Friday, September 26, 2008

Friday Fundas from Chollywood... yes, again!


TGIF. yes, again! OK
, i know that in between one set of fundas and the next, there has been precious little and even i feel cheated! what's this crap? a dwindling number of snooty swindles that's what! basically, here i am, again, willingly taking whatever blame you might feel free to heap on me, and making it my very own grouse before you can say oh, no.. not again!

So, peace, yo! and all such other outdated angst-ridden war cries. Here, sample some funk (junk?) for another Friday, a day of the week we hope will re-visit us real soon....

  • When you hurriedly decide to rush into an elevator in a multiplex, to go up in a hurry, you will invariably discover, upon the shutting of its doors, that it is actually going down to the basement.
I've discovered that there are two choices to kill the time it will take, to get back to the floor on which you got on, and then stop at every other floor on its way up to, to reach your desired level, which in all likelihood is the highest the place has to offer. The first is to fixate on the glowing numbers on the panel. -2: the highest score you got on your chemistry paper after negative marking; -1: the temperature of the pole on which you happened to stick your tongue while re-living that scene from Dumb and Dumber; 0: the number of boyfriends in the year just before you first got your heart broken; 1: the number of books you safely hope to publish in this lifetime; 2: the adequately chubby, well-adjusted, un-cranky, semi-angelic, come-with-a-pre-programmed-semi-automatic-self-adjusting-timer-mechanism- and-growing-into-universally-tolerable-moderately-tolerant-genetically-good-looking kids you hope to have some day; 3: the least number of moochable men whose stories buy you respectability with your grandkids; 4: the number of places in your garage for the total set of wheels you hope to alternate driving altogether (BTW, eight different coloured TVS Lunas don't count!); 5: the number of differently shaped bathtubs in your dream house; 6: the least number of zeroes following the first number on your take-home salary cheque, sans all decimals; 7: ooops, i haven't been to an Indian mall that goes all the way up there, yet! phew! lucky at that, huh?

The second option is to familiarise yourself with the faces of the others who have made the same grave mistake, so that the next time you find yourself stupidly having to share the claustrophobic cubicle with them, you have a conversation ice-breaker. Which brings me to my carefully researched second funda of the week.

  • When in a crowded lift, you will definitely meet at least four of these usual suspects: the crouching tiger, the hidden dragon, the snake and the eagle's shadow. (Yes, i continue to watch a lot of dubbed Chollywood stuff, during times with a lack of anything better to do, or gaze aimlessly at, and yes, I also thought that Bruce Lee spoke fluent colloquial Hindi till I was about 10)
The crouching tiger (CT) will most likely be this tall, jeans-clad Panjoo-looking gel-haired specimen, crouching down to whisper sweet nothings into the ear of a giggly, scantily clothed, pint-sized side-kick whose most-uttered phrase during the eternally frustrating muti-halts trip will be " you, nah....!" said with a delicate swish of the free hand, the one not tightly grasped by the CT (i mean, it's not as if the lift will plummet and she'd go into free fall.. you can ease up on the grip buddy!)

Then, just when you are nauseatingly wondering what's awfully cooking in there, you notice the hidden dragon (HD), breathing fire with his onion breath and gastro-grenades, crouching away in the corner with a "can-you-just-smell-that?" and not-quite-as-guilty-as-outraged expression on his if-i-can't-see-your-disgust-i'm-not-even-here face. And you try desperately to recall the long-forgotten swimming lesson where you flailed about trying to hold your breath. At every stop, you let it out in a rush, and then the doors menacingly close again....

You feel the snake before you see him, as you are jolted out of your breath-halting feat by a light yet strategic exploration of your bottom. It's annoyingly vague, exasperatingly effective and very difficult to assign, until the snake attempts it again, by which time you are busy exhaling and inhaling at the temporarily open door. You might as well let your hapless bottom be, for he's awfully good at this stuff, for he's probably been practising at various malls in and more challenging settings. They probably have a club or discussion board or something to tally their shady triumphs!

And the last one is the Eagle's shadow.. This one's a kindred soul, shoved similarly into a corner, who's been watching, like you were initially, as an amused big bird, ever since the journey began, and probably is as astute an observer of lift-land as you are. The only difference is that the while the amused smile was wiped off your face with the shenanigans of the snakey bot-patting, his only grew wider. And when the big bad box thankfully disgorges you on the penultimate floor, he waits to let the others off, before chivalrously, and a tad smugly, stepping aside to let you disembark first. The next time, I'm praying he goes for your buns, buddy, and then we'll see!


And now, work beckons and so does a cold lunch. As i look at my own culinary creation with a fair amount of trepidation, here's wishing you cosy dinners, empty express elevators and close encounters of the worst ... oops... first kind: by invitation only. toooodly do!

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