Twisted DNA

15 years ago. It was the living room of a quiet house in a small town in India. Seated there, at the edge of their seats, were three young guys in their late teens. The tension in the room was palpable. Their eyes were glued to the TV. As an outside observer, I know the reader has questions. What is so gripping about the old-fashioned girl-on-girl porn they are watching? Are these teens anxious to find out whether the older girl is able to properly teach the younger girl how to satisfy her boyfriend?

Interrupting the enchanting pop sound-track of the movie, spoke guy_1, “Do you think we will be able to finish the movie before your parents return?” Guy_2 chimed in, “Yeah, do you think we should fast forward a bit?”

Guy_3 pointed to the women on TV, who, by that time, were moaning at a pitch attainable only by Vampire bats, and said, “The movie can’t be much longer. It’s only 8:50. Mom and dad wont’ be back before 9. We will have enough time to finish the movie and have a smoke before they arrive.”

Noticing the discomfort on their faces, Guy_3 explained his master plan. “Listen, If I hear them at the main door, I will run and intercept them. I will buy you enough time to retrieve the cassette out of the VCR and hide it in my room. It’s as simple as that.” Reassured they went back to watching the tangle of limbs on the screen and trying to figure out whose hand is doing what to which body part.

The reassurance lasted for about 5 minutes until the TV screen went blank. As darkness descended in the room, their hearts stopped with the realization that the power just went out. “Holy shit!” shouted one of them, “How the hell are we going to get the tape out of the VCR?” Another guy chose a stronger swear word, more appropriate for the occasion, and proceeded to repeat it with different stress each time. “Fuck fuck fuck…” Out of this chaos boomed the nonchalant voice of Guy_3, “Guys, let’s not panic. We are engineers. We can take the VCR apart in 2 minutes and get the cassette out.”

At any other time Guy_1 and Guy_2 would have sat Guy_3 down and discussed: 1. How wrong he was when he said “we are engineers” when there is no hope of their passing second year of engineering. 2. How opening up VCRs is not remotely connected to their engineering curriculum. 3. How they would love to kick Guy_3 in the nuts for not panicking. But they didn’t,because opening the VCR was the best idea at that time.

With impressive speed the VCR was opened. It didn’t take them too long to figure out that VCRs are not like candy boxes which you open and grab whatever you want from them. In fact, the “Star Whores Episode IV: A new hole” video tape was locked in some intricate mechanism which was difficult to study in the candlelight. At which point Guy_1 asked, “Guys, don’t you think it would look more suspicious if we are caught with an open VCR? How would we explain it?” With this new insight into the situation the VCR was assembled back.

After half an hour, the power did not come back but the parents did. The three guys nervously wandered around the living room hoping the power would be restored before the living room was locked from inside for the night. The power was restored soon after but with one glitch. Guy_3’s mom was immediately heard saying, “Oh good the power’s back. Let me turn off the TV so we can go bed.” Guy_3 sprang to action shouting, “Mom can I talk to you privately in the kitchen?”

It is inconsequential what irrelevant matter Guy_3 discussed in the kitchen or the fact that his mom was heard saying, “OK, but why do we have to talk about it now?”. Nevertheless the video tape was transferred to safety before the discussion ended.

Different people react differently to the same situation. Guy_1 didn’t stop trembling for a week. Guy_2 asked later that night, “Those girls were amazing. Do you think we can manage to see it again tomorrow?” Guy_3 blogged about it 15 years later.

Not too long ago, the pregnancy and childbirth process used to be very different. Three months after marriage, women promptly sprouted bumps. Soon thereafter were unceremoniously transferred to respective parents’ house and a few months later they returned with a tumbling child in their arms. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to this process, including their husbands. Rinse and repeat every year.

Things changed a lot of late. It’s socially acceptable and very cute to talk about pregnancy. If a person is my friend or family, I am the best guy to discuss every aspect of pregnancy. But if a person is a colleague, I really wish they are more discrete about what information they divulge and how they divulge it.

If you are my colleague, not a friend:

• You must forgive me for not excitedly participating in the discussion about your wife’s amniotic fluid. Please don’t take it personally. I have nothing against colleagues or amniotic fluid. It’s the combination I am not crazy about.

• If you are a guy, please don’t announce “We are pregnant.” No you are not. She is. You just contributed, hopefully. Say something like “we are expecting”.

• Guess what this is:

A drugged up, half-sleeping, exhausted woman with hair all over her face which is kept in place by sticky sweat, IV fluids and other goo. She is holding a 3 second old child. A lot of tubes hanging around. Worked into this mess is a smiling face of a proud father.

That’s right. This is your very first family photograph, taken moments after your child was born, even before your wife had a chance to cover herself fully. Wonderful. Just go ahead and keep it to yourself. That’s all I ask. Please, for the love of God, don’t email it to everybody at work.

• Sonograms are not cute. They belong in a file in doctor’s office not on your cube wall. And no, that’s not a nose. That’s probably a smudge on the printout.

• I know you are pregnant. I know you have to pass my cube every time you go to the restroom. You don’t have to sheepishly explain to me, “The bladder gets smaller, you know.” I know. But you must believe me that I have more things to do at work than keeping count of your bathroom breaks.

• If you are a guy, don’t come around proudly announcing “I cut the umbilical cord myself.” The whole father cord cutting thing is an artificial tradition to involve the completely useless father in the process of delivery. It’s nothing great. Don’t expect me to atta-boy you as if you pushed a baby out of a 2 inch opening in your body.

• What’s with video taping the birthing process? I know people who went into labor rooms with professional video equipment and lighted the vaginal passage like the inside of Louvre. What do people do with these videos? Watch them on family gettogethers? Play for guests over dinner? Don’t answer it. It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t want to know.

To top it all, yesterday a female colleague of mine tells me, “Oh we are seriously trying for a baby.” Now I am stuck with all kinds of images of how they are trying and in what positions.

A couple of weeks ago, a then friend of mine asked me how he can promote his blog. I gave him some ideas. For the benefit of humanity, I am sharing the tips here.

Here are Twisted DNA’s top 10 inexpensive ways to promote your blog.

Write the blog URL on your back and streak across any big game

9
Change work email signature to your Blog URL. Remember that everybody is allowed one accidental email to “Company All”.

8
Prepare posters of your blog URL. Roam around in the mall and find people in wheel chairs. Quietly stick the posters to the back of the wheel chairs. People in the wheel chairs are quite nice and won’t say a word as long as they don’t know you stuck those posters. Free advertisement all day.

7
Go to the airport passenger service and report that your kid is missing. Insist that your kid’s name is your blog URL. For the next few hours, passengers at the airport will hear, “twisted-dna.com, please come to passenger service.”

6
Sign up for story reading for kids at your local library. Remember, it’s OK to insert product placements into the story you are reading. For example, “Seven dwarfs came home after a hard day’s labor and logged on to Twisted-dna.com while Snowhite cooked the dinner.”

5
Cut outlines of your blog URL in aluminum wrap. Go to the beach on a warm day. Carefully drop the the outlines on oblivious sunbathers’ backs (or on their faces if they are sound asleep). They will advertise your blog for free until their tan wears off.

4
Find a celebrity lookalike, make a fake celebrity sex tape and distribute it. In the sex tape, wisely weave your URL into the dialog. For example: “Oh God. Yes. Yes. Last time I had so much pleasure was when I was reading twisted-dna.com. Don’t stop now.”

3
Camp out at an obstetrics ward. Talk to women going into labor rooms and tell them that the new Lamaze technique is to shout out your URL when they are having contractions. For the next few hours they will promote your blog at the top of their lungs.

2
Follow fire engines. If there is a fire, hang banners of your site near the fires. News crews will take care of the rest.

1
Print tons of copies of your blog. Go to all public restrooms in your area and leave copies in the restroom stalls. People using them have NOTHING else to do and will read your blog. Be prepared to accept some criticism, expressed in innovative ways.

My regular programming at work was interrupted by an unexpected email from our HR. The email said, in essence, “You must complete a mandatory Sexual Harassment Training.” I felt insulted. I mean, I know how to sexually harass people. I don’t need training.

The online presentation started out promisingly. It showed several scenarios where people were performing sexual harassment. Although, I would say their approach to harassment was tad amateurish. I mean, to harass a female colleague, one doesn’t walk up to her and put a hand around her shoulder. I would do it more subtly. I thought of contacting the HR and offering my skills to prepare a more educational and “hands-on” presentation.

After 10 minutes into the presentation, it suddenly turned tables and started preaching that harassment is wrong. That was when I realized the training was about how not to harass. What is wrong with HR? They want to take every bit of fun out of work! I could see where it was going. I was prepared to hear that “The Comprehensive Vital Statistics Chart of All Female Employees” I was planning to hang on my cube wall was borderline inappropriate.

It turns out anything you do, say or even think at work is inappropriate. And the presentation goes on and on, mostly because they have to find ways to include all ethnic types in the US in the “sample scenarios.” White, Black, Hispanic, Asian and that guy with unrecognizable origin who everybody else is supposed to identify with multiplied by male, female and somebody you can’t tell which.

What was more insulting were the “breaks”. After every 3 minutes, they have this completely retarded quiz with the answer so obvious that you have to be some blond bimbo to miss it. (Apparently saying “blond bimbo” is inappropriate too!) The questions looked as asinine as this:

Q: When you meet a female coworker, what is an appropriate way to greet her?

A) Hug her firmly and gently caress her posterior
B) Drop on all fours and lick her feet

C) Look into her eyes and say “Good morning”

D) Jump on her and dry hump her

Really? This is an insult to quizzes worldwide.

And the presentation goes on to tell you that the company wants you to be one of those nerdy, stuck up a-holes who reports everything they see to management. In fact, not reporting a potential issue is a violation of company’s policy. I am going to send reports to HR from tomorrow. “I saw a male person holding his unclothed genitals (hidden from view) for about 30 seconds in a public place.” Also known as peeing in the restroom.

In any case, by the end of the presentation, I was mortally scared to even talk to female coworkers. It is worse with male coworkers, who I can’t even look at. You see, in California, the laws for same-sex advances are much stricter. And how the hell am I supposed to know what is construed as making an advance in the homosexual world! The only way to stay away from sexual harassment is to blindfold and gag myself and wear a straitjacket and hope that it does not remind anybody of some kinky BDSM fantasy.

One of the things I like about living in the US is that I don’t have to meet anybody I don’t want to meet. Almost. No neighbors dropping by unannounced. No visiting long lost relatives, who one wishes remained long lost. No casual acquaintances getting too friendly. I may be giving the impression that I am averse to people. I am. What I am more averse to is the games one is often forced to play in such gatherings. Take, for example, the popular game called “one-upmanship.” It’s easy to play. You go to somebody’s house and start explaining to them how yours or your son’s life is better than theirs. The goal of the game is to try to be as obnoxious as you can.

We had the misfortune of meeting one of the finest players of this game over the weekend. She was visiting her son in the bay area and bestowed the pleasure of her company on us without even our asking for it. We are apparently related. It is one of those relationships that needs a whiteboard and other visual aids to explain. She started the game masterfully as soon as she entered.

She: Do you own this house or rent it?
Me: We own it.
She: Hmm.. but it looks like an apartment.

Ouch. Then she looked at the kitchen.

She: Is this the only kitchen?
Me to myself: No, we have a couple more kitchens in the garage
Me: (Mumbling) ya
She: Oh very small. Our son’s kitchen is VERY big (she bulged her eyes for added impact)

How ever much I tried, I could’t get myself to give a damn about their kitchen. She was perplexed by my lack of enthusiasm. She reiterated the greatness of their kitchen. What does she expect me to do? Fall on my knees and proclaim, “Ye Master of colossal kitchen, have mercy!”?

Then she inquired how many years I lived in the US. I submitted the information for her perusal. She looked at her son with a glint of pride in her eyes and informed me, “My son has been living here for 30 years.”.

Oh my effing God! He is living here for 30 years AND has a huge kitchen. If I were a woman, I would’ve married him.

Then she compared what companies we work for. This is one time I wished I worked for a well-known company like Wal-Mart. Working for a fruity company like Apple is a sign of a loser. (I don’t work for Apple but something similar)

The questionnaire continued intermittently through the duration of the visit. I didn’t do all that bad because at the end of the interview, she seemed reasonably convinced that we are fit be called humans. She even showed a hint of respect. But wait… there is more.

Just before she left, in a sudden wave realization, she asked, “It’s almost noontime. You don’t seem to be cooking?” While I was trying to find a way to play down the answer, “We are not big on cooking,” she guessed the answer anyway and asked in disbelief, “You don’t cook much?” When met with silence, she continued to interrogate us.

“Or are you like one of those people who make a lot of food and keep eating that stale food throughout the week?”

I gladly assured her that we are not one of “those people”. We cook fresh when we cook but we opt for entrees that are easier to cook, like Pasta. What do you know? Apparently that is worse than eating stale Indian food. She said scornfully, “Ya, a lot of Indians don’t cook proper food these days.” With that triumphant victory, she gave us her blessings and left with a content smile, leaving us to contemplate on our miserable Pasta-eating lives.