Don’t you dare fart..

So I’m sitting at my grandmother’s feet for our customary half-an-hour of ‘Lice Hunting’ when she scans my scalp for lice and I’ve to sit through one of her stupid Hindi serials.

‘Why aren’t you wearing your specs..? Can you see anything..?’ , I wave my hands in front of her face mocking her.

‘Are you kidding me. A blind man could catch lice off your head. Gandhiji had more hair than you…’ , she grins at her winning repartee.

‘That’s just mean…’ , I pinch her feet. She never lets me win. Every time I come up with something good, she has something better up her sleeve.

She sees me sulking and starts tickling. In between laughs I forget about being angry at her and after a while she resumes where she left off on my head.

‘Grams… Tell me a story.’ , I ask her.

Being the story teller that she is, she perks up at that.

‘What story..?’

‘Something funny.’

She contemplates for a few seconds with a ‘hmmmmm..’ and then,

‘Ok….. So this one time me and your Grandpa were at this big party and just when the hosts were about to toast their daughter’s engagement..’

‘Grandpa farted in front of everyone…..’, I broke her off. She’s annoyed at me for interrupting.

‘Ya, I know this story. You’ve told me a hundred times and honestly, it’s not even funny anymore. He farts all the time.’

As if on cue Grandpa lets out a loud one while reading the newspaper on the sofa beside us.

‘See, it’s not that bad.’ , I tell her.

‘That’s the joke, don’t you get it.? When I see Taj Mahal on TV, I remember our vacation, I remember being there, I remember your mother marveling at the white marble, I remember you blowing soap bubbles on your brother and then I remember your Grandpa’s fart echoing off the walls of the mausoleum. God rest the souls of Mumtaz and Shah Jahan.’

Suppressing my giggles I try to defend Grandpa’s ‘honour’.

‘Everyone farts you know. Grandpa’s just not ashamed of it…. and I admire that.’ , Grandpa takes his eyes off the newspaper and winks at me.

‘Following in Grandpa’s footsteps now, are we..? Keep this up and I promise you no girl is ever gonna marry you.’, she retorts.

‘You married Grandpa…. I’m sure someone like you will make the mistake of marrying me too.’, it was my time to grin.

‘Dream on kiddo. Let’s see if you get lucky.’, saying that her eyes meet Grandpa’s and they smile.

**********************************************************************************

A week later Grandma is wearing her necklace getting ready to go to her nephew’s wedding and Grandpa is standing at the door watching her through the mirror in front of her.

‘How do I look..?’, she asks.

He considers it for a while and says feigning disinterest, ‘Old’.

‘Says the man whose head looks like it’s covered by white cotton candy.’, she gives him a look reminding him who’s the boss around home.

Later they step out of the house locking the door behind them and get into the car. When he reaches for the key to start the car, she stops him holding his hand….

‘And one more thing…’, she squeezes his hand hard glaring at him and says,

‘Don’t you dare fart in front of my relatives…’

P.S

Grandpa, in case you happen to read this… I’m sorry….. but there’s nothing to be ashamed of right..?

Hunting boars and wooing women..

I don’t remember the exact moment when I decided to write a blog. Must’ve been around the time I grew tired of facebook. To be fair, it’s a great platform to connect with your friends and get to know them better. But when you wish to connect with ‘her’(pluralize if you can handle more than one at a time) on facebook, you run into competitors. In the morning she uploads a photo of her cuddling her pet(awwww..) and by noon when you finally got time to go online and do something to get yourselves noticed, a zillion guys have already ‘liked’ or ‘commented’ on her photo trying to get themselves noticed. The phenomenon is not unprecedented actually. Men, from the time we lived in caves and clothed ourselves with animal skin have had to fight tooth and nail with each other to woo the fairest among the fairer sex. Guys like me, we go hunting and risk our lives killing the biggest boar we could find and carry it to her only to find men who call themselves studs standing in queue in front of her cave with kills the size which would make your boar look like a mouse in comparison. With the facebook generation, the methods might have changed but studs are still studs and guys like me are……. you know, still at the back of the queue.

Back to the blog story; I had to do something about this injustice. Voices in my head began analyzing the situation..

“What do I do so that she notices me..?

Eliminate the competition….? I can’t go about killing the 500 guys who are friends with her on facebook…

How to avoid these 500 distractions and get her attention..?

I need a platform to make myself accessible to her. Hmmmm… Facebook without competition…”

And then I found some other guys of the same non-stud lineage as me who had found a way out…

“Write a blog… bingo!!”

I decided to start by posting a letter to ‘her’. Thus was born ‘For the not so tall girl at campus..’

A decision was made. I won’t stand at the back of the queue anymore. I’ll take the boar I killed, set up shop somewhere in the vicinity, cook one hell of a soup and let the air take the smell to her in her cave and let her come to me asking if I would be willing to spend the rest of my life sharing my soup with her(which I’m perfectly willing to do.. I don’t like soup anyway).

End of story….

P.S

No guy has ever done anything if there was no chance that it would get him laid at some point in the future.