Test of Macroni as Lunch Diet

One day this week we were served a special salad. Macroni Salad.
Waiting for our turn to serve us some, my colleague turned friend
and I started talking about this new dish. Actually he coined this term
"Test of Macroni as Lunch Diet". To me it looked like as if somebody had
drilled into Maggi noodles, boiled it and then zoomed in it and
served it. As we waited for our turn we saw that most of people, who had
served themselves lavish quantities of Macroni Salad, take it as is
to dump in waste bags. We got suspicious but decided lets test it out. Being
the gourmet we are, we served ourselves plenty of it, looked nice the way it
was kept in the bowl. Slimy looking curved things with black patches on it,
more like as if somebody had taken the spinal chord of a goat, pulled out
everything inside it just keeping the protective tissue sheath, washed it in
an antiseptic and served it for eating. A perfect Chinese dish.


A thought just flew by, What if they were actually some kind of insects,
strange creatures something like maggots, which would suddenly come to life
and start crawling on the table; What if they grew all of a sudden with
their tentacles closing in on everybody first me and then my unfortunate
friend. And then say to their less fortunate friends "Hey! Those fresh,
nicely dressed humans tasted well. Real Good. Burrp. Burrp"


"Move your ass you day dreamer!" yelled my friend. The (un)usual research
process started. First came the visual inspection. I need not comment on it.
Then the taste.


Eeeh! Pathetic. That's all we could say. It seemed to us that they wanted to
dispose off some stale Marconi so they dressed it up as salad!



We then puked on the seats of all the cars in the parking our lot
(exaggerated event) to our heart content, or the 'seats' content!


Test of Macroni as Lunch Diet failed miserably.

The other day I was reading a novel about a student, a country bumpkin, from a nondescript town in India going to America for higher studies. This is what he wrote to his brother about his first flight to America.

nZai.

Beloved younger brother,

    Greetings to Respectful Parents. I am hoping all is well with health and wealth. I am fine at my end. Hoping your end is fine too. With God’s grace and Parents’ Blessings I am arriving safely in America and finding good apartment near University. Kindly assure Mother that that I am strictly consuming vegetarian food only in restaurants though I am not knowing if cooks are Brahmins. I am constantly remembering Dr. Verma’s advice and strictly avoiding American women and other unhealthy habits. I hope Parents’ Prayers are residing with me.

    Younger Brother, I am having so many things to tell you I am not knowing where to start. Most surprising thing about America is it is full of Americans. Everywhere Americans, Americans, big and white, it is little frightening. The flight from New Delhi to New York is arriving safely thanks to God’s Grace and Parents’ Prayers and mine too. I am not able to get to go to bathroom whole time because I am sitting in corner seat as per Revered Grandmother’s wish. Father is rightly scolding that airplane is flying too high to have good view. Still please tell her I have done needful.

    But, brother, in next two seats are sitting two old gentle ladies and if I am getting up they are put in lot of botheration so I am not getting up for bathroom except when plane is stopping for one hour at London. Many foods are getting served in carts but I am only eating cashew nuts and bread because I am not knowing what is food and what is meat. I am having good time drinking 37 glasses of Coca-Cola.

    They are rolling down a screen and showing film but I am not listening because air hostess ladies are selling headphones for 2 dollars which is Rs. 26 and in out beloved Jajau town we can sit in balcony seats in Regal Talkies for only Rs. 3. I am asking lady if they are giving student discount but she is too busy. I am also asking for more Coca-Cola but she is looking like she is weeping and walking away. I think perhaps she is not understanding proper English.

    Then I am sleeping long time after London and when I am waking it is like we are flying over sea of lights. Everywhere, brother, as far as I am seeing there are lights lights. It is like God has made carpet of lights. Then we are landing in New York and plane is going right up to the door so that we are not having to walk in cold. I must say Americans are very advanced. And as I am leaving airplane, air hostess is giving me one more can of Coca-Cola. Her two friends are also with her but why they are laughing so much I do not know. I think Americans are strange but friendly people in their hearts. I hope she was not laughing for racial. Perhaps she was feeling shy earlier.

    Then I am going to long bathroom. As I am leaving I am making first friend in America. This is gentleman named Joe, who is standing at door and as I am opening it he is holding out hand so I am shaking it and telling him my name and he is telling me his. I am telling him if he is ever coming to Jajau he can ask for National hair Oil Factory. If I have not returned from Higher Studies please tell Father that if a black gentleman named Joe is visiting Jajau he may kindly do needful.

    In this way I feel each and every one of us is serving as Ambassador of out beloved Motherland. Joe is doubtful I feel because he says “Far out, man, far out,” but I am reassuring him that India is only 16 hours away by plane and that is not very far. I think he is accepting this because he is not saying anything any more.

    Next I go to place marked “Baggage” as Father has advised and suddenly place I am sitting starts to move throwing me. It is like python we once saw in forest, only rattling and with luggage bouncing on its back and sometimes leaping to attack passengers. I am also throwing my self on bag before it is escaping. I think if I am not wrestling it down it would revert to plane and back home India. I am only joking of course.

    Before this I am meeting very friendly gentleman at Immigration desk. I do not know why all relatives had warned against this man, because he is so friendly. He is talking English strangely but is having kind heart because he is asking me about nuts and I am saying that I am liking very much and eating many on plane. “Totally, totally nuts,” he is saying, which I feel American expression for someone fond of cashew nuts.
Before this he is showing friendliness by asking “How is it going?” I am telling him fully and frankly about all problems and hopes, even though you may feel that as American he may be too selfish to bother about decline in price of hair oil in Jajau town. But, brother, he is listening very quietly with eyes on me for ten minutes then we are having friendly talk about nuts and he is wanting me to go.

    At Customs, brother, I am getting big shock. One fat man is grunting at me and looking cleverly from small eyes. “First Visit?” he is asking, “Yes,” I am agreeing. “Move on,” he is saying making chalk marks on bags. As I am picking up bags he is looking directly at me and saying “Watch your ass.”

    Now, brother, this is wonderful. How is he knowing we are purchasing donkey? I think they are knowing everything about everybody who is coming to America. They are not allowing anybody without knowing his family and financial status and other things. And we are only buying donkey two days before my departure. I think they are keeping all information in computers. Really these Americans are too advanced.

    But, brother, not I am worrying. Suppose this is CIA keeping watch or else how they can know about our donkey? Anyway please do not tell Mother and Father as they are worrying , but lock all doors and windows. If CIA wants to recruit me to be spy in Jajau, I will gladly take poison before betraying our Motherland.

  
 Then I am going out and cousins are waiting and
receiving me warmly. I will write soon after settling down.

                                                                                                                                                Your brother.

What amused me so much was that this guy’s respect for his Parents and Grandparents, even their prayers, and Motherland and everything other related to his Motherland is also reflected in this writing. Did you notice the capitalized words? The next hilarious thing was imagining this person at the immigration counter, who out of courtesy asked our fellow “How is it going?” and our hero pours out all that he had to say about everything. The immigration person in bewilderment says “Man you are nuts” and our hero says, “Yes I like nuts.” I rolled over the floor like anything. But the king of show was ass and CIA keeping watch even on the donkey?

Definitely a wonderful reading.

Aboriginals Unknown

Aboriginals Unknown

"I believe certainty is simply an illusion. At one point or another, we all indulge in this illusion because we need some sort of order to justify our actions. How can we put one foot in front of the next if we're always afraid of the probability we might stub our toe, step on a nail, or trip on a stone? I'm fairly sure I'll be brushing my teeth in the morning, but I don't KNOW this for certain -- I could die of a stroke or a heart attack in the middle of the night, or the Tooth Fairy in a fit of rage might come by and rob me of all my teeth. Uncertainty is an inherent quality of every particle, action, and moment in our world. It's a poetic way for The Creator (whichever you believe in) to make things a little more interesting for us.

So if you're certain that you WILL BECOME the President of the United States, a movie star, a porn star, a chicken farmer, a computer engineer, whatever, then I'll say you probably will get closer than most, and I'll even say you will probably succeed, but maybe you won't.

Then again, is that really so terrible?

In a world dominated by results, numbers, money, efficiency, and the need to succeed, it's natural for us to be raised thinking in these terms. But it's not the only way to think.What we forget as adults is what we knew so inherently as children. You might argue this point, but I believe that as children, we had a totally different mechanism for enjoying life. As children, our pleasures were rooted in the act of discovery: learning to play a new sport, finding Easter eggs during scavenger hunts, figuring out how a Rubik's cube works, or eating ice cream for the first time. If you don't believe me, try observing a baby for just a few minutes. Infants have a miraculous, indomitable spirit for learning -- they will gaze in wonder at even the most mundane of things, simply because everything they see is new to them. We see less and less of this as we grow older, and that is exactly why "the heart of a child" becomes so endearing, valuable, and scarce with coming age.

As we grow older, we begin placing everything in terms of a goal -- we want that promotion, new car, bowling trophy, trophy wife, etc. Although not so terrible in and of itself, these goals can become mindless compulsions. We forget the REASON we wanted these things in the first place, becoming lost in an obsessive delirium, when all we really wanted was to be happy. I myself have fallen into this trap many times, and I still don't know all the reasons for it. Maybe it's our competitive spirit -- we must win to prove our worth. Maybe it's our desperate need to define ourselves against the billions of other people trying to define themselves. Or maybe it's some more primal desire -- instead of urinating on trees, we build up stockpiles of accolades, expensive toys, and superficial trinkets that we hope others will recognize as status. The exact mechanism isn't important; it's good enough that we recognize this aspect of our lives.

So I'll ask you now, when was the last time you had fun? I don't mean the last time you were in a drunken stupor that helped you forget your troubles. I mean some genuine, wholesome fun that let you laugh out loud without embarassment or self-consciousness. If you haven't had that kind of fun in more than 24 hours, then go to your best friend, drag him/her out to watch a movie, grab a cup of coffee, play some games, learn something new. And if you don't have that kind of time on your hands, then why not put on your favorite song and dance -- no one's watching, so you can do it in your underwear if you want. You'll feel happier afterwards, even if you didn't think that was possible. My point is, you don't need a reason or purpose in every little thing you do. Sometimes it's just enough to do things because they're fun -- children do this without a moment's hesitation."

Is he smart ?

Looking at his son, whom he was seeing for the first time, "Is he smart?" Forrest asked Jenny. And I had wet eyes with tears running down my cheeks, as I watched Forrest Gump for the nth time.

Lieutenant, this is my Jenny!

The unforgettable, lost Voice

I was new in the city. Felt lonely for first few days. It so happened that one day loitering on one of those most frequented by females street I heard a group of people listening very eagerly to what a lady had to say. I couldn't see who that lady was. Not withstanding the fact that I normally do not listen over shoulders or evesdrop on others, I got immensly curious about the speaker. The speaker had built an aura aorund herself. Everybody present heard as there was no tomorrow, this is going to be the first and the last!

The speaker probably was all too concious of the listener's emotions, was putting in a lot of energy and excitement in what she had to say. I was glued to the road. The voice had certianly enchanted me. Some kind of hypnotization, maybe. As the primary motive of being on that road lost it's very source of being high in priority I returned back home.

Lazily turning in bed on that sleep deprived night, my thoughts inadverently returned again and again, involuntarily to the speaker. She had so much charm in her speech. The speaker was certainly a good orator, not that I'm a very good critic of speakers, but the speaker was awsome. Or else how can one make a group of so many listen so eagerly?

Next day I again went to that most frequented by females street, although this time it was more to see if the speaker was there and to listen her. The priorities had now reshuffled and reorganized and now listening to this no face speaker gained high priority. Good fortunes that day. The speaker was again there and with the same corwd.

I realised that I had fallen fatally in love with the voice. Not the speaker. How I wished I could hear her voice everyday. How mcuh I wished every morning I could her voice, the first thing in the morning. What if my alarm clock instead of yelling in its irritating tone I could have her voice in it, a soothing pleasureable and once more kind of call! How much I had wished that the first Good morning and the last Good night was her's. Why not my whole life be stacked with her voice anywhere and everywhere.

Fatal attractions of last kind.

Then Gods favoured me. It so happened that what ever I thought of was turning out to be true. I woke up and the first voice I heard was her. I could sense her so close that I could feel her lungs pump air into her vocal chords. I could listen to her daily 24/7.

2 years have passed since then. I still like to hear her but the vigourous intensity of want has died. I still like to hear her but now it stands last in the priorities. I still hear her but to kill time. She still rejuvinates me but not to the extent she used to do earlier. For me she has lost her edge.

Sunaina Lal. Radio Jockey (RJ). Radio City @ 91 FM.