mallu bangaya gentleman??

ok....

Here goes...

I wake up at 8 in the morning, take a bath & shave daily... wear formals, and reach my workplace at 8:30 am! I work all day till 6-7 pm..

No, this is not a nightmare... and ive not been hypnotized... i guess ive been corporatized!!

I guess the days when we used to wake up at 11-12, wore the same t shirt n jeans since our birthdate and lounged around doin nothin is slowly drifting away..

But wat else can be done?? I can fight or I can join the gang... Havent yet decided wat to do.. but yeah one thing is sure... Ive definitely changed!!

Indian blogs blocked!!

Well, theoritically... however as I am accessing this one now.. to all the Big Brothers out there, Nyahh nyaanna Nyaa naah

Well on a serious note... Controlling religious extremism by blocking blogs? Not a bad thought considering the fact that the IB ministry has earlier "controlled" the dressing sense of News readers in DD, music videos, movies etc etc. However some questions do arise...

1. Why blogs ? When you have dozens, or even hundreds of news papers, magazines and other publications giving out extremist views....

2. Why now? Isnt the govt supposed to find out those responsible for the bomb blasts rather than go in for "questionable" judgements like these?

3. Why not only those "extremist" blogs? or is it a technical issue?

4. Do you think that such as step is justified? If not, how do we, as bloggers express our disapproval of the issue?

Am I lovin it?

Having nothin else to do at home other than lazing around n watchin TV, does have its own side effects. One of them is the dreaded "Visit your relatives and show off your son" ritual which is followed by my folks at least once a week. Once we get over with one round, we repeat the cycle.
The questions asked always are :

1. Mon (I hate people calling me son, I am sure I have just 1 dad n mom!), Joli aayo ? (translated as, son did u get a job)

I reply, no response until they get to know that I will be working outside the country, and you should see the change in their response... "Ooooohh., Wowwww" As if leaving the country borders makes u a superstar automatically.

2. Arent u getting married?

I am not supposed to respond anythin, just act real shy while they start making comments and a euphemistic ragging continues.

But I am ok with all this, the main problem lies when they get some food! I dont wat it is with people, or Indians or mallus (i dont know) but there is a custom to feed the guest to express your love. The more you love, the more you must feed.

This gets really weird even with what you are fed, you ask for water and they will serve you juice. If they ask if you want somethin and if u vehemently refuse (which you must do even if u can eat a horse) they will still serve you. The diabetics in the group will make a fuss over the size of the sweet or the amount of juice, until they are forced to have at least a miniscule. Refusing to have the food offered is sacrilege, it is equivalent to breaking of relations!

I have lots of questions here, which I hope can be answered by you all ...

1. Why make courtesy calls when u dont actually feel like showing your love or respect to someone?

2. Is this only an indian or mallu phenomenon, or does it exist across the world?

3. Give me some tips on how to get thru the torture!!

Till we meet again...

Adios Amigos!

M I - 4

“Agent mallu, The Mission, if you choose to accept it, is to enter one of the scariest and most securely guarded area in the Ninan residence. It brings fear into the minds of men. It is perennially guarded at various levels by the female folk and the mere entrance into the area will cause alarm bells to ring in the egos of men and screams from the women.

Your mission, if u choose to accept it, is to enter this area, use the complicated equipments and come out unscathed. This area is called the Kitchen and is located in the south west corner in the ground floor of the house. This message will self destruct in 5 seconds.”

I took a deep breath. All my training of watching my mom perform this deadly and complicated ritual called cooking and reading instruction manuals called cook books will come to my use now. The house was lonely, it was 10 am and I decided to make my move.

I tiptoed into the room, making sure that no alarm went off, so far so good. I switched on the lights…

Bzzt….

Danger Danger! The huge machine called the fridge suddenly went to a halt! I had tripped some wires! What to do? Calm down! Think! Off I ran to the top floor, got an extension cord, removed the plug and reconnected. It worked! Whew, that was a close shave!

Ok. I cant afford to make any more mistakes. I moved quickly, into the far corner to the stove. All my training was put to use as I swiftly turned on the gas valve, took the pan and the oil. A quick turn and the fires started burning.

I rushed to the fridge, remembering the ingredients and took them out. Broke open the egg and in a swift move quickly poured it onto the pan. I added the other ingredients and I could hear the frying noises soon from the stove. My adrenaline was pumping through my veins and my heart was pumping like crazy. Focus Binu, focus! I had to control my arms, for the ladle; ears for the right frying sound; nose for the correct smell and tongue to get the right taste before I removed the dish from the stove.

After 5 minutes of intense effort, I was able to do it! I had succeeded in the impossible mission of making my very first …. Ok let that be a suspense.. See for yourself!

Mission Impossible… accomplished!