By our special correspondent.

Manhunt on for the bald eve-teaser
30th April, 2004. Hyderabad. By our special correspondent.

The Cyberabad police has launched a hunt for a man who has been harassing young girls walking on empty roads, in and around Hi-tec city. According to a traumatized young girl, the suspect stopped his bike right in front of her and menacingly asked her if she wanted a lift to office. The victim has been admitted to Vikram hospital, Madhapur.
Police have put together a description of the suspect, after gathering information from the victims. The suspect is big, bald, bespectacled and rides a pulsar.
Anyone who offers information about him will be suitably rewarded...

'You know what happened today ?' Pratik had a sheepish smile on his face.

'What ?'

'Dont tell anyone, okay ?'

'Oh, that sort of thing huh ?' my eyes lit up. 'Okay, I wont tell anyone'.

'I was driving down this road, and saw this girl walking ahead.'

'Okay.'

'I stopped by her, and asked if she was working in Oracle', he paused.
'She said yes, a bit hesitatingly.'

'Wow.Then ?'

'Then I asked her if she wanted a lift till office.'

'What ?' I asked, flabbergasted. 'What did she say ?'

'She said no, and I drove off'

'Fuck man, she must have thought you were an eve-teaser or something ! How can you do something like that !'

'Come on, I had no such intentions. There was hardly any auto or anyone for that matter, so I thought I would help her.'

'No one around ? I dont blame her at all. I am amazed she didnt take to her heels. In fact, I wouldnt be surprised if by now all the nearby police stations have a pencil sketch resembling you on their notice boards, under the rapists section.'

'Shut the fuck up.'


By lunch, all my team mates knew about this incident, and during lunch we had a good laugh at his expense.
Needless to say, he was smouldering. And I was loving every bit of it.

Post lunch, most of the team, four of us actually, meandered towards the Table Tennis table.

There is no dedicated room for the TT table. Thats because Oracle has been hiring people in dozens and inevitably ran out of space to place new work stations. All the TT rooms, some conference rooms, and some huddle rooms have been filled - first with computers, and then with people.

So, the TT table is placed in an open space where the elevators and the doors to the washrooms are.

As usual, Pratik ran ahead of us, and tried all the four bats, looking for the best one.
Sunil, a bit late, ended up grabbing the same bat as Pratik did, and there was a mini tug of war going on between them. It was like a chipmunk trying to grab a banana from a gorilla.
The rest of us, understanding better the futility of such an exercise, picked up the remaining bats.

'Wait a second. I'll be back.' said Pratik as he left his bat and turned towards the washroom.

Then he stopped, as if something had struck him, turned and picked up his bat, before Sunil could even think of stealing it, and went into the washroom.

'Disgusting' I said.

When he returned, he was altruistic all of a sudden, offering his bat to everyone.
Understandably no one wanted it. Sunil almost backed into the elevator when Pratik offered him the bat.

We played a couple of games.
Predictable games, because when the team playing opposite Sunil wanted to win, they'd scare him when he's serving.

'BRRRR !!', they'd shout at the precise moment, and he'd serve it either onto the net or beyond the table.
I almost tore my hair out, because I was on the same team as Sunil.

A little later, when the others had left, Pratik and I got down to playing a few singles.

'Lets do one thing. Lets bet on this match.' he said.

'Ok. Whats the bet ?'

'100 bucks.'

'10 bucks.' Now that's confidence.

'Cheap fellow. Lets make it 50 bucks.' he snorted. 'The loser owes the winner a coffee worth 50 bucks in Cafe Coffee Day.'

'Deal.'

The reason I even submitted to this bet despite Pratik being the better player is that I have often won over him in the past by a very Australian technique. Sledging.

Whenever his shot goes outside or whenever he nets the ball, I would mock him ruthlessly for his mis-hit, and cause him to lose his composure. He'd spray the next few shots all over the place and I'd go on to win the match.

Confidently, I went into the first 'coffee match.'


Man found on TT table in a strange state.
30th April, 2004. Hyderabad. By our special correspondent.

Cyber Towers security found a big, bald, hairy man lying in a state of shock on a Table Tennis board, with all his hair standing up.
He held a Table Tennis bat in his mouth. Also on closer inspection they found the following words written on his bare rear, amongst a lot of violet bruises. "Here's your coffee".
The Madhapur police is investigating...

'Tsk tsk, poor fellow. How frustrated you look !'

'Shut up'

'Do you want to play one more ?'

After I lost the first one, I challenged him for a 'best of 3' bet, so that I could win back the lost 50 bucks. And after its even between us, I could stop. Why be greedy ?

After I lost the next two games, I challenged him for another 'best of 3' bet. I had to bring down the amount from 100 to 50. 50 is not too much. I could afford to throw 50 bucks on him.

After I lost the next two games, I finally had the sense to stop.

'Shit man, I bet you five games in a row. Add to that the two games I won before the coffee matches, and I've beaten you seven times in a row.'

'Okay. Now stop. Dont rub it in.' That smirk on his face.

'In fact, I think I killed your game. You've forgotten how to play. Tsk tsk, poor fellow'.

That fucking smirk.
'Dude...'

'When am I getting my coffee ?'

'You want coffee ? Here's your coffee ...'


Somehow I managed to convince Pratik that I'll treat him next month. He was convinced partly because he could understand what it is to be near the end of the month. We were both broke.

Later in the day, we joined Jaideep and Srini for dinner in Oracle cafeteria.

A telegu song was playing on the TV.

'Hey, who's that babe ?' I asked to no one in general.

'Yeah, hot and fuckable.' Pratik added in dirtily, typically.

'She dances well.' I observed. 'Wait a minute, who's that fat ass behind her ?'

'Hey !!' Srini cried.

'Watch it dude. Thats our superstar.' Jaideep said.

'Bullshit. Look at him dancing with a girl half his age.'

'Yeah, she looks like she could pass for his daughter. Isnt he ashamed to dance around like this with a girl probably in the same class as his daughter ?'

'He's a great actor.' Srini claimed.

'He must have done a lot of things with her.' Pratik chipped in.

'He wont do anything like that.' Srini persisted.

'What do you mean, he wont do anything ? Or is it that he cant do anything?' I asked with one end of my mouth up in a sly smile.

'Yeah, does he have problems, umm... standing up ?' Pratik and I started laughing.

Jaideep and Srini gave us icy looks, as we hi-fived each other.


Filmi message stupefies police.
30th April, 2004. Hyderabad. By our special correspondent.

Two men, one skinny and dark, and the other big and hairy were found in a state of trance in the Oracle cafeteria, Cyber Towers. Struck on their chests were posters of a popular Gujarathi film hero and a popular Tamil hero respectively. Around their necks was a garland of footwear. Written on their foreheads were the words 'Hail Chiranjeevi'.
Investigations are going on...

Greatness. Unwittingly.

6th April, 2005. 23:00. Ohri's - the restaurant on Road No. 12.

'Shit man, Oka would leave us and go.'

'Yeah, Amit is going to feel very lonely.'

'Forget that. I am gonna lose a steady source of income. Whom will I con now?'

'Shut up, guys !'

'You know whats the worst thing about Oka leaving ?'

'What?'

'The rent will be divided by 3.'

Laughter.

'Oka, you have to get someone else to fill your place here, otherwise dont even expect to get back your deposit.'

More laughter as Amit takes off with me in close pursuit.


6th April, 2005 appeared no different from other days. I still hadnt begun to pursue my lifelong ambition of ironing all my clothes on the weekends to keep them clean and ready for the oncoming week.
The result? I was once again looking around the house for a clean shirt to wear to office.

Fatefully (like what happens in the movies), I stumbled upon my suitcase, and it flew open. And there in a plastic cover was the off-white shirt which I had worn for my IIM-interviews.

Without a hint of what was in store for me that day, I put it on and left for office.


'Okay, fine. No cocktails. I'll order 4 mocktails.'

'Yeah, dont turn us into drunkards. We've never had alcohol and we dont intend to.'

'Uh, could you get us a Mango Bloom, a Pussy Foot, a Blue Curacao and a...', Kaushik looked around the table 'umm.. a Daiquiri, cranberry flavour.'

As we watch the waiter leave, Amit speaks up.

'You know what, I am going to do exactly what Oka does. From now on, I am going to act all high-handed and arrogant. I wont get the water refill, I wont wash my plates, I wont do any household chore. Then maybe the next year, I'll get in as well.'

'Believe me, if arrogance was the criteria, you'd get into Harvard Business School'.

'Yeah, I am going to borrow Oka's jail shorts and I am going to roam around the house bare chested, and shamelessly keep sitting half-naked even when a girl enters the apartment.'

'I am going to download the rule booklet of Age of Empires. I am going to learn how to play it.'

'But you've to learn how to play it badly as well.'

Manish dodges as I throw a tissue at him.

'The most important thing. I am going to get a kilo of soot, and smear it all over my face. After that I'll try to use Fair and Lovely over that and try hopelessly to get rid of the color.'

Amit gets it again from me.


I unlocked my computer with the familiar uneasy feeling of seeing a few unfriendly mails from my superiors in headquarters.
Normalcy returned, after I went through the new mails in my inbox once and then checked them again to make sure my ass wasnt on fire.

The work quota for the morning fulfilled, I opened the yahoo messenger, the website www.orkut.com and the website www.pagalguy.com.
Pagalguy is a discussion forum for aspiring MBA students. Basically its a place on the internet where people'd get together to know and let know, news and information about events. One such post was,

"IIM-K results are out !!!!!!!'

Well, I hadnt had an interview call from IIM-K. And the ones from which I had a call from, IIM-A for example, werent expected to announce their results until next week.

Slouching in my chair, with a sense of extreme lethargy, I opened the IIM-A website. There was a link which I had used a few months earlier to check the results of the first round of admissions.

With nothing better to do, I clicked on it and entered my test registration number and birth of date.


'Hey Manish, why does your mocktail look like that ?'

'Whats wrong with it ?'

'It reminds me of Surf Excel.'

'Good though. Let him drink it. It will clean all the shit thats inside him.'

'Guys, guys, lets exchange drinks. Each of you, pass your drink to the next person.' said Kaushik as he passed his drink to me.

As I sipped on Kaushik's drink, I felt something warm pass down my throat. Something was different.

5 minutes later, after each of us had a sip of all the drinks, 'Kaushik, what was that? That wasnt a mocktail, was it ?'

'No, that was a cocktail. Rum with a hint of cranberries.'

Amit looks at Kaushik with a shocked expression on his face.

'YOU ARE PATHETIC !!!'


The site took quite a while to open, while I lazily sipped on my Real Orange juice, wondering why do I even drink it. It tasted like buffalo vomit.

The following message appeared on the screen; a message which was quite similar to what I had expected, but not the same.

"You have been selected for admission to PGP (2005-2007 batch), IIMA.

Note: Our formal admission offer letter is being sent by Registered Post. You will have to send us your formal written acceptance and return the other documents enclosed with the admission offer by May 9, 2005. In the meanwhile, please indicate to us by e-mail admission@iimahd.ernet.in your decision on this admission offer, quoting your name and Test Registration Number"

After reading it for about 15 times, I sank into my seat.

IIM-A results were out. And I had made it.


'Guys, lets raise a toast. Maybe we could say something now about this fucker. Amit do you want to start ?'

'Yeah.
I am a happy man today.
I have been praying for a long time, asking God to somehow get rid of Oka. He has finally answered my prayers. And may no one have the misfortune of being Oka's room-mate in future.'

'Amen.'

When they stopped laughing, Manish spoke, as I listened expectantly, hoping he'd say something not that obvious.

'Oka.
'Dont forget to use Fair and Lovely, but remember that whatever you do, you wouldnt become as fair as Amit.'

I rolled my eyes as they had another laugh at my expense.

'Ok my turn now.' Kaushik said.

We turned towards him.

'Some people are born great.

'Some people achieve greatness in course of their life.

'Then there are some people who have greatness thrust upon them.

'But how many pathetic fuckers are there, who, after having greatness thrusted upon them, behave as if its the most obvious thing in the world ?'

Parlez-vous anglais ?

Contrary to what I said in my previous post, Amit did go on a fast once.
It was Sivaratri, and apparently Amit's family followed a custom which required them to not have regular meals on that day.

Well, it isnt like he cant eat anything. He could have fruits and a few snack items.
Thats what he told me.

So, that day, when I returned from office, I found him patiently cutting a papaya into slices and removing its seeds. There were a number of slices on a plate nearby, ready for consumption

'Cool.' I said.

It was obvious that the last person he expected at that moment was me, because when I devoured the first three pieces, he gave me a disgusted stare, watching his half an hour of painstaking effort spent in peeling the fruit going down my throat in half a minute.

The stare lingered long enough for me to realise that he wouldnt have had anything since morning. So I stopped raiding his plate, and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

As I reached out for a glass, my eyes went to the unusually cluttered dustbin nearby.
There were three banana skins, an empty chips packet and an empty peanut burfi packet in the waste bin.

'So much for the fast', I thought.

With the realisation that some things in life just cannot be changed, I changed quickly and joined Amit in the hall where he was watching an English movie. By that time Kaushik had returned too.

It was an action flick featuring Jean Claude Van Damme.

'This guy's movies are all the same. If you watch one, you've watched them all.' I said to Kaushik with a dismissive wave of my hand. 'Have you watched Blood Sport ?'

'Yeah. But I cant recollect his name though. Whats it ?'

'Jean Claude Van Damme' I said pronouncing it like 'John Claude Van Damn'

'Ah, its not John. Its not pronounced that way'

'Yeah, it IS pronounced that way.'

'Come on, Oks, you've been in France. You should be knowing how to pronounce this.' chided Kaushik. 'Its pronounced Jawn where the last letter n is silent.'

I knew better than to argue with Kaushik on the subject of pronounciation. He is obsessed with the correct usage of language and even more obsessed about correcting others when they make a mistake.

He had a point though. I should have something to show for my stint in France - atleast the correct pronounciation of famous French associations.

Talking about languages, there's an interesting trend I observed among people trying to pick up a new language. At least among young men.

The first few phrases or words they learn are almost always obscenities. For instance, I can ask someone to fuck off in about 8 different languages.

Quite a feat, isnt it ?

Coming back to French, my friends and I have had quite a few interesting experiences in France. Before I narrate them, let me tell me how to find your way around the French words in the following passages.

When I am listing down a French word, I will list the pronounciation and the english translation in brackets. The disclaimer is that the pronounciation need not be the exact pronounciation.

And when I am listing down a phrase whose meaning I dont know myself, use google language tools. Here's a link - http://translate.google.com/translate_t. Select 'English to French' from the dropdown, paste the French phrase in the text area and just fire the button.

So here we go.

Bonjour (boshoor) is almost always the first word in French anyone learns. (There are exceptions though. My first word was foutre vous (foothre voo) and you know what it stands for).
Bonjour stands for hello. Its the first thing a person says when he meets someone, as a way of greeting.

Apparently this wasnt known to Balaji, fondly known as Bajji.
When a French guy stretched his palm and said 'Bonjour', he warmly shook his palm and said very pleasantly.

'Bajji'.

To avoid such situations, knowledge of the most basic words is essential. To put it in a better way, there are some words you cant escape. For everything else there's 'je ne parle pas français' (ja na pahle pa fronsae - I dont speak French).
Equally effective is the phrase 'parlez-vous anglais?' (Pahle voo onglae ? - Do you speak English)

I must say, that over time I learnt to say this phrase with nearly the perfect accent. So much that, when a French person came and asked me something, I told him with a swagger that I dont speak French, and ended up feeling extremely proud of myself for that.

'Excusez-moi. J'ai noté que vous ressemblez à un âne sourd-muet. Pouvez-vous me dire à quelle espèce vous appartenez?'

I would run a hand through my hair, look askance at the guy and give him a confident smile.
'je ne parle pas français'

Wow. Aint I cool.

After a few months we got so used to saying this, that we didnt even try to figure out what the person talking to us was trying to say.

One of my friends asked for a city map at a counter in a Paris Metro station. Guessing, by the looks, that we might not know French, the guy replied back, 'français or Anglais' (Fronsae or Onglae - French or English)

Bang comes the reply 'Parlez-vous anglais ?'.

Needless to say, it was usually a lot of fun when we traveled together as a group inside France.

Other than Paris, in no other place do people speak English. In fact, some French friends have told me that the French despise English, courtesy their historical enmity.

So even if a tourist asks something in a French which has absolutely no sense of verbs, adjectives and prepositions, the natives are delighted by the fact that a foreigner is making an effort to learn their language.

Naturally, this had inspired a few people in our Indian group in France to seek mastery of French.

One guy in particular, affectionately called Mittal bhai by us, took great pains towards a strong French vocabulary. He would take pages and pages of printouts of French tutorials from the internet and patiently go through them every night.

The next day, when we would gather during the coffee break in the lawns, he'd flaunt his grasp of French.

'Whats French for "right" ?' he'd test us.

'No idea.'

'droite'

'Hmm. Cool'

'Whats French for "left" ?'

'Umm.. leftie ?'

'No. gauche'.

And we would all look at him with awe and respect.

But the twist in French is that the pronounciation which people infer from the written word is often drastically different from how it should actually be pronounced. The reason for this is that French shares a part of its written alphabet with English, but the same letter may have a different pronounciation in French compared to English. For instance, 'r' is pronounced 'eh' in French.
Hence English speakers, especially those who read up written tutorials frequently end up in weird situations when they try to flaunt their French.

Mittal, eager to try his French, once volunteered to get the train tickets himself. This is how he asked the lady at the counter. Pretty much.

'Brusque bisque gibberish tibberish' (Google-translating this wouldnt help you much).

Obviously unimpressed, and more importantly, unenlightened, the lady replied 'Pardon?' (Pahdhown (n silent) - Sorry?)

'Blubber flubber blah blah ticketa fourppla', persisted Mittal, not one to give up.

'Parlez-vous Anglais ?'.

I thought that was our question. Who's the foreigner here ?

Despite the obvious lack of impact Mittal made on the French, he still was our leader in whatever trips we made over there. He took upon himself the responsibility of finding out about places from people.

One trip in particular is quite unforgettable.
We were in this place called Melon, and suddenly after all the sight seeing, we had a whim to go bowling. So we tried asking around for a bowling alley. Mittal was confident that there was one in the town.

'It should be somewhere in the neighbourhood', he said.

The first attempt Mittal bhai made was in a Pakistani restaurant. The communication was smooth because we didnt have to speak in French with the owner.

'Do you know if there's a bowling alley here ?' Mittal bhai asked him.

'Umm.' the guy paused, thinking.

'It should be somewhere in the neighbourhood. Do you know where it is ?'

'Oh yeah' the guy's face lit up in realisation. He led Mittal bhai to the middle of the road. 'You see the blue building over there ?'

'Yeah.'

'Take a left there. Then you have to walk down the street.'

'Ok.'

'Eventually, you'll come to a playground, where you can do bowling, batting and fielding - anything you want.'

Pause.
And you thought French was the only barrier to communication ?

Completely unperturbed by the results, Mittal led us on. Eventually, he asked us to wait at a particular place, while he strode towards two French men standing on the pavement.
He started a conversation with the men, while we watched from a distance.

Apparently he was having quite a raging discussion with them. We could see all three men gesturing and pointing here and there.

Maybe Mittal couldnt really connect with them in French, because a little while later he got down to demonstration.
He bent on one knee, ran a short distance and let roll an imaginary ball. His eyes then followed the ball until it struck all 10 pins, after which Mittal let out a whoop of joy.

It appeared as if it was working, because the men watching the demo with a serious expression, nodded knowingly.
There followed another round of gesturing and pointing at different roads.

Finally after quite some time, Mittal returned with a satisfied expression on his face.
Curious to know what exactly happened between them, we asked him if he got the exact location of the bowling alley.

'Mittal, you guys were talking for such a long time. Where is the alley ?'

'It should be somewhere in the neighbourhood, yaar'.

There wasnt a bowling alley within 50 miles of that place.