ON SEE-SAWS AND BARE NECESSITIES

This was long long time ago. Even before I had grown strong enough to outrun our neighbor's puppy Yankee(name changed) whenever she chased me. Ages back in the past when my days and nights revolved around less obsessive activities than staring at computer screens for long stretches or trying to figure out what the blazes was wrong with Indian cinema, I had a life. Melodramatic as it might sound, the truth it is nonetheless. This was circa 1994, when the GuyNextDoor had yet to understand the curious complexities that I now know surround the female.

As I said, It was a nice warm sunny day (I'd like to think) in the year of 1994 (or One-994 as I would have said then) that I realized that playing 'House' with the girls couldn't go on for long. It was much later that I understood that they had me play daddy in House only because I was the sole dumb kid willing to - and back then it seemed as if I had nothing better to do!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think it was something that I picked up from television that first added the word 'girlfriend' to my vocabulary. Wait, I remember now...it was The Wonder Years. And in retrospect, I think I must have been all floored by Winnie Cooper. The 'girlfriend' as it turned out, was a novel concept. I figured out that the girlfriend was to be a special female friend to play with on the see-saw instead of Aditya, who had to be given the cold shoulder.

"Hey Amba(name changed)!! You're my new girlfriend. Would you do the see-saw with me?"

I really can't imagine what hit her there, but her face contorted as she ran away from the spot. That might have been the last piece of conversation that I had with her, I think. But the episode didn't really deter my confidence in any way even though I was pretty much left with Aditya as my lone see-saw companion. Thanks for being there for me always, Adi! ;-)

And so passed the days. I eventually landed with this certain Abha(name changed) when I was about 7, who made my evenings lot less boring even as guys my age were learning to handle the cricket bat, or riding their bicycles. While I was in the second grade, Abha was in the seventh. We never hung out at school; only where I lived. It wasn't long after I saw the joke that I found out she had this new bloke for her evenings, who could have been twice my size. Letting reason rule my heart, I came to terms with the fact that I wasn't going to be any match if I were to end up in a physical confrontation with this guy. Adi once commented on the new couple at school, "What losers!". I couldn't agree more.

By the time I was 10, girls had taken the back seat in my priority list. My new addiction focus was cricket. It would never snub me in my face even after having batted and bowled miserably on countless occasions. I would still get fielding practice even if the the band of 'bhaiyaas' wouldn't let me bat or bowl. But I'd make up for that when I'd ask sis to do me some bowling whenever there was no one around to play with. Oh yeah, I sure did get a kick out of it each time I whacked the ball delivered to me; slow, and waiting to be milked. Cheers to that, eh sis?

So yeah, when it was apparent that my odds at bird-hunting were better than that of bat making contact with ball, I thought maybe a change of hunting ground was in order.

Come Y2K, your GuyNextDoor had turned all the more lousy at the task of wooing elusive females. All his attempts faltered and he declared himself unfit for the game. He understood that chemicals such as PEA(Phenyl ethyl amines responsible for the little infatuations common to humans that age) were responsible for his miseries, which were being secreted in copious quantities. And lo! As if a spell had been immediately cast, his miseries came to an end.

"So be it", the Great Lord must have uttered from the heavens above, and your Guy Next Door had books and examinations calling for his attention.

Alas- or fortunately- That phase was short-lived. Yet, over the years I have tried subjecting the 'male-female hunting for a mate' paradigm to objective analysis and have unearthed one immutable truth. The fact that the male has to hunt for a suitable female match is an instinct that has been formed upon years of evolution. All I'm trying to convey is, don't give a damn to convention.

And finally, a lesson from Baloo the bear comes to mind-

"Look for the bare necessities

The simple bare necessities

Forget about your worries and your strife

I mean the bare necessities

Old Mother Nature's recipes

That brings the bare necessities of life"

The bare necessities of life will come to you.

;-)

SCREW YOU, perverts!

the Guy Next Door

PENNING AWAY TO DO A GANDHI!!?

Happy B'day Bapu!

October 2.

An important date. I've lived through 21 of them, but remember having attached meaning to only about 15. I've tried and failed time and again at scoring ten on ten when it came to practicing all what he preached. But I know that I'll keep trying at it; and one day, I'll live up to his ideals...YES! I swear by my beating heart, that that day is not far!

he he heh... I like to get dramatic sometimes.

But there's another drama being staged. 'Inspired by Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi's iconic Dandi March in 1930 to protest against the British salt tax', a French company comes out with 241 (which isn't just another fancy prime number, but the number of miles it took Bapu to march all the way to Dandi) pieces of white gold pens. The price of these high-end 'writing instruments' is placed at around Rs 14 lakhs apiece, according to a Hindu newspaper item. The pen has gold entwined around the middle, symbolizing the yarn that Gandhi spun on a daily basis, plus a gold nib with a figure of Gandhi and his lathi carved on it.

Tushar Gandhi and the much talked about special edition Mont Blanc pen. Photo: Paul Noronha, The Hindu

Whoa! Call me bourgeoisie, but I'd rather buy an apartment or maybe a sedan with that kind of money. Or would it take a special edition Mont Blanc pen to kindle the spirit of Gandhi within? Well, I wouldn't know. Although some 241 people worldwide soon might.

A little bit of common sense brings me to seriously doubt it.

;-)

the Guy Next Door

LOVE LOST, OR LOVE FOUND?

I stop to wonder at how the feminine that had influenced my thought process all these years - when lifts its spell for a while - love is met in a wholly new way. I have never read accounts of such love in novels or ballads. But yes, I think I can feel it, and its discovery is as frightening as it is alleviating...

I glimpse at a fulgid, radiant splendor

in times of calm, silent wanderings;

I know I need to walk by you,

and paint my own path to nowhere...

O light, what didst thou do to me?

I have all love conjured alone for thee;

I seek a sense of peaceful glory

in what mine soul unearths down deep

I do not deify lust any more,

and mulling over the feminine, set off-shore;

Pray, what has really gone wrong with me?

Why is what I feel not sorrow, but glee...

- the Guy Next Door

FRIENDLY HIPS

All that I can think of today, on friendship's day

the Guy Next Door

MY THREE MUSKETEERS

I had been walking, cursing at the baking earth and naked sun while passing through this construction site in Gurgaon on my way to the bus stop from Power Grid Corp., where I was doing my industrial training this summer. The building that was coming up at the site seemed to prompt me in its own subtle imposing manner, to photograph its rising, and I was clicking at the camera in no time. I often get these fits of sorts, taking random shots of the inanimate, a behaviour that is usually ignored each time it happens, by man and beast alike.

So it was surprise that I encountered, when I saw three urchins watching me clicking away, standing close by, attentive to what I was doing. The tallest among them, a girl, made her way behind me, shifting her weight to the toes to match my height, trying to grab a peek into the viewfinder, giggling at my interest in the building where her dad could have easily been a daily wager. Their sudden request - "Bhaiya humari fotu kheench do (take our photo, bhaiya)" seemed amusing even though I yielded to their request, but was struck at how beautifully each one of them posed - not a tinge of artificiality, and an innocent indifference to the fact that they wouldn't get to keep the photograph...I showed them their image that was captured on the camera, which drew careless laugter and merriment from them. There was something about that laughter that was way more real in quality than what I was used to. Or maybe it was my heightened sense of imagination... I can't be sure.

click on the photograph to open it in another tab

All the same, I realised that it wasn't really the baking earth or the sun that's the real cause of our consternation. At least I am certain of that now.

the Guy Next Door

TRIKOOT III and your GuyNextDoor

Trikoot III, Bhikaji Kama Place, Sector 3, R.K Puram, New Delhi.

Most of us Delhi-ites would furnish this place with one-word adjectives bearing synonyms with 'hellish'.

My first few minutes in Trikoot III, Bhikaji Kama Place, on a Tuesday evening were that of ridges splashed on my forehead as I struggled to read over the solar glare, the boards and bulletins that hung from the cream colored walls of the building - instructions and points-to-be-noted. There were windows-turned-cash counters with signs labelled 'TATKAL', 'GENERAL', 'Counter No. 12', etc. beaming from the walls over them. The place, I realised didn't have many people around at this time of the day. Bought a passport-form from the 'Enquiry Counter' and jogged my way back home even as the naked sun slapped my face red. I got a headache, once home. Rooh-afzah drunk cold, followed by a 3-hour doze in an air-conditioned room were all I could attribute the running nose to, that I had the following day.

Filling the form, getting the necessary affidavits ready, documents attested, blah blah blah...took one day.

The completed form is stamped with a token number once you are inside Trikoot III, standing amidst your countrymen who're getting their passports ready - most of them with the intention of travelling abroad, where their names will probably be hard to pronounce; where many of them might get used to being referred to as Sid, instead of Siddharth; Sam, instead of Sameer; or Meg, instead of Megha. Curries would cost more than the cost of 5 burgers; people around you would be on an average, 5 inches taller, or five inches short; New customs, new cultures to look forward to. And yet, what I see inside Trikoot III, Bhikaji Kama Place leaves me perturbed.

Chaos. Not a place to sit. Hardly a soul with steady feet. Perspiration translating from beads on the forehead to beads dropping off your face making their way vertically downward. Expressions of exasperation and 'why-the-hell-do-I-need-to-go-through-this-shit' all around you tend to pull you down. A comical smile from my side to every man and woman who happened to lay their eyes on me doesn't do me any good - I get blank indifference in return. Nor does it drown the weight of the popular mood of bedlam. In such moments, people like me tend to draw silent conclusions on how stupid the masses are, and how they can't maintain composure when thrown in the face of rampant entropy. And something tells me that people such as myself thrive gaily in such silent criticism - guilty pleasures.

I see fellow Indians undignified in their pose, victims of my camera that comes in handy - to capture their emotions in negative (pun intended). A man with a receding mane, frowning countenance, kettle-bellied, wearing a dark-blue v-necked t-shirt ( the fabric clinging to his skin, with sweaty adhesive), has dark goggles on, slipping off a sweaty nose. A rural bumpkin wiping saline sudor off his face with his shirt's lower half, squatted - gives away his hairy waist to all interested spectators, myself included. A man jumping a queue - justifying his doing so, to the agonised rest (who intend to show no mercy to such rule-breaking) by proudly declaring that he was a high ranking official from NHRC (which makes me wonder whether it's wrong when people like him get boxings in firang-land even as this tarnishes the image of the global Indian). I toy with the idea of hitting on a chick stationed a few feet on my right, but that's all I do...toy with the idea, never letting the action manifest.

I, token number 52 has his documents verified after what seems like eternity. I miss out on a document. Next day, same place, I, token number 62, hundreds of minutes later, have the document, though missing out on 4 more forms to do with my dual address. What follows 24 hours hence is that token number 32 finally gets his documents act together after undergoing hell - the first two queues take 4 hours of torture - followed by another 2 queues - eating up an hour and Rs 2500 in cash. Hell's over.

I make my way out of Trikoot III, watchful of happiness raging within. I find my way out of the Chakravyuh. 'Hell'-ellujah!

the Guy Next Door

PAT'S GYAAN AND ME (or is it I?)

I've made friends with a colony of roaches off late. One of them - Pat, I call him is now a dear bro. He's educated me on how to win the approval of the opposite sex (His technique might be somewhat roachy, though I've got a hunch that it may work to desired consequences when tried upon the homo sapiens). And his sagely counsel is almost free...

Secret - I had to write this poem as a fee.

I'm glad you're there, my roachy friend

coz I needn't go each time - "wassup at your end!?"

I'm up all night and so are you

You can eat almost anything- wow! me too!!!

I have my cup of coffee and you're on the sink with sauce

kitchen's our little meeting place - no one there to boss...

We both love the Beatles - bros that we are,

You're a life savior - even if we can't buy beer together in the bar

"I know you'll surely miss me - once my hols are done...

why don't you come with me to college - we'll have loads of fun!"

"But who will eat your mum's tasty pies, they shouldn't ever go waste!"

"Oh! true you are, I get your point - and mess food's bad to taste"

World Outside -you think this is weird? - Wall-E has one too...

Take mine advice - it'll do you good - the cockroach is best for you...

"Hey Roach!...for memory's sake, i'll take some pics - I need some quick poses

God bless him, yaar - whoever said that Life's a pocket full of roaches!"

"BALDERDASH"

People! I need help. You've probably got an idea on how bored I am. Next thing I might do -> hit on a female roach. So puh leez!

Girls, I'd like to try Pat's gyaan on you instead!

;-)

the Guy Next Door

LIES, KARMA AND ME

Morals of the Story -

1) For those of you with flat noses - first beauty tip - lies zindabaad!

2) If you've skipped/bunked kindergarten, then (he he...) you do have some catching up to do. Contact your nearest 4 year old. Ask for the story of 'Pinocchio'

3) There's no such crap as karma ;-) ...no wonder bin Laden has lost touch these days!

4) Keep visiting this space for more gyaan that you have probably missed out on, all these years.

:-)



the Guy Next Door

ON BAPTISING AND SHOWING THE FINGER

I woke up today to mom gently caressing my hair...wow! when did that last happen?! The smile on my face faltered as my mind suggested that there was a chore in the coming as soon as I was to get up. And that distinct possibility kept me from moving my lips anymore, eyes clamped shut. But you know how moms are... they have a knack with getting their li'l ones up - that's where my attendance in school gets credit!

So once I was up, I was to come to terms with the fact that we (Dad, Mum, I and sis) were to attend an upanayanam ceremony (baptising) of some 10 year old kiddie who was the grandson of an ol' friend of my mother's...

Now what did that have to do with me?

"Shiv (Yours truly, at home), it's been close to 20 years - and all those who're attending would be people from where I grew up as a kid.", goes Mum.

"Oh! and I was thinking it would be mighty entertaining to watch a ten-year-old put the sacred thread upon a bare back!"

"Now, now! watch your tongue... I just want you to be there and let people know that Neeraja has grown into a mum of two college going kids. Is that asking too much of you?"

"Yaaaawn...."

I was all dressed and ready in an hour.

Mum tells me that I had a contorted face all this long, and sis is confident that she found me mouthing words she isn't comfortable with at home, and in my defence I'd say that you're supposed to give the benefit of the doubt when your mouth is all frothed while brushing your teeth. (though truly speaking, that's when my language can get ugly loud, and Mum would think I'm probably rapping an Eminem number - sis on the other hand, knows the difference between Eminem and Profanity)

Forty minutes of an unusually-quiet me during the drive up to Lawrence Road from RK Puram on the way to the ceremony. Seated next to the driver's seat, I got to irritate everyone by letting those lousy 102.6 FM RJs make absolutely no sense. I didn't move the dial, no sir! Tantrums zindabaad!

:-)

Moral of the story, Mum, Dad: Treat me like a child, and I'll behave like one!

Once there, it was all about mum and her ol' pals from Lawrence Road. Most of the 50-pluses remembered my mum as 'house number 85 maami's'daughter'. That's the brighter side of having gone twenty miles up north in the morning - Mum's got a new nickname over here at home.

And every now and then, we had our eyes on the 10 year old taking oaths in a language that - heaven knows, whether that priest understood it at all... (I for one didn't, in spite of 93/100 in the language in my board exams!)

A hearty meal at 11 was welcome respite. I had a local Delhi-ite sitting next to me who was clueless in the art of eating off plantain leafs (A south Indian ceremony, you'd easily guess). So I had to maintain my dignified best all the while I ate ( That's not something I'm really good at ), as she followed my cue on how-to-eat-a-typical-Tamil-meal :

1) Wash the leaf with the water that's in your glass.

2) Let those guys serve you the items one by one. Finish the payasam first, or it'll flow out of your leaf.

3) Divide the rice that's on your leaf into three parts.

4) Part 1 is for Sambhar. Try finishing off half (that would mean around 4 vegetable curries) the items with sambhar rice.

5) Part 2 is for Rasam. Be done with the applaam (paapad) in that case, and the remaining items.

6) Part 3 if for Mor (curd). They'll give you oorgaay (pickles)for taste. And at last, you have a sweet (again, for taste!)

And there ends the story.

It is followed by another story at 2 pm wherein I, Mum and Dad were the chief protagonists who cast their ballot to 3 different political parties...but oh! going on with that would mean I'd have to let out the name of the candidate I voted for, and that in turn would mean I wasn't exercising my Right to Secrecy, he he!

SHOWN THE GENERAL ELECTIONS MY FINGER ;-)

Anyways, I've got a full belly from the meal this afternoon.

Till next time

the Guy Next Door

BIRD HUNTING - PERSPECTIVE OF A VETERAN

DISCLAIMER: The following strain has to be understood in it's absolute sense. Misconstruing the poesy in any way other than how the author intends it, is utterly the reader's can of worms.

O boys and girls from now and then,

Your goofs and b***s excite this pen;

No paltry aid you gift today...

And I was never - ever- this gay!

For I bequeath into your hands

The code, the rulebook, of these lands;

And I don’t want this strain delayed;

For here's the secret - On how to get laid...

A roast, a toast; beef and mead;

You dine on these and pay me heed

The dame awaits, a child no more...

Do not delay, I must implore.

'All worlds’s a play', it has been said

Is that enough for your appetite to be fed?

We'll see 'bout that once the game's begun

You load you barrel and head out for fun!

The bird dictates your movements, yes!

A peek, a glance is enough to guess

Here, the Pecking Order comes to play

and then you go -" What does the rulebook say?"

“When a chick's eggs are tasted raw

The 'entire-course' would hold no flaw”

Protein exchange - I call it thus;

Play IT cool, and make no fuss...

And that, my friends, will hold you good.

As long as you like - hunt you should!

Treasure this gift I pass today...

And you'll ‘bang fine’ and ‘roll in the hay’!

For more gyaan (acquiring/dissemination - eitherwise) on the subtle art of game hunting, head to the comments space...

;-)

the Guy Next Door

DISCLAIMER

The content here on this blog is another instance of the author's eccentricities (This space has converted him into a nocturnal creature, to the point that he deems it mandatory to spend the better part of the midnight hours researching for the next absolutely trivial post ), though if looked at from a different shade - could be said to be a stroke of the author's creative outbursts...balderdash!

Everything that is, or shall be viewed in future under the url http://www.theguynextdoor.in/ finds its roots somewhere in the pea-sized seed in his definitely-not-pea-sized-head, and hence represent his 'own' views alone. If this is found to be untrue, the author might have to resort to brandishing the 'finger' to whoever points that out...

Comments and brickbats are welcome, lest his madness aggravates in soliloquy.

the Guy Next Door

ABOUT THE BLOGGER AND HIS BLOGG

I'm someone who's addicted to social media. In a few years from now, I might even need rehab.

:-)

1) I won't write to provide you any info on stuff you're looking for online...

2) It's going to be bloody random in here - I'm not known to be organised; and changing my rules at this point of time seems herculean a task, to say the least.

3) There's no agenda in particular that I would be sticking to, and for that simple reason, regular readers would find themselves privileged to comment upon surprisingly diverse range of topics right from zulus to toadstools...bambinos to barbeques....and so on.

4) Forgive me if I go 'Lite Ra' every now and then...It's a ploy I've hatched so that the word if googled, would lead to yours truly's blog as the first search result ;-) ...but there's no need for you to check whether this clever idea of mine has worked or not...

5) Screw you if it hasn't!

:-P

And in case you still haven't got wind of what I'm trying to convey here, my simple advice is to just stay tuned to this space by bookmarking the darned url or simply clicking on the 'SUBSCRIBE' button lying somewhere near the bottom-right corner of the page...

the Guy Next Door

LET THE RANTS BEGIN

This was something I always wanted to do. Mostly because this is one place where no one's going to 'hang up' on my turn. Even if they did, I wouldn't know unless, of course, I used Google Analytics to check the bounce rate! I really don't care anymore though...

Here's a peek into some stats:

There are some 60 million addresses online that are technically known to be blogs; One in six Earthlings are Indians; That way, pure mathematics and uniform probability suggest that 10 million of us brown-skinned blokes should have our blogs up and about!

But guess what! - When it comes to the blogosphere, the ratio is a low 1:60 instead of 1:6. That's so not-Indian! Don't we want to change that!? Don't we???

In an attempt to give this statistic a kick in the shins, I kick-start with 'WHAT RE, LIGHT RA' which is the desi way of putting into perspective this one thing -that I'm Awesome! ;-) I DO READ YOUR BLOG, BARNEY STINSON!

Also get your own home pages running and kicking. Let loose anything that's wasting space on your mental Hard Disk...

Humor me, play along!

Cheerio!

PS: I must thank thangachi NIT Warangal Chronicles for the perpetual high.

:-D

the Guy Next Door