It was a day like many others. I was on my way back from my office in what can be described as the worst transport money can pay for, or as is referred to in more prosaic terms in Chennai as a 'share auto'. It had rained in Chennai that day. Ok, so maybe it wasn't a day like many others.

As I sat in the front portion of the rear part of the vehicle, two young ladies got in behind me. To make this clearer, please understand that my rather voluptuous behind was unintentionally touching their feet as they sat on an elevated seat behind me. As the ladies felt more and more uncomfortable, especially since where I was sitting was surrounded by muck, they began to pass remarks about how uncomfortable it was and how they couldn't sit properly etc. My buttocks may have been mentioned once or twice.

It was a while before they realised that I was getting irritated with all the complaining and ka-pow! I almost got disoriented by what happened next. Lady 1 tapped my shoulder and said, "Excuse me, you have broad shoulders." followed by a barrage of compliments about me and my appearance. Now, this is bizarre in most places, but in Chennai this is downright miraculous. Of course, it wasn't so miraculous when I realised that the lady was from Delhi, but at that stage I was reeling from the opening line anyway.

Much later I understood that Lady 1 was apparently trying to flirt with yours truly and I didn't realise this till we got off the wretched vehicle and Friend of Lady 1 told me that Lady 1 was asking me for my card because she wanted my phone number. At this stage, I articulated something on the lines of, "Ungh I'm married aagrh help."

And that was that. I turned around and have never looked in that general direction again for fear of seeing these women again.

So what I'm saying is that it's really embarassing for me when a person of the opposite gender makes a move on me. Being the decent man that I am, I'm usually found fumbling with words and my expressions are randomly swinging between perspiring-embarassed-dull-gaze to glorious-ego-boosted-smile.

I wonder how other dudes treat these situations. Any comments?

Update: Another interesting Chennai travel story.

Not that all my readers aren't already on it (3 including myself), but in case there's one or two more who'd like to show support for the blog, do join the Daily Humor Networked Blogs page on Facebook.

Unless, of course, you find it very embarassing. I'd understand. Sigh.

The URL again is: http://apps.facebook.com/blognetworks/blog/daily_humor/

I know, I know, I'm a little late on this one. But the shedding of the 'beta' tag for GMail co-incides suspiciously with the announcement of the Chrome OS, don't you think?

Also, it's not just GMail, but a whole host of products that are being stripped of this rather pointless little tag. This was required if the big bosses at Google were serious about selling Gmail/Apps to corporates. No one spending hard-earned / stolen money would want to buy 'beta' products for their organizations.

Trying to integrate these things into one saleable package, maybe, Google people? Buy Chrome + Apps + Chrome browser + Calendar for next to nothing? It's possible, I suppose - most of these are free, supported by Google Ads right now anyway.

Our times are about to get interesting.

For some reason my movie-watching frequency at theaters has taken a nosedive in the recent past. So maybe it was desperation that led me to watch Kambhakkt Ishq when a friend who recently moved into town invited me. After I watched it though, I could think of only one word for it - brilliant.
(Left: Akshay Kumar and Kareena Kapoor - wincing in delight)

Its punchy storyline and ultrakewl production design have you in awe from the first second. The script essays the antics of a very hot Indian-origin-soon-to-be-surgeon-cum-part-time-model in the US who tries to recover her mantra-chanting watch which she accidentally leaves inside a Hollywood stuntman whom she hates during her first surgery, only to discover that both of them are inconsolably, unspeakably, indisputably in love.

No, really.

This plot, my friend, is a flash of inspiration from the Gods. We can only wonder how such a brilliant storyline escaped the consciousness of all script writers, past, present and future.

Apart from the general brilliance, there is also a very tasteful scene in which an African-American lady digs into Akshay Kumar's butthole looking for smuggled goods. Of course, this is all in good humour and hence the movie is rated UA.

Annuuuu Mallliiiikkk - dear Lord. He, with any other spelling would smell the same. The song, 'Bebo, main bebo' had me tapping my feet in the cinema hall, but I had to stop because the person seated in front of me had a slight dislocation of the spinal cord. I also saw many others tap their feet out of the theater at this stage. They must have had something real important to do, because they missed one HELL of a movie.

There is also the presence of Hollywood, thus validating this movie for kewlness. I mean really, we are cool so we must like Hollywood films and their stars, right? So Stallone plays a cameo as himself, and not only does he give a Taurus award to Akki at an awards ceremony studded with fake stars, he even rescues surgeon Kareena and lingerie model Amrita Arora while they are driving through a shady neighbourhood with that Aftab fellow who never does any major roles. Mr Balboa just happens to be walking by at that time. After punching the lights out of the goons, he says 'Kambhaaaakt Eeeeessshk', for no particular reason and resumes his walk, this time (hold your breath) in slow motion.

Also there is Denise Richards, who seems to have reduced in quantity to Denise Richard as Akki-playa-Kumar calls her. We couldn't handle more than one of her, but one is just about right I think. Especially since our man dumps her for the surgeon with whom he finally finds trulowe.

So please, take your infants, toddlers, pre-teenagers and other family members to this movie. It's an experience you will never forget. Never.

Rating: 0.5 / 10

So it was the wife's birthday and the creative cycle of surprising, gifting and getting drunk was in action this week.

It was only the second third birthday since marriage, but already I seem to be running low on surprise-stock. My original 'surprise-at-midnight-with-a-cake-and-gift' masterstroke seems to have been expected this time. The 'cook-and-don't-let-her-enter-the-kitchen' idea is also slightly jaded, especially since my cooking form is lukewarm right now. No that it requires much form to heat packaged food packets. Also embarassing questions like 'Darling do you know where the salt is?' or 'Is it all right to add eggs to an omlette?' end up negating the whole out-of-kitchen experience. The cuteness of a lost husband in kitchen has a much shorter lifespan than the cuteness of a baby, I can assure you.

Another innovation this year was my attempt to crowd the house with known faces from morning to evening. That went down well, considering the wife usually tends to mope around the time of her birthday what with the advent of old age and all, imperciptible really in my eyes (brownie point - score!). And finally, to firmly establish that I'm running out of ideas, I even went the corny way of getting flowers and a card with large hearts on it. I had to suffer scanning through cards that likened love to trees, gardens and an assorted range of flowers to finally find something that wouldn't induce puke.

And after the packaged pasta was cooked and consumed, after the 25 million phone calls were answered and the winter coat that didn't fit was unwrapped, the age old non-surprising act of celebrating with food and alcohol was carried out with much aplomb. Alcohol, as they say, is the answer - whatever the question. The company was good, the Bacardis stiff and there might even have been some inebriated guitar playing and singing by me. 'Twas the stuff hangovers are made of.

Anyway, happy birthday to the wife. Apart from my usual brilliance, I did the wise thing and avoided talking about age all day and like last year I wished her yet another happy 19th birthday. My brownie point count is at an all time high - somebody stop me.

Check out the greatdrivingchallenge.com - an ingenious way to use the internet to promote your brand. You can register as a couple too if you think you are upto this sort of thing. Me, I'm not much of a driver and would not get 12 days off if I were dead.

And this is definitely my favourite couple. Voting for them is mandated for Daily Humor readers.

Worry not, regular blogging shall commence post this weekend. Been overworked and overstressed, but I shall come back like a blogging phoenix. A bleenix even. Ok off to bed now. Good night bleeple.

And no, I wasn't paid my Mitsubishi for this post.