butterfly glass top doesn't forsake me in the middle of a meal with guests teeming in the house!

The washing machine- ah...how can i forget him? The current one is my second washing machine. I loved my first whirlpool washing machine so much, that we ended up with the same model again. Why? Because i am a dancer! And i love my washing machine's moves. He can put MJ to shame with his twists, turns and moves. We have tied him to the tap with a strong rope, lest he runs away from our home! I was shocked to see a 'Quiet wash' washing machine in my brother's household the other day. Washing machines are supposed to entertain us with their gyrating dance moves and eerie music, ain't they? The entire street knows when i am washing my clothes- so silent is he. At times, he pulls in quirky clothes within the drum that requires a mechanic to repair, who charges a cool three hundred bucks. His last visit was to pull out my little one's slip worth fifty bucks from under the drum! Next time, i better use surgical forceps to remove the dresses caught inside. Oh, i forgot to mention, my washing machine just loves skimpy inner-wear!

The A/C? How can i not mention it? Split or window, they always are a pain in the behind. Either the gas fizzles out, or the tube is blocked, the power point gets burned or simply it stops working in the middle of a hot summer night, for no reason. Oh...and it works again like a puppy the next day morning, when the mechanic arrives, earning him an ill- deserved five hundred rupees for the visit and his switching it on! 

The laptop...i am the proud owner of a HP mini notebook, which has a peculiar characteristic- the "A"s, "Q"s, "1"s and "0"s don't work, even this moment! I use an onscreen keyboard and click away the missing letters using the mouse! The Fujitsu laptop i used for almost five years was a darling, till it gave me trouble one day- the fan sprayed so much hot air that i had a burnt lap;) Suddenly it refused to work. I gave it to my dear hardware 'specialist' who formatted the laptop- along with eight years' documentary, pictoral evidences of my happy family life after wedding...I had to nag, beg, brag and kick the hell out of everyone at home to copy down the lost pictures from their hard disks. As for the 'specialist', he still is in oblivion- has never crossed my path again. God saved his behind!

As for the inverter- my Gosh, the most wonderful invention of man, it always fails in summer.  We had to sleep huddled together in a single room, under a single fan that threatened to die any moment, the whole summer. The inverter's battery works like a politician contesting an election. During collection of annual maintenance charges, it works tick-tock like a clock. The moment i pay the money, it plays hide and seek, tripping whenever we switch on a second light!

 The mobile phone- the lesser said, the better. I dropped one in a ditch while seriously contemplating a turn, talking to a friend over it. The next one refused to just switch on, on a fine morning. The third one was duly washed by my little one, 'as it was dirty'. The others were discarded, as they were out of fashion. I-phonemania caught up with me years back. I have been bugging L for a new i-phone right from i-phone2 days. 3 came and went, 4 slipped by and now 4S is going strong, but the new phone is nowhere in sight. Ironically, the nokia 5800 express music that i've been clicking away the last two years refuses to stop working! I've dropped it ( i swear, i dropped it accidentally!) innumerable times, it stops working every now and then, but due to my Karma, it just revives itself! It is unkillable, unstoppable- perpetual! May be it is the Krishna Himself!

I type away, overcome with fear over what will stop working next...the last two months has seen repair works for A/C, fridge, washing machine, gas stove, inverter, etc. So the next in list ought to be??? Never in my life have i felt so afraid and helpless. May be i should UP my Karma, or undergo  a penance pleading long life for my electric/ electronic gizmos. Om Shanthi!

Men are from Mars, women are from Venus!

Every turn of your life, he is there for you. He smiles with you, laughs at your blunders, ruffles your unruly hair on disappointments, shares your pain and at times is your worst enemy ever. You wish you never set eyes on him that fateful day, yet the memories of that catastrophe come back to haunt you every night. He wooed you with his condescending smiles and furtive glances. All you have now is a wedding album laden with funny pictures. A skinny version of your partner staring wide eyed at the camera man- " Oh, this fellow must be paid the balance 20000 bucks". And you would be staring at the camera with a huge stupid smile- " God, is my make up still okay?" Ah, we women!

Isn't it true, men are from mars and women are from venus? The union of these two aliens brings about a new combination species that drives out every inch of sanity from our small brain. Love starts easy all the time, a few glances, feathering touches and raging hormones can spell your end. What makes the relationship tick is the tougher part. Newly married, Sirji would bend the heaven, scour the vessels, sweep the floor, mop the rooms and what not. Few years into marital bliss(!), all troubles start. Damn the cricket matches. The moment they announce one, the alien in Sirji starts acting over smart. Feigning a head ache, the couch potato refuses to rise up to your bait, your coffees and chais just go down the drain ( throat) in huge gulps.

The standard TV pose!

And a visit to the mall always starts with an argument and ends with a cold war. The only thing men hate in the world all over is, shopping. And trust me folks, women love to shop till they drop. Men just survive the shopping fest by enjoying the beauty of the malls and the beauties shopping there.( Other than the wife, of course!) Why do we then take them shopping along with us? Men think we love their opinions on dresses and cosmetics- trust me, even our house maid wouldn't like their choices. Then why? Of course, to carry the bags and drive us back home. Add to it, the security of a white haired, bespectacled oldie accompanying us- wards off even a mosquito!

Why do husbands always peer so close at things, starting from our hair clips to our sneakers? They say they love to watch every intricate details about us. How believable...Don't fall for it. All they see is the imaginative price tag that accompanies every visual of our accessories. A look at the hair clip says a hundred bucks and an approving glance at your hand bag means- " God, is that bag Gucci?" Another tribe exist that don't even know if the wife wears a hair clip or holds a bag! And count yourself lucky, if you are wedded to one;)


Does he say those three most dreaded words often- " I love you!" He is definitely foregoing picking up the little devil from his class or escaping the dish wash session. Men are cats, they like to yawn and stretch on the couch all the time, munching fish while the females of the species keep watch over little ones, bark and snare at the cats! Even then, if a cat and a dog spend a decade together under the same roof- it is celebration time!!! Happy Anniversary to my dear Tom...sincerely yours- Spike! 

p.s.: Happily celebrating tenth wedding anniversary!
p.p.s.: Wondering how people celebrate silver and golden anniversaries- real tough:(
p.p.p.s.: If i was Spike, Sirji Tom, who would Jerry be??? Yes, you are right- the jerries are hiding behind the sofa now!!!

3's a crowd;)

Now, this is one very intriguing topic that i have been itching to write! When one of my friends suggested i read a book 3's A Crowd by Dr Vijay Nagaswami, all i could was keep recounting the number of instances i had noted marriages on the rocks, literally, quite a few! Here is one serious..ahem... analysis of why things go haywire in a marriage.

1. Mismatch error

Noticed this error in the marriage of a very close friend of mine. This male was married to a prim and proper lady of the same caste and religion, as it happens with every other Indian wedding. The main problem was in the fact that the guy was an undergraduate with many, many businesses managed on his own plus a cushion government job, whereas the lady in question was a high school drop out. Not a bad equation, i agree. 

All things went well till the wedding to the next morning, when the groom went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had the shock of his life when his lady love was brushing, alright, brush in her right hand and tooth paste spread all over her left hand, probably a habit from her tooth powder days!!! And the shocker continued when she swept and washed with soap water their brand new television with a broom. That was when the man freaked out!!! Will it be wrong if he/she both move astray in a marriage that holds nothing that they both can talk on? Imagine how you would have to spend every night, unable to explain the nature of your work, the challenges in your job and your simple everyday things to your better- half...

2. I wouldn't give two hoots

This attitude develops much later, people, beware! A husband who is constantly away and a wife who is left at home picking up the bits and pieces of a relationship, just doesn't care. When a prized possession is lost, one would fib and suffer. What if someone steals away a piece of pain in the butt? They wouldn't care! I know of someone who is thankful to the secretary so much for taking away her husband's much valuable time. " Who has the time or energy to listen to his baubles?", she reasons out. She is happily busy- shopping, attending parties and visiting salons. Of course, husband's credit cards are handy! 

3. Seven year Itch!

This ladies and gentlemen- is serious trouble! Either of the partners get bored seeing the same person day after day after day or bedding them night after night after night. So, just to 'spice up' their lives, why not get a third person to make things better- no, this is not a three-some, you dirty brains! Those who have the balls, can have the gals! Strangely, it is not men alone who stray. More and more women are lured by guileless men. I know, all those machismos would be now gunning for me;)

It is real fun watching a middle aged woman sexting messages to the third man, deleting it and giggling like a hormone driven teenager. Sad, i was privy to this lady in my office. She watches out for her men, i wonder how she adjusts the IN and OUT card for both the men, how she manages to arrive in office with one and exit with the other;) And it is very romantic to watch the 'lovebirds' exchanging furtive touches in waiting halls. May be the thrill and pure adrenaline and overacting libido leads people in marriage, to cheat. All i can wonder is how they react to the 'mornings after'- like " Hey, did i sleep with X or Y?" Should i take the morning after pill or not? 

4. Plural of spouse= spice!

Somewhere down the line, the spice of life just withers away...Hold on, if i were to ask you when was the last time you had mind boggling sex moments with your wife/ husband, half the crowd would be looking up at the calender scratching the errr...heads! Whacky, kinky and wild is not something we associate with our life partners. Is that reserved for dark, brooding strangers? Then our relationship is in trouble. Playing fidelity fiddles without proper sex between partners is incorrigible.

So, how do we ease out the crowd in a marriage? 

One- Before wedding, see the girl once;) ( You could run away,looking at the beauty, even the day before the wedding!)

Two- Do not live in boring marriages, just get rid of it. Do yourselves both the favor!

Three- If it really itches, scratch the right person, your true partner;) Want some spice, you can even imagine the person lying next to you better than Arnold Schwarzenegger...No, not all brawny, but he atleast is not interested in the maid:P

Four- I wish you would mark your bedroom walls with your score every month. Hope the wall paint is washable!!!

p.s.: Dr Vijay Nagaswami, please reduce your fee of Rs 3000 per sitting. I can offer free advise on same issues;)

p.p.s: Denying sex to spouse on first night is reason enough for annulment of marriage, says the Supreme Court. Beware!

p.p.p.s: This post is dedicated to my dear friend who suggested i read- 3 is a crowd. No thanks, bud! I hate crowd!

Moony's night duty slambook!

Holy Cows! How can they? Their working hours might annoy even nocturnal birds, but they stay healthy, calm and poised. Here i am feeling all fuzzy, kind of inebriated and hallucinating as i am writing this after a night shift. I have been pushed to the dark night world where the shrill whistle of trains, lousy humdrum of passengers and dull buzz of spooky night creatures abound. So, here is this moony's checklist of staying awake all night at work-

1. FOCUS

Try focusing! As minutes tick past midnight, your monitor definitely appears blurred, your keyboard resembles a cute love cushion and your swivel chair envelopes you in a close cuddle. Don't fall for that! Try to focus. Concentrate. Look at the nearest gentleman typing away like mad. You might even hallucinate his balding upper cranium a crystal ball. Try to read your future. Or better still, if you work in a passenger system like poor me, fun is on hand! Compare and contrast the specimens on view. Take your own sweet time, peer at the checked shirt, long uncut nails and bloodshot eyes. May be your distant forefathers appear on the vanishing checks on shirts. Who knows, you might even attain Nirvana fo-cussing(!) and cribbing on the gentlemen who rostered you for the night!

2. TAKE A BREAK

You are- after all, human. Nothing wrong in taking a break. Get up from the chair, walk to the loo, spend a few..ahem..precious moments half asleep inside and emerge from it in a brisk walk. Wander from one seat to the other. If it is an all women shift- Ladies, start your tongues wagging. And mind you, don't spare anyone, including the boss. As juice overflows from the grape vine, you may even feel intoxicated with all the "who's sleeping with who" stories. And by the time you feel you are satisfied with the well deserved break, you can take your next sojourn.

3. GINGER CHAAI

Have a cup of ginger chaai at 2 am! The hot and spicy chaai can work wonders to keep you awake. Take a small walk to the nearest tea kiosk, even if that means trampling on a sleeping army of tyrants who refuse to budge a millimetre in their sleep. And oh, be careful in not slipping on the banana peels and kids' piddle that threaten to drown the entire station! Revel and rejoice at the coocoo sounds, the erratic and annoying shrill whistles of engines, watch fist-fighting families and just relax!

4. PICK A FIGHT

Still feeling dull and sleepy? Why worry? You can always pick a fight with the passenger. Ask for change.  Never pick one with the 'i know all, you know nothing' types. Your prey will land straight at your counter with a 500 rupee note asking for a platform ticket. Thank Heavens! You can spend the next fifteen minutes asking him for a three rupee, ten rupee, fifty rupee or even a hundred rupee. He is definitely not going to have any. Watch him hunt for the non existent change in his pant pockets, shirt pockets, wallet, 'secret' pocket. Send him scurrying for change. He will be back after ten minutes having gulped down a glass of typical 'railway' special watery coffee or tea that might give him a happy gala time in the morning loo! Still unsuccessful? Always try to issue ticket to the second lady in the queue, wearing that angelic smile of yours, when the first lady hunts for a change. A full fledged cat fight- guaranteed!!!

Catfight- Vintage!

Night shifts at railway stations can be extremely stressful, if there are trains all night and if we end up with a CM who refuses to reduce bus fares and a PM who refuses to increase rail fares. No one can ever know how refreshing it is to see your relieving clerk arriving, in the backdrop of early morning sun-rays that filter through the window panes. Ha...there arrives the next slave;)

P.S.- Gods must be crazy and i must be extremely bitchy while writing this post:P

P.P.S.- I wish i had leprosy, i hate it every time a bugger rubs hands when handing over money! Or can anyone suggest a hand mask resembling a leper's hand? 

P.P.P.S.- Dedicated to the counter clerk Mr Sound Gopal who seldom gives tickets but keeps rambling on and on and on. Next night shift, i might hack you to death, MIND IT!!! RASCALA!!!

Excuse me madam...Weight loss?

This happened last week when i was waiting at the traffic signal for my green lights. My new two wheeler shining and my face radiant ( read- oil oozing out of every damn pore!) i stood in the blazing afternoon sun. The guy who stopped his vehicle next to me showed a fleeting smile as i glanced carelessly at the surroundings. He took out a card from his pocket and waved it at me. I being the Good Samaritan as always, thought he was looking for some address in the vicinity and got the card from his hand. The address read- Sutharsan Nutrition Center. I couldn't remember any center by that name and dutifully said- " Sir, there is no address like this in this area." He widened his smile saying- " No madam, we have a weight loss program, do pay us a visit". Well, you can imagine how i would have felt- dropped from the Eiffel Tower with a boulder tied to your neck. I did the most reckless thing next- locked my vehicle and got down from it. The weight loss wallah was happy, thinking he caught a big fish- oops, a blue whale! What he was next to see was the ugliest side of a seemingly normal woman...

Oh yes- you get rid of my weight and my money too!
Pic coutesy- adsoftheworld.com

The conversation went thus- 

Weight loss wallah (WLW): "Why madam..we can't talk here! Please come to my clinic."

Myself: "Why the hell would i do that? How dare you ask me to enroll for your program?"

WLW: "No madam, you are obese and you must reduce weight."

Myself: "I am happy the way I AM!"

WLW: "No no...please change your idea...no diet here, you can eat anything you want to!"

Myself: "Who said i am gluttonous? I know what to eat and what not to eat. You just mind your business. Next time i see you selling your clinic anywhere on this road, i am going to sue you!" ( By now my volume has almost gone to monstrous levels with curious onlookers and a traffic policeman rushing to clear the commotion!)

WLW: retreating slowly- "I just asked if you could enroll here. It is not an offence..."

Myself: "In that case, you created a public nuisance by talking indecently to a lady...come let us go to the nearest police station!"

WLW: No words...kick starts his bike and rushes in full throttle.

The traffic policeman gives me a big friendly smile, his large tummy dancing! We are both in the same side- the heavier side! The onlookers move on, disappointed at a no show. I reached home fuming and in a definitely foul mood. I tried looking at the full length mirror in my bedroom and i feel, i am certainly not that obese...Phew! People these days have the wrong opinion of seeing plump women as obese. May be the size zero factor has an important role to play here. I really feel pathetic when i see pencil thick legs draped in jeans when i visit a mall- poor girls...they are just a bag of bones! And if there is one breakfast that annoys me the most- it is corn flakes! If i ever get to lay my hands on the man who invented breakfast cereals, i am going to gouge his eyes out! PONG! Period!

My poor sister in law once enrolled in a slimming program that required her to weigh her cornflakes- only 80 grams! And it was 50 ml of rice with 100 ml veggies for lunch. I can never ever think of a pure vegan diet- i'd rather die and be buried. End of story. Recently i went to our obstetrician ( again read- 'obese'trician) who advised me to control my weight. "If you are obese, you will end up with diabetes, high blood pressure and your children might not take care of you if you are sick in your old age", she chided. Exercise regularly- yes, very good doctor, i would love to, but who gives me the time? She said- where there is will, there is a way! By the way, doctor dear, who is this Will? And why must he give me way to lose my weight?

I can never diet, i do not find time for exercise and i am happy the way i am. So will the world shut up and move on with something that is more important than my 76 kgs frame? Next time anyone is going to sell weight loss program, slimming center, fat loss powder, heat therapy, fluid extraction or any other such programs, think twice before approaching me. I am a fat-fanatic!

P.S.: Wondering if 76 kgs is overweight and obese for a 5 ft 2 inches person?

P.P.S: Even if it is overweight, i give a damn! Excuse me for this ranting;)