'tis the season to be parking lalalalala lalalala

It's “THE CHRISTMAS SEASON” once again. And we all know what that means right?? .......Partaaaaaaayyyy !!

It also means that, like an outbreak of measles, the gift-giving season is upon us once again.

I have received oodles of colourful pamphlets from my credit-card company and flyers in the daily mail urging me to buy retarded objects and gift them to people.

The most recent catalogue features ginormous cans of cashew nut burfi dripping with syrup, each containing enough artery-clogging cholesterol to decimate half the secretariat. If you want to gift this, all you do is call up the toll-free number given and it will be delivered forthwith to the person of your choice. It never even has to cross your doorstep, let alone drip on your carpet.

Another example of gifting-food: Christmas puddings manufactured last November, packed in tin cans and “matured to perfection” in Aunty Philo’s home bakery till they achieve the consistency of Olympic putting balls. These present all the problems of cashew nut burfi with the added problem that they can cause hernias.

Now why would anyone give such a gift? Do you know of anyone in the entire country who would actually want a mass of congealed burfi? The only reason one can think of, is that the gift-giver is just going through the motions and saying, “Ok, now you can’t say I came to your party empty-handed.”

Another example is cosmetics. Men the world over go into these cosmetic stores which smell like cheap dance bars and buy their wives/girlfriends a gift package containing tiny sprays, tubes and jars with brand names like Fiama Yo Mama or La Oriole or Garish Fruits, which claim to whiten, moisten and soften everything, I would think the women would be better off just climbing into a washing machine, with extra detergent, softener and bleach. But essentially what the men mean to say is, “Look! I bought you a present” I doubt women use those things, they most likely just give it to their 3-year old nieces or nephews to play with, which is why you find some kids who smell like cheap dance bars.

And what do the women do?? They turn right around and buy presents for the men. “Oh see what I got you!” And the men say, "Great! A handy screwdriver set!” Then they stick the screwdriver set at the bottom of their tool box along with the cashew nut burfi.

But it’s Christmas and you have no choice. You have to buy thoughtful presents for your friends and family or they will hate you.

So, every year, when you find yourself sucked in by the “Fill-My-Christmas-Stocking-Epidemic”, remind yourself that it’s that very special time of year when we join our fellow Yuletide shoppers in sharing centuries-old traditions, such as trying to find parking space in Panjim.

We traditionally do this by driving around Panjim streets and roads until we see a shopper emerge and walk towards her car. Then, in very much the spirit of the Magii, we follow her, just as they followed a star, for weeks on end, until it led them to a parking space.
By keeping the car bumper about a metre from her heels, we warn other stalking cars that she belongs to us and shoo them away by playing “Jingle Bells” loudly through the car speakers.

So there it is! The true meaning of Christmas: FINDING A PARKING SPOT.

That…. and trying to catch the waiter’s eye at Britto’s in Baga.

Post-parking you then saunter into the store and set about finding Christmas presents for young and old.

Here are some helpful suggestions:

Presents for Children (Boys): Play Stations, Laptops, I- Pods, I-Phones, AK-47’s

Presents for Adults (Men): Play Stations, Laptops, I-Pods, I-Phones, Ak-47’s

Presents for Children (Girls): Toys R Us has once again outdone itself with offering a huge simpering array of dolls and accessories, including a tiny pouch for carrying the I-Pill. These dolls have Pentium chips inside them, can speak, sing and dance. There’s even one that is a dead ringer for Freida Pinto that dumps her boyfriend and sings “jai ho.”

Presents for Adults (Women): Cell phones with automatic voice-activated battery chargers and unlimited talk-time, 2 credit cards, a wedding ring.

……and for me: I don’t want to get too mushy here, but I think that if you truly care, the best present you can give me is not something money can buy. It is very precious, but costs nothing. It is only yours to give. I’m talking about your parking spot.

.....and here's A Merry Christmas and a Happy 2010 to my 3 blog fans.Ho!Ho!Ho! Hmmph!

Support the Arts: Hug a dancer!

I will admit I have become a huge fan of Jason and Sylvia, they are the dancing couple I mentioned in a blogspot earlier, remember?? Jason explains: Dance brought us and kept us happy together for 10 whole years before I figured out that dance isn’t a form, it’s a way of life and so I proposed and we got married……and Sylvia, not to be outdone says: I accepted because I knew that I would have the upper hand since I can do everything Jason does, only backward and in high heels!

Truth be told when I watch this couple dance together, I don’t see their technique, I see their passion. They don’t dance with their feet so much as they dance together with their hearts.

As for me I grew up in boarding school with 40 other boys in the same dorm. That’s how I first discovered the dance – waiting for the bathroom. Then in my early teens, with my hormones effervescing, decided that if I got started dancing that would be one way to meet girls. After all there are only two places where indiscriminate hugging is tolerated, the wedding boudoir and the ballroom and since I wasn’t anywhere near being married…. well, you can see where I was going with this thought……

Unfortunately the powers that be made me rethink my strategy and I gave up dancing because; even though my twisted teenage mind harkened to none other than the great George Bernard Shaw who wrote that “ Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire” I discovered that actually “Dancing is an art of getting your feet out of the way faster than your partner can step on them” I also figured, given my experience with my dance partners that “Life is too short to dance with ugly girls.”

And with time dance lessons got further and further away from me because:

a) I had to work to earn a living.

b) The girls I knew couldn’t dance either, those who did,for some reason wouldn’t teach me.

c) I did not have the spare cash for the lessons on my minimum wage.

d) I started raising a family.

Finally here I am in my twilight years, still able to walk, with some extra pocket change, trying to shed a few extra kilos, trying to express what is too deep for words, trying to communicate between body and soul, - learning to dance.

But it’s hard work. It takes a whole lot more effort and determination. Truth be told: you don’t just put your feet in the air and move them around. Dancing is a sweat job. If it were any easier I'm sure it would be called football. After your routine, when you wake up in the morning and nothing hurts you better check your pulse, you must be dead.

So after almost 6 weeks of pushing myself to stay with the dance programmes that Jason and Sylvia designed and unstintingly tutored us lesser mortals, I discovered new insights to dance in general and dancers in particular.Namely ( and I'm pretty sure Jason and Sylvia will agree with me here) :-

..."Practice makes Perfect," is not a saying, it's a way of life.

…Dance is your life, and the rest is just spare time.

...the first impression people have of you is: YOU DANCE.

...your hairline is receding from tying your hair tightly back into a ponytail.

...every wooden floor is a place for practicing.

...watching TV is not a time to relax, it's a time to stretch.

...you hear music and you NEED to dance.

...a new leotard makes a girl’s whole day.

...you walk with your feet pointed outwards.

...you look for new moves in dance movies.

… you cringe at mistakes Rakhee Sawant makes in the “Boogie Woogie” TV show.

...everything you get for birthdays, anniversaries, and festive occasions is dance related, even the alcohol.

...you have more pairs of dance shoes than street shoes.

...you start stretching whenever sitting on the floor.

...you prefer a conversation on music and dance than on politics or finance.

...you point your toes even during sit-ups.

...you use empty hallways to practice grand pirouettes.

...you do arm movements and move your feet around while waiting in a line, and people move away warily.

...everything you do has something to do with dance.

...you cancel dates because of dance classes.

...you promise to never stop dancing.

Had I learned the few “moves” that I now know back then. Here are some lines I may have used to pick up girls(who knows they may even still work for me now, winkety wink!). Then again, maybe not.

Me: “Honey, I’ll give you 10 reasons to date me and not that football player.”

She: “Hah! I’d like to see you try”

Me: : “Ok here goes….”

1.I've mastered 5 positions professionally

2. I have perfect technique, good rhythm and great hip rotation

3. I’m used to having bruises on my knees

4. No matter how long it takes or how hard it gets ... I do it with a smile

5. I’m not afraid to perform in front of audiences

6. I have a lot of rhythm 'n style

7. After a quick intermission I’m ready to go at it again

8. I don't mind getting hot and sweaty

9. I’m not as delicate and fragile as I look

10. And of course Flexibility...the possibilities. Huh? Huh?

Then I hear Jason whisper in my ear, “Just shut up and dance!”

Khaas Aadmi vs. Aam Aadmi

Overtime wages paid to dignitaries and other government officials

for attending a “state function” on the weekend :---------------------------- Rs. 20850.00

Security by police contingent, men who would otherwise have been at the

local-pub/football match on a Saturday inclusive of the

presentation of "Reverse Arms" :------------------------------------------- Rs. 16200.00

Cleaning monument and surrounding area (once annually) for

the “tribute to the freedom fighter” :--------------------------------------- Rs. 8000.00

Transportation (one official's air-dash from Delhi to attend the photo-op) :--Rs. 16750.00

Decoration (red carpet, flowers, buntings and brass vessels) :---------------Rs 7230.00

Cost of press photograph to local daily :------------------------------------ Rs.6000.00

Payment of grant to Freedom Fighters Association for

keeping the illusion alive :------------------------------------------------- Rs.36000.00

Post function refreshments of Tea/Coffee/Soft Drinks and Snacks :--------Rs.11300.00 +VAT

GRAND TOTAL COST TO PUBLIC EXCHEQUER :----------------------- Rs.122330.00 +

Pleasure of afternoon siesta, on the cool clean granite of the monument,

with the scent of fresh cut flowers despite being labeled a vagabond by angry

photographer of rival newspaper who missed the function:------------------ PRICELESS !!!!

Aam Aadmi rules !!!!

Let's Get Physical.

I signed up to learn how to dance the Salsa with Jason and Sylvia; the hot dancing couple who also have perfect bodies….http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJIGHRvIJQg&feature=related

Speaking of which, I have some bad news for all you folks out there. First, the bad news: You CANNOT have a gorgeous body like the one belonging to Sylvia. Sylvia - like that famous actress Kareena Kapoor with the size-zero figure; wears a stretch outfit that, if not occupied by Sylvia, would contract to the size of a deflated party balloon.

In the movies Kareena Kapoor dances around various countries, singing something and posing in colourful figure-hugging costumes. You can’t hear what she’s singing because, when you’re watching Kareena in a particular scene, your brain concentrates and directs the energies of all your nervous systems to your eyes. Anyway the premise is that if you exercise (or in my case, dance) a lot, you will look like Sylvia, or Jason, or one of the hunks dancing with Kareena in the movie.

To this end I have seen a lot of people staggering along NH17, trying to get in shape. I used to think they had the right idea, because, as I discovered when attempting to do the Salsa, I am definitely out of shape.
However walking or jogging, is not the way to go. It is an undisputed scientific fact that jogging kills your brain cells. The Indian army has known this for years; it forces recruits to jog for miles every day until they lose so many brain cells that they’re ready to travel to the distant Siachen Glacier and stand in front of enemy machine-guns.

Neither is body-building. Body-building is for guys with low self-esteem and small packages, said small packages contributing to their low self-esteem. It makes them smear coconut oil all over their bodies, wear a bathing suit no larger than a biggish band-aid, and by exhibiting huge muscles bulging from other visible body parts, try to convince you of their manliness. These guys do not jog. I think they stay indoors lifting large heavy objects because they’re afraid that if they did go out their muscles would lunge and kill innocent pedestrians. However I fear that in addition to the small package issue, body-building also congeals the contents of one’s brain into pasta. But they (the body-builders) do look as if they’re in great shape, which is what’s important.

If L.K Advani had spent his time body-building instead of his rath yatras and voice mails to mobile phones he could have been PM today. Who would have opposed him if he had just stood there, coconut oil shining off his muscles, smiling benevolently at his audience?

Okay! So today we start on a physical-fitness routine to make us slim and attractive like Sylvia and Jason.

I’m kidding of course. Genetics has decided that it is infinitely better for the human race that only a select few can look like Jason and Sylvia, or Kareena and the hunks, and YOU are not one of them.

These chosen few are destined to have kick-ass bodies even if they eat double-cheese pizzas all day, drink buckets of beer and the only exercise they do is pressing the remote button for the television. Others can exercise till they sweat blood and eat nothing but organic sawdust, but they will still have the bodies of Beluga whales.
This is probably a good thing. Think of how dull life would be if we did not have variety in body formats. I mean take crows for instance. They all have perfect dull-grey crow bodies, and I’m sure they find each other boring.

I mean, think about it. How would you feel if you lived in a world where every member of the opposite sex had the same perfect body? Wouldn’t you crave something different? If you were a crow you would maybe, check out a passing pigeon. If you were a male crow you might even make a pass at a passing female vulture despite the fact that she is ten times your size and can tear you from limb to limb.

I rest my case, having proved my point that genetics, in its infinite wisdom, required us to be different. This means that if you are basically a stocky individual, you can workout all you want, and you will still be basically a stocky individual.

But that’s no reason that you should be unfit.
Now, Step One in my physical fitness programme says that you should have a healthy heart. A healthy heart is the key to fitness.
If your heart is healthy, you can still continue to drive around on Indian roads, long after your brain has become senile and your other major organs are wandering around aimlessly with no idea what bodily function they are supposed to perform.
To know if your heart is healthy, first take your pulse.
The way to do this is to drink Bloody Mary’s till you can hear the pounding in your head. That's your pulse, and it should correspond to a number of beats per minute. You can check this by crawling over to the nearest pharmacy and asking for a sphygmomanometer.

You: Hic! Gimme a sphincteramoliter.
Storeperson: A what? We don’t sell those. We sell vegetables.
You: Then whaddyacallthish? Huh? Huh?
Storeperson: We call that a tomato. Are you drunk or something?
You: No way! Can’ you shee I’m trying to check my pulshe here?
Storeperson: With a tomato?? Get out of here, before I call the cops.

Ok, then take a large tomato and top up the level of that last Bloody Mary, then remember to look at the second hand of your wrist watch. Count the number of times your head pounds per minute. If it’s a 2 digit number your heart is healthy.

Start your exercise routine after this by turning on the television and switching to the Yoga programme. Now watch those people in skimpy outfits do their asanas. I said WATCH: on no account should you attempt to do those exercises. After this take your pulse again and get ready to go to work or back to bed.

Now for the REAL reason you should exercise. You need to prepare your body for the aches and pains that happen when you get older. Surprise!! You’re going to get old. No doubt about it. Unless you die first.

Right now you’re young and the only pain you feel is after a heavy night of clubbing at Mambo’s or Cavala’s or Ivy, where you imbibed huge quantities of feni, inhaled other partygoers’ toxic body odours and woke up next morning in Pune. But as you grow older, you come across arthritis, income tax audits, and dental appointments and you need to prepare your body for this pain, which is why you need to exercise now.

Take the Churchill Bros football team, Boxer Vijender Singh or Badminton ace Saina Nehwal. You see them exercising and sweating and hating every second of it and you think: What’s the point? Years from now you will be your struggling to adjust to your aches and pains. They, on the other hand, will be able to endure with less discomfort… unless of course they have committed suicide.

So without further adieu start on that fitness programme today … or buy Baba Ramdev’s Yoga Book and try to read it while standing on your head.

Blistering Barnacles! It's those Blithering Budgets again!

Picking up this months issue of Business Goa, I perused Prakash Kamat’s “bird’s eye view” of Goa’s additional budget for 2009-10, and harkened back to the one presented at the centre in July; immediately after which the markets tanked. I noticed with pride and pleasure a marked similarity in both budgets – neither made any fiscal sense.

So while we play “Here- we- go- round- the- Budget- Bush” again, I imagine many of you readers, especially the ones with smaller brains, are still eagerly awaiting my annual guide to how you should handle your fiscal deficits for the rest of the year - not counting alimony payouts.

Listening to Pronob (A phor apple, B phor Bhejetoble )Mukherjee made me realize what a crashing bore he is; it also made me realize that if I went around looking for an interpreter to translate the Budget and decipher all those acronyms such as MAT, FBT,GST,FRBM,UID and FRBM I would end up losing money in the process, by having to shell out service tax AND education cess to a government which neither provides any service, and collectively, has all the education of the primary section of a school of village idiots.

Those of you who fortunately read my column last year where I advised you to cheat and give less money to the government, thereby helping reduce government spending… no wait! That was the year before. Last year was spent trying to find my stockbroker and I profoundly apologise for disappointing my loyal fans who look forward to my annual tax-advice article.

Anyway I’m proud to report that many of you went all out to support the Prime Minister, and re-elected him, and I’m sure he will thank every one of you personally... once global oil prices go down and the stock market goes up, or he finds out who has been messing with his turbans.

In the meantime we have an entirely new budget. This year Pronob Babu needs all the money he can get, because when going over the figures with his finance secretaries Santa Singh and Banta Singh, they noticed that the government was going to be short by something like 6.8 % of GDP (which means that the government wants to spend more and more money by giving all the babus increased salaries once again, and buy additional exploding devices to defend you with)

I’m not kidding, in a show of great unity and camaraderie Diggu K. (taking time off from his busy schedule of inaugurating new bathrooms in Government buildings, along with longtime opponent Manu P. (who also deferred inaugurating a couple of questionable beauty parlours) unanimously passed a proposal for MLA’s in the Goa Legislative Assembly, with cheers all around as follows :

Daily Allowance: hike from 750 to 1000 when on duty (Huh?? When ARE these guys on duty?)

Assembly sitting fees: 300 to 700 (Shouldn’t it be sleeping fees?)

Housing Advance hike: 12 lakh to 30 lakh (Can’t they just house them in the assembly? They sleep there anyway!)

Constituency Allowance: 26000 to 55000 (Said constituents being their family and relatives)

Four Personal Assistants: 18000 per month to 32000 per month (not including file-forwarding “fees”)

Meanwhile Dr. Tamba’s 19 contract staff; hired to deal with the H1N1 swine flu have been told that there are no funds to pay their salaries any more , much less to treat patients…..at the time of publishing this I hear Dr.Tamba has been conveniently replaced with his compounder, and transferred to some unknown location for being a whistle blower.

But this year we have a new tax plan. The government is ecstatic about raising taxes once again. It believes that if God did not want them to raise taxes, He would not have created the Income Tax Department. So since time immemorial governments have seen the importance of taking money away from the public.

See, if you were allowed to keep the money you would not spend it on the maintenance of your local MLA’s children’s education at Harvard, or to pay off his debts at the Casinos. You’d just use it to buy another cow or something. But the government will spend it, thereby creating jobs.

In this case the government will spend crores of rupees in a major security program, creating new factories to manufacture high security registration plates for all vehicles in the country.Examples from Karnataka given below which require either 1) A multi-lingual ability or 2) A portable bar code reader.

This will not only ensure that, in the event of you being carjacked, your car can only be sold for spare parts; it will also create a new auctioneering forum for collectors of antique registration plates.

The government will also spend lakhs of rupees on a major publicity campaign, for television and newspaper ads that go like this:

TRANSPORT MINISTER RAM “DAHI” LICKER ......and the Department of Transportation are pleased to announce that for the next 75 kilometers there will be road blocks all over the place and hundreds of relatives of a contractor who manufactures high security registration plates in the factory premises owned by……. TRANSPORT MINISTER RAM “DAHI” LICKER standing around with lathis and red flags and directing traffic so casually that they may occasionally direct your car into an oncoming tanker loaded with LPG, so please bear with us ,we regret the inconvenience, but as…….. TRANSPORT MINISTER RAM “DAHI” LICKER pointed out when he flew in by government helicopter to make a speech taking credit for the 3-year long ongoing 102.37 crore landslide repair project at Porvorim NH 17, we cannot allow our national highways to deteriorate especially ones that will provide access to land which will be grabbed by…….. TRANSPORT MINISTER RAM “DAHI” LICKER

The best way to look at this whole issue is to understand what the government does: It takes away money from a few people, keeps a major chunk of it, and then gives away the rest to other people.

So basically you will find that there are two types if people in India: A) People who pay more to the government than they can ever hope to get from it, i.e. the taxpayers. B) People who get more from the government than they give to it: Politicians, elected governments officials, rich farmers, government contractors, arms brokers, government employees, statue sculptors.

So, if you are an ordinary taxpayer, the only way this annual tax-advice column of mine need really concern you is for you to be aware that: In some way or the other the government is going to waste more and more of your money; the question is, where is it going?

Gotcha!

The "eyes" have it!

And now direct from the Whitehouse and the “Ogle” Office of the President we present Mr. O“bum”a, like all red-blooded males checking out some prime Brazilian bum.

"Jailbait", you say? Of course! Look mamma! No hands! I don't hear a judge saying don't appreciate!

Finally! My man Barrack! Although I dare say the credit for making you appreciate true booty must be in large part due to being in the august and experienced company of Mr.Sarkozy.

I have no doubt that Michelle will have you sleeping on the couch when you get back home, but hey! I’m glad you finally are getting in touch with your inner Billy Clinton (formerly of the “Oral” office fame.)

Gives a new meaning to that “Second Stimulus Package” you were talking about recently. Good luck with that! And happy hunting.

Monsoon Masti

...... or "No Shiney you can't use this article as an excuse either!"

The rains have arrived in my back yard bringing with it a lot of strange behavioral patterns.

For the humans “Monsoon Denial” is what Sao Joao is all about– that’s when you’re supposed to assume that because the weather is nice most of the time, it would be nice all of the time, and so in the middle of a rainstorm, you’ll find people outdoors without an umbrella, wearing a tank top and boxer shorts.

I’m not referring to the pool parties where everyone turns up plastered or stoned or both, and gets thrown into a swimming pool flavoured with essence of pee;

nor am I referring to the Siolim riverside show where Mickey, Agnelo, Pasquale and
Anton (dressed in drag) who are basically the same bunch of drunk old guys, plan furiously for their annual float ride down the river, the theme of which this year was “Patriotism by Killing the Terrorist” (mainly because that had been the theme for the Carnival parade and they still had the decorations).

What I AM talking about is animal and bird sex. For one there are the huge pigeons that live on the water tank at the top of the staircase. I have always been leery of these flying rodents ever since New Years Eve in 2007. I was trying to get the fairy lights strung up on the banister and it was way too hot even in the shade. So I decide to pour a beer into a tiki mug and before I can sip it I hear a plop, and see a grayish white dollop of pigeon poo splash down on top of the foam, float, and then slowly titanic its way to the bottom. It was an otherwise lazy quiet afternoon really, peaceful except for the flutter of those creepy birds on the uppermost railing. I hurled abuse at them but they just hung there like big, obnoxious, grey, fat, feather-turds, blinking their eyes like "Do you freakin' MIND?" It was their accusatory look that got me. The impudence!!

So today, when there were FOUR of them in the tree having such vicious sex that I could not siesta, I took action. I got the garden hose and held it as high over my head as I could, and put my thumb on the end of it to make it spray really hard, and water-blasted their crude behavior right out of the tree. They took off for parts unknown and stray feathers floated to the ground like cigar ash. I felt vindicated and empowered.

I sat down and enjoyed the quiet and wholesomeness.
Then they zipped back into the tree, wet but unfettered, and resumed their positions.

For the last couple of days there has been an abundance of sex in our backyard. There are two squirrels that are especially into it. For the first time in my life, I saw two squirrels having sex. (And then a second time, and then a third.) Most people have probably seen this by the time they're middle-aged. I was on the phone with Indu, looking outside, when the two squirrels were banging like there was no tomorrow. I didn't know they were squirrels, just this grey shivering lump with stripes, and only found this out when I described it to Indu. She knows her squirrels.

“Don’t you know I have a whole menagerie of pets in my house?” she says to me, “I know.”


But back to those yammering pigeons. After they had finished with their jackhammering, they did this little ring-a-ring-a--roses dance, all wings and speed, only it was more of an "Oh-my-gosh-we-just-had-sex-I-canNOT-believe-it!" dance. It was at lightning speed, around and around in circles, so that I lost track of which bird had been on top during the freak show.

And come nightfall there’s the yawling of the cats, I shine a light into the shrubbery but all I see is 4 shiny eyes, or they could be leopards for all I know. And all around them there are these fireflies with tiny lights shining out of their butts; providing atmosphere to an otherwise bizarre and eerie romance.
Normally I would not be very concerned with which cat was which. But I was this time. Why? Because as soon as they stopped caterwauling one of the cats bit and clawed the HELL out of the other's neck. The back of the neck. bitebitebitebitebiteclawclawclawclawclaw. Really hard. And I want to know, cat experts, was it the female mauling the male? Or the male mauling the female? Indu’s theory is that it was the male telling the female the feline equivalent of "Slam bam thank you m'am" or just "Good girl!" But I'm not convinced. Could it have been the female pummeling the male in a "You never buy me jewelry!" kind of way?