The Sincere Candidate

Interviewer: Do you think you can work under pressure?

Sincere candidate: I don’t think so. I detest working under pressure.

Surprised Interviewer: Then you may not be the right person for this role, we want someone who is hard working and can handle unbearable pressure.

Sincere Candidate: If my idea of a good work environment was unbearable pressure I would not have wasted all those years for education, would have been a thief where I could at least choose the rewards for taking unbearable pressure. As for hard working, I may do so, but I am not too keen to do that.

Angry Interviewer: Then why do you come here? Why do you need a job as such?

Sincere Candidate: So I can take care of my family

Angry Interviewer: So you mean to say that for you family is more important to you than work?

Sincere Candidate: of course, if I had to choose, definitely family, and if had to choose between my work and my friends, definitely friends...

Angry Interviewer sarcastically: may be you think you are very smart, but right now, you are only wasting our time, do us a favor, stop talking and get out of here and a word of advice, please don’t outsmart your wits lest you end up nowhere.

Sincere Candidate thinks to himself while walking out of the room:

"If I were choose between my friends and my family, I may be confused."

He was not very smart. He was too sincere and vacuous and he could not stop thinking;

If I were to choose between my friends and my life, I will choose life...

...and so if I were choose between my life and a bout of pleasure. I would choose pleasure; I would disown the agony of life and choose pleasure, for that is what I truly seek...

The old mans philosophies

He grew up listening to and understanding old philosophies, he appreciated them and joined the wise masses, all of whom who appreciated those old philosophies… ancient philosophies that talked about wisdom…

As he grew older, he ridiculed those old philosophies, now he made new philosophies, his own philosophies, colorful, bright and very different from anything anybody had ever heard before; he could not join the masses now since the masses did not understand his new philosophies. He was defined by his philosophies and the masses did not understand him either.

Now that he is old, he disdained his own philosophies as he began to understand the meaning of those old philosophies, ancient and prejudiced as they were he began to see truth in them… and just before he lay dead, he felt empty and clenched his fist with a sense of resentment towards all philosophies, he seemed to know the truth and then he could not think at all…  

Adieu to the Black car

I wanted to refrain from writing about cars on this page, but I am too much into cars to ignore that part of me and these were the most interesting incidents which happened in the last couple of days.

A few insights: In UAE any car with a manual transmission is a hard sell. European marques like my VW are even harder to sell and although fast cars are very much in demand, a sporty hatch back does not often fit the image requirements of a fast car in Dubai. They are terribly unpopular and can make a very difficult sell. The upside is that used cars with manual transmissions are incredibly cheap to buy owing to the dismal resale value and one can pick some really interesting cars for not that much of dough.However, I did not pick this car as cheap as I could, although I still thought the price to be justifiable.

One last drive...

The new buyer inspected the car at his friend’s garage and offered me a very fair price. It was, as they say, an offer I could not refuse.


Since he was a car-less bloke, he wanted to hurry things and on the very next day, while I was least prepared to say goodbye to my black car, he calls me to say that he wanted to take the car from me on that day, then and almost there. I got a heavy feeling in my heart and felt sad for the fact that I was gonna miss my car. I get this feeling for several unused inanimate objects that lie in my room. The ones I may least care, but when I loose them, when I realize that I cannot use them for that one more time, that they are no longer mine...

But this time, it was a bit deeper than that. I wanted to drive my car for one last time. With my family, with lil Issu asking me to switch on the radio and listening to Pink Moon from Nick Drake, a song made famous by the VW Golf, on a moon lit night as can be seen through the moon roof, I wanted to make one high speed drive on an isolated road and most important, I wanted to drive to the beach, like we did on almost every weekend… all of us, in my first car… this was the first car that I owned … where under 'name of owner' it mentions my name...

           The VW Golf V6 4 motion.

Very often motoring journalists talk about the greatness of Alfa Romeo cars and the enthusiastic feel and control of a proper manual transmission. Having grown up reading too many car magazines, I fell for both and would very often argue/quarrel to great lengths to put across the idea of these virtues.

After getting an UAE license, (that’s a long story)… I fought boldly against all oddities; wife approval, ignorant peers terrorizing about the pitfalls, good old friends back bitching about my stupidity and bravely proceeded to buy a sporty and interesting automobile.  For an immature brainwashed imbecile like myself, that was all I needed. Not reliability, not fuel efficiency, but something with a soul.

We did see a couple of Alfa Romeos and one of them was so good that we nearly bought it, but then we saw this internet ad. The car was described as a Volkswagen Golf V6 4 motion and the pictures were very convincing. The lengthy nomenclature is only a representation of its technicalities, more like H₂O instead of water. It can be referred as the Golf V6. We saw the car at night, not the best time to check a used car, at a well lit parking mall of a shopping center.

Recaro leather seats

It was a 2001 model with almost 105,000 Km’s on the odo. Nevertheless, the car still looked very handsome in a conventional manner. There are no designer lines of sort, only straight clean lines. The body work shone under the large street lights and the cream leather interior with Recaro sports seats were immaculate. The car did portray a feeling of being well cared for.

The tall German

It was a German made car owned by a tall German bloke. Both my friend, who came along to see the car, and my wife were more impressed by the German bloke than by his car. He seemed so upright and cold that it redefined my perception of German quality, which is a good thing, but as J. Clarkson opinionates, leads to over-engineered products that lack soul and character.

My first experience with this car started by me stalling the car. However, on the second attempt, when I got the clutch right, I felt being pressed back to the sports seat as we accelerated through a narrow stretch of road near the shopping mall. I was enthralled by the smooth yet aggressive power delivery and that noise.

It was a truly well endowed automobile. The potent 2.7 liter VR6 engine (some technicalities here- the V6 nomenclature not withstanding, it is a 24 valve complicated VR6 engine) is large, by hatch back standards and reasonably powerful, 200 bhp is not a bad figure, even by today’s standards.

We agreed on a price and I went to great extent to arrange the money within the stipulated time and within a week or so, the car was mine.

While collecting the car, I noticed that the car was unwashed and the tall German appeared a tad shady than he previously was. After the formalities, we shook hands and parted ways. The tall German chap from whom I bought the car never answered my calls after that… but the German car turned out to be a more reliable.

On our drive home, we discovered that the passenger side electric window made a strange and funny noise. We had to figure out how to engage reverse and how to turn off the air-conditioning. On reaching home, I noticed a few more dents on the body work. But no worries, it was still an interesting car that was fun to drive.

The most interesting feature was that shady growl from the twin exhausted pipes. It is not a raspy tone like the Italians, there is no high notes here, nor is it shrill like the Japanese; this is a Germanic, Nazi nasty boom as the revs approach the 3000 mark.

Tiny dents on the body and the small creek that comes from the driver side door were all but harmless irritants to the otherwise pleasurable drive. The interior instrumentation was blue back-lit and all the controls were well placed. The Recaro seats were supportive and inspired confidence on spirited driving while still being a comfortable place to be during long drives. Understated, yet appealing, and with that potent V6 engine, it made for a perfect Q-car and in black, bright metallic black, it was our beloved family car.

We started visiting shopping malls further away and the convenience of a car meant that I could sleep until 7:30 before rushing to my office. My favorite trips were with all of us driving to the beach. All the late night drives were fun since there was less traffic and the best one for me were the short drives back home. With a six-speed manual, every exit, every turn and every green signal was a celebration of audacity, a conceited act of mans control over machine.

The trips to my in-laws place was less appealing since they stay in a traffic clogged denser part of a city comprised entirely of featureless concrete jungles, Sharjah, and I am a man and visiting the in-laws is not my idea of a fun trip. Nevertheless, the heavy traffic coupled with the heavy clutch meant that I usually got home with a bad head-ache and a swollen left foot.

Back to that final drive…

I had some difficulty finding the Tasjeel (place for vehicle registration) and I was frustrated after loosing my way a couple of times. And then I drove fast with a hindered sense of judgment and an irritated and upset mind set. That was when I took a turn faster than I should have. 

The car skidded as I applied the brakes while turning around and I had to countersteer to keep the car from spinning. The entire car shook violently and I could feel the brake pedal pulsating from the ABS system. I was shaken and my heart-beats were louder and faster.

Soon after this drama, I noticed that the engine management light had come on. Now that was worrying. It could mean that there was some minor error codes thrown by the cars computer or ...that there was a major fault with the engine. I thought of ways to set it right. However, there was still some traffic I did not want to switch off the car. What if it did not start again? I thought it might have overheated, but the temperature gauge was still normal and the car was delivering the right power. I had noticed a slight drop in power a few weeks back and thought that this might be because it needed servicing. However, this was not normal and the whole situation was worrisome.

The sentimental me had subdued the love for this car and its fond memories. I began to think like a pesky used car salesman who was worried about closing the sale. What if the guy refuses to buy the car? So what, its still a fine car and I will keep it, I comforted myself… but still, that price was too good. What if he refuses to pay the agreed price? That would be bad or worse still, what if he wants me fix this issue? Could it be a major issue? I began to feel like a cheap, cheater? I did not care about the car anymore, I wanted that price, ‘It was an offer I could not refuse’ but still, back in my mind, the sweet memories, the feeling of loosing a fine automobile was still lingering, coupled with hunger and anxiety I grew to a pale shade and appeared like a tiny invisible spec as I finally found my way to the Tasjeel and greeted the buyer, a short Lebanese guy.

There was another hindrance as well, Vehicle testing; Now my car was tested at a friendly garage and had a new registration, but the law requires that I retest the vehicle before changing the ownership. Dubai being Dubai, there was a VIP counter and for an extra 50 buck, a quick test was done. 

The warning light was still worrying and I did not know how the buyer would react on seeing that light. I tried calling a couple of my friends to pick me up from the place, as there were lots of stuff in the car which I needed to take and so that I could make a quick escape with my money. But help was not available and I resorted to asking him to drop me back home to which he agreed.

I also requested him to let me drive back so that I could have one last drive on my black car. He let me do the driving and we got into his black car.

The first thing he saw was the warning light and he asked me about it. Now I had the cash and I refused any knowledge about this issue. He was obviously upset and kept a straight face through out the drive. The heartless me profusely refused to acknowledge the warning issue and told him with an as-straight-as-I-could face that it must have happened while they tested the car and that it just came on. He did not buy it and requested for a thorough inspection. I countered this with an argument that he had driven the car on the previous day and had already inspected it at a garage before buying.

After some more glum comments and awkward silence I thought about the tall German who did not answer my calls. The tall German who sold me the black car. The car was not as bad as what the tall German thought it was, but when he did not answer my calls, I felt like I was cheated, just like this short Lebanese chap seated next to me, who bought the black car from me.

But I was not a tall German. I am an Indian, and in spite of our less than immaculate reputation, we are one bunch of jolly good people.

I carefully owed up to the situation and assured him that I will take responsibility for the issue with the warning lamp if it is a major one. I tried to tell him how much this car means to me but he was disinterested.

On reaching home, I called my wife to come down with baby Issu so they could bid goodbye. She did not seem to share the same depth of sorrow, she was happy that the deal went through and we got a good price for our car. Woman..!

We got all our stuff out of the car and while lil Issu and wifey went inside, the black car was driven away by the somewhat disheartened Lebanese guy.

The first thing that I did the next morning was to find out what the error code meant. Realised that it cannot be critical since the warning lamp was only lit, if it was critical, it would have flashed… whatever. I made a goodwill gesture by calling the short Lebanese guy who now owns the black car before he could call me. He had not yet taken the car to the garage. After a while, he called me from the garage and sounded alright. The issue was with a clogged sensor (mass flow (lambda) sensor). Not a critical issue. I wished him a safe drive and felt better, but now I was car-less and depended on a mobile society which was least interested in my mobility as they  had other commitments.

Nevertheless, within two weeks or so, my petrol filled throbbing heart managed to convince my materialistic mind and I managed to convince my wife to go for another shot at luck with an ill-tempered Italian beauty. Our new car, The Alfa Romeo 156.

Yesterday, while showing lil Isaiah pictures we had taken on my cell phone, he saw our black car and started saying ca, ca ,ca… He even identified the interiors and made a brrrr… noise reminiscent of his understanding about a car, which reminded me of that boomy exhaust. It brought some nice memories and I felt a tiny sad feeling.

 Adieu to my black car…

Some technicalities: 

Six-speed manual

• The 6 speed transmission employs close gear ratios and it is easy to cruise in town in the 6^th gear. However, the 1^st gear feels unreasonably short as you quickly run out of revs with almost no corresponding increase in speed as you quickly shift to second. Sometimes, the short gearing does feel like a handicap. 

• All-wheel drive ensures that there is no wheel-spin as you quickly get off the line. It just pulls clean with very little drama except for that VR6 noise, except that while inside the car, the boomy engine note is accompanied by tiny creeks as the body tries to cope with the stress of acceleration.

• One major shortcoming was the suspension which fails to offer a truly sporting experience befitting the power delivery and sporting intentions of rest of the car. The suspension feels soft yet uncomfortable and gives the car a tendency to understeer. The heavy engine in front may also be responsible for this. If you accelerate into a corner the car will understeer and as you give more power, the all-wheel drive system kicks in and you feel the car getting into the line. Feed too much power during a U-Turn and it goes on to the verge of over-steer while you have just enough time to correct it and ease the power.

Issues I have encountered in the nine months of otherwise trouble free ownership:

• Poor radio reception - who cares when you have that snorty engine noise
• Air-conditioner failed - well I had to care as it was summer and this is Dubai. Cost a bomb until the issue was diagnosed to a faulty fuse connector.
• Alternator failed - Had to get a tow truck.

Technicalities aside, it has been a pleasurably experience to own this car. 

Critical Observation

the gentleman's sanctuary...

I do not know any men, myself including, who cannot refrain from criticizing or correcting their ladies.

Wife, girlfriend or if you cannot get either, an younger sister will do, unless she is so fat that she could slap your brains out.

Our mallu forefathers have conveniently designed a ‘Pazham chollu’ to ascertain our wisdom... "pen budhi, pin budhi"… the pen & pin is not what it seems in English, literal translation,’ ladies brain, back brain’ which only means, "babes are dumb".

Truth be told, at least in mallu land, babes are often well read and intelligent when compared to their male counterparts and most of the time, we have to resort to the entrance result rank sheets to emphasis the superiority of our species. There are exceptions though, on either sides...

With girl friends, it may be a tolerated as an expression of love, an act of over enthusiastic concern for her well being, her comfort is no longer her decision, you know that the hot sand at the beach can be perfectly comfortable for her ass... where she places it delicately based on your bloody advice. Or may be the thought goes, if she was dumb enough to pick me, she could easily loose her way to her own house. Or she cannot decide for herself if the just fried chicken is too hot to swallow.

With married men, it is their wife’s; marriage being the woman’s agreed and documented acceptance to the condition of sharing bed-space with a man, a condition which she should now understand as her ultimate resignation of intellect.

Even if the selfish me has at times failed to see her upset face, over the years, I have seen, heard and learned from others… all those red faces and welled up eyes have taught me exactly what not to do and I should by now know well enough when to stop...

but should I really start… No, I don’t have to; I can keep my mouth shut just as I would do if my boss were to proclaim that the moon is indeed made of cheese.

I still do not understand why we do this? I cannot refrain from blurring out a silly remark even with the complete understanding that it is not going to be appreciated… sometimes at the least acceptable situation and with certain knowledge that this remark is one of those things she could live without. At a darker moment when we surrender our will to harmony and peace, reminisce of these pedantries could form a gust of stinky breath while waddling through the swamps of marital memoirs.

I do know a few men who end up being ridiculed by their ladies for not being brawny enough... but in most such cases, it is kindoff true...

But with woman, most often, it is unjustifiable...

All you need to do is imagine that she is your boss and then it could be hard for you to keep imagining how she could ridicule every single aspect of what you are as you sulk for mercy while she threatens to seize your only means for a sane existence.

To those of you who have had a lady boss, you know what it is like... This is not the "come lets go have a smoke" murky shady lazy fatso who makes you do everything and takes credit for everything you do... this is a more viscous, ambitions, organized, multitasking genius who gets her act right each an every time while ensuring that you do not even take a split second to breath.Your productivity is two fold and you catch insomnia. You would rather die in a road crash than report late to office... and while you jump around like a mad man with a bad itch she makes good of the opportunity to vent out all her frustrations from any male dominance on her domestic, social and work front (her boss - aka the big guy). you would not dare to criticize her, would you? At least not until you find a new job.

Yet it is difficult. To control this urge, this innate desire to correct them, to criticize them when even the slightest splash of criticisable element sparks up. 

The other day, while discussing about our dwindling bank balance:

Me: “60 dirham was debited and on the next line it says that 60 was credited, so does this not mean that we still have 60 dirham.”

After a nano seconds pause I look at her confused face while she is trying to decipher what I just told her and blurts out: “What accounts did you study?” (This from me who has almost consistently failed in accounting) and I did not stop there…

“Debit what comes in and credit what goes out?” “Is it not?” This to my wife who works as an accountant, a commerce graduate who managed to complete her MBA with a specialization in Finance.

Aside from my personnel imprudence, a few examples I have heard:

Same situation as above, but instead of bank statements, it had something to do with tan squared theta. The conversation ended with a sarcastic enquiry about her schooling.

Gramatic and linguistic skills are areas where we men need to pee in circles to mark our territory of dominance.

Even a most recently heard piece of irrelevant information can be transposed as an unassuming question to the poor soul. "Do you know about star nurseries? No? Do you know how stars form? "No"At least, have you heard about the Big Bang? Did you not study elementary physics at all?" At this juncture, Big Bang in her mind is the moment she decided to share a bed with this idiot and she could only wish that Big Bang be translated to a Big, indeed bang of the large glass bottle on the large heavy empty head.

"Who was the Zulu tribal leader who developed the ‘buffalo horn’ military formation?" between her impenetrable tight lips, you could hear her say “must be your father, he seems to be a rather athletic bloke", "or that tribal looking POS uncle of yours... With a family full of tribal, it could be any one of those” and if you look carefully, you can see those tight lips twitch with a slight hint of smile.

Appreciation of movies or music can all be made reasons to emphasis our appropriate taste. All the movies we pick are the classy ones… If it is crap movie, we call it kinda cool. Classy and cool are indeed all the movies and songs we pick.

Not from personal experience, but the worst situation to act like an ape is at a social gathering when there are other ladies present. Try correcting her at the dinner table and you could almost certainly expect a splash of water followed by a parliamentary walk out.


A poem by Dorothy Parker titled 'Men'

They hail you as their morning star

Because you are the way you are.
If you return the sentiment,
They'll try to make you different;
And once they have you, safe and sound,
They want to change you all around.
Your moods and ways they put a curse on;
They'd make of you another person.
They cannot let you go your gait;
They influence and educate.
They'd alter all that they admired.
They make me sick, they make me tired.

Nouveau parents...

...the arrogant child ruiner's


I had once written this to a very dear friend of mine... "kids are sooo entertaining... its amazing how these lil imbeciles can keep us so amused... Our parents would have lied to us when they said that it was a pain bringing us up... or were we really that bad? Judging by the way Isaiah is, I think our parents had a lot of fun at our expense... whats with parenting... if it is so much fun just to make kids and even more enjoyable to watch them grow... where is the pain and struggle... or am I so bad and lazy that I haven't yet reached the stage where I can experience the burden of responsibility..."

However, this was written while lil Isaiah was in Phase 1- under two years, adorable and delicate, level of curiosity - 35%. A lazy bloke like me could manage that.

Enter Phase II - just over two years, still delicate, adorable but cranky, Mr. cries a lot, tantrum filled tiny socks, disobedient and level of curiosity - over 50%...


The chocolate section at the supermarket is something that we now run by. I look helplessly as my cellphone falls from heights which Nokia had not considered while designing it. One of the first words that he has learnt is 'ella' , or 'No' in mallu speak, and he emphasizes his refusal for almost anything and everything with such pleasure and disregard that it might drive us nuts. However, his cute voice and tonal accentuation of the phrase makes up for his unbeknown arrogance making it the most pleasurable rejection one can hear in their life’s. 


Any attempt to break him from his self imposed diet is met with a rather cute yet assertive "ella". Boy, does this guy rock... or rather make me want to cry... and scream while pulling whats left of my hair and jumping off the balcony... and then, when his immediate wants have been met, he returns to Mr. nice boy, cute smile, lil hugs and louder kisses and as he goes off to sleep, then he seems so adorable that I could do anything to stay alive and be with him till eternity.

I had been a huge tantrum freak during my younger days. So vivid is my memory of those times that this observation comes from myself rather than being reminded by any one else. It was my sister who first enlightened me in a rather critical and sensitive manner about this shortcoming and from then on, I have made a very conscious effort to improve my behavior.

With little Isaiah, it is a test of our patience and mental strength. Ignoring his tantrums and fights so as not to encourage this behavior have been our strategy so far. A little bit of guidance and rebuke is also added for good measure. Nevertheless, there are many situations when we give in to his wants, sometimes as an act of escapism, to end the torture to his baby brain and our large ones and sometimes out of love.

However, we make every effort to refrain from the usual tactics of shouting, scolding, spanking and threatening. This has lead to further criticism from the know-alls about our parenting skills and immaturity as attributed in our silent effort in pampering-the-child-to-destruction. No we don’t want to spoil him... no one does. We know that spanking or scolding might make him stop, but is it not an easy fix solution to our current situation. A solution that does not allow him to grow through the cranky Phase II.

I detest big-mouthed friendly foes who are full of advices on anything and everything… who seem to have the perfect recipe to parenthood, or they usually know someone else who does. It is not perfection that we are looking for… we are not perfect parents and there does not seem to be a perfect method or a one stop solution to child upbringing. It seems to me, a trial and error method with many pitfalls and trials.

With lil Isaiah, all we can do is to be patient and wait for him to enter Phase III – arrogant and curious yet a little bit understanding...


 ...and wait longer for a time when he can understand right and wrong as we see them, and even longer when at a time he can define his own right’s and wrong’s and hope that he can act on them while still being curious and observant.

In spite of all this theory, I still have a headache from last night, and that is me the lazy one... worst affected is my wifey who is bombed beyond recovery from the cheers of motherhood...