The Women's Dabba- Delhi Metro

I tried to board the train in the first compartment, hoping that I could get to spend some peaceful moments with my, the then girlfriend. But, I guess, the lady dressed in blue manning (or womanning?) the entry point appeared too huge (and too out of love) to understand, and to be overcome with our puppy dog faces. So I chose to enter from the second compartment instead, and met my girlfriend at the junction, which was the sole “hangout zone” for distressed couples like us looking at each other with sympathetic solace. The other option was to enter in the other five (or was it three back then?) coaches, and bear with the tharki uncles, lecherous labourers and the “cool metro dudes” gawking down at my chick. Obviously I took the former, given that I’m not exactly a huge guy (in terms of height *frowns*), that can form a 1 km periphery around a girl. Neither was the girl I was dating, that tiny.

So, this brings me to the basic question, of questioning the questionability of the questionable act of having reserved dabbas for women in the Delhi Metro, when you’re already giving them reserved seats in each dabba. I mean, today, when I spend around 2.5 hours commuting in the Metro, to Gurgaon (the place home to the hottest girls in the country), and given that I am single, and it is okay for me to checkout girls, I feel sad that I don’t have ANY to gawk at. Agreed that people that get on or get off at C.P. aren’t exactly ones you’d call gentlemen, but, hey, they deserve a chance, at least ones like me, who don’t stare, do. But having said that, with all the complexity I could have, I say, the committed guys have it tougher. They can’t gawk at pretty girls and their own girlfriends, due to the freedom provided by the Special dabba can dress up, let’s just say, in ways they wouldn’t if there weren’t a special dabba. True Story. So it has its own benefits too. Add to that, the indecent pushing and shoving is done away with, much to the relief of many 45year old dads whose daughters just started with college.

But, what about all the “women walk shoulder to shoulder with men today” mottos? Do you really need a whole dabba which perennially is empty, while we civilized people have to sniff at the armpits of some illegal immigrant from the eastern side who chews paan in the metro, and often throws it out too, and who smells like my 5 day old pair of socks, or even worse? Is it fair, for you to sit down and breathe the air conditioned air at peace, probably even work on your laptop, when some dude, almost measures my inseams, or brushes his butts against mine (much to my discomfort)? Is it cool that I pay the same for a ride like that? I don’t think so.

Bottom line, I hate the concept of the women’s dabba. I haven’t tried riding in it, owing much to widespread fear, courtesy YouTube videos of men getting beaten up by the "FUCKING" moral police of our city. I, and a billion other men, would really appreciate if some of you daring women out there would take a shot at the Godfrey Philips Bravery Awards this year by travelling on this side of the world for a change.

DISCLAIMER 1: PPL FROM BIHAR ARE A PART OF OUR COUNTRY. THEY ARE NOT BEING REFERRED TO, CONTRARY TO THE BELIEF. A chunk of my friends are frm Bihar, and that statement was in no way demeaning to ppl frm our country. All of us know the meaning of the word "IMMIGRANT". It refers to ppl who illegally have come to our country from OUTSIDE of the Eastern Border.

DISCLAIMER 2: I have nothing against ppl throwing away cigarette butts or toffee wrappers on the side of the road, coz THEY CAN BE PICKED UP by cleaners, SPIT on the other hand can not and leaves stains, vanalising architecture for a longer duration.

DISCLAIMER 3: If you cant take a post in light humor, go Beep yourself, coz thats how I write, and will write. You're advised to not read my blog.

The Worst Fries on the Planet

Well how many of you love French Fries?

I know too many who do, and you count me in that list too. But what happened today, was probably the worst that can happen to any foodie. The worst torture of its kind. My fries sucked. Can you imagine??  L

Okay, so let me start from the top. I met a friend of mine today, and we did not have too much time on our plate, so we thought we’d enter the first restaurant we came across. Call it our bad luck, or one of God’s pious schemes, we saw Nirulas.(I know, what WAS I thinking?)

So, we know about the Soup Nirulas is in, but launching a Tomato and Chicken soup, and designing your shop to coax customers into ordering the same when you don’t have it in stock is stupid. Simply put, Pathetic. How can you not have a simple SOUP in stock, when you just launched it? Why did you launch it in the first place when you can’t have customers trying it? Or are you too afraid of the feedback, you’d get, that you’re just serving it to your employees?

Getting over all that thought, I ordered some things around their largest size fries and waited for the stuff to show up, and believe me it took ages. I almost aged by a century and grew some 100 strands of white hair, when the food finally arrived.

Checkout the quantity of fries we got for 50 bucks. Yes!!!! I’m Not kidding you, this picture was taken when we were four fries down. And boy it tasted like dog shit. I haven’t had the pleasure of tasting Dog shit in my life, ever, but Nirulas, you made me do it today. I owe you for this once in a lifetime experience. The fries were undercooked, returned them, and got undercooked tasteless fries, yet again. Brilliant. My 8 year old cousin could cook better than your best cook.

We somehow managed with the other food items, and asked for the Feedback form. I wrote “You Suck, Nirulas”.

I also told the manager to his face, “Your food, sucks!!”

He said “Nahi sir, bas cooks thode experienced nahi hain.”

“I wouldn’t call people who forget to salt undercooked fries at a restaurant inexperienced, I call them dumb and stupid.”

With which, I left him.

Their flat cokes do deserve special mention, but I must say, the fries stole the show. Their pizzas are non-existent, and so much is the extent of cost cutting, that napkins are one by four napkins.

I feel, there is nothing Nirulas can do with its current attitude of displeasing customers. If it wants to make some dough and enjoy customer loyalty (God forbid), it needs to pay people for eating its food, not charge them.

Customers would be better off making their own food, at a Nirula’s restaurant, atleast they won’t run the risk of consumption of stale or undercooked food. People wouln’t eat at Nirula’s if you gave them complimentary Blowjobs, you dumb fucks, make your food taste better.

And Lastly, eat a plate of Chhole Kulche from that neighbourhood thela wala ,but don’t tease diarrhoea with Nirula’s food. Nobody’s gut is as strong as their Food Inspection Manager’s, who if is alive, needs to be shot dead on sight.

Floyd

“Hello Hello Hello,

Is anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me,

Is there anyone home?”

The hostel room perfect, Floyd in the background was perfect, the mood perfect, the cans  in our right hands perfect, the smokes in the left perfect, the occasion perfect, but yet something seemed imperfect.

We had all been placed, a perfect occasion to celebrate, yet something was off.

Two of us squatted on chairs and two on the bed where the ripped off bag of Lay’s lay and kurkure were spewn across on the newspapers between us. Neither of us said a word. All four lost in deep thought.

How fast things change.

It only seemed like yesterday, when we told each other our names. It was only yesterday that we copied on that test, bunked that subject too much and failed it. Only yesterday, that we had our cans in Central Park, had Kebabs at Khan Chacha. How chilled out life was. How weird life is now.

We had that white Maruti we roamed the whole of Delhi in. We had empty wallets, yet the bloated tummies. No balance in our phone Sim cards yet girls we went out with. Now we will barely have time for ourselves.

There we sat missing each of those moments, laughing at some, getting sentimental on others. I would go join a college in Mumbai, one would work in Bangalore, one Gurgaon, the other Ladakh, his hometown. We were destined to go as far away as possible, as if it were God’s plan.

We sat there talking about the madness, just the previous day, the Farewell. My getting clicked with the girl I had a crush on the entire 4 years. Not taking names. And A’s docile attempt of hugging B (an unsuspecting female), and getting slapped across in the face for the same. How we laughed at that.

The hostel room we studied in, the low wall we sat on to check out girls all day long and the times we spent arguing over who owed how much to whom, we were going away from all of it.

College was fun, we hoped life ahead would be even more fun.

We did not know what lay ahead.

I closed my eyes, gulped the contents of the can down and took it all in. It may never be the same again.

I made the best of friends in my Bachelors, and life was great. I hope they do great wherever they are.

And hope they don’t forget all the Floyd songs we have learnt, over the million cans of Coke :P .