Learning to make Omelette

I am old enough that little kids call me uncle. I am fat enough that sometimes teenagers call me uncle. I am not yet bald enough that I would refer myself as an uncle but I am working towards that goal. (I shampoo my hair only once every week.)

When somebody is old enough to be called an uncle then it means he has occupied earth for several years. This means the person has spend some time on earth learning essential survival skills like riding a bike, getting a job and avoiding aunties during marriages. 

However, there is one lacunae in my survival skill set. I don't know how to cook. I know the year is 2017 and boys must spend time in kitchen but I have a mobile phone and enough salary to order from restaurants. 

Since today is Rangwali Holi so all the restaurants in my neighbourhood are closed. This means to kill hunger I have to cook my own food. As a bachelor I am an expert in making yummy bachelor food dishes likes Maggie noodles and Maggie pasta. I can also make tea but I will have to first google for recipe. 

The reason I learned to cook omelette was because of my mother. Like any other normal mother she called me yesterday on Holi and instead of wishing me Happy Holi proceeded to ask about my eating plans. Since restaurants will be closed tomorrow she was concerned I would eat a dozen plates of Maggie noodles. 

I made the mistake of telling my mother the truth that I don't plan to eat twelve plates of Maggie noddles tomorrow. I just plan to eat Maggie for breakfast, lunch, supper and dinner. This made my mother remind her son that during my last home-visit she had added some utensils to my luggage.

My mother asked since you have tava and spatula then what is stopping you from making omelettes. The answer to that question as per me was lack of eggs but I didn't want to make my mother angry. She would start a lecture on why good food is important for health and end it with blaming Maggie for making her son retarded.  So I took omelette making instructions from mother and bought eggs. 

As per my mother the recipe for making omelette includes chopped onions, chilli, pepper and eggs. I guess this is how normal people make omelettes. As per me the easy bachelor omelette recipe is to break two eggs, whisk them, add salt and red chilli power. After that you pour the concoction on hot tava and eat with bread whatever comes out.

Thanks for reading my blog. 

Bye, 

Abhishek.

Sick Sunday

Yesterday was Sunday. When I woke up I found my mother making tea and my father with his nose burrowed in the newspaper. I wished my mother good morning and told my dad he needs to take me to a doctor. In reply my father moved from the editorial to the cartoon section and asked, “Why?”

I think my father is the coolest person on earth. But he also has one quirk. Sometimes without any intimation he shifts from The Cool Mode to The Homer Simpson Mode. In reply to my father’s why I wanted to say because there is a new doctor in town about whom all my friends say she is super hot. I think I must check her out. Speaking this would have made Homer Simpson strangle me like Bart Simpson. So instead of the wisecrack I said the truth. I said, “Because I am sick”.

My father took me to a more-than-a-clinic-but-not-yet-a-hospital type of place. The place had nameplates of four doctors on the door and I think they had enough degrees among themselves to cover all the alphabets of English language. Along with the nameplates there was a mention of when the medical representatives can meet the doctors and several posters about which I am sure were put up by medical representatives. The most interesting poster had a man standing behind bars with the caption ‘Doctor is not God. Beating the doctor is a criminal offence’. Not very confidence inspiring in the abilities of the doctors I must say.

Among the four doctors, the least educated one diagnosed me. He was so poorly educated that he had only four alphabets in his degree. And even among those four alphabets one was repeated. He was just an MBBS.  

When the doctor called me in, my father stood up and entered the doctor’s room. That’s my father in the Homer Simpson mode. He doesn’t appreciate the concept of physician-patient privilege. Physician-patient privilege aka client confidently means the doctor can ask me how many times you masturbate during a day and in reply I can say, “Look doc, I am a young man. I don’t have a girlfriend but I have super fast unlimited broadband connection.  You do the maths.” The doctor will never reveal this to anybody (There is some grey area. This concept might not work if the doctor decides to become a standup comedian). The doctor can tweet ‘Just met the weirdest/craziest patient of my life’ but my name will appear only in his DMs. 

The doctor did the check up and said you will have to change your lifestyle. My mind immediately went into red alert and started broadcasting at full volume the following message throughout my body ‘Do not listen to the doctor. Your browsing history is the proof that you are 100% straight. Stay that way. I repeat do not listen to the doctor’. I said okay to the doctor and collected the prescription. 

After the doctor me and my dad visited the chemist. The chemist had a look at my prescription and said, “Damn it. You should have consulted the MD.” WTF man. How serious I am that I need an MD. When did the druggists changed their profession from selling medicines to scaring the shit out of their customers. 

After collecting the medicines me and my father walked towards his bike. I said to my father there is one more thing we need to do. He asked what and gave me a look which I immediately decoded as ‘You donkey. You didn’t say yes when your mother said can you bring some vegetables’. 

I said I want to buy India Today.  My father took me to the nearest magazine vendor and I told the guy sitting at the counter to give me a copy of English India Today. In response the guy smiled and gave me a magazine which had a half nude model on the cover with the caption “Porn@home’. “WTF man” I asked myself. When did give me English India Today became a code for Debonair.  I smiled back at the guy on the bookstore counter and said, “You know ... I think I will read Business India this week’.

Yes. That’s my life. It’s full of surprises. Surprises which deeply embarrass me in front of my family. 

Diary of a Beer-a-holic

I think it all started during the first month of my first year in college. I was sitting in my room, playing Mortal Kombat (or Counter Strike or NFS, i don’t really remember). A guy in my hostel came to me and said, “You know what we are doing tonight?”

“Probably working on some stupid project”, i replied.

“No dude, not tonight. Tonight we all are partying on the terrace. Drinks, non-veg, everything.” He said.

I said cool and went back to the virtual world where i was beating the shit out of half-clad women or killing terrorists or killing cops or driving a Lamborghini. Totally dependent on the game i was playing.

My hostelmate waited for few seconds expecting i would say something after cool and realized i was more interested in PC games than him. So he blurted out the reason of his visit. He said,” Would you like to join us?”

I thought for a moment. Few days back we had got an Airtel Broadband connection in our room and since i was sharing room with another guy i never got a chance to test its speed. By saying no i would finally get some privacy and an opportunity to test the broadband’s speed by browsing through some of the popular video websites.

Unfortunately before i could say no to him another thought came to my mind. Whenever i watched old movies on TV there was one thing which i always felt fake. So i said yes, gave the contri and waited for the night where i will finally find out whether drunk people really talk like Keshto Mukherjee or not.

As i now remember it was one the best nights of my life. I ate non-veg for the first time, Chicken Biryani of which i only ate rice; had my first beer, Kingfisher; had my first whiskey, Royal Stag; had my first cigarette, choti Goldflake. The only thing i don’t remember is seeing my roommate during the party. Lucky Bastard guy. 


That night was beginning of a love affair. A love affair between me and beer. Ever since that night whenever i get a chance i drop into a bar and pick up a beer or two.

Looking at my past relationships i won't say i have been a nice guy. I have always been flirtatious by nature. I started with Kingfisher, had few one-night stands with Castle and Tuborg, fell to the charms of Foster, had a good time with Budweiser until some drunken guy told me Chutiye stop flushing your money down the loo, enjoyed my evenings with Haywards until i was seduced by Carlsberg. 

Life is so unpredictable. I thought i had found my soul-mate in Carlsberg when suddenly Kingfisher Ultra appeared in my life. The thing that people call as infatuation happened.  

I am in complete awe of those guys who can date two girls at one time. One thing they make shows like Emotional Atyachar possible and in my case i was having a tough time deciding whether i must dump Carlsberg or say to KF Ultra that i like you but i am in a serious relationship with someone else. 

Every time i visited a restro-bar with my friends, they started with checking out the chicks while i was going Carlsberg…..KF Ultra…… Carlsberg….KF Ultra in my mind. Damn. Life is so complicated. The only solution i could come up was to toss a coin. Head Carlsberg, tails KF Ultra.

Here, i would like to thank the govt of Maharashtra for helping me out. It increased the duty on beer by 100% at one stroke. The duty hike converted me into a dedicated family man and returned me to my first and real love of my life. Kingfisher Strong. 

I still remember the first sip i had after the duty hike. Kingfisher Strong behaved like an ideal bahu in Ekta Kapoor’s serials who wears sindoor, saree and feels naked until she have not adorned herself with at least 10 kgs of gold jewelry. She told me, “I know for the last few years you have been a complete asshole and i forgive you.” Thank you KF Strong. I love you too. I promise i will always remain faithful to you or until i move out of the State of Maharashtra.

Here is a trivia for the people that like and can still afford Carlsberg in Maharashtra. After the Second World War Winston Churchill was considered as a hero by the Dutch people because he had freed them from the Nazi rule. When he visited Copenhagen the Dutch decided to brew a special beer as a tribute to him. Yes, the Dutch send two crates of a lager to a man who smoked cigars and drank his scotch neat as a mark of respect and thanks.

If you know any beer trivia please tell me. There is a comment box at the end of this blog.

Cut to the present: I am sitting in a sonography clinic. There are 20 women, 4 men and uncountable number of children in the room. The women are sitting patiently for their turn, the men are sitting patiently for their turn, i am playing Blackjack on my mobile and the children are wreaking havoc.

I just don’t understand kids. What is their problem? This is a hospital and not a park. Please don’t turn it into a playground. I know children are angles on earth but sometime they do things which make you wish to send them back to heaven.

There was one interesting observation i made while sitting in the clinic for more than two hours. You remember Scorpion in Mortal Kombat. The guy who throws spear and says ‘Get over here’ to his opponents. Indian mother’s have the same ability.

Indian mother’s wherever they sit draw an imaginary Lakshman Rekha which their kids are not allowed to cross. Every time a kid reaches near the Lakshman Rekha, his/her mom shouts ‘Get over here’ and the child immediately returns back to his/her mother. Who would have thought Scorpion, one of the super-cool assassins, a total badass in the Mortal Kombat universe was inspired from the relationship between Indian mothers’ and their children.

Cut to one night before: I am lying on a table in a doctor’s clinic. The doctor has taken my blood pressure and is now busy punching my stomach.

“Does it hurt here?”

“Yes”

She gently punches few centimeters away from the last time and asks, “Does it hurt here?”

I want to say, “Dear Madam, let’s change places. I punch you and you tell me where it doesn’t hurt. I am an average fat Indian guy. I am not Superman, John Cena or the Great Khali although we both might weigh the same.” I don’t say it. I don’t think it is a good idea to cross the doctor who is gonna prescribe you medicines. 

Luckily the doctor is satisfied after 4-5 punches and we are now sitting across a table. She pulls out her prescription pad and start asking me questions.

Her first question is – “Do you drink?”

I wait for her to finish the question. Drink what madam? Water/ Tea/ Coffee/ Coke/ Pepsi/ Thumps Up/ Beer/ Whiskey/ Scotch/ Wine/ Piss/ Baba Ramdev ka Divya churn/ All of the above.

There is silence in the room for few seconds.

The doctor realizes i have not understood her question and asks, “Do you take hard drinks?”

“Only if you consider Beer as a hard drink”, I reply.

She says, “Hmm…..That explains a lot. Do you also eat a lot of Junk food?”

What type of question is this? I am a single guy living in a metro. I don’t eat fast food (junk as per her). I survive on it. 

I say yes.

She continues her interrogation and after every few questions scribbles something on her pad. What is this? Are we playing KBC? Do i win a pill for every question correctly answered?

The doctor hands me the prescription and as i pay her the consultation fees she says, “You know its nothing serious. But i will suggest you get a sonography done. Just as a precaution.”

Cut back to the present: Finally after waiting for more than two and a half hours the nurse opens the door and calls my name. I enter into the next room only to find i am now in a smaller room. What is this? Why i have been transferred from a spacious waiting room to a small, cramped one.

Why do doctors do such a thing? Is there some sort of a law which says before seeing the patient a doctor must transfer the patient into a smaller room? Was there some sort of a lottery for which patient the doctor will see next and i have won? Or is it the place where the nurses provide the patient some sort of counseling. You know the doctor is a nice guy. He really wants to help you. Hence, please don’t start crying or run away when you see the doctor tearing a pack of disposable syringes.

I am not scared of injections. The only thing that scares me is unrealistic deadlines at work. Bring on the injections. Bring on the Doctor. Now. Immediately. Please.

The nurse says the doctor will see you now and ushers me into a room where i see the doctor and a big machine with monitors. I want to ask the doctor what is an outdated mainframe computer doing here but i don’t. The rule Don’t-cross-the-doctor-who…….applies.

The doctor asks me to lie on a table behind a curtain, asks my name, then age, orders me to pull up my tshirt, loosen my jeans and turns up with a barcode scanner in hand.

The doctor presses me on the left side of my stomach with the barcode scanner and asks,”Does it pains here?” WTF. What is wrong with the whole medical profession? Why do you guys have to give me pain to know where i am experiencing pain?

The doctor tells me to turn on the left side and while hurting me with the barcode scanner asks what you do. I tell him my official designation in the organization and he asks me to turn on to the right side.

As he continues hurting me, he asks me whether the job is stressful. I want to say nowadays which thing is not stressful. I saw few kids in the waiting room and after two hours i wanted to perform Mortal Kombat Fatalities on each one of them. Imagine the stress their mothers who spend 24x7x365 with them have. I reply, “Little bit”.

The doctor says we are done and please wait outside for your report. I say thanks, collect my report and as i am walking out of the clinic i remember something i had read few months before on the back of a beer bottle. MRP Rs 110. For sale in Maharashtra State only. Consumption of Liquor is injurious to health.

Now only if the guys at United Breweries and SamMiller could tell us how much.

To sum up

As far as i know everybody nowadays lives a stressful life. The only person i know who lives a stress free life is my boss because i think he has got a PhD in Office Politics.