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The groom and the broom

There was this bridegroom His bride, he tried to groom She laid on him well with a broom The marriage was on the verge of a doom To make the marriage again bloom The groom took to products of loom He bought for her designer attire And adorned her with yellow metal and sapphire The broom stayed in the corner The threat remained however Then came the apple of the eye of the couple With it came more problems on the double If things go wrong, it is all due to his fault If things go right, it is despite his fault The baby girl grew into a beautiful maiden To be swept off her feet by a dashing swain On the day of the wedding, the man took aside the groom And gave the following advise to avoid future gloom Never try to correct your bride Lest you have wheals on your hide Replace the traditional broom With a vacuum cleaner to clean the room Makes it more difficult to wield as a weapon Even if she is in a difficult mood to reason Remember she is right in everything You better agree or there is ...
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Operation depilation (Getting a haircut)

 For most men, haircut is an essential ritual unless one has joined the 'Hippie cult'; is making an offering of his hair to a temple or is plain lazy. After a hair cut the 'decent mowed lawn look' lasts only for a few days and then the basic indiscipline in growth surfaces transforming the hair into a forest. If only the hair grows uniformly all over, the mowed lawn look will remain except that the boundaries are shifted a little further on to the forehead, ears and neck. In my childhood the barber used to come home on Sundays. He will come on a Sunday of his convenience and so every male member in the family has a hair cut (whether one needs or not). The barber and his victims squat on the floor. He uses first a mechanical trimmer with squeeze handles. Once in a while the hair gets caught in the trimmer and gets yanked out leaving patches of hairless scalp. Our view of the happenings is through a broken hand held mirror (held by the victim). With the squatting position...
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My co-passenger

Those were dark times when I felt haunted by a particular co-passenger. To me it looked as if his demeanour had everything 'undesirable' written all over. Our paths crossed several times in that journey. First it was near the security at the entrance to the airport. He rushed past me to reach the Digiyatra gate first and beat me to it by a few inches. To add insult to injury he turned around and gave me a supercilious smile as he scanned his boarding pass and slipped through. The next encounter was near the check in counter. I was behind him in the queue. he finished checking in but refused to clear the counter. I was sure he was having some idle chat with the lady behind the counter while I was becoming jittery. Three times he feigned as if he is leaving- only to go back and ask the lady some other query ( I am positive these were all unnecessary questions). Before my blood pressure could go through the roof, the next counter opened and I was saved from a certain brain stroke....
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The house fly

Musca Domestica is the zoological name given to the common house fly. The term seems to indicate that the fly was adopted by humans. But it is the fly that has adopted our houses for its living. I understand that the house fly is capable of long flights of up to 4-5 kms. So perhaps the fly has many homes and it keeps changing its residence often.  One morning a fly decided to visit my house resulting in a war between self and the fly. The first indication as to its presence was when it landed on my nose directly after a long flight (perhaps). I can understand that it is tired from the long flight and needed to rest. But my reaction could not be helped. It was swift and the goal was to swat the fly and possibly kill it. That it resulted in a broken nose and scalded skin was another matter. Apparently my reflex reaction overrode several objections from the thinking part of my brain- such as 'Please do not do it. There is a cup in your hand- it can hurt your nose. The cup has hot coff...
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And on to half marathon

Having successfully done 10K a few times, I was itching to have a go at a half marathon. The task did look daunting. For one it is more than twice the distance I have done so far, and I was not sure whether my age will permit a quantum jump. So I read several articles and blogs. Most said there is no age bar for half or even full marathon. However, there were a few reports of sudden death in some long distance runners.i.e one starts the run and either finish the run or the run finishes you off. On the flip side, that is perhaps a good way to go- no hospitalisation, no tubes down the throat and no worry of insurance coverage. So with no worry for this or my next life, I started preparing for my first half marathon. Is it 'half marathon' or a '21.1Km run':  Calling it a 'half marathon' gives one an exalted feeling that we are already on the half way mark of a future goal (which may never be achieved). However calling it a '21.1km' is rather odd. Why the de...
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My Forays into Singing

Music they say is in the genes (not sure if a mutation/ single nucleotide polymorphism has been identified). My mother used to sing and play Veena- although mostly for her own satisfaction. As a child I used to sit with her during her weekly lessons. I could sing along with her with my child's voice till my voice broke at around 12-13 yrs of age. It was as if my voice broke free of all inhibitions. Suddenly I had more than one voice to contend with- emanating from the same laryngeal box when I tried to sing. I had to learn to concentrate on one of the several frequencies (simultaneous lower scale C and E with middle scale G for example) so that in my mind at least it sounded like a harmonious tune. Like most people I continued with my bathroom singing (believing that the genes will take over at some stage), oblivious of the cacophony since by now I developed an automatic switch that cuts of other frequencies from the feedback. To my thus blanketed brain, my singing resembled that o...
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How I leant to prostrate in front of swamijis

The place where I work is blessed by visits of several swamijis who come to make a courtesy call on my boss. Each time a swamiji comes, we get a call from the boss' secretary to come down and take his blessings. But I have had this mortal fear of Swamijis since childhood. I used to believe that they have a hotline of communication with God and I was always worried they will sneak to God about my shortcomings- so much so- that the very sight of a Swamiji in saffron clothes and wooden sandals triggers unnamed fear in me akin to facing your headmaster who is reviewing your performance in the examinations. Mentally I will be going over all the recent things I have done to see whether they will pass muster or will they be considered sinful. I will try to justify that the balance sheet is not too bad; that the good I have done compensates for the sin I have committed.  One can understand what kind of effect this thought process has on the physiology- aptly described as 'fear reaction...
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