Because there are some memories money can't buy...

Disclaimer: This is not a mushy story. It's to do with the jinx that keeps coming back from time to time just like the "Blitz" on the last episode of How I Met Your Mother. For those who don't know please Google the synopsis of HIMYM S06E10. Except that the Blitz missed everything exciting whereas I have to face unpleasantly, disappointingly hilarious situations.

And DON'T think of completing the title with "For everything else there's Mastercard." :\

The ordeal started with my entry into the third year of the five year law course. Now I haven't had any lawyerly inclinations ever and consider myself to be a major accidental entrant in Law School which partly also has to do with my College but let's leave that story for a different day. Actually, if you need details about that please do speak to me about it. I'm constantly looking for people who are willing to lend an ear to my sob story and vendetta.

So, as I was saying my entry into the third year of the five year law course meant that I am supposed to be writing Law Examinations set and marked by the University which is another unfortunate story. It'll be fortunate if the University sticks to its reputation of scoring papers by virtue of the number of inked pages and not content wise. Let's keep our fingers crossed.

Now I happened to list Andheri as my first choice for the Exam Centre hoping to get a centre in either Bandra or Vile Parle. I was later enlightened that Bandra falls under Dadar and how that works is a mystery in itself. So, I was assigned Nalanda Law College in Gorai. I had never known that a place like that ever existed. Turns out it's near Essel World.

So on finally reaching this place after a 45 minute car ride on the Western Express Highway which was nothing short of a roller coaster ride at an amusement park (owing to the driver's flair for running the car at speeds ranging between 60 and 80), I had a slight inkling that this place which is supposedly in the middle of nowhere would definitely surprise me. It did. In a bad way. A really bad way.

This extremely narrow lane led to a huge campus with rusted basketball hoops and backboards and a carpet of ankle high wild grass and a generous pattern of wild itch-inducing wild flowers frequented by swarms of Mosquitoes and other assorted varieties of insects. The imposing cement structure stared down at me and I stared back, dreading to enter what seemed like the set of an Aahat like show or a Ramsay Brothers' horror flick. The building lacked flooring. My heart skipped a beat. Then I stared at the makeshift blackboard which was actually only a piece of slate mounted onto the wall. My roll number entitled me to write the exam on the 5th floor which entitled me to climb five floors. As I searched for Room No. IX on the 5th Floor, I witnessed scores of people trying to imprint the Mokals and the Jhabvalas in their grey matter. For those who are not aware, Mokals and Jhabs are like lifelines on Kaun Banega Crorepati. They seldom help but they do calm your pre exam frayed nerves. A regular law student would consider Ratanlal and Dhirajlal or Avtar Singh or the likes as their Bible but not true for law students of Mumbai University. Mr. Mokal and Mr. Jhabvala are our saviours.

I finally managed to reach my classroom and deciphered my desk which was nothing short of cracking an advanced code on account of 3 different seat numbers written on each desk. After giving much thought to whether my jeans would indirectly functions as a duster for the benches if I plonk myself on it, I thought que sera sera and decided to devote the 15 minutes I had to Industrial Employment (Standing Orders). I noticed a drop of water on my book and then another only to realise that it was not water but sweat. There was no electricity. Then after 15 minutes, I heard the fan creak and the tubelights flicker as if they've been woken from a deep slumber and very reluctantly agreed to be diffuse the light.

At 10:30 a.m a frail 5ft something lady with an ashen face entered the room and announced that everyone was supposed to keep their reading material aside and it was time. We did as asked to. After that came the longest 15 minutes of my life. The question papers hadn't arrived! My mind started playing tricks. There was a complete mash up of Industrial Disputes Act, MRTU and PULP Act, Workmen's Compensation Act and Industrial Employment (Standing Orders). What I never understood was why so many acts have different definitions for the same term. Then came the shortest 3 hours of my life. The paper ended in a flash. My carpal bones, extensor digitalis longus and extensor digitalis lateralis muscles were strained, my thumb indented and my head hurt. Little did I know this ordeal was to continue for four more days.

The second paper was Contracts. I was assigned a classroom which overlooked the Vipasana Pagoda near Essel World. This did not help in attaining any peace of mind though. Homeopathy did. It was more of a placebo, I think. Then during the exam one poor girl's desk gave way which warranted some unexpected entertainment for the rest of us. Little did we know, that every millisecond is precious. The Contracts paper met with the same fate as the Labour Law paper: Well begun is half done.

Paper number three was Torts and Consumer protection; one of the more interesting subjects. However, the genius who designed the time table allotted just one day before a 250+75 page long subject. This meant trying to cram up precisely 24 hours before the exam- the way we've been brought up. It was of no avail. A 4 hour nap turned perilous for the impending paper. I forgot Rylands v Fletcher, Reed v Lyons and several other case laws. I hope the University sticks to it's policy of blind correction.

The only silver lining was the Legal Language paper. It ended on a good note though I'm still keeping my fingers crossed, keeping in mind the reputation of the University.

My ordeal had ended.I wouldn't have to pay a visit to a cheap replica of the Harappan ruins anymore.

Before the exams began, I thought they would end in a jiffy but that was not to be. Those 10 days seemed like 10 years. I pity my Engineering and Medical counterparts. The sad news however is that I have 2 and a half more years to go which includes 5 semester exams.

My point is, “Why waste time learning, when ignorance is instantaneous?”-Calvin

ps-The image shown is for illustrative purposes only. Also, pictures are deceptive.

10 lessons to be learnt from the Common Wealth Games

The Common Wealth Games are round the corner. This is a turning point in the sporting history of our glorious nation. Infact, it is adding 4 moons (chaar chaand) to the glory of India. And like my 4th standard Hindi teacher always said, every experience in life is a lesson learnt. These are a few things that the Common Wealth Games have made me aware of even before they've begun. Wonder how many more lessons are yet to come. Anyway so here it goes...

• Revolutionising phrases in the national language: "Apne pairon par kulhaadi maarna" is passe. The contemperary jazzy version is " Apne pairon par Kalmadi maarna."


• The Common Wealth Games officials tend to take everything in a very literal sense. This includes the term "common wealth" amounting to over $6 billion.


• When they say that the country has gone to the dogs, they don't mean it in a metaphorical sense. The dogs are free to poop inside apartments on beds meant for athletes. Why does PETA have so many issues anyway.


• In saying that our standards of hygiene are different from the ones observed in other countries, Lalit Bhanot has made it clear that we don't flush toilets after use and use bedsheets soiled with dog crap for sleeping.


• That the Games have managed to show that no job is small or insignificant. Case in point: when the top bosses of Scotland had to sweep their apartments in the Games Village.


• That AR Rahman is no Shakira and that he definitely cannot compose a Waka Waka inspired anthem. Yes that was the brief given to him by the CWG officials. sigh.


• That the foot over bridge collapse that managed to injure about 27 "ordinary" people (in the words of Sheila Dikshit) is another example of "Bade bade desho mein aisi chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain."(inspiration RR Patil who was inspired by DDLJ). And it isn't that bad a thing considering India is already grappling with excessive population.


• That inspite of lack of practice, Indian athletes will manage to win Gold, Silver and Bronze medals in all the disciplines. It's a different issue that this will be on account of no other contingent taking part.


• That I'm not the only one who has a habit of procrastinating. The CWG officials are miles ahead. It has probably got something to do with our Examination system which habituates us into cramming everything for the last moment.


• That our news channels still take pride in bringing exclusive Breaking News related to the corruption in CWG. And that Arnab Goswami's vocal cords are still extremely elastic.

Many more lessons to come. Stay tuned! :)

Mall-evolence

Look at those shiny glitzy billboards that beam with the 4 letter word that makes a girl's heart skip a beat. The magical letters namely A,E,L,S beautifully transition into the word SALE! And the bigger the 2 digit number that follows it, the more one's eyes gleam. But then another 4 letter word just ruins all the fun. "UPTO". It's written in such tiny font that after a point of time you start to wonder what is easier- reading the UPTO or attempting to see the craters on the surface of the moon.

But anyway, sales DO increase the footfall. You get to see families comprising of over-enthusiastic aunties, disinterested uncles and hyperactive kids who are ready to cry at the drop of a hat if Mummyji doesn't buy anything for them rather than lovey-dovey couples who will probably end up sharing a McAloo Tikki burger and spending so many hours at the mall, it seems they've been converted into mannequins.

So, it all starts with the "stringent" security checks right from the moment your vehicle enters the parking lot of the mall. The guard will dutifully use a mirror to check whether you've hidden an explosive underneath the car and ask you to open the boot in order to check for the same. It's perfectly alright if you decide to hide one inside the car. Our duty only includes definite checks and keeping in mind with our culture of doing only as much as is told, we need to do just that.

Then your explosive-free car manages to enter the parking lot with one guy and his assistant shoving parking tickets and ancient dilapidated currency notes to you that makes you want to give the poor note a good facial at the glam-sham saloon in the mall. This process takes barely about 30 seconds but that is enough to trigger the Uncleji who's come with his entire family's impatience which he makes very apparent with his incessant honking.

Now there is an endless queue for the elevator that will take you to the ground floor. It takes so long for the elevator to come that you start wondering whether your hair will turn white(and not grey) by the time you get to step inside the elevator. Eventually after a lot of jostling, you DO manage to get away from the stench of the basement and you phone comes back to life(read:network). And since you've braved the elevator, your bag gets rewarded. Yes, it doesn't get manhandled by the security guard at the entrance. Tip to bombers: you could carry bombs in your handbag but remember to take the elevator route. It never fails.

And before you can step on the skating rink like Italian marble floor, there comes this over enthusiastic 20 something girl who asks for 5 precious minutes of your time to complete a survey which can lead you to win an all expense paid trip to a random resort in a random remote part of the country. (conditions apply). There's also a man distributing pamphlets regarding a sale of the most useless things at the most useless store in the mall who will not budge from your path until you take that piece of paper from his hand. There is another person who's put treadmills and Osim massage chairs on the ground floor which turns out to be a hub of well fed menopausal Aunties with shopping carts and kids in tow.

Once you've managed to dodge these elements, you are free to take the escalator to the floor of your choice. If you're lucky you may come across people who believe that the escalator is a T-Rex's gut and will swallow them as soon as they step on it. For Chrissake, even the ghouls in Aahat are scarier.

At last you do reach the shop and you end up liking nothing besides that black tee without the over the top sequins. Your eyes gleam with joy. You reach out to the tee as if it's the very last relic of Michael Jackson. But alas, your joy is shortlived. You wanted size M but all the have is XS, S, L, XL,2L,XXL. So you ask one of the shop assistants to get you size M. Now they are beaming with joy at the prospect of some work because otherwise they don't really get to do anything besides flirting with each other which would tend to get monotonous after a while, isn't it? It doesn't end there , there's a long winding queue at the trial rooms. So after ageing by another 40 years, you do get your well deserved turn for an entry into the trial room. After checking whether it is a two way mirror or not and looking around for hidden cameras, you do realise that the tee is worth buying. Now there is another queue at the cash counter. And when your turn does come, the credit card invariably gets declined. Your heart skips a beat, 2 beats and so on with every passing second. And you regain your pulse, when the cashier tells you that it was just a temporary system failure and the payment has been confirmed. The tee is now yours so is the brand new plastic bag. No the malls aren't eco-friendly yet unless you consider the colour of the bag. :\

Ah so anyway, now you're too tired to stand in a queue for a drink at Mc Donald's and you decide to head back to the dingy basement. The appearance of the basement is inversely proportional to the way the mall looks by the way.

You head out. Only to realise that there is another queue waiting for you on the way back home. The queue is commonly known as a traffic jam.

Octopussy

I think Roger Moore was one of the most handsome looking James Bond of all time. Blah! This post ain't about him. It's about the FIFA superstar. Not Villa or Puyol or anything mind you, its Paul-the Octopus! The 2 year old superstar belongs to Phylum Mollusca and the sub species Octopus vulgaris (yes, I'm brilliant at Biology).

Its amazing how this psychic works. He uses all his 'clairbuoyant' powers and correctly predicts the winners in the matches Germany plays. But now that FIFA is coming to an end, the poor Octopus will lose his 30 days of fame and be back to being the Common octopus that it always was.

So, here are a few career options for Paul:

• Image consultant: Now then, our Indian green parrots have for ages picked up tarot cards for the jyotish babas. And 9/10 times (just like Paul) their predictions hit the bullseye. However, they've never been given so much name, fame, recognition and a Wikipedia entry. So, Paul the Octopus should probably be the best thing to give them an image makeover.

• Lecturer of Clairbuoyancy: I think it's high time the premier educational institutes of the world introduced this subject. They would have brilliant faculty in the form of Paul. He may even become a Dean, be given honorary citizenship of England and a Padmashri by the Indian Government. IIPM will call him to Mumbai as a guest lecturer and Arindam Chaudhari will pose with him and get a full page advert published on the fifth page of Times of India.

• Political advisor: Who needs a think tank to manage the candidature of your party for the forthcoming elections? Now you have Paul-the Octopus. Just put pictures of your prospective candidates in his aquarium. The one he sucks the most is the right one! And a strange co-incidence isn't it that the politicians suck too?

• Analyst on news channels: After the election results are declared,each and every news channel proclaims that their Exit poll results were the most accurate. However, now they will hire the services of the Octopus and voila the TRPs will SOAR!

• Remake of Octopussy: With Daniel Craig as James Bond now (sigh!), I think Paul will make a good Bond girl or a Bond boy. A Dostana inspired Octopussy? Uhmm. Pardon me. :|

• Ekta Kapoor's personal astrologer: Sunita Menon will have to be content with writing last page horoscopes for Mumbai Mirror. Paul will now be the favourite astrologer of the soap queen. She'll put two papers in the fish-tank with 2 names of a forthcoming soap beginning with the letter 'K'. Paul will pick. "Kahaani Kamaal Ki!" Right! :D

So, Paul worry not. You have a flourishing career ahead and before you know it FIFA will be back and the world will be at your tentacles again.

In the meantime, please recommend a clairbuoyant cousin of yours. I need some advice in choosing what to wear, every morning.

Nationally yours

Change is inevitable.

Without much further ado, here are a few things that should change about India keeping in mind our sensibilities.

• National sport: Spitting-->Move over hockey. The new sport that's taken the nation by a storm is spitting.It's not just paan mind you, spitting saliva, spitting wrappers just about anything and everything. The golden rule being what is in must come out. Spit when you're bored, spit when you're not. All the road is a spitoon and all men (and women) are mere spits-men.(Mr. Shakespeare, please don't turn in your grave at this humble attempt of mine in trying to imitate your inimitable style). And remember to add sound effects when you spit, "Aaaaak-thoo" is the most common example. And a country that's obsessed with freebies, the bonus deal that it gets with this is free Tuberculosis and redder roads. Amazing right?!

• National animal: Mosquitoes/ Houseflies-->Why have an animal of which only 1411 specimens are left, as your national animal and then go through all the humiliation of not being able to safeguard your national animal. Try conferring the coveted status to Mosquitoes or Houseflies. They're in abundance. You'll never have to face a crisis of fussing over how to save your national animal. And "Makkhi the club" sounds better than "Stripey the club" naa? And your new tagline could be 'Save the Makkhis-only 1411 billion left!'

• National bird: Crows--> They're everywhere. I had to wait till I was 7 years old to see a peacock. But I'm sure I had seen a crow in the first week of my birth. And they work brilliantly as morning alarms, help is boosting the detergent sales (Read: bird shit) and making Ram Gopal Varma's movies seem slightly eerie. Way to go Crow! (Did that just rhyme?)

• National language: Facebook/Orkut/Chat lingo--> Now with states having issues over the use of Hindi because it is way too "North-Indian" a language and with English being the language of the Queen and a mark of British superiority over us, the question arises as to what the national language should be. The answer is simple. "Dudes/Dudettes Y dun ya try da chat lingo. 'Tis Kewl nd u'll be kewler if u use it." And everybody all over the country knows it and none of our politicians will have a problem with it!

• National anthem: Dhan te nan--> I've seen the lines of distress on people's faces when they're supposed to stand for the national anthem before the start of a movie. And before you hear the last 'Jaya He' people are already plonked back onto their seats. However, the Kaminey song can sure make them stand in respect (and sway a little too).

• National flower: Cauliflower--> Why should lotus get the coveted status of being the national flower? Just because it's pretty, eh? Nobody, ever thought of the humble 'gobhi ka phool'. What would our Mother's ever do without it's versatile existence? I hear a kitchen crisis! Love it or loathe it, you're sure to have had it! :|

• National song: Beedi jalaiyle--> A lot of people aren't even aware that Vande Mataram is our National song and the Sanskrit lyrics are way too complicated for most. So how does the prospect of Beedi Jalaiyle sound? Very hum-able song, nothing complicated about the lyrics, connects with the classes and masses alike AND everybody knows it already!

Disclaimer: For those who are a little slow, this post is intended to be sarcastic.

My First Job That Lasted Four Days.

Your first job is always supposed to be special right? The one that you'll remember forever? My first job lasted 4 days. But I had experiences that I'll remember over a lifetime. They weren't very pleasant, mind you, but surely interesting anecdotes which I can narrate to my grandchildren.

I wont name lawyer who I interned with lest they file a defamation suit against me which will entitle me to end up in one of those shabby courtrooms again. So without taking any names, here it goes..

Oh, before we proceed here are a few Facebook status updates over the past few days:

• If they made a movie about my day today it'll definitely be called 'Unhappy Feet'
• Five courts in 3 days! Phew.
• Its only been 4 days. I'm fed up of the monotony already!
• Been to the most elite and shabbiest courtrooms. Lesson learnt: Never enter litigation

So as you would have guessed unless there's some serious disorientation happening in your grey matter, it wasn't a very enjoyable experience. My purpose of taking up the internship was that I'll learn a thing or two about law which I've been unable to learn inspite of studying in one of the renowned law schools of the country for two years. However, this was not to be.

So over the past few days I've done jobs ranging from that of an office boy(75%) to a secretary(10%) and an intern (5%). And by now, I know every nook and corner of the Bombay High Court. I'm wondering if I should become a guide in the chaotic court.

So, my first day involved me going to the High Court and meeting with the lawyer's junior. Let's call her Advocate SR. I was given a number by my ex-boss of 4 days and was told to call on the number and ask for his assistant. I dial the number and the caller tune that wafts out, brace yourself, is "We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year". Christmas and new year in the 2nd week of June! You must be kidding! Then this woman answers the phone in a strange accent and goes like "Hello Meidum, aap kaun bol rahe ho" Me: Uh, Hello, sir ne kaha hai aapse milne ko." SR: "Toh third floor pe aa jaaiye na meidum" (Left me wondering if main was dumb to land myself in this place). So then I go to the third floor, climbing about 4 dozen stairs puffing and panting only to realise that the weirdo wanted me to go down to the first floor to some courtroom.

I entered the courtroom and was almost jumping with joy on account of the fact that it was airconditioned. Little did I know that my happiness would be shortlived. She then tells me that we have other important work to do and we need to go to the third floor yet again. This time we could use the elevator. And as a random ice breaker I happened to ask her the name of the judge in the courtroom. She looks at me stunned. "Tumhe nahi pata!" "Tumhari community ka hi to hai". So I'm wondering how is it that a surd belongs to my community. "Oh, tum Punjabi nahi ho?" "Toh fir tum kya ho?" Me: "Err..Marwari" "Ohhhh Marwari, Gujju Ben huh?" Me: "Huh...Nahee..Rajasthan" "Marwaris are Rajasthanis also?"

So, now we reach the third floor finally and I get to meet my boss. A 45+ crescent bald, pudgy person reading a newspaper. Welcome. It's lunch time now.

The junior advocate enthusiastically showed me a 6ftX4ft room embellished with rusty lockers and dusty files where they had lunch everyday. I was convinced that I would die of asphyxiation by inhaling excessive dust. I survived to tell the tale. Then she told me as softly as she could that there were washrooms on the ground floor, first floor and third floor. Yes, as if the odour and signs weren't good indicators. But anyway, she was being courteous and kind I thought. Then as we go to the Bar Association Room she remarks about the fact how hot it is. And I go like "Yeah it is, you're sweating so much". Then she grunts while laughing though I never intended it to be a joke in the first place. The joke was being played on me all this while. Then I am told to take down a few dictations and type out a 10 page report and submit it by tomorrow. I take it in my stride, thinking this would have been the busiest first day in anyone's life. I back home. Happy. My feet were ridden with shoe-bites. And for once I was able to sympathise with Victoria Beckham for being able to wear those 5 inch heels. Mine were 3 inch BTW.

*End of day One*

Next day I was supposed to go to the Bombay City Civil Court (BCCC) and reach there at sharp 11 a.m. The only problem was I didn't know where the blessed place was. She told me to ask people about it. Anyone would know after all. And it was walking distance. So, I reach the High Court and ask one of the policemen deployed there where the BCCC was. I asked several policemen in succession. The only answer I got was "Pudhe" (which means 'ahead' in case you don't know). So after walking about 2 kilometres and encountering a dozen lawyers who looked like ciggy addicts, I reached the BCCC. Now, the problem with BCCC is that the place doesn't get any network. So unless you know beforehand where a person is there is no means by which you can find someone. After scouring 3 floors (on foot, mind you) I finally found her only to know that the work in the BCCC was complete and we were now required to go back to the High Court. Dude, WTF! So then I discovered a shortcut of going back to the High Court. The footpath was lined with coconut vendors and a bookseller who seemed to have second hand copies of every book I hadn't heard of. Now, on reaching the High Court, we were told to sit in a courtroom to keep a watch on the proceedings of the case of a certain elderly lady. After the 2 longest hours of my life, her case was taken up by the Honourable judge. Two minutes later, they realised that certain documents were missing, so the case had to be put up for hearing the next day. My job was to ask the 'Shirastidar' to let me have a look at the file submitted by the lawyers and allow me to take photocopies. Interesting, very interesting-Not! By now, it was 3 p.m. and my stomach had started groaning and protesting for lack of food. Who cares about the poor intern anyway? After getting the photocopies done, I was instructed to come to the Sessions court which mind you is in the same building as the BCCC. Again, it involved going through the shit laden footpaths accessorised with beggars, booksellers and unhygienic juice centres.

I reached the Sessions Court. Saw Justice ML Tahiliyani-yes the same person who handed over the death sentence to Kasab. Fascinating stuff. But my job was to go to court room no. 32 and find out to what date the case had been adjourned. I was told that the opposing party had gone to ask for a stay on the case. Another 1 hour wait in the sweltering heat of Mumbai city in a courtroom who's clerks were interested only in chewing 'gutka' When the opposing party finally came back, I was told something in a language I didnt understand. Had to wait for another half an hour to figure out what the adjourned date was. FML.

I came back to the High Court.By now I was sweating like a pig. The Junior tells me "Sangat ka asar hai, ab toh aapko bhi pasina aa raha hai". *khi khi khi* *grunt grunt*. I notice that there are more lawyers sitting with the boss. And the boss is sneezing like a maniac without as much of a courtesy as putting a handkerchief on his mouth. Rhinovirus inflitration. Arrrgh! A cold is the last thing I want in the sickly Bombay weather.

I was told that I had to go to the Metropolitan Magistrate's court the next day at this place called 'Bhoiwada'.I was supposed to meet the junior at the Elphinstone road station. Before leaving, the Junior again asked me whether I wanted to make a trip to the washroom before I leave. I said a polite no. Long day. It has started to get to me already. *Sigh*

*End of day Two*

It's a new day. I hope it goes fine. Bhoiwada court today. So I take a train to Elphinstone road station and wait there patiently for the Junior to come. She finally arrives and remarks how heavy her bag is and how there should be coolies on local train platforms. Yeah right. And you're the Queen of England. We get on to the pedestrian bridge only to realise that it has been flooded with mucky water. By now I was certain that Leptospirosis would never let go of this glorious opportunity. We finally got hold of a cab and asked him to take us to the court. A 10 minute journey later, we stop in front of this dilapidated building which had a HUGE 'No smoking' sign. On first look, it seemed like a rehab. It wasn't. We were greeted by a weird looking guy wearing a deep red but very evidently fake Abercrombie and Fitch shirt. I thought he was a pickpocket. I'm not kidding. So he guided us inside the court building. A flight of stairs leading to the court room on the second floor. The steps were made of wood and they would SHAKE! I was convinced that I was sure to make a hospital visit by the end of the day. Then, on finally reaching the 2nd floor, I realised the courtroom was no better. If only creams like Olay and Ponds could reverse the ageing signs of the courtroom. I could feel my lungs getting clogged with tonnes of dust while I patiently sat and observed the fans creaking irritably as they moved and the hundred LJ Soft calenders that adorned the walls which looked like pancake wearing off a hundred year old woman's face. Then, all of a sudden everyone rose and bowed in respect to a man who had red Henna dyed hair and seemed that he had just had a hundred pieces of betel nut. You guessed it right, he was indeed the Honourable Judge. After a series of monotonous statements made in Marathi which is like Greek to me by several lawyers, it was finally the turn of the Junior advocate to present her case. Thankfully, she spoke in English. All that she said was " We wish to present "hairs" on the next date of the proceeding". I was fascinated and started wondering if it involved some kind of DNA evidence-awesome stuff! But that was not it. She meant "heirs". Sigh. Next we were instructed to come to the High Court and eventually go to the sessions court.

My poor, poor feet.

Once we reached the High Court, this Junior again asked me whether I wanted to go to the loo and yet again I replied in negative. By now, she was extremely enamoured by my bladder's capacity. She looked at me so stunned that I feared her eyeballs may just pop out there.

I was later told to go to the Sewree court the following day. A place I had never heard of. So, I messaged and asked my friend the directions to reach that not so nice sounding place. My boss caught me messaging. Tells me that I should focus more on the work and less on the cell phone. Yeah right! All this coming from a dude who cribs a million times when someone calls him and on answering the phone would say "aur batao brother kaise call kiya".

*End of day three*

Next day, after about 10 Google searches I figured out a way to reach Sewree. By the time I reached Sewree station, my poor feet had been stamped over by atleast a dozen other ruthless feet. As soon as I step on the platform, I hear the familiar Psych theme song. Answer the call. It's my boss. He tells me that there's no point in going to Sewree because you don't have all the information and it'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Yes dude, didn't you realise that an hour back! "So now, Tanvi please go to the Bombay Small Causes Court near VT and look up for this case and then at 3 you need to go to this associate law firm and pick up a case brief". By now I had had enough. I had made up my mind that today would be the last day of my slavery. 10 photocopies, 5 trips up and down the stairs of the High Court and a few gyaan sessions later, I told him that I quit. Man! You should've seen his face! He just lost a servant who was working for free.

Excerpts from the gyaan session:

• Tanvi, I suggest after you complete your law you should go abroad to do your masters. I've been to London. You can see yourself how much difference it makes.
• I, alongwith 3-4 other lawyers in this bar association room have the most flourishing practice. Have you ever seen me read a newspaper? No. This is the sign of a really busy lawyer. The moment you see a lawyer reading a newspaper, you know he's out of work.
• You have a good handwriting but I'm the handwriting champion.
• What does your name mean? It doesn't have a meaning right? Sir, it does. Oh! All this while I thought it was a mere fashionable name.

Here's a quote from Grey's Anatomy that seemed so apt:

"You're interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain."

Only this was a legal food chain. Same situation.

Overheard.

I always wondered why beauty parlours were considered places for unwinding by so many women. I mean why subject yourself to so much physical (read: waxing, threading) and mental ( read: getting your precious tresses chopped and paying for it) pain for a few minutes of entertainment. And how would you be entertained, if at all.

Turns out my recent visit to the salon crushed my prejudices. It was hilarious to say the least.

So this elderly foreign national who has barely any hair (and the ones he did were longer than mine) is getting his hair shampooed. So this shop attendant who is a "bhaisaab tryna be mod" kinda fella with blonde streaks et all is busy massaging his head. And this is the little conversation they had.

Shop attendant (in a very weird accent basically an amalgamation of Hindi, Marathi and broken english) : Is it nice? (BTW the question mark wasnt that clear)

Firang (in a very firang accent) : Its lice?!! (he obviously didnt get the former's accent)

Shop attendent: Yes sir, its very nice! (he obviously DID not get the former's accent)

Firang (who again didn't understand this guy) : I've very lice!... Oh @#$&

{ By now the attendant was beaming with joy expecting a $10 tip and the firang was scratching his bald head vigorously}

After the shampoo was done:

Attendant: Sir, do you want mouse? (He meant mousse)

Firang (who heard it as louse): No why would I want it! Remove it! Get rid of it! Can you do something about it?

Attendant: Ok sir, Ill remove the mouse.

Firang (still hearing it as louse) : Thank you! Thank you so much!

In the meanwhile, I was trying hard to contain my laughter, lest my eyebrows get erased off! ;P