Potty Trainers!

It all started in a board room in Japan. It is a big corporation with presence in almost all spheres of industry. From electronics, automobiles to music. One newly inducted member of the decision making team had finally scraped enough courage to put forward his favorite idea. With a lot of bows and respectful intonation, he convinced the samurais of the company to assign a measly budget almost equal to the annual GDP of Seychelles. For potty trainers.

Off he went scrambling to the vast glass building that housed the R and D section of the organization. There he sought out another young inductee. They sat down and designed a revolutionary new machine. A plastic potty that played music whenever you used it. Initial cost estimates put the production costs at under a dollar and about ten dollars at advertising and publicity. This was good, very good. Initial market surveys indicated that they had a good chance of selling it for not less than $300. That’s about almost a three hundred percent profit. The samurais would be pleased.

When the product was through the development stage, they encountered a small problem. What to use as music for the potty. The R and D guy was a huge fan of an obscure artist, who at one time was so popular that there was scarcely a country which had not heard or hummed his songs. Back to the main office and searched the company’s database for records of the artist’s association with the company. Not surprisingly, he was on the company’s rolls. So a song (which at its time was No.1 in U.S, U.K and other music charts.) was selected and incorporated in the system, which with usual Japanese efficiency had quite good music quality. Even for $1 they built good stuff.

So, as part of the marketing blitz, a young Japanese American was sent off to the artist’s home town to secure his approval. He was sent with a simple directive, get it. He needed no other. So the Artist’s agent was called and a meeting set up. When the idea was proposed, the artist actually exploded. But, the agent knew he wanted the money. So he got him to agree and thus the Potty trainer was actually ready for marketing. Quickly an ad was made with the artist promoting. The rationale being that the fans who had listened to him would now be old enough to have young children needing potty training.

The product was a huge success. Millions and millions of potty trainers were sold in the US. Pretty soon if your child was not potty trained on this potty trainer, he could not be admitted to a school, the neighbor’s child’s birthday party or in to any restaurant, airplane or public place. Soon, there was an ancillary business of nannies who certified the presence of potty trainers in homes and vouched for the habits of their young charges.

It became so huge that soon there was a backlash against it. The people oppressed by the frequent price revisions and legislations denying the pottily underprivileged access to schools and library rioted on the streets. The government finding it cheaper to pass legislation to restrict potty trainers than fighting its own public, soon passed a bill. The samurai, shrugged and went back to counting his trillions in peace.

Pretty soon the product passed out of the minds of the people and normal ways of teaching toilet habits to children resumed. In the mean time, with the money accrued by endorsing the trainer, the artist hired a great new song writer and PR company. His fame rocketed. For another fifteen years he went on making music, before retiring and counting his millions in peace. With a little PR and money, he soon got MTV to give him a life time achievement award.

The day arrived, the award ceremony was the largest yet. About a 100,000 teens were there in the stadium, chanting and dancing and generally enjoying the show. At the end of it all, when it was announced that the Life Time award went to the artist, they all started wildly calling, “Song, Song, Song”

The artist, pleased as punch, decided to sing his most popular song ever. He signaled to his team, (kept ready for just this contingency) and the opening bars of the song started. There was a stunned silence, the artist pleased at the reception he was getting, launched into the song with full gusto. Soon, the stadium was filled with sounds of zippers and rustling cloth, when the artist opened his eyes, he saw a 100,000 teens showing their training right then and there.

Shoes -1

What is it with shoe shopping that makes it so hard? Being part of a country with two billion and more feet, should make it easy. The law of averages would say so, wouldn’t they?
Not when the great Mumba devi has her way. This is what happened when I last went shoe shopping….

Fresh from the Bangalore trip, I was flush with funds. My dear Aunt had given me some money specifically to buy shoes. She knew Blore did not have much to offer in terms of shoe fashion, so she left it to my devices on how to utilise the funds.

The day finally arrived. With a match in progress in our great city, I was sure of empty roads and lots of parking. Taking mom along, I went out to buy trousers. Not shoes, but trousers. The destination was a big bargain place, The Loot, where you get good stuff for about 30-40% of the price. After shopping, (successfully) when I was being billed, my eyes fell on the shoe display. Immediately, I felt like buying a pair. So browsed around and selected a design. It was one I had never before considered and usually never bought. But was feeling, what the heck, it looks good so might as well. So asked the friendly shop assistant to get me my size. The shoe on display was my size and I tried it on. It felt good too. So while I was waiting for him to get the other pair, I was looking at other shoes too. One foot in floaters and the other in one of pair of formals. So hopping oddly around, I had come to the conclusion that no other shoe looked as good.

Back to the bench, seated and patiently waiting for the guy to come with the missing shoe. Then he comes. At last I think, well was thinking wrong. I look at his expression, an admixture of sheepishness, chagrin and embarrassment. Hoping against hope, I ask him what’s wrong. He says “Sir, it seems there has been a mix-up, one of the shoes was wrongly kept in another sized box and that box is missing, presumably sold.”

As it was getting for lunch and mom though sweet, did not really like me missing lunches on holidays at least, was waiting. So I asked him to look more thoroughly, maybe it was here, but misplaced. He agreed to do so. I told him I would be dropping by in the evening.

Came home, had lunch and a discussion on the merits and demerits of my trousers with me dad and left again. This time, I went to Colaba to look over there. I did not mind paying more as long as I had what I wanted. But, the great Mumba is nothing if not thorough. The shoes were unavailable anywhere. Desultorily I tried shopping, but my heart was not in it. Returned to the Loot and looked for the assistant. He saw me and immediately started looking chagrined, disappointed and all that. So I assumed no go again. He volunteered to look for it once again. I said ok and busied myself in picking out the best of the rest. The display was poorer by that one shoe though. Picked up three different styles, that were acceptable, hoping to ward off earlier type of luck.

The guy came back and told me no go. So I pointed these pairs instead and told him to fetch these in my size. He immediately brightened up at this chance of redemption and left for the loft where they store the shoes. After an inordinate delay, he came down with the look that seemed to have taken up permanent residency on his countenance now, chagrin, embarrassment and disappointment. What to say, Mumba is great. Has got a funny way of showing that she’s got an eye out for me, but I guess a deity with a sense of humor is better than one without. Especially if you have to live in it’s city.

So sadly I left, did not even pay attention to his explanation, till he offered to call his other stores and order the shoes for me. I already knew by now, that the gods were against me, but he seemed like a nice guy so let him try it.

Now, I have one more believer.

The Bald Head!

A lot of people have asked me what the head is all about and why I am staring so at it. Well it was indeed a strange if somewhat far fetched, but nonetheless an interesting story being told. The photographer, with a penchant for taking lots of snaps and an itchy shutter finger, captured us in all our glory. It goes some what as follows, its as true as I can make it. Here is what the bald head had to say…

“ By fluke, you (Me, Vibhu) had managed to sell that stupid machine in Assam and it fell on me as the senior service engineer to go install it. So, booked the tickets and went. Did not know how long it would take to install the machine, so did not book the return tickets. Mistake 1.
Got there in one piece, made a few friends on the train, two guys and a hooker. God really wants to test whither my orientation lies, but with my normally shy disposition, I think I have disappointed him yet again.

I went to the hotel, showered changed and went to the college to install the machine. To my horror, I discovered that one very important part was broken beyond repair. What else to do, but sit on my ass and wait for a replacement. I set things up so that when the replacement came, it would take me a minimum amount of time to finish the installation and leave this place.

So back to the hotel, checked in to a smaller, less expensive room to stretch my budget. I calculated I had enough funds to last me 10-12 days without skimping on the food or the sight seeing. So off I was to places of note, in and around the city. It is a beautiful place, with green forests, brimming with spirituality and everything. It is also well provided with lakes, rivers and water bodies that make it a pleasant place to spend time in.

When I had my fill of lakes, rivers and the other water bodies, I found my mind returning to the essential problems of my life. My loss of follicular growth and my growing confusion regarding my sexual orientation. So, in a whim, I asked a local standing there, if he knew any yogi around here, who would answer questions of the soul? With a beaming smile, he nodded his head and agreed to guide me there. He said it was a long route and if I wanted, he knew a cousin/brother of his with a cart. I said why not? Mistake 2.

So we all got in the cart, the smiling guide the taciturn driver and the confused engineer from Mumbai. Pretty soon, we were inside a great deep forest. Green on all sides, north, south, east and west. With just enough light coming in, to emphasize the greenness of the whole place. I was tired by then, all the sight seeing was taking its toll, felt like taking a nap, and then I was not feeling it any more, just doing it. Mistake 3.

Suddenly I woke and found that we had stopped. The friendly guide was missing and there was just the taciturn driver there. I asked where the guide or the yogi was. He just pointed to a small path right in front. I shrugged and went down it. It led to a small clearing with a huge banyan tree at the center. At the foot of the tree, was the selfsame yogi. I could not believe my eyes. At once I prostrated myself at his feet (like I have seen done in immeasurable movies) and asked for his blessings. Before I could get in another sentence, he told me what my problems were and gave me a fruit to quench my hunger. I marveled at his intimate knowledge of my bodily state and hungrily chewed the proffered fruit. Mistake 4. A sudden increase in perception, brought to fore the similarity between the yogi and the guide, not to mention the glimpse of pants under the saffron dhoti. Soon I was drifting off, dreaming my strangely comforting dream of sleeping with Bipasha Basu and John Abraham at the same time.

When I woke, I had a strange tingly feeling all over my body. It felt as if somebody had very gently given me a scrub with a slightly rough pumice stone. When I scratched my head, I was in for a worse shock. My whole scalp felt like a rough sand paper!!! My gently growing strands of silk were no longer in their accustomed places. I was running around distractedly when I heard a noise behind me. It was the guide. I ran towards him with murder on my mind. Here was the one who took my beautiful hair away. Before I could get to two paces of him, I was surrounded by a fence of razors. Very sharp razors. I halted immediately and glared down at him. His genial face had hardened and there was a cold glint in his eyes.

He said. " You are wondering, what and why. I will tell you. We are ‘Ungrow-wadis’ ”. I interrupted,” Don’t you mean ugrowadis?” He made an impatient gesture, as if he had heard the question before and was tired of answering it. “ Ungrow as in the English, Wadis as in the Hindi wadi. We are freedom fighters.” By now I was utterly confused, what could freedom fighters have to do with ungrowing stuff? So I asked and thus he explained. “ We are fighting for our mother land to be free of all alien invaders. People who bring their diseases, corrupt morals etc etc (and so it went for a while. I think it was a speech, well prepared for, but given for the first time.) We have decided that we will shave each and every alien that we can lay our hands on. By this we will force the corrupt, hairy government to fall on its knees and give us our freedom. We have decided to hit them where it hurts the most, their vanity. We are going to target every balding man, woman and child to come in to our beautiful state and shave them all. This way we can both mark them when they are here and also send a strong signal to the government regarding our intentions. I want you to carry your mark to the government and tell them our story. Please do not try and lead them back here, next time you could lose more than all you hair.”

With this strong statement in my ears, he escorted me back to my hotel. I was actually glad that the encounter was at an end. All I wanted was, a shower, a strong drink and bed. The real horror started only when I dropped my clothes in the bathroom and discovered what the guide meant when he said all your hair.

Bangalore and I - Part 1

Bangalore and I actually go a long way back. As the preferred migration port for many of my relatives who earlier lived in villages in Karnataka, it has quite a collection of my near and dear ancestors and fellow branches of the old family tree. It was and still is the only city in which I have actually gotten lost. Not that losing myself is such a rare occurrence, but till date have never again managed to do that to myself in such urban surroundings.

It’s a dim memory of my childhood, when my family and I were out visiting some of the branches mentioned above, when I took in my head to display the explorer instincts that are the bane of my co-passengers whenever I am ferrying them around, and left the house. It was in a remote suburb of the city and as of then, underdeveloped. Therefore, great empty plots of land filled with beautiful grass and flowers surrounded it. So, unknowingly and unwittingly (sadly a major part of my character build-up) I walked fast and far. Soon, I realized that I had not paid attention to any of the landmarks that ensured your safe return to the place of starting, nor had I unrolled twine to guide me back to square one. I had even forgotten to leave crumbs of bread or other baked produce to act as a guide and lead me back to the kitchen that provided me with it. Now as I had failed to use any of the three tried and tested methods of marking your way, I had to conclude that I was lost. Utterly and completely lost.

So, there I was a cute kid of ten, with twinkling eyes and an open and cheery face, lost in the great city of Bangalore. Calmly I started thinking of my life ahead without parents. How I would have to heave stones and build buildings for the rich of this city, while my parents lost and disconsolate roam around trying to find me. But the months of hard labor and low nutrition would have already transformed me in to a lean mean Amitabh Bachhan, beedi smoking and attitude spewing. Till one day the resident don of the city would take me under his wing, impressed by my English and Hindi speaking abilities, would groom me in the secret arts of war and smuggling and make me the de-facto head of his international operation. Then I would amass lots and lots of wealth, forever forsaken for my family, a sweet memory and nothing else.

It seems while debating the merits and demerits of this life as opposed to the life that was seemingly being laid out by my most proximal ancestors, I had sat myself down on a rock and started contemplating. To my utter surprise, I started hearing trampling and twigs breaking in the near vicinity. Thinking hard about the local fauna of this city, I narrowed the source down to either a buffalo or an elephant escaped from his mahout. With lightning speed, woodcraft was flashing through my brain, whether to run, hide, play dead or climb a tree. Then I heard the strange animal call. It was a strange call, almost human like, bi-syllabic too, strangely sweet sounding and soothing to the ears. It went something like “weee---boooo” repeated constantly.

Then the source of this strange oral emanation was standing in front of me. Towering actually with severe anger in his eyes. Looking up at that moment I was cursing my brain for thinking too much and not acting by climbing that stupid tree or running away. Then suddenly I looked behind and to my great surprise and pleasure, the mate of the being walked right up, eyes that were more easier to behold, with love and sincere concern.

My parents had followed me into the wilderness after discovering that I was back to my usual tricks. It was also very embarrassing to discover that all I had done was walk through the gate and get lost in circles in an empty plot, three plots down the lane. So dragged back by a belligerent father, angered at having to cut short the evening tea and gab session, followed by a smiling mom, I was presented to the great twigs of the family as a butt of jokes to come, while I was protesting that I was not lost, but just contemplating the next great novel that I was writing to change the world.