2008, don’t bother coming back!
For people of poor education like myself, there is no point in looking at the world from a macro level.
For people of poor education like myself, there is no point in looking at the world from a macro level. Terrorism, recession, earthquakes, famines and poor government have to be tackled by the more erudite writers. Three such writers, I’m told, live in India, although two of those in truth have been dead for over 27 years.
Instead I will have to look at 2008 from a more micro personal level. So obviously what I’m about to spill will make more sense only to me and so I request the DNA editor to see to it that this article appears only in the copy that lands at my doorstep. If this article however still features in your newspaper, then you must do one of two things: a) get hopping mad and shoot off a letter to the editor; b) leave your copy of this newspaper at my doorstep.
Now if you’ll forgive the paradox that we are all on the same page, let me proceed.
2008 is a year I’d like to refer to as Worse Than Pooja Singh. This is primarily because I’ve always named all my years. For example, I named 1971 as The Great Year, as it was the year of my birth. 1974 is The Greatest Year because Viv Richards toured India for the first time this year. 1987 is The Vimal Year because the ‘Only Vimal’ ad with the unforgettable lyrics, ‘Only Vimal, Only Vimal, Only Vimal, Vimal, Vimal, Vimal’ was played out on TV a record 869,025 times.
2008 is unfortunately the Worse Than Pooja Singh Year. I’ll come to the details a little later. First, the year.
In February this year, I had the opposite experience to the first-time shaving experience. When you shave for the first time, you get a sense of attaining manhood. This holds good for men and women. Especially women. However, when you use hair dye for the first time, you get a sense of the end of manhood and the beginning of its nemeses, old manhood.
In April this year, my wife threatened to take both the kids and leave forever. This forever lasted only 20 minutes, as she had to return to borrow money for the petrol. Here the sense of achieving freedom, only to see it stripped bare in just 20 minutes, all because of that worldwide villain number one — Gasoline, was too hard to bear, especially for a man in his second month of hair dye.
In July 2008, while walking the dog I returned a ball to a group of kids playing cricket. However, I was caught completely unprepared for what happened next. A 10-year-old ghastly gnome gleefully smiled and said, “Thank you, uncle”. Let’s face it: there is no uglier word in the English language than ‘uncle’. More so if you are brand new to hair dye.
There were the other painful memories — three vegetarian weddings in three days, Delhi in August, wearing a fat suit and being mistaken for Deepak Tijori at an airport, and watching the film Jimmy twice.
Thus I have no choice but to call 2008 the Worse Than Pooja Singh Year. You see, years ago, I fell in love with a real beauty called Pooja Singh. But my pursuit was rewarded with rejection and humiliation. Today, this kind of behaviour is normal and part of the course. But back then, I was young, and maybe too soft and tender.
Yesterday I had an opportunity to view Pooja Singh after 17 years. I thought time would have been unkind to her, but damn it she was looking even hotter than before.
What a year. I have no choice to chuck it in the bin. Goodbye Worse Than Pooja Singh Year, and don't bother coming back.
Luckily Pooja has a younger sister...............
Instead I will have to look at 2008 from a more micro personal level. So obviously what I’m about to spill will make more sense only to me and so I request the DNA editor to see to it that this article appears only in the copy that lands at my doorstep. If this article however still features in your newspaper, then you must do one of two things: a) get hopping mad and shoot off a letter to the editor; b) leave your copy of this newspaper at my doorstep.
Now if you’ll forgive the paradox that we are all on the same page, let me proceed.
2008 is a year I’d like to refer to as Worse Than Pooja Singh. This is primarily because I’ve always named all my years. For example, I named 1971 as The Great Year, as it was the year of my birth. 1974 is The Greatest Year because Viv Richards toured India for the first time this year. 1987 is The Vimal Year because the ‘Only Vimal’ ad with the unforgettable lyrics, ‘Only Vimal, Only Vimal, Only Vimal, Vimal, Vimal, Vimal’ was played out on TV a record 869,025 times.
2008 is unfortunately the Worse Than Pooja Singh Year. I’ll come to the details a little later. First, the year.
In February this year, I had the opposite experience to the first-time shaving experience. When you shave for the first time, you get a sense of attaining manhood. This holds good for men and women. Especially women. However, when you use hair dye for the first time, you get a sense of the end of manhood and the beginning of its nemeses, old manhood.
In April this year, my wife threatened to take both the kids and leave forever. This forever lasted only 20 minutes, as she had to return to borrow money for the petrol. Here the sense of achieving freedom, only to see it stripped bare in just 20 minutes, all because of that worldwide villain number one — Gasoline, was too hard to bear, especially for a man in his second month of hair dye.
In July 2008, while walking the dog I returned a ball to a group of kids playing cricket. However, I was caught completely unprepared for what happened next. A 10-year-old ghastly gnome gleefully smiled and said, “Thank you, uncle”. Let’s face it: there is no uglier word in the English language than ‘uncle’. More so if you are brand new to hair dye.
There were the other painful memories — three vegetarian weddings in three days, Delhi in August, wearing a fat suit and being mistaken for Deepak Tijori at an airport, and watching the film Jimmy twice.
Thus I have no choice but to call 2008 the Worse Than Pooja Singh Year. You see, years ago, I fell in love with a real beauty called Pooja Singh. But my pursuit was rewarded with rejection and humiliation. Today, this kind of behaviour is normal and part of the course. But back then, I was young, and maybe too soft and tender.
Yesterday I had an opportunity to view Pooja Singh after 17 years. I thought time would have been unkind to her, but damn it she was looking even hotter than before.
What a year. I have no choice to chuck it in the bin. Goodbye Worse Than Pooja Singh Year, and don't bother coming back.
Luckily Pooja has a younger sister...............