Interesting to see the Kingfisher Airlines job ad for flight attendants (or Flying Models as Mallya calls them) in the papers today. Among the requirements -- Flawless skin; no tattoos, birth marks, scars on face, neck, arms and legs.

No birth marks is a bit too much, wouldn't you say? ... Which means a hot Cindy Crawford lookalike would automatically get rejected!

Makes me think -- They don't want models ... they want bludy mannequins! They might as well have stated vital stats.

How much do they pay these chicks anyway?

***

Last two weeks in my present job. Everywhere I go I have people telling me they're gonna miss the Blues. It gets kinda weird when you have to explain why you're leaving to somebody in an elevator full of people.

To make matter worse a junior colleague of mine has decided to jump ship along with me, the bugger. And everyone thinks usme mera haath tha!

The Butterfly has gone very quiet after I told her. She remains as much a mystery to me as the day I first went and spoke to her.

This one by a band called Toad the Wet Sprocket. They had a couple of hits some years ago and then faded away. Here's Somethings always wrong.

Went out for dinner with some of the guys after work Friday, couple of them non-drinkers. They order a mocktail called a Virgin Mary. Why the hell's it called that, I ask the waiter. Pat comes the reply -- because it's the opposite of a Bloody Mary, Sir!

I honestly didn't know what to say.

***

O.K. What a week. It's all happening, isn't it? Women protesting in their underwear, doctors turning bombers, Venus winning Wimbledon (terrible when the pretty girl loses, no?), Hamilton messing up at Silverstone, Sensex hitting 15000, Live Earth, and lots and lots of Queeen.

Coming to #1, must say I found it quite amusing, that chick marching the streets of Rajkot in her skivvies. And the baseball bat was a nice touch .... wonder where she got that though (her hubby did a stint in Silicon Valley, you think?). But the question now is whether other harassed women across the country are going to start doing the same in order to be heard . Well - if they are, they had first better make sure they look as nice in their underwear as Pooja there, otherwise the cameras may not show the same amount of interest.

Doctors turning bombers. How much money they were offered is anybody's guess. Of course they did it for the money, dude - they're Indians! Pehla paisa, then Jihad and all that other shit. But I have to say whoever masterminded that attack at Glasgow airport needs to take an urgent crash course in blowing up stuff from them Iraqi insurgents. You don't drive a jeep full of explosives into an airport terminal, you stupid moron - you leave it parked in a crowded place like outside a mall or a busy street and try to get the hell away from it.

Wimbledon. Yup, I'm usually for the prettier player .... What's there? But I'm glad it's Venus and not that beastly sister of hers. As I type there's a tough contest on between Feds and Nads. I bet most women root for the better-looking guy too, don't you girls?

Silverstone. I am very very angry with Alonso and Hamilton for letting bludy Ferrari win! I mean, Come on guys - they don't even have Schumacher now!

But to hell with all of that. A good week at the markets means I'm just that much wealthier. I heard someone on CNBC predict the Sensex will touch 21000 by 2010. Oh hell yeah! Show me the money ... if we're alive till then. You never know with the way we're messing up our planet.

Saw snippets of them Live Earth concerts held across the globe yesterday. Why was India left out, I wonder? I bet even Himesh Reshammiya could have drawn bigger crowds than the 10,000 that turned up to see a bunch of sushi rockers in Tokyo. Bob Geldoff obviously does not know the power we Indians now wield .... we even managed to get the Taj included in the Seven Wonders, for cryin' out loud!

Signing off with one of my favourite numbers from one of my favourite performers of all time. And you know what - India's greatest contribution to rock music -- aapro Freddie!

This song should be our new anthem ... not that boring crap written hundred years ago.

the problem more often
is not what it is you're looking for
... it's where to start looking

On the subject of the Compulsive Confessor's most recent post (and since Jason asked) I have only this to say -- Why can't we stick to using our body parts for the purpose they were intended .... that there is for you to pee and have babies, not for me to put my bludy mouth in!

And to those women who go down on their men only to make them 'happy' or because they demand it, sorry to say you're with a goddamn wuss. Seeing you do that to him is probably the only power-trip he will ever be on in his otherwise miserable life.

***

O.K. This rain better stop soon, because from what I've seen on the news the city of Mumbai looks like it's headed for another 26/7.

I've had this tune playing in my head all day but couldn't recollect who it was by or what it was called. And it was driving me bludy crazy! So I started thinking -- where else have I heard that sound ... where, where? After a while it came to me. Only one man makes that sound - his name is Carlos Santana. And right enough, after a bit of searching I found it. There can be no mistaking that sweet tone of the PRS.

Hot cup of tea, rain outside your window, and Samba Pa Ti. For all you romantics out there.



Peace, love and simple pleasures.

I love looking at photoblogs. In fact I'm gonna start one soon. No hang on - I already have one! But I'm gonna get me one of them supercool Canon IXUS cameras next month. Tiny little things they are .... good for taking sneaky shots of the dames.

So I was checking out Tanu's photoblog (something tells me she hates being called Tanu!) just now and she's got this one snap called Waiting for Irani Chai. And I remembered something that cracked me up! It's something not too many people know.

Irani chai. We all love Irani chai, don't we? Yeah, well - I was working out in my old gym one morning when I happened to get talking to this chap Ali. Ali's family used to run one of the biggest, most popular Irani restaurants in town (it is now an Adidas showroom). Somehow the topic turned to chai and I happened to ask Ali -- How the hell do you get your tea to taste like that, man? He smiles at me and says -- Egg whites!

I go, What??

Yeah man, we use egg whites.

What do you mean we use egg whites?

We add egg whites to the tea, dude.

You gotta be bludy shittin' me ... what about the vegetarians?

Ali breaks out into a loud laugh which is characteristic of them crazy sonsofbitches and says -- Screw the vegetarians!

Bludy hell man, you mean you buggers have been selling non-vegetarian tea for generations and nobody knows! :)

Ali didn't seem to care. But now you know the secret ingredient in Irani chai. And don't bother asking your neighbourhood Irani restaurant owner. He'll just deny it, the rascal.

***

O.K. This has got to be the craziest shit I've read in recent times. The girl is just too much. Cunning Linguists indeed! :)

More of Tracy.



Peace, love, and closely guarded secrets.

Worst part of quitting your job is the handing over. You'd think them managers sitting around on their asses all day with their bludy laptops would have a back-up plan in place. But no, they believe in learning to swim when you're drowning!

To my bad luck I have to hand over to Bhopal Gas Leak Bengali. Who is so goddamn slow you'd think he's got Parkinsons. All he does is keep talking on the phone the whole time in that funny language to God knows who. Tell him to come in on Saturday and he gives me a look like he's got some marathon make-out session planned with Mrs. Gas Leak.

You know what - I am a freakin' valuable resource!

So here I am at bludy midnight making notes for Gas Leak, so the fool won't get stuck when the pressure builds up.

Sent the Butterfly an email telling her I was leaving. No reply.

Calling it a night with Tracy then. It's a good thing I got her for company. Don't you know you better run run run run run run run run... :)

It's funny how life can pick you up like a hurricane, toss you around and leave you lying wounded, thrashed and broken on unfamiliar ground.

***

So many of us sitting behind little computer screens hoping to find that one thing that's missing. That one thing that will make everything okay. And just when you think you've found it, another hurricane strikes and you're back to square one.

***

What can be sadder than wanting to stay back at work because there's nothing and no one to go home to. Except that bottle of beer in the fridge.

***

A song. For someone who's brought me so much joy these past months. She may never be the one waiting to greet me when I get home after a hard day at work, but I know she will always be that bottle of beer in the fridge.

And perhaps that's all I really need.

Ever since we were kids we were taught the importance of good food and a healthy balanced diet. Why so many (professionally managed) organisations prefer to ignore this aspect of employee satisfaction is something I don't understand.

We were talking about it yesterday, the lads and I. Bad food leads to indigestion. Indigestion leads to more frequent visits to the toilet; that in turn means higher housekeeping costs and expenditure on incidentals like air-fresheners and toilet-paper. And employees spending more time than they should in the loo directly reduces the time spent on the job, thereby affecting output and productivity.

But probably the worst after-effect of bad food is the gas leaks. People with indigestion are going to fart. And fart a lot. It's amazing how one bad meal can turn a nice air-conditioned meeting-room into something that feels like the aftermath of the Bhopal gas disaster! It happened last week. New Bengali guy in our team was firing away like a rocket-launcher. Now I don't mean to imply that Bengalis fart more than others ... in fact we Goans are notorious farters, but if you have to fart that much, get your ass to the loo and start a mini Chernobyl there, dude ... don't bludy kill us in a 8x6 meeting-room!

And if they can't improve the food they should at least give people some tips on how to fart without anybody getting affected. Include it in that little company booklet they hand out to new joinees. There are lots of ways y'know to conceal them toxic emissions. One is to join your legs tightly together and do it right there in your chair. Which is what a lot of people do. Only problem is fart gas has a large element of mystery associated with it, in that you never know what's coming. If the stink is really awful even your legs joined tightly together may not be able to contain it. Then you're in for. The person in the next cubicle will go, SHIT! was that you??, before making a dash for it. And when they see you pressing your bum into your chair, you're caught red-arsed! So a better thing to do is to let off a small sample first, test the air, and if it's not too bad, release the entire payload.

But I will never recommend doing it in your chair. For one reason -- your boss! Blues, I just want to have a look at this file on your computer; it won't open on mine. Errrr just a minute, Sir ... You can't sit in my chair because I just farted!

The best thing to do is go to the loo and release there. But even there you hope to find the loo empty, so you don't have to worry about anybody telling on you. Which generally never happens. So you're left having to resort to the silencer technique - which is holding lots of tissue-paper to your backside to muffle the sound.

Then one of the guys comes up with a brilliant idea -- Farting Areas! Like how we have Smoking Areas. Where you can just go and let off them bombs without having to worry about the stink and the noise and the collateral damage. Yeah baby, here it comes ... Oohhh that one was killer!!

Actually the farting areas and the smoking areas could be one. An interesting combination of fumes that will be!

***

Good food. It all comes down to good food.

O.K. For those of you got those mid-week blues, here are the Blues Brothers with Sweet Home Chicago. Wonder why they call it the Windy City! :)

For G

no one can hurt you now
but yourself
and no one can love you more
than yourself

I can wipe away your tears
but only you can make them stop

Sunday morning with the great Don Henley. Didn't have a very successful solo carreer after The Eagles, did he Donny boy? Only track I think made it to the charts was The end of the innocence. And this one ... The boys of summer.



I so feel like going to Goa next weekend. Actually I just might.

***

Potter's back. Or rather he will be back soon. So what's it this time -- Harry and the Whore with the hairy legs?? I hear book 7 is already out on the internet. No big deal really - just a few million quid less for the Englishwoman. But it seems most people would rather not know how poor Harrry meets his unfortunate (fortunate for some) end before they read the book. If I were them I wouldn't expect anyting too dramatic ... he probably just falls off his flying broomstick while straining dangerously to get a better look at some chicks' lady-bumps.

***

Cannes Film Festival. I thought that stuff was intended to showcase the films, not so much the stars. But put on the news and all you see is our Bollywood cowboys walking up and down the red carpet. And looking at Babyshek and Bahushek you'd think they're bludy Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta!

I hear Richard Gere's gonna be on the next Coffee with K Jo. This time it's not Gere I'm worried about, it's Karan! What will the moral police say if our boy lunges from his chair and tries to kiss Dick?


***

A season of upsets it is turning out to be in the sporting world. First India beating Bangladesh in the One Day series, then Man. United losing to the Blues in yesterdays English FA Cup ... only thing left now is for Nadal to kick Federer's ass!

BFN.