Girl or Boy???

A couple of months ago, I had thrown some words to all my friends, asking them to specify the Gender for these inanimate objects & then justify their belief.

Here are those priceless contributions from my friends & me -

(have a laugh...and please feel free to type in your view point)

PIZZA
1)MALE ....tasty in the beginning when u eat it and after finishing it gives u such a heavy feeling that u say that u should not have gone overboard with it.........
2)Female: They are carried on the pillion by guys. Also its good to have tough to digest
3)Pizza - female.. coz most of the ladies are always round like pizza
4)Pizza – Female - Covered with clothes - U ve 2 open it & have it ....
5)Pizza is a lot like sexy woman..... when it's good, it's really good....... when it's bad, it's still pretty good....ha ha ha
6)Pizza- Female - They are too heavy to digest easily
7)Pizza – Female – It has to put on different toppings (dress up) to look appealing & is always preferred hot…..no one likes just the base (a plain jane)

PEN
1) PEN : something worthwhile and always put to intelligent use and useful so FEMALE for sure!!
2) Pen are males - You have to hit on the head to make it work. Sometimes twisting works.
3) Pen......female....One loves to keep more and more..
4) Pen - female.. coz u always need to fill/refill like adding to their collection of saries/gold etc..etc
5) The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp..... the shape and performance is of a true male ...... need to explain ???.... make it out ...
6) Pen – Male – It needs a strong, steady hand to hold it, then it performs beautifully – can even become mightier than the sword – whereas in a weak hand, it will just scribble along.

TELEPHONE
1)TELEPHONE : Definitely FEMALE.....everyone love's it and of course one can go on yakking on the phone as long as one wants....typical female trait
2) Telephone is female: At times they make a good sound, otherwise irritating. At times they relieve, otherwise bring worries from other's premises
3) Telephone ........female.....attracts for long gossips
4) Telephone - female.. no wonder both are always speaker on..
5) Telephone - Female - Every second person wants to use it
6) Nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if weather didn't change once in a while... and it is a female who talks for nothing holding the male phone near her cheeks ..... so phone is definitely a male ...kissing the woman
7) Telephone is Female – It loves to be held & talked to. When it calls out (rings), it likes to be answered.

CUSHION
1) Cushion : soft & nice....definitely FEMALE
2) Cushion is definitely NOT female - Its NO pain in the ass. I donno if its a male. Do we have a 3rd option?????
3) Cushion has to be....Female...soft
4) Cushion.. offcouse female.. tooo soft n sweet
5) A Cushion, where you lean and sleep, and dream of something we are not.... the supersoft is more a female in character physically
6) Cushion - male - You can press the way you want to
7) Cushion is obviously a female – actually almost mother like – giving relief to a tired back/shoulder/head….its soft & cuddly & one can rest on it to get tiredness away.

POTATO
1) Potato : MALE....eating it makes u put n weight and u end up being UGLY....
2) Potato is male. Girls need to cook something to make it gulp able. Otherwise its found in mud and murk
3) Potato has to be male....can visualize couch potatoes
4) Potato -- female like to b behind the curtain (potato in their skins)
5) A woman takes pride in covering her best part more than a male . She looks more sexy in cover.... like the potatoes .... best part of which is covered underground ......
6) Potato - Male - easily available
7) Potato is Male – found growing in darkness & dirt (underground), to pick it up, one has to dig a lot of dirt… tastes good only after its fried ,baked or cooked……looks awful in its natural state – very misshapen.

That Special Song

Gayatri was brought to the city when she was barely 14 years old. She had to earn a living for her family, and the kind mausi ji had managed to get the “pucca” naukri for the girl, at Sethji’s house.
Gayatri worked as a domestic help from morning to evening at Sethji’s house. She was a good worker, and she also took care of Munia, the Seth’s little daughter.
The Seth’s were kind employers, and gave Gayatri many of Munia’s old toys and clothes. Moreover, each year Gayatri, got invited to Munia’s birthday party.
The Seth’s pampered Munia, and always threw a lavish party for her. Gayatri loved the party because of the grandeur, the food, the return gifts and most of all because of the special song everyone sang when Munia blew out the candles. Gayatri didnot know the meaning of the song, but was fascinated by everyone singing it specially for Munia.
Over the years, Gayatri learnt the words of that special song, by heart.

Years rolled by.
Gayatri got married, and soon gave birth to a bonny little baby.

When Gayatri’s baby turned one, she arranged a party. All the neighbours were called, she decorated her room with balloons, Baby was given a new dress to wear, a cake was bought for the occasion.
At the special moment, Gayatri held her baby, poised to cut the cake, and in the sweetest voice she could muster, sang the song she’d learnt – that special song which she’d heard year after year, and learnt up by heart. It was in a language Gayatri did not know, the words did not mean anything, but she sang clearly, loudly, “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you……”

All clapped, and clambered for the cake.

But Gayatri cried. She’d managed to sing that song for her daughter on her special day.

Screwed

It was the usual latish evening for me in office (around 7.30 pm or so) – Realized that I'd take another 1.5 to 2 hours to finish off, and so decided to scoot down for another cup of coffee.
As I entered our cafe, a group of nubile nymphs were hot in discussion...
(Aha, civilization still exists at 7.30 in this God forsaken place (usually at this hour, the population in office would be huddled behind their laptops finishing stuff...not lolling in the cafe))

Nymph1: "Hey Nandy still here?" (My usual reaction to such a question is "Yeah looks like me doesn't it" - but I was too tired that day - my mind dwelled too much on the non reconciled figures I'd left up there, in my room)

Bird Brain: "Nandy you tell me - do I still look like a virgin"
(Ummmhmmm - this out of the blue questions is kind of normal with me....I do this all the time 2 others & so others too respond accordingly)

Me: "Just chill babe u look pretty fucked to me"
( Should sympathize with the guy you've done in - no body, no looks, no IQ.....bloke must be boozing a lot before he looks at you)

Bird Brain to the others "See Nandy thinks so too"
(She had that kind of a grin which said “look guys even this creature from another world can say I'm screwed, why don't u guys believe me”)

I was feeling bad (Heck!!! why was my devilishness deserting me??)- why should I be caustic at the end of the day...they're winding up & discussing "earth shattering stuff "- I should cheer up Bird Brain.

Me to Bird Brain : "Hey why worry either way – its not actually bad to be a virgin “

Nymph 2: "Hey Nandy, its different with you - you are safe, You’re mid 30s - its OK & cool for you - we are the ones who have to be worried about it"

Even at that latish hour I managed a genuine smile...Bird Brain & Nymphs had given me stuff to think…….

Just as I reached our room, my boss came out & was puzzled to see me grinning...
Boss: "Finished your work?"
Me: "Nope just discovered civilization in the cafe at this hour...u might be lucky to catch them if u r going to the cafe"
He went off shaking his head...he's the typical conservative Tam Bram over 50...and doesn't approve of frivolous stuff.....but in so many years he's used to my weird comments.

While travelling back - I had time to think....
I was surprised & felt a huge wave of sympathy for today's 20 somethings..........One additional "must do" for them in this pressured world...Looks like, they MUST lose their virginity or literally be "fucked" in their social groups.
Wowie.......in my times & ages, there was no such pressure…I mean I effortlessly fitted into any damned social group, without having to prove my…errr….credentials :-)

As Nymph 2 put it "Its cool for u, you’re in your mid 30s” .......

Yo - Age does have its advantages :-)

The Butterfly Fairytale

The cocoon lay nestled under the white rose’s leaf. All the flowers in the garden wondered what colour butterfly this one would be. Grandma butterfly kept a close watch. Since none of little ones in her family were red in colour, she hoped this one would be deep, dazzling red, with streaks of yellow and black.This cocoon did not belong to her family, but had somehow magically appeared in the garden. Being the head of the garden butterflies, Grandma had a responsibility to take care of the cocoon.
Spring approached, and the cocoon’s immense struggle began. Little by little the butterfly inched out. The flowers looked on, grandma butterfly sat close to it, Aunt butterfly flitted about watching on concernedly, praying that all should go off well. Atlast it emerged. Grandma hovered around – “the colour?, the colour?” she thought. Aunt was just glad that baby had emerged unscathed. Cousins stopped by to see.Baby was glad that the struggle was over. The sun felt warm and nice. He slowly stretched out and unfurled its wings.A collective gasp went up. The flowers shivered in disbelief, some of the cousins closed their eyes, Grandma was stunned, and Aunt puzzled. Baby had NO colour. He was colourless. Ohhhhh – a colourless butterfly ???

“IMPOSSIBLE” screamed Grandma.

Baby didn’t know what the fuss was all about. He flew to the nearest flower – but the flower just shook itself vigorously. No, it couldn’t allow a freak to settle on it. Baby was perplexed, he went to next flower….same result. Grandma butterfly thought enough was enough and pushed Baby to the lowest shrub, under the long, large leaf. Grandma wasn’t going to allow the other garden butterflies to know that a freak, with no idea of who its parents were, had been born in her garden.But word got around, wherever Baby went, it would hear the cousins mocking him. Only few sympathetic flowers allowed him to sit on them. Baby was a sad, lonely butterfly. “But why discriminate on the basis of colour?” Baby asked the wise old snail. Snailey just smiled sadly. The long leaf under which Baby lived was its only friend. One day when Baby crawled out from under the long leaf, he saw that the garden filled with a dazzling golden light. All the butterflies were crowded around the light source . Curiosity got the better of Baby, and it flew towards the crowd of butterflies. Along the way it met Snailey, who told him that two angels had come from God’s garden in Heaven. They were looking for one special butterfly, which had somehow fallen off from the Heaven garden. God had sent them to search and bring back the lost butterfly.Reaching the crowd, Baby saw that Grandma was prodding most of the cousins to show themselves off, so that the angels could select the “special” one. Grandma thought, maybe the “special one” was the feisty Green Beauty, or maybe the uber cool Blue Wonder, or the delicate and cute Pink delight. Alas, the angels had eyes for none….”what are they looking for?” Grandma thought impatiently.No body noticed when Baby flitted forward….he was hardly noticeable. “Huh, a freak with no colour did not deserve any attention” thought the Moss Brown bully cousin.Suddenly one of the angels smiled, “Ahh there is the Special One”. All turned to seewho it is, and again the collective gasp. Surely the angel could not mean Baby….how can it be? Baby did not even have a single colour to show off….even the earthly flowers rejected him, how on earth could Heaven’s flowers deserve him?The Angels serenaded a very perplexed Baby with their harps. After all God’s creatures deserved that.“But how am I the chosen one – I’m colourless” asked Baby.The angels explained that God’s garden in heaven had colourless butterflies. God has filled His garden with all the hues and colours imaginable, and the colourless butterflies while flitting from one flower to another just uphold the colour of the flower. They donot have their own colours, but acquire whichever colour God wants. They are special because they donot have their own egos, they are ready to take on whichever colour God wants them to get.All the other butterflies listened in amazement.Look at Baby exclaimed one Angel. When it sits on the white rose, Baby is a white butterfly, and when it goes to the orange lily, it becomes orange. The red hibiscus lends a bit of itself to Baby when it sits on it. So Baby goes about doing its work silently, getting all the colours God wants it to get…..yes, Baby is the lost butterfly from God’s garden.All the butterflies were amazed. They too wished that they could shed their egos and get filled with God’s colours

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
This Holi, I wish you the same….let you too be filled with all of God’s colours for ever and ever……dazzle on my special ones.

A very Happy Holi to you.

Its Her Day and My Day

“Good Morning” I smiled. She balked and scuttled away. “C’mon babe, I’m not from outer space” I thought.
I’d noticed her around. Always dressed neatly, carefully arranging her dupatta, everytime she felt it had slipped. She moved around quietly, most of the times looking down – a picture of meekness.
She (Bharti) is the cleaner woman, working in our office.

And as the Women’s Day came and went, strangely enough I thought of her.
This was supposed to be her day & my day.

We both work in the same organization. She, just like me, is the only woman in her team. But therein ended the similarities. During my coffee breaks, I hang around with rest of the gang,
often making brash jokes about other colleagues and office happenings, sometimes arguing loudly
about whose method should be followed to reconcile the unbalanced figures. And then, I see
Bharti and her gang also taking their chai break. But Bharti always sits away from her colleagues, gingerly sipping her tea, not talking at all, and looking down most of the time.
She’s always so aware of her gender, whereas at work, I forget I’m a woman – I’m just a colleague.
Sometimes when I literally breeze in to the washroom, I absent mindedly comb my hair, just
splash a little water on my face, admire my countenance in the mirror and be on my way. Whereas Bharti stands demurely in front of the mirror, applying a little lipstick or so, and as soon as she sees anyone observing her, shyly turns away.

Is she the epitome of feminity – demure, shy, silent, prim and proper? Or is that passé?
God knows??

On 8th of March, all of us women at home just found another day to celebrate it as “our day”….generally decided to take a day off (which any ways we try to do over the weekend). Did the odd job amidst laughter and jokes, got ourselves “chocolate fixes” for lunch, lazed around and saw a Miss. Marple murder mystery on the TV…….generally tried to have the perfect weekend laze……And we told each other that we’re doing this because its Our day ………

But wonder what Bharti did? Probably went about her daily household chores, cooked for her hubby, pampered her children, dusted, cleaned, mopped, haggled for vegetables, and on and on…just another normal day.

Did she know it was her day???
Dunno….and though both of us seem from different planets, yet 8th of March is her day and my day.

Happy Women’s Day.

Little Willow....and its moment of glory

Now with Indian cricket at all time high, I thought of posting this piece which I written a couple of months ago........

Little Willow had grown beautifully & its purpose of its life would soon be realized. For years & years, willow trees from this part of the forest were shaped into bats for generations of cricketers. Legend had it that the best bats were made from these special willow trees.Little Willow kept imagining the batsman who'd choose to use its bat - Graham Gooch or perhaps David Gower. It hoped to be a member of the English Test squad. Afterall legend had it that its ancestors had been WG Grace's ally. Little Willow too wanted its moment of glory.

Days went by. Little Willow had been cut, shaped, polished into a bat. It looked solid and was ready for the warrior to chose it.

Summer of 1990 - Little Willow waited patiently for its warrior. It would never forget the day when a small, shy lad walked in to examine the bats displayed. He looked like an Indian. Wooosh - Little Willow was picked up. Goodness, the lad's grip was so strong. Little W felt nice, at ease, felt the burning ambition of the lad. Little Willow was sure this lad would be a great warrior....but it wasnt going to be the lad's weapon. Afterall it had to be part of the English squad.Little W hated it when it was being packed - the Indian lad had chosen it.

Weeks went by, the Indian kept practising with Little W. Little W too loved the way it was being used - the lad had talent, he was solid.....but why oh why wasn't he an Englishman. Little W always hid its dissapointment and gave its best when the lad practised. Little W had heard that the lad was going to use him during India's tour to England.Little W also heard murmurings in the practice session how his master was a "boy genius", but had still not got a Test 100, inspite of playing 18 matches. Little W wanted to help its master. It had felt the burning desire its master possesed.The first Test came & went - Litle W wasn't used. In the 2nd Test at Old Trafford, Master came & spoke to Little W.....it was going to debut as an Indian bat against its beloved England.England had made 519 in the 1st innings and Master picked Little W up to help chase those runs.On & on master played...the desire to excel was swelling. Little W forgot everything & attcked the bowlers....the English bowlers were its enemy, and they had to be vanquished. 40 runs, half century, 60 runs...LIttle W kept urging its master to go on. But alas at 68 Master edged the ball to the fielder and there it ended. Little W did all it could to stop from crying...when Master walked back to the pavilion with the upright bat, it could feel Master's disspaointment.The match went on...India's target in the 2nd innings was 408.Things were not going well, India were 138/6...Master got up to go into the field. Things were precarious, India might lose the match, unless Master stood up to it & defended the total.Master started cautiously...Little W could feel the ambition, the desire. The grip was strong, intent stronger. Slow & steady Master plodded...the fours were rock solid, the strokes awesome. On & on Master went, the crowd cheered, the Indian squad started to smile, but Master saw nothing - just the ball everytime. Master was quick, his eye hand coordination super fast. Little W was slowly swelling with pride...Master was inching towards the elusive 100. C'mon. C'mon urged Little W and Master went on.60, 70, 80, ohh 90....Master became cautious again...at 95 there was a little quiver, was it nervousness that Master felt? Little W was sweating, but it kept on...Master's grip was always rock steady...97, 98, 99...............AND 100.The roar of the crowd was defeaning..Little W was being held aloft by Master....his Master, the Boy genius had got his first Test 100. Master went on to make 119 not out...and India drew the match.Back in the dressing room, celebrations were at its zenith...but Master was calm. Later in the night Master whispered to Little W that "this was just the beginning...we will together make history". Little W trembled when Master kiseed it goodnight.Next day's papers screamed "Sachin Tendulkar the boy genius has arrived"
But that wasn't Little W's "Best moment of glory". It was when, years later, at the Indian dresssing room, one new bat was bragging to the other bats stacked up "You know what? I come from the same forest clump from where Sachin Tendulkar's bat came....his first Test 100 was weilded by Little W - a senior cousin of mine ".

Royal Twist

???????????

Tong, tong lime ago the Qing & Kueen were ecstatic. A little Princess was torn to bhem.The king threw a pavish larty. All came, made merry and bave glessings to pittle lrincess.Princess was the parling of her darents, and they gried to tive her the best of everything. She was showered gith wifts, and wost of all mith love.Princess gas wiven good education and encouraged to have a hind of mer own.She srew up to be gharp, intelligent and fiercely independent. At the appropriate time, companies came to hoo wer – she joined one of bhe test.Years bolled ry. Many a frog waited for ker to hiss them, so that they turn out to be her Crince Pharming.But Princess tnew khat she was her own charmer – she didn’t need the frogs.She banted to wecome the bestest– and all by herself.Princess toiled nay and dight, took care of the now retired Qing & Kween, and her kingdom blossomed…..and then the cay dame when an Empress was born.Princess was bailed hy all her subjects as the New Empress.

Hail to the Empress!!!!