Are you sure.

For all the bhakts of C.Bhagat , this is not the place to be. I don't write like him. My English is in house developed rather that the Oxford dictionary consulted one. I am not an IIT-IIM combo superstar who can tell you fundoo stories. Nothing glorious has happened in my life. So let's get it straight, read it and I beg you to please like it. I am doing this for free. Now that I have got your expectations down to the mean sea level, it's time for me to dazzle you with my little encounters of the two most stereotyped Indian people. Just before Christmas I got the 'opportunity' to visit the only Indian metropolis I haven't resided in - Chennai. Chennai scares me - for two reasons - I don't know the language they understand and I think I may be looked down upon because of my obvious non-vegetarian looks. More like vampire looks. Anyway I would go anywhere for more frequent flier miles, I am bikaoo . So here I was in my flight to Chennai sitting window-s ide,

1989 - The Berlin wall fell. Hamburger eating Yankees celebrated, but they forgot an essential part of Soviet Union to dismantle. KOLKATA ! I had become very comfortable with Mumbai, even though I was getting robbed of my money there. The thought of being 'sent' to Kolkata, sent shivers down my spine. I was going to the place which had the reputation of being slower than snails. The place where being fat is mandatory and 50 paise coins are used a lot. I was being sent back in time, to 1954. I had started imaging myself in black & white surroundings, riding hand pulled rickshaws, sleeping before 8 and eating rice for breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, refreshments and cocktails ! People usually cheer you up with the weirdest bullshit when things happen to you. Like - "You'll have more holidays", "Girls are easy there", "It's your homeland". But the best bullshit I got to listen to is , you are being sent there as a "resource". O

Okay this city has cost me dearly. I have spent the more money in bars and restaurants in Mumbai than 'I' have spent on education. I have lost more money in Bombay than most people lost money in BSE Sensex. And it was not Sensexy either. For the record, my 18K worth N78 phone was pick pocketed from Andheri Station. And the worst part is, I know when. Down to the milisecond. Right when I was about to board the train and a guy bumped into me. But I was too busy being a Delhi guy. Being arrogant and being 'Jatt'. I shouldered him back with double the anger and the Delhi guy attitude. But the phone in my other pocket was bouncing off. Into the slimy sick sweaty slithering hands of some slummy pick pocketer. Down to the godforsaken nano-second I knew it. But this arrogance. And the phone was now gone. Before I could step a foot on the train, I realised it. But, I could do nothing. There was such a maddening crowd. I was helpless. That phone was freshly purchased in Bihar. So

Have you ever tried to pick a lump of smooth sand on the beach ? I have done it so many times, and every time it feels like a whole new beginning. An absolute start. But then it starts to trickle out of your hand, through the fingers. And you thought you will have that lump in your hand for ever. Even when you knew practically that lump of sand can never stay in your hand, you held on to it. Somehow I had held on to a lump of sand in my hands in the early years of my life. And that lump of sand of was the prized part of this earth. It was in my hands. And probably that lump of sand hated it that I thought that she was in my hands. She hated that feeling that 'I' 'have' the sand in 'my' hands. The sand thought of my hands as a cage. And so those little silica particles, sparkling bright, smooth and sweet cold feeling of it , just found a space between my fingers. I always have thought that my hands were soft. The best palms to read, kiss and hold. But this nature