8 life saving tips for every Groom in India!

 Tip 1. Sleep Man- I agree you are getting married for the first time and it’s your last day of bachelorhood, but try to get some sleep before the D- day. Chances are you might dose off in the car or might end up looking like a zombie in your wedding album. Your kids may disown you if they discover your wedding photographs.

Tip 2. Say no to water- It’s good to drink water to keep you hydrated, to lose toxins and all the goodness it brings along. But hey! You can do this for the rest of your life. Spare your wedding day. Too much of water intake can drown with frequent loo breaks and the consequential embarrassments . You may even be required to control your overflowing emotions till you get a breathing space in that hectic schedule.  Don’t do that.

Tip 3. Play safe: This is not the time to experiment with your hair. Carry a safe, tried and tested hair cut for the wedding. Go for a haircut at least 2 weeks before the wedding day; doing so will help you grow back your natural form. Saving you from a bad hair day!

Tip 4. Hold on: if you are a South Indian and not used to wearing Dhoti, you need a belt. And if you are wearing a silky Dhoti, then God help you. Imagine doing the customary circles and  holding your dhoti instead of  bride's hand. Worst, what if it falls down. Don’t be a overnight Youtube sensation.

Tip 5. Don’t be flashy:  I agree you are a man of class and love to wear underwear with those polka dot designs, rainbow shades, Mickey mouse imprints on it Awesome.. But try to avoid it if you are wearing a see- through Dhoti. A lighter shaded underwear , preferably white can save your ass. 

Tip 6. Don’t stare: Chances are you will not recognize all the people on stage. The one who come to congratulate you and grin heartily during group photo sessions. Please don’t stare at them. They are just your relatives.

Tip 7. Have control: There’s this real hot chick on stage, coming to you with a sensuous smile and luring handshake. A normal you will never leave such a golden chance in vain. But remember it’s your wedding and most importantly she can be your wife’s friend.  Be in control.

Tip 8. Stay fit: Like it or not you have to be fit on your wedding. Indian weddings are all about touching feet and taking blessings from elders.  Do sit ups, pull ups, stretching exercises, even push –ups. Just do it. It won’t look nice if you catch a cramp in the middle of whole revelry. Your wife can have doubt on your capabilities too.

Pati Patni aur Gas Cylinder!

“So what does the groom do”?

 “Oh he is an MBA. That’s good but then does he have a Gas Connection”?

 In South India if a bride is gauged by the length of her hair and fairness, the groom is weighed by his salary and Gas connection. And in the wake of frightening scarcity of gas cylinders around, there’s little to sympathize with the grooms of this country. 

It’s a ritual in our community to kick start the wedding invitation process with the in-laws. The first invitation is handed over to the bride’s family invoking their auspicious presence and blessing. It's not an elaborate affair though. This is also the time when the father- in- law comes in for an intimate chat with the groom asking his secret wish to be fulfilled. 

Statistics point that erstwhile grooms have made it a point to look no less than the best South Indian heroes on this special occasion to impress their in-laws. 

Who am I to beat history? 

As expected the invitation card was handed over by my father to his peer and the entire gathering broke into a revelry mode, except two individuals.

My mother and mother in law!

My mother and my mother- in- law were in trance and shed tears and holding each other’s palms as though signing a partnership agreement. No one knew why they were doing so, or for that matter the need for such an emotional drama in a happy occasion like that. I didn’t bother to think what could have been in their minds, since I had better things to focus on.

A sumptuous spread welcomed us in full glory followed by some candid photo session steered by cousins. In between I exchanged fleeting glances and some on air romance with my bride.

How far is your office from home?

My father in law popped in with this question blocking our stealthy glances

15 Kilometers, I replied

What?

 15 kilometers seemed a not so happy answer to him. He shifted his glance to the ceiling and stared there for next 30 seconds. I wondered whether he was envisioning his daughter running 15 kilometers with a lunch box in wedding attire on a scorching afternoon for her husband. 

How do you travel? 

Bike, I promptly replied. 

All of a sudden I had feeling whether he was planning to buy me a car or some kind of transportation. I have heard father- in- laws doing such appraisal talks before wedding. I couldn’t help crossing my fingers. 

Do you have a Gas Connection?

What?

Let me tell you that life is all about surprises. Most of them unfortunately weird and unsolicited. 

The next twenty some minutes were dedicated to understanding the significance of having a gas connection and trust worthy gas agent in a fruitful married life. “Gas cylinders are directly proportional to every married man’s peace of mind. The fuller it is the higher remains the domestic harmony level. The moment it runs out empty, you will see the man of the house running devastated”

So my son, make sure you have your cylinders in place. Manassilayo? Blurted my father in law.

That was a quite a piece of talk. Full of Gas.

On my way back I was reminded of a very important lesson, the one I had left behind in 6^th Standard.

Life is all about matters. Solid liquid and Gas. Never underestimate or ignore any of them.

At least if you want to be happily married.

Uncommonly in love!

Are you tensed about marriage?

What?

I asked are you tensed about marriage?

Me??? No way I am super cool.

Oh is it!!  Then why are you eating away tissues papers instead of  the Samosas on your plate?

                  My friend Nandini had a point and I couldn’t defend my gluttony for worries. It was one those occasions where you have no answer but a blushed smile that says ‘ Guys I am screwed’.  Even otherwise I have never won any arguments with her. She is invincible.

Known in the closer circles for impeccable sense of humor and ingenious skills to tease, Nandini is often the star of our get togethers.  She can charge up any party with her trade mark laughter, a skill she claims to have endowed from her mother. She was right, I was tensed. Tensed about zillion things about my marriage, most of them ridiculously trivial to the world.  I had doubts like; 

• What if my dhoti slips down when I am marching to the temple?

• What if I feel like vomiting when I am shoved down with customary spoons of milk and banana  by elder ladies during wedding?

•  What if I catch cold and have a terrible running nose?

•  What if I my tummy get upset?

• What if there is a Hartal on the wedding day?

• Or if the tire goes puncture and I reach late only to find no one in the Mandapam!

There is little one can blame a person who thinks about his marriage from an intense crisis management perspective. I was only thinking proactive and  in between I ate some tissue papers thinking it to be Samosas.

What’s the big deal??

While I was busy mulling over my not so silly feelings Nandini was on phone looking disturbed, with an expression she is not used to.  She stood up and strolled to the wash basin at the restaurant with her phone held to the ears.  I knew there was something brewing up, but poking in an unsolicited fashion can be a little annoying. I finished my coffee and signaled the waiter for the bill.

“So If you have finished eating the tissues shall we make a move.  She sat back wiping her hand in typical Madrasi style.

Everything all right, who was on phone? I asked her cutting in between.

Oh that call, it was Sidharth, called from office to say that he would come and pick me up from the next junction. We got to meet some relatives on the way.  I told him that we are here, She quipped.

We decided to walk till the next junction to meet Sidharth which was half a kilometer from the restaurant.

Nandini got married to Sidharth 6 years ago. A perfect example of  how opposite poles attract to each other, they have been a couple with dissimilar tastes and priorities. While Nandini lived in a world of books, meetings and exaggerations, Sidharth preferred to live in present with minimal words and expressions.  Their personal choices hardly marry each other, and the same applies to their professional goals too. For the world and society it may seem nothing in common between them, nothing that makes them a so called made for each other pair.  But that’s not true.

 I pity the world for its shallow outlook and superficial takes on lives around.  We often are prejudiced with retarded approaches in connecting people with stories and conclusions conveniently in a manner that pleases us.

We are all writers in our own rights. Aren’t we?

Love isn’t about pizzas, café’s, cards, gifts, movies and kuchikoos alone.  It’s beyond that and I learned it seeing this special couple together. There hasn’t been a single weekend where Sidharth hasn’t joined Nandini in Chennai continually for a year where she was working on a special assignment and while he was based out of at Trivandrum.  He made it a point to book tickets in advance, forgo his personal agendas and travel 1400 Kms every week to accompany his wife on weekends only to rescue her from the loneliness of Chennai. If not for him I don’t think a career centric woman like Nandini would  leave her high flung job to settle in a tier 3 city like this. They may not be seen strolling malls, sipping ice teas, shopping exorbitantly but then they have got what’s integral to any relationship. 'Mutual Respect'

“Hello by the way tell me what are you going to wear for reception, with your current  figure I am sure you would look like ‘Winnie the Pooh’ in your wedding album”

Nandini was back with her wits pulling my leg yet again with a winning score card and infectious smile.

We crossed the road and walked past the stand still traffic to reach the by lane where Sidharth was standing next to his car. As usual he greeted me with a firm shake hand and concerns over my growing waist line.

Hey what’s that cover, let me see?

Nandini quizzed Sidharth

She opened the back door of the car stretching her hands for the packet kept on the seat.  She pulled the cover back with an anxiety of a child. It read ‘The Immortals Of  Meluha’ , a book she wanted to buy last week.

It brought an instant smile on both their faces whipping away the delusions of the world around them.  And I only stood in testimony to a wonderful relationship of two unlikely souls who were truly in love. 

The Official Interview

Every time I talk about a place I end up talking about its food. I have been to Trivandrum umpteen times and I am familiar with the place by its culinary mood swings than by its official landmarks. My very close friends at Radio Mirchi have already acquainted me to the most yummilicious desi food joints of the town. I love Trivandrum for its slang, for its unapologetic rawness and never ending list of  temples. Trivandrum is good and is awesome for people I must say who love to work for the government. 

  But that day it was different .  One interview was going to change my life forever. When I say an interview I am not very sure to call it that way but then by all means it was an interview.  

Indeed a stress full one

I reached her house to be welcomed by a battalion of well built yet modestly dressed future in laws.  My home work on the family album came in handy in identifying faces.

Branch Manager?

Illa uncle it’s Brand Manager.

Brand as in….. Brandy!!!

Introducing yourself is an art and I am not an artist. I have always goofed up in giving out a rosy picture of mine to others whenever it mattered.   My unexpected black out syndromes, abrupt linguistic disorders and tentative abdominal malfunctions have complicated my life a lot. I begin making simple matters sound complex  with definitions that have no meaning in today's google world. I am more than fine defining myself in writing but speaking out confidently in chivalrous fashion that too in front of my future in-laws was like clearing CAT and making it to IIMs. 

I was served with an elaborate platter of palatable delicacies in front of me. Ranging from conventional laddoos to convoluted jilebis to imported dry fruits. On a normal day  it won’t take me more than 20 minutes  to eat away the whole some spread but that day it wasn’t about my tummy . My heart needed attention and I had to keep my eyes out from those  momentary distractions. 

By now I had completed introducing myself 5 times.  Each time I finished there’s a new entrant to the party and I begin explaining it all over again. To her uncles, cousins and even to the bacha party. Actually that gave me confidence and I repeated my spiced up achievements story to the gallery again and again.

So what’s next?

Next is what uncle?

Silence is  scary. I can vouch for that . Suddenly the whole gathering went to a mute mode. It was like those moments in popular reality shows where the host ruminates over elimination episodes  and contestants  wait with bated breath and filled up eyes.

 Will I be selected?

 Do I have enough sms support?

 Will I get a wild card entry ?

 Will I be the winner?

 Or should I leave the show?

The questions were many and I wanted to shout my lungs out to the whole clan of people sitting around asking for a yes. Her dad sat as composed as Budhha, periodically staring at my tummy . It aggravated my whole composure and scraped away the little confidence I had in me.

I looked around like a lost puppy in an airport (that’s too much may be in a bus stand) for some relief and support. And suddenly  I had a glimpse of  her. A smile of hers got me hooked from the farther corner of the hall. There she was winking at me , behind her expressionless mother  with a thumbs up .

It doesn't take a man a lot to feel better. We men feel better with most simplest of things. A smile does wonders for us. We are like that you know.

That was the best interview I had so far. And I had the yes from the most important interviewers of my life.

 A yes from Lord Padmanabhan 

 A yes from Trivandrum..

I love you Netravati Express!

“You sure it’s the north railway station right?

God it’s already 1.30pm and still we have another 2 kilometers to cross”  

She expressed frantic concerns for her train, luggage and dear amma who was waiting at home. Honestly speaking I wanted her to miss the train and probably postpone her journey and sit with me in café coffee day.  She was sitting pillion to me straddling her bag and cell phone busy reassuring her mother periodically.

I don’t know what made me do that. Blame it on filmy disposition  I decided to open up my mind right in front of hundreds at the railway station. 

“Sree I got to tell you this now.  

Do you know which train is that?

“ What's wrong with you?, we just took the tickets right!  ” she replied staring at her watch.

    Yeah! 

"I swear by that train that my feelings for you is as strong as those railway tracks. I might be late to tell you this but then most of the Indian trains do run late and still make it to their destinations.  I want to be on a journey with my heart reserved exclusively for you.  I love you and want to be with you for the rest of my life as long as Indian Railway exists"

It was a treat to watch her after my bizarre confession. She fiddled her phone nervously avoiding an eye to eye contact. Of course she was smiling, probably at my weird style of proposal. I put her bags comfortably after placing her into a spacious compartment. She paused and looked at me. 

"Reply darling whom are you waiting for! Don’t think like a rank holder. Put aside your accounting skills and think from heart. This is the test of life, grace me with an answer"

  I couldn’t help mumbling.

“Would it be fine if I reply to you once I reach home, I need to think” Beggars are never deciders, they hardly have choices.

“Yeah that’s kind of ok” I replied half heartedly  

I must say that the estrogen command overrules the strongest and even the bravest of men. She waved me a good bye as her train chugged its heart ahead in full momentum. I walked back through the overbridge wondering what destiny had in store for me. And then I felt a vibration from within.

 My cell phone beeped.

 I prayed as I looked on to the screen just like a troubled batsman looking for green signal from third empire.

“I think I am in love with you too. And I wish from the bottom of my heart to spend rest of my life’s journey with you”

 That’ was the finest moment of my life and I understood why Mani Ratnam showed  railway station shots in his every film. The entire station seemed like in chorus with me. Train announcements sounded a lot more sweeter and I felt like hugging the ticket collector who was busy tallying the checked in passengers.

I was in love.

Hail Indian Railways...

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

The Rank Holder Friend

“How is her looks? I mean her statistics” you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to make out what the scene is. My male counterparts were busy elaborating the fleeting glance outside the principal cabin. Ok! So there is a new admission in my class, another geeky soul is making into the world of management and of course is going to be my new class mate. And she is already in the news- She is a rank holder, awesome!

I was not excited at least super excited as much as my friends were to meet Miss fresh face. Blame it on my advertising career. I have been fortunate on a regular basis to see high heeled models up close in real life endorsing gold, beedi, washing powder, what not on earth. I have always found them incredibly dumb with all glamour and no brain syndrome. And this new girl for sure is not a beauty pageant winner, so why hurry after all she is going to be my colleague for the next two long years of grill and gruel

“There’s an element of management in Ramayana too” can anyone relate to what I am saying “My professor with his dangling spectacle pointed his lean fore finger on to the first row students, waking up the 2 row guys. That’s MBA- you can add a dash of principles and equations to any remote topic and can still evolve a management solution; Practicing such acts regularly will entitle you a management consultant tag.

But then what has Ramayana to do with management, as much as I know Rama and his brethren never had a business background they were royal souls and same is applicable to Ravana. None of us had any clue about what my professor was hinting at but then being management students we refused to give up. Few talked about the power of crisis management and HR practices implemented during warfare against Ravana. Breach of privacy act against Shoorpanika, Insurance claim after hanuman attack towards Lanka restoration, yeah we did try really hard. So much that my professor decided to give us a break in between his epic session.

Relieved and rejuvenated I picked my cell phone to check in any missed calls. And that’s when I noticed the girl passing me by. The rhythmic collision of her anklets made her presence audible even before she came visible. I took a while to sum up my senses before I could turn and actually confront her. But by then she was out of my sights, leaving only traces of foot chimes from distance.

God I missed her!!!

Assignments came piling on as days passed. By now I knew her name and the place where she belonged to and of course her much talked about first rank in B com. I must say my work experience never came in handy while interacting with girls, I remained shy and stupid and I never dared to make the first move. I gazed her in awe during internal exams seeing the amount of extra sheets she demanded leaving me with no doubts on her academic credentials.

Relationships at times come alive with most unlikely reasons, in my case it was accountancy. I hated the subject and could never differentiate between a balance sheet and bed sheet. Debits and credits were like villains in Yash Chopra flicks. And there she was born with super affluent accounting background, and so much of love for the subject that immediately made her my study partner.

“How many years of work experience do you have? I mean that’s cool, you work you earn on your own then you decide to study all over again! But then you said copy writer, has that got anything to do with copyrights”?

“Yeah, not exactly”

That was our first private session and I wished I got some breathing space to interrupt her with replies. She was spontaneous with child like enthusiasm to know more about me in depth. I never thought library could be such a nice place for meetings, within couple of months I visited library more than the college canteen, and yes I had a beautiful reason...

My Rank Holder friend!

The MBA Life.

 That was the second month of my MBA tenure. And I already belonged to the misfit category in my class, not that I was finding the subjects unusual but certainly the decorum. It’s highly unlikely for an advertising freak to make it to a fully formal, etiquette bound world of corporate culture. By the way I was a copy writer; I got salary for exaggerating dormant facts and subtle realities through captivating captions and path breaking ideas (that’s an exaggeration again). My job demands creativity, out of the box thinking and my increments has a lot to do with my consistent psyched performance throughout the year. 

That’s advertising; you are paid to fantasize sanitary napkins even when you are a man.

MBA world was a total contrast to my work settings. I had to ask permission if I had to pee. There were leave forms, stringent academic assessment patterns and of course nerd, cranky but never the less resourceful professors. I hardly visited library, and never bothered about my presentations or the grades. For me the only comforts were in visiting the delectable premises of canteen, which offered me the grandeur to hog like a pig without bothering about the consequential bills. I am sure I can talk about my canteen menu authentically than speaking on Indian economy or financial accounting. I remained simple, clear and focused when it comes to ordering food through out my post graduation. It had to be chicken in any form, Chappathy if you are lucky if not suffice with Porotta. And wind up with a customary mug of cold coffee. 

By this time I had been x-rayed relentlessly by my Malayali peers, few found me geek, reserved and humble. While a few thought I am the dark horse kind, deliberately playing subtle. I don’t blame them as one of my professors habitually quotes “I was being carefully careless”.

For me MBA was all about ‘two years of academics, few months of studying, fewer days of exams and a revived get back to advertising’. I knew my don’ts precisely than my dos. “I am not here for friendship, politics, and academic excellence” I am just here to realize my father’s dream of seeing me as an MBA holder, nothing else.

Little did I know that in these two years I would do what I had never planned in my life.

‘Falling in love’