We are seasoned ‘Big Brother‘ voyeurs and claim the right to watch what really happens in the house at midnight.

We want to see every tear that rolls down Rohit Verma’s cheek, every gesture Tanaaz Irani makes asking irritants to disappear, each side-splitting antic by Raju Shrivastav and every clichéd one-liner Kamaal R. Khan uses to woo Claudia Ciesla.

What we get instead in the live feed are close-ups of the fish pool, the garden seats, the jail, the gym treadmills and the futuristic furniture.

The Bigg Boss inmates are speaking, crying, laughing, sleeping nearby and yet you never reveal their faces or allow us to eavesdrop.

Are you falling asleep at your work station and missing the correct camera feed? Do drink a cup of coffee and pay more attention.

Mom is livid. She wants to catch hold of you and grind you into a million pieces to be mixed with tomorrow’s breakfast chutney.

“Let me get my hands on the camera guy,” she says, her hands gesturing in the air for that invisible neck — your precious neck, Mr. ‘Bigg Boss’ Video Editor. So please be more careful.

Yours sincerely,

Disgruntled ‘Bigg Boss 3′ voyeur

It’s not that she’s a feminist but after cooking and cleaning up after husband and two messy kids for thirty years, who isn’t?

It isn’t really cool for women to sit and starve at home while hubby dearest stuffs himself with samosas from the office canteen.

That’s what Mom tried to tell her more traditional friends while helping them shop for silver bracelets on the eve of Karva Chauth.

“Okay, I get it. You want to fast. Fine. But at least get him to fast with you. Tell him to prove his love for you.”

But to no avail.

The young mommies pretend to listen to Mom. And go back to their houses to watch ‘The Perfect Bride‘ on television, eager to dress up in their Karva Chauth finery and swoon in their husband’s arms.

Mom is irritated. Her FarmVille plot isn’t doing too well. A certain someone is not following her on Twitter. And the neighbourhood mommies have all ignored her request.

I ask Dad if he ever wanted his wife to fast on Karva Chauth.

Before he could reply, Mom piped up from the kitchen.

“If he says yes, there wouldn’t be any food on the table.”

Dad didn’t dare reply.

Inadvertently, of course.

It happened when I was 17 and returning home from school, weighed down by a bag that was bursting at the seams.

It must have been a pot-hole or the driver swerving to avoid a jaywalker, for whatever reason, the bus lurched and the jolt sent me sprawling across the laps of two middle-aged women.

For a split second, two pairs of eyes locked into mine. And then out of nowhere, their arms hit out at me, their mouths hurled abuse. I must have been heavy — all 70 kilos of me.

I flailed about for support, but couldn’t get up immediately, burdened down by the schoolbag on my back.

Eventually, I broke free and escaped to the back of the bus, unable to stem the stream of abuse that still poured from their lips.

And which part of all this embarrassed me the most? The fact that some passengers thought I did it deliberately.

RELATED POST
Most embarrassing moment

At one such event, I registered with a girl sitting at the front desk, and she clearly had too much on her plate.

“Name?”
“Tony Tharakan”
“What?”
“T-H-A-R-A-K-A-N”
“Again please”
“Tharakan. T-H-A-R-A-K-A-N”

Tharakan is a fairly common surname in Kerala but in New Delhi, it never rolls off people’s tongues as smoothly as it should.

An hour after the creative writing competition, the twenty-odd contestants gathered to hear the results.

The top prize had been won by Tara Khan. But no one came forward to collect the cash.

As the rest of us looked at each other, wondering who or where Tara Khan was, the lecturer-in-charge went through the list of participants, reading them aloud and ticking off the names of those present in the room.

I was not on that list. But the mysterious Miss Khan had the same registration number as my winning entry.

The problem was solved, I got the cash and Tara Khan was history.

ALSO READ: Tony Tattle

Great Bong gives readers the lowdown on the Unputdownables.

Silverine went for a shotgun wedding of the Goan kind.

Mathew attends a hochzeit im Hamburg.

Ramesh Srivats is blogging about happenings in Pigland.

Kapil knows what brought on the drought.

Krish Ashok investigates the case of the attempted mango pickle kidnapping.

Thomas Sebastian is a power saver.

Banno is caught in rush hour.

Sidin muses on the alphabetical ardour of life.

That’s all for now. The September 2009 Blog Mela returns early next month. But before leaving, do please vote for the best post in the August 2009 Blog Mela.

Best of August 2009 blog mela(polls)

Did you just come across a quirky, interesting or something-that-tugs-at-your-heartstrings blog? If yes, feel free to nominate it for the September 2009 Blog Mela being hosted here on October 2.

How to Nominate
- Leave a comment on this post OR better still – Mail me at toeknee (at) gmail (dot) com


RULES
- Posts must have been written by Indians or have an Indian angle
- Only posts published between 1-30 September 2009 would be accepted
- If possible, please nominate individual posts, not the whole blog
- Feel free to nominate something you have written. Immodesty appreciated
- You can nominate as many blog posts as you like – provided you really like them
- Only nominations received before midnight on October 2 stand a chance to be featured in the Top 10 list
- No, you don’t get any moolah for nominating or getting featured in the Blog Mela. That could change once I am a millionaire but for now you’ll just have to bear with me
- Yours truly reserves the right to nominate good posts which you ignore

PREVIOUS BLOG MELAS
2007
March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December
2008
January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December
2009
January, February, March, April, May, June, July

Red FM ‘Bajaate Raho’ is the flavour of the season, winning 38 percent of the votes polled on the blog. Radio City 91.1 FM was in second place with a fourth of the vote.

Full results here

Two years ago, the then newly launched Meow 104.8 FM was the surprise winner of this blog poll with 28 percent of the votes cast. Hit 95 FM finished in second place with 20 percent, just a vote ahead of Fever 104 FM.

RADIO TALK FROM THE ARCHIVES
Adam moos better than Amit Varma’s cows
Delhi’s “all talk” radio station
Getting high on Fever 104
Ten hits in a row, anyone?

“Office”
“And where is that?”
“Connaught Place”

Normally, most of my neighbours are strangers to me — even if they happen to be residents of the same block of flats.

I am one of a breed of laptop-loving asocial beings, for whom the four walls of a house are like cocoons spewing forth humans, only to accept them back when they return from office.

But this stranger, who seemed like a harmless little man in his seventies, continued to address me as if I were a long-lost friend.

Suddenly, he raised his right arm in the air as if to strike me and started mouthing obscenities.

Taken aback, I smiled, took a few steps back and then continued on my way. As I reached the colony gate, I looked back and saw the old man still mumbling, his right arm still outstretched in the air, a frailer version of the Statue of Liberty.

I am not sure what was wrong with him. Perhaps, he is suffering from Alzheimer’s. Maybe he mistook me for some former office subordinate who had irritated him.

Whatever the reason, I wondered why no one from his family was near him, why he was left free to prey on unsuspecting visitors, and did he even have a semblance of normal life?

I am not sure I want to know. The next time I meet him, I may not stop to chat. Will you?

(For more snippets from Toe Knee’s life, keep reading his blog)

Wondering how to pass your time? Eavesdropping helps.

Woman 1: My boyfriend says I don’t provide him enough intellectual conversation
Woman 2: Really?
Woman 1: So I said we could talk about derivatives
Woman 2: Derivatives?
Woman 1: There was this programme on the stock market on NDTV Profit and I learned a bit about derivatives.
Woman 2: And?
Woman 1: Raj said he was impressed
Woman 2: He must have hoped that would make you very happy
Woman 1: Yeah, I said I am very much obliged (Laughs)
Woman 2: Men are all the same

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An Ode to the Delhi Metro

ALSO READ
Surviving Delhi’s Bus Rapid Transit Corridor Part I
Surviving Delhi’s Bus Rapid Transit Corridor Part II
Surviving Delhi’s Bus Rapid Transit Corridor Part III

Believe me, it’s not that easy trying to get rid of a toad. Bobby has the attributes of a master criminal — he’s nimble, silent and low-key.

We didn’t like him one bit. Until we spotted him pouncing on a stray cockroach and eating it whole.

For Mom, that’s a feat worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize.

She and cockroaches go way back.

As a college student, Mom once ran out of her house into traffic, chased by someone dangling live cockroaches in his fingers. Her brother.

She never forgave my uncle for that prank and talking about it still gives her the creeps.

But I digress.

Ever since he polished off the cockroach, Bobby has lost his pariah status and is welcome to stay at home as long as he wants.

Dad is not amused.

(For more snippets from Toe Knee’s life, keep reading his blog )

In not-so-safe New Delhi, it’s a good idea to know who you are opening your doors to — especially at night.

So when someone rings the doorbell, and all Mom can see through the grill door is the silhouette of a person standing outside, she asks “Who is it?”

And I answer ‘blueberry muffin’.

That’s the cue for her to open the door.

Yes, we have a password system that’s safer than most burglar alarms, vicious dogs and electric fences.

This month, the magic word is ‘blueberry muffin’.

Last month, it was ‘chocolate chip icecream’.

“But why only food?” says Mom. “Why can’t we have sensible passwords?”

Well, that’s because I set the passwords and I have a sweet tooth. It’s a diet that has seen me go from ‘thin’ to ‘no-longer-thin’ on my blog profile in just five years.

And if cutting back on desserts (I swear I am) is a good thing, I can at least relive those sweet memories at night — when I utter the calorie-filled syllables that gain me access to my home.