1.    What would happen if you suddenly appeared almost naked in front of your classmate who is a girl? Given: You are a boy

2.    Have you ever been ‘almost’ beaten up for looking at your shoes, not to mention the embarrassment for a long time?

To know the answers to these and similar questions, buy the CPM Manifesto.

Kidding! It won’t help you here (or anywhere for that matter!). The only place where you will get the answers is here. So read on.

This is the season of going bold. People all around me have been expressing their innermost secrets and desires. Sam writing boldly abt X, Proto writing abt his personal superpowers, Sunshine writing about how much he loves chocolate ice cream, Lissome Lady still trying valiantly to be the encounter specialist against ignorant aliens etc etc.. So I thought why not try a hand on that. Thank you for deciding to read. It is a pleasure to have you read my embarrassments.

There is no one who hasn’t been embarrassed at least once in life. I am sure even dogs would have had their days when they could not pee on the exact spot on the electric pole. The bellowing barks of his mates would ring in his long ears forever. I am something of that sort. Fellow ilanders, behold The King, The King of embarrassments.

I cannot possibly tell all the episodes because I still have a little bit of respect around here (forget about real life. I need couple of rebirths to get some decent amount of it back). So this is a set of selected short frozen embarrassments for you.

What would happen if you suddenly appeared almost naked except your undergarment in front of your classmate who is a girl?

If it had been in your college days the story would have taken a rather nice twist. I wish. But it happened when I was in school. Being a 7^th grader who had just taken to notice that girls are not exactly boys, parading on undergarment in front of one, was not exactly my idea of a fantasy. What actually happened is something like this.

[White concentric circles pops up, telling you that it’s flash back]

There was this cute little girl in my class and who was also my neighbor. We never used to visit each other much. So I never thought the bell ringing would be someone other than my best friend Som calling to go for playing cricket. I had just finished taking a bath and was a half clothed fakeer and answered the door just like that. That was the first time when I realized that girls can make out where exactly you are looking when you are looking at them. Because I was able to. Her eyes roamed all over the atoms that made up Frozy at that time. Chess Champion Kaperuki-skovsky of Russia would have been proud of my analytical skills at that rate. I didn’t know to run or hide or what! I was twisting and turning like a drunken earthworm that found itself out of its cozy hole on a sunny morning and wondering where the heck its head is. My head was not working properly at all. That was the moment in my life when by brain was working overtime on all the possible ways to escape this situation. I never found that pillar at the far corner so attractive to play hide and seek. But that would mean turning my back to her so I politely declined the pillar invitation. As a result, we stood like that for 5 whole min and talked about some dumb assignment. Then, that very instant, she smiled mischievously and…… ("Fill in the Blanks" was my favorite in 7^th standard. Still is. hehe)

Have you ever been ‘almost’ beaten up for looking at your shoes, and not to mention the embarrassment for a long time? You better not.

This nearly happened when I was attending engineering college. I will continue with a foot note that the reputation engineering college students generally enjoyed is not exactly equal to that of freedom fighters. (Yes, that’s right. Engineering students are respected more.) I had to attend a public function at a family friend’s place. I went early and positioned myself on a seat in the main hall where I could keep a watch on my new footwear. I took pride on them. It was brand new and a new fashion wave, according to the shop owner. He told me that some boys from backward class who had made it big on TV wore them. I thought ‘cool’. Later I came to know that he was mentioning ‘Backstreet Boys’! I never quite knew that Backstreet Boys wore Paragon chappals. Anyway coming back, these public functions were known for footwear lifters, unintentional of course. So I was keeping one (and at time two) of my eye balls on my shoes. But everything was about to change in a few minutes.

Suddenly a hoard of visitors decided to leave. There were busy handshakes and goodbyes all around but my worried mind and eyes were all on my priced possession. I was busy playing a cuckoo bird craning my neck this way and that to make sure my shoes were there. There were so many legs moving here and there. (Thank God for not making man a caterpillar evolved creature. So many legs and so many shoes!) It was difficult to watch carefully. So I pretended to drop my pen and knelt down. Then I could glimpse my shoes through the multitude of legs. I smiled that fateful smile.

Miraculously, that exact instant, the crowd in front of me parted. All the legs gave way for me to see the pair of shoes, and a pair of something else which was not supposed to be there. The curvy daughter of my family friend was bending down beside my shoes and adjusting her slippers. She was a well proportioned girl of my age wearing a low cut blouse. By now several people were staring at me, the engineering college stud. It seemed to the crowd that she had bent down and I was on the floor on my four legs, smiling away at her. And that I was apparently smiling at a pair of something, not exactly in the shape of shoes did not add any charm to the situation.

God alone knows how I escaped from there.

Frozen Sun

PS: I know i have been away from iland for a long time now. Its my work pressure thats to be blamed. I cant promise i will write often but will try to when ever i can.

LONDON, BABY!!

My life usually doesn't take sudden turns. So this was absolutely out of the blue and did shatter my peace and quiet for a while. The shattering noise echoed across Indian subcontinent and Malayala Manorama (the tabloid from Kerala) reported it as an earth quake of scale 7. Now, what is this you'll ask? MY MARRIAGE CONSPIRACY it is! Not to worry girls, I am still the most eligible bachelor around but that envious position was facing severe and constant threat from different corners of my otherwise whole and round life.

The corners were actually my parents. We all conspired and got my sister engaged successfully. I never thought they will turn around and use my strategic MBA tactics on me. Anyway, I always had this belief that my dad is Napoleon incarnated. I was wrong. He is the re incarnation of Adolf Hitler with some predatory genes from Julius Caesar. If my dad had faced Napoleon today, the poor Frenchman would have seen flying across the continent fearing a matrimonial with a Mallu girl, whose uncle is in Gelf.

After conquering the first province (my sister's engagement) My Dad immediately turned his attention to his next quandary, which is yours truly. When I say immediately it literally means the next working day. It was like Dell's service request. (I shouldn't have bought him a Dell laptop!) One fine day my parents called me guffawing, saying they have created my profile in some shady matrimonial site. (I believe this marriage business itself is very shady) What the heck? One nice guy can't flirt around peacefully?  I am happy in the bee hive, people. I don't want to buy Amul bottled honey.

The next day supposedly my profile generates a stir among the female community of the underworld and the site crashes not being able to manage the heavy traffic. The site resolves the problem by cutting down parts of my profile. They drop the last letter of my cast (Nair become Nai which now conveniently means Dog.) My dad claims total innocence whatsoever. Also the profile data becomes skewed. When contacted and protested the Site Admin changed my profile heading to read "Frozy - Soon to be Straight". Still I managed to get some 6 proposals in one week. Of them one was a guy. We are still debating if I should take that as a compliment or not.

Then my dad called and started yelling at me all for not keeping even one photo at home. If future generations hold me as a visionary, this can be the only possible reason. Hail Frozy! There is not even one decent looking photo of mine at home. In the best one, I resemble a thug ogling at a village beauty with unkempt hair, three days of facial fair growth, muddied shirt and a bermuda which had a hole in the right place (or wrong place– it's all in the mind… and bermudaah!-hole ke peechey kya hai? kind of!)

As per my dad, that's not the ideal match making photo. Even after searching my two dvds of photos, I couldn't find one different from the above one – the bermuda was always unmistakable so I had to visit a studio and get my portfolio done. That is the most embarrassing thing in life. Standing in front of camera knowing that half your generation will look at it and either scowl or laugh their guts out. I told this to my roommate and instead of sympathizing with me he called all the nasty ones who call themselves my friends. Three of them came down from Mumbai just to see me getting the mug shot taken. I believe I know the secret behind getting all these responses in the site. It's only because we haven't put my photo up there. The moment it is done, probably the site might have to close down for posting sexually explicit material!

I am telling you, I am the most experienced bachelor around here now. What all of you guys should do is scan the matrimonial site for grooms because in any business proposals (SHADY business proposals) you should be aware of your competitors, sort of getting to know where one stands. You see, every day when I look at the mirror, the Shrek-lookalike that grins back is not a very cheerful thought that I relish. So I scanned my competitors. Some were real Shreks. Some looked like 25 year old Firoz Khans, all the way bald. Some I was not so sure. Some mismatch here and there types. So may be… you know, just a may be… that I may not be looking that bad. May be I do have a chance after all. With that increased vigor I went to the next page of men and I cursed all the photographers in the world. There he is, a thug ogling at a village beauty with unkempt hair, three days hair growth, muddied shirt and a bermuda which had a hole in the (oh! It's all wrong) place. My dad has done the unthinkable. I will be damned if he was not Hitler. Napoleon must be grinning inside his tomb.

Frozen Sun

PS: A pundit came to my rescue at the end. We successfully managed to thwart their cruel intentions and got it postponed by one year. One more year of freedom! 100 rupee well spent on pundit.

Frozy's Words of Wisdom:

1.    Never leave any photograph of yours at home unattended. It can be the potential weapon of mass destruction at the hands of your parents for your last bachelorhood ritual called Marriage.

2.    Arranged Marriage is a good thing. No, it's true. You get to ogle at the photos of all the girls and later the girls themselves while her parents are eagerly watching for approval. If you had done the same thing two days ago in the local market, you might have lost two teeth. Arranged Marriage is actually the "Save Teeth!" campaign in disguise.

3.    Ask for dowry. It's not evil. That's the caretaker money that the girl's parents give you when you get married. It's a contingency fund to finance the side effect of all marriages, called "Wife"

4.    You get the name of the girl from matrimonial site, go to orkut, and search her out (oh don't worry she will be there alright). You employ two gay friends or girl-friends for the job. Straight males not to be entrusted. Once you have her number start sending messages and add her to your friends. These tactics usually would ensure that she will NEVER say yes to the marriage. And yeah, don't forget to scarp her "I a nice guy. Can u have friendship to me?"

5.    Before going for a photo shoot, never ever mention it to your close friends. Especially if they have girlfriends or engaged or are married. Arrogance of experience can be really hurting. Also the difference between the Haves and Have-nots is always a big gaping hole in democracy. I want communism in marriage. Jai CPM.

6.    Finally, no one knows what girls really want. So stop pretending that you know them. Be yourself. Go on, be a man and put on some Fair & Handsome.

7.    Avoid public functions by all means. Even if you are forced to attend, behave like you are the local gunda. Sarkar types. Or if that's difficult, simply imitate Mr. Bean. Both have worked in my favor.

8.    Write blogs like this. No girl who reads it will ever want to touch you, forget marriage.

[For a change, this is going to be a serious blog in my iland. For a reason]

I have been blogging here and there for more than a year now. I have posted some 50 odd blogs on some amazingly lackluster topics. From the chemical relationship between Biriyani & God to some weird psycho poems on love. When I started, I didn’t know what to write. So I had poems, lyrics from my favorite artists, some you tube video embedding and other crazy shit. But later slowly I realized what exactly this blogging is. It is not writing anything. It is writing something. This is part of that something.

So a year being a huge landmark, I started wondering about iLand. I literally stumbled upon this place after using blogspot for a short time. I have been making rounds on other sites like blogspot and wordpress to compare them with iLand. Now I am going on record saying “iLand pretty much $ucks”. I am not talking about the content. I am talking about the support that we get. Yankee soldiers in Iraq get better support than this.

When you go to homepage of one’s iLand, there is something called “New Skins”. That’s what rediff calls “customization”. Is that really all you have for my blog? It is the biggest let down. What you have got is either some spooky stars or some funky attempt at stripes, which I have put for mine right now.

Interest? What interest? Come on Rediff! Are you running a dating site or a blog space? What was in your mind when you were saying ‘interests’? Even if two of us share the same interest as reading, it’s no guarantee that we will bond. What you require is a tag line space. To describe me and my blog. Change that ‘interest’ heading. For God’s sake. My friend ant r has summarized it pretty well. Interest: “Duh”

Ever heard of something called Firefox? Make iLand compatible with Firefox (that is if you are aware that such a thing even exists). You try to publish or edit a post with Firefox and all the formatting goes for a toss. I have tried this from more than three systems, so it’s not my system’s fault. And it’s not Firefox’s fault either. I have used Firefox for a long time now to trust that software well enough.

Also as Admin, you have to nurture people’s blogging talent. Be active in doing something for the iLand. Don’t even dare to mention that you are putting some random name on the front page and filling up the iLanders-on-the-move by people who have moved out of iLand. Who is that blog-o-maniac? Someone who hasn’t posted anything for last 5 months? Now YOU are the raving lunatic and maniac here.

Then where is the space for my profile? How will I describe myself? That one line on interest? You kidding me, right?

iLand doesn’t support any of the blog goodies that other blog sites allow. Can’t we have a single site counter instead of inserting the code each and every time we post a blog? The developers should know what I am talking. Else they are sitting there like a bunch of parasites. Before starting any business, one should know WHY you are in the business and what the users ACTUALLY need. When was the last time you did some major overhauling in iLand?

Don’t be so passive. Get rid of this sit-back and lethargic attitude. Your silence is killing. In India blogging is yet to become as commonplace as in western countries. So be proactive and take an initiative. I am sure hundreds of iLanders will support you when you decide to move your little finger. Why can’t you mention blogging in one of your admin mails to Rediff? I hope the top guy who manages iLand is not against blogging or something. Ever got/read the editors note from 123greetings? Go and read it. That’s what it takes to improve. Build a relationship with iLanders. You are worse than a monkey on a mounvrath doing all the antics. Only you think you are doing something intelligent.

Angry Frozen Sun

PS: Even though I have been consistently inconsistent with my mumbling, I have still managed to gross a steady loyal readership of 30+ people which I think is really amazing. People, I love you all. Seriously. This is for you. Hoping for a better iLand.

                                                             Invoice  

Fresss maal                                                                                All figures in Indian Rupee

I was lying on my bed and my room mate was talking about one of his friends who had sex with a leading actress of a regional language. Suddenly, just like you are now, I was all ears. My sleepiness and laziness vanished into thin air in seconds and I sat upright in my bed. What's more interesting than someone getting hooked? We male species are selfless creatures in this particular area. My room mate was still in his dream world and was sleep talking 1.25 lakhs! How to make 1.25 lakhs? My curiosity overpowered me and I was poking him asking what the money was for. He was like; my friend paid 1.25 lakhs to have sex with her, still in his hallucination.

I was shocked. How can someone do this? This is atrocious. Blasphemy. I am 27 and I never got to do a film actress! This is unfair. And 1.25 lakhs is not a big amount these days. If I stopped drinking tea, I could easily have 1.25 lakhs in a couple of month's time. That too for a leading lady in southern movies! For one second, her curves and bends filled my brain. For more clarity I googled her and there she was, filling my entire 15 inch monitor. Stopping tea may not be that bad after all. Tea board can go to hell. But some other questions were raising its snake like heads all over my mind. How come she is charging so high? Or is it too low? I have absolutely nothing to compare it with because I never had paid sex. I never gave money (neither received, for that matter) in exchange for having sex. But if you think about the number of times I ogled at girls, I would be in serious financial problems, worse than the American food crisis.

I kept on wondering like this for some time. Then suddenly a thought struck me. Should I charge if I am having sex? Don't laugh now. This is a serious blog. Obviously I am no leading hero of any Malayalam movie. My acting talents are worse than Himesh Reshamiya's! It's hard to recognize any bend in my body. It's more like a super express high way with one pot hole here and one there. Moe even wrote a post after my two holes. Therefore, the two areas that are coming to my mind are paid-sex and non paid-sex. Non paid-sex sounds like free sex, which is worse. It makes me feel cheap so paid sex it should be. It's more like a service you know.

So iLanders, I am trying to get how these people arrive at their pricing band. I will try to put all my MBA skills (financial and otherwise) to good use here.

The question is how much should I charge if I were in her position. Don't go literally now. Of course 1.25 lakhs is not for me. I start the price at an amicable 30K compared to a whopping 1.25 lakhs. Since I am a guy (I AM, really!) have to do more work than her in such a scenario so I start at a premium. 25K for my personal work efforts. 30+25 = 75K

Point two: I am a virgin in this field. By field I mean, paid sex! That should command a higher value. Come on, I have seen so many B grade movies. Virgins are always in demand, including our own Virgin at Thirty (VAT)! Just look how many girls like him. So up goes the amount by additional 50K. (My experience on non paid sex? No comments). Now price = 1.25 lakhs (I am actually equaling her!)

Now the question of being ethical in this. Of course I agree this is a service. But should I be paying service tax for this? If some Govt. officials come to know about this, they might want a share of my service. Err. No. I will be an honest tax paying individual. Add 10K towards the tax and the price becomes 1.35 lakh. (Ooh! I EXCEEDED HER! UNBELIEVABLE!)
Then comes when and where? I think it's better to be after 9 PM. My vital stat is not much of a wow. So good if we can do it in the shadows. I am ok with any place as long as I am paid (I think!)

Thus I offer my services at 1.35 lakh rupees. It is for a single night. Conditions apply. No whips allowed inside the room. Only girls need to apply. Protection devices are provided on the house.

Frozen Sun

PS: I am a Mallu with a weird sense of humor. This is all a joke. Nothing serious! I repeat, never take me seriously on iLand. But if someone really thinks she can give me a lakh, I may alter this PS section.

Crow cried on my black keyboard

Did not shit

Yellow lines

“Meow”

Revenue Capital and Expense

Frozy turned

Mysticism

Blinking tube lights

Pseudo Gods wore helmet to pub

Worms ate Chicken Manchurian

Argh!

Withdrawals

Deposits too

Maine pyar kiya

Mouse beckons

Another meow

Middle of the end

Amen!

This is my first attempt at modern poetry. I just realized that modern poetry is more hip. You get to be the dude. Earlier I had written some run of the mill love poems but they have become a cliché!

I know this is not the best poem. I see some minor scope for improvement here and there. Like ‘Argh’ could have been replaced by an ‘Ouch’, ‘Bah’ or ‘Grr’. But no problem, there is always a next time! I have not quite been able to capture the vivid colours in my mind, but nonetheless it’s a good start. You can expect more of these from me – The modern poetry dude!

Sigh! I hope till now I didn’t make much sense to anyone. If I did, I am sorry to say that you need to visit a lunatic asylum ASAP! It didn’t make even one iota of difference to my understanding level (even though I wrote that horrifying set of lines which I called a poem.)

I have often found myself at the receiving end of such poems from several people. Each time I start thinking, this time I will crack it. I roll up my shirt sleeves, beat my chest, howl and shake my monitor vigorously. Then spend the rest of the day staring blankly at the poem not able to make head or tail of it. After a tiring day of staring, I go home overwhelmed by the superior intelligence level of the poet and sulking at the fact that I can never do it that way. Sometime I have even wondered if people posted the poem upside down or something. Because once when my desperation was at its pits, I tried reading one modern poetry bottom-up!!! To my chagrin it did not help much but that was when I made some observations like - the second stanza actually comes after the fourth stanza. Creative geniuses! Who would have thought of such wonderful ways to express themselves? Another one was that all words do not necessarily have meanings (like *****. Come on guys, there is no such word!! Don’t fool me. I know you are pulling my leg. Or like people in Kerala naming their kids. I fear the day when a kid with a name ‘Kangaru’ walks by because his mom is KANGana and dad is ARUn!

Reading modern poetry is one thing. I will never understand it anyway. Hence there is no problem whatsoever. But reading an iLANDER’S modern poetry is a bigger problem. You got to comment on it. That’s a herculean task. I am telling you, this is the ONLY reason why my friend’s list is so small even after being here for a year. When I go through the poems, there will be expert comments from Savi, Dilip, Moe (fellow ilanders) and the likes. After reading them, I get all confused. Whatever I thought the poem was about, it eventually turns out that the poem had nothing to do with that. How can someone mean WWIII when he is actually writing about pigs? I had really thought it’s the family anthem of some pig sty and was about to say “You are a good master for the pigs. All piggies will be proud of you.” Moe’s comment about Hitler or something stopped me from committing that suicide.

With this improved IQ level I attacked ant r’s (ilander) poems… By then I developed this expert skill of creating comments from other comments. You read the comments, pick words from here and there and you are good to go. I went and diligently wrote comments on all those using MS word vocabulary and synonyms. And waited, holding my breath for her response. It was a “Duh!” she said my comments had nothing to do with anything that she ever wrote. So much for modern comments! Also she changed her interests to “Duh!” I am sure she meant only me when she wrote that :(

So iLanders listen to the voice. Make my life easier. Start writing something simple. Something I can understand. Something like

I looked at her. She looked at me.

We looked and liked each other

The more she looked, the more I looked

Oh! We looked and liked each other!

Ah! How beautiful! Why doesn’t anyone write like this anymore?

Frozen Sun

Frozy’s recipe for modern poetry: Take a handful of moonlight, mix it with Rum boiled at 30 degree and add a 200 gram of Cuticura powder. Stand on your head and mix them thoroughly. Drink the potion in one gulp. Now whatever you write will be a modern poetry. Go ahead, try.

PS: This is not intended at any SINGLE individual who writes modern poetry. This is intended against ALL single (as well as committed) individuals who write modern poetry. So if someone feels that it’s after his or her poems, please, its not. There are others too. It’s a sheer coincidence that you are part of the MASS MAFIA POET GANG who torture me day and night.

How many of you know me?  Not many. Mostly it has been kind of platonic relationship. It may be because I haven’t properly introduced myself yet. Whatever the anonymity and the associated fundas are, some of my real-life friends know the real Frozen Sun. Or simply which section of iland not to visit! So, why you poor wretched souls shouldn’t be given that option to escape the obvious, right?

So I am going to bare myself. The real Frozy! Tadaaaa!

When I started here, I had thought that I will write here anonymously. But whenever a girl joined my office team or when I happened to stumble upon one in a better environment (afterwards they unanimously agree that it is their sheer misfortune), the first thing I ask her is… “Do you like blogs?” Immediately followed by (the answer to the first one being inconsequential) “Have you read Frozen Sun on reddiffiland?”  Some people are of the opinion that it might not be a good opening question. Oh, I know. They are just jealous.

I am Frozy. Going strong on 26. Absolutely no grey hair. To start with, a highly unsuccessful mechanical engineer in practical life though theoretical knowledge is very high to the extent of actually being a total bore. Managed to get good grades in all the exams by religiously mugging up all the Chinese formulae and when ever that didn’t help, copying shamelessly from slips up my undergarment. My general life can be summed up by the next line- To get a four wheeler drivers license, (which means I don’t have one yet) you need to learn it first which I am not willing to (which means I am lazy) because that demands getting up early in the morning (which means I sleep like a polar bear) and going to a driving school (heaven save those souls who do). A vicious circle and therefore no license. But that has resulted in a particularly high level of enthusiasm in the Greater Dog Community near my flat. By using a car I don’t want to rob them off their daily evening jog routine. They are all a big happy joint dog family, chasing me and my bike around.

After my engineering this weird yembeeyay bug bit me in some unspeakable part of my body. I packed my bags went to Chennai for coaching classes. Did everything there except studying and spent a year as complete honest example of a loafer. Then at the end of that Stone Age, I wrote xat mat cat dog donkey and whatnot to somehow get inside a college. That was also the time when I started resembling a Neanderthal physically, emotionally, chemically and grammatically. The idea of going after girls started to become a high point of my life, with as much luck as Chandler Bing (of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.) Somehow I got into a college. (A nice one for that matter. Not some I-too-did-MBA College, mind it. That’s the only area where I am itchy, other than the unspeakable part of my body mentioned earlier.) Then joined a company‘s in Bangalore.  Got transferred to Pune after roaming around USA for some time. That was Fun. Stayed in Marriot for 3 whole months, ate, slept, boozed, played pool, poker, went partying, mouth washed using coca cola, played cricket in baseball grounds, got chased by Afro Americans, alternated between office and strip bars… mmm.. It was nice.. (If anyone from my family is reading this, it’s all a joke… This is not me. You know I don’t play cricket.)

Girls and Humor has always attracted me and so I laugh at any attempt at latter by any former. I give credit to my friend Nibesh for whatever sense of humor I have. Thx Spartan Nibesh! Talking about Spartans, there is this biggest dilemma and challenge in front of me, something to the tune of facing a one million strong Persians. My parents want to get me married off (Come on, you sulking Persians, you bloody homosexual retards.. I think I will rather fight them.) For my parents, I am a full house (means “pura niranju nilkal” = Malayalam for “get the hell out of our life”). So they dragged me kicking and screaming to fill up the matrimonial section in some shady website (the entire business of marriage looks shady to me). I will soon write about that. I am quite busy and my life is full of songs.

Coming back, now that the truth is out, “Frozen Sun” has lost most of its meaning. But I like that name very much. Shortened as “Frozy”, it has been going rounds in my limited circle of friendship here in iland. So I may just not say adieu to Frozy.

Yet again Frozy,

Yours.

PS: If you read this, chances are high that you might NOT like any of my blogs. But still try reading some. I promise a complete waste of your time.

This is not about love, butterflies or heart shaped red balloons. It’s going to be as dirty as it can get. So anyone having cold, fever or Mercedes Benz, please don’t read.

It’s a normal weekday morning. After chatting with your online friends, you had slept very late into the morning and feel very sleepy. Your boss had scheduled a meeting with clients which you are supposed to handle. You don’t even have an atom of preparation.

And you have loose motion.

To worsen the condition further (if that’s possible!) you find yourself in the lobby waving at the client enthusiastically. You feel so clueless and start to squirm in your shoe. The only possible solution is to run to the washroom and pray that they have all the required necessities, starting from a functioning closet with the toilet cover up (or down; I could never remember the correct way to leave it!) and most importantly, that it’s unoccupied. You hip-hop all the way to toilet. Your colleagues gleefully agree with a nod that is you are doing a passable imitation of a kangaroo.

You reach toilet safely (by all means) and sit there and perform the art which some may term and smirk as shitty. But whatever it is, a nice smile spreads across your face and you really have no clue as to why you are smiling like a clown. Feeling weird you shake yourself, stop smiling abruptly and curse all for getting afflicted by this disease. At first glance you are not able to realize why and how the heck you got it. After 10 min of complicated thought process which could rather easily beat Navjyot Singh Sidhu’s super brain (still performing the ‘art’ rather tirelessly) you reach the conclusion that it can be something you smelled from that hotel the day before.

Actually we all should thank this disease. This is the only time when all humans and animals are ‘giving out’ freely. Ever heard about a miser who won’t go to loo because he is a miser? (I know a couple of constipated real life misers though!) Shylocks would usually be the first to stand in the line.

After ten minutes of sitting there, you realize that it has been a rather long a time to sit in a toilet. But actually it has been over an hour, just that you never realized. Art knows no time and boundaries. How true. Also without your realization, all your colleagues had come to the wash room and had run out because of some foul odour emanating from the closet. One of them sums up all the courage and offers to check out. Once his girlfriends and colleagues bid farewell to our hero, he wears the fire fighting masks and enters the wash room. With very difficulty he knocks.

He: (voice is muffled bcoz of the gas mask) “It’s me Steve. Man, u stink. Get the hell out of there.”

Then you suddenly realize how stinky you are right now! You feel embarrassed to the core and do not know what to do.

He: (continues) “Who the $%#@ are you? Reveal yourself!”

At that precise moment you get a fresh lease of life. They still don’t know who you are. You might have a chance of escaping the horrifying embarrassment sessions not to mention the atrocious looks you have to face all your life. Imagine your name for ever to be Stinky Kumar or Motion Patel or Shitty Mehta? You change your voice and put on a squeaking tone which resembles your boss’s. And you decide that if needed you will stay back all night long so that you can slip out unnoticed.

So you go: “I am your boss, and mind your words.”

That exact, precise moment your cell phone decides to play havoc on the world’s equilibrium. It bellows aloud like inRang De Basanti.

“Lose Control! Lose Control! One more time, Lose Lose, Lose Control”

Shocked, Irritated, Embarrassed, Angry, Frustrated, you really lose control… again! Shit!

Outside all of your colleague yell in a perfect symphony to match it… “I KNOW THAT RINGTONE!! THAT’S FROZY”

Frozen Sun

PS: This is pure fiction. I could not end the blog in a better way without poking myself. But what’s sense of humor if you can’t laugh at yourself? :)

I was on a break because my net was out. i think its working now. btw, I did not add a photo for obvious reasons.

Hi all,

I am on a short break from iLand.. may be two weeks or at the max, a month (one week's already over). Just busy with life and its small things.. will come back with more vigor soon..

Till then enjoy reading iland, wander around, watch IPL and get some sleep..

Frozy!

She unlocks her belt. Then she helps you unlock yours too. There is a worried smile on her face which is understandable since this is your first time together. She gets down. You are half sitting now. You use all your arms and legs to do it. You are not very experienced and to be honest this is your first time too but she doesn't know and you don't want to volunteer the information either. You can hear her screaming now. "Yes... Yes... Yes... Just a little more...Come on... Ahh! NO... Noooo... STOPP!" You stop and slowly pull back. Then with one simple woosh, you go, "Aaahh!" You can see her satisfied smile.

Congrats! You have just done it. I am talking about parking your 'newly wed' car in an Indian Metro with your wife helping you outside, of course.

Is there anything more difficult than parking a car in Indian cities? I seriously doubt.

The rat race usually starts when you reach a parking lot. You can see other would-be predators lurking around like lions and lionesses. Like in wild life, here too lionesses are more dangerous! Very carefree species! They always seem to be completely oblivious of the physics rule that two things cannot be at the same place at the same time and thank God for small mercies for not allowing cars to move vertically up or down.

The sport of Car Parking was actually invented by Romans. They used to play it with big fan fare.  The drivers were called Gladiators and the parking space, a Hippodrome. If you notice, nothing much has changed other than the spiked chariots getting replaced by cars. The gladiators (now called drivers) will circle the hippodrome (parking lot) waiting for the right move. If by any chance their eyes meet, there would be nothing but loathing against each other. A latest research by Frozy shows that humans hate each other to the maximum in parking lots.

After circling for half an hour or more, the gladiators begin to tire and when we idiotic spectators think all is cool, a midget car (for some weird reason called Mighty Hanuman/Maruti) pulls out marking the beginning of the game. Its kick off time! Both gladiators make their cars run like four legged juggernauts in that direction, just like a 10th grader running to his classmate who has just brought the latest print of Playboy to the class. All happy faces! We spectators cry for blood. Both reach the spot only to find that the parking space has been stolen by an uncle who looks all ready to go to sleep. This is a minor modification added to the Roman rules to make the sport more entertaining and widespread across the country.

So not to hurt the ego, the gladiators slowly ease their chariots out of the parking lot, as if they never had the intention to park anything. ('I-don't-care-a-damn' ex-pression will get extra points.) So the set and camera move to the next parking lot. As per communism all hippodromes should have equal participation.

There you find a spot… Not! Crest fallen you accept defeat. You sympathize with Shewag. You feel both of you can’t fulfill the basic requirements of being man. He can’t bat, you can’t park. You feel like you have failed your family. You sympathize with Shewag for failing his Maa. You have disobeyed the Gods. Poor Shewag. You want to commit suicide. You think of Shewag for inspiration. Now is the time to find the meaning of your life. You think of Priyanka Chopra. (and Hyd Chi Bir!)

But you can't say there is no silver lining for these parking spaces. The only promised things in any of these places are the self appointed ticket checkers who will appear miraculously out of thin air as if God send. They will almost never appear when you are parking, but the moment you have taken car out, TAADAA!  "Saab, twenty roopees" They should be appointed as tax collectors for our Government. I can predict 100% tax returns. Perhaps for fear of them some of us might even stop earning.

And now enters Tata Nano. Whenever I see its picture I remember the bugs that used to attack us in my engineering college. We students and professors both used to take turns to chase them out of class rooms. I heard Tata saying that the car is a two in one. When the car is not working, you can use it as a motor to pump water to your overhead tank. I am telling you, Chennai is going to love this car.

Frozen Sun