Are you single, feel like a Pringle, ready to mingle?
Or do you skulk in a corner like a wrinkle, wondering if you are Hangal?

A reader of ours remarked on his blog, that he is reaching the age where his hitting on women makes him, what I have referred to in the past as, the ‘lecherous A K Hangal type’. Since I have been made out to be some sort of expert on the matter of lascivious geriatric men, and I love being an expert on matters, especially those that I know nothing about, I decided to make a quick checklist for the denizens of the blogosphere. So, if you ever look in the mirror searching for the Hangal in you, this will help you find him.

• Have you tried to get a refund on hair regeneration products recently?
• Do you feel like the oldest person in any group you are with? Even when you meet up with your parents’ friends?
• Have you addressed at least one person as arre betaa in a quivering voice, in the last week?
• Are at least three of your friends married? Do at least two of them have kids? Does at least one of them have an annoying wife/husband who perpetually tries to set you up?
• Are you lately, beginning sentences with a hamaare zamaane mein .. ?
• Have you shrugged your shoulders and philosophized about the inevitable ignore/rejection by a girl with a — honii ko kaun taal saktaa hai?
• When you asked a girl out, in the deathly and awkward silence that followed, did you find yourself muttering in your mind — itnaa sannaataa kyon hai, bhai?

Now this is obviously a checklist for men, so don’t start crying foul about a gender bias. He may be antediluvian, but Hangal is very much a man. A virile stud-types of his days, even if that was a long, reeeally looooong time ago. If you’re still having doubts, think of all those jawaan betiyaan who eventually became the bojh of his boodhe kandhe. They didn’t appear out of nowhere without Hangal indulging in some jangal mein mangal, did they? So there.

So, if you nodded yes to at least half the questions, chances are, when you got all nouveau-Bollywood, and trooped off to Goa for the weekend with two of your buddies, intending to have a Dil Chahta Hai (2001) moment, you more likely had a Shaukeen (1981) moment instead. Shaukeen, by the way, is a tender tale of three geriatrics who go to Goa, try to hit on Mithun’s girlfriend and have their butts kicked. (If they got their butts kicked, their tail will understandably be tender, no? Heh heh. I am so easily amused.) But really, it is a sweet and fun movie by Basu Chatterjee. Do watch it. Lovely music too, by R D Burman. Incidentally, today would have been Pancham’s 67th birthday, had he been alive. If only. Sigh.

Okay now, for the sake of giving this post some respectability, let us conclude with an interesting trivia question for you all. Hangal has been the oldest character in pretty much every movie that he has starred in. He’s the resident paidaaishi budhau for as long as Hindi movies have been around, almost. But but but! (No, not the jurassic ones that Mithun kicked.) There is a movie in which Hangal has a dad! Imagine that! An actual on-screen dad, who addresses Hangal as beta. Any guesses, which phillum? And who be the dad?

The correct guesser will get a free pair of dentures.

Don’t you love it when you accidentally take a nice looking picture? Yep, this was one of those. Point, click and whee! And then, a not-so-sudden moment of realization happened that I haven’t posted a photoblog in some time, so here I am, making amends.

The title of this post is also a Gulzar-written movie from 1981 starring Rakhee, Rekha and Shashi Kapoor, with lovely music by Pancham. Do you remember a Chitrahaar/Chhayageet moment where a zombie-like Rakhee is walking around in a garden with Shashi and a little kiddo? The kid tugs at her pallu and nervously asks her — jahaan pe saveraa ho? and Rakhee replies nuh-uh and continues to sing in a very high-pitched Lata voice — jahaan pe baseraa ho, saveraa vahiin hai. Did that moment scare you enough to never watch a Rakhee movie again? Did it, did it? Yesh? Well, this is that movie.

Hope you like. The photo, I mean.

Picture this. A scene from an Adoor Gopalakrishan movie. (Doordarshan Sunday afternoon fare, circa 1990.) An elderly man, sitting on the verandah of his house, looks stoically at an empty field. Not a soul is in sight. The emptiness of the field symbolic of his own lifeless existence. A cow wanders onto the field. The man blinks, acknowledging the presence of life. He stares at the cow. The cow looks up and stares back. After a while the man suddenly calls out — Raajamme? Silence. Raajammme! he calls louder this time. A nondescript looking woman (surprisingly named Raajamme) in a cotton saree and coconut oil in her hair emerges from inside the house, wondering what the noise is. She looks questioningly at him. The man points out the cow in question and says — pasu! The cow blinks in response.

The elderly Mallu man is me. The empty field, this blog. And the sad, wandering pasu (animal) is this tag from Dhammo. Not Dhammo himself, just the tag. (On a sidenote, I think I need to work on changing this ‘Have tag, think of Megha’ tendency of his.) But anyway, here we go. As if this blog doesn’t talk about me enough already, here’s more pointless information that you’ll never need —

• I am thinking about ..
  .. why I get suckered into doing tags like this.
  
• I said ..
  .. Hum bolega to bologe ke bolta hai.
  
• I want to ..
  .. do something earth-shattering like saving the world. And also keep my annoying cousins from sticking their nose into my life. And while I’m at it, read the complete works of Shakespeare. Yep, balance. Isn’t that what we all strive for?
  
• I wish ..
  .. no no. My to-be-son, Vish. I, Megha.
  
• I miss ..
  .. simpler times.
  
• I hear ..
  .. the sound of silence. And music. And birds. And voices in my head. And people’s thoughts. And conversations. Quite a cacophony, now that I think about it.
  
• I wonder ..
  .. I bandar. Yesh, I monkey. A clueless monkey at most times.
  
• I regret ..
  .. not marrying Abhishek Bachchan when I had the chance.
  
• I am ..
  .. I yam what I yam, and that’s all I yam. Popeye the Sailorman, ting ting!
  
• I dance ..
  .. the dhinkichiki!
  
• I sing ..
  .. ALL the time! Sample here.
  
• I cry ..
  .. buckets when I chop onions. And while watching Karan Johar movies. (If you believed the latter, you really shouldn’t be reading this blog.)
• I am not always ..
  .. insane.
  
• I make with my hands ..
  .. shadow puppets on train tunnel walls. A dog, a deer, a bird. You know more? Teach me, pliss.
  
• I write ..
  .. way more words than I should. Some here, on this blog. Some only in my mind.
  
• I confuse ..
  ..the hell out of people I talk to. And I confuse the meanings of similar sounding words. And the order of the alphabet. And my left with my right. And my home and cellphone numbers. And my TV and cable remotes. Yeah, I am easy to confuse.
  
• I need ..
  .. fawning fans who will do my bidding at the mere wave of my hand. Readers who think I am the next best thing after sliced bread. Crazed masses who worship the .. well, you get the drift.
  
• I should try ..
  .. flirting with my trolls. Maybe it’ll make them go away?
  
• I finish ..
  .. most things I start. Except when I don’t.
  

And now for some respectable souls who wouldn’t want to be caught indulging in such trivialities. Oh, if you don’t find yourself on this list, don’t feel left out. Please to treat my commentspace as your own home and use it generously!

• Falstaff - I think he’ll kill me for this, but his reaction alone should be worth the risk.
• Heh Heh - If Falsie doesn’t hurt me, he will. Probably kill me with a doodle, no less.
• Anurag - He is to me, what I am to Dhammo - a tag-bakra. A goat and a dog both.
• Sagnik - My only(?) Bong reader, so including him for diversity and all.
• Neha - My hone-waali samdhan. HAHK - Part Two, waiting to happen.
• Anantha - he’s being all pseud and all lately with fancy names, but he’s still apna aNTi.

Okie, that should be enough Raajammes. Now don’t go have a cow.