Grocery Shopping – Trauma Unlimited

Act 1, Scene 1

Friday Night, After having returned from the weekly dining out : Location – Bedroom

I am lying on my stomach, biting my nails, trying to finish off as many pages of QBVII before the inevitable statement “Ufff .. kotobaar eki boi porbe bolte paro ? Biyer por theke count korleow toh at least 4 times hobe. Friday night and you are reading”. And within moments the statement comes. Albeit differently. “Ei .. otho toh, otho. Come on. Start typing on your iPhone. Eto daam diye ghontaar jinish kinecho, make use of it. Lekho – Ami grocery list bolchi”. My whole world collapses. The sky falls on my head and I am rudely reminded that I have to go grocery shopping with her tomorrow.

Act 1, Scene 2

30 minutes later.

The list seems endless. Damn ! And shows no sign of nearing the finish line. Tap tap tap .. goes my finger, with a hasty sneak at Facebook and then back again Tap tap tap. The darned thing is so unwieldy. Am yet to figure out how to disable the ‘intelligent’ way the phone predicts the word. Jeera becomes ‘Jeers’, Dhonepata becomes ‘Shone Pata’, Moida becomes ‘Noida’. Give me my paper and pen any day.

Act 2, Scene 1

Wee hours of Saturday morning

At precisely 06.00 AM the alarm clock on my side of the bed (mind you, on my side of the bed) shrills itself to glory and I open one bleary eye, grope around and bang on the snooze button and go off to sleep. Peace. But only for the ensuing 5 minutes. And again the whistle blows. Again a bang on the snooze button. This time a little bit harder, after which I bury my face in(side) the pillow trying to join the shredded links to slumber and the wonderful dream of Monica Bellucci that I was having. Just when she has me tied up on the bed with her silk stockings and she is about to ravage me, another alarm goes off !! This time a little farther away, out of my reach, kept in the middle of the night by my wife, so that I am forced to wake up. Women !!

Act 2, Scene 2

30 minutes later, in the taxi, after asking her how long the shopping would take.

Kuurchi: “Why ? You have plans of going for tennis, is it ? Last weekend you promised that you would not this weekend.” And before I can even answer, “Chuck it. Why do you promise things when you cannot keep them ? You promised that you would be cooking the chicken today”

Wow !!! Double whammy !!

Me: “See ? I never said that I would go for tennis. I just wanted to know when we would be back as I wanted to have the chicken marinated for a longer time. That’s all. Ki bhaabe misconstrue koro amake dekhecho toh ?” (And I breathe a tiny sigh of relief, phew, that was a close one).

Kuurchi: “I am soooooo sorry Gampa. You really would be cooking today ? How sweet of you.”

Me: “Of course I would.” (Shit .. had I been a little tactful, I could have slithered out)

Kuurchi: “You can turn right and park in the Mustafa Taxi Stand please” (to the taxi driver).

Act 2, Scene 3

Some 45 minutes later, in Level 01 of Mustafa.

I stand. With the push cart in front of me. Beside the Revlon counter. Totally disoriented. She has come and asked me opinions on 4 different shades of lipstick and when I dutifully nodded the third time, she looks at me and says “Uuff .. etto confused keno tuumi ??? Ekta opinion dite paro na thik kore”. I meekly point out that all four of them had appeared similar and all four of them would look ravishing on her. She gives me the “give up” look and says “Plisss !! Give me a break. One was Coco Craving, the other was In The Red, the 3^rd one was Rosy and the last one was Really Red. Je jinish ta bojho na, sheta niye KENO matha ghamaaow ?”

Hey ! You were the one who asked me !

15 more minutes and yet not having decided the shade(s), "Chalo let's go up and finish off the groceries on Level 02 and on the way back would pick up one from here along with one for Boudi" (aaah trying to make up for the last spat that she had with her). Dutifully I push the cart into the lift and make the solitary mistake of hitting the wrong button. We end up on the basement.

"Offf ho. Ki je karona." And the very next second "Achha bhaloi hoyeche neeche eshe. I have to check out one thing". I wince. "one thing", from past experience, is an extremely fluid set of words and can range from anything to jewelry to a new ironing board.

Me : “No !! I am not going to turn right. The push cart can be taken only till the lingerie section. Ami okhaane wait korbo na. Last time I felt humiliated !”

Kuurchi : “Ore baba. Just 5 minutes. And don’t act as if you don’t peep into the racks. Who was it that told me about the Triumph Zero Gap ?”

For my sins I am made to stay put. And that too bang in front of the same section. 5 minutes creep onto become 25. Women pass by. Giving me dirty looks. But naturally. I am the lone guy standing amidst the multitude of garters, hoses and the other un-mentionables.

At the stoke of half an hour, she comes back. Empty handed, but with resolution writ large on her face. On seeing my questioning look, she says that she was checking out some swim suits, which she intends to wear when (and if) she loses weight. I say nothing. She says “Tumi bujhbe na. Ami nijeke motivate korchilaam roga howaar jonno. Chalo !!! Ha kore dariye ki dekhcho charidike. Shobaai pervert bolbe”.

Act 2, Scene 4

Level 02 – Grocery Section (at last)

A veritable sea of humanity. I trudge along in the line, pushing the cart. She picks up stuff from the racks. Sometimes doing the vanishing act (How I wish the state stays put) and reappearing with armloads of stuff. Time comes to a standstill. I try to do a juggling act, between managing the cart and tapping on the phone to read out the list, inevitably punctuated by “Dekhle !! Dekhle !! Ekhon bolcho Ginger Paste. Aaage bolte parle na ? Now who would go back all the way ?”. I grin and bear it and make my way to the vegetables section, where in addition to pushing the cart, tapping the phone, my job description includes tearing off the plastic bags from the rolls, fighting with each of them to have them opened up and handing them over to the wife to put the vegetables in.

I pull out the iPod and plug it in to my ears. Selecting the song / album is a function of the number of pushes that I get from a similar unfortunate guy behind me with a push cart and an equally traumatic look on his face.

Kuurchi : "Ki gaan shuncho ? Tomar pishir record kora Bangaal bhashaay gaan ? Uuff !! Repulsive. Tomra Bangaal ra etto uncooth. Class bole jinish tar je ki obhaab .... Oomma !! Koyel!! Kemon acho go tumi ? Kaawtodeeeeeen dekhi na. Oma ! Ki shundor kurti ta porecho go ? Ekhankaar Fab theke kinecho bujhi ? .. Tomaake Shoptomi r din oi kalo Dhaakai shari ta pore je ki aaawshaaadhaaron lagchilo na .. ki bolbo !! Uufff .. Shameek toh shob shomoy bole je you look the best in a saree"... (a few seconds pause) .. "Achha shono amra egoi .. Baba ! Arek joner ja mejaj .. ekhuni hoyto bole uthbe je koro tuumi shopping, ami gelaam. Eei .. phone koro. And do let's catch for lunch one of these days."

I give a keshto-hashi and move on. For a change my wife is alongside me (instead of marching ahead). She looks furtively back and whispers in my ear "Maaaggo !! Ki disgusting. Khuuki sheje boshe r koto din thakbe. Bhor belaay shobji kinte esheche, othocho dekho mukh ta jeno pancake. Nyaaaka. Shojhho korte paari na."

I keep mum (have realised the hard way that's the safest thing to do)

15 minutes later and all vegetables bought. The ordeal is nearing its end.

Kuurchi: “Shono, line up on the weighing counter and have the stuff weighed. And please Shameek, PLEASE ensure that EVERYTHING is weighed. Don’t do it like the last time. Ami fruits niye aschi.”

Another serpentine queue. Reminds me of the Holocaust movies that I have watched. And 7 minutes later,

Kuurchi : (Daaat chepe; every alternate human in Mustafa is a Bong) “Gaawd !! Duudh er bottle weigh korcho keno. Are you mad ! !?”

Me: “Oh ho. Sorry mumma. I was just distracted, thinking if I should cook Chicken Do Piyaza naaki normal Murgir jhol”

A streak of sunshine and the words “Shotti ? Omma how sweet. Golu ekta tuuumi.”

Yeah, if only she could read my mind. A few more of recurrences and I would be buying a one way ticket to the loony-bin.

Rebak Island – In The Middle of Nowhere

Am back.

After a 4 day hiatus in a tiny dollop of greenery surrounded by the turquoise blue Andaman Sea on all sides – a privately owned island called Rebak, a 20 minutes speed boat ride from Langkawi. Soothing to the eyes, a balm to a tired (over worked ?) mind, when you sit atop the black rocks beside the Marina in Rebak, the world around you seems to be a small place that everyone has forgotten – And thankfully so.

Owned by the Taj Group of Hotels, the Rebak Island Taj Resort is the only resort in the whole island and offers you 3 white beaches, 2 of which are inaccessible from anywhere other than from within the island. Corals and thunderous waves would pummel any boat to smithereens if you try to approach the beaches from the outside.

We arrived at Langkawi on a windy morning, the Langkasuka Port, a bare 5 minutes cab ride from the airport. A tiny speedboat, powered by 2 Yamaha outboard motors, tethered to the jetty and my first thought was “Shit ! And we have to ride this to the island !!” .. and I looked towards the horizon. The breakwater (a wall that was created post the Tsunami in Dec 2004, so as to prevent Langkawi from getting washed off again) could be seen far far away and nothing beyond. And I thought again “Ah not that bad, eh !”.

10 minutes into the ride and having crossed the breakwater, I was literally holding onto life, with the boat being tossed around in waves of 15 feet high, extreme winds and sleeting rain. Sitting in the front, beside the Captain’s wheel, the only thing that I could see was the steel girder in the front of the boat (speedboats are always angled upwards). I was singularly trying not to look out of the window to my left. I had done once and I had nearly thrown up. Nothing but a green curtain of waves, building up and rolling, at least 5 feet above the height of the boat and rushing towards us.

Just when I was about to ‘relieve’ myself in my jeans, the rolling suddenly stopped as if by magic. The water was deep turquoise, calm and crystal clear. We did a sharp bend and I heard a “Wow!” from my wife sitting behind me. On looking out of the window I saw a number of yachts lined up inside the Marina. Some wet and some on the dry docks, with their main masts scaling upwards. A solitary Scarlett Minivet was perched at the top of the nearest mast and was peeking down at us. Beady eyed.

We glided through and moored at the Marina jetty and from that moment on, it was sheer luxury. Each and every need was catered to even before we could spell it out. A golf cart at our disposal, we could roam around the motor-able areas of the island.

And when requested for, we were given a Quad Bike which allowed us to go a little jungle exploring. However the adventure had to be cut short when in the midst of the tropical rain forest, while sitting atop the Quad bike and trying to capture the setting sun, a Monitor Lizard (for the Bongs out here, a Monitor Lizard is called a “guui shaap” in India) suddenly decided that it quite liked Raka’s pink sneakers and wanting to taste it, flicked out its 1 foot long tongue and the result was a shriek which must have been heard all the way to Langkawi. I could not decide who was more scared. The lizard or Raka. The lizard reared back, turned around and slithered away on its fat stomach with a last furtive look at Raka before it vanished. I am sure he had a story to tell his family that night.

As for Raka, all that I could hear were “How many times did I tell you NOT to get me here for this ride ? How many times ? And yet you do not listen !! Can you imagine what would have happened ? That crocodile could have snapped off my leg in two !!!! Turn around NOW !!! We are going back !!”

Crocodile ????!! Women ! How conveniently she forgot that it was her who had cajoled me into taking her along with me for the Jungle ride.

Dreading the waves, we went out only a day to the main island to ride up the Cable Car to the bridge where SRK fought Boman Irani in Don – II (the view is just about mind blowing from the top and on a clear day you can see all the way to the southern tip of Thailand) and went shopping for some artifacts to take back home.

For the ones who want to squeeze out the max out of a holiday, you can go island hopping in a boat, mangrove tour, para sailing, jet skiing, crocodile farm, fish farm – et all.

A must visit, Rebak Island would be the perfect weekend gateway, if you are like me, if you are not planning to do much apart from lazing around and getting pampered by the typical Taj hospitality. For me, a seaside holiday should be spent in fitting my 6 feet lanky frame on an arm chair in the balcony, just a few feet away from the lapping waves and day dreaming with a book in the hand. And the Rebak Island Taj Resort offered me just that.

Am a tad boring.

I know that.

Wishful Thinking

Have you ever sat and wondered what are the things that you “wished you were” ? Have you ever sat and felt “Wish I could be like ....... (sigh)” Here is a compiled list of the ones that I wish for.

1. I wish I had intense eyes like Anthony Hopkins and yet the physique of Arjun Rampal.
2. I wish I could be as sexy as Jack Nicholson. (Nobody, just NOBODY is so sexy)
3. I wish I could own a Willy’s jeep. The original one.
4. I wish I knew all the table manners.
5. I wish I had a female fan following like Brad Pitt.
6. I wish I could have written a blockbuster like Chetan Bhagat’s first.
7. I wish I could smell like Ferrari Black ALL the time.
8. I wish I could sketch like Samir Biswas.
9. I wish I did not look like Shakti Kapoor whenever I don on my new Oakley’s.
10. I wish I had an arse like John Abraham’s.
11. I wish I could dress up in a faded jeans and a t-shirt and yet look suave.
12. I wish I could speak as well as PKV.
13. I wish I could sing as well as Shyamal Mitra.
14. I wish I could don on the apron and cook magic for my wife (Not always – would be setting a bad precedent).
15. I wish I had the money to matter.
16. I wish I owned an airlines like Virgin (and the stewardesses, mind you).
17. I wish I did not chew my nails.
18. I wish I was as enigmatic as Budhhodeb Guho.
19. I wish I had one more Omega and one more Tag.
20. I wish I had no toothache.
21. I wish I could understand “What Women Want”.
22. I wish I could PIP.
23. I wish I could dig my nose in public, make a naaru and stick ‘em everywhere, marking my territory.
24. I wish …..
25. I wish ………….
26. I wish I had met Kuurchi years earlier.

Inspired by an article by Scribbler. They say “imitation is the greatest form of flattery.”

PIP (Poop In Peace)

Have you ever noticed how :

(a) You inevitably forget to mute your cell phone when you visit the poop can in the office ? and

(b) You inevitably get a call from your Boss when you are "delivering" the "goods" ?

Every time my phone goes into the MJ mode (my ring tone now is a tribute to MJ - The last un-earthly laugh in the Thriller song) in the confines of the 3 ft x 4 ft cubicle, I know it's gotta be my Boss. That guy has an uncanny ability to po(o)p up in my life in the most un-opportune of moments.

This is how the conversation goes most of the time :

B: Update me on the status Sam ? (he just is NOT able to pronounce my name right)

Me : Well, work is on, 2 modules delivered. One more 'on the way' (this I mention after I peep through the tiny aperture between my opulent tummy and the rim of the throne and observe 2 tiny crocodiles underneath the water and bubbling and one more in 'suspended animation' stage)

B : So what is the issue ? Why has it not been done by now ?

Me : Well .. Time was a constraint.

B : Do you need more resources to give you a helping hand ?

Me : No no. Thanks for the help though (Huh ! 'Helping Hand' .. what a joke. As if they would 'pull' things out)

B : You don't seem very conversational this morning ..

Me : Who ? Me ? Of course not. I am good. (With a grimace, as I try to 'push' the W-I-P version out, and end up emitting a noise).

B : Hey ! What was that noise ? You again watching the re-runs of the Wimbledon on YouTube in office hours ? I could hear Steffi Graph grunting with the serve.

Me : Huh ? Oh no NO !

B : Something is really wrong .. You ok maaiite ?

Me : Yeah, yeah, am ok. (I feel like screaming 'No I am NOT and I want to tear off your brown beard for not letting me poop in peace’).

B : Aaaaah .. now I know what's eatin’ ya .. must be the wifey .. Yeah, yeah I know how painful they can be .. remember, I was married thrice.

Me : Uuumm .. no no, that's not the issue. Am good. Am good (Maaaiiite, just GO !!!! I am blissfully married. Not like you)

B : Hey, why don't we meet up this weekend for a beer or two @ Clarke Quay ?

Me : Yup, sure. (No !!! I don't want to have another session of listening to your escapades in Thailand)

B : So, any more updates ?

Me : Well .. one more just 'delivered'. (Now there are 3 floating around)

B : Good. Listen, you MUST let me know when the whole thing finishes. Talk to ya later

Me : Sure (Trust me, you don't want to know)

I end the call. Wipe and flush. As I stand in front of the mirror and count the number of grey hairs on my side burns (the wife has been pestering for quite some time now that I start dying my hair), I find a very familiar voice nearby "Honey, sorry, I was on the phone with Sam .. that bugger needs to be chased now and then .. .. What ? Oh WOW !!! .. So your hubby is out of town, is it ? … Then why don’t I pack some dinner and come down at 10 ? You still do have my toothbrush at your place, right ?"

I shockingly stare at the locked poop cubicle .. 2 counters away from the one where I had been moments ago. I can see the tip of the brown shoes protruding out nearly out of the door.

Bugger ? Bugger me ? Huh ???

Bugger YOU !!!!

*******

PS :

1. Ronjha-Moyee, is this a perfect example of OCD ?
2. Inspired by a conversation in the next poop cubicle today morning. The bloke was talking to his wife and taking down the grocery list for shopping on the way back home.