Communal living

We have all grown up in a so called 'middle class' upbringing. Joint families, jurassic age neighbors, teachers who have taught your uncles, knowing the number of wrinkles of everyone in your neighborhood..the works. And that's supposed to be Utopia.

Maybe it is. Maybe not. That's not the point. The point is, Hollywood (and then automatically Bollywood and then any wood) INSISTS that 'the golden age has gone'. The age of communal living, sharing, helping, adjusting, frustating...i dont know, i have run out of 'ing' words. But that's maybe because i have never lived in a chawl, or a 'para' or whatever vernacular a commune goes by.

AAAAH! The concept of the chawl! Where else will one find a potboiler such as a chawl, where everyone's worry is everone else's and every joy, sorrow, rage, madness is distributed and broken down in tiny little pieces, so that finally there is nothing left, apart from the numbing dreary meaningless existence where nothing really matters, where it all comes down to the lowest common denominator, who wakes up to fill the buckets, who gets the first shot at the virgin loo, who gets the first steaming loaf of bread from the yawning delivery boy. But then, at the end of day, if u havent done anything of the above, have failed to achieve each and every one of these magnificient tasks, well..the chawl is waiting. You go back, and find other people who are at your level, failures in all that they have attempted today, and cosy, comfortable and cushioned in the communal feeling..that fraternity of failed brotherhood, a brotherhood where everyone is happy, and no one dares voice their deepest, darkest insecurities, where brothers in arms perish together, happy for the warmth, succumbing to that numbing nothingness.

So..which 'chawl' are you in?

What some women don't understand

is that, for some of us enlightened ones, sex is a form of worship. When we say we want to have sex, and the bill has not yet arrived, it doesn't mean we are desperate, or deprived or perverted or chauvanists or anything. Its just that we are so in the throes of this deep religious awe, surrender and worship, that our expressions of submission and supplication need outlets..whatever the cost or the outlet.

One can't be hyocrite when it comes to religion, can one?

Defining a movie experience

I am no longer a movie buff. Over the weekend I watched Postman Always Rings Twice, Taxi Driver, Streetcar Called Desire, Chariots of Fire and The Graduate. And then I switched to television and watched KANK..and I watched it right upto its ridiculous ending..and I didnt switch channels in the breaks..and I related to a lot of situations in the movie..and kind of forgot how Taxi Driver ended..

So the question that popped up was...what defines a movie experience? When does bad cinema capture one's imagination? Does a chilling movie like Taxi Driver not stay with you because you do not relate to it? And by the same logic, does a rank bad movie like KANK grip me enough to make me sit through it because i can identify with the characters?

I dont know. I guess I should stick to No Entry in the future.

Me and my bloody luck

'What's your name', she asked me, moving her chair closer to mine.

'Neil', I said, indicating the empty chair next to mine.

'You bastard', she said, and walked away in a huff.

Weeks later, I found out that she thought i was asking her to kneel.

Diaries

Man

The last few days have been such that I have decided to write things down. I am not much of a writer, but I just want to record the events for future reference. You see, I have this nagging suspicion that things are not as they appear, that everyone around me is wearing a mask, watching my every move, uttering memorized lines while speaking to me. You may think I am being paranoid, but let me start at the beginning and let you be the judge.

Last Sunday I woke up without a memory. I didnt know who I was, where I was, what I was. I dialled random numbers from my cell phone, different people called me different names and spoke to me in different languages and I didnt have the guts to ask them how I knew them or how they knew me. I spent the entire day in terrified loneliness, totally helpless and desperate with no idea what the next step should be. It was then that the doorbell rang and I opened the door to find a beautiful woman standing there..and when I looked into her eyes I knew that she was my lover. It all came out then, my fear and my helplessness, and she took me in her arms and I knew things will be all right. We discussed our future and she told me not to worry, that we should let time heal things. She has moved in with me and in the evenings, we lie in each other's arms and she tells me how I used to love her, about the wonderful moments we had shared, and the beautiful life that lay ahead of us. Looking into her eyes, I believe her.

Wife

That's it. Its been over a week now. No contact, no news. No responses to messages. I think I have had it. Probably its best that this ends this way. We were meandering towards nothingness and I guess its fitting that the end came as a fizzle rather than a bang. Anyway, I sincerely hope he has a happy life..and I desperately hope that I do too.

Lover

This will be the last entry before I burn the diary. All the pages filled with angst and tears after he dumped me are behind me now. I always believed that if I didnt give up hope he will come back to again some day. The months of playing 'good friends' are thankfully gone. He is now mine. Completely. And forever.

Conversations

Canteen - 10:30 AM

Girl: God I hate that slimeball! The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl man!
Boy: Yeah..he is a total frustrated arsehole yaar!
G: I mean, like, if his eyes had hands all the girls in this office will be walking aroung nude.
B: Well thats the only way he will ever be able to undress a girl anyways.
G: Doesnt the fuck realise how obvious he is? Cant he bloody make out that all girls are aware of his roaming eyes?
B: Chutiya thinks thats the way to get a response.
G: Yeah right! Like a kick to his balls.
B: Haha...be careful though! That might make him think that you want to be physical with him!
G: UGH!! Whats with guys anyway? Why the fuck do they always have to think with their dicks? Cant they fucking view women in any other position except lying under them with their thighs open?
B: Hey come on! Dont generalise man! I accept that most of the fuckers are like that. Its how they have been brought up, what company they mix in, what kind of sexual experiences (or lack of) that they had..
G: Maybe you are right..i mean i am totally comfortable with you. i just hope those fuckers learn something from u dude.
B: Yeah, well, one can only hope..shall we go?

Pub - 7:30 PM

Boy1: Abey saale aaj G se saath bohut khusur fusur kar raha tha behnchod?
Boy: Kuch nehi yaar aise hi.
B1: Shut up man..bol na behnchod kya scene hai.
B: Abey sahi maal hai baap..do teen din me aa jayegi khopchi me.
B1: Boss tu bhagwan hai.
B: Saath saath reh beta bohut kuch sikhega.

The seeds of the holocaust

It was a hot, sunny day and the streets of Munich were deserted, barring the stray dogs and puppies lolling about with their tongues out. Hienrich roamed the streets looking for his next target. The hand holding the magnifying glass was rock steady but his otherwise solemn face was flushed with anticipation, his normally cold, expressionless eyes sparkling with anticipation.

He had to be careful. The last time he was caught,his father had given him a hiding his arse still remembered. Joseph was normally a god fearing, mild man. But he was a fanatic about discipline. And Hienrich knew that he had just about reached the last few inches of the fuse that was wired to the keg of gunpowder that resided in Joseph's mind. So, he had been careful for the last few months. But today the temptation was too much.

He spotted his target soon. It was a beautiful Labrador pup, about 2 or 3 months old. And it was sleeping alone on the pavement, it's ears pricked and eyes closed. It looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that Hienrich's heart swelled with love for the helpless creature. He took out the glass and carefully positioned it so that the sunrays focused on the delicate soft pink tissues of the inner ear. As the pup screamed out in pain he moved in for the kill, the blunt hammer halfway out of his pocket. He felt a sudden movement from behind and before he realised what happened, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and another wrenched the hammer out of his curled fingers..he turned around with a thundering heart and his worst fears came true..it was that wretched Rabbi Efrati again.

'You are sick', he said, 'and its time Joseph realised the depths of your depravity'.

He took the struggling, kicking boy to his home and when Joseph opened the door, one look at the rabbi and the hammer and the struggling boy in his hands told Joseph the entire story. He grabbed both and before the rabbi could say anything, the door slammed in his face.

'I think you and me have to talk boy', Joseph said, taking out the horsewhip from the cupboard.

Late that night, Hienrich lay face down on his cot, with his flayed back swathed in bandages and made a vow.

'I will get you, you fucking jew', Hienrich Himmler said.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


Poet: W.H. Auden
Kick arse rendering: John Hannah in 4 Weddings And A Funeral.

A hilarious party

One of our teams had a major software release last week. These guys had been toiling pretty hard for the last 6 months or so, fighting a hostile customer as well as coping with inter-departmental politics, but finally, the project was successfully completed and everyone was happy. So, the boss of this team decided to throw a party for his 'boys'. I had done some architectural design for this project a few months back, hence I got an invite as well.

To give you some background, this team is comprised mostly of guys fresh out of college or out barely a few months back. And let me tell you, for the new blokes, the first few 'office parties' have a lot of significance. If i try to recollect personal experiences, it used to feel like I have finally become an adult - being able to booze with a boss 15 years my senior, and being treated as an equal, irrespective of their knowledge, standing and years of experience. So, a lot of these guys were pretty excited.

We reached the place. It was a restaurant. A family one. With 4 sitter dining tables. And soft music. And NO BOOZE.

Shit I pitied these guys man! Everyone was roaming around with a dazed expression on their faces. I mean nobody had a clue! It was 7PM and the buffet was laid out. Some optimists refused to believe that there could'nt be no provision for booze, but by 8 everyone was pretty convinced. So, one by one, they shuffled towards the buffet tables and dinner started.

And mingling with them, with a kind, beatific expression of a proud patriarch, was the big boss, asking everyone to enjoy themselves to the fullest, saying that they deserved this 'treat' after the hard work they had put in. And the scream was that, this guy actually believed it himself! And you should have seen the expressions on the guys' faces man!!

Anyway, I had a great time. Set an all time personal record - had food, dessert and coffee for dinner for the first time in my 'adult' life. And being the kindly soul that I am, I have promised these guys that I would take them out next week for a booze-only party.

You guys are invited as well.

Thank you Shilpa

What would I do without Shilpa guys? You may have read this post. But today she has given me another chance to write about something important, rather than posting 'delhi jokes' and 'bullshit tags' (according to one of my ex-friend's whom i have disowned because he is the wrong finger type). So here goes..

There is a huge ruckus about Richard Gere necking with Shilpa Shetty yesterday. And why should'nt there be? We are from the land of mughal and victorian slavery. We dont have sex. Some dirty bastards wrote the fucking Kama Sutra. Their bastard cousins sculpted the Khajuraho temples. Our widows shave their heads and eat veg to make themselves unattrative to 'preying males'. Our children fill up forms where there is no space for 'mother's name'. Our father (of the nation) slept with his nieces to prove that he was above the 'weakness of the flesh'. In all his greatness he went on record saying that he failed....

But so what? We are a nation that respects women. Where our country is our mother, where the mother and sister are goddesses, where words like 'behnchod' and 'motherchod' are more reviled than 'uncivilised' or 'uneducated'. But that again is not important..

What is important is that for the last 779 years we have conquered our sexual drive. We are a nation that believes, truly madly and deeply, that sex is BAD!! Our movies show swaying flowers when couples kiss. Our heroines get slapped around by 'manly' heroes and then go home and justify the fact saying that the its the responsibility of the woman in the house to maintain peace and harmony. 2.7665% of our women achieve orgasms, 97.2335% of those who dont, have some 'problem'. We are a country where a guy indulging in a screwing spree is a stud while a girl doing the same is a slut. We are a nation of 'men'.

So Richard..lay off man. Do your shit with the Julias of the world. In our country, even the whores are virgins. If they are not, it because they had been raped by an uncle or an office boss and they have been forced into that world. You can take your charms elsewhere...'it don't impress us much'.

Jai Hind.

Another tag

You Are a Pinky

You are fiercely independent, and possibly downright weird. A great communicator, you can get along with almost anyone. You are kind and sympathetic. You support all your friends - and love them for who they are. You get along well with: The Ring Finger Stay away from: The Thumb

What Finger Are You?

Thanks Dravid

Gorged myself on movies this weekend. Here's is the list:

1) Forrest Gump
2) Breakfast at Tiffany's
3) Dumb and Dumber
4) Deer Hunter
5) Who's afraid of Virginia Wolf?
6) My Cousin Vinny
7) Gandhi
8) American Beauty

About 40 oscars all considered.

A post for Sayantani

Sayantani wants me to write something funny. Being the serious person that I am, I cant think of anything funny at the moment. So I will tell her a small story.

So what happened was that there was this family. Handsome dude, sexy wife and a smart 6 year old son. And they go to the zoo on a nippy Sunday morning and the kid has the time of his life. They come to the elephant enclosure and the father tells them to wait there while he gets something to eat.

The elephant was in heat and was standing there with a gigantic hard on. The boy spots the appendage and tugs at his mother's T shirt and asks her 'mom, mom look!! what's that coming out of the elephant's stomach?'

She looks and gets all red and tells him 'that's nothing. look at the tigers'.

'What nothing?' he asks. 'Look at that. Something is coming out of his stomach!'

'I told you its nothing', she snaps. 'Keep quiet!'

The bewildered kid decides to ask his dad. His father usually talked to him in a language he could understand. So, when the father returns with the chips and sodas, he sidles up to him and whispers 'dad! what's that?'

Dad looks and tells him 'that's the elephant's dick son'.

The kid asks 'then why was mom saying it was nothing?'

Dad says 'son..to your mom, even an elephant's dick is nothing'.

I tag you

When you are alone in the house and you take a shower, do you keep the bathroom door open?

Please let me know. Its very important.

The showdown

She was absolutely and utterly sick of him. His apathy, his callousness, his insensitivity. Sick of his posturing and his double standards, of his smug belief that she will take all the shit he can dish out, sick of his confidence that ultimately, she was a 'traditional desi girl', who would do anything but walk out on him with the kid and shatter three lives.

Civilised conversations had long since ceased. Any attempt to do so invariably degenerated into mud slinging exercises. But these days the sheer weight of cohabitation was proving to be too much for her. On one of the rear occasions when they had sat down and talked like mature people, they had decided that at least for the sake of the child, they would make a final attempt to coexist. 'Working relationships' they were called, at least according to the hollywood movies that they enjoyed watching separately. But she had never imagined that his sheer presence could be so difficult to handle. Not talking to each other could not prevent her from hearing him talking to others, and in each conversation, all that she detested about him crashed on her eardrums in unforgiving waves, choking her with the bile that welled up inside her till her whole body trembled with disgust, leaving her head throbbing with pure, white hate.

She woke up today knowing that something had changed. After ages she felt calm. She saw things in a totally different light. Nothing could justify this existence, this utter wastage of a life, this pathetic attempt to keep up appearances and in the process making things worse. There was no point in trying to enact something for a 4 year old. Soon he will be old enough to see through the facade. And by then it may be too late. She wanted out. She wanted her life back. She wanted to live for herself.

She heard him turn the key in the lock. She went out to meet him and tell him about her decision. Their eyes locked as they faced each other. He dropped his bag and ran to her and fell on his knees and hugged her waist.

'I cannot live without you. I love you. Lets start again', he said.

Thoughts on farting

There are 2 types of men in the world - those who can fart in public and those who can't. Farting, I have discovered is the greatest leveller. I have heard many uncles of extremely serious disposition farting along during serious conversations, timing the farts to coincide with the breaks in the conversation. I have heard some of my occidental colleagues in Europe and elsewhere farting to their hearts contents in meetings or in pubs (the only difference being that each fart is followed by a muttered 'excuse me').

So ok I arrived at a theory to explain this. Uncles fart because they are 'socially challenged'. Goras fart because they have confidence in their superiority.

So why can't I?

A love story

B was in love with S. And would do anything to get him. And everyone around knew that as well. And so, bastards that they were, they used to take B for a ride. They would go to B and say "S was wanting to go for the latest Amitabh flick." And B will beg them to ask S to take B along. And they will hem and haw and confer and strategise till B will tell them that there was a big treat waiting for them if they can convince S. And then they would troupe to S and beg him to take B, to somehow sit through the 3 hours for the gastronomical good of the majority. And S would go and not talk to anyone for the next 3 days.

This went on for some time. But it seemed that B wanted more. And the fates arranged for a situation where it became suddenly possible for B to have S completely. It so happened that B's parents were going on a 10 day trip to Sikkim and B had the run of the house. And so B called all S's 'friends' for lunch one day, plied them with food and begged them to convince S to spend a night there. B had some contacts in high places and promises of jobs and substantial donations for that year's pujas were hinted at. And so, they took on the love brokerage.

These guys came and it was long hard and bitter battle. S stood his ground, refusing to be pimped around but his friends were up to it. They tried ridicule (can't you handle B for one night you wimp). They tried cajoling (just a night yaar. dont do anything if you dont want to). They tried emotional blackmail (think of T yaar, he will get the job if you do this). They even tried threats (boss if you are so adamant then we have issues about your loyalty towards friends). Whatever factor it was due to, or perhaps because he was so sick of this whole thing and wanted to put an end to it all, S finally agreed.

D day came. S didn't come. A frantic B called up all his friends and asked them to find him and bring him home. B also expressed doubts about the abilty of these guys to organise the next year's pujas. If they cant convince one guy how did they think they are going to convince the people in the neighborhood to part with donations, B was heard muttering. Tempers frayed. Decisions were taken. Everyone bayed for S's blood.

When they reached his place they found a crowd outside. They pushed inside. S was hanging from the ceiling fan.

Drastic you think? You see, B was a man.

What would you rather be?

A jack-of-all-trades or a master of one? Would you rather be able to talk comfortably on issues ranging from the effect of a failed crop in Ukraine on the Dow Jones index (whatever that means) to the finer differences in guitaring styles of Jeff Beck and Peter Green? Or would you rather only participate in conversations where you know everything that is to be known on the topic so much so that when you open your mouth there is a hushed silence and everyone listens?

Let me know. Its been a dilemma for some time.

Slithering

Tried to look up the word on the net but failed to find what I was looking for. What it was supposed to mean was that you are supposed to bungee jump into a river. Went to Corbett National Park for an adventure sports outing last weekend. Stayed in tents, swam in a fast and furious river, trekked in the forest..but slithering took the cake.

There was this creaking swaying suspension bridge (that looked about a 100 years old) where we were fitted with harnesses and ropes. Then you are supposed to lean back over the water while someone holds the rope and then lets go. After a free fall of about 3 seconds you crash into the river and go under.

Absolutely amazing experience man! Try it if you get the chance.

Was this abuse?

I was all of 11 years old. I knew all about girls, had played doctor-doctor with 3 of my classmates, I had read graphic descriptions of the adult female anatomy in Nick Carter thrillers I had smuggled in from the school library. I wasn't tongue tied or intimidated by girls. I positively strutted around them. Till the time Mlle Jenette joined our school as a French teacher.

I dont why the fuck she launched into me from the first day. At first it was trivial stuff like asking me to carry her books back to the staff room. Then she started dropping me off home after school. And then asking me to stay back after school to help me with my homework. And the constant fidgeting with my uniform - adjusting my tie, tucking in my shirt, zipping up a half open fly.

And then one day, she called me to her house one hot sultry afternoon to 'amusez-vous certains' as she put it. Have some fun indeed. That afternoon finished my confidence level with the opposite sex.

Before I entered I heard her splashing in the pool. And when i reached the poolside, I saw her cutting through the water in long streaking strokes. She was a great swimmer, but that's not what I was staring at with my mouth open. It was the first time I was seeing a 2 piece bikini in real life..and Nick Carter hadn't prepared me for that. As an Indian kid surrounded by saree clad women, I had grown up seeing bare midriffs of various sizes, shapes and colours. Never had I thought that it could also be something like that. And when she came out of the water and opened her cap to let her blonde hair cascade out, I thought I saw it all. But I hadn't.

She saw me gaping and a peculiar shadow crossed her face. "Venez ici", she beckoned, patting the lounge chair next to her. I moved like an automation, and as I neared her and saw her leaning back and looking at me with a peculiar half-smile, and I saw her breasts heaving as she was catching her breath, and her nipples straining against the soft bikini top, and tiny droplets of water breaking up the sunrays into rainbows like a prism and to my horror I felt my pinky rushing up to meet my slack jaw.

"You helping me to put oil on my back, yes cherie", she asked me, and I dumbly nodded my head. Oil on your back? I would oil and entire leper colony if I can have one more chance to see you like this, I thought. She gave me a bottle and and lay down face down on the chair and for the first time I can feast my eyes on her body, without worrying that she would know I am doing so. I poured some oil onto my trembling hands, squeezed my eyes shut and touched her back and it felt as if I was getting jolted by electric sparks that travelled from my fingertips and spread through my body, leaving goosebumps on my skin and making the hairs on my arms and legs stand up. I started making circular motions on her back, gently to start with and then faster and faster, but then stopped when I heard her moaning, fearing that I had hurt her.

She sat up and looked at me. I looked back hypnotised as she reached back and untied the string holding her bikini top. As it fell away I realised that this was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my entire life. "Front I can do cherie", said with that curious half smile, and I felt my heart shatter into a billion pieces.

"You go and make swim now", she said, and starting applying the lotion on her breasts. It was too much for me. I felt something burst and to my utter disbelief I discovered that I had pee-ed in my pants. I am saying pee, but to me it felt like my wee wee had gone utterly crazy. I tried to mumble something and slide away before she saw me, but my worst fears were confirmed when I looked her and saw her staring at the patch that was spreading in my pants and her hand groped for the towel lying at her side.

"You go home now, yes Neil?", she asked me in a small voice.

Fighting back my tears I ran all the way back home. I switched to German the next week.

Enough!!

"The main problem is the system, not the coach, players, selectors...."

"What does this fucker Chidambaram think of himself? Look at what he has achieved.."

"I cant believe how Aajtak can call themselves a news channel..did you see..."

"I dont know what's wrong with these Jats/Kannadis/Bongs..dont you think.."

"Ray was better because..."

"Its not a question of good woman or good wife. What i feel is..."

AAAARGH!!!!!!!! I am sick of opinions, discussions and debates man! Just want to go to a secluded beach and lie under a beach umbrella with a good book, a chilled beer and a stray dog.

People talk so much.

Reverse hangover

Is a phenomenon I have discovered when I have tried to quit firewater. Not only can I not sleep, but in the morning I get up with a splitting headache.

I am proud of myself.

Your birthday

Ok try this. Go to Wikipedia and type your birth day (month and day) in the search tool. And get to know how momentous that day was.

Mine was huge letdown. Except for my birth (which probably is quite enough in the history of mankind), nothing major has ever happened on that day. I sheer desperation I am listing a few events:

- Socrates executed
- British Labour Party formed
- Soviets invade Afghanisthan
- Dale Earnhardt Sr and Jr win the Daytona 500 (6 years apart from each other)
- Louis XV, Galileo born

Bloody hell!! Let me know yours.

I love you

I have finally realised I cannot live without you. When I am with you I can forget the rest of the world. I can forget the disappointments, the failures, the frustrations. Every song I hear with you sounds better that it normally does, every movie I watch with you gives me deeper insights. I love you for always being there. I love you for never letting me down. I love you for never judging me. I love you for never changing. I love you on my lips. I love your warmth. I love your moistness. I love you when you make my head swim.

Fuck my liver. I am not quitting booze.

Goodbye

I look back at this post with some sadness. What a character and what a player!

Have a good life Inzy. But first of all...thanks to allah.

Working like a dog

The Kiwi girls are waiting..

That's me and Shahrukh

'See this one', she said, flipping the pages of a dog eared photo album. 'Me and Shahrukh. I had put on a new dress that day'. In the faded 4 by 6 snap, he saw her standing in her pigeon hole in Sonagachi, with her arms on Shahrukh Khan's shoulder.

'Wait..I have one with Amitabh as well', she said, pulling out another album from a tin trunk that contained all her possesions and memories. 'But with Amitji I couldn't touch him', she said, giggling and blushing as she showed him the snap where she was standing coyly next to the Big B, decked up in ghastly chiffon silks of pinks and greens, but still beautiful with her breathless excitement.

'You are beautiful', he told her, giving her a quick hug. She clung to him, but he had to go. Away from her dark hole. Leaving her with her loneliness, with her pictures of bollywood actors' posters.

That's what friends are for

S was a very good friend of mine..and if you can manage to think beyond Bollywood he was actually a brother (such things actually exist beyond the celluloid, u know). But all that was before he fell in love..

Oh! I forgot to tell you that we were in bangkok..and BKK has these places called go-go bars (i don't know why) where the concept is that everyone (from the waitress to the pole dancer to the toilet attendant or to the sultry siren sitting in the next table) are available..for conversation i mean (what did you think?).So he liked this waitress, and every order was a looong and detailed one, just so she would stand next to him, and their fingers would touch accidentally while pointing out 'kau pak kai' in the menu card. And ultimately, inevitably, Mr Jack Daniels had his day, and he asked her out.

He came back (alone) with stars in his eyes. What a day it had been, he said. There were so many things in Bangkok that we poor souls had no idea about! Especially the boat ride, sitting on the deck with their arms around each other, eating Moo Chops and sipping Singha beer....man! i felt like loser!

And the day came when she arrived unannounced to his place, for the night. I mumbled an excuse about having some work (i was the flat mate u see), went to the nearest pool joint, lost to all the beautiful waitresses, went to the german steak house, over-tipped the lissome lass pouring dollops of Worcestershire Steak sauce, did this did that..looked at my watch (is he a superman? i dont know..better give him the benefit of the doubt)..tentatively scratched on the door, gingerly turned the knob..and the door opened.

There he was, sitting with an inscrutable expression on his face. My cynisim screamed to me that something was wrong, my romanticism told me he was in love (was it the same thing?). Before i could make up my mind he started the narrative..

'When she came in i couldn't believe my eyes man. I had always hoped that she would be easy, but somehow had wished that i was the exception, rather than the rule. And when she came in that's exactly what she said..told me that she didnt know what she was doing in my bedroom..she felt lost when she thought of me......'

i switched off..........yada yada yada yada......

'i had never seen a bra like that'

(i switched on)...

'how many have you seen before', i asked him...

'what do u think i am a chutiya? since i was so small (he said indicating a 2cm gap between 2 fingers in front of his zipper) i have been seeing them..fluttering on a clothesline on the next terrace..with their blue starch marks..some even with safety-pins in the back, and once i saw...'

'ok, ok i get you..so how was this one, if i may ask', i said.

the dreamy look returned..

'i dont know yaar..it was so different..i dont know how to say this..inside there was like something man..like you used to wear chest gaurds while playing cricket na?'

'uh oh', i muttered.

'what do you mean, uh uh', he barked out. 'u think i am a chutiya or what? i know about some women who have smaller breasts and use something to look big.. remember the time you went out on a date with napkin stuffed in your chaddi and...'

'sorry boss..i was just joking yaar. aage bol bhai'

'chutiya' he muttered. 'anyway, so she saw me looking and suddenly she pulled me up and took all my clothes off. i swear, the last time someone did that so fast was when i was 4 and we were entering kalighat temple and i told maa i had done potty in my pant..but then i told you na she was a nice girl. she could understand that i could not take the first step, and she also was new to this experience..'

i switched off..........yada yada yada yada......

'..and there was naked'

(i switched on)...

'huh! naked?'

'i mean i took her bra off..she was so beautiful yaar..so pure..and when she kissed me it was so beautiful yaar..and she was so innocent. she said she was seeing a dick for the first time..and she said she hadn't seen a bigger one before, and this was the first time also...i didn't understand..anyway, i was so happy and i told her to take her skirt off because i thought i will spoil her nice skirt. she told me this is the first time please switch off the light..'

'uh oh', i muttered..

'again you are doing uhuh u motherchod? remember the time you told T to switch of the light and you will show her magic and you...'

'shut up yaar..that was 16 yrs back man'.

'exactly..she is also same innocent like that..chutiya cynical bastard..anyway..so somehow i controlled and went dripping to the switch..i could hear her unzipping her skirt behind me..and the sound of her underwear going down her legs..i turned the light off, groped my way back and she was on the couch with her arms open..'

'sahi hai baap..chaa gaya beta'

'shut up chutiya sun pehle..i laid my head down against her breasts..'

'abhi bola kuch hai nehi'

'motherchod gaar maar dunga..sun na yaar..it was so nice..she said i was the nicest man she has ever met. all people only use her yaar, they think just pay money and make her do anything..yaar men are bastards, seriously. the amount of torture and harassment. and she said i was the one yaar..she wanted to share a secret with me..'

'let me guess..she was a whore', i said with a smirk.

'raand teri maa chutiya..sun na yaar..she took my hand and placed it on her breast..and slowly guided it down to her stomach..yaar how can they have so flat abs man..and then down. sahi tha yaar..trimmed and shaped..and then i felt it'

'it?'

'it', he indicated with his hand.

'IT?? MOTHERCHOD WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING??'

'abey loure sun na..its not her fault..she just wants money for the operation..she is otherwise perfect yaar..she showed me so many things one can do even if a girl doesn't have that..it was an eye opener for me yaar'.

'i dont believe i am having this conversation..u mean u actually...??'

'sun na yaar...just drop your fucking know all attitute for once..let me show you'.

Its been a long long time

Running your hands through a soft fluffy bush. Touching a bud and watching it harden. Kissing the petals and tasting their oh sweet juices. Caressing the valleys and the shadows ever so lightly, fingers caressing and feeling the gentle answering quiver. Feeling the moistness and inhaling that smell to the farthest capillary of your lung. Hearing the sighs and the groans and smelling the sweat. Pushing yourself to go on a on, deeper and deeper, till you collapse and lay panting and spent but ready for more.

Its really been a long time since I been on a nature trail.

The victory of the lowest common denominator

The concert was great..the sound, the visuals, the props, the hands and of course Roger himself. I had gone for the 'In the Flesh' tour in 2002 as well and had sorely missed Gilmour. But this time around the hands were magnificient and the lead guitar riffs gladdened the hearts of even floyd bigots like me. All in all..an evening to remember. But...

I was saddened to see that Roger had to come down to our level. His lyrics used to subtle, his anti bush sentiments used to be delightfully scornful. But subtlety is wasted on the non-occidental populace..so his latest song has lines like

'Are these the people that we should bomb
Are we so sure they mean us harm
Is this our pleasure, punishment or crime
Is this a mountain that we really want to climb
The road is hard, hard and long
Put down that two by four
This man would never turn you from his door
Oh George! Oh George!
That Texas education must have fucked you up when you were very small'

Pretty childish stuff i think..but these were the only lyrics that were displayed on the screen along with the song..and hence the only lyrics the srk-karan-bigb-lovers understood..so they cheered wildly and everyone was happy.

But then dont listen to me..i am just a cynical bastard.

An invitation

To everyone I have been talking to through this blog..to please make themselves available this weekend (friday or saturday) and get together for a few drinks and literary discussions of the highest order (we can also discuss Malika Sherawat if you want). Please be there (somewhere, anywhere everyone decides) and lets have some fun.

Slow slow office day

mail.yahoo.com
www.bbc.co.uk
ghetufool.blogspot.com
www.jhum.blogspot.com
mail.yahoo.com
orkut.com
saltlakeman.blogspot.com
varticity.blogspot.com
absolutelynothingisavailable.blogspot.com
mail.yahoo.com
www.bbc.co.uk
ghetufool.blogspot.com
www.jhum.blogspot.com
saltlakeman.blogspot.com
varticity.blogspot.com
mail.yahoo.com

tick tock tick tock tick tock

Can't write

Its not really a block..rather, its the reverse. After I visited this blog I have been itching to write about a lot of things that happened in my life. A lot of things that would make perfect blog material..but..like a fool i didnt make this an anonymous blog. 'Whatever I say can be used against me in a court of law'. So..I cant write.

But..if you start getting comments on your respective blogs from someone called IamNotShuv or something like that..and if you click on the profile and go to a blog with XXX nostalgia..please dont let on that you know its me.

Amazing picture!!

Isn't it an amazing shot? And you know why? Because the black camels are just the shadows of the actual camels (the white specks) shot from vertically overhead.

Taken by George Steinmetz for the National Geographic Turkey.

Seems like I have finally met my match in photography.

Manali!

That was on the road to Rohtang Pass, at midnight on a freezing full moon night. But that comes later. Let me start at the beginning.

Last Wednesday I suddenly came to know that all the top bosses are going to Manali for a 3 day workshop and I was supposed to join them. That could have meant 2 things - i would be promoted or fired. I didnt spend too many sleepless nights wondering which one it would be and utilised Thursday digging out my winter clothing from their moth balled existences.

The flight was memorable in one way - the propeller driven 30 seater Air Deccan airplane. Before boarding I suddenly got this premonition that I should talk to my son once before the thing took off but my fears were unfounded - we landed safely in Kulu an hour later on a nippy sunny afternoon.

4 of us had already decided to use this trip to freak out and so it wasnt surprising that we 'accidently' landed up in the same car for the hour long drive to Manali. A couple of stops for beer and steaming hot trouts later we entered the beautiful Holiday Inn hotel, just on the outskirts of Manali.

The post lunch kickoff meeting confirmed that out of the 2 professional paths, the powers to be had decided on the former, and the rest of the trip was gone in somehow going through the 10 hour meetings, freaking out for 8 hours and crashing for 6 hours.

There were a couple of great experiences...with one great thing in common. Manala Cream is reputed to be the best hash in the country, and boy, did it live up to its reputation! We procured a 'tola' from a small roadside shop in Manali and the last joint was smoked outside the airport before boarding the return flight. And it was AMAZING! Like 5 of us went out at 11:30 PM for a walk outside and suddenly found ourselves flagging down a car and heading towards Rohtang pass. We went as far as the road was open and then wandered around the snow for an hour in the biting sub zero temperatures. And the next day there was this amazing 2 hour trek up a mountain, with the reefers and the beers, and then paragliding down to the amazingly beautiful Kulu valley.

Well I am not much of a travel writer. But if you havent been there definitely plan (and not in the peak tourist season). Here are some of the pics..maybe they would help make up your mind.

The transference of apathy

A test for my psychic abilities

I have had these amazing psychic flashes that have come true and left me slightly uneasy about myself. But this time I want to prove it to the rest of the world. Here's the latest flash that would come true on April 28, 2007.

India will win the world cup by bundling out the aussies for 128.

All u guys out there cash in your life savings and go the nearest bookie.

Those bloody racist goras!!

Look at what they are subjecting poor poor Shilpa to!! So what if she is getting 4 crores to sit in a room? And how does it matter if the whole concept of the show is to have people gang up on each other and eliminate contestants one by one? How dare they subject her to racist abuse?

So what if she is from bloody Bombay, filled with those bloody ghatis and shiv sainiks who want to throw all bongs out? And who can blame them? The bloody bongs are a bloody lazy and parochial lot. And they also want the Gujjus and Panjus out, because those baniyas control 85% of Bombay. And dont forget the bloody biharis and bhaiyas from UP who make up for 97% of the auto and taxi drivers and daily wage labourers. Come to think of it, throw out all the bloody kannadis as well. They make up about 98.2% of all waiters and cooks in the eating joints. And the bloody backward castes, throwing the city in disarray on Ambedkar's birthday or if someone damages his statue. And throw out all the kattus man..all of them are Paki sympathisers and harbor ISI agents in their homes.

And how dare the brits be racist towards us? Our culture goes back 5000 years when they were living in caves. All goras are fucking with each other all the time. Fathers raping daughters, mothers fucking milkmen..thats what they are. And dont get me started on the blacks. All of them are drug dealers. And all black males use their huge black tools to entice innocent white women and fuck them. And can you trust the bloody hispanics? All bloody illegal immigrants, stealing jobs from honest ctizens. And the bloody chinamen, all coming from Taiwan, Vietnam, Cambodia and Japan and all those Chinese countries and making china towns and creating trouble.

But, all that is besides the point. How DARE they subject Shilpa to racial abuse??

The truth at last

Scout got me into this. And look what I found out about myself. THANKS A LOT SCOUT...

You are The Devil

Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession

The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Decision time..

OR

Happy birthday Rod

"May the good Lord be with you
Down every road you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
surround you when you're far from home
And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As you'd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever Young, Forever Young"

- Rod Stewart, Forever Young

Thanks for the thousands of hours of pleasure Rod.

Going back to my roots

I am thinking new way of making boring to my good friends. Now I am always doing the talking like my countryman do the english many time before. And all friends not happiness with this and this make lot of happiness for me. I also start same thing in my office and all good people having red face in meetings and showing very angry to me and not coming to me for asking anything. This also making lot of laughing inside me but my face showing i am sitting like very old man face and do a lot of jobs.

I am thinking that all my good peoples who have knowing me by reading this blog also do start and see how much good funness it is giving to the mind. Maybe I become famous when all world people having talking like this all the time and making happy talking all the time. Because like this no somebody can be having angry talks and have fighting with good friends or somebodies and every peoples have happy and smiling lifes.

Realisations and resolutions

Finally I realised what the rest of mankind has known for the last 2000 years. Any relationship between two people - lovers, spouses, parent-child, family or friends - can be a successful one if (and only if) it is based on mutual respect. Love can make the world go around and all the crap, but if two people do not respect each other, there is no way that love can grow and sustain itself. And respect is something that has to be earned, not demanded, cajoled or arm-twisted. So, finally, here is my new year resolution:

Thou shalt make thyself respectable to people who matter to thee.

A wide spectrum resolution such as this has got one major advantage. If, at the end of the year, I find that I have drunk myself silly, have not exercised, have not been a good father, son, husband, friend, employee, citizen or human being...well, I have just broken ONE resolution, not 127.

That would give me a good feeling moving into the next year.

A New Year Song

I dont know why..but this song by CCR looks like how 2007 will be for me..i have waded thru shit, swam in muck, seen it all..now its payback time...(loky this one is for u).

Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm,
I know!
It's been comin' for sometime.
When it's over so they say
It'll rain on a sunny day,
I know!
Shining down like water!

I wanna know: have you ever seen the rain?
I wanna know: have you ever seen the rain
Comin' down on a sunny day

Yesterday and days before
Sun is cold and rain is hot,
I know!
Been that way for all my time.
Till forever on it goes
Thru the circle fast and slow,
I know
It can't stop I wonder!

I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
Comin' down on a sunny day?

YEAHHHHH!

I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
Comin' down on a sunny day?

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!

As i was reading about the usual drunken incidents in the 1st January paper, I thought wouldnt it be great if cars came with built-in drunk detectors that would analyse a driver's breath or sweat and not start if the readings are above a threshold? That would be the only full-proof way of preventing the thousands of meaningless deaths every year.

And today i read this ...If only I had blogged the idea down!!!

There goes my million buck royalty paycheck...BOOHOOOOHOOO!!!!

Children of a 'lesser' God

I have always been very close to kids. I don’t know whether it’s because our mental levels are comparable or whether it’s because like kids, my heart is as pure as a driven snow. Whatever the reason, I have always been accepted into their world as one of their own and have seen their world from the inside.

It’s not a nice world.

Kids have this amazingly rigid socio-economic structure. When we were kids the economic part did not exist. Someone was branded a whiney, for example, irrespective of whether he was the son of the local coal shop owner or the son of the para doctor. There was no concept of differentiating people based on their parents’ money, stature or social position. Now I see these kids leading sheltered lives in enclosed residential complexes, with no exposure to the outside world and no idea of how people less fortunate than them are living in the outside world. Most children (and unfortunately their parents) are downright callous and indifferent about the poor and homeless. My son’s idea of charity and social responsibility is that when one of his toys breaks he keeps it aside saying that he would give it away to a street child to play with. Similarly, my contribution towards poverty eradication is to pay for the education of a couple of faceless girls through monthly deductions from my credit card. But then again, I am rambling.

Coming back to the kids, their world beats the competitiveness and ruthlessness of any high-pressure, performance oriented MNC or the machiavellian schemes of a coalition political party. It’s a dog eat dog world out there, allegiances are sworn and forgotten at the bat of an eyelid, bosom friends discarded and ridiculed in front of newly found soul-mates, shy insecure loners ganged up against and banished to their pitiful ignored existences and loud, brash, aggressive kids (or quiet, arrogant kids with the latest Nintendo or Gameboy) suck up to, adored and followed around. Only the fittest can survive here, and ‘fit’ is a person who doesn’t form any lasting friendships, who doesn’t display any conscience pangs and who can go with the tide and always duck the big wave coming their way.

I make no judgment or attempts to influence their world. I won’t stick around long enough to either change their directions or witness the world where the kids of today have taken over. But I can’t prevent my heart from feeling a twinge of regret or a shaft of fear, for innocence lost and purity killed.

My son's christmas wish

When i asked him what he wanted from Santa he said he wanted a tree in the house which grew money instead of leaves. That way I would be able to stay at home the whole day and play with him, instead of going back to Delhi.

Sniff.

Briefcase

I dont know if any one of you is old enough to remember the briefcase. From my earliest childhood, it was something that symbolised the transition from youth to manhood. Muhalla bhaiyas who used to lounge around in the club-rooms, playing carrom or cricket or generally discussing global issues, day in day out, without break or dip in enthusiasm, suddenly became respectable and serious when they landed jobs and started taking the 8:55 bus to office with a briefcase in hand. You no longer could greet them and ask them the East Bengal Mohun Bagan score of the previous day's match, or whether the latest Mithun starrer was worth watching or not (you could of course ask him these when he held court in the club in the evenings, but then you would have to wait till he has finished a lengthy discourse on how office politics is ruining the work culture in India, or how had ticked off his boss when he had dared to ask him stay an hour after office to complete some urgent work).

Not everyone was so lucky though. There were some poor souls who got jobs where the office did not give them briefcases to carry (after all, not everyone can aspire to be an Insurance Salesman, Maintenance Engineer or Sales Executive). These guys were treated with absolute disdain and we used to ridicule these poor bastards when we used to occupy our newly inherited positions of importance in the club house. 'Imagine', we used to say, with a superior smirk and knowing winks, 'Biltuda goes to office without a briefcase and have you seen the superior expression on his face? As if we dont know what a shitpot he must have joined'.

One such dada must have shared the same opinion as us. And after scrapping through his BCom Pass and landing a job somewhere, he started for his first day in office with a gleaming VIP swinging in his hands, looking as if the moment he would be approached, he would point the damn thing and mutter 'go ahead, make my day'. But we knew Keshtoda, and his academic record and his personal magnetism. And we were pretty sure that it was quite beyond him to secure a job that would require him to carry a briefcase. This was discussed in great detail over the next few days and finally a courageous handful of decided to waylay him one morning and demand to inspect what was inside.

That fateful morning, we waited at the curb, with hearts beating slightly faster, but secure in the knowledge that the para would get a scoop that would be talked about for ages to come, ensuring out place in para folklore for eternity to come. Sure enough, Keshtoda was challenged, his briefcase siezed, opened, while he blabbered in forced indignation, shoulders already stooping, downcast eyes fighting back tears as we all stood around his open briefcase containing a ridiculous collection of children's books and stuff and his tiffin of a banana and 2 slices of sugar sprinkled bread.

In the evening it all came out. Frustrated at not getting a job he had joined some social organisation that goes to slums and teaches children how to read write and stuff like that. They pay conveyance (state transport) and a princely sum of 20 bucks a day for lunch. We all had a great time that day, ribbing him for his worthless life, the other successful dadas explaining to him that he should have gone to them, they would have arranged something for him, why even the peon in their office gets 750 bucks a month!

Keshtoda took all this quite well. He just sat there quietly, sometimes giving a rueful smile when someone said something particularly funny (like Ajitda telling him to start helping our uncles with their housework and chores and then all families in the para will pool in with some contribution for him), sometimes clenching his hands when Romada declared that these NGO-s basically supply young women and children to the Arab world (and Romada would know, his uncle was settled in Canada for the last 28 years), but generally disappointing all us neither by breaking down or trying to fight for and defend himself.

Anyway, from the next day onwards Keshtoda started going to 'work' with a jhola slung on his shoulders. Initial ribbing died down soon enough as our interest moved on to other topics and targets. We all moved on in life, in turn got briefcases of our own. Some fell, some soared. The briefcase no longer generated respect. Kids were moving around with mobile phones and laptops. Some carried only combs to work. Some sat at home and earned trading shares on the phone. But all of them had one thing in common. Everyone moved like an automation. Nobody smiled, nobody stopped to talk to people they crossed in the streets. Nobody came to the club room anymore. Nobody knew whether their next door neighbor was alive or dead. Nobody had anyone to talk to when they felt lost and hopeless and needed someone to talk about their memories or their fears or their hopes.

Except Keshtoda. He looked as serene as ever. He looked fulfilled, satisfied and totally at peace with himself. Someone was saying that he was working as an advisor to Unesco. Someone was saying that he might go to the US soon to deliver a paper. But one thing I knew. The briefcase I had lent him when I started using a laptop looked like it had finally found its way back home.

An apology to the Sachins of the world

I suddenly realised that I am in the same league as the Sachins, Sharukhs and Amitabhs of the world. For you lesser mortals this concept will be difficult to grasp, but its absolutely true, believe you me. Where previously the fingers used to fly over the keyboard, for the past 6 days I have been struggling to think of something to write about. And its all due to critics who dare to question my greatness. Me!! Nowadays, whenever I am about to penn something down, I stop and force myself to think whether the 'true meaning' will be understood by those pea-brained nincompoops. And i can understand how Sachin, about to launch into a cracking cover drive, checks it just in time and tries to guide it towards point and nicks one to the keeper. All the time thinking what Harsha Fucking Boghle will say if he missed the drive.

To all couch critics of the world...FUCK YOU TOO!!!!

The long walk

Suddenly decided yesterday to walk from point A to B. Maybe it was the thought of the traffic snarls, or the lovely northern breeze or the bimbette who passed me as i was opening the car door. Anyways, I was glad I did.

I dont go to gyms or malls, and these are the only places I see people walking these days. So the walk brought back a lot of memories. There were times when we used to walk home from college just for the heck of it, prolonging the meaningless banter with friends, or delaying the return and the mandatory pointless sessions with an open text book. 90% of my first affair was walking together in winding bylanes for hours on end, feeling on the top of the world, feeling the thrill of the everpresent danger of someone seeing us and reporting the incident.

There have been memorable walks in my life. A 140km trek in the Kumaon has to be the best. But not far behind are the winding streets of Dublin, or the white sand beaches of Thailand, or beautiful countryside of Goa and many more. But gradually over the last couple of years, the mechanised home-office-home routine has squeezed out this activity from my life.

Anyways, it felt good. I discovered a lot of things I had never bothered to find out. The security guy at the gate has a beautiful 3 year old son, there is a gap in the hedges from where one can see a not-so-bad view of the surrounding neighborhood, the reriwala makes a great concotation of peanuts, onions, masala and nimbu, the stray dogs understand bengali, the neighborhood ladies give 'interesting' looks..

Ours must have become a developed first world country. If our lives have become such that these simple things now give us pleasure, then it must be so.

The month that was - Nov 2006

(Sing along to the tune of 'We didn't start the fire')

I dont know who is right
Greg Chappel John Wright
But I know the men in blue are a bunch of arseholes.
Dada on the sideline
Sachin missing ball's line
And all the fielders' hands are full of gaping holes.

Tata offers thousand jobs
Streets full of fighting mobs
Didi says that she wont eat until farmers get back their lands.
Dalits on the rampage
Someone abused their sage
Smashing cars stopping trains and taking law in their hands.

Hakla in takla out
KBC starts a new bout
Ash kiss beau hiss
Big B looks like losing clout.
Heat kills cold kills
Children starving in the hills
Jobless men trudge door to door
I cant take this any more.

A revenge on Loky and Vikas

So..u dont like my poems do you? Okay then. Henceforth, all my boring posts (rants against the system, country, countrymen etc etc) will be in glorious verse.

So proclaimed Bhishma..and the heavens opened and the crows shat on his head.

A poem for Britney

Britney went to a party
Forgetting to wear a panty
Shutters clicked and the media screamed
But i thought she looked pretty dainty.

Oh Calcutta!!

Just got back from a short trip from Cal. This was after a gap of almost 18 months and I just loved it. December and January are the best time to visit Cal. The nip in the air is divine. And if you want to compare the weather with that of Bangalore, I would like you to consider an incredient that Blore sadly lacks..and you would get that if you sit on the banks on the Hoogly, with a steaming hot 'bhaar' of tea in one hand and a packet of 'jhalmuri' in the other. Bliss!

Things have changed but if you dont seek them out you will find that your nostalgia will remain intact, safe from the marauding hands of progress and growth. No one I know grew up in Rajarhaat or Eastern Bypass...so no one will feel like an alien if he decides to visit his old para, or his old dating places, or his old hangout places. These remain the same, comforting you with their ageless solidity, enabling the celluloid of your memories to remain in crystal clear DVD quality.

And as fate would have it, didi obliged her little brother with the one experience that i thought I would miss out on this trip. But, thankfully, the cruel industrialists decided to build factories that would provide jobs for a thousand families and open doors to other such elements to enter the state and spoil our culture, heritage and tradition. So didi obliged me with a bandh.

Last night, at a friends place, finishing the last peg before heading back home, and concluding the open items in our discussions on Osho, genetics, Taoism , tantrik sex and degradation of the grilled prawns in Tyangra, I thanked my stars for such a perfect experience of my roots. But...it was still not over.

After all, what would a nostalgia trip be without the women of Calcutta? You can keep your Ibizas and Rivieras and Mardi Graas or whatever provides fodder for your fantasies. If you havent experienced the Calcutta girl, your life has been one of utter wastage. So, as I was sitting alone in the share auto, my heart did 27 sumersaults, when she languidly raised her delicate fingers and signalled the auto to stop. She was like a fresh daisy, the way a daisy looks when the early morning sun passes through a dew drop resting on its petals. None of the brashness of the northern indian sisters, or the excessive conservatism of the southern sisters. She sat close to me, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, ankle to ankle, demurely looking down, riding the speedbreakers, jumping potholes, swerving the minibuses, in perfect harmony, in a ritual dance synchronised to perfection.

She got down a couple of stops before. As she did, our eyes met for the first time, and in them i saw an answering look of ecstasy, a knowledge that what we shared will be with both of us for a long time to come.

I was walking on clouds when i got down. Can life be any more perfect? Should I finally start thinking seriously about taking a tranfer to Cal? Should I postpone my ticket tomorrow and wait at the auto stand at the same place and same time? Should I pay a 100 bucks to the auto driver?

Thoughts of money brought me back to harsh reality. The driver was waiting impatiently with palms outstretched. I aplogised and fumbled for my wallet.

It was gone.

A Greek Tragedy

w: come closer
m: huh?? what's got into you?
w: just come. feeling funny
m: yippee!
w: mmm
m: mmm
w: mmmmm
m: mmmmmm
w: stop that! not now
m: what the..?
w: just hold me like this
m: (groan)
w: mmmm
m: mmmmmmm
w: take your hand out
m: christ!
w: let me
m: mmmmmmmmmm
w: take it out
m: (pant)
w: mmmmmmmmmm
m: (pant)
w: dont stop
m: (gasp)
w: (pant)
m: shit!
w: what?
m: sorry
w:
m: shit
w:
m: sorry
w:
m: i love you
w: good night

Not again!!!

Ordering that last one for the road proved to be a drastic mistake. As me and J stumbled into the deserted platform, we realised we had missed the last train home. And except for a few beggars bundled up in newspapers, there was not a single bastard in sight. The walk home was about 3 Km from the station, and it was not a very nice one. Especially on that cold, deserted winter night.

Perhaps the whiskey took the decision to start walking. Perhaps it was some suppressed desire to emulate adventurers who had plunged into the unknown to discover new lands. Whatever it was, it was a mistake.

This was a section of the city which was largely avoided by the everyday crowds. I mention the word 'city', but this 9 odd square kilometres could have been copied from here and pasted in Nevada and it would not have been out of place. It was a dumping ground at one time, when the municipality decided to turn it into a park. And as expected from their efficiency, the dumping stopped but the park was not constructed. And so it was now a deserted wasteland, used for drug deals in the daytime and dumping murder victims at night.

Thankfully it was a full moon night. To me it looked more of a fool moon night. Walking through the deathly silence, through mountains of waste bathed in that horrible cold white light, I finally realised what fools we had been in trying to attempt this. J must have started having misgivings as well, for he suddenly stopped. I turned to ask him what was wrong, but he was staring fixedly at a point about 100 yards to our right, and following his gaze I saw whatever it was that was staring back at us.

It was partially hidden behind the remnants of a smashed up maruti, but the upper half was visible. My screaming brains told me not to panic, that this was a human form, at worst a junkie who will whip out a knife and rob us, at best a beggar or a deranged man who probably stays here at night. But in my thundering heart I knew that junkie or beggar or lunatic - whatever it was, it was when he was a breathing, living man; now he was a creature from the other side.

to be continued (perhaps)...

What a strange man!!

On one of my fortnightly travels to Mumbai, I was approached by a young guy as I was about to enter the terminal. He was a sorry looking bloke, and it seemed that the weight of the entire world was on his puny shoulders. And as his story came out, i realised why.

You see, what happened was that he had come to Delhi from a small village near Patna. Some friend of a friend of a friend had promised him a job and had asked him to meet a guy outside the airport. He met a guy answering to the description given, who assured him that there was an agent who will place him, in return of a fee of 1500 bucks. You can guess the rest right? He had 1200 on him, the guy magnanimously waived off 300 bucks, asked him to wait right there while he got his scooter..and never came back. So, for the last 3 hours, he was reduced to begging for whatever he can manage, to at least purchase a train ticket to go back to his family.

What can I say? I told him Delhi is full of cheats. I advised him to be more careful in the future. I admonished him for chasing wild dreams, leaving everything for a fools errand. I paid him 300 bucks.

Tears of gratitude flooded his eyes. His trembling hands retrieved a dog eared notebook from his tattered pockets. He made me write my address down so he can send the money back. I gruffly told him, with a lump in throat, that it wont be necessary. But he would have none of it. His parting words made me feel good about myself..here was someone who has finally realised what a wonderful human being I am.

It says that lightning never strikes the same place twice. I found out that its not true for some poor bastards. When I came back from a Mumbai a couple of days back, who do i find standing outside? You are right, it was the same guy! And he came up to me and told me the same story. I listened with rapt attention, wondering the courage it must take to be able to take such misfortune, that too twice, and still be able to fight back and try to survive. While I was taking out my wallet, I saw him taking out his notebook, and told him not to bother, reminding him that I had already jotted down my address a couple of days back.

I dont know why he ran away!! I would have paid him again.

Some weird dream

I was desperately climbing to the roof. The staircase was caved in and there was no way up. But I just had to go up, you see. And so the only way up was from the outside.

The first floor wasnt a problem. One of the window shutters was open and I was able to use the grill to reach the parapet. But after that it was hair-raising. As i inched along desperately clinging on to any projection I found on that blank, unforgiving wall, the top looked like some impossible dream. I had the standard scares I have seen in countless movies, pigeons suddenly flying out from a hole above my head, one toe slipping and almost hurtling down, looking down and seeing the ground way down below etc. But finally I triumphed. I looked around and saw the world at my feet. And decided to jump.

And then suddenly, Harindranath Chatterjee was at my elbow. He gave me a severe hearing about the futility and cowardice of suicide. He took me home..and i started afresh.

A solemn vow. No more egg curry for dinner.

By a bong, on some bongs, for all bongs

Amazing post!!!! Enjoy!!

The arrest of Doctor X

Sergeant Jack: Sergeant Bob! Where are you?
Sergeant Bob: I am in the police station. What happened?
Sgt J: I just heard that Doc X is robbing a bank.
Sgt B: OK. I am coming! All police come to the bank! Wait!! Let me bring the walkie talkies and the guns!

Sgt B takes out his Lego set and builds 2 guns and 2 wireless devices. He hands a pair to Sgt J and together they race towards the bank.

Sgt B: I am going in now! You call the others!
Sgt J: Ok!!

Sgt B dashes in, rolls on the ground and gets up with gun poised.

Sgt B: Oh no! Doc X is escaping from the back door!
Sgt J: Oh no!
Sgt B: Wait! Look what he has let behind!
Sgt J: What?

Sgt B picks up a Stephen King novel lying on the table.

Sgt B: Its a diary! "All About Me" by Doc X it says!
Sgt J: Wow!
Sgt B: Look! His house address is written here! Lets go!

Sgt J and B rush into Doc X's house. They spot him and Sgt B goes for the kill. Soon the camera crew rush in and surround a panting Sgt B.

Reporter: Sgt B! How does it feel to have finally killed Doc X?
Sgt B: Good. And I am warning all criminals! I will find all of them! Be careful!
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Sgt B was my 6 year old. Sgt J was me. The dialogs and storyline were my son's. They were unrehearsed and impromptu.

My son is a genius!

My killer instincts

Although I always try and convey a 'rough, tough, hard-hitting' image, sometimes I get these sneaking suspicions that it may not be true. Anyone who goes roadside-shopping with me will know that in a minute or so. Stories of how I have been duped by sorry-looking salesmen have been doing the rounds for years now. But what happened last month was really incredible.

You see, it was a typical hot Delhi summer afternoon and I was watching TV with a cold beer in my air-conditioned room. The bell rings and I open it to see two men waiting outside, sweating oceans and looking on the verge of collapse. In a croaking voice they ask me if I can spare them a large container. I asked why (see how smart I am?) and they say that they have brought down a beehive and want to drain the honey out of it and sell it. I weigh this over and decide that in response to this the least I can do is lend them a container.

So the container changes hands (a 10 kg jar I thought I would keep rice in) and the transfer process starts.

Within no time the jar is almost full and it must have been a big load on their minds, because no sooner was their work done that their backs straightened, their glazed eyes took on a sharpish look and they took out their weighing scales and pronounced that I owed them 800 bucks. I feebly told them that I hate honey, have consumed a total of 10ml in my entire adult life and that it would take me about 83 years to consume the 8 litres that they had poured out. They looked hurt, maybe shocked at my insensitivity, at my disrespect for the hard labor they had put in, at my total ignorance in not being able to appreciate the health and culinary benefits of pure raw honey.

I decided that it was time I produced the ace from my sleeve. Triumphantly I told them that I had only 500 bucks in the house. They thought his over for about 3.5 milliseconds, and the deal was done. A Gandhi changed hands, they packed their stuff, I carried the jar to the kitchen, lit a cigerette in self-congratulations (i HAD saved 300 bucks you see), and started preparing a list of lucky people I would distribute the honey to.

A few cigerettes and beer bottles later, when I could account for about 500ml of the stuff, I finally realised that I had a problem in my hands. The brainwave came when my bai came. Magnanimously I told her that she can take the honey home when she leaves. Surprisingly she wasnt too thrilled (it would pose a serious storage problem it seemed) but I was not in a mood to take no for an answer (my aggression and people handling skills come from years of Project Management experience) and when she left with the jar I closed the door a happy man, reflecting on all the victories I had achieved that afternoon.

I reminded her to bring back the jar when she came the next day..and then reminded her every day for the next 4 days. She hasnt brought it back yet.

I think that it was the jar she needed all along.

Scent of a woman

I wont dare to try and write a review of probably the greatest movie of all time. What I would do is copy two of Lt Col Slade's monologues, ones that I could listen to a billion times and not get tired of, scenes I could watch a million times and still get goose pimples. So, here they are:
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Women !
What can you say ?
Who made 'em ?
God must have been a fuckin' genius.
The hair --They say the hair is everything, you know.
Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls...and just wanted to go to sleep forever ?
Or lips --and when they touched yours, it was like...that first swallow of wine...after you just crossed the desert.
Tits ! Whoo-ah ! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya...
like secret searchlights.
Mmmmm.
And legs --I don't care if they're Greek columns...or secondhand Steinways.
What's between 'em....passport to heaven.
There's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy.

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There was a time I could see.
And I have seen.
Boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off.
But there is nothin' like the sight...of an amputated spirit.
There is no prosthetic for that
As I came in here, I heard those words: "cradle of leadership."
well, when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and it has fallen here.
Makers of men, creators of leaders. Be careful what kind of leaders you're producin' here.
I don't know if Charlie's silence here today...is right or wrong; I'm not a judge or jury.
But I can tell you this: he won't sell anybody out...to buy his future !
and that, my friends, is called integrity.
That's called courage. Now that's the stuff leaders should be made of.
Now I have come to the crossroads in my life.
I always knew what the right path was.
Without exception, I knew, but I never took it.
You know why ?
It was too damn hard.
Now here's Charlie.
He's come to the crossroads.
He has chosen a path.
It's the right path.
It's a path made of principle...that leads to character.
Let him continue on his journey.
You hold this boy's future in your hands, Committee.
It's a valuable future, believe me.
Don't destroy it. Protect it. Embrace it.
It's gonna make you proud one day, I promise you.

Getting old

I was never a fanatical durga puja bong. As a child, it was just a time for new shirts and pandal hopping. Things started getting better after crossing 15, when puja started to represent 4 days when there are no curfews, no questions, no rules. Till the time I left for B'lore at the 'tender' age of 20, those 20 days spreading across those 5 years gave me a lot of firsts of my life - my first drinking binge, my first girlfriend, my first visit to Sonagachi (returned unopened, I assure you..the atmosphere scared the living shit out of me), my first experiences of mob rowdisms (atop a truck, going for the 'bhashan') and so on and on and on.

But then life moved on. I became independent, first personally, then financially. All the rules of my life fell apart and 4 days without rules lost their significance. Friends moved on, muhalla kids grew up and started to occupy the prime seats in the pandals and puja time lost its charm.

The fanatical bong carried on. Taking vacation to visit Cal during the pujas was something that had to be planned months in advance. Spouses leave applications synchronised, children school leaves planned, tkts booked at exhorbitant rates...and then coming back with stories of drinking sessions and bad food and mad queues.

I have always felt myself to be 'above' these people. Once I left Cal I have never missed being there during the pujas. So it came to me as a shocker when suddenly, out of the blue, I felt myself desperately yearning to be in Cal on the oshtomi. Drop by on all friends and relatives, soak in the special treatment that is usually accorded to someone settled outside Cal (and the treatment is the same regardless of whether you settled in Bombay or Bahamas), eat phuchka at 2 AM in the morning, wake up to the beating of the drums and to that amazing shorot sky and the slight nip in the air..

Its official. If your root has started calling to you, you have finally crossed youth. Goodbye youth, welcome middle age.

Why I broke the vow

Yesterday was 'expats night out'. We have some consultants working with us on contract and we all went out for a couple of beers yesterday evening. And after having a sweet lime soda, I finally ordered a beer because of the direction the conversation veered towards.

You see, these guys are paid something between 500 to 1200 USD per day. So the topics under discussion were:

1) How to open accounts in Cayman Islands for taxation purposes
2) Whether to go to Thailand or Malaysia for the coming 2nd October long weekend
3) Whether or not to take the next contract that would pay 1100 GBP per day
4) How expensive it has become to buy a place on the Riviera

I drank.

Salute! And Sorry.

This is for all my non-drinking friends who have given me company while I (or me along with other drinking friends) have had our drinking sessions. I realised yesterday the depth of your friendship, patience and indulgence.

You see, I have quit drinking since this last Sunday (now I dont want to see those smirks and rolling eyes, you alcoholics out there. The statement is open-ended; i did not say I wont ever drink again) . The first 2 days I was alone and it wasnt a big deal. But yesterday, a friend of mine had come down from Cal and came to meet me at my place with a bottle in his hand. My cousin, who also stays me, joined him when he got back from work, and it took a lot of consistent refusal from me to finally convince them that I wont drink.

Anyway..after a couple of pegs they started a typical daaru-table-discourse - topics ranging from global poilitics, social maladies to socialite cleavages. And since i was sitting there wrung-out-dry, in about an hour i went from being bored to irritated to downright angry. The evening ended in me retiring to my bedroom in a huff, while they continued to discuss the Iraq situation till 2.

Even though I hope my friends will vouch for me when I say I am a sensible drunk, I shudder to think if there have been occassions when someone has thought of me the way I thought of these 2 last night. This thought is motivation enough to think of quitting for good.

Like I said.."salute"...and "sorry".

Hats Off!

I know I had written this a few months back. I still feel the same about Sachin. But I take my hat off to him for his temperament. A century on comeback, that too with trademark style. I wish our Dada had also let his bat do the talking, rather than resorting to the shit he did in the last 3 months.

Congrats Sachin on your 40th. Who knows? Maybe Amitabh will make a good movie now!

How to overcome blogger's block - Mel Brooks

Nothing! I have nothing to say!

Have any of you guys seen 'History of the world' by Mel Brooks? If not, watch it today..mixed with some typical slapstick Mel humor, its got some screamingly funny moments, looking at the evolution of mankind, starting from the jurassic age right up to the french revolution.

So there was this scene depicting the utter poverty in France under Louis XVI, showing a marketplace where people are selling dead rats, apple cores and banana peels and a guy standing with an empty cart calling out 'Nothing! I have nothing to sell'..hilarious!

So if you have NOTHING to write, you can write "Nothing! I have nothing to say!"..

Had it coming

So? You thought this would be a tearful, respectful orbituary did you? HAAH! You havent known me that well then! Here's what i think.

He had it coming for a long time. When I first saw a show of his in Discovery I was amazed at the guy's guts. But it took me 2 episodes to decide that this was a guy who belonged in a circus, not a wildlife channel. The feeling I was left with everytime I watched an episode was that deep inside him, he had no respect for these animals. So you saw him wrestling reluctant crocs in the water, pulling out snakes from holes, kissing the world's most poisonous snake on a dare, prancing around with a croc with his 8 month old son cradled in his arms, playing catch-me-if-you-can with a pond full of alligators in front of a sell-out stadium blah blah blah.

He was in absolute contrast to the sensitivity with which guys in NatGeo and Discovery treat their subjects (was that the reason he was moved to the more 'racier' Animal Planet'?). Can you imagine a NatGeo show where the protagonist is provoking a lioness by playing around with her cubs so that she will get angry and give some good 'action shots'? Blessed with a typical cocky aussie bastard attitude perhaps Steve had assumed that all animals in his shows will play according to the script.

Well, one animal thought different. So here's a message to you. Whether you are a hotshot naturalist or a run-of-the-mill city dweller - dont underestimate nature.

Else, get fucked.

What a character!

"I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered."
Best on spending.

"In 1969 I gave up women and alcohol - it was the worst 20 minutes of my life."
Best on discipline.

"I was in for 10 hours and had 40 pints - beating my previous record by 20 minutes."
Best on the blood transfusion after his liver transplant

"I've stopped drinking, but only while I'm asleep."
Best on alcoholism

"The greatest footballer in the world".
Pele on George Best

Are you insulted?

12 Indians were deplaned from an airline yesterday because they were 'acting suspiciously'. The Indian media was full of righteous indignation and it seems that the entire nation, race and species has been insulted. And before you start feeling the same let me tell you of my experiences about Indians I have traveled with.

But first, the important thing you have to remember in this case is that all these people were part of a group who were textile merchants who had gone to attend some trade fair. The US marshals swooped down on them when they did not heed repeated requests by the cabin crew to sit down and fasten their belts before take off. They were also passing around their mobile phones (presumably showing each other nude clips they have surreptitiously clicked of the whores they had picked up) even when the switch off phones message was announced. While I agree that these actions don’t brand them as terrorists (is the xenophobia rampaging in the west really unjustified? I don’t know, that’s the topic for another post), but YES, these actions completely justify throwing out such arseholes.

As for how we (and hooligan English soccer fans) behave in groups, I have had personal experiences of both. Traveling to Bangkok from India was an eye opening experience for me. There are 2 types of groups that travel to Thailand. The first are the corporate groups who are traveling to attend some kind of sales meet or ‘team building workshops’ (both are companies’ ways of preventing attrition by providing pussy…PAPP shall we say?). The other is what are called ‘pigeons’ or ‘kabutars’. These are guys that are sent to buy electronics or computer hardware parts in bulk to carry back to India and sell at Indian rates.

And how they behave makes me ashamed that I am an Indian. The first group talk to each other LOUDLY across rows, click snaps of each other, discuss the vital stats of the cabin crew, get drunk and generally make life for everyone else miserable. The second group change into lungis, start card games, drink themselves silly when they realize that drinks are free and then puke between their legs. Can you believe it when I tell you that the Thai Airways security announcement video says ‘Sitting on the floor is not allowed’?

Deplane them? I think these guys should be deplaned when the flight is 30000 feet in the air.

Stories of B

When B came back after attending his first day in IGNOU he was ecstatic. The girls there were out of the world, he said, and every evening we used to sit around him, green with envy, as he recounted his flirtations with the Neerjas and the Somas of that Utopia. Soon enough, Bhan started pestering him for an 'intro' and then came the fateful day when B pronounced that he had invited some of them to his house for a get-together next week. That week was spent in frenzied preparation, doing push-ups to tone up the body, dabbing Clearsil on those dastardly pimples that had an uncanny instinct of emerging just before these momentous occasions and trying to wheedle out 50 bucks from our mothers to buy a new t-shirt.

A couple of days before the big day, we were in B's house as usual, making plans and allocating the girls amongst ourselves. B was unusually quiet that day and when prodded he said 'look guys, one thing i must tell you is that these girls i have invited are not too hot'. His comment was swept aside in our collective enthusiasm..at that time anything in a skirt used to be good enough for us. However, during the next couple of days, B kept on, his descriptions of the girls involving newer and more strongly worded negatives and eventually some seeds of doubts got planted in our minds.

Sure enough when the big day came our suspicions came true. Me and Bubai were always the 'look before you leap' types..so we decided to check out the girls from Bubai's balcony when they arrived. And boy! They were a sorry looking lot, even for our highly compromising standards! Bhan, shaved, perfumed and freshly scrubbed from his monthly bath, however was not so lucky as he was already in B's house by that time. So, after sitting through a horrible afternoon, an understandibly furious Bhan launched into a tirade when we reconvened in the evening in B’s house. B took this for about 10 minutes, then barked out ‘don’t you talk to me about bad looking girls. Your girlfriend is the worst sample I have seen in my life’.

And you know why that was totally below the belt? B had once gotten interested in a girl who used to move around with a girlfriend who was, shall we say, a bit ‘problematic’. So B had this brainwave. He convinced BH to ‘appo’ the girlfriend and then through her got to know the other girl. B had his fun with the girl, BH ended up marrying the ‘problematic’ girlfriend.

B was amazing!

Bappa

It was the eve of the Cost Accountancy entrance exam. The paper was GK, and a shell shocked B was sitting with an open quiz book on his lap, his mouth slack, rounded eyes staring vacantly into space. He had just discovered that Indira Gandhi wasn't the daughter of the Mahatma!

There are a zillion stories about B but till date I haven’t had the courage to write about them. Some won’t pass the censor board, some will lose their flavor in translation and some are so unbelievable that no one would believe them. But I would make an attempt anyway, else these stories would get lost in the damp corridors of my alcohol soaked brain.

The time was 1988 to 1992. I had met B when he joined Xavier's in class 11 and we somehow hit it off immediately. Bh and Bu were his pada friends, and soon the four of us became inseparable. And B was the star of the show. He was the original eccentric who used to perform antics that used to leave us spellbound. At a time when our sexual experiences were limited to having fantasies about the middle aged neighborhood ‘kakima’, B was going through relationships like he was born in the free-loving swinging 60-s, picking and dropping gorgeous girls at the drop of a hat, selling his cycle to assist a girlfriend through an abortion, ‘accidentally’ getting into a physical relationship with a girl he had brought home to teach her yoga, carrying a nan-chaku to his tuition class to ward off rival suitors and so on and on. The list was endless and to us he was absolutely larger than life.

Those years were probably the best of our lives. We were so damn content with each others’ companies, least caring about the rest of the world, cocooned in our absolute belief that we would be together forever, and that life would go on just like that, no worries, no ambitions, no plans, just the fact that we would meet again the next day and the next and the next.

Bh got married and broke off all contact. B is in the US and he doesn’t take a step before consulting his wife. Me and Bu are carrying on, wistfully remembering those days whenever we get together and wondering why we ever grew up and grew apart.

PS: Bu, I really tried to write about the cassette library, the confrontations with Kaku, the walking with his underwear locked around his knees, his conversations with Bh...its impossible. Either I am not a good enough writer, or B is too large to be captured on the pages of a blog.