Tasty food secret

I have been cooking for two years yet I have never learnt to cook. Ask me to cook stories and I will merrily do so.
“You never invited me for lunch,” complained a friend.
“Welcome if you have the guts to taste my food,” I challenged him.
Yesterday there was a knock on the door. He was standing there.
“Cook now,” he ordered.
“Cook what?”
“Rice and sambar (A dish made with pulses, vegetables common in south India).”
That’s child’s play. I kept rice on the cooker. “I will pick up some veggies and will be back in a minute,” I disappeared.
After a few minutes, we were on the dining table.
My friend enjoyed the food. “Brilliant boss. I did not know you could make such delicious sambar,” he showered praise on me.
I just smiled.
How could I tell him that I had purchased the “tasty sambar” from my building restaurant?
Cooking tips for learners: Don't keep the gas flame level high while cooking. If you are a man, never ask a woman cooking tips. They confuse you.

Collaborate with inevitable

It was touching. Two Pakistani children in the neighbourhood knocked on the door, “We are moving off to Abu Dhabi,” they said with a twinkle in their eyes. So sweet. My daughter used to be the ring leader among kids and they had a strong, affectionate network.
“Take care and remember me,” I told the baby boy thrusting a chocolate in his hands.
“Insha Allah,” the boy replied.
During tea session, I told my colleague it’s surprising that love transcends all barriers and brings heaven on earth. Yet, humans refuse to accept the reality.
I also told him a wonderful line I read on the Net.
An old man was always happy. When asked how, he replied: “I have learnt to collaborate with the inevitable.”
Just to add a joke by my colleague:
What's happiness? she asked.
"Dunno, got married early," he replied.
BTW, I clicked a photo of beautiful flowers at my office corridor with NokiaN70 cellphone gifted to me by my great grandpa’s great grandpa. Famous blogger Mridula, hope you are not listening.

Here's (y)our award

Now this award is from sweet buddy Indrayani of Canada. Lucky me, I have such wonderful friends. Herewith dedicating the award as usual to all the visitors of this blog.

Don’t bother in-law

Mother-in-law is always fascinating subject, right?
My MIL was supposed to reach Kalyan rail station in Mumbai and I was expected to pick her up. Luckily, I had duty that day and convinced my wife that my friend G would pick her up.
G is a hardworking guy who is not very fluent in English. Just for the kicks, I told G that my MIL is a very modern woman who only speaks English and that too in style. G managed to get MIL into a taxi and the one-hour travel to Vashi began. All through, G kept talking in “stylish” English. All he got in reply was furious silence.
As soon as my MIL entered home, she screamed at my wife, “Where is your husband? I would have pushed that G out of the taxi. Give me a headache balm.”
As for G, he caught me next day and screamed: “Your MIL is moody.”
“Why?”
“I kept asking her so many questions in stylish English and she kept staring at me angrily.”

My ‘BBC’ is back

Al Wahda is a beautiful street linking Dubai and Sharjah. Sri Lankan MM works as a gardener on this street, watering and nurturing the eye-catching date trees for 18 years. He has been a great source of information, a one-man “BBC.” Any accident, how shops cope with recession, what, when, where, who, which, how.. He has ready answers.
We used to chat regularly. And suddenly I noticed he was missing. More than a month. I had no contact number and thought he must have gone back to native place.
Yesterday I saw him back at work.
What happened?
“They are planning a road widening project and shunted me to a far-off place. I worked for a month, but miss my lovely trees here. They are like my children,” he turned emotional. “I could not take it anymore and resigned.”
Then came the good news. The road plan was shelved owing to some reason. The boss summoned MM and ordered: “Go back to work.”
And my “BBC” is back. Hard work does pay, right?

I ‘acted’ well

Nothing to write. So I was trying to recollect the good old days. And an incident made me laugh.
I was rushing to my newspaper office in the afternoon and reached Vashi railway station in Mumbai. A Tamil film shooting was going on. I had lost touch with Tamil films and asked from the crowds who the hero and heroine were. “Arjun and Meena,” they said.
I saw the actors surrounded by cameramen. I took out my business card, rushed to Arjun. He was a bit tense, but said “Hi” politely. Then I moved to Meena. “Maybe I will take an appointment and meet you later for an interview,” I said. She smiled and took the card.
Next day, when I was walking on the road, the newspaper vendor boy called out, “I did not know you act in films.”
“Who, me?” I asked surprised.
“Ya, yesterday I saw you in the shooting. You acted very well.”

Sly guys on the prowl

“Hi, How you doing?” is a normal question we ask.
But the reactions vary as per the individual.
Once I asked this to a Mumbai friend and he smiled widely, “King size buddy.”
I was amazed by his positive approach.
Yesterday, I committed the blunder of asking the same question to a cynic.
“How you doing?”
“How do you expect me to do?” he shot back.
“All fine?” I tried to cool him.
“Just because you are doing well, you expect others have no problems,” he continued.
“This earth has six billion people and six billion different issues,” I replied clearly annoyed.
“You know that I am searching for a new job. You never bother to help.”
“I will check out,” I promised.
“Forget it. I need some help. How much you have in your pocket?”
“I have AED600.”
“Wonderful,” I could see the glee in his face. “Could you lend me some?”
“I am coming to that,” I replied. “I have 600. My wife just called me and I need to rush some extra money. Could you please…”
I did not finish the sentence. He had vanished.

Beauty of a rose

Flowers are a matter of joy. Roses, especially, have a glamorous appeal. There are also special rose lovers’ organizations I have heard of. Imagine the number of countries and languages roses pass through when they travel from the Netherlands to the sub-continent region.
Ya, I am coming to the point. She offered me a rose. Who, why, when? Don’t whack your mind too much. She was just a baby. No, not biggg baby. A little baby. I entered a function hall and the baby at the entrance offered it with a smile saying “Welcome, sir.”
How schweet.
So, what’s great about this?
Well. Climax. The rose fell from my hand. And someone picked it up for me.
Who?
OMG, She was gorgeous mannn!
And my friend with me was convinced I had dropped the rose purposely. But you, my precious friends, know. Will I ever do that?

Blushing woman, bashing husband

India is zooming ahead economically, but disconnect between rich and poor is scary and funny. You worry about the scary bit and I will explain the funny aspect.
As a reporter I made friends with lots of social workers. A medico social worker working for the municipal hospital in Navi Mumbai told me that handling the poor was tough.
Once a guy brought his badly-injured brother to hospital. The doctors rushed the victim to the emergency ward and asked the brother to donate blood. But the brother was so innocent; he was scared he would die if he donated blood. “I don’t want to die for him. You will put a needle and suck all my blood,” he kept crying. It took hours of persuasion.
There are several cases in such hospitals where relatives dump patients for treatment and sneak away. They just cannot afford to pay.
Once a social group wanted to do a survey among slum dwellers about family planning. The volunteer asked a woman, “Do you know about contraceptives?” The woman first blushed, then turned furious and screamed, “Heyyy, you husbanddd.”
A plump guy rushed out, pulled the volunteer by the collar and pushed him out of the house.
The volunteer was trained well. He moved on to the next hutment.
“Do you use condoms?” he asked the householder.
“No, what's it? How many condoms can we eat daily? the slumdweller asked.

‘I did it’

A senior reporter at my previous office made a rocket out of an A4 sheet and blew it in the air just for fun. It flew and hit the eye of a photographer. OMG, I still remember blood oozing from the lens man’s face. Fortunately, nothing serious happened.
One guy who did not like me too well grabbed the opportunity.
“You play mischief all the time. Better take this as a lesson,” he told me loudly.
Surprisingly, I kept quiet as I was also in a state of shock.
This guy had a habit of claiming credit for everything and proclaiming “I did it,” all the time. In fact, that was a reason I could not get along well with him.
One day, the editor was furious with a particular headline.
“Who did it?” she screamed.
“I did it did it,” I said.
“What?” she sounded angrier.
Another colleague explained who “I did it” was.
Her anger turned into laughter.
And the guy actually thanked me for cooling her down.
Funny world.

Work hard, eat happy

Just read a beautiful story on Net. A blind girl hates world, but finds a loving boyfriend. Can you marry me? He asked her. “If I had eyesight,” she replied. After a few months, she undergoes an operation and gets back her sight. She asks to see the boyfriend first and is shocked to find that he is blind. “Can you marry me?” he asks her. “But you are blind!” she replied. “Anyway, take care of my eyes darling,” he moves off.
Hey, wipe your tears. Many women are like that these days and some women are violent too!
Jokes apart, I remember my poor landlord in Vidya Vihar, Mumbai, being bashed up by his wife. I mentioned this once, but will share it again. I and two bachelor cousins shared the house with this landlord. Every evening his family of five will sit for dinner in their room and us in ours. In five minutes, the storm will begin. First it will be expletives from the wife, then throwing of vessels. Finally, the landlord will fall near our door, physically thrown out by his hugeee wife.
And he will look at me (he loved me so much even when drunk), smile and advise: “Mehnet se kamav, kush se kaav.” (Work hard, eat happy).

That bugger bugged me boss

I felt the balcony door being opened at 2am and sprung from my bed to see my roommate standing there.
“What the heck boss?”
“Pest,” he replied angrily.
Here’s someone calling me pest at that unseemly hour. I could not digest it, though I know I am one. Before I could react, he rushed in, put on the light and turned his bed. I saw 1,032 bed bugs crawling all around.
The first thing in the morning I summoned the pest-control guys.
“You did pest-control recently, what’s happening?” I screamed.
At 10 our guys will be there, assured an Arabic-English tone.
And two stout guys of Arabic-speaking African origin arrived.
While one guy set out on his task meticulously by spraying pesticide, the other guy straight went towards the TV cabinet and spread out all the DVDs.
What audacity! And that bum kept asking 10 times, “You have a CD for me?”
I quietly gave him a useless CD of my roommate (Hey, you guys don’t tell him hehe).
That bum wasn’t satisfied.
“No, no. I want ‘that’ CD.”
Vallah. I am a tubelight. I showed him a huge photo of my family in my hall.
“We family people,” I told in broken English. He dint look convinced. I had to literally throw him out. I did not give any tips either.
That bugger bugged me boss. Original pests are better.