No Country For Shaved Men

If you are a hapless tourist in Switzerland at this time of the year you would be excused for thinking that the lack of facial hair on the male form of the human species is frowned upon here. All across Switzerland from Zurich to Geneva you will find bearded men (and maybe even women) silently smirking at clean shaven passers-by. You might think it's considered effeminate to not have one, maybe you will even try growing one yourself just to fit in, but this annual ritual has a much more 'logical' explanation. So what makes the generally quiet, reserved, peace-loving(and clean shaven) men of this country transform into beard growing, beer swigging brutes?? HOCKEY season!!!



Now you should know that 'hockey' in Switzerland means the one played on ice, with players skating on shoes with knife edges so sharp it would make the guillotine operators of the French Revolution proud. The objectives are also slightly different from the more traditional version of the sport which we Indians are more accustomed to. The less important one is to get a small black disc called a puck past the goalkeeper into the goal which looks like it's been shrunk by the mad scientist/dad from "Honey I Shrunk the Kids", while the goalie prowls around it like a bear protecting it's honey filled cave. The second and much more important objective is to maim and murder as many of the other team's players as possible. To fully illustrate this second objective here's a picture:




Another thing you should know is to never tell someone here that actual hockey is played with wooden sticks and a ball on a surface of grass or Astro-turf, and the bloody venture that they so fondly refer to as 'hockey' is infact ice hockey. I tried once and was almost bludgeoned to death.
Anyway, getting back to the point, during hockey season a very popular tradition is to grow a beard as long as your home team is still in the championship. As the tournament progresses and teams get knocked out you will see drastic reduction in beards, which occurrs in phases depending on which canton gets knocked out when. Ofcourse, this is not a great time for the women what with all the hirsuteness everywhere but i suppose they learn to take the rough with the 'smooch'...



This tradition got me thinking. What if this practice caught on in the cricketing world? What if fans decided to grow a beard until their team lost? One thing is for certain. Come Christmas, Australian men will be in high demand the world over to be Santa Clauses (or Santa Clausi, i am not really sure what the plural form of Santa Claus is) in malls and supermarkets for their prolific, all natural beards. But what about India? What would happen here if we were plagued by this insanity?


I let my imagination run wild, and by wild i mean as wild as a man-eating Royal Bengal tiger thirsty for blood (I know what you are thinking.. that i have too much time on my hands, to sit and imagine utter nonsense). This is what i came up with....


In a cricket crazy nation like ours, the tradition would be taken to extremes. Cricket fanatics, and there are a lot of them in India, would decide to grow their beards irrespective of whether the team is winning or losing, as a show of confidence in the team they consider the best in the world. This would in time lead to a new religion, and 'non-beardites' would be persecuted for not being patriotic enough. Politicians, being the weasels they are will try to use the situation to their advantage by classifying this latest addition to communal turmoil as a religious minority and then implementing a fresh quota system, all to garner a few extra (million) votes. Luminaries from other sports will cry foul about all the hullabaloo, as they do now, and nobody will really care about what they have to say, again as they do now. On the upside, the persecution will churn out a few new terrorist organizations against the 'beardists' and this will hopefully lead to better looking terrorists. (My opinion has always been that it's all good to talk about the genocide of infidels but who is going to take you seriously if you do nothing about the bird sanctuary growing on your face?)


The new tradition would land a big blow to the expansion plans of the ICC. The next big market for cricket in their opininion is the United States of America, but Uncle Sam is quite like my grandmom, they both don't approve of facial hair. The establishment there even considers a stubble to be a sure sign of an Islamic radical (my grandmom in comparison is quite liberal in her views).



Whatever the impact of this new religion, I think I'd be an ardent follower, not because i am a cricket fan, but because i consider shaving a terrible chore and an absolute waste of time. What better excuse to not do it? Now i have to figure out a way to counter the stiff resistance from my grandmom against my new found religious beliefs....

Shroud Of Turin Accidentally Washed With Red Shirt

To keep all you guys in good spirits and keep you waiting patiently for my next 'original' post, here s another hilarious article I came across and would like to share. The blogger would like to thank Onion, America's if not finest, then funniest news source for their contributions to the world of journalism. Such journalistic masterpieces is sure to win them a Pulitzer or two.

Blogger's note: It has come to the attention of the blogger that some of my readers believed that the following incident actually took place. Let me assure you that it's completely a work of fiction. Putting the Shroud in the laundry is like white-washing the Pyramids or re-building the broken parts of the Colosseum. And for those readers who believed this really happened:YOU ARE EXTREMELY DUMB. PLEASE SEEK MEDICAL HELP TO EASE YOUR SUFFERING OR GO TO AMSTERDAM AND GET YOURSELF KILLED TO EASE THE SUFFERING OF OTHERS.


VATICAN CITY—The Shroud of Turin, an ancient linen cloth believed to bear the image of Christ and considered by many clerics and devotees to be one of the holiest relics of the Christian faith, was inadvertently dyed a light shade of pink after being washed with a red T-shirt, sources reported Tuesday.
The holy antiquity, thought by some to be the very garment Jesus Christ was buried in, was discovered in 1354. Though it has suffered oxidation and fire damage over the centuries, this is the first time that the shroud has been harmed in a laundry-related mishap.

Cardinal Giovanni Lajolo assures reporters at a Vatican press conference that it is far too late for club soda.

"Simply because the shroud has been given a slight pinkish tint does not in any way diminish its sanctity," Vatican spokesman Cardinal Giovanni Lajolo said during a press conference held to address the spiritual repercussions of the shroud's staining. "It is still very much the icon of the suffering of the innocent of all times."
The Vatican stressed that nothing out of the ordinary happened to the shroud during the initial preparations for its monthly laundering in Rome. As is custom, on the third Sunday of the month, the priceless relic—which is kept in the royal chapel of the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist in Turin, Italy—was taken from its hermetically sealed, bulletproof glass case and stuffed into the Blessed Papal Laundry Sack, and it was then transported by a retinue of Swiss Guards to Vatican City without incident.
According to Lajolo, the damage occurred when Pope Benedict XVI, whose turn it was to do the Vatican laundry, did not notice that a brand-new, bright-red Hanes Beefy-T belonging to Cardinal Angelo Sodano had been placed inside of the consecrated cleansing vessel, the Holy Whirlpool 24934 top-load washer.
The pope then started a load of white vestments, including the shroud, only realizing what had happened when he returned to remove the sacred artifact, which is always line-dried.
"His Holiness was distracted with trying to scrub a tough Blood of Christ stain out of Cardinal Nicora's miter," Lajolo said. "Not that this was some sort of mistake on his part. The pope is still infallible. We have to keep in mind that this is all part of God's greater plan."

The papal laundry room where the shroud had been washed thousands of times without incident.

"And who are we to question or reject the ways the Lord works through our laundry?" Lajolo continued.
Church officials said that the shroud's staining was not in any way due to negligence on the Vatican's part. An investigation into the matter showed that the detergent had been properly blessed before the laundering, and the holy water softener that was installed last summer was working perfectly.
"We must not allow ourselves to fall into despair, for, as sinners, we are flawed and must seek forgiveness in the Lord alone," said Lajolo, who later hinted that the damage to the shroud was possibly God's response to the sins of the world, and especially homosexuality. "As Christ teaches, let he who has never overly starched, shrunk, or rent his garments cast the first stone."
Though the discoloring of the Shroud of Turin has come as a shock to many Catholics, it is not the first time that a holy relic has been damaged. In 1983, several pieces of the True Cross were water-stained after being used as coasters during Pope John Paul II's birthday party, and in 1572, the knucklebone of St. Olaf was accidentally thrown out with a plate of half-eaten chicken wings.
In the wake of the incident involving Christ's death shroud, the Vatican has been exploring possible ways to restore the raiment back to its original color.
"We do not want to attempt to use caustic cleaning agents for fear of turning the blessed shroud an unholy bright orange," Lajolo said. "We continue to look to God for divine guidance as to the purity and virtue of using a color-safe bleach."

Cricket takes a 'back' seat

I just had to share this pic of our 'rising' (sexual innuendo intended) cricket stars enjoying a bird's eye view of well...a bird(chick if you want to get more specific about which bird). All it takes is a woman to make mere mortals of men deemed as 'gods'.

Event-ual-lee

Ok... Today let me tell you about one of my colleagues at the office, let's call him Mr.O to avoid any defamation suits that may come my way if I told you his name was Oskar Hugenthobler (oops..).For some reason unknown to me he is particularly fascinated with the word 'eventually' and he has even developed his own unique style of saying it. First comes the 'event' part which is a grand event in itself, each syllable as crisp as a San Darshini masala dosa(for all of you who dont know San Darshini, it s your loss, the dosas are really crisp and the vada-sambar is quite awesome too). This is followed by a momentary pause for good effect which gives you the eerie feeling that the next few words out of his mouth are going to be the answer to all of life's unanswered questions and as you wait with bated breath out comes the remaining 'ually'. Ofcourse there is a sense of anticlimax and a feeling of being let down(I mean, there you are expecting the whats,whys and hows of crop circles, Bermuda triangles, women and all the other confounding mysteries that plague mankind and all you get is a measly 'ually'. Who wouldnt feel let down?), but, it sure is a pleasure to hear him say it.




Atleast it would be, if he didnt say it so goddamn often Now it just gets on my nerves. Irrespective of circumstance, situation or conversation he always manages to throw in (quite a) few 'eventuallies'. For example:


Me: O, could you please tell me why he has made this modification to the design?
Mr.O: He has done this because I don't know why, but i will ask him and we will find out eventually.

Me: Ah, so what changes do you want me to make in the Bill of Materials?
Mr.O: Well, eventually you will have to change it manually.

Me: Ok. What about the drawing? Any modifications required?
Mr.O: Eventually just make sure you show a section view so that the hidden screws can be seen eventually.
(By now apart from making a section view to show hidden screws i plan to eventually thump him on the head with a view to tighten his)

Me: Ok, thank you.
(Begin to leave hurriedly before I try to execute my murderous plan)
Mr.O: And please let me know when you are finished so that i eventually check and release the documents.

Ofcourse there are times when i purposely try to get him to say the word, which really is not all that hard as the following conversation reveals from when our coffee breaks coincided once:

Me: I heard it rains in Switzerland in March?
Mr.O: Yes, eventually it does.

Me: So when will it get warm?
Mr.O: Eventually.

Me(trying my best not to burst into a guffaw and managing to constrain it to wry grin): I cant wait for the weather to become better. I want to do so much travelling then.
Mr.O: Ya, ya. All the flowers are blooming then and eventually it will be really beautiful.

(I begin choking on hot coffee and end up with a burnt tongue)

Now that my interaction with him has increased since he is the one who assigns me work presently, sometimes i feel that I have begun to use the word too often as well. Maybe this entire post is just an outlet for my addiction, but you know I am sure it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. I am sure I won't feel the same way when i get used to it, eventually.......

P.S. Sorry about providing all that free publicity to San Darshini earlier in this post. I had written that part just before lunch and as you must have guessed, food was the only thing on my mind. If anyone who works for San Darshini is reading this, please pay up(unless you are the guy who makes the dosas, if so, thanks for all the dosas).

The Hunt for the Elusive Urinal

A piece of advice for all those people out there planning a trip to a strange land: the four words in the native language of the country you are visiting that are absolutely essential for your survival are: WHERE IS THE BATHROOM? The story behind this great discovery is a tragic one, for my poor bladder had to endure incessant torture and great pain, but, unlike the Greek tragedies of yore, this story has a happy ending where justice prevails, truth triumphs and and an innocent bladder finds a Pissario.
It all began with a visit to Zürich. I was to attend an IAESTE meeting there. I thought I d reach a little earlier than scheduled, walk around and discover the place a bit before the meeting. My bladder, for the past 21 years having experienced a tropical climate was suddenly thrust into the harsh Swiss winter and sub-zero temperatures. It put up a brave fight for about an hour but then it was forced to raise the white flag. I decided to head back to to the Bahnof, which is German for station for all you illiterates, which was sure to have a public restroom. If you have ever wondered what 'searching for a needle in a haystack' means try searching for a measly toilet in a railway station with 54 platforms,an underground mall, and to boot in a country where they speak 4 languages of which not one do you know!
I finally managed to find one, a place called McClean (i think i smell a lawsuit coming). For those of you who think that you have come to the fruitful completion of another pointless story, let me tell you that thats when the fun was just beginning(not for me but for that superior being out there with a sadistic sense of humour, commonly referred to as God). The guy in charge was this old, balding man bulging from everywhere, yes EVERYWHERE, and his two sizes too small track pant and tee weren't helping any. I saw a sign that said,' Toilet- 2CHF'. All i had on me was a 20CHF note which i handed over to the ancient chappie. It was promptly returned and i was directed to a machine. I fed it the 20, only to be given four 5CHF coins in return. I then put in one of the 5CHF coins and the machine spat out five 1CHF coins. The only rational explanation for what i did next must be that my brain was starved for blood as all of it was being directed to the southern regions, in a frantic attempt to keep me from wetting my pants. As i put two of the coins into the slot, I instantly realized my fatal error in judgment because the machine began excreting change, splattering it all over the place, like a woolly mammoth with a severe case of amoebic dysentry!
I somehow manage to survive the onslaught and swore to never put a coin into that possessed machine ever again. Only later, in less trying times did I realize that it was a machine dispensing change! I handed over coins of various denominations summing up to 2CHF to the bemused granddaddy at the counter and requested him to let me use the bathroom. It turned out that his English was as good as my Swahili. Instead of letting me through he starts asking me a bunch of questions which sounded all Greek to me( although i do relent to the voice of reason which tells me it must have been German, what with Zurich being in the German speaking part of Switzerland and all..). All i could do in reply was to stare back at him with a pleading look while simultaneously praying to God (yes, that same aforementioned sadistic, yet omnipotent creature) to end my ordeal. My prayers must have been answered because what followed was indeed a miracle. The old man, now exasperated with the one-way talk suddenly had a moment of brilliance, which far exceeded his mental prowess and single digit IQ. He points to his penis and asks,no wait, shouts,'PEE PEE??!!'. I nod my head in earnest and he guides me in the right direction. The urinal was on the other side and as I scurried towards it I couldn't help but praise the Lord.
If you ever come to Zurich, please do remember that urinals are called Pissarios(not to be confused with Pizzerias which are Italian eateries). I had to pay 1CHF to use the urinal and although it didnt seem like much then, looking back i can't believe i had to pay close to 50 bucks just to take a leak!!

P.S. After many more visits to the urinals at the Zurich station i have come to realize that they are not Pissarios but in fact Pissoirs. Still sound like Italian restaurants to me though.....