And then we fled the crime scene

“Why don’t you just park here in this little side street? I TOLD you we’re never going to find a parking spot at this time of the day.”

“Great! Now we’ll have to walk ALL the way to the restaurant.”

“Would you rather keep driving around the block for another hour? Be my guest, but I’m hungry and I don’t mind eating alone.”

“Okay, okay. There, you happy? Let’s enjoy our long, ‘appetizing’ walk now.”

“Hey, you’re the one who made the reservations at rush hour…”

“Shh… wait. I don’t think we were supposed to park in this street. Check out this sign”

NO PARKING ALLOWED

FROM JUL 16 THRU 30

“Ok first of all, that sign is on the ground. They must have taken it off.”

“Why would someone take it down before the 30^th? It fell off, I’m telling you.”

“What difference does it make? You see so many other cars parked all over this street. I’m sure it’s ok. Can we please go now?”

“What if they have a permit? What if they are government vehicles? You know, like the FBI or something”

“A special parking permit for tiny streets? Is that supposed to be funny? Even if these other cars had a permit, they would put it up on their dashboard… uh oh”

“What?”

UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE

“Holy crap! Check the other cars”

UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE

UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE

UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE

“Shit”

“Do you think it’ll be ok if we just kept our car here for a little while? I mean, no one’s going to look for that sign on every single car, right?”

“YOU THINK? A bright-red tiny car among lots of big, black SUVs… why, they’ll think this one must belong to OBAMA because it looks so special!”

“Fine, fine. Get in. We’ll find some other street. Why isn’t this door opening? Oops!”

“WAIT! THAT’S NOT OUR CA…”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

And then I was the office hero

And then my genes went LOL

Me: What’s with all these tanning salon coupons in the mail? Is this like tanning season or something?

Wife: Yup. People here get tanned so they don’t look too pale in winter

Me: What has winter got to do with it?

Wife: Duh! Hardly any sunshine. Naturally people turn pale.

Me: Reeeeally! (evil laughter) Now I’m really looking forward to winter

Wife: Yeah, right. It doesn’t matter at all if you’re not fair-skinned in the first place

Me: …

Wife: …

Me: …

Wife: (ROFL)

And then This was It

I am not a fanatic. Far from it. Disclaimer ends here.

We happened to watch ‘This Is It’ recently and were impressed beyond all expectations.

Michael Jackson’s hit numbers over the years were quite catchy; you can’t argue with that. Unless you are one of those who don’t listen to music (which means you have to stop reading this right now and never, ever, EVER talk to normal people. Weirdo)

How many of us haven’t found ourselves humming Bad or Remember the Time at some point in our lives? Okay, let me not get carried away into writing an obituary here. I’ll skip ahead to what I wanted to say. Go watch the movie if you like (or LIKED) his hits. For two reasons:

1. Defying expectations, MJ could still belt out all his tunes exactly the way they sounded on our walkmans all those years ago. Different songs from different decades, different tones and vocal patterns – he matched them all to perfection. I was half-expecting to see him lip-syncing actually, but he clearly saw that coming and put those doubts to rest in the very first scene.

2. I am no dancer myself (ask anyone with eyes), but I know a good performance when I see one. MJ kept pace with the young, extremely talented back-up dancers who were particularly picked for this concert series. At his age. No mean feat.

And there was a third reason too, but it was my own. I wanted to see for myself what it feels like to sit in a hall full of fans watching the world’s most famous artist sing and dance, expecting an electric atmosphere of cheering and applause. If you too are interested, then do yourself a favor and go watch it anytime other than a Saturday morning, unless you too want to go “This is so NOT it”, like I did.

And then I crumbled like a biscuit

No matter how many times my faith in it is reinforced, Murphy’s Law feels compelled to remind me again and again of its universal validity. Again and again and again. Every single day.

How else do you explain the way EVERY morning I board the bus to find all the seats taken? All except that one next to HER. Just one empty seat. No more, no less.

I would have gladly stood for the entire 30-minute journey if all the seats were taken. But NOOOOOO…… there’s always that same single, empty seat which stands out, sticking out its tongue and mocking me, “I dare you to sit here, Ha!“

What’s wrong with HER that makes me fuss about a seat? Nothing. Please let it be on record that I said “Nothing”. There’s nothing wrong with her and she’s just a normal person minding her own business. Except. She occupies 50% of that solitary empty seat. Above and beyond 100% of her own, in case you still didn’t get it.

I know you’re getting all judgmental now. So what? You are allowed to because you don’t have to go through this everyday. Well, I too could get judgmental about all your workplace whining if I were my own boss, but I am not and so I don’t. Totally different train of thought, but anyway…

Now I don’t want to be the jerk who avoids sitting next to someone because he/she is big. Rather I don’t want the other passengers to THINK I am that jerk, so I end up sitting in that seat. Now begins the fun part.

People think I sit with half a butt hanging out in the aisle because it’s funny. They think I’m going, “Ho ho ho! It’s hilarious to watch people tripping over my leg. So hilarious that it’s worth sitting on one half of my bottom everyday, ha ha hee hee…” They glare at me for their inconvenience, not noticing that I have obviously relinquished control over half of my body to gravity. I guess they expect me to sit on Biggie’s lap.

At the next stop one other seat becomes empty. Is it okay if I move to that seat? Or would it be the social equivalent of  pointing to her and yelling, “FATTY! FATTY! FATTY!”? I decide to avoid that risk and stay put. Yes Murphy’s Law, I can see you grinning there like a sadistic idiot. Now SHUT UP!

The bus makes  a sharp left turn, pinning my obese neighbor against the window. Thank Heavens it wasn’t a sharp right or else I would have crumbled like a biscuit. After a few more transactions of people getting on and off, two adjacent seats are now vacant. WINDOW SEAT! Great excuse for ditching Biggie’s neighborhood.

Just when I get up with my bag, some dude from another seat swoops in to occupy my destination. Back to square one. Since I performed the elaborate act of standing up with my backpack – and because my bus stop is nowhere near – I put it on casually and take my seat again. This time resting only 25% butt. Remember the stupid backpack? That’s why.

I get it, okay Murphy? Your Law is the big, fat, fact of life. The universal truth. You have made your point. Now will you please leave me alone and go harass  some non-believer? Do I have to get a tattoo to prove I’m on board with your views on life’s inescapable cruelty?

Suddenly I find myself leaning into the aisle. In case you didn’t know, it’s hard to fight gravity while sitting on one-fourth of your ass. And then it hit me: the bus is making a hard right. Oh, crap!

God, if you will please make this driver slow down, I promise to… umm… well… Okay, I promise to keep that other promise to work out every alternate day. Why isn’t he slowing down? Okay, okay… I’ll work out every day! PLEASE! Are you listening? HELP! NOOOOOOO…..

And then I decided against pointy hair

This post was featured as an ‘Editor’s Pick’ on

And then IIMs will teach ‘Batch’ vs ‘Class’

“Hi Friends,

We are the Group A9 for BS-II project which needs to be submitted this friday, 16th. Hence I propose that we meet once tonight at 12 AM in OH Lan Room. Reply soon so that we can change the time and venue which satisfies everyone’s interest.

~ V,

1st Year PGDM

IIM X“

Eh? Did I just open Gmail and enter a time-warp? Cant be. First of all, there was no guy called V in my group (name masked obviously, because anonymity is fun!). Second of all, I was in group B1 and not A9. Third of all, I never set foot in IIM-X (Again, the letter ‘X’ is a disguise, of course). And most importantly, I don’t remember being part of any BS project (pun or otherwise).

Before I can make sense of how I ended up in this mailing list, a fellow A9 member chimes in:

“good idea V!! lets meet today for a short while and get started atleast!!

hope to see you guys!!

~ C“

Little piece of advice: stay away from C. Guys like V may be personified butt-pains, but C is actually the breed I nicknamed ‘the cheerleader’: lends his voice the most and contributes the least. And he’s not even the worst.

“Well I am perfectly fine with time .. and yes good that you brought it up soon V ..

Thanks and Regards,

A1

PGP(PGDM) Class of 2009-11

IIM X“

Ok, first of all what on earth is “CLASS of 2009-11”? Now A1 here is doing what we call DCP. Every IIM’s grading system includes a Class Participation (CP) component, which is awarded based on constructive, original contribution to discussions in the classroom. Now add ‘D’ for ‘Desperate’ and go figure.

And now comes my favorite part in the email thread:

“Sorry guys. Not today. Can we do it tmrw plz. I wl be out of campus and will have to come back esp for this. Also B and C unwell after tmrw’s bash.

Please consider

A2

PGDM, Batch of 2011

IIM X“

The thing I like best about A2 is that he’s brutally honest about the reason for not being able to work. A rare kind, as anyone will tell you. By the way, notice the prediction of misfortune that is about to befall B and C after the next day’s bash. And there is a self-prophecy too: he already sees himself among the BATCH OF 2011, while the rest of his A9 team will be saying ‘bye-bye’ to IIM-X that year. Yeah, keep coming up with those excuses, dude! Let’s see you make a career out of them.

At this point I couldn’t continue ‘eavesdropping’ on these conversations for fear of A2’s psychic powers. So I gleefully typed this out and hit Send: (you can tell I have a lot of time to spare)

“Guys,

Good to see a lot of academic initiative going around.

Much as I’d love to contribute to the BS project, I regret the fact that I’m no longer at IIM.

(Yes, I jump at the slightest opportunity to brag. Blame the IIMs. Meanwhile the email continues below)

So all I can do is wish A9 the very best in this endeavor and ask to be excluded from the mailing list henceforth.

It pains me to read about exciting projects that I cannot hope to be a part of. Hope you all understand.

Regards,

theishu”

The next email (not part of this chain) taught me to include a smiley the next time I indulge in my evil, corny sense of humor via a textual medium (You heard that right. I said “next time”. There is going to be one, I assure you)

“Hi theishu

I hope you remember me. We were in the same group of ManCom case study. Could you please tell me where are you now? Are you working or studying somewhere else? If possible, could you also let me know your reasons for leaving IIM-X? I am asking all this because I am also considering leaving IIMX due to financial constraints. Hope you would understand.

Regards

A3“

For once, I did understand. A3’s email moved me, in spite of my stone-cold conscience. To think a zillion folks give it their everything to bell the CAT year after year, only to face a financial dead-end some times… And especially when banks fall over each other to fund the education of every person who gets that coveted admission letter. Life sucks indeed.

That poor A3 dude must be in some serious shit. I wish I could help but that’s all I can do at this point in time. You see, I really need all the peanuts I earn right now. Big dreams ahead. Anyway I shot off an email to A3 explaining he had the wrong email address and wished him luck on the money matters.

A week later…

“Hi theishu,

Attached the spreadsheet for your part of the assignment

~ N“

Words truly fail me. So “AAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!“

And then the toilet got lucky

And then dolphins saved my job

It’s high time I got fired as the ‘Vacation Research Analyst’. You see, that’s the job I hold at home. Rather that’s the one thing I can do right, to put it in a certain someone else’s words. That is until a couple of weekends ago.

After two months of planning, cancelling and mostly daydreaming for our much-deserved break from the daily grind, I finally handed in the recommendation from my research to the Home Minister: Virginia Beach, here we come baby!

And then weather.com blew my recommendation to pieces. Turns out I was selling the prospect of spending an entire weekend wielding umbrellas and wearing raincoats on the beach. But hey, weather forecasts are always subject to change, right?. Who knows, we’ll probably see “Mostly Sunny” the day we land up there.

And then all the hotels got sold out. All of them! All the rooms! This is not even summer, for God’s sake! Moreover, it’s supposed to be LOUSY weather over there. I finally found a place and booked it before they too ran out of rooms. ‘Walking distance from the beach‘ was no more an option.

And then the wife finds a better hotel. Cheaper. Best of all, one-and-a-half blocks from the best part of the beach. If you have never haggled over the phone to wiggle out of cancellation charges, you should try it. It’s so much fun, you wont forget it for the next three or four lifetimes.

The next thing on my list was to come up with an itinerary that would let me keep my aforementioned job. Sand sculptures, fireworks, speed-boating on the sea, local food, the annual Neptune Festival Grand Parade… I crammed a week’s worth of stuff into a day and a half. I spent the better part of the week painting the picture of a perfect weekend. And packing day arrives! Clothes: check. Camera: check. Driving directions: check. Learner’s permit for me: hold on, still studying.

And then I failed the test. Well, I’m sure you saw that one coming, but Mrs. Ishu certainly didn’t. Five hours to go and I don’t have a valid license to share the burden of driving. I took advantage of the Magic of Telecommunication to convey the grand news. And that my friends, is the real reason I didn’t get run over by her that day. But by the time the anticipated hour arrives, all is fortunately forgotten in the excitement (Didn’t dare to ask if it was forgiven too).

So began the long, much-awaited drive. Wonder of wonders! Something’s wrong with the A/C unit. The fan is making weird noises and it’s getting really hot. After a quick browse through the manual, I try to make up for the morning by fixing the stupid thing.

And then… well, let me just skip ahead and not make things worse. By the time we got to Virginia Beach, the wife was too exhausted to whine about anything at all. Now there’s only one thing that can motivate her. “The Sand Sculpture Contest! Master artists from all over the globe! Are you sure you wanna miss watching them create stunning works of art?” Well I didn’t use those exact cliched words, but the gist of it did the trick. I grabbed the camera, she grabbed her sweatshirt and we shot off towards the beach. And…

What can I say, it was all over before we even left home that afternoon. No artwork-in-progress to witness. But all the exhibits were standing there, complete and awaiting the admiring stares and clicks. Now I’m one of those who never get paintings. By definition, my handwriting too should be classified as abstract art, but let’s not get into that now. The sculptures created out of the shapeless, insignificant sand around us were too gorgeous for the art-hater in me. So I set about doing what I do on vacations – clicking away, ignoring my driver completely.

After sunset it’s time for the arts and crafts stalls which reminded me a lot of the handicrafts fairs that happen back home. There was also a Pakistani lady who set up a mehendi stall. “Herbal Tattoos. Painless. Comes off in 3 weeks! Go Green!” Fact: You can sell just about anything here if only you use the right words.

And then the speedboats and the fireworks got cancelled. Unfavorable wind conditions, my ass. Serves me right for studying the camera manual instead of traffic signs. The remaining highlight of the next day’s itinerary was the Grand Parade. The only highlight left. But of course we did rent bikes and rode up and down the length of the beach on the boardwalk, so that did a lot of cheering up.

By the next day we were in for a surprise. No, not a bad one this time. The cruise operators said the dolphin-sighting trips are still running.

“But the dolphin season is only until September. And the forecast says it’s gonna rain today”, I offer my keen internet wisdom.

“Sir, the cruise is still on and we have one today at 11am. Are you interested?” (That’s customer-service lingo for Stop whining. Are you in or out?)

We’re in. We were also the last two souls to board, keeping the entire boatload of tourists waiting for the highly anticipated tour to begin. “Captain, do you still have a minute? I’ll just run to my car and get my sunglasses.” If the guy was pissed, I didn’t know it because I was already running across the parking lot. Of course, my darling wife made sure they didn’t leave me behind. I had the camera, after all.

And then it began to pour. That’s right! Little note: when you’re out in the open sea, ‘cats and dogs’ doesn’t even come close to describing torrential rain. I pretended to act busy protecting the camera with my thin shirt. Half  an hour into the cruise, all we can see are gulls and pelicans. Not too bad, but that’s not what we paid for.  Just when I’m ready to jump overboard before a certain someone pushes me, the guide calls everyone to the left side.

Dolphins, ahoy! Unknown fact: When the wind makes the boat sway, the dolphins come out to play.

Thanks God, for making these dumb creatures freakishly happy whenever the waves roll. The Weather Gods have finally given us something good. Those last ninety minutes of the weekend were the best for every one of us on board, as we watched the graceful arcs the beasts made whenever they came up for air. Even in reality it feels like watching a nature show or a Sea World ad in slow motion. Not kidding.

The most surreal hour and a half. Towards the end every one calmed down from excited whoops to silent reverence. To all those people, the cruise saved the weekend. As for me, I get to continue to do the one thing I can do right.

So while I get busy researching how to wreck the next big getaway, go take a look at snapshots from Virginia Beach on the other blog (of course, I don’t need to remind you about those pain-in-the-ass navigation arrows).

And then (OOPS!) I did it again