Recently, after moving to a country where the ironing anna across the street (or Robert Downey Jr as my wife called him) is an unknown commodity, I've had to come to grips with one of the most boring chores - ironing a full-sleeved formal shirt.

So I thought I would use all my experience to help the reader(s) of this blog to understand how I methodically tackle this challenging task day after day.

How to iron a shirt, by Rohan D'Sa.

1. First take the collar portion; iron the part between the shoulder blades.
2. Next iron the collar, once on the reverse and once on the front. [NOTE: This is very important]
3. Then take the sleeves. Iron them so that no creases remain on either of them.
4. Iron the back of the shirt. Make sure that the front of the shirt doesn't come under it when you do, as it will get crumpled.
5. Iron the first half of the front, the one without the pockets.
6. Iron the second half and ensure that there are no creases. Also iron between the buttons.
7. Wear a full length sweater that shows only the collar.

In this way, me and most of my colleagues here manage to look presentable.

The end.

It had to happen. The engagement is off.

Sohrab insisted it would be called an i-Tablet. I said: something more feminine, like the iPill. Then he said that we were incompatible and never agreed on anything. I was always wrong. I wagered our engagement on the fact it would be a more feminine product. (I'm very playful like that. Except on court.)

He heard 'iPad', it was game, set and match for me. At least this one.There will be no re-Kindling of all this, though. That's for sure.

I must think now - better late than never. What kind of person should I look for? Someone who lets me play tennis? People ask me about tennis after marriage all the time.  In fact, sometimes they don't even ask me, but have a public quiz about it.

But why should it matter? Tennis ain't so grand. After all, I'm bigger than tennis. I just need to choose someone who gives me more space. Hey, that's right aren't we doing something about space in 2016? That's it. I'll choose the guy who goes in to space. I'll call him Spaceman! Ah, he will come and sweep off my feet and we will escape gravity together. Maybe the Times of India will call us Space-San and have more quizzes about us. Slideshows, even! The joy!

Anyway, I'm off now. Tomorrow I'll tell you more about those six games I won in the Australian Open. Not matches, silly. Games. See you later, I'm Scootying.

No phone. No internet. No money. Four days. Only me and my wife on a shoestring trip to Pisa and Rome.

Ok maybe the phone may work. And possibly the internet. And might need a little bit of money to shop. But still - Pisa and Rome, bleeps*! Off to do as the Romans. CentuRiohan! Muahahahahaha!

While ToI tried to do a bang-up job of trying to impress us with a 'peace initiative' called Aman ki Asha, the real Aman ki arse-whooping happened in the IPL auction, with none of the franchises bidding for Pakistani players.

Of course, this has nothing to do with the lack of desire for peace between the two countries. But given the proclivity of the Pak-based terrorists to attack even friendly cricket teams, it's just a safer choice to keep the neighbouring cricketers out of the team in the first place than have to 'ban' the players after an untoward incident takes place.

And just like that, I shall now break into verse.

Aman ki asha got whooped,
As no Pak player got booked,
As the IPL franchise kooks,
Even splurged on Shane Bond.

The Pak players now feel hurt,
Their nation is insulted they blurt,
Cricket's image is damaged, they assert.
But what about when LeT attacked the Lankans?

If anyone really is to blame,
It's not the administrators of the game.
The culprits are always the same,
They're the blasted terrorists.

All said and done, the human body is a completely arbit work of art.

Take this for example: the temperature rises to 7 degrees Celsius in Utrecht, Netherlands and I see the first set of people in t-shirts. Back home in Chennai, the temperature dips below 30 degrees and invisible ear muffs become all the rage to fight the 'cold'.

As Amit Varma would say, such it goes.

Since I've moved to the Netherlands, I've seen a lot of strange and amusing things. People, of course, have always been the most amusing of these sights. Especially this one kid that my wife and I call 'Garbage boy'.

In this country, everyone is obssessed with cleanliness in a way that cannot even be dreamt of in Chennai unless you stay in Poes Garden. Garbage boy embodies this principle. Before you start visualising a ragged kid cleaning up the streets, let me correct that picture. Garbage boy must be about two years old and is made up mostly of winterwear. He waddles across the street with the help of his mother and two siblings and is most enthusiastic about throwing garbage in the differently coloured bins they have here, some for paper, some for bottles and some others for things I've not translated yet.

After the waddling, the boy arrives and stares transfixed at his mother as she begins to toss bottles in the bins. His mother eventually yields and gives him some precious garbage to throw in the cans. The first time around she didn't estimate the child's enthusiasm correctly, so she had to stand around for half an hour after her garbage was over while garbage boy patiently picked up every inch of garbage from the surrounding 3 km radius. Even after that the boy had to be dragged away from the bins and tossed it into the bins.

Today garbage boy was made up of even more winterwear. He came with the same gang to play in the snow that has been piling up in the town for the last couple of days. He didn't seem to realise that they had come out to play, so he kept waving at buses while his siblings maimed each other with snowballs. After a couple of buses, his mom gently turned him in the direction of the sled which was on top of a 4 ft high mound. After  serious effort, he has now successfully trekked scaled it.

At this moment, garbage boy is pointing at something in the snow and his whole entourage is huddled around him. Who knows - maybe he's found a piece of garbage.

In an unsurprising turn of events, Chetan Bhagat's recent visit to Harvard has caused quite a stir. In a press conference called by him for no apparent reason, he said, "Clearly the grading system out there with the points and the someones and the fives is inspired by my book. The least they could have done is give me credit for it. I do not want money, at least they can have a case study about me."

When a journalist mentioned that the system had been in place for many decades before the book, Chetan retorted, "That is chronology, which is only one of the aspects. I'm not saying I'm 100% correct. But at least I'm 70% correct. So where is the credit for that?"

To confirm this, he read out a letter from a fan.

'Dear sir,

You are the biggest author in the world for me. I especially like your books of Harry Potter...'

"Wr-Wrong one", he stammered as he quickly searched his pockets amidst assorted LOL's, LMAO's and ROTFL's. "Ah, found it."

'Dear sir, why only IIT - Harvard is also having story like yours sir'

He finished the line with a contented smirk that revealed his ignorance about other books having similar stories and more importantly, his secret fascination with being called 'Sir'.

He seemed unstoppable when he said, "That's not all. All evil profs named Cherian must pay me royalty for making them popular. I have contributed to 70% of their identity."

Asked from where he cooked up such ridiculous ideas, he responded, "The FPS buzz just does not die down. There are millions of readers out there. One of them was studying in Harvard and..."

He could not complete the statement because of journos guffawing at the unintentional joke. Soon, a steady stream of people began leaving the press conference when they realised that the promised veg puffs and cola were not to be seen anywhere.

"Anyway, I have forwarded this mail to the folks in Harvard. This is all I have to say on this matter. We have moved on", he declared to a fast dwindling crowd.

The last standing journalist from Aaj Tak was heard asking, "Sir would you like to appear on a programme called 'Lekhak ya pheku'?"

Chetan re-iterated, "I have moved on", and after seeing that no one was in the room, he added, "Let's do it." displaying again his skill at negotiating contracts.

Elsewhere, Vidhu Vinod Chopra was seen adapting the Taj Mahal to create an original 8th wonder of the world.

This comic might not make any sense if you haven't watched the movie. It might not make sense even otherwise, but that's a different point altogether.

On the issue itself, I'm not on any side because I haven't read the book. But it does seem like a marketing ploy to get folks that have read the book to watch the movie and vice-versa. I watched the movie and did laugh quite a bit, so that's one down and one to go.

...and over 17,000 followers. That can only mean one thing - that person's name is Khan.