Winter and things I love about it....

It is cold in Kolkata. I still get to hear jokes like “Oshobbho temperature, aar koto niche naambe??” ('tum bade woh ho' temperature, aur kitna niche jaogey?) or “It’s so cold here that I am farting snowflakes”. No, it isn’t that cold, but cold enough for frequent bladder-bursting nature calls, especially during bedtime. And, cold enough for an entire post on winter. So, here it goes…..

1.     Komlalebu (Oranges): They say while listing things, “not exactly in that order”. But I must specifically mention here that, Komlalebu is THE object of desire and undeniably the winner of this list. Eating oranges reminds me of childhood. Baba and I…on a river grass mat on our terrace, with sunshine on our shoulders to make us happy and warm. While he would be busy reading his Anondobajar Patrika, I would peel the orange jacket and savour the bean-shaped carpels.  It’s strange that the reason for liking oranges was not limited to its taste. I loved squeezing its rinds into Baba’s unmindful eyes or spit the seeds from my mouth and play the “let’s-see-how-far-they-go” game. I still love doing both and develop unusual adoration for people who love these too.

Oranges also remind me of picnics. An orange is a must with the breakfast, served in the bus. Dim-Sedhho (boiled egg), Pauruti (bread), Tiffin-cake and an orange.   

2.   Picnics: I love picnics with packed sandwiches, chips, apples, juices and paper napkins. The English khaind of a picnic. I love them.

But when it comes to a Bong picnic (‘Choruibhati’), I will make a ‘Jaa, Simran ji le apni zindagi’ run towards it with all my might. I love the typically Bengally picnic. You wake up early, board a “Reserved” bus with forty friends and relatives, rush towards a window seat/jaanlar dhhar (even though you will not sit for a single second but kneel-down on the seat and play Antakshari throughout the journey), eat the ‘Packet’ (read breakfast) provided to you in the bus itself, which shall be either sweet bun, boiled egg (with the shell) and a banana OR green peas-kachori (sometimes Radhaballabi), aloo-sabzi (aloor dawm) and an orange. If you are lucky, there shall be dessert with the breakfast too: Tiffin cake (worth 3 Rupees)/ Taalshash sondesh (also 3 Rupees, small without raisins)/ Joynogorer mowa (3 rupees, with a raisin).

I love these picnics, where you carry the oven with you, cook lunch at the ‘picnic-spot’, those late lunches, red Mutton curry, badminton, memory games, Housie and Antaksharis. (I love picnics where there are prizes if you win any of the above games).

3.    New Market: This oldest New Market, I think, was born to act as the greatest entertainer, mood-lifter, anti-depressant for all ages and for ages to come. But winter makes it doubly beautiful. Your eyes get glued to her, followed by the heart. If New Market was a human being, it would have been Nafisa Ali. It just gets more beautiful with age.  

During winter, shopkeepers put temporary stalls stuffed with Christmas decorations. Green, red, silver, golden and a riot of all other colours, small and huge Christmas trees, thin and fat Santas, small and huge holes in the pocket, thin and fat bargains.

To add to this charm, the 110 years-old “Nahoums” plays its part. The rich aroma of plumcakes, lemon tarts, chocolate brownies and éclairs, chicken patties and mutton samosas (priced at 1.50 Rupees each). Bliss! If “Nahoums Confectionaries Pvt. Ltd.” was a human being, it would have been Rekha. Ageless, (I wonder if Rekha and Eve were the same person! Since time immemorial, she has maintained herself on an “as is where is” basis), gorgeous, some would find it overrated, but there will be thousands of others who would want to die in its arms. (oh, yes, if Nahoums = Rekha, I am Mukesh Aggarwal)

Lastly but not least-ly, Fairlawn Hotel on Sudder Street. Its Christmas look is to die for, accompanied with alcohol and omelets.

4.    Kolkata – 700 016: Christmas and New Year decorations are the most beautiful in this particular part of Kolkata. Park your heart in this street. The entire road is lined up with lights. In addition to the flowers from Park Street Cemetery, Santa caps, multi-coloured wigs, giant-sized goggles are sold at traffic signals, huge serpentine queues embrace Mocambo and Peter Cat, Duck-festival at Moulin Rogue, Crab-festival at Waldroff, beaf steak and vodka at Oly, “25% off” on the second helping of Blenders’ Pride teamed with loud live music at Trinca’s. I do not know what heaven looks like, but I assume, I can accommodate if it’s something similar to this part of the city.

Trivia 1: Trinca’s is perhaps the ONLY bar in Kolkata (if not in India) where Rabindrasangeet is sung by pub-singers, side-by-side with ‘aaiye meherbaan’ and ‘ajeeb dastan hein yeh’. (A friend and I were eyewitnesses).

Trivia 2: Ah not required, you all know the Trinca’s-Usha Uthhup story.

Trivia 3: Mr. Flury and Mr. Trinca owned a tearoom called “Flury’s and Trinca’s” where Flury’s stands today. Mr. Flury ran away with Mrs. Trinca and their partnership split. :D

Trivia 4: Sorry, this post is about winter and not about Trinca’s. And no, I do not advertise for free. :/

5.    The birthday of Jesus: Christmas automatically leads to the birthday of this great man. I think ‘Borodin’ has very special significance in the lives of Bengalis on account of Jesus being a Bengali himself. A friend says: “It has long been proven that Jesus was a Bengali. He was with his mom for 35 years; he thought his mom was a virgin; his mom thought he was God. Now, these three are common with all Bengali sons. Historians are looking for just one proof before declaring this to the world. Did Jishu use a pashbalish (bolster) while sleeping?”.

Indeed. Jishu was a Bengali. Hence, the enthusiasm.

6.               My birthday: (I decided to give Narcissism some rest. For this particular paragraph, it has taken a back seat. Hence, the smaller font.)  

7.  Visit to the zoo, walks in and around the Victoria Memorial, Rabindra Sarobar (Lake): I love zoos, especially in the winter. During winters, Baba used to take us (us = my brother, my cousins, neighbours’ children, his friends’ children and me) to the zoo every Sunday. We would squeeze into our 1966-make Hindustan Motors Ambassador and zoom towards the zoo. Baba would buy small pouches of nuts and grams for all of us for feeding the monkeys and the elephants. During those days, the elephants were kept in a somewhat open space. They would move their trunks towards the visitors and one could feed them with food and coins. I loved how they could distinguish between the two, by eating the former and depositing the latter with the keeper. I love elephants.

I also love the Victoria Memorial and Maidan during the winters. A walk amidst the fog, steaming hot tea thereafter and realising it for the umpteenth time that I live in the most beautiful city in the universe.  Blessed.

Here is a snapshot of the Maidan winter from one of my favourite photographer-friend. It defines all I am talking about.

8.  Joynogorer mowa, Patali, Nolen gur, Gurer Payesh, Patishapta (Narkoler, Khhirer), Pithhe, Koraishutir Kochuri and Phoolkopir singara: Winter is a foodie’s delight indeed. It reminds me of a friend’s status update:

“Katrina Kaif < Katrina Kaif in a Chiffon Saree < Phoolkopir Singara.” True that!

(I purposely did not translate the above names into English. 1^st purpose: Why torture non-Bongs by explaining these? 2^nd purpose: I have no clue what they are called in English. Also, literal translations like Peas Kachori or Gobi Samosa can rob them of their taste, food-value and charisma. Like Sandip Ray’s Feluda movies. So….)

9.                   The comparatively long intervals at which arms can be waxed: courtesy: Full-sleeved sweaters.

10.   The New Years and the thirsty-first nights, calendar and diaries: There were times when ‘31^st Night’ meant the only night in an entire year when we could go to bed really late. My maternal grandmom would sit with my cousin sister and me, watch the Doordarshan 31^st night shows till the end just to see Amir Khan or Madhuri Dixit perform. Yes, star performers performed last.  What joy!!! What immense joy!  

Life has changed. Doordarshan has been replaced by Big Bens, Tantras, Undergrounds, Roxies, house parties and the likes. But there’s one thing that has sustained the child in me. The top 100 songs of the year on the radio on the 31^st. What suspense!! The breathless gasp, the wide eyed enthusiasm and a long-cherished dream that their No. 1 would match with my No. 1 song……and the ear-to-ear grin when you find…..yesssssss, that has actually happened! Certain ‘woohoo’ feelings cannot be sufficiently described with a single “Woohoo!”.  This feeling is such. :)

@Calendars and diaries: Like most Bengalis, I have this obsession too. I love collecting calendars and diaries. Till today, I couldn’t figure out why! Once stuffed with calendars, I strategically start placing them. ITC or Taj Mahal Palace desk calendars find their places on the work table (reasons? If I say them loud you will call me cheap). “High on art or creativity” calendars will always be saved for home. The calendars from Xerox shop, grocery shop or jewellery shop (with Shiv-Kali photos) find their places behind the kitchen doors. They are meant for drawing circles around important dates, birthdays, anniversaries, when gas needs to be booked, when the Aquaguard guy needs to be called etcs etcs. Pocket calendars from the Calcutta High Court Bar Association is however the most revered of all …..for the ‘red dates’! (Holidays, that is.) :D

Diaries: There was a time when I used a diary for everything. Writing drab daily incidents, song lyrics, making paper boats and planes (with messages on them), penning love letters, calculating expenses from my pocket money, how much to save for making phone-booth-calls to my newly acquired boyfriend, quotations, list of books I plan to buy this Bookfair, comparative analysis between Amir Khan and Salman Khan in AAA, keeping roses and leaves inside the diary to see what happens to them years later, taking down notes……o God, the list is serpentine. I miss writing diaries. :(

But I never miss collecting them. :D

11.        Weddings, Biriyani at winter-weddings, the joy of wearing heavy silks with ease, relief from sweat- smeared makeup, pullovers and blankets laden with the smell of naphthalene, the warmth of wearing freshly ironed clothes, Poush mela at Shantiniketan, Handicratfs fair at Central Park, Boroline, Glycerin and lipbalms (fruit-flavoured. I use them so that I can eat them. That’s it).

12.  Book fair: Like, I miss the Maidan Book Fair like a missing eye. I mean, even after all these years, the Milan Mela-Book Fair seems a distant stranger with whom I can’t relate. If you love books, you might as well like any book fair, anywhere in the world. But then……well, no proper explanation.

Maidan has stuffed us with heaps of memories. If Durga Pujo is the greatest of Bong festivals, Book Fair would be a close second. I am talking about no-Flipkart, no-Infibeam days. I am talking about days when going to Oxford Bookstore or Crosswords weren’t this popular or even non-existent. We would wait for the Book Fair, keeping a year long list ready. (In case, the pocket didn’t allow all of them, College Street would buffer).

There was this one aspect about Bookfair which induced a thousand butterflies. I felt like a queen when one Ms. Suchitra Bhattacharya or one Mr. Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay signed their books I bought. Yes, you get to meet authors at the Bookfair, speak to them, drool over them, and get their books signed! *fainting again in excitement*.

Apart from books, I loved the Ajkaal and Bartaman stalls, their black and white photographs and their captions/catch phrases. I loved those oil dripping Benfish batter/ butter fries and felt extremely amused at the same long queue every year in front of Mousumi Prakashoni! :D

The excitement, the dust, the crowd, the smell of books punctuated with “Pinky, tumi jekhanei thako, Guild office er shamne chole esho. Bunty tomar jonno opekhha korche” made me feel ecstatic.  

Also, watching happy faces buying books made me insanely happy. I would stare at one particular ‘him’ for hours, when he chose patiently and bought one book each for ALL his family members. ALL. (parents, sibling, cousins, aunts, uncles, best friend, sibling’s special someone, his own girlfriend, girlfriend’s brother, girlfriend’s cousin…….phew! And, himself) He would carry several packets from Dey’s, Anondo, Penguin or Deb Shahityo Kutir, filled with books, filled with happiness. (You guessed it right. Reason #111088 behind “why I married this man”).

On that note, Happy “last days of winter”, everyone!

Mary and Max

There are sights. And there are sounds. Which when perceived, evokes one overwhelming emotion: “I wish he was here”. On my first tour abroad, this was one emotion I carried everywhere I went.

I never quite realised that “I-wish-he-was-here” could happen to movies as well…until I watched Mary and Max. Having watched the movie alone, I almost felt guilty that JD hadn’t watched it. (Like, I finished a whole Lindt, leaving the wrappers for him).

But then, the movie was disturbingly irresistible. And, ignoring those guilty pangs, I watched the movie thrice. (I promise, my fourth shall be with you, JD!)

Writing about a movie does not necessarily mean a review. In my case, for sure, it doesn’t. Reasons are two:

1.      This movie is very close to me….almost like an emotion. And, emotions cannot be reviewed. They can only be spoken about.

2.      I am a poor story-teller and give away too many details while narration. So I presume, I will make a poor movie-reviewer as well.

Mary and Max (2009) is an Australian clay-animation, written and directed by Adam Elliot (the same man who made a 22 minute 7 seconds long “Harvie Krumpet” and won himself an Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film in 2003).

To cut a long story short, I borrowed these lines from an internet movie data base (use of small letters is a futile attempt to hide the source).

“It is a simple tale of pen-friendship between two very different people; Mary Dinkle, living in the suburbs of Melbourne, Australia and New Yorker Max Horovitz. Spanning 20 years and 2 continents, Mary and Max's friendship survives much more than the average diet of life's ups and downs”.

Mary Daisy Dinkle. The 8 years, 3 months and 9 days old lived in Mount Waverley in Australia. She had a distracted, indifferent father who worked in a factory where they attached strings to tea bags. Her mother was an alcoholic, kleptomaniac, cricket-fanatic and a “complicated soul”. She had two neighbours and one pet Rooster called Ethel (who didn’t lay eggs!).  She had no brothers or sisters. She also had no friends.

Max Jerry Horowitz was a severely obese, 44 year old man living in New York. He shared his house with a fish called Henry (the eighth, the ninth or the tenth as the case may be), three snails, all named after famous scientists (Einstein, Newton, Hawkins for example), a parakeet called Mr. Biscuit and a cat named Hal (after the disease, Halitosis from which he suffered). He too, had no friends.

Earl Grey was her favourite tea bag from the ones her father made.  She loved saying “Earl Grey” and some day, wanted to marry a man with that name and have kids and pets with him. Mary loved the smell of her wet rooster, the sound of rain on her roof and believed that nothing could beat the taste of sweetened condensed milk straight from the can while watching her favourite cartoon. And “The Noblets” was her favourite cartoon. She adored them because, they had oodles of friends.

“nothing could beat the taste of sweetened condensed milk straight from the can while watching her favourite cartoon..”

Max had troubled sleeping and sleeping troubles. He loved Chocolate hotdog and invented the recipe for it. He also invented an invisible friend called Mr. Ravioli who sat and read on his own. He attended the Overeaters Anonymous classes on Thursdays. He wished there was a Fat Fairy who would be a bit like the Tooth Fairy, and suck out his fat. He had 8 tracksuits of the same colour and size. He loved buying lottery tickets. Again, same numbers every time. He also loved “The Noblets” because they had oodles of friends. 

“He wished there was a Fat Fairy who would be a bit like the Tooth Fairy, and suck out his fat…”

Grandpa had always told Mary that, in Australia, babies came from beer glasses. She wondered if it was true for USA as well. May be not. She flipped through a New York City – address book and randomly chose one Max Jerry Horowitz to ask her most sought-after question, “Where do babies come from, in America?”

And that was the beginning of a long chain of letters between the two strangers, who became each other’s friends, the only friend…the best they ever had. 

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The poster shall catch your attention. It caught mine. While “Mary” is a hand-written font, “Max” is a typewriter version. You will figure out why, once you have watched the film. It is a very simple yet minute detailing. And how I love it!

The other striking feature of the film is the absence of colours. Except for Mary’s hairpin, the pompom on Max’s yarmulke, letter boxes, everyone’s tongues and a few things here and there, the film is set in sepia and black and white. The only other colour used is red, on the things I mentioned above.

Mary’s world was sepia. It went well with her, I presume. 

“My favourite colour is brown”. 

“To fill in time, she scanned the room and counted how many things were brown.

There was sticky tape, rubber bands and a phone book with a picture of a lady standing in a brown lake with her hand on fire.” 

And she loved the “Noblets” because “everyone was brown and lived in a teapot.”

Max’s world was set in black and white….like his mind was. “Literal and logical”.  (watch out for that scene in a doctor’s chamber where a sign read “please take a seat”)

Barry Humphries’s voice worked wonders for the narration. And so did Bethany Whitmore’s voice as little Mary’s. If voices could be hugged, her’s would be the first I would want to. 

Yes, it is an animation with characters being clay figurines, but I do not think it’s a movie for children. The film deals with complex issues like lonely childhood, friendlessness, alcoholism and most importantly Autism. The film’s treatment of Autism as a subject is one of the best I have seen. 

PS: The film also deals with friendship…one of the best I have seen. 

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The correspondence between the two friends went almost unhindered over two decades, as Mary grew taller and Max grew wider. In the meantime, Max had a couple of anxiety attacks, was institutionalised and diagnosed with Asperger syndrome, charged with manslaughter once and acquitted on account of insanity, won New York lottery and a fortune that bought him a lifetime’s supply of chocolates. Mary, on the other hand, went to college, earned a degree on Psychology, wrote a thesis on Asperger syndrome, based on her communication with Max and married one of her next-door neighbours, Damien Popodopoulos.

In the midst of bizarre question-answer sessions, anxiety attacks, Henrys’ deaths, Mr. Ravioli’s final farewell, failed marriage and all the confuzzledness that never left their paths, what emerged as a clear winner was their friendship….Like Max’s doctor had said, their lives were very long sidewalks. Not smooth at all places, but with cracks, banana skins and cigarette butts. Whether their sidewalks meet in the end, is for you to find out.  

PPS: This may be just a figment of my imagination, but in one particular scene I felt their worlds met. Mary had sent Max a chocolate with her letter. The chocolate got crushed, so he blended the bits with milk and icecream and drank it. The chocolate milk shake was a tone of sepia amidst Max’s black and white world. 

Just a figment of my imagination!

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My best friend said the other day : “Fantabulousome!”

It instantly reminded me of Mary and Max. 

The film also reminded me of my favourite word as a teenager. “French Manicure”. Of my 5 most favourite-sounding words, this happened to be one. I wondered whether he was a French man who could cure everything. I also wondered if he could be married to.  

I know people who treasure letters like water and oxygen. And preserve them with all their might. I know people who LOVE, barring distances, geographical impediments, age and many other things. One of them happens to be my ‘French Manicure’.   

I know of people who cannot cry. And I know situations where I wished teers could be collected in empty shampoo bottles and sent to them…

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PPS: After ages, I copied dialogues from a movie in my secret diary. For, when I grow old, I shall drink the words like a bowl of alphabet soup. 

PPPS: I haven’t thanked the person who recommended the movie to me. Instead, this post is dedicated to her….entirely.

PPPPS: Watch Mary and Max….cause, you haven’t watched anything like this before.

Aaste, Ladies!

I opened my wallet. There lied four horizontally folded ten rupees notes. Horizontally folded. I smiled to myself. A bus ride. After ages.

And what fun bus rides were! Just the sight of folded notes and a rush of the adrenaline…..I remember how I used to impress my man by alighting a moving bus (I know, obnoxious I am), how chatty I used to get with the conductors and co-passengers, the first lessons of verbal abuse, the bum-frying experiences on bus-engines when sat upon, the favouritism towards Midis over Mini buses on account of their “Ladies” seats...

And that phenomenal statement “Aaste Ladies!!” Often followed by “Koley bachcha”. (people who are from my city would actually sense the tone, right now, isn’t it?....“Aaaaste ladies, koley bachcha!”). The use of “Ladies” in all its manifestations, especially for a single lady owes its origin to bus-conductors. “Ladies ke namie de”, “ladies ta ki dekhte mairi”, “apni ladies bole kichhu bolchi na” are some of the many uses of this extraordinary phrase while referring to a woman.  

Then, I have other much loved phrases as well. I repent not travelling in a bus too often. I miss the daily dose of humour, the witty conversations and the simplicity of ways of life. (As a word of abundant caution, I must mention here that by ‘Bus’, I mean those 42Bs, 37s, SD-4s and not those swanky A.C. Volvo buses).

A few months back, I was flipping through a book on Kolkata which had an excellent collection of phrases used in a bus. This post is a combination of my own favourites and those listed in the book.

1.      Bhara to baarlo, ebar taratari chalan (as if the speed of the vehicle is directly proportional to the rate of increase of its fares).

2.      Ami ki notun? Ami rojkar daily passenger (the annoyed passenger threatens the conductor when imparted ‘gyaan’. And not to miss the same fallacy of ‘suppose dhhor’ in ‘rojkar daily’!)

3.      Upto Howrah porjonto roj daily passenger kori, jaaneyn? (same as above. To add, the use of ‘upto’ and ‘porjonto’ in the same sentence).

4.      Laagley awaj hobey (Conductors to cars while overtaking them).

5.      Haalka kor (Conductor to driver asking him to slow down the bus so that a passenger can get down at an unscheduled stop).

6.      Pichone shatun (Conductor’s irritated exclamation towards passengers asking them to move away from the entrance towards the inside).

7.      Ei je dada! Boudir sindur-er kheyal raakhben. Handle dhore oto jhulben na! (Conductor to passengers standing on the footboard, almost hanging from the entrance)

8.      Dichhi-dichhi korben na! (Conductor to passenger delaying in buying the ticket).

9.      Ki dada, Fevicol na ordinary? (Question asked by a standing passenger to the one sitting right infront of him in order to know where he would get down. If the answer is ordinary, he would wait….if its Fevicol, the passenger would try his luck elsewhere).

10.  Barite ma bon nei? (For many men, ‘elbow diye thelbo’ is the order of the day. For their elbowing stances, this is the most common phrase used by female passengers.) Now, I have a story to tell here. In my entire life, I have used this sentence only once to which the reply was “jeta tomar songe korte chai, sheta to ma - bon er songe kora jayna”. On the indecisiveness as to whether I shall laugh,  cry or faint, I decided not to use this phrase ever.

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And then there are hawkers to add colours to the bus-rides.

1.      Shishu kaande ma-er koley, pepsi-pepsi khabo bole (marketing ice-colas in thin plastic pouches priced at five rupees).

2.      Gaacher opor pakhir basa, pepsi khabo moner asa (same product)

3.      Joto chusben toto ross, na kinle company-r loss (no, not the same product. Marketing jelly lozenges, orange candies).

4.      Eije Dadara, idurer bachchara……jodi khhaye, oboshhyoi morbe (marketing rat poison).

5.      Kena-na-kena bektigoto byapar, dekhashona free (marketing general knowledge books, Kishore-Kumar-lyrics-in-Bengali books etc.)

6.      Chup-chap boshe na theke tuk-tak mukhh chalan (marketing Jhaalmuri).

7.      Debo naki? Chhal chhariye nun makhiye? (marketing raw mango)

8.      Benimadhob Sil-er phool panjika, bajare etar daam 20 taka…kintu amar kachhe eta apnara paben 10 takay. Tar songe company theke ekta teen takar dot-pen free. (marketing Bengali almanac).

9.      Agey khan pore daam, bhalo lagle company-r naam (marketing pathhar-hazam churans, amla candies, mouth fresheners etc.)

10.  Ek takay paanch, du takay dosh, na kinle apnar loss (same as above).

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On another note, I remember a statement I made. “No one beats a Bong in this wisecracks. No one”. I chanced upon a picture made by my brother’s friend Avirup (NID graduate and a very talented soul) on speeding public-vehicles in Kolkata. And here it is.

I reiterate the statement I made.

The 'Just Married, Please Excuse' Contest

This is an old post (not a very old one) which I want to pass as an entry for this contest. I had named this post “Speechlessness” and reproduce it here with a few edits.

The contest requires one funny incident from the just-married phase, while my post is a series of conversations, if not events. My rationale behind that is, (i) inspite of being married for almost six solid years, I can still pass “married” with a “Just” prefix and (ii) funny conversations with the other half are events enough in my life. (Do I sound desperate for an autographed book! Yes. Who cares?)

Here we go!

The characters in the conversations are married to each other (No prizes for guessing). P, the better-half (and obviously, the woman) and J, the other half (the man).

P: Do I look slim in this dress?

J: Can I be honest?

P: No.

J: You look like an hour-glass.

P: Ok. Honesty is the best policy.

J: Plump.

P:

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P returns from some work.

P: Wassup?

J: Now that you are here, you know what is up. (winks)

P:

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P: Hey you remember that first time we met?

J: Of course. How can I forget that? (sarcasm to be ignored)

P: Tell me what was I wearing?

J: Nailpolish.

P: What was I WEARING?

J: Earrings.

P: I am not Kate Winslet.

J: Oh that reminds me. I had better things to check about you. Sorry didn’t notice what you were wearing.

P:

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P (singing loudly): “subhah hone na de ..shaam hone na de…ek dusre ko hum sone na de”…what do you think of the song? I love it.

J: It reminds me of our suhag-raat.

P:

P:

J: Lights off. Sounds off. Camera off. Action! (evil grin follows)

P:

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P (after watching Kahaani): I wish I was Vidya Balan.

J: You don’t need to. I find you better.

P:

P:

P: You sure? Or you drunk?

J: Sure. I mean she is way more beautiful and all. But it’s like, Beer works better for me on a June-afternoon, than a Blue Label. Like that.

P: Whatever that means.

J: It means facts. Don’t mistake it as a compliment.

P:

P:

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P trying a dark eye make-up, a.k.a smoky look.

P: How do I look?

J: You look like Johny Depp.

P: Whaaaat??

J: Johny Depp. In “Pirates of the Caribbean”. (concentrates on the newspaper).

P:

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P seen here, wearing a dress which has all the colours of a rainbow and teased by random horny men on the street.

Men: Holi kaab hein? Kaab hein holi? (followed by wicked smirks)

P: J, they are eve-teasing and Eve is your wife. Stop them.

J (matter-of-factly): Tell them na, Holi is in March if they are asking you so many times. (and looks away)

P:

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P: It’s so late. I don’t think we’ll get a Taxi.

J: Wait. I’ll hide somewhere. You stand alone on the street. Remember “akeli ladki khuli hui tijori ki tarah hote hein”. Taxis are bound to stop. Then I’ll jump in.

P: This is how you use your wife???

J:  Yes. Now do what I tell you.

P:

P:

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P complaining.

P: Someone told me my nose resembles that of a PUG!.

J: Pug? Vodafone kutta, you mean?

P: Don’t make it worse. Just Pug.

J:  Who said? Tell him or her, I like honesty.

P:

P:

J: By the way, that’s your cutest feature. And the comparison makes it cuter.

P: :)

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Similar conversation.

P: Your Mama (uncle) says my eyes are like a cow’s. Meanness is hereditary.

J: But it’s a compliment. Cows have beautiful eyes.

P: Never thought about it. Oh yes.

J: Told you. Better, do something about your double-chin before people start comparing it with that of a cow. (Gabbar Singh laugh follows).

P:

P:

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P: Am I your Personal Secretary? Have you kept me ONLY to do all your work?

J: Yes. What else?

P:

J: You can also sleep with me. Like Personal Secretaries. (winks away to glory)

P:

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They flip through their wedding album.

J: With so many of your relatives surrounding me, reminds me of something.

P: What?

J: Gulliver’s Travels.

P: 

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In the midst of a serious discussion. P fuming.

J: You remember what was Oliver Twist’s best friend’s name?

P: How is that relevant? Anyways, whaat??

J: Master Bates.

P:

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P: If you ever had to have an extramarital affair, whom would you want it with?

J: Ladies first.

P: Irfaan Khan, may be?

J: Wah wah.

P: You?

J: You.

P: :)  

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