Three weeks without a smartphone

I thought I'd give it a shot. In the ghostspace between the wait for a new smartphone and the sale of my old one, I experimented with going back to the early 2000's - I used a phone that could only make calls and send messages. And double up as a flashlight. Here's what came of my attempt to live the old days in the new.

Sold my old smartphone. Waiting for a new one. #FirstWorldProblems

The hardest thing was being on the crapper. I just sat there, carrying out nature's business. Gone were the millions of possible apps I could download from app markets. Forgotten was the evil joy of killing all apps lurking in memory even at the cost of general system instability. No more being in touch with the news of the world and labored tweets of attempted humor. Instead I had a grand total of three choices: staring at my thighs, staring at the door or trying to telekinetically move my shoelaces. The only smartphone action that survived was the swipe. After the job was done.

It goes unnoticed how quiet interaction with our personal rectangles of light has become. This became apparent to me when I tried to use my dumbphone in a long meeting to reply to an sms or play the ultimate game of intelligence, skill and conviction - sudoku. Those situations turned into unfortunate Mr Bean episodes. I played the guy who made loud noises, oblivious to the knitted eyebrows and pursed lips of displeasure around me. On occasion, I've even had to go back to attending meetings again.

The lack of social apps also left me feeling a wee bit unsocial. I once traveled in a bus trying my best to focus at the gap between four faces. I've had to wear a fake smile on my not pretty face through 10-11 floors of slow elevator ascent. Strangers aside, people like my brother always accuse me of not responding to their one-word (usually a childhood twist on an expletive) instant messages.

It's not been an easy three weeks, but it ends tomorrow. And brings with it one realization - I'm too dumb to go without a smartphone again.

What do you think - can you live without your smartphone? Leave a comment below.

Karki romeo

Hey!

Hi!

No, nothing special.

Ok here's something. A blast from past. The B-school days. Vocals by roomie extraordinaire Abu Sahabuddin, guitar by self.

Bye!

A place in my head

While it's true that work has taken over my life completely, it's also true that the part of my brain that is used to blog is currently occupied by guitar playing. And while first love has been dormant for many years, it's been revived by some recent playing with a choir here in the Netherlands.

Apart from that, it is currently being fuelled by a new purchase - the solid body, spruce top Tanglewood TW1000CE.

It is one of the top ironies of my life that when I can actually afford to buy the guitars I want, I don't have enough time to play them.

Meanwhile, feel free to subject your eardrums to the result of Saturday morning idleness.


While the wife cooks

Garbage boy gets springing

So winter has well and truly passed here in the Netherlands and the flowers are signaling the coming of spring. This colorful deception fails to work on my body, which summarily classifies anything below 20 degrees celsius as "frickin' freezing".

Garbage boy is looking more human by the day though sans the winterwear that he was once ensconsced in. He is Dutch and his parents probably think anything above 5 degrees is reason enough to get that winterwear off him.

Today he is in a spanking new tricycle, manfully pushing those pedals along with his podgy little legs. He is also armed with a formidable load of paper trash.

Slowly and carefully, under the watchful eyes of mum, he takes the scraps of paper and puts them down the bins intended to swallow paper. Not to be outsmarted by gravity, he peers in to ensure his refuse has reached its destination. In doing so, he very nearly goes down the hole. All is well though for the garbage world, as he is rescued by his mum who pulls him back out before it's too late.

After the job is done, he cycles with all his might, his tiny legs forming a blur around the pedals. The purpose in his way leads one to believe that he has sensed some garbage in the vicinity.

Sugar fronts and cyclical reproductions

Today's ToI has a headline 'PM admits failure on sugar front'

"If there is a failure of ---, it is with regard to sugar... we have not been able to find a practical and pragmatic way to deal with the cyclical behaviour of sugarcane reproduction"

(emboldening and ommission mine)

The statement, of course, was no consolation for this dejected soul who has had a difficult life because of repeated frontal failures by parent sugars.

In unrelated news, another long awaited product for men is finally out in the market.

Yes, while the wife is sincerely hunting for groceries in the retail store, I'm off snickering at funny sounding products and taking pictures. It's quite a shame.

Aghast at a blast from the past

It can rake up a lot of emotions to stumble onto some thing from the past. Recently, I re-discovered one of my projects at sourceforge.net: http://doomoo.sf.net and can't help but marvel at my creativity and talent in those days. It was essentially a blogging platform I had created called "Doomoo's diary" using PHP and files before I had heard of the word 'blog'.

It also has some interesting things like my mixed twin guitar recordings and some not-awful poetry. I kinda cringe at some of it now, but it's nice to see how my talent has been eroded in the past 8-odd years. Would some decisions have made things different? Maybe. Maybe not. But here we are.

How to iron a shirt

Recently, after moving to a country where the ironing anna across the street (or Robert Downey Jr as my wife called him) is an unknown commodity, I've had to come to grips with one of the most boring chores - ironing a full-sleeved formal shirt.

So I thought I would use all my experience to help the reader(s) of this blog to understand how I methodically tackle this challenging task day after day.

How to iron a shirt, by Rohan D'Sa.

1. First take the collar portion; iron the part between the shoulder blades.
2. Next iron the collar, once on the reverse and once on the front. [NOTE: This is very important]
3. Then take the sleeves. Iron them so that no creases remain on either of them.
4. Iron the back of the shirt. Make sure that the front of the shirt doesn't come under it when you do, as it will get crumpled.
5. Iron the first half of the front, the one without the pockets.
6. Iron the second half and ensure that there are no creases. Also iron between the buttons.
7. Wear a full length sweater that shows only the collar.

In this way, me and most of my colleagues here manage to look presentable.

The end.

No phone. No internet. No money. Four days. Only me and my wife on a shoestring trip to Pisa and Rome.

Ok maybe the phone may work. And possibly the internet. And might need a little bit of money to shop. But still - Pisa and Rome, bleeps*! Off to do as the Romans. CentuRiohan! Muahahahahaha!

*is to blogging as tweeps is Twitter

Local hogging, global warming, awesome headlining

According to recent research, a journalist who sounds suspiciously like a former Indian cricketer, tells us that shahi paneer is worse than chicken in terms of detrimental effect to global warming. And rice is supposedly quite terrible too. All in this in a fascinating piece titled "Eat chapati, give up mutton, to save the earth." A quote:

Consumed in quantities producing the same amount of energy, wheat is eight times less damaging to the climate than rice and 52 times less than mutton, says the report, which has not been published yet.

Wait - what? It hasn't been published yet? Ah, that explains the notable omission of my Christmas meal day before yesterday, which contributed much more to methane emissions than all the food items mentioned in the article. And I'm not even talking about what went into producing the food.

Man, I'm disgusting.

P.S: While the above headline was good, it was not nearly as good as what is probably the headline of the year: After sex sting, AP governor Tiwari ejects prematurely. Hats off to ToI.

Short story - Really spicy chicken

This is something I wrote as a writing exercise recently. The facts aren't accurate, but it's meant to be a story based on real family events.
 ---------------------
Really spicy chicken by Rohan D'Sa (Dec 14, 2009)

Every birthday of every cousin was celebrated in this way: an extended family dinner at the said cousin’s house. There was meet-and-greet, after which the children separated from the adults and later saw them
again only for supper. Oddly, we never cut birthday cakes, made wishes, or blew out candles. The only time the birthday babies actually felt special was when they were wished by the visitors coming in through their door.

After the pleasantries, the men always settled down into the living rooms and had drinks with potato wafers - always potato wafers. Beer-whiskey-rum was had in similar looking glasses. Us non-international middle-class types never had different glasses to go with different types of liquor. Most glasses, in fact, were those given free with booze that was usually purchased from military canteens. The women were either in the kitchen or joined the men, but invariably were the only ones cooking. The uncles who hosted, however, always seemed busier with having to go many times to the market.

During this time the children got together, played games, ran around the house, and screamed and yelled during that precious play time which was the highlight of the evening for us. Those few hours always left us dead tired at the end of the day. In the last of those years, the boys split up from the girls and played cricket, while the girls did whatever else it is that girls do when they get together.

Surprisingly, I don’t remember missing a single birthday in a family of fourteen cousins. It amazes me to think now of the unlimited reserves of energy our parents had in preparing for those evenings, taking their children to attend them and cleaning up afterward.

Year-after-year, for fourteen occasions a year, they did this unfailingly. I still marvel at it when I get tired after planning a romantic anniversary evening with the wife.

Then there was this one year where for my brother’s 14th or 15th birthday, my mom had reached the peak of her culinary (as well as pungent green chili addition) skills. She made the spiciest, yummiest chicken curry that I or presumably anyone has ever eaten since.

My eldest cousin ‘Sannu’, my elder brother and I were the last warriors standing in the field. We fought for the last bit of masala we could lick off the cooking utensil. While our eyes watered, turned red and our sleeves mopped up the residue from our trickling noses, we continued eating like the masochistic maniacs the delicious dish had transformed us into.

A little over two years ago, the same trio sat around a table on the night of my bachelor party, the kind of parties that include only booze and male company. We had all assembled in Pune, the city of our childhood - Sannu had come from Dubai, my brother from Mumbai and I, from Chennai. We laughed loud, intoxicated laughs when Sannu recalled the really-spicy-chicken incident. Our sleeves mopped the tears induced by this laughter and, I suspect, the sadness at the inevitable end of our childhood. The last of us was getting married and with everyone scattered across the globe, there would be no more birthday celebrations with cousins. But it was a happy occasion and we avoided the sadder subject by sipping scotch late into the night, from appropriate whisky glasses.

Parent friendly blogpost

In India, we take a lot of things for granted. Some of these are:  

• Garlic breath 
• Freedom to ask personal questions
• Per second mobile billing
• Freedom to drive on the wrong side of the road
• Garlic farts
• Freedom to walk on the road
• Men holding hands with men without being emotionally involved and
• Sunlight

I actually wanted to write about the last point, but thought I'd generally make up a list filled with other random items so that you read whatever follows. Smart, huh?

  

So as I was saying, only when one is freezing one's balls off, does one realize how regular the sunlight (and heat) is throughout the year at one's equatorially proximate (are those even real words?) country.

 

Going to office in winter-time Netherlands is muchos depressing when at 8 in the morning, it's still like 4 am in India. The mind plays tricks on me and says, "It's only, 4 am, machan. Sleep some more. That alarm clock and digital clock and wristwatch are all wrong, da." It's only recently the mind has started speaking English with a Tamil twang.

 

And even if you manage to finish work on time (hahahaha), which is to say, around 5 PM, it's already twilight. This means that only way to get rid of depression and warm up is using alcohol. And that's a valid reason. And I need to provide valid reasons since my parents are possibly reading this. No, mom and dad, I haven't done a blog cleanup or become an alcoholic. See how nice I am?
 
"WTF kinda blog post is this, machan? Third class quality, I say!"
 
I know, I know. I will improve.

These are some of my dumbest things...

I want to write about the dumbest things I've ever done. But I don't particularly feel like writing anything with long sentences. And I feel like shooting something. The solution? Bullets.

• Trying to go vegetarian
• Thinking I can understand what my wife is thinking
• Ramming my car into a pole on my first day driving
• Putting some important documents in one file and losing them all
• Giving up a possible career in music
• Watching Ajab Prem ki Ghazab Kahani
• Calling my blog 'Daily' Humor
• Giving up a possible career as a tech entrepreneur
• Calling my blog Daily 'Humor'
• Trying to have meetings in English in Chennai
• Thinking Shah Rukh Khan was an actor
  
• Playing the 'Street Hawk' title track in my head when I was 11 years old and consequently banging my bicycle into a car at breakneck speed
• Assuming Sam Anderson was a Hollywood stud
• Having medicines prescribed by doctors in Chennai
  

and more recently...

• Watching Inglourious Basterds (which is mainly in German and French) with Dutch subtitles
  

What is / are the dumbest thing(s) you've ever done?

Strange love's awesome story

As far as laws go, a couple of things need to change in India, especially the one regarding drinking in public places such as movie theaters. I know it's a big step, but then how else can one tolerate movies like Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani?

The day started off well enough, with a bike trip around Amsterdam which included a 12 km cycle route courtesy Mike's Bikes. This was followed by a leisurely stroll around the heart of the city and dinner at a Sports Bar with rowdy English fans falling all over the place. So since I wanted to end the day on a high, I really had to take some serious action. I'm not talking about something as pedantic as smoking a joint or having magic mushrooms. I'm talking APKGK.

Sometimes when things are terrible, you must be an optimist and look at the positives. So, since I'm feeling generous, I must say this:

• Ranbir Kapoor is so cute. and
• Beer makes a crap movie better.

These were the two factors that kept me going throughout the collection of super cliched jokes and situations including the mandatory chase sequences, 'funny fight scenes', corny love story, forced acting and ridiculous co-incidences like the hero and leading lady both being vegetarian and (horrors) stammering when they're upset.

Despite such ridiculous situations there was one brilliant joke in the movie where (Spoiler alert) Salman Khan (playing himself) gets introduced to Katrina Kaif and admonishes Ranbir for introducing her almost as though she was Sallu's own girlfriend. Very nicely done, despite Salman's accent.

However, the magic realism really became too much though when random pre-independence British authorities and Jesus Christ made their appearance to push the story line into oblivion. In terms of performances, Upen Patel gives a stellar performance in his role of irritating guy 1, Katrina Kaif still tries to act despite looking so good and did I say that Ranbir Kapoor is very cute? However, some of the supporting cast including Darshan Zariwala as RK's father acted as glue to keep the crap together.

Overall, I would say if you're in a theater filled with people who laugh at nonsenical jokes, have the permission or gumption to carry alcohol to the movie, or have just had a generally bad day, this might be a way of killing of some valuable time. For what it's worth, I would like my 3 hours back.

Final destination. Err... almost.

So after some dillying and much dallying, the wife and I have arrived in the Netherlands. There was much consternation on the way here what with me misplacing my documents and losing access to my Forex card pin, all of which I had neatly placed in the file of 'most important documents'. This file I promptly left at the Chennai airport, making the 'safe file' the single most foolhardy concentration of risk in my life.

In the weeks leading upto the trip, I was convinced many times that I was not supposed to arrive here. A-la the 'final destination' series, the signs were there all over the place. An autorickshaw driver almost getting me killed by going the wrong way on a one-way flyover, the Lufthansa person at the counter asking me to lose the luggage to arrive at the right weight, the attorneys screwing up my visa application, and upon arrival a coin being swallowed by a hungry phone machine when I tried to call the driver who hadn't arrived were just some of the events that had me convinced that this was not meant to be. Heck, every time there was a little turbulence, I found myself thinking, "This is it." However, wonder of wonders I have arrived to new experiences and challenges.

First impressions. Autumn is on. (View outside my house)

This place could sure use some of the Chennai sun. Heck, even 1% should do the trick. I was admonished by some of my friends here when I turned the heating in my home up to 26 degrees. They complained that my house was an oven and visiting us made their baby sick. And here I was thinking that 26 was cool, prime weather. Need to get the Chennai out of me very quickly.

Second impressions, there was most excellent girl-girl action at the airport arrival, and there are numerous porn channels on TV and nudie books on sale at the supermarkets. Yes, yes, there may be a lot more to experience in this country, but what to do, my mind is like this only. Also, people are generally cordial and everyone seems to have a dishwasher. Whether these two facts are related, I do not know.

Thanks to friends' advice, so far I have discovered gorgeous stroopwaffels and an awesome Italian place with the most indulgeous ham, egg and cheese pizza you could ever imagine. I intend to try the cumin cheese some time which, I'm told, rocks. Also, I have been warned of the perils of walking on what are dedicated 'cycling paths'. (There are no hawkers on the pavements!) I know, how stupid, right? I mean, you just cycle anywhere you want where I come from, and we fear not death, because travelling by any mode of transport is dangerous enough.

So anyway, I have now somewhat settled down and I will be kind enough to provide my reader(s) with some more of the entertainment that they have suffered from in the past. Heck, maybe I might even be regular. Who knows? It's a brave, new world.

Doctors in Chennai

I recently visited a 'big' hospital in Chennai, and this is what happened:

Me: I get slightly dizzy these days in the evening, and have a recurring cough that fails to go away.
Doc: So which 'industry' do you work in?
Me: *rolling eyes* The IT industry.
Doc: Hmm... *blood sucking mode on; intelligent look and phony contemplation* Have you hit your head somewhere?
Me: What?! No!
Doc: Do you tend to go towards one side?
Me: Only when I ride the bike.
Doc: So you have a tendency of going to one side? Which side is it?
Me: The left side. That's the side of the road we're supposed to drive on.
Doc: Hmm... ok. Any family history of insanity/ mental problems?
Me: (Wha... motha... fug...) No.
Doc: Hmm.. and what of this cough? Are you spitting blood?
Me: No - although I would be pretty sure to mention it if I was.
Doc: Hmm.. and phlegm?
Me: A little.
Doc: *more contemplation and phony intelligence display* Here, do these battery of tests. (sounding very please to use the word 'battery')
Me: What are these tests?
Doc: Well, you need to go for a brain scan becau...
Me: What what what! A brain scan? What's wrong with me?
Doc: You never know, you could have injured your brain or ...*inchorence*
Me: And what about the cough?
Doc: I suspect Tuberculosis. Very common in Chennai, don't worry.
Me: So you're saying that I have TB and brain problems?
Doc: Most likely, but there is nothing to worry at this stage.

Fortunately, I later found another doc (not affiliated with the hospital) who said I have a mild case of vertigo and gave me something for my cough.

Adding to the really long list of social objectives that this blog fulfils; here's another piece of information - when in Chennai, find a good physician preferably not inside big hospitals.

In the past year, I've had TB, brain problems, blood pressure, back spasms and many other issues for which I've been sucked dry of urine and blood. A doctor at another large hospital where my company has a free Master Health Check tie-up prescribed me 3000 bucks worth of meds for blood pressure when I just mentioned that I had a spike the previous week. And then he told me that these meds would apparently help me lose weight, causing my BP to fall.

And then there's the standard fare when you go in with anything above 98 degrees Fahrenheit. Anitbiotics, vitamin B Complex supplements and paracetomols. Yes, antibiotics are the first thing they write down.

Now not all docs in big hospitals are bad, but one needs to be aware of the pitfalls and the strategies that many of these guys use to screw patients over. I for one, am happy to have found a physician who knows what she's talking about. And happier to not have TB and brain tumors.

The ten commandments of a visit to relatives in Kerala...

...esp. for the non-Mallus

1. Thou shalt not deny the booze. There is no excuse to say no to alcohol. Not after the uncle offering you the booze bought five bottles of whiskey on his way back home from a bypass surgery.

2. Thou shalt diversify. No edible item at the table is 'the best'. The moment you start stuffing yourself with fried fish thinking it's the yummiest thing on the menu, you discover the chicken curry. But you might just be a kilo too late.

3. Thou shalt extrapolate. Even if you don't understand the language, you shall do your best to reconstruct a coherent sentence from the 2 words you understand out of every 30.

4. Thou shalt not try fancy, new-fangled technology devices. Mobile signals are weak and the GPS thingy does not even connect to a satellite. Shame on you for fiddling with that fancy phone.

5. Thou shalt never ever, EVER travel by sleeper class. Whether it's the noisy guys on the way to Kerala or the ribald Romeos on the way back, you don't want to have to show your macho moves to save the wife. Mainly because you don't have any.

6. Thou shalt not accept gifts heavier than 1 kg. You now have enough rice flour and bananas to adopt a pet monkey who likes appams. And if it weren't for coolies, you would have lost a shoulder.

7. Thou shalt lose weight BEFORE thou travel(eth?). Because 3 breakfasts and 2 lunches and a smorgasbord for dinner everyday will push you over the quintal.

8. Thou shalt believe in a higher presence. Not because there are a large number of places of worship per area, but because you have travelled on a road not wide enough for two cars at 80 KMPH and lived to tell the tale.

9. Thou shalt respect traditional dress. The mundu is not only airy, but also customizable from long to short at a single flick of the wrist.

10. Thou shalt not state preference of food under any condition. Else thou shalt have to eat thy preference till thou loosen thy mundu, regain thy weight, and manage to speak the two words to communicate that you are done.

But seriously, Kerala is a beautiful place to visit especially if you have relatives there like my wife does. Despite not understanding the language, I really look forward to going because of the copious alcohol, the delectable cuisine, the fresh air and the warm people. What more is there to life, really?

Riddle me sick

Q: What's the best word to scare one's wife when one's down with fever and other flu-like symptoms?

A: Oink.

I know, don't tell me - I'm mean as an average. Sick as a mass murderer. Aaargh.

The similes are off colour today. Apologies. A little under the weather. And speaking of weather, check this out.

Aircel Innovation In Mumbai On Rains

View more presentations from guest1af563.

Hurrah for our government and their proactiveness. Ok back to the bed. Blogging shall soon resume. Don't go too far.

Shared auto embarassment

It was a day like many others. I was on my way back from my office in what can be described as the worst transport money can pay for, or as is referred to in more prosaic terms in Chennai as a 'share auto'. It had rained in Chennai that day. Ok, so maybe it wasn't a day like many others.

As I sat in the front portion of the rear part of the vehicle, two young ladies got in behind me. To make this clearer, please understand that my rather voluptuous behind was unintentionally touching their feet as they sat on an elevated seat behind me. As the ladies felt more and more uncomfortable, especially since where I was sitting was surrounded by muck, they began to pass remarks about how uncomfortable it was and how they couldn't sit properly etc. My buttocks may have been mentioned once or twice.

It was a while before they realised that I was getting irritated with all the complaining and ka-pow! I almost got disoriented by what happened next. Lady 1 tapped my shoulder and said, "Excuse me, you have broad shoulders." followed by a barrage of compliments about me and my appearance. Now, this is bizarre in most places, but in Chennai this is downright miraculous. Of course, it wasn't so miraculous when I realised that the lady was from Delhi, but at that stage I was reeling from the opening line anyway.

Much later I understood that Lady 1 was apparently trying to flirt with yours truly and I didn't realise this till we got off the wretched vehicle and Friend of Lady 1 told me that Lady 1 was asking me for my card because she wanted my phone number. At this stage, I articulated something on the lines of, "Ungh I'm married aagrh help."

And that was that. I turned around and have never looked in that general direction again for fear of seeing these women again.

So what I'm saying is that it's really embarassing for me when a person of the opposite gender makes a move on me. Being the decent man that I am, I'm usually found fumbling with words and my expressions are randomly swinging between perspiring-embarassed-dull-gaze to glorious-ego-boosted-smile.

I wonder how other dudes treat these situations. Any comments?

Update: Another interesting Chennai travel story.

Surprise - the birthday story

So it was the wife's birthday and the creative cycle of surprising, gifting and getting drunk was in action this week.

It was only the second third birthday since marriage, but already I seem to be running low on surprise-stock. My original 'surprise-at-midnight-with-a-cake-and-gift' masterstroke seems to have been expected this time. The 'cook-and-don't-let-her-enter-the-kitchen' idea is also slightly jaded, especially since my cooking form is lukewarm right now. No that it requires much form to heat packaged food packets. Also embarassing questions like 'Darling do you know where the salt is?' or 'Is it all right to add eggs to an omlette?' end up negating the whole out-of-kitchen experience. The cuteness of a lost husband in kitchen has a much shorter lifespan than the cuteness of a baby, I can assure you.

Another innovation this year was my attempt to crowd the house with known faces from morning to evening. That went down well, considering the wife usually tends to mope around the time of her birthday what with the advent of old age and all, imperciptible really in my eyes (brownie point - score!). And finally, to firmly establish that I'm running out of ideas, I even went the corny way of getting flowers and a card with large hearts on it. I had to suffer scanning through cards that likened love to trees, gardens and an assorted range of flowers to finally find something that wouldn't induce puke.

And after the packaged pasta was cooked and consumed, after the 25 million phone calls were answered and the winter coat that didn't fit was unwrapped, the age old non-surprising act of celebrating with food and alcohol was carried out with much aplomb. Alcohol, as they say, is the answer - whatever the question. The company was good, the Bacardis stiff and there might even have been some inebriated guitar playing and singing by me. 'Twas the stuff hangovers are made of.

Anyway, happy birthday to the wife. Apart from my usual brilliance, I did the wise thing and avoided talking about age all day and like last year I wished her yet another happy 19th birthday. My brownie point count is at an all time high - somebody stop me.

The Chennai book launch of Amit Varma's 'My Friend Sancho'

There was a warning that the news of Prabhakaran's killing may cause riots in the city, so the company that I work for let me go one hour early today. No doubt they'll keep me back one hour late somewhere in the near future.

So, given the risk of venturing out into the city on a dangerous day, half my blog's readership (my friend PJ) and I decided to do what most rational souls would have done - travel for about 10-15 km to the Landmark store where India's most powerful blogger (or something like that), Amit Varma was making an appearance to promote his book.

The book reading was good, although for those of you interested in celebrity trivia, Amit pronounces that as 'dat'. The passage that Amit started out with contained swear words and orgasmic sounds; these were greeted by silence and a muffled gasp by the Chennai audience who are not used to such potty mouths. And after the discussion with Sharanya and another reading, came the funniest part of the session - audience Q&A. Some gems from the evening below:

1. I am a journalist, and as a journalist I know what journalists go through. Since I'm a journalist who's written a couple of books called '?????' and 'The ???? of ????', my journalistic question to you is about journalistic writing. What is it?

2. Why don't you start a website?

3. WHO IS THIS YOUR FRIEND SANCHI?

The last question came from a really grumpy but cute old gentleman. The end of the session was followed by the book signing and the most anticipated part of the evening - snacks. Unfortunately, my Ayurvedic diet mandates that bread cannot be eaten, so I had to keep away from the sandwiches. :(

Oddly, Amit seemed to remember me and insisted on getting his photograph taken with me. Here's the picture we took after a nice, short conversation about writing, Mumbai, blogging, wives (all good), work and books.


Amit signed my book with, "It's nice to finally meet you." The feeling was mutual Amit. :)

Also, check out Sunil's more detailed coverage of the event here.