A clinical report

Yesterday, I took Xena to her mothership for an appointment with Dr. T, her lung doctor. The slot we had got was for 2:50 pm, which meant that Xena would have to skip her afternoon nap. Parents of toddlers would know what catastrophe that spells. Fortunately, I was packing her hospital bag when I discovered a set of stickers inside. I was thrilled. Though Xena has tons of stickers, these looked new. I had no idea where they'd come from, so I was sure they would serve well in keeping Xena distracted in the bus. I usually take a small toy or a book for bus rides, but stickers are flatter and lighter and so much better.

We entered the bus at 2 pm, the exact moment when she goes to nap. Sure enough, in about 3.45773 seconds, she started getting restless and I took out my brahmastra. She was just as thrilled to see them as I had been. "Thank you, Mama!" She said as she took them from me. She examined them for a few seconds and then said, "Oh, Mama! I forgot to say 'Thank you!'".

"No, baby," I said, "You did say 'Thank you' to me."

"No, Mama! I forgot to say 'Thank you' to the nurse."

"Which nurse?"

"Dr. L's nurse. She gave me the stickers."

Oh wow. These 3-year-olds and their memory. Dr. L is her endrocrinologist whom we'd seen more than a month ago. After she said it, I vaguely remembered that her nurse had indeed given some stickers.

She played with the stickers throughout the bus ride and soon we reached the hospital. She was still fiddling with them when we entered Dr. T's clinic. Dr. T always likes to start off by making small talk with his small patients, and so does the nurse in his clinic. He said, "Oh, you have stickers! Where did you get them?"

"Dr. L's nurse gave them to me." Xena said.

Dr. T looked stumped for a while, and then said, "Oh you saw Dr. L? Hmmm... let me check what he said." He flipped through Xena's hospital file to look for it and really struggled because with all her gazillions of health issues starting from her birth, her file is the size of a Yellow Pages directory. I kid you not. His very competent nurse jumped in and in less than 3 seconds, had found the page he was looking for. He read it and then turned to his nurse. I thought he was going to discuss something Dr. L had written in the file.

"So Dr. L has been handing out stickers, huh?" He said to her. The nurse smiled and turned around to fiddle with something I could not see. Dr. T went back to examining Xena and then asking me the usual 2098437598435 questions about her. By the time we were done, the nurse had conjured up a rabbit toy, complete with long ears, out of... a blue surgical glove! (At first I thought it was a regular animal-shaped balloon, but Viv pointed out that it was a surgical glove. Mind. Blown.) The nurse even showed Xena how to make the rabbit's ears flap and then handed it to her. Xena was over the moon.

So that's what she had been doing when she had turned around. She had even drawn a face using markers. And the entire time, she had still been paying keen attention to everything he was saying because she recapped it for us very clearly (next appointment, medicines to take, etc.).

Dr. T looked at Xena's delighted face approvingly and then proudly grinned, "They are giving out stickers, huh? Well, we are giving out animals!"

"So it's a competition between the clinics!" I remarked. They laughed.

I was still smiling as we left the clinic. It was so cute and so heart-warming. In the middle of a busy day in one of the busiest hospitals in Singapore, a doctor and a nurse, without compromising their primary duties, had found some time to conjure up some fun.

For everyone.

Ajab Ranbir Ki Ghazab Kahani

Even though it was released 15 years ago, Andaz Apna Apna stands tall and proud on my list of the funniest Bollywood movies. As I followed Rajkumar Santoshi's subsequent movies over the last decade or so, I wondered a la the joker, "Raju, why so serious?" Like many AAA fans, I secretly wished for a sequel of AAA and I wished he'd made it when the two Khans were still err... normal. Now, of course it's too late. Both Aamir and Salman have gone kinda bonkers, and not in a good way.

So when I entered the theatre to watch Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani last night, I kept my expectations low. After all, the comedy these days is of a different kind, and the comedy of those days would not work today. My favourite reviewer Raja Sen had warned that one would enjoy the movie only if he/she watched it with 80s-tinted glasses. And boy, was I glad I did.

Maybe Santoshi was waiting. Waiting for little Ranbir to grow up so he could make this movie. Because in this age, only he could have done the kind of justice that the character of Prem needed. It was only Ranbir that could take us back to the days of AAA and make us laugh out loud at things that we would otherwise roll our eyes at. Be it him flying through the air and making laddoos in his mithaiwala cape, or saying "Chalo hum log plate dhote hain" to his mother or saying "Tere thigh muscles loose ho gaye hain!" when Katrina spots him holding Sallu's leg and pleading, or casually asking his mother if she'd seen his 'top' (and even casually slipping it on!) or telling Jesus how the angry Shankar Bhagwaan's third eye will make him go 'phussssssss' or just the way he calls out 'Salluuuu' when Katrina eggs him to call out to 'his close friend Salman Khan'.

The movie is not all slapstick though. There are some very clever lines and scenes that just make you wish they'd pause the movie so you could finish laughing before you got ready for the next scene.

In spite of the predictable storyline, it's the AAA feel that makes it a delightful fun fest. The movie works because of the scenes and not because of the story. Even though some of them are so over the top you can't see the top anymore.

Even Salman Khan, who is barely tolerable these days, evoked hysterical laughter when he said, "Jaise meri girlfriend ko apni bata raha hai?" Maybe all the three brothers should stick to guest appearances. Remember the delightful Sohail and Arbaaz in Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na?

Katrina Kaif does what she does best - sit pretty and spout a few lines every now and then in her accented hindi. It is easy to tolerate her because of two things -- first of all, she is so damn pretty it's almost distracting, and secondly, Ranbir is so damn good in the movie that at times it seems like no one else matters. That is one talented kid and he's gonna go places. Good job, Rishi and Neetu!

Viv and I had just watched 'Wake up Sid' some time ago and absolutely loved it too. It feels good to finally like an actor who is so good you can safely watch every movie with him in it. In fact, when the movie ended, Viv turned to me and said, "Do you think we should watch Saawariya?"

Yup, we're fans. Fans who can't wait for 'Rocket Singh - Salesman of the Year' to release.

PS: Just when I thought Katrina Kaif had the worst Hindi diction on the planet, Upen Patel opened his mouth.

(S)no(w) kidding

So I was having lunch at the Cheesecake Factory (as an ardent fan of the show 'The Big Bang' theory, I simply had to go there for a matha-teko when I was in the US), when this waiter said to me, "So it's gonna snow on Friday, eh?"

"Huh?" Was my very friendly response.

"I heard that it's gonna snow on Friday!" He said, excitedly.

"You heard that it's gonna snow on Friday???" I asked.

"Yeah, isn't that awesome?"

"Hahahaha!" I laughed. My exact thoughts were: People in the US are so funny. They like to talk so much, they'll say anything!

He gave me a "Have-you-gone-mad-you-already-insane-woman-I'm-serious-and-I'm-hurt-by-your-laughing' look. (Yeah, that's one complicated look.)

"Err... Wait, you're not kidding me?!" I asked.

"No! It's gonna snow on Friday!"

"Serious? You believe that??" Pardon me, but I have never been big on weather forecasts.

"Serious!"

He went on to tell me that he was from Florida and he had just moved to Boston the day before. He had never seen snow in his life and was really excited about Friday.

I cast aside all thoughts of taking his menu and gently patting his head with it in a 'Oh you poor poor dhakkan' gesture. I didn't want to break his heart. He looked so earnest and sincere, believing that it was going to snow in the middle of fall. Believing that one could forecast on Wednesday that it would snow on Friday. In the middle of October.

"Well, I hope you get your snow on Friday!" I said to him, as I left.

"Thanks!" He smiled.

Oh the poor poor guy, I thought to myself. Was he in for a disappointment or what.

***

So when I opened the window that Friday morning and looked out, here's why I couldn't stop smiling.

Second innings

"Hmmm... Aren't you going to work today?"

"Errr... It's Sunday."

"I know. But why don't you go to work today?"

"Because it's..."

Okay, you get the drift. This is a typical Sunday conversation between Mom and Dad. They are one of those typical Indian couples where the wife pampers the husband to the point where he can't do anything by himself, and then she complains that he can't do anything by himself. So on Sundays, when the whole world is relaxing, Mom's work doubles. Every half an hour, Dad wants either the newspaper, or a glass of water, or his glasses, or his slippers, or the remote control, and so on. And like all men, he is not equipped to see that all the stuff is right there in front of him.

And so the cycle continues, and so do Mom's brave attempts.

"Hmmm... why don't you go out and do some gardening?"

"It's mid-afternoon. It's hot."

"I know. But why don't you go out and do some gardening?"

"Because it's..."

Dad retired on 30th June after spending his entire working life in the same bank (do people do that anymore?). At times I can't believe my Dad has retired. I feel as if this doesn't make him old, this actually makes me old. Dad can never be old, he's always going to be this energetic guy going on his morning walks, and writing his columns, and gardening, and not to forget driving Mom crazy.

I sent him an sms today. "I'm writing a post on your retirement. Do you remember when you joined the bank?" The reply came in 10 seconds flat. "29 Sep 1973."

Holy cow.

1973. I looked it up. The year of Bobby and Zanjeer and Abhimaan and Anamika. (Yeah, this is how I "look up" things.) That sure was a very long time ago. 36 years straight. In the same bank. And we get restless and demand a long service award after completing two years in a company. How did they do that? How did they not get bored?

In a way, I guess it was because of the frequent transfers he had. There was always something happening. When I think of the frequency with which I was yanked out of one school and placed in another, I wonder how I coped. In the early years, I remember crying. I missed my friends, my teachers, my schools. I would write long letters to Grandpa listing all the things I hated about my new schools. He would, in turn, completely overlook the plot and mark up all the grammatical errors I had made with a a red pen and go through it word by word when I met him during the summer holidays. Sheesh.

And just when my letters would start carrying a little less anguish and a little more acceptance of the new place, school, teachers and friends, Dad's transfer order would arrive. Time to pack up. Time to move on. Time to start afresh.

In hindsight, it wasn't that bad. It taught me a lot of things, the most important one being -- nothing is forever. Perhaps, in a way, that also helped me pack my bags and move to a strange land at the age of 18, all by myself, with not a clue whatsoever of what the future held. It was just a natural progression of the change I was very used to.

But I wonder how Dad will cope with the new change in his life now. How will he take to being at home all day? Maybe he'll just fill the house with plants. Now that he's going to his own "I built it with my own hands" house, this green-fingered artist has the whole backyard as his canvas. Aside from the coconut trees growing there, he also has the bonsais he had made himself (yeah, he literally "made" the bonsais, and some of them are decades old). I remember him instructing the truckwala who ferried our stuff from one city to another, "Bhaiya, mere paudhon ko kuchh nahin hona chahiye. Ho sakey toh ek aadmi ko peechhe baitha do, pakadke rakhega." After we reached the new place, Mom would do a stocktake of how many pieces of cutlery she had lost to said Bhaiya's crazy driving, while Dad would do a close inspection of whether any leaf had changed in colour or direction during the arduous journey.

He sure was as devoted to his plants as he was to his bank. I remember one of those annoying uncles who crack really bad jokes (everyone has one of those, don't they?), "Sir, bank toh aapki doosri biwi hai! Heh heh heh!" while Mom and I rolled our eyes at each other and Dad smiled politely. But I'm glad I got that trait from him. That deep regard for work. I have been ridiculed because I truly deeply believe in 'Work is workship'. I know we don't stay in one company all our lives anymore so the sense of loyalty is different. But I have found a workaround. To shift that sense of loyalty from the organisation or the people, to the work itself. The actual work that you do. No matter who you are, no matter where you are, no matter what you do, and no matter how long you have been doing it. To take something up and do a good job of it. To a certain extent, that actually takes care of all the other negativities at the workplace that bog us down on a daily basis.

So, for someone like Dad (and me too), sitting at home doing nothing is not really an option. It's horrifying, in fact. We get too fidgety. In fact, a month ago he had asked me, "Can you go inside the Internet and find me a retiree-level job?" I like how he talks about "going inside the Internet". To him, the Internet is something that people go into and things come out of, like how last year "worms were coming out of his inbox" (virus attack in his office computer).

So Dad, maybe this could be one of the things for you to do -- go inside the Internet and learn more about it. Forget the retiree-level job. For now at least. Stay at home. But don't drive Mom nuts. The remote control is right there in front of you. Where it always is.

And if I could give you one advice on how to make the best of your retirement, it's this.

Start a blog.

The adventures of Veshtiman

The Veshtiman post has been due since this post, and finally here it is, the tale of the multi-talented Veshtiman and his multi-purpose veshti. Why veshti, you may ask. Because our superhero is Indian, and India is a hot country, and anyone who watched Krrish in his black spandex costumes would agree that he could have done much better if he had a better ventilated superhero costume.


Cue theme song

Veshtiman veshtiman

Has a veshti for every plan

Save the day, save the desh

Only he in his veshti can!

For people who do not know what the heck a veshti is (I made the mistake of asking an innocent question, "Is it the same as a lungi?" and really heard the music from Viv), google it and come back. Or simply click here. Only then will you understand the true essence of Veshtiman in the next few paragraphs.

(Note for Physics nerds - Don't question the physics behind Veshtiman's amazing antics. Where there's a will, there's a way. Okay? Okay! Besides, Veshtiman offers agarbatti to his guru Rajnikanth every morning before venturing on his adventures.)


Those who have just returned from google, wipe that horrified look off your faces. Veshtiman cleverly avoids any wardrobe malfunction by actually wearing underwear underneath the veshti. This also sets him apart from the odd fashion sense of the run-of-the-mill superheroes. Finally we have a superhero who is comfortable in his own skin. Literally.


Veshtiman works out of India. No international roaming facilities. India has enough problems to keep him busy. And because he is an Indian superhero, his main superpower is inspired from the Indian epic Mahabharata, particularly the Draupadi striptease scene. He uses his veshti to carry out a variety of world-saving activities, and before you go "hawwwww!", let me just tell you that as soon as he pulls one veshti off, another one instantly appears in its place as his lajja-wastra.


He can ferry people out of danger zones by serving as a budget carrier. He can untie his veshti, tie it around his neck as a cape and fly from Kashmir to Kanyakumari faster than the Shataabdi. We are not quite sure how exactly having a cape assists flying, but in a world of cape-sporting-flying superheroes, you gotta stay competitive and look as good as the others.


He can stop heavy objects which are about to fall on petrified people (who choose to simply look up and scream instead of getting the hell out of the way). He achieves this by making a hammock of sorts with his super-tensile (and not to forget strong and light as carbon fibre) veshti. The same technique can be used to save the lives of suicidal people.


A la Krishna in Mahabharata, he can protect the lajja of hapless women (who learn karate every saturday but can't fight off the leering local goon), by supplying a limitless number of veshtis to cover up the collective lajja of the women. The final veshti can then be used to whiplash the goons into oblivion.


Veshtiman also regularly supplies the homeless with waterproof roofs and thermal blankets, made of -- you guessed it - his veshti material. (okay that sounded eerily like waste material.)


He can also use his veshti for delivering urgent medical care. For instance, during a virus scare such as SARS or H1N1, he can cut up the veshti into smaller strips and distribute them to be used as face masks. The veshti also has medicinal properties and can be used to bandage wounds.


When a speeding train is about to ram into a stationary car on the tracks (whose occupants again, prefer to just sit there and scream rather than get the hell out), he ties the two ends of his veshti to poles on each side of the track to act like a giant rubberband which slows down and eventually stops the train before it can crash into the car (the occupants are still in there, by the way, still screaming, with relief this time I presume).



And in case you're wondering what happens to the used veshtis, after every super-deed, he simply autographs the veshti used and flings it towards his hysterical fans.

A matter of time

So I found this guy on Facebook, and went "OH MY GOD, is that him???"

Yes, it was. It was my tuition kid from almost a decade ago.

*Flashback begins*

It was the spring of 2001.

(Kaahe ka spring, I pause to ask myself. Who am I kidding? Singapore ain't got no spring-shring!)

So... it was the 'same-old-drab-season' of 2001.

I was doing my internship at Exxonmobil. My only memories of my internship consisted of my cute boss and the fact that they really did pay us interns a lot for not doing much. There were no classes that semester so I had a lot of free time in the evenings. I'd go over to this professor's house and tutor his kid in Science, Maths and Urdu (spoken -- it's not as difficult as it sounds). It was a family of 6 - the Pakistani professor, his Australian wife, and their four amazingly beautiful kids.

The fourth kid was only an infant. Baby S. She had started to recognise me and would actually smile at me! This was way before I had my niece baby Aish in my life and back then, to actually have a baby smile at me was a totally earth-shattering experience for me.

My tuition kid (let's call him J) was nine years old. He was a bright kid who enjoyed his lessons. I'd time him on his Maths sums using my mobile phone and he'd go, "Wait wait! Give me 5 seconds more!" I had the prehistoric Nokia 3310 in those days, anyone remember it? 'The blue brick' they called it. J was fascinated by the phone and often wanted to time me with it as I explained sums to him, the cheeky chap.

Soon, the semester was over. The final year of engineering doesn't really give one much time for tuitions. I was busy with classes and my final year project, and discontinued the tuitions. And that was the last I saw of J and his family.

*Flashback ends*

So when I found this tall, lanky teenager on Facebook, I could not believe it was my little tuition kid J. He remembered me and told me all about himself, and how he is going to university next year. University!

"How is baby S?" I asked. He told me how baby S is of course, no longer a baby, but is a child model for Singapore tourism, and was on the billboards all over India two years ago.

And that's when I felt it.

You know how we roll our eyes when an aunty or an uncle comes up to us and says, "Oh my god!!! You have grown soooo much! I can't believe it! You were a baby/kid when I saw you!!"

I guess now I can relate to them. Finally. Call it age or whatever you will, but to see someone you knew as a kid, in their grown-up avtaar is truly one of the most amazing things ever.

Even though we know it's a perfectly natural phenomenon -- time passes, kids grow up -- it still is quite unbelievable.

I hereby resolve not to make fun of the uncles and aunties anymore. :/

Tailor-made lyrics

So today was one of those days when you hear a song and an old memory associated with the song suddenly rushes at you. The song in question was 'Mere haathon mein nau nau choodiyan hain' from Chandni, and I can't quite remember where exactly I heard it today. (Could be my head actually, can't rule that out, happens quite a bit).

The important thing is how it suddenly reminded me of Piya. Piya, our neighbour's 5-year-old daughter. She would be a teenager now, but back then, she was the tiniest and cutest kid in the neighbourhood. Mom had a special friendship with her and she'd be forever seen at our home. So once, during my summer holidays, I heard her attempt to sing, 'Mere haathon mein nau nau choodiyan hain' and thought to myself, "Ah! Here's a good holiday project!" (Yes, yes, you can say it. Geek of the highest order.)

So I took it upon myself to teach Piya how to sing the full song, and eventually do a 'show' for Mom. Initially, she struggled with the lyrics, and although she had perfected the mukhda, she would often forget the first lines of the antaras 'Mere darzi se aaj meri jung ho gayi' and 'Mere ghutnon se lambi meri choti hai'.

After weeks of practice, I decided she was ready. So off we trotted to Mom, and I said, "Mom, Piya has a surprise item for you." Mom was indeed very pleasantly surprised when Piya started singing. She sounded unbelievably awesome.

So when she got to the antara, I crossed my fingers that she wouldn't forget the lines this time.

She didn't.

In fact, she remembered the words of both the lines that she used to forget.

However, a little technical error happened, which made Mom and me explode into hysterical laughter.

"Mere darzi se lambi meri choti hai..." sang Piya, very earnestly.

A clean sweep

So Viv and I have collectively lost some 30 kg in the last few weeks.

Old clothes, old shoes, old appliances, old files, old kitchen stuff -- you name it, we threw it.

These things are like bad memories. It seems like you can never get rid of them, but when you have to, you just go ahead and do it. And then they're gone from your life forever.

We're moving to a new place. Our place. Actually, not so much our place as Standard Chartered bank's place, but in about two decades or so, we hope to change that.

So in between all the throwing and packing, and more throwing and more pa(ni)cking, we suddenly remembered - we had to get the Remyfication of both places done! Nope, that was not ramification misspelt, nor is it slang for sprinkling holy water in the houses or something. There truly is a whole vocabulary we have created in honour of Remy. Remy the freelance domestic helper who has been helping me clean the house every time I moved in the last five years. Remy, the ultimate grease and grime repeller. Remy, the goddess of shiny kitchen tiles, unclogged drains and sparkling bathrooms. In fact, I truly believe that the phrase 'Cleanliness is next to godliness' was coined after her.

Remy has seen me through thick and thin. I still remember the first house she cleaned for me. I was sharing it with two girls who had jobs, and I was looking for one because I had just quit a job where the boss was a racist psycho. It was a very bad time for me, and I was about to hit rock-bottom when a publisher agreed to hire me as an temporary editorial assistant at a measly 60 dollars a day, with the challenge to prove myself worthy of the editor's position in two weeks or get my engineer ass back on the engineering track. I still remember watching Remy scrub our floors at $10 an hour, and wondering, "Wow man. Remy makes more than I do..."

Then there was the time I had to move to the western part of Singapore because living in the east was rendering it impossible to carry on with my part-time Master's course. Unable to find female housemates, I settled for two guys (who actually turned out to be pretty decent housemates). Even then, I could not wait for that one year to get over so I could get back to the east, back home. Remy saw me through all of that, cheerfully scrubbing away with me.

So today, as she, once again, scrubbed away the grime of my life in the old house and made my new home sparkle, I thought to myself - she is truly one of the women I admire the most. Not just because dirt and grime are literally afraid of her, but also because of her grit. Her husband is in the Philippines recovering from a heart condition, her kids are in university, and she's the only earning member in the family. She has a fulltime employer whom she lives with, and on her 'free' days, she freelances her superior cleaning skills.

Her English is a bit shaky (it's quite cute actually) and I'd blogged (here and here) about a few laughs I'd had with her. But her work is so good that Viv and I often say that you can walk into a room and just know that it has been freshly 'Remy-fied'.

The most amazing thing is - you never really see any signs of the hard life she is going through. In a world where we struggle to find people who inspire us with their positive attitude towards life, I'm fortunate to have found one such soul right here in my house, scrubbing my tiles.

And every time I meet her, she makes me want to be more positive.

Today, for example.

I had taken leave so I could oversee the painting of the new house, as well as get some cleaning done with Remy's help. After an exhausting day's work, I asked her, "Tired from all the hard work, Remy?"

She smiled at me and said, "No no. Exercise."

Kal yaad aayenge yeh pal

KK
First encounter - Video of his first album 'Pal' on TV
First impression - Who's this dude? Nice unique voice... never heard of him though... and what's with the weird name man?

Second encounter - The song 'Tadap tadap' from 'Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam'
Second impression - WHOALA!! Who's the singer who's the singer who's the singer???

Recent encounter - The song 'Tu hi meri shab hai' from 'Gangster'.
Recent impression - The dude really puts his heart into the song. And it stays in your heart for a very very long time.

Sunidhi Chauhan
First encounter - Meri Aawaz Suno contest on TV
First impression - Whoa, doesn't this contest have a minimum age for entry? (Does anyone remember her as that kid in the little dress, the lacy socks, the very short hair and the thick hairband, singing 'Chhod de sari duniya kisi ke liye' and waat-lagaoing the grown-up contestants week after week till she finally emerged the winner?)

Second encounter - The song 'Ruki ruki si zindagi' from 'Mast'
Second impression - Wow, this chick has a powerful voice man. What's her name? WHAT?? She's that KID from Meri Aawaz Suno????

Recent encounter - 'Jaane kyun' from 'Chameli', 'Le chale' from 'My Brother Nikhil' and 'Mere haath mein' from 'Fanaa'.
Recent impression - She sounds brilliant in non-item number songs. She should sing more of 'em.

Last encounter with both - In the Sunidhi-KK live concert last night


































KK opened the show with 'Yaaron'. Here, he's urging the crowd to sing along with him. Errr... yeah, we did. And he said, "Arre wah, aap log itna saare hain yahan... phir bhi sur mein gaa rahe hain?" ("Wow, there are so many of you here... and yet you guys are singing in tune?") You know how I have a soft corner for hindi-speaking guys from non-hindi speaking states. Mallu guy (and boy, can he sing!) cracks a joke in fluent hindi. Is it any wonder why I like him so much? :P




















That's Sunidhi singing Whitney Houston's "I will always love you". She surprised us with the fantastic job she did with the song.















Sunidhi sang almost all her famous item-numbers. The Uncle and Aunty sitting in front of me were doing ballistic bhangra.
















The back-up dancers had really weird costumes.-Check out the guys in their silly peacock costume. Sheesh. :/
















Where there are birds, there are bees. So here come the bumblebees! Wait, it gets better! :/
















Bees? Did you say bees? Ah, thank goodness the bee-catchers are here!
















Bad: KK and Sunidhi lacked chemistry.
Worse: They only sang two songs together.
Worst: They did not sing 'Le chale', the only song that each has sung a version of!!!!!! :O
















There was pin drop silence in the crowd when he sang 'Tadap tadap' with only one accompaniment. That song itself was worth the 80-dollar ticket. Wish Salman's expressions in the movie had done justice to the song...















KK put his heart and soul into every song he sang. Last night, his humility and talent created magic together. Dus bahaane karke le gaya dil :)

Lasting impression: Sunidhi may have brought the crowd to its feet, but KK brought me to my heart.

Hum... rahein ya na rahein kal
Kal... yaad aayenge yeh pal
Pal... yeh hai pyaar ke pal
Chal... aa mere sang chal
Chal... soche kya, chhoti si hai zindagi
Kal... mil jaayein toh hogi... khushnasibi...
Hum... rahein ya na rahein... yaad aayenge yeh pal...

The guy who could not deliver

I have something to say to all you people who upload entire movies on Youtube.com.

If you're gonna upload it, I'm gonna watch it, aren't I????

:D

I am new to Youtube. And as happens when you give Sayesha new toys to play with, she has been going bonkers about it. While video hopping one day, I found a file from the movie 'Socha Na Tha' (meaning "I'd never thought of that."). I decided to watch a bit of it to see if Dharam praji's nephew can act better than his sons or not.

Oh boy.

The file had me completely hooked. So much that I dug out all 10 files of it from Youtube. Not to mention that I had to try various typos before I could get hold of all the files. Three of the files are named as 'Soucha Natha'. Sounds like a South African cricket player. Also 'shauchalaya' (Hindi word for 'toilet'), as ROS and I concurred. (Soucha natha = There was no toilet??)

Anyway, the bad quality of the files and the sound lagging behind by about 15 minutes did not deter me. I loved the movie so much that I actually watched it thrice over - that's watching 30 files. Sheesh.

So naturally the next step was to obtain the DVD so I could watch it when the sound was actually in sync with the scenes, and review it on my blog. My DVD buying rule is simple - if I can watch it 10 times, and still love it, it's time to buy the DVD!

So I thought I would go to Jade theatre this weekend, watch Gangster, and pick up the DVD of Socha Na Tha from the Bombay Talkies outlet outside the theatre. But a quick call to Jade theatre confirmed that Gangster has not yet released in Singapore, and will not for another week. Damn.

By then, my craving for the DVD had shot to epic proportions. I realised I could not bear it any more. I had to get the DVD to watch in the weekend. So I called up Bombay Talkies and asked them to deliver the DVD. I asked them to deliver it to my office before 6 pm. They said they would.

They did not.

Living in Singapore for almost 8 years has made me so used to the efficiency and organised way of doing things here, that such things make me very angry. Sometimes I feel like I'm too quick to judge India, but at other times I feel like it's high time we caught up, since the whole world is now looking at us. I feel that such bad customer service brings my country and its people a bad name. I remember the pain I had to go through when I was in India and I first applied for my passport. I had to go to Calcutta (where I was stalked on the roads for half an hour by this creep, making me swear that I would never visit the city again in my life, bringing on the wrath of many a Calcutta-lovers and Calcutta-dwellers, including my bro-in-law. Recently, Dad broke the news that his next transfer could be to Calcutta. But let's not get there. Literally or otherwise.) and stand outside government offices with rickety fans and lazy officials and load shedding and sweaty crowds for three days in a row before I could get my passport. When I compare that to the breeze that getting my Singapore IC was, I sigh and say, "Sigh. When will India and Indians get there in terms of efficiency?"

So the non-delivery of my DVD made me curse under my breath again and sigh "Sigh. When will India and Indians get there in terms of efficiency?"

As I finished work, I got a call. From some mobile number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is that Sayesha?"

"Yes, it is. Who is this?"

"Hi, I am guy-who-could-not-deliver, calling from Bombay Talkies."

"Hi, guy-who-could-not-deliver. You could not deliver."

"Yes yes, I could not deliver."

"Well, I wanted the DVD before the weekend started. Guess I'm not getting it. So can you deliver it on Monday?"

"Oh, have you left your office?" He asked.

"Am leaving now. I had asked for delivery before 6 pm. It's 6:10 now."

"Hmmm... Where do you live?"

"Excuse me??"

"I mean I will deliver to your home. Are you going home now?"

"Uhhh.. I am not going home now."

"When will you get home then?"

"Errr... I will get home very late."

While he probably thought of me as the happening girl with the happening life on a happening Friday night, I was rolling my eyes. That's because I was going to spend my happening Friday night getting jabbed in the arm with my not-so-happening keloid shots. My dermatologist is incredibly popular, and getting an appointment to see her is equivalent to the heavens descending down on you. So Friday night or no Friday night, I was going to see her.

"So where are you going now?" He asked.

"Excuse me??"

This conversation was getting more and more uncomfortable.

"I mean - can I meet you where you're going and pass you the DVD?"

"Uhhh... I am going to a clinic."

"Hmmm... Okay, I call you later, okay?"

"Uhh... okay." I hung up, very puzzled.

So I reach the dermi's place at 6:45 pm, and join the people who have queued in front of the clinic. The clinic opens at 7 pm, and the nurse gives me a piece of paper with the number 29 scribbled on it.

"Two and a half hours." She says.

Sheesh.

So I wander around trying to kill the two and half hours before the doc would see me. I go back to the clinic at 9 pm. The display shows the number 12.

Only 12 people in 2 freakin' hours????

I grab a seat, pick up some bimbo magazines and flip through the ads, occasionally coming across an article or two.

It's now 9:30 pm. The display shows 16.

Girl sitting next to me smiles at me. I smile back.

"That lady who just came in... her number is 41. Wonder when she'll get to see the doctor." She giggles.

"She will either have to follow the doctor home, or camp here until tomorrow morning." I say.

"Ha ha!" The girl laughs.

"You should take a number and then go watch a movie and come back. You'd still be in time to see the doc." I say.

"Hahaha!" More laughter from her. I'm crying on the inside. It's 9:45 pm. Tampines is on the other end of the country. It would take me almost two hours to get home.

Suddenly my phone rings.

"Hi, Sayesha! This is guy-who-could-not-deliver."

"Errr.. hi, guy-who-could-not-deliver."

"Where are you now?"

"Huhh??"

"I can go wherever you are, and deliver the DVD. Where are you now?"

"Err.... I'm in Tampines... " I said, unsure, because the clinic is in a godforsaken part of Tampines, without a single landmark where I could meet him.

"Where in Tampines?"

"Uhhh... Street 81..."

"Which block?"

"825."

"Unit number of the clinic?"

"#01-64."

"Will you still be there in 15 minutes' time?"

Dude, I'll probably be here until tomorrow evening, I thought to myself.

"Should be." was my actual reply.

"Okay, I call you when I get there?"

"Uhhh... okay."

In 15 minutes time, the guy called me. I stepped out of the clinic and there he was, with my DVD.

I paid for the DVD, went back into the clinic and took about 15 minutes to recover from what had just happened.

The doctor finally saw me at 11 pm. I had waited exactly 4 hours to get jabbed.

Bombay Talkies had sent guy-who-could-not-deliver to track me down no matter whichever part of Singapore I was in, and deliver my DVD.

It put things back in perspective. Maybe India and Indians were getting there in terms of efficiency. If not there, perhaps somewhere.

The incident made me smile on the inside. I was filled with a warm feel-good feeling.

Hmmm... socha na tha... :)

But wait a minute now... Suddenly I got suspicious!

Does Bombay Talkies have anything to do with Bombay Cafe now??? :O

If they do, and if the Bombay family is reading this, I beg you, please do not deliver a crate of 24 complimentary DVDs to my office.

I repeat, I do NOT want a crate of 24 complimentary DVDs delivered to my office.

Thank you. :-|

.......
......
.....
....
...
..
.

Well, if you're insisting soooooooooooo much, then...... can I send you a list first? :P

Now he's the real shah!

What's the funniest thing you've ever come across in blogsphere?

If this was a tag, I'd immediately say, "Weird Hair Anil's weird translation of Bulla Shah's song!"

Weird Hair Anil is the guy through which I met the Virdi fella. And so he has a special place in my heart (Anil, not Virdi). And behind all the geekiness that goes on at his blog, lurks a very fun, weird-wig-sporting, Hindi-speaking, talented Mallu guy.

Here's the story - about a year ago, Virdi posted the lyrics of the Bulla song on his blog, which incidentally all of us were in love with but we had no freakin' clue what it meant! And Weird Hair Anil made a brilliant attempt to translate it. People who have been around here would remember it, but it was a real pity that the masterpiece was confined to the comment space. So I have decided to bring it out once again, and put it under its well-deserved spotlight.

So here it is, for all new bewdas, for the first time at Sayeshaz, some very good 'imported wine'.

Presenting, ladies and gentlemen, the translation that you should read when you don't have time to go to the gym and do crunches.

And oh, please note how polite I used to be with Virdi last year! ;)

9 Comments:
Sayesha said...
Hey Virdi,

I love the song!

Would really really appreciate an English translation!

Sayesha
11:16 PM, May 20, 2005

Anil said...
You ass (why do you force me to start every comment with 'you ass').. how can we understand all that punjabi? english translation please!

and don't give me any gaalis :-)
9:03 AM, May 21, 2005

Anil said...

Wait, let me try to translate:

Bulla ki jaana main kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun.
Tell me who I am (4).

Na main moman vich maseetan, Na main vich kufar dian reetan, Na main pakan vich paleetan.
I am not my mother's son, I am not digging my own grave, I am not boring you.

Na main andar bed kitaban, Na main rehnda phaang sharaban, Na main rehnda mast kharaban.
I don't get anyone into my bed, I don't drink sharaab, I don't know how to party.

Na main shadi na ghamnaki, Na main vich paleetan pakeen, Na main aaabi na main khaki.
No one wants to do shaadi with me, No one will cook for me, and no one likes my khakhi underpants.

Na main aatish na main paun, Bulla ki jana main kaun, Bulla ki jana main kaun, Bulla ki jana main kaun, Bulla ki jana main kaun.
I have no 'drive'. Tell me who I am (3).

Na main arabi na lahori, Na main hindi shehar Nagaori, Na hindu na turk pashauri.
I am not from Arabia or Lahore, nor am I from a hindi town, not even hindu or a bloody turk.

Na main bhet mazhab de paya, Na main aadam hawwa jaya, Na koi apna naam dharaya.
I gave religion but received none, all I got was hot air, and no can can still tell me my name.

Avval aakhar aap nu jana, Na koi dooja hor pacchana, Mai ton na koi hor syana.
You think you are great, that no one else is as good, but I am also a 'shaana' (smartass).

Bulle shah kharha hai kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun, Bulla ki jaana main kaun
What does the Shah of Bulle eat? Tell me who am I (3).

Na main moosa na pharoah, Na main jagan na vich saun, Na main aatish na main paun, Na main rahnda vich Nadaun, Na main baitthan na vich bhaun, Bulle shah kharha hai kaun
I am not a moose or a pharoah, I cannot wake or sleep, I have no 'drive', I cannot stay or leave, I cannot sit or stand because I want to know who I am! Tell me who I am (3) Oooooo.. Tell me who I am.

===========================================================

My favourite part? "Tell me who I am Oooooo"! :D

Shaan meri jaan

So this guy-I-kinda-like is supposed to take me to a concert of another guy I like, when he has to cancel the date because of a game. To play a game, not watch one. I didn't mind. In fact, I found it kinda sexy and manly and all that blah which we girls like in guys but rarely admit lest it go to their heads which have a lot of empty space anyway.

Yeah, so dateless on Sunday night, my friend Clueless and I clutched the two concert tickets and set off on a journey to go see the man from my past. I had already warned her that he was all mine, but she wasn't gonna give up without a fight. 'May the best girl win' was our motto.

At first, whatever could go wrong went wrong. Instead of Kallang theatre, Clueless and I landed at Kallang Indoor Stadium. Thankfully, the lack of the usual crowd of a thousand millionaire Indians dressed up in funky finery and ghastly gold made me suspicious, and we asked around. Finally we found the right place. We had some time before the show started, and Clueless and I proceeded to copy-edit the concert programme they were distributing outside the theatre.

The unprofessionally done programme had many many errors, and it was obvious that no one had bothered to copy-edit it before it went to press. I wanted to scream "Argh! 'Churaliya' is not one word! Why are there no spaces after the commas? And there's no song called 'Just walking to my life'! And there's no Shaan album called 'Orja'! Argh! Argh! Argh!"

The lack of professionalism spilled over into the actual concert as well, when random guy in red kurta wandered on to stage and mumbled something like "Adarniya sajjanon, ab aapke saamne aa rahi hain... Bombay ki mashoor gaayika Moon... (pause)... Moon... (pause)..." And just as he had wandered into stage, he wandered off. There was a general buzz. I guess it was because 'Bombay ki mashoor gaayika' sounds like such a seedy term. "Who the heck is Moon-pause-Moon?" I turned to ask Clueless. "And if she's so mashoor, how come I haven't heard of her??"

"I know! If it wasn't for the banner behind with Shaan's pic, I wouldn't even know where I am!" She said.

Anyway, Moon-pause-Moon (MPM) appeared on stage. I gave her one of my famous 'looks' as if she really could see me in my 'First there's the 500-dollar seats, then the 300-dollar seats, then the 100-dollar seats and then mine' seat.

"Who is she??? Why is she here??? What if Shaan doesn't turn up at all? They'd better refund us man!" I fumed.

Anyway, I decided to be fair and give MPM a chance. Maybe hers was just the opening act while Shaan was getting ready. She started with the opening lines of 'Baahon mein chale aao' and I was pleasantly surprised because she sounded good. And then the band started playing the dhikchik beats. Dammit! Even live performances are remixes now?? I was pissed as hell.

That was just the beginning! She proceeded to sing two more songs, really testing the patience of the patrons. At the end of her third song, people had started chanting "We want Sha-aan! We want Sha-aan!" But like Clueless commented, his name isn't very 'chant-able' and so the chant did not really pick up.

But finally he appeared on stage! In white pants, a white T-shirt, an orange jacket(!) and (Kini you're gonna love this part!) red shoes! Big contrast from the all-black attire I had imagined him to be in, but what the hell. I was in the same room with Shaan. Ok fine, agreed the room was very very very big and had thousands of random people in it, but what the hell. I was in the same room with Shaan. I quickly sent an sms to my Dad to tell him of my utter good fortune. Mom must have been so jealous, she's a big fan of his 'Sa Re Ga Ma Pa' show.

Anyway, I sank back in my chair, looked at him and sighed.

The guy looks cute. Can sing like wow. Can dance like wow. Is funny. Writes his own songs which are like wow. What else do you need to fall hopelessly in love?

Yeah yeah, I know you're thinking "But he's married!" Well, one of my theories takes care of that small technical detail.

According to me, celebrities are not 'single' or 'married'. Celebrities are celebrities. They belong to everyone. And perhaps that's why even when a dude-type celebrity dedicates a full song to his wife, and looks at her now and then especially when singing meaningful songs, single girls (at least the non-duh ones) don't feel jealous. He just rises higher in their esteem. That's what makes a real celebrity. You look at him without anything else clouding your judgement, and you celebrate his talent. His personal life does not matter. He really does belong to everyone. Even though everyone thinks "He's all mine."

Anyway, Shaan started singing and then stopped abruptly and asked for volume adjustment. The sound guys just could not get it right. Sheesh, that was sad. Finally they did it and he started singing again. Lots of technical glitches almost ruined the show.

When he started off the song 'Tuney mujhey pehchana nahin' with 'Singapore, tuney mujhe pehchana nahin..." I was highly suspicious that it really wasn't Shaan we were looking at, but some imposter they'd decided to substitute to avoid getting MPM murdered by the pissed-off crowd!

The audience comprised of all kinds of people. Very different from the A. R. Rahman concert I'd attended last year, where I'd looked around to discover that I knew 60% of the people in the audience. This time, I did not see a single familiar face. And there were sooo many kids! Many of them were holding A5-sized sheets of paper with words written for him! It was so funny to watch them believe that Shaan could really see them. I wished I had a piece of paper, I'd have written '4' on one side and '6' on the other in big bold letters, held it up for Shaan to see and then said, "Ooops, sorry, wrong place!"

Shaan was really cheeky at times! During 'O humdum suniyo re' from 'Saathiya', he actually sang the 'shaam ko khidki pe chori chori nange paaun chand aayega' as 'shaam ko khidki pe chori chori nange paaun Shaan aayega'.

Then later when he invited people to go on to the stage to dance with him, at one point in time, I counted 80 people. As more and more people rushed up, and we kinda lost view of him, we heard his voice "Hmmm... Lagta hai stage par zyada log hain, neeche kam!" Later, he was feeling rather hot in his jacket, so he tossed it off with a "Now you guys know whose song is next!" It was a Salman Khan number.

Parents were sending their kids to run to him and shake his hand. At one point, he was saying something when this itty-bitty kid who barely reached Shaan's knee had grabbed his hand. It took Shaan a full five seconds to notice the kid, by which time the tiny tot had run off.

MPM sang the duets with Shaan. She was okay, but sometimes too high-pitched, and sometimes inaudible. I really wished Shreya Ghoshal had been there. (But she's coming here in April, and I shall be there for her concert! Maybe I will take guy-I-kinda-like, on a date!) MPM tried to complement Shaan's sponatenity but was rather unsuccessful. And she made an ass of herself when Shaan asked "Kuch toh hua hai, kya ho gaya hai?" She replied, "Sab ladkiyan aap par fida ho gayi hain, yehi hua hai!" Shaan retorted, "Kyun, aap chahti hain ki ladke bhi fida ho jaayein mujh par?" Everyone went hahaha but MPM said, "Ladke ladkon par fida hote hain kya?" Sheesh, reminded me of my days of naivety.

Another annoying factor was the bunch of dancers in the background whom Shaan named 'R and rangers'. Well, R wasn't too bad, but his rangers?? The less said, the better! They were just a bunch of teenagers dressed in black and strips of silver, dancing on stage as if it was someone's baaraat! No coordination (not even in the costumes! One of the guys who had probably tried to look like Usher ended up looking like one of the researchers in a microcontamination research lab.) at all! They would turn up now and then and do some random steps, then they would send in two sexy chicks who would also do their own thing, and then they would go off. Really really annoying stuff.

Shaan tried to encourage them by saying things like "Come back, guys! Wonderful performance!" but they were boo'ed off every single time. I wanted to join in the boo-ing but I have four presentations in Manila next week, and I can't afford to lose my voice the way I did after the ShahRukh show last year. So Clueless, if you thought I was jumpy, let me tell you it was the very mellow side of me.

Shaan sang pretty much all of my favourite songs (Tanha Dil, Aksar, Gumsum Ho Kyun, Woh Pehli Baar, My Dil Goes Hmmm, Ladki Kyun Na Jaane Kyun, Bhool Ja), except 'Yeh hawaein' which he said was his wife's favourite song. That song was terrible, in spite of Shaan singing it. All I'd like to say is -- wifey, you picked the perfect husband, but your taste in music sucks man! Shaan even sang the Lagaan song 'Ghanan ghanan' in spite of having, in his own words, "sirf saadhe teen lines" in the song! He also popped in two numbers from his latest album 'Tishnagi'. And when he sang 'Take me to your heart', I almost swooned, I did.

Actually he sang an incredible number of songs, as he wasn't wasting much time talking in between. But now and then he'd say something in between (and sometimes in the middle of) songs.

I liked what he said when he paused in the middle of 'Bhool ja'. "Life is too precious to cry over someone who's not worth it." So true.

Finally, he ended the show with a medley of songs, and you could see how boundless his energy was, the way he was jumping and dancing. And we, just sitting in our chairs, felt so exhausted.

Clueless and I trudged back home, tired, sleepy, but incredibly happy nonetheless. We'd seen Shaan after all. In 3-D, no less! To my utter relief, she mentioned that she really liked the guitarist. So I gave her the guitarist and asked her to stay off Shaan. I love you, baby girl, but I'm sorry I can't give you Shaan.

He's all mine, you see.

Sayesha's in love

Sayesha lost her heart last night.

And her voice too.

At the A. R. Rahman concert.

Have you ever been so overwhelmed by a person's talent that you feel privileged to just be in the same room as that person? Today I felt like that. Unlike many people I know, I will not refer to Rahman as God because I still haven't figured out my stand on the concept of God yet. But for now, to me, he is talent personified.

So there I was, dressed in my salwar kameez, complete with bindi (I jump at such occasions when I can wear Indian and not feel over-dressed), not only in the same 'room' as Rahman, but also close enough to see him and the others very clearly, thanks to my friend A who got us some really amazing seats. Best 82 bucks I have spent this entire year. Add to it the delightful company of friends -- Max on my left and Starbreez on my right -- and hey, life rocks. The evening could not get better. Max with his funny quips now and then (he almost threw a shoe at the annoying MCs whom I'll describe later!). And Starbreez with her insatiable appetite for Indian movies and music. (We all need someone to talk about whom or what we love. And sometimes I feel so thankful for having her in my life.)

Now, about the two really annoying MCs. If their nonsensical blabbering (about how the black-eyed-peas had almost caused the roof to crash down, and how we were not cheering as hard) was not enough, they invited the finalists of some superstar contest to sing on stage before Rahman could be put on stage. Twelve of them. One by one. Aaarghhh! It was so annoying. We were there to listen to Rahman, dammit! I think the audience made quite a statement when huge numbers (including us) just walked out. To get drinks because we were getting so impatient, and the twelve seemed to be taking their own sweet time. Bumped into a lot of people from uni outside who had also stepped out to get away from the trauma.

Finally, the ordeal was over, we went in and Rahman made his entry. And wow. No, actually I mean WOW. No, I mean WOW!!!!

When I think back, the total amount of talent on the stage last night was enough to bring the entire stadium crashing down. Rahman, Hariharan, Chitra, Sadhna Sargam, Madhushree, Udit Narayan, Kailash Kher, Karthik, and of course, the incredibly talented musicians, including the unbelievable drummer Sivamani.

As the Indoor Stadium filled with the beautiful sounds of Rahman's music, you could see that every song they sang was from the heart. And many of these songs have a very special place in my heart.

When they sang 'Ishq bina' I was reminded of uni days. My friend A and I had sung it during one of the performances of our uni's Indian band. It was been a huge success. So it was a very special feeling that we were both sitting in the same row, listening to the live and original version of the song we had sung in uni years ago.

Hariharan, Sadhna Sargam and Chitra did a piece called 'Unplugged' where they sang songs with their own little modifications. It was sheer magic. The control that Hariharan has over his voice is enough to make one go dizzy. And Chitra's voice... there was something divine about it. Something you cannot describe, yet something you cannot ignore. And Sadhna Sargam. Her voice is like the sound of water flowing. So incredibly pure that it leaves you craving for more.

I sang along with every song they sang. As for the ones in tamil I did not know, I sang the hindi version. Till the incessant singing caused me to lose my voice. And now I sound like a talking frog. But I have no regrets.

I was just waiting for Sadhna Sargam to sing 'Snehidane'. She did. And I sang along. (Yes, I love the song so much I mugged up the full lyrics, even though I don't understand a single word of it!! I need to get someone to help me with the pronunciation before I can sing it for people.)

I believe that some of the songs originally done in tamil just don't sound right when sung in hindi. I can never equate 'Snehidane' to 'Chupke se' or 'Vaseegara' to 'Zara zara'. Yes, both versions sound good, but there is something in the original one that cannot be found in the second version. You can tell something is not right.

The audience was equally divided into tamil and hindi speaking people. So every time the singers would perform a hindi song, there would be shouts from the audience, "Tamil song!" and when they'd do a tamil song, the others would shout, "Hindi song!" But irrespective of the language they performed in, I enjoyed myself immensely. It really is true -- music is the language of languages.

Udit and Madhushree sang 'Hum hain is pal yahan' from 'Kisna', totally taking me by surprise. You see, I love that song, but I have never heard anyone giving it great reviews. So this was like a personal surprise for me. And I thought of the lines at the beginning of the song (the real meaning of which I've lately begun to understand):

Kabhi kabhi hum ek doosre ko khokar bhi toh
pyaar ko ooncha darza dete hain...
Juda rehkar pyaar ki oonchainyon ko praapt karte hain...
Har pyaar milan toh nahin
Judaai bhi toh ek pyaar hai...

("Sometimes, we honour love by losing each other. By being apart, we attain the highest levels of love. Being together is not the only kind of love. Being away from each other is also a kind of love.")

Speaking of love, is it me or is the Karthik guy incredibly sexy?? I did not even know of his existence before the concert, but there was something about him that made me look only at him whenever he was on stage. Yes yes, he was wearing a black shirt and all that, and I know that does something to me, but I think this was more than that. It was probably the attitude he had when he was singing. His expressions, his body language. "Starbreez, I think I have a huge crush on him!" I whispered my confession. As he sang on, and they showed close-ups of his face on the three screens behind, I shivered and shrunk back into my seat to stop myself from gushing like a 13-year-old in love.

Kailash Kher. I had no idea he was so short. But the little man, dressed in a very strange costume (white dhoti with pink motifs, a sleeveless satin blue top, and a red shawl) sure packed a punch. The rustic and earthy quality of his voice adds a certain character to his songs that no one else can.

There are some moments in life when you are so happy that you are sad. And in that moment, I missed certain people in my life very badly. People who are special. People whom I love. People who are not around me. People who should have been with me. Sitting next to me, losing themselves in the divine music I was losing myself in.

I was privileged to be part of that wonder. I got goosebumps. I hugged myself in delight.

I think I have fallen in love.

With music.

All over again.

Hi Virdi, I'm Sayesha. Big fan.

Today I wanna write about Virdi. Yes, our very own friendly neighbourhood Virdi.

I don't know him. Have never met him. And yet, the way we banter on my blog, one would think we were friends from preschool! There is this air of familiarity around him that makes everyone who passes by my blog feel that they know him so well that they're entitled to take a shot at him. And everyone does!

On 12th May 2005, Virdi came to my blog from Weird Hair Anil's. (And no, I dunno Weird Hair Anil either!) Virdi saw a picture of my hand on my blog, plucked it out and posted it on his blog. And he spotted another picture and posted it yet again here! And that's how the legend of the hand-stalker came about. Everyone wanted to know "the crazy guy who is crazy about Sayesha's hand". Including me (of course I was damn curious! What did you think?). And that's how I came across his blog.

As I read his posts, I realised that his mind thought faster that his fingers typed the words, often leaving his readers baffled. So I left a comment on his blog, "Post karne se pehle proofread kar le yaar!". He could have said "£$@% you, it's my blog!" (or rather "duck you!" in typical Virdi ishtyle), But he actually started proofreading! Wow!

We became regular visitors on each other's blog. Formal turned to friendly turned to abusive. He spared no one -- his friends, my friends, strangers, anonymouses, no one. He has called me a fool, a donkey, a lesbian, an idiot, 'abey', 'saaley' and what not. That too, on MY blog.

And yet, he was the first one to give me a 'jadu ki jhappi' over blogsphere when I was depressed.

Today, he is such an important part of my blog that often people go, "Forget what Sayesha wrote on her blog. Forget what Virdi wrote on his blog. Let's check out what Virdi commented on Sayesha's blog!" I get revisits from people who want to see what new issue Virdi, WH Anil, Sahil and I are squabbling over next.

His obsession to be 12 all over again... the way he comes back in spite of the heavy duty sabo that he goes through on my blog when everyone jumps into the bandwagon... the utter nonsense he spouts at times... the way he asks really personal questions (and gets away with it!)... his expertise at abusing relatives of mean anonymous commentors... the way he slaps, punches and kicks himself on my behalf after making an indecent comment... the way he completely changes the focus of a 1000-word blog post with one simple one-liner... the way he pisses me off and then quickly apologises...

I swear man, he's pissed me off real bad many times, but how on earth can one stay angry with such a guy? I can't. And though I know in the future, he will be pissing me off again, but I know we'll be back soon, squabbling away like before.

Here are some classic Virdisms we should all relive. (Long list alert!)

I can't get over how much sense there is in some of his nonsense.

// u can delete the galis wala comment... sorry again..

//hey, that frog could have been some prince. Did you try kissing it?? Uff... U missed the chance to marry the Prince of Bhatinda.

//hey sayesha... i am totally fida over your hand.. no i am serious... yeh haaath mujhe de de sayesha... now u can find this photo on my blog too.. i cant stop myself. and by the way what do you mean by ANGILIMAAL VIRDI??? teri toh... dekh loonga tere ko... u dont know my gussa... jab virdi ko gussa aata hai toh fir jwala mukhi fatta hai.. (taken directly from chacha chaudhary comics) your hand is now on my blog..

//and main us Sinnerman ke baache ko bhi dekh loonga.. but first "hi sinnerman, thanks for the hand ka photo.. "

//abe i am pakka male... anil shut the duck up... stop giggling... u ass.. shut up.. and yes sayesha just shut ur gob... sahil u idiot i am male... kar diya mera popat?? happy?? big fat fool..

//i am not J about her hand Sahil... i am J about her khushiyan.. she is having fun with kids and goes to Cambodia for masti marofy trip and me sado in some stupid office.. thats why J.. me to full fida over Sayesha's hand.. and if possible i could marry her hand.. not full sayesha.. she might say sardar (a.k.a sar-dard) get lost.. ;-) anyways i like her hand lots doesnt mean i hate her.. just that someone might kill me...

//hey sayesha
may be your dad would say... JAO BETA LE JAO ISKA HAATH... Tum se ziada iske haath ko koi nahi chahta hai.. jao beta le jao.. (like in DDLJ Bauji says to Kajol : Ja beta ja is se ziada tujhe koi pyar nahi kar sakta) and then i will do the Gabbar Singh trick.. ek jhatke mein i will..... he he he he... wicked me.. and rama was Hindu or Buddhist i dont know but he was not Buddhu as Viv (not richards) said.. he was god?? hey come on he is just a character of a novel... if he is god then Harry Potter is the... whatever.. and i am a Dutchman... well its belief.. we shoudl not start a differct topic here.. sayesha i am in love with your hand... main aab kya karoon?? :-?

//hey sayesha... u said "you rock my word" small story. there was some election rally in Madras and one mf my friends, saw a poster of Jayalalita lying on the ground and brought it to his hostel room and pasted it on his door. Written under it was "SHE ROCKS MY WORLD" hehehe... now thats funny...
nothing about ur blog... just yaad a gaya tha that incident..

//Everyone has a problem if u are not married. No one ever asked. "Beta why are you getting married??"

//what you can do is, put some "Spicy Masala" and some "Mirchi Powder" on your ankels. And let the dog lick your ankels once. I believe that would be the last time the doggie would come near you. ;-) I am so smart.. trumpet..

//i want to be 12 years again... i want to i want to i want to !!! school was fun... i even slapped "anil-weird hair" once and he fell on my feet saying mujhe maaf kar do... he ha ha he ha ha.. mogambo ka bhateeja gogo khush hua...

//what is happening here??? mere peeth peeche???

//That was an editor speaking !!! That was an editor speaking !!! That was an editor speaking !!!
V..
PS : did the proof-reading. :-)

//nahi you are not doing publicity... and some people like your hands so much what to do madam?? next post should be only hands and then i will explain all the minute details about my love, errrr, i mean your hands... how awesome they are...

//Sayesha, one big "Jadoo Ki Jhappi" to you... and yes sometimes, how ever strong men show they are, we really want a big hug from our dear ones...

// sayesha you could have taken this "flower photo" with the hand also being shown. why did you do this to me?? why why why?? one more hand photo please. iis marte hua insaan mein thodi si jaan phoonk do madam, allah tumhara bhala karega!!! wanted a photo with flower in your hand.

//anil and my praise?? hmmmph kabhi nahi...
Pan Pasand, gazab ka swad gale ki mithas...
anil and my praise?? no never kabhi nahi...
(this looks so gay gay types... yuks.. i wrote it now bored to delete it!!)

//sahil you idiot... dont say anything to sayesha's hands... who cares about sayesha... yes i love sayesha's hands... made the point keli-ear???
sayesha how are your hands??? dont type too much they might get spoilt... download a voice to text software... please do it for my love... (kya bakwas kar raha hoon)

//coming soon... coming soon... bolti rehti hai, when are you going to put the hands photos? saturday you said, right?? and still no hands ka foto. :-(

//girls are so dumb.. hehehehe...
she asked you not to take out your hand?? was she surdarni?? ho sakta hai she was... anyways girls are so dumb!!!
hehehehe.. trying to act like MCP..

//yes yes the guy and the girl pray together in a room with their bodies very close to each other and then lightening and rain and then baby. You need to pray da. and someone might shout "oh god!! oh god!!". then baby.. shit i am a pervert!! i need a kick..

//Everyone. She also stole money from her dad's and mom's wallets. She told me this thru secret mail.
Oh no humne tumhe kya samjha aur tum kya nikleee. nahiiiiiii.

//sayesha u could have taken this photo by holding the FAT CHICK in your hand. who cares about the fat chick, all i care about is the hand. when is the sexy hand photo coming?? this century?? atleast one glimse could have come with the fat chick... :-(
stupidest post i should say.. no i am serious.. this post was stupid.. ok its a fat chick... so what?? can i eat it?? can i roast it and have party??
V..
PS: everyone loved the fat chick post and i thought lets be different.. so i said the post sucks.. ;-)

//when do you blog?? in your dreams?? ok u can... you live in singapore... its a developed country.... u never know what can happen in dreams there ;)

//sayesha>> abe oye dont get senti. teri grand amma ko kuch nahi hoga. and dont worry she is fiter than you. and will liuve for 236 years. but stop putting senti posts. ok the fat chick post was good. happy?? wont say anything to your posts. Promise.
mere ko bhi meri boodhi amma ki yaad aagayi. now i am senti, all becuase of you. woh tara ban chuki hai, last year. boo hoo hoo... mataajiiiiii...

//i did this once in rediff chat room.. Put my name "hot-girl-in-the-room" and logged in.. you wont believe i got some 40 msgs in some 5 seconds..

//oye sahil>> thanks for reminding me... sayesha>> where is the hand post?? oye sahil>> i am not J.. i just love her hand and its beatiful.. sayesha>> yes it was mean of you not posting the hands blog...

//sayesha>> firstly, STOP PUTTING SENTI POSTS. u fool I am away from India and you have to do is put all the senti posts now :( and pehle u used to put "u cooking me eating posts" now what happened to those?? ek sher pesh karta hoon.. ijaazat hai?? ijaazat gayi bhaaad mein... sher hazir hai..
giriya nikaale hai teree bazm se mujh ko
haay ! ki roone pe iKHtiyaar naheeN hai
[ giriya = weeping, iKHtiyaar = control ]
I cant stop weeping if u keep on posting such senti posts.. mera nahi Ghalib ka Sher hai..

//sahil.. u r dead man.. gabar singh aa raha hon main..

//ok ok now dont cry.. yeh lo beta jalebi.. happy?? :)

//be aaj ki bharatiya+singaporeian naari.. dont cry baby.. if u are feeling sad.. then here somes the JAADOO KI JHAPPI.. :) smile yaar..

//Sayesha>> main toh bahut aacha insaan hoon and bahut greedy bhi... well if u find me so nice then please cook for me someday... main tere ko aashirwad doonga... beta khush raho, aabaad raho, singapore mein raho, ya hydrabad mein raho...

//Sayesha darling>> cheer up or u want a slap from me?? 2 days no post?? are you ok?? or u are in love?? or u are sick?? or u broke ur nail?? now post a post soon...

//Guy and the female kind.. i dont think sayesha is telling the truth.. I hope the next post is not >>> "CHECK OUT HOW I MADE FOOL OF 30 GUYS- Please read the comments of the earlier Blog" I dont know whats cooking in her head. Baba Bulle Shah couldnt understand girls... Toh hum toh cheez hi kya hain ji??
sayesha dekh tu jo bhi bol itni jaldi hum tere jal mein fasne wale nahi hai..

//ok will get a hot sa- sexy sa- stud looking sa- London ka Afro banda?? ok?? then u both can do.. huka ka buka huka huka... shark pit hu ha.. shark pit hua ha.. (i like animation movies)

//sayesha... bulla ki jaana main kaun... no one mentioned this song?? saalon maine 2 posts waste kar diya on this song and no one mentions this song..

//ok u have muscles... arnold sayesha-rzenegger... people see step six, full nerves and all seen..

// i made some 40 spelling mistakes.. so deleted the earlier blog..

//not blog.. i mean the comment..

//hahahaha... yeh sala anomymous ki maa ki toh.... who the duck is this guy???

//sorry pretty hand.. she makes you work too hard na?? such a loooooooooong post??

//sayesha... aisa mat kar yaar.. aapne haanth se itna hardwork mat kara... comment ke aandar mein ek blog?? kya ho raha hai madam?? u ok?? and i will talk to only your hand.. i dont care about you!!! thrrrbbrttttt :-P

//sale aankh dikhati hai?? darati hai dhamkati hai?? well pehle haanth, fir arms, then muscles and now eyes?? oye chakkr kya hai?? i think she is flirting with me... guys you all can see... ;-)
cong-u-ratu-le-son on being the cover girl when can we see the centre spread?? sala kya ganda dimag hai mera.. i deserve a kick...
Sayesha>> dhisum..
virdi>> thanks..

//sorry sayesha... thoda ziada bol diya... sorry... anyways was thinking as anil says shall i start collecting body parts??? hmmm thanks anil... will give it a shot... will start from sayesha's hands... he ha ha he ha ha... aa raha hoon main...

// sayesha>> tum mera sar tod dogi?? :-( bus yehi dosti reh gayi hai?? :-(

//what?? me and coconut tree?? yes please do that and i will throw coconut on everyones head... he ha ha he ha ha... mogambo khush hua...
and where is the beach?? what place is it?? well i was planning of going to Lahore with one friend of mine... Lahore is really cool... according to one old aunt of mine... :-)

//sayesha this is in reply to the earlier blog... u donkey what do u think i am a kid?? i will climb trees?? hmmph!!! dekh loonga tere ko... dekh loonga... tu mere ko janti nahi hai aabhi, mera uupar tak connection hai.. parliament mein aawaz uthegi... sarkar gira doonga... tu mere ko janti nahi hai.. main koi baacha nahi hoon..

// and dont u dare say anything about sayesha's hands or else... ur time is over mate!!!

//tu soti woti nahi hai kya?? hey whom did u meet?? tell tell... ;-) ahem ahem whats cooking?? sayesha, kuch kuch hota hai tum nahi samjhoge virdi.. dont say this..
virdi beta tere ko bahut jaldi sayesha se pitai milne wali hai.. sayesha, my best friend is from the internet!!!

//well it doesnt matter.. i think internet is like a new religion.. its like, if i dont pray in front of Bhagwanji i dont feel nice... if i dont check my mail and browse the internet i feel something is incomplete today!!
and its a platform to meet nice guys... ooops, sorry i mean nice girls!!! that includes you also, because of your hands, nothing else... ok u write well... nothing else...
V..
PS: i am dead man, priya is going to kill me..

// oh main ek baat toh poochna bhool hi gaya.. seriously?? kuch kuch hota hai??
hai oye kuriyee.. congrats.. wah wah wah.. munna bhai ne bola ki life mein settle ho jane ko mangta hai, aapun bhi yehi bola aur sayesha ne bhi yehi bola wah wah wah.. congrats..
tu toh life mein settle ho gayi.. suno suno suno saab log.. she is in loove... hehehehe...
V..
PS: pitega sala

//hahahaha.. the anonymous guy is here again... hahahaha... uski maa ki toh main... he has started putting comments on my blog also..

//and sayesha i am not 12... you are 10... hmmmmph!!!

//abe kaun hai woh mystery person??? agar maa ka doodh piya hai toh woh saamne aaye.. oye mystery person saamne aa ja.. aaja yaar, why giving us sleepless nights?? :-( sayesha you are in love?? whats the problem?? agar hai toh bol na... or you dont know?? ok ok.. no more questions.. sorry sayesha this comments page has become like my blog... hehehehe.. over and out.. alpha to charlie..

//hehehehe.. kids are cool but not electrons which never rest.. hey kids "The Miss" now has a crush on someone and is not willing to tell anyone.. ;-)
V..
PS: mera time kharab jaa raha hai.. mere ko bahut jaldi hi padne wali hai.. hehehe..

//anil, shut the duck up... tum nahi samjhoge anil, kuch kuch hota hai... ok tell me isn't that hand pretty?? ok sinnerman is going good luck to him and all that but isnt that hand pretty?? just see the nails, they r just of the right size and shape and the................ i can go on and on and on.. its a pretty hand.. :-)


When I read his blog or his comments on my blog, it reaffirms all the things I believe in -- that there are people like him still around, that the innocence of the human soul is not passé, that simplicity of thoughts is still in, and that speaking your heart out is never wrong. And that there are so many people in our lives who give us reasons to smile every day. And sometimes, they are the reasons themselves.

I may never meet Virdi in my life. He may find greener blogs and move on, and never drop by mine again. But I will always feel fortunate to have known whatever bit I knew of him, and to have had the chance to interact with him.

This post is in celebration of people like Virdi.

I can't speak for others. But I am a fan.

ps: Permission had been sought from the subject over email before this post was written.