Humour is the SHIZZ

I would like to bring to my attention that my last few posts have been very soppy and full of emotions and maybe a little bit of tears and definitely lots of phlegm. And honestly that’s not who I am - I surely don’t have phlegm issues. So I wanted to drop in and document this decision, that from now on I will only post funny things. I will leave my thoughts and emotions aside and concentrate on things that really matter - funny things. Everything will be along the lines of funny - be it observational funny, my life is funny, here’s a joke & it’s funny, your face is funny, my life is funny .... funny funny funny. You get the point, right? Now I know what you must be thinking and probably saying out loud - “But Aditi, funny is relative” to which I would like to say that “I don’t believe in relative or relatives or relations”. 

So, I don’t know why in every relationship - best friends, husband and wife, brother sister, sister brother, brother brother, sister sister, mother daughter, mother son, son mother, father mother, father daughter, owner dog, dog owner… there has to be one person who is funnier than the other. And that particular person never wants to accept it. Like take my case for example, clearly I am funnier than my Husb (new acronym). But he is so blind to that fact. And, what’s worse is that he is not only blind to the fact, he is also a thief because he trashes all my jokes and then steals them and then passes them off as his own. He is quite shaatir. Between me and him, it's kind of like that Chandler-Ross episode of the joke in Playboy. I mean look, humour is like a machine; it needs oiling and maintenance and I am all for oily, greasy things. Heres a Did You Know fact btw. Did you know that truffle oil isn’t actually truffle oil? Most of the truffle oil that we purchase from the market isn’t original truffle oil at all ... it’s fake. Pretty much like most people. 

Which brings me to the thought - if people are fake, then would the opposite be original? Often we hear people say “Yaar Aditi (or any other generic name inserted here), that girl Swati naa….she’s so fake!”. But if Swati wasn’t fake, would people compliment her by saying “Yaar Aditi, that Swati is so original.” Really, why isn’t that a commonly used compliment? I would for example, prefer a statement like this. “Aditi, kuch bhi kaho yaar, that Swati is a moti but she is so original ... like 100%”. I would like such compliments directed at me as well, occasionally. But more than that, I would like some form of appreciation for my humour too, like any form really. Say a compliment like “original”, as I have already established, is one. Even money or gift vouchers are a form of compliment. 

I think a sense of humour is the most undervalued quality in a woman. Like all people ask for is “fair, tall, slim and trim girl chahhiye”. But what about sense of humour? What about “I want a girl who is fair, slim, trim, tall and funny?” And you could throw in “original” too if you are really into this compliment, not me though, I am okay-ish about it. 

Anyway, it was appreciation for humour we were talking about and it is appreciation I mean whole heartedly. I believe it is important for each and every one of us to take that little time out in our life, go up to someone, tap them on their shoulder, smile and tell them they are funny. Because beauty is only skin deep, humour is cranium deep, and the brain is the most important part of the human body. 

I am sitting in my office and typing out this whole blog at the risk of being caught. But I got a little time off and decided - what is that ONE topic that I feel very strongly about. Of course the first topic that came to mind was Irritable Bowel Syndrome which I suffer from but I decided to stop digging deeper. I needed something more surface level, tbh. And so, I knew it had to be …. jokes. 

I will end this post with a joke I recently told my colleague and he didn’t find it funny which is fine because I figured he doesn’t have a cranium. 

Oh, man!

A hyperbole totally ripped into this bar and destroyed EVERYTHING.

Fin.

Bombay is Bombay is Bombay

Its been two months of pleasant surprises and "huh? What did you just say?" here in my Bombay office. I like working with these people, but there's no denying it—they're also a little strange. I'm going to list the strange quirks and typical responses that I come across on a daily basis here:

1. Be rude. It is the medium of communication; it is healthy. Saying things like, "Aaye kya time waste karta hai rey bhondu" to even a 70 year old is normal. These phrases and tones cut across all age and designation hierarchies. If you don't speak like you are the king of the world, you are immediately made to feel like an outsider.

I now regularly make my boss wait when she calls out to me. I still haven't gotten around to using the usual phrase thrown at the boss- "Ayee kya hai..! tu ruk na!" But......I'm getting there.

2. Talking about standard phrases reminds me of another thing.The usage of the word "tu". You become a "tu" in the first meeting in Bombay. In Delhi, 99% people spend their entire lives trying to build a "tu" relationship with people and mostly fail. 99.9% people in Delhi are referred to as "aap". Also, 'yes' is "haanji" or "haan" in Delhi. 'Yes' in Bombay is a grunt.

3. While we speak of speech, let's also discuss the condition of Hindi here. Speaking in (what I assume is regular) Hindi immediately makes you an outsider. I have been working on deteriorating my Hindi for the past two months just so I can fit in. Its hard work..but I think I'm improving.

4. Accent. You've got to have an accent, my friend. English, Hindi, Marathi, Urdu, French. Everything needs to be spoken in an accent. What accent is this, you may ask? American? British? Russian? To that I would like to say....

I have no idea.

5. "Haan bollll naaaa!"

This is the first time I am talking to you, I just said hi. I was hoping we could have a pleasant conversation, maybe even become friends...is what you think. 

But the sudden snap makes you feel- Why are you making me feel like I've been pestering you for eternity? For every greeting you are presented with an impatient reply- "haan bol NA!"

Okay man! Relax.

6. Here I would like to take the opportunity to enlighten you about a beautiful, golden response which confuses me no end because I don't understand the attitude behind it. "Chalega."

Hi, can you send out that mail?
Chalega

Your report is pathetic. Rework it.
Chalega

Your dad just died. You need to cremate him.
Chalega

Can you jump out of the window?
Haan chalega

Our Delhi moms often would insert this phrase during their loud, hollering sessions which went something like "I am sick of your chalega attitude in life!!"

Here "chalega" definitely has more respect. I recently heard my company's MD say "chalega." They use it like it's a free country. Disturbing.

7. Vada pav. This is actually a delicacy. It is consumed during meals, in between meals, when hungry, when not. It can be consumed by a Bombay-ite at any time of the day; sometimes even while sleeping. An average Bombay person's dream consists of many random images with a vada pav in the background. There is a separate category of beggars who beg for ONLY vada pavs. There are vada pav vending machines here. Everyone likes vada pav. Everyone is a vada pav.

Bombay is a funny place...its unique. But very charming. It's a free city; only a fool would hate it. You may wear what you want, say what you feel, do what you wish and enjoy the revelry around ....there's something here for everyone! For the uninitiated, I love Bombay. I really do.

Tabula Rasa

Back to the drawing board? Not really. Everything seems pretty; different pretty. A different drawing board. My board has many colours now—there's a bright yellow here, and an orange there. It's got hits of blues and specks of grey. It's a fresh coat. It's still drying. Some colours are running. And mixing. I only want to watch. This is just the first coat.

It's not easy, I think to myself sometimes. A moment after I realise, it couldn't be easier than this. My mind has a mind of its own. My thoughts are running  everywhere. In the past and sometimes in the near future. During blank moments of thoughtlessness, it slips back to the past. The one I recently left behind. The one that I will NEVER leave behind, I tell myself.

My present has never been so prominent. It's got multiple stories. Each moment is new.  

I am me but I am not the same.

Oh look. A new coat. A fresh one.

I am dripping.

If only this could work

So many friends I am havingg

Today, I decided to pay a remembrance to all the amazing little friends I've had throughout my childhood.  These were ones I rescued, fed, bathed, fed and looked after and who finally left me by either dying, running away or being stolen.

1. Mickey, the squirrel:  He was my brother's, actually. He invaded my brother's head, made a home there, shat on it, slept on it and thought the dense mass of curls was home. He never left his head to come say hello to us. I was too small and too scared of him. My dad found him one day while driving home from work (ah! a potential pet, he thought!). A baby squirrel, sitting near a tree, lost and lonely without a mom. I don't know how he left us but we were told he was sent to a "farm" with many more squirrels. So no harm done, right :) He's probably playing there still, must be 30 years old now.

2. A series of anonymous pups: We got a new pup home almost everyday (the neighbourhood bitch was quite frisky, you see). Brother and I would feed them, play with them and mom would scorn and disapprove. Dad was okay, but one day we realised that the pups needed to be clothed. So we made all of them wear my dad's T-shits, vests and underwear (why did we choose my dad's wardrobe, I will never know). But after that, my dad decided this little shenanigans needed to stop because he was running out of inner wear. And so all our pets were banned from being brought home. 

3. Kittu, the baby bird: One day, while my cousin and I were playing in my grandparents house, we saw a little a baby bird fall from a nest, on the floor. Her mother, it seemed, had abandoned her. Cousin and I immediately decided— "She will be our daughter," and daughter, she truly was. We took the role of Indian moms very seriously and decided the best way to bring up a child was by feeding it.....a LOT. Every time the bird opened her mouth to cry (probably was asking us to leave her alone but who knows, probably not) we fed her — from bread, vegetables, sugar, rice, curd to chocolate, mithai and more, we ensured she had a full, wholesome diet. Everything but that wretched bird food—ew, our daughter won't eat that! She slept in our room, we sang her lullaby's. She was becoming very well fed, and soon, we realised, this could be a problem. Her stomach started growing, and so we contemplated a strict diet plan. But nothing seemed to work. Her crying made us feed her more, her bloating tummy made us cry more. Eventually, her digestive system gave way....and she passed away. We gave her a very formal burial, just so you know.
This is a true story btw. No exaggeration.

4. Kittu, the cat: You see, when it comes to names, clearly I am very unoriginal. Her mother was killed in a tragic accident and so dad got her home. She was christened Kittu, in remembrance of not only my previously failed 'bringing up a bird project' but according to dad, it was a Ranjan tradition to name all cats 'Kittu'. As the drill goes, I took her in as my own child, washed her (she didn't need washing btw), fed her, tried to clothe her (dads underwear to the rescue!), tried to establish friendship between her and my family dog (who tried to eat her) and basically was a complete slave to her. She stayed in the basement and was extremely needy. I would wake up at 5 in the morning to feed  her milk in an ink dropper. I taught her how to climb up the basement stairs into the living room. Later I realised it was a big mistake. She would climb up, 'meow' on the dog's face and create a ruckus at home. Every day after school I would bolt towards the basement, hug her and tell her how much I missed her. She was always hungry and very space demanding. While our friendship lasted for a few months, our family dog decided it was time to turn on the dramatics—he stopped eating, threw a tantrum and basically made us get rid of the cat.

5. Jimmy, the tortoise: While driving to a new city that we were to call home, my dad yet again spotted a potential pet on the road—Jimmy the tortoise. I happily took him in and he sat on my lap throughout the journey. I had BIG plans for Jimmy, because our new house had a big garden. He would be the king of a new green, kingdom. I was happy about two things mainly—he would eat grass, thus I would not have to chart a diet plan for him. The second, he was a tortoise. They live for like a 100 years. Nothing I do will ever lead to his death. It was a win- win situation. He and I remained friends for precisely one night. The next morning he was stolen from our garden.

6. Red cap gold, the red cap gold fish: Now in retrospect, I do feel my parents should have staged an intervention. I mean, every afternoon I would sit in front of our aquarium, and talk to the fish, REALLY loudly (because I thought they wouldn't be able to hear me through the aquarium glass). I fed them fish food, chit-chatted with them, and considered them my new best friends. However, this friendship too was cursed. One day, our family dog jumped up, pulled them out of the aquarium and ate them. I was horrified, disgusted and heartbroken. There could be no burial. But I didn't speak to the dog for a whole day.


7. Mickey, the squirrel: Yes, just the way all cats were to be named Kittu, we decided all squirrels would be called Mickey. To cut a long story short — I fed him, took care of him and well, it was all short lived.  All in all, a lovely time spent and so many new lessons to learn.

Advertising and all that

Did I tell you about the time when an old ex-close-friend's-best friend very sneakily stole one of my picture and made an ad out of it? No? Then let me tell you about it. An old ex-close-friend's-best friend very sneakily stole one of my picture and made an ad out of it.

But then it's alright because post that we became friends and there was very little awkwardness left. And he also temporarily made me famous on facebook. I miss being famous.

Good day to you all.

What's on my mind...YOU tell me

I'm on crossroads and it's making me happyunhappy. I'm still where I was two years back, but I'm getting promoted. I've started a little creative project but I'm constantly worried about it. I haven't achieved all that I aspired to two years back but I've got a lot that I never thought of.

Happyunhappy. Its a paradox. From close quarters, it seems like nothing has changed. From afar, it's been one hell of a ride. I wake up every morning hoping for something new but nothing happens. Every weekend in retrospect I realise something has changed. I wait for time to pass by quickly; when I pause to breathe, I panic that time has flown.

Happyunhappy. Sometimes I think of my life and wonder, "What the hell is happening." Sometimes I sigh and smile, "Better this than that." She asks me, "What's up dude, update." I think, I ponder, I struggle, I resign and say, "Nothing." While sitting behind a rickshaw listening to some old melody, looking pensively at the road my life flashes like a movie reel and I think, "Life, stop being so eventful."

Happyunhappy. I dread the routine as it drains out the need to be creative, as I get ready to go to bed I giggle a little thinking how funny my own jokes are. I haven't made new friends but as I roll out the invites every 22nd November, I realise I need to trim the list. I detest my work most days, I fall in love with it when I see it in print.

Happyunhappy my days are. Confused, perturbed, irked and agitated through the day, I generally find that I still sleep well. It's rather annoying and mostly amusing. I don't know the state of my mind.