My life usually doesn’t take sudden turns. So this was absolutely out of the blue and did shatter my peace and quiet for a while. The shattering noise echoed across Indian subcontinent and all the tabloids reported it as an earth quake of scale 7!

Actually, it was this series of events which was very amusing. The end result would have been my marriage! Not to worry girls, I am still the most eligible bachelor boy around here. But that envious position was facing severe and constant threat from different corners of my otherwise whole and round life.

The corners from where i was attacked, were actually my parents. We all did the conspiracy together to get my sister engaged. I never thought they will turn around and use my strategic MBA tactics, back on me! Anyways, I always had this belief that my dad is Napoleon incarnated. I was wrong. He is the re incarnation of Adolf Hitler with some predatory genes from Julius Caesar. If my dad had faced Napoleon today in war, the poor Frenchman would have seen flying across the continent fearing a matrimonial with a local Indian girl.

HE (that is my dad. I have started using HE, HIM etc these days.); after conquering the first province (my sister’s engagement) immediately turned his attention to his next quandary, which is yours truly, me. When I say immediately, it literally means the next working day. It was like Dell’s service request. I shouldn’t have bought him a Dell laptop. One fine day my parents called me guffawing, saying they have created my profile in some shady matrimonial site. (I believe this marriage business itself is very shady)

What the heck? One nice guy can’t flirt around peacefully? I am happy in the bee hive, people. I don’t want to buy bottled honey.

The next day supposedly my profile generates a stir among the female community of the underworld and the site crashes not being able to manage the heavy traffic. The site resolves the problem by cutting down parts of my profile. They drop the last letter of my caste ("Nair" become "Nai" which now conveniently means Dog.) My dad claims total innocence whatsoever. Also the profile data becomes skewed at 45 degree angle. When contacted and protested the Site Admin changed my profile heading to read “Frozy - Soon to be Straight”. Still I managed to get some 6 proposals in one week. Of them one was a guy! We are still debating if I should take that as a compliment or not.

Then my dad called and started yelling at me all for not keeping even one photo at home. If future generations hold me as a visionary, this can be the only possible reason. Hail Frozy. There is not even one decent looking photo of mine at home. In the best one, I resemble a thug ogling at a village beauty with unkempt hair, 3 days of facial fair growth, muddied shirt and a Bermuda which had a hole in the right place (or wrong place– it’s all in the mind… and bermudaaah!)

As per my dad, that’s not the ideal match making photo. Even after searching my 2 dvds of fotos, I couldn’t find one different from the above one– the Bermuda was always unmistakable. So I had to visit a studio and get my portfolio done. That is the most embarrassing thing in life. Standing in front of camera knowing that half your generation will look at it and either scowl or laugh their guts out. I told this to my roommate and instead of sympathizing with me he called all the nasty ones who call themselves my friends. Three of them came down from Mumbai just to see me getting the mug shot taken. But I believe I know the secret behind getting all these responses in the site. It’s only because we haven’t put my photo up there. The moment it is done, probably the site might have to close down for posting sexually explicit material. :(

In the mean time I went to facebook and joined a new community. There I saw one of the proposals in flesh and blood! So as just as all the logical men will do, I sent her a nice courtesy mail. “Hey you. I am your ideal match. Better than a football match…” Blah blah.. She has not replied yet. Been a while. hmmm..

I am telling you, I am the most experienced bachelor around here now. What all of you guys should do is scan the matrimonial site for Grooms. No, Wait. I am not suggesting THAT. As any business proposals (SHADY business proposals) you should be aware of your competition. Sort of getting to know where one stands. You see, every day when I look at the mirror, the Shrek-Lookalike that grins back is not a very cheerful thought that I relish. So I scanned my competitors. Some were real Shreks. Some looked like 25 year old Robert De niro, all the way bald. Some I was not so sure. Some mismatch here and there. So may be… you know, just a may be… that I may not be bad-looking. May be I do have a chance after all. With that increased vigor I went to the next page of men and I cursed all the photographers in the world. There he is, a thug ogling at a village beauty with unkempt hair, 3 days hair growth, muddied shirt and a Bermuda which had a hole in the (oh! It’s all wrong) place. My Photo!! My dad has done the unthinkable. I will be damned if he was not Hitler. Napoleon must be grinning in his tomb.

Frozen Sun

PS: A horoscope pundit came to my rescue at the end. He and I successfully managed to thwart their cruel intentions and got the whole thing postponed by one year. One more year of freedom! I love my life!! 100 Rupee well spent on pundit.

Frozy’s Words of Wisdom to bachelor boys:

1. Never leave any photograph of yours at home unattended. It can be the potential weapon of mass destruction at the hands of your parents for your last bachelorhood ritual called, Marriage.

2. Arranged Marriage is a good thing. No, it’s true. You get to ogle at the photos of all the girls and later the girls themselves while her parents are eagerly watching for approval. If you had done the same thing two days back in the local market, you might have lost two teeth. Arranged Marriage is actually the “Save Teeth!” campaign in disguise.

3. Ask for dowry. It’s not evil. That’s the caretaker money that the girl’s parents give you when you get married. It’s a contingency fund to finance the side effect of all marriages, called “Wife”

4. You get the name of the girl from matrimonial site, go to Facebook, and search her out (oh don’t worry she will be there alright). You employ two gay friends or girl-friends for the job. Straight males not to be entrusted. Once you have her number start sending messages and add her to your friends. These tactics usually would ensure that she will NEVER say yes to the marriage. And yeah, don’t forget to message her “I a nice guy. Can u have friendship to me?”

5. Before going for a photo shoot, never ever mention it to your close friends. Especially if they have girlfriends or engaged or are married. Arrogance of experience can be really hurting. Also the difference between the Haves and Have-nots is always a big gaping hole in democracy. I want communism in marriage.

6. Finally, no one knows what girls really want. So stop pretending that you know them. Be yourself. Go on, be a man and put on some Fair & Handsome!

7. Avoid public functions by all means. Even if you are forced to attend, behave like you are the local goon. Or if that’s difficult, simply imitate Mr. Bean. Both have worked in my favor.

8. Write blogs like this. No girl who reads it will ever want to touch you, forget marriage.

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I am smitten and I am head over heals over this girl. I don't know who she really is. We have not even had a conversation. All i do is to listen when she speaks. Even if i do speak, my voice will never reach her like hers reaches mine. And do i want to? I am not sure. Moreover that sweet voice has kept me spell bound for the last couple months. To be exact, since i landed in Pune. My travel in the car is almost always with her musical voice ringing in my ears.

Last week i realized that she can sing also. That too, not bad. (I for that matter, bray!) Half my friends around me had a hypnotized look on their face which i didn't like at all. I was not sure if that was because of her or the song that she played on her radio. The sense of music was exactly like mine. And that laugh.. Awwoooo.. i envy all the guys who work with her who get the golden moments to share when she laughs.

She speaks marathi. And i haven't heard anyone talk marathi so sweetly as she does.  My friend said its because she mixes English with marathi. I don't care if she mixes English with Pudina chutney. As long as its her, its good. I am almost on the verge of learning marathi so that i could follow her word by word.

I got really pissed off when one day i was not able to listen to her. I realized then that she has gotten into my mind so much. I almost decided to do a Munna Bhai and go to her office bay and talk to her. But i basically being a coward, found hundred and one reasons to not to do so. What if she is married? What if she has a boyfriend? What if she is the sister of a local goon? What if my boss didn't gimme leave? And more terribly, what if she is single and said OK for me? What will i do then?? Questions are always easy to find. Its to find the answers that gives the problems.

So i decided to do what i can do best. Write a  blog. Not that it will make a world of difference. I don't even know if she reads iLand. And i don't have the guts to tell her to come and read my blogs. She being a leading RJ of FM radio might have many things in her mind other than reading my stupid blogs. I am smitten by her. By radio jockey Maanasi in Radio Mirchi, Pune.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

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The topic, about which the entire human race has written about. Fought. Lost and Found. And died.

So what’s new? Well, nothing is new. As I constantly remind all of you, this piece of iLand is for bull crap. (Come on people. I already have enough tensions in my life. Work pressure, Peer Pressure, Friends’ pressure to keep calling my 257 big contact list. Now above all, iLand pressure!. Nowadays I dream of Moe’s and Bad Angel’s writing skills and fear iLand will throw me out for not keeping up to the standards)

What you think about ‘College Love’? I always felt that there are five types of lovers in any campus.

Numero Uno: The couple will be sitting on the steps on the way to canteen and you have to be a trapeze playing monkey or Tarzan of the jungle to reach the canteen. Take five steps back, beat your chest, howl, run, jump and fly over them. With all luck you will land on your arse with a sickening ‘THUD’. Since it’s not possible to break your arse, you will not duplicate your bones. Each time one poor soul tries to cross our lovebirds’ all entangled position, the guy will give threatening glances which roughly translate to ‘tujhe mein hostel me dekh loonga’. You can see these two sitting there for hours on end, not moving an inch. And when you ask them to sit in the class for 30 min, the world will come to an end!

Second one (what’s the Spanish for this? Numero Secondo?) This is a rare species now. These existed when I did my engineering some years ago. It’s 21.00 Hours. You go to the local phone booth to make a call to your ailing grandma. You can hear sounds coming from somewhere nearby… nothing to be seen in plain sight. You think of all ghost stories that your Grandma told you. Talking going on in very small voices… It’s a human male and sometimes it coos. You being the unsuspecting victim try to wrench open the door and enter the booth. “Aaaaarrrgghh!!!” The silence of the night is broken by this shrill scream followed by a torrent of ‘galis’ in all possible languages not leaving out any in your ancestral line. Usually parents will be the ones who bear the brunt of this shower.  Mother, father, sister, brother, cousins, aunts, uncles, grand parents. The best way to count your relations.

Hearing this you run out with arms and legs flying all over the place. You think you have just encountered a foul mouthed ghost. But what just happened in reality was that you stumbled (literally) upon the second species. The cooing sound was from inside the booth with his girlfriend. It meant you should better find another phone, even if that meant walking five kilometers if you really want to talk to your grandma, before she reaches heaven.

Third: The old Fox of Sour Grapes. Ever green lovers. This is not by choice but because there is no other choice. You see. He was after Meena yesterday, with Teena today and will be after Veena tomorrow. Not that he didn’t like Meena & Teena. It’s just the other way. But so what? Life goes on and so does this ‘prem kahani’.

Fourth: Love is a horror story for these. Whenever they hear the word love, they shrivel up like a hazel nut. If a girl comes near them, a heart seizure is all ready and they collapse and have to be taken to the men’s loo. (And if by chance the helper didn’t faint by the loo smell, the lover might escape certain death) But they are these silent lovers. If you follow them carefully, during library hours, they will be in a corner seat and looking over the top of the 30 pound text book, at a girl sitting some ten yards away and busy gossiping with her friends. The moment the girl gives the guy a tantalizing glance, our Pirate Jack will hide behind the book never to be found again.

Fifth: Some of you might be offended by this, but I have living proof with me (proof is not me, please). How many of you believe in Rakhi? (I do. I have one sibling. One sister who likes to torment me day and night. And one ‘rakhi’ sister who gives her company. Two born terrorists!) Two Homo sapiens. A guy. A girl. They see each other. Spend some time together. Tadaaa. They decide that this is the best thing that could happen to them. She ties ‘rakhi’ and the guy is happy and so is the girl. They roam around the campus free of any hindrances. The guy chases off any potential Romeos. (Brotherly love and all!) The girl fights off any bitching friends saying it’s my brother. (Can’t you see the rakhi?)

Days Pass. Romeos forget the girl as the biblical forbidden apple. Months pass. Campus moves on to other more interesting topics. Years pass. Alumni meet comes up. Guy pops in along with THE girl, and a bunch of family heirlooms. They declare… ‘Since we knew each other so well, we deiced to marry.’

The End.

  

Frozen Sun 

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I still know what we did last summer

This is a small incident which happened some 5-6 years ago. Not of much importance. I just wanted to share the not-so-common experience here.

My cousins and I used to go for a summer trip every year. But the previous trip had left a pretty bad image among all of us and another venture away from the shelter of home was not exactly a dream for anyone. But not wanting to be left out, we decided to get all the Free Cousins of the World and embark on this mission. So we gathered 12 in all and called ourselves the Dirty Dozen! (Eleven of my cousins and myself. And dirty we were!)

Started in the morning and after traveling up and down the country we decided its time to have some dinner. Since we were busy making Pepsi shares go high by indulging in all kinds of corporate junk food, no one was in a mood to have lunch. So you can say a dozen wild hungry minions were on the look-out for a food joint.

Unfortunately the call of the stomach came when we were in the middle of nowhere. God and our parents had forgotten to put this place on the face of earth. There was not a single living soul to ask directions. And it was approaching midnight. We could hear some grumbling noises rising above the rattling of our vehicle's heart but was unsure if that was from some wild animal or from our own stomachs.

All the nice meals my mom offered and to which I had said 'NO' indignantly, lined up in front of my eyes. I still believe those brinjols were doing some kind of tap dance. We were completely in an alien land. No one knew the local language. Somewhere in Southern Karnataka. One or two farmers we 'encountered' on the way threatened to poison us (Or that was the closest interpretation which one of my cousins volunteered to offer. Others are not worth mentioning. RediffiLand might raise 'objectionable' clause against me)

11 hungry stomachs and 22 eyes looking out on either side of the road was not a very comical picture to anyone. Except for the one who smartly fell asleep. He was smiling nicely in his sleep which none of us liked. Must be HIS dishes doing a cabaret in his dreams! The smile became so unbearable that we poured the last bottle of water over his head. He must have thought he was having a rain dance with his bhindi.

We traveled some 50 km in different directions. Some started exclaiming that, they have seen many of the places we passed, before. We conducted 15 minutes of interviews and group discussions before coming to a conclusion that it's a pure case of Déjà Vu. (12 most brilliant souls and ardent followers of superman & spiderman simply cannot run in circles. Never!) More brilliant souls started to think about gate crashing a house and ransacking for food. After a point of time all of us were ready to follow suit. The only problem with that plan was that, to start with, you needed a HOUSE to ransack, which in that part of world was rarer than a sleepless-history-class in school.

Then we saw!  We saw God in the form of a Truck.  It was going at a speed of 30kmph ahead, with a half asleep driver at the wheels. We all started to yell at the driver to stop the truck. Some stuck their torso out of the cars and waved and yelled at the truck. At last we knew that the driver saw us. The driver put his head outside and turned back and instead of reducing the speed he started to race for his dear life. Poor chap must have thought its some hooligan party chasing him. (Dirty Dozen is no misnomer. We did look dirty. If our parents had seen us like that, they would have disowned us and all of us would be out on the adoption list in an instant). Anyway a loaded truck was no match for the will of our stomachs. We managed to chase down the truck with a wild eyed terrified human as its driver. (It was our luck that he didn't abandon the truck and ran away crying "bachao")

After recovering from the initial shock he said that there is a famous hotel 10+ km from that place. And that it's open all the time. But we needed to take a detour to reach that place. Some of us had already offered the Gods sacrifices if we got food. Visits to temples, Quit Smoking dad's cigar, not to make the dog pee inside the house, not to watch some certain kind of movies ever in life etc etc. Then what is a detour to us.

We turned the cars, followed the route that was told. We reached the place the driver mentioned. There was a small shack. An old shirtless uncle was sleeping with his legs on the coffee pot. There was a board hanging skewed from the shack's ledges. It read.

"Hotel Famous"

Epilogue: The food that we got from there was the best one anyone among us ever had. It was some kind of mixture of rice, sambar and some more nameless things.. Something more or like a Mexican Gumbo.

PS: That was our last summer trip.

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I am a proud owner of long hair. It almost falls to my shoulder. Well, No, a little short of that. It doesn't take much to maintain. My sister has the view that it’s my hair which is eating up my entire food intake and the reason why I am slim. So after lots of soul searching I decided to cut my long, lavish and luxurious hair so that it’s easier to dry it (never thought someone needed soul searching to have hair cut). Otherwise it’s an exercise unto itself. Or think of it and yeah! May be that’s why I am slim. I can prescribe it for people who want to go for weight reduction programs. (Moe?) Come and dry my hair for ten minute every day morning. You don't have to pay me a penny. I can forgo the fee considering you are my friend. If there is more than one in need of the service, I am willing to take bath more than once a day. Where can you find such an offer? Even beats VLCC hands down. What say you? Staying slim is a privilege nowadays.

I decided to take my head and hair to a saloon. After walking like a drug-addicted chicken for some time I reached one. It resembled more of an Evil Dead movie location than a barber shop. Just as I was about to enter, a small kid came out screaming his lungs out. Not a very good omen, you would say. With a heavy and foreboding heart I entered. To my utter discomfort I found out that the barber and I were on the same level of education. Both of us didn't know one language. He didn't know a word in English and I didn't know a word in Marathi. Trouble is thus spelled. Moreover he smiled like he was willing to cut even my head off, as a bonus. Come to think of it, since 8, all my ex-barbers had that same evil smile. His scissors clicked. Click.. click.. I remembered some vultures in Discovery clicking their beaks before eating the pray alive. I prayed hard to all the gods that this fellow would not have seen that show. It didn’t give me any comfort that those vultures had a very bad sense of hair dressing.

Barber of Pune:“Kya?”

I of Pune: “mushroom cut”

BoP: “Masoom Cut.. Masoom main Jugal Hansraj jaisa..” (It was more of a statement than a question)

IoP: “most respected barberjee.. aap ki marzi.. jo chahe vo kar dee jiye”

He blabbered something in Marathi and I assumed that it meant “short?” I replied in affirmative. As he opened his draw, my memory went back to my second standard where a terrified child in I was looking at my teacher pulling a long cane from the drawer. (Karta was the master, Karma was me and Kriya is u-know-what) Out came a steel device which didn't resemble anything I have ever seen in my life, or for that matter, even wanted to. “Click-click” He almost applied it on my head when I understood his cruel intolerable abominable intention. He was going to put other barbers out of business for a while. What a BALD business DECISION. Shave my head off! I held my hands high up in the air and started bellowing in Malayalam. Evidently he got so shocked that he was standing there agape. It was difficult to determine who was shivering more; I- out of the fear of losing all my hair in one lucky stroke or him out of hearing a cry which almost resembled a blood thirsty hound.

My broken Hindi tried to convince him that I wanted some, a little bit, hair to remain on my head. He grudgingly let go off his device and went back to his scissors. “Click-click” again. And started. I hadn't slept properly for two days and dutifully fell asleep. Trust is such a bad thing. You don't trust your friend when he says he didn't forget but was about to call you. But you will go to sleep with your head in the hands of a human with no known background and who is an expert at dealing dangerous weapons, namely scissors. “Click.. Click”

After sleeping for good fifteen or so minutes I was rudely awaken by the man of the hour, Barber of Pune. And boy, did I wake up or not! All I could do was to sit and stare at the old bald man sitting opposite to me. He was looking like he has gone old by some thirty years in thirteen minutes and he looked remotely like me. No Way that I look like this! All the hair had mysteriously vanished. And what was left on my head now resembled some wild bush in Australia waiting to catch fire. If I peer closely I could see my scalp. And my hair line also has gone up a bit. Terrible. Horrible.

I paid him the extortion amount and left the place meekly. I returned to my flat. The reaction was just as I imagined. My roommates have never ever laughed so much in their life. I took a quick bath and ran outside. The run stopped outside a cine complex. I was waiting for my friend to join me. Suddenly I heard someone tapping my hands and saying something. “Uncle, Uncle.. What's the time?” With sinking heart I realized that a ten years old villain is calling ME his uncle. Badmash. When did I become his UNCLE? Didn't his mother ever lecture him on manners? Is this what they teach kids at school nowadays? What a Shame! No wonder the country is going to dogs. I cursed all and everything. So much for Keeping It Short and Sexy! But the blow was struck. I realized how the man in the Godrej hair dye ad would have felt. That word roamed around my head like a couple of happy yellow canaries. “Uncleee.. Uncleee”

Nahiiiiiinnnn.. :(

Frozen Sun

KISS is an acronym that we use while using presentations for “Keeping It Short and Sexy”. For all those who were looking for a juicy story where I would be kissing my girlfriend, go and take a walk. That’s private :)

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I had always believed that there was something wrong with me.

Flashback 1: My dad recently crossed his 60^th birthday. Instead of celebrating like all oldies, he decided to keep it under wraps. My mom says he doesn’t want to disclose his age. But when did being 60 ever stop my dad?

It was some time ago that I got a call from my mom saying dad is in hospital. I freaked out and was shouting at the top of my creaking voice. My mom coolly answered “perappurathu ninnum thaazhe veenu” (chat se neeche gir gaya!)

I had to take two deep breaths to processes what I heard. My mom is not the joking type. Actually she is allergic to jokes and humor. No wonder she was a school teacher. But luckily for all, nothing had happened to him other than a minor hairline fracture on his knee. But that took me along the path of Sherlock Holmes wondering how this could have happened. After investigating for almost a day, I explained this to the Watson in myself.

My dad apparently went up the roof to clean the water tank it seems. What’s there to clean that much in a tank, you might ask. But if you allow yourself to listen to my dad’s description of the water tank, you would come to think that its some sort of nuclear waste disposal facility guarded by armed terrorists from Guantanamo Bay. Only the brave can rescue the damsel in distress (read: my mom). The poor lady believed it and gave him the thumps up to go up on the roof. At the age of sixty! Internal sources say that he was up on the roof in less than 34 seconds, hopping and jumping and at times, almost flying. Closer to the world record that any Indian has ever reached.

But when did the nuclear waste disposal ever really bothered the communist in my dad? (Yeah, he is a pukka one. All gung ho for china Russia and Cuba.) The real reason that I strongly believe is (though he just laughs it off) something different. There is a ladies’ college near my house. That he was up on the roof at the precisely exact time the college girls were passing my house is no mere coincidence. Don’t be so shocked. It can be true. After all he is MY dad. And while busy “cleaning the tank” for a second he must have forgot that he is perched precariously on top of second floor on the house… and rest is left to historians and orthopedic surgeons.

Flashback 2: I am a chic-ronmentalist. Meaning, I pretend to take care of environment when cute chics are around. But I hate this Save Tree campaign. Whenever someone comes up with a badge saying “Save Tree” I get cuties all over my body. Reason? There is no other person who has been punished so much by trees. Living and dead, both alike.

Let’s say, I was not exactly the role model kid when I was young. Well, I had some tricks up my sleeves but hey, who didn’t? But they came at a very high cost. Namely, my skin. It was almost nonexistent by the time I was 10. The reason is only one and one thing. Not my dad. The thorny tree at the corner of my compound. Each time I do some mischief it will lower its branches so low.. that even if my dad had decided not to beat me up, he will do it just for the heck of it. Anyway, the-stick-is-at-hands-reach-so-why-not types. That tree died slowly donating all its branches to the noble cause of beating the pulp out of me. And my dad, for some reason I still don’t understand, never planted a new one. May be he had some soft corner for that tree. He will always love that tree more than me I guess. Damn you green headed monsters.

Flashback 3: I had always thought that I am some kind of mistake in my parent’s family planning. Something like an “unplanned outcome”. Either that or I am adopted. I am not saying it from whatever you read above. What if I say my childhood toys were a broken iron box and a pressure cooker lid? Now you see where I am coming from? Sigh. And you talk about under privileged children in Somalia! My foot I say.

To add to these, you must also have read about how they are planning to go about my marriage plans. It’s just plain horrifying experience. I am yet to come to a conclusion which is bad.  Whether it’s the prospect of marriage itself or the prospect of letting them choose a bride and THEN marry her. God save me. This should be an item in the next “Rippley’s believe it or not”

I am more of an experimental guinea pig for them. The latest experiment is called “Bechna hain, Frozy ka… Maan Samman aur Abhiman”

Last week my dad called me saying he needs Rs.500. I was wondering why on earth he needs this paltry sum. After putting huge pressure and empty threats, he told me that it is for some colony activity. Suspiciously I agreed. By the way, my house is in a colony in Kerala. I am not sure if the house landed inside a colony or the colony grew around it. It is half occupied by MOGEMBO (Members Of Gelf Emigrated Mallu Babus Organization) and other half by medical representatives. (My dad is a fence sitter). We have this colony day every year which is the most ridiculous nonsensical humbug one can ever witness. We use that day to boast around and wash dirty linen in public. This is apparently what happened that day:

The anchor is all ready to give away the award as if its some Oscar.

Stage Anchor (in a horrible Mal accented English or English accented Mal – which is which is debatable but nevertheless indistinguishable): “Now we come to the most awaited award of the night. This award as you know is given to the person with most WARTs. And this years NAVEEN for most WART goes to Thilothama PP.”

One girl comes up the stage looking aghast and ready to cry. She silently receives an odd looking thing from the chief guest who is equally disgruntled at having to give away an award for WART. From certain angles I thought the award itself was looking like a big oily wart.

No one knew WART stood for Weekly Average Rating in Tests. Except of course my dad, who set it all up.

The Present:

I KNEW there is something wrong with me!

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Fress Maal - Invoice

                                                             Invoice  

Fresss maal                                                                                All figures in Indian Rupee

I was lying on my bed and my room mate was talking about one of his friends who had sex with a leading actress of a regional language. Suddenly, just like you are now, I was all ears. My sleepiness and laziness vanished into thin air in seconds and I sat upright in my bed. What's more interesting than someone getting hooked? We male species are selfless creatures in this particular area. My room mate was still in his dream world and was sleep talking 1.25 lakhs! How to make 1.25 lakhs? My curiosity overpowered me and I was poking him asking what the money was for. He was like; my friend paid 1.25 lakhs to have sex with her, still in his hallucination.

I was shocked. How can someone do this? This is atrocious. Blasphemy. I am 27 and I never got to do a film actress! This is unfair. And 1.25 lakhs is not a big amount these days. If I stopped drinking tea, I could easily have 1.25 lakhs in a couple of month's time. That too for a leading lady in southern movies! For one second, her curves and bends filled my brain. For more clarity I googled her and there she was, filling my entire 15 inch monitor. Stopping tea may not be that bad after all. Tea board can go to hell. But some other questions were raising its snake like heads all over my mind. How come she is charging so high? Or is it too low? I have absolutely nothing to compare it with because I never had paid sex. I never gave money (neither received, for that matter) in exchange for having sex. But if you think about the number of times I ogled at girls, I would be in serious financial problems, worse than the American food crisis.

I kept on wondering like this for some time. Then suddenly a thought struck me. Should I charge if I am having sex? Don't laugh now. This is a serious blog. Obviously I am no leading hero of any Malayalam movie. My acting talents are worse than Himesh Reshamiya's! It's hard to recognize any bend in my body. It's more like a super express high way with one pot hole here and one there. Moe even wrote a post after my two holes. Therefore, the two areas that are coming to my mind are paid-sex and non paid-sex. Non paid-sex sounds like free sex, which is worse. It makes me feel cheap so paid sex it should be. It's more like a service you know.

So iLanders, I am trying to get how these people arrive at their pricing band. I will try to put all my MBA skills (financial and otherwise) to good use here.

The question is how much should I charge if I were in her position. Don't go literally now. Of course 1.25 lakhs is not for me. I start the price at an amicable 30K compared to a whopping 1.25 lakhs. Since I am a guy (I AM, really!) have to do more work than her in such a scenario so I start at a premium. 25K for my personal work efforts. 30+25 = 75K

Point two: I am a virgin in this field. By field I mean, paid sex! That should command a higher value. Come on, I have seen so many B grade movies. Virgins are always in demand, including our own Virgin at Thirty (VAT)! Just look how many girls like him. So up goes the amount by additional 50K. (My experience on non paid sex? No comments). Now price = 1.25 lakhs (I am actually equaling her!)

Now the question of being ethical in this. Of course I agree this is a service. But should I be paying service tax for this? If some Govt. officials come to know about this, they might want a share of my service. Err. No. I will be an honest tax paying individual. Add 10K towards the tax and the price becomes 1.35 lakh. (Ooh! I EXCEEDED HER! UNBELIEVABLE!)
Then comes when and where? I think it's better to be after 9 PM. My vital stat is not much of a wow. So good if we can do it in the shadows. I am ok with any place as long as I am paid (I think!)

Thus I offer my services at 1.35 lakh rupees. It is for a single night. Conditions apply. No whips allowed inside the room. Only girls need to apply. Protection devices are provided on the house.

Frozen Sun

PS: I am a Mallu with a weird sense of humor. This is all a joke. Nothing serious! I repeat, never take me seriously on iLand. But if someone really thinks she can give me a lakh, I may alter this PS section.

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