Hold Thy Judgement!

I’m a bad, bad person. But in my defense, I want to say that I had to do what I did. There was simply no other way out. Now once you have heard me out on this one, I will proceed forward to narrate the exact incident (which I am really NOT proud off). Till then, DON’T judge me.

The crux of the issue is, that I had to pinch a kid in the train. And by pinch I obviously don’t mean I stole it. Okay here’s the thing. I was sitting in the train on a homeward journey from college one afternoon, minding my own business and fantasizing my afternoon siesta to the point of drooling. I pulled out my paper and began solving the crossword, when this woman got in at one of the stations. Her son was with her, around one year of age. I ignored them, until the woman made the boy squeeze on the opposite fourth seat. She handed him a packet of Zalani Jaljeera Powder (???) to…er…lick off from his hand. Moreover, the boy split that stuff on the seat, which he actually stood up and licked RIGHT OFF THE SEAT!! Most women around me wanted to throw up around a week’s meals to commemorate the event, but I suppose we were too shocked to do even that. One woman shut her pack of Good Day biscuits, and I bet she silently vowed never to eat anything in her life again. So well, what was the mother doing when her kid was ‘cleaning’ the seat? She gave him a benevolent smile and said Aisa nahi karneka!

I know the confusion that’s crawling about in your minds. If the kid licked the seats clean, why did I pinch him? No, no. To know that, you need to hang on a bit. Anyway, the next thing the mother did was to bully her way to our seats, made the boy sit right next to me, and promptly plopped down where the boy formerly sat. Immediately she handed him a vada pav this time. And I prayed there would be no more casualties in the second course. If there would be, I swear I would have thrown up all over him. And I was right! There were casualties. Apart from the fact that the vada pav eating induced machaak machaak sounds (really loud ones), the kid’s nose was to snot, what Niagara Falls is to water. This whole exercise was punctuated by continuous staring at me, like I was a really phenomenal zoo exhibit. I even chose to ignore that, till the kicking started. He was supposedly swinging its feet, making neat shoe prints on my new jeans. I swerved my foot rather harder than I intended, and he stopped doing that annoying thing after he got the point. Five minutes of peace, and that is when he laid his head on my shoulder like we were in love or something. I had had enough just about then. The last thing I need is coots from a two feet tall monster. I jerked my shoulder sharply, and this time the freak started crying. His even freakier mother wasn’t bothered even then. What happened next, you will NOT believe. This child took the vada pav it was eating, actually WIPED a portion of the train wall with it, and promptly ate it. And the cherry on the cake was, he wiped his grubby paws on my bag! After the initial shock of watching him eat dirt of the walls, the hand-wiping struck me, and that is when I had to give him the smallest pinch I could. I’m sorry, but then, I’m really not. The crying spree induced by the pinch made his mother take him onto her lap, which is when peace reigned the compartment.

Do you still wanna talk about judging me, matey?

....I Know You're Falling In Love With Me

(Sorry dear readers, for subjecting you to another lame attempt at poetry. I think this one sucks the most, since I was extremely upset and angry; and the moods sort of conflicted.)


The roses, the chocolates, the warm greetings,
Your sweet nothings, our much-awaited meetings.
If what I think is really what I see,
I know you’re falling in love with me.

Your special care and loving compassion,
All the fawning and undivided attention.
From you, time for me is a free commodity,
I know you’re falling in love with me.

What have I done to gain your affection?
Such warm embraces, your trust and fascination?
You try really hard, but you can’t let me be,
I know you’re falling in love with me.

This, I guess was all that it could be,
I hope you won’t be too hung up on me.
But may I say these words so true?
I know I’m falling in love with you.

...And That's The Way It Is?

I have been at home AND doing nothing for so long now, that I am certain I have sprouted a beard and have branches poking out of my nose. And for those of you who sniggered at the beard part, take this...*middle finger*. Seriously people, I cannot go on this way for long. Branches out of my nose wouldn't be the most sophisticated thing to happen to a poise queen like me.

The other day, I walked to the shop downstairs to pick up some stuff, and I overheard two schoolgirls conversing, each holding a candy. The following are the excerpts from their conversation : -

Schoolgirl #1: Aaj aayegi khelneko?
Schoolgirl #2: Nahi yaar, mujhe mummy maregi. Geography ka homework karne ka hai, hindi-marathi tuitions ke baad maths classes jaana hai.

Believe me, I have never felt like more of a loser in my life. These kids were barely in the 7th Grade, and had a whole list of what they had to do that evening, plus with no time left over. All of my friends (except Avani, who is my one faithful companion!) have hardly any time for anything, leave alone talk to me. How long is this gonna continue?

I need a job, quick!

College Woes

College is agony, college is a pain,
And this dreary life is driving me insane.
Getting up each morning is like going through hell,
And so is reaching in time, just before the bell.
Listening mindlessly to the professors droning,
Inwardly yawning, dozing and groaning.
And then there’s the jotting down of notes, a charade,
Can college really be fun? Or is it a mirage?

The break is comparatively better than the rest,
But it involves no fun, no zeal or zest.
Why aren’t there any good eateries around?
Other colleges seem to have those, abound.
Have all the cute guys of the place, drowned?
There certainly are none around.
Instead what we find are retarded freaks,
Just moneyed, idiotic, half-baked pricks.

About studies, don’t even get me started,
The stuff we study about is plain retarded
But then again, things could get worse,
I must quit believing my college is a curse.
Now I must go and do something I loathe,
I must pack my bag, set my alarm and snore.
Wake up to a sound that I hate the most,
And get dressed for college, like a half-slept ghost!

(special thankoo to donnie, for helping me out with the rhymes!):

Just Catching Up....

Mumbai had seven bomb blasts in the space of half an hour on Tuesday. So I bet everybody heard. And by everybody, I mean even the blind cat who resides on my neighbour’s bicycle each night. Whatever happened was horrifying, and I hope more than anybody else that the whole of Pakistan, the LeT and SIMI be bombed (when are we going to use those nuclear weapons anyway?). But seriously people, enough ranting and raving and move on! Go out there, try and donate blood, give monetary help, do whatever little you can do, but for Pete’s sake, try and stop making it a charade. What’s with the roses on people’s messenger IDs? And ‘three cheers for Mumbai’ messages on radio? And boo hoooo sob sob stories all over the Times of India? Honestly, how bloody sappy can one get? Around 200 people (and still counting) perished in the blasts. So are you going to tell me how it happened to each person individually? And the experiences of the others who managed to survive? I am sorry, but this does nothing to encourage my positive outlook and sense of security, other than bring me down. What I need right now, is in-depth coverage on what the government is doing (or rather not doing) to capture the persons responsible for this massacre, why they didn’t respond to the intelligence reports they had, what are they doing about prevention of such acts in future. Give me that, and I’ll be prepared to know how someone’s head came right off from the rest of his body. Please, we don’t need gory stories like that.

In other news, there is a careful look by all commuters about the train when the people get in. One woman almost uprooted all the seats. And stray bags on the luggage rack make everyone shifty, hoping the owner would simply get off. Wonder how long this ritual is gonna last. And as usual, the woman next to me, irrespective of who she is, wants to make sick snort sounds. Uncouth bitches. And DP’s gave me a complimentary hair in my sambar too. It was small and curly, so I don’t want to imagine where it came from. Ahem…!

Anyways, nothing much happening in class these days. The usual fools making bigger fools of themselves. ‘Chesty’ making unusually dumb faces today, her drooping mouth almost drooping to her knees. Dear darling ‘Nandi’ looked even more of a bull today, and one of these days, I’m going to bring some fodder for her to chew on in class, to keep her from interrupting a perfectly interesting lecture with stupid doubts. In her defense, I’d say she is quieter these days. But maybe that’s because of, like Avani says, her secret fantasies about all the greenery around college, and how she could be gorging on it. Who else? Poopbag keeps playing idiotic rock songs on her second hand Ngage phone, and singing along in an even more idiotic voice. And will someone please tell her that her new hairdo makes her hair look like a lion’s mane? That is not good hair, that is DAMAGED hair! Get a life please. Agarbatti steadfastly avoids Avani’s gaze and we burst into silent giggles. The loser guy with six inch heel shoes still wears them. Height of hi-utility all-weather shoes.

But then, what would have we done without these idiots to keep us amused? But then, too much amusement from the same people can’t crack us up repeatedly. Someone volunteering to be a fool, please? PLEASE?

What Am I Doing???

A friend visited me, and set me thinking. Am I doing the right thing? Is it the right time? Am I willing to go all the way? He doesn't know it, but the laughter hurt. Deep down inside. I wouldn't mind if it was me. But what he laughed at, is special. Very. I know he didn't mean it. But still......

I hate this feeling. Its familiar. And it brings nothing but sorrow.

I need salvation. But this time, I'm serious.

The Man Of My Dreams

The Man of My Dreams

I walked into the coffee shop, expecting to spot him right away. But then, real life isn’t movies, and the partly crowded café did not betray his identity. I looked around for a man, about thirty-five, average height, perhaps reading a book or solving a crossword. After months of online chatting and phone conversations, I was finally about to meet the man who had unknowingly swept me off my feet. All those months, I was waiting for the moment when he would invite me to meet him, and I would graciously accept the invitation. But it seemed that he wasn’t too interested to meet me. Just when I was about to lose hope, he had invited me over to this nice café, and I had accepted it without sounding too eager.

I had had friends who were married to people they’d met over the net. But it sounded just too fantastic to happen to me. Me, a small town girl who had come to Mumbai to earn her livelihood. I was lonely, even amidst the company of the friends I’d made. No one knew the true me, and I didn’t know anyone. I incidentally toyed with the idea to make net friends; people who you don’t know, but who you can share your thoughts without feeling too guilty about anything. No strings attached, that’s how I like it. After a few weeks into the chatting game, I suddenly saw this person enter the chat room I was in. Karan Mukherjee. Nice name. A conversation with him brought to light that that he was a businessman, an artiste, and held a few exhibitions to his name around once a year. I don’t know why, but every time I saw him come online, I would feel a certain adrenaline gush within me. Soon, chatting with him everyday became a kind of drug for me, something that gave me a high. Phone chats soon followed, and before I realized, I fell in love with him. Why, I don’t know. It was really weird on my part, to fall for a person who I hadn’t ever seen in my life, but only spoken to. But Karan was just so kind, understanding, gentle, polished, charismatic and so…masculine. Who wouldn’t fall for a person like that?
Back to the then present situation, I gave him a missed call on his cell, and I saw this man turning around to look at the entrance of the café. Without further ado, I walked over to him, and before I could say anything, he stood up and said, “You must be Riya. Karan here. Wonderful to be meeting you tonight.”

Hmm…the voice was certainly the same, but his personality was not quite like the one I had in mind. He wasn’t particularly handsome, not even good-looking for that matter, but there was certainly something about him. He had a fine physique, which betrayed his regular gym workouts. Enigmatic eyes; eyes that hid a well-kept secret. Well, he couldn’t be called drop-dead gorgeous; neither could he be called ugly. He was just striking.

But oh my! Talking to him face-to-face was a wonderful experience. Every moment I spent with him, I realized I loved him. He was intelligent, humorous, witty and so many other things. But mainly, he liked me too. He was the first person I had met, who didn’t flinch when I told him that I wasn’t a party animal. He was okay with the fact that I didn’t drink, smoke, go to disco theques and was a loner by choice. He thoroughly understood me and liked me for who I was. I was crazy about him. Meetings, candlelit dinners became characteristic of our relationship. Whenever he had to go on tours regarding business or other reasons, I felt lost. And I knew he did too. Why else would he call me umpteen times a day, even when he was abroad? He knew I missed him, and he missed me too.

One fine day, Karan came up to me and told me he had a surprise for me. He didn’t tell me what it was, but drove me to it. Like a child about to tell someone a big secret, he closed my eyes and gently led me into something which felt like an elevator, but he refused to tell me what the hype was about. My excitement mounted with every passing moment, and then, finally, when he moved his hand from over my eyes, I found myself standing outside a door bearing the nameplate, Riya Saigal. He eagerly opened the door and handed me the keys. “This is our new flat, darling. Let me show you around.” I was too surprised to even react to him. This was Karan, my Karan. Simple and straight-forward. Didn’t even think it was necessary to ask me whether I wanted to move in with him or not. Just took it for granted that I did, because he knew I did want to. He never needs to ask me what I thought about something, he somehow always knew before hand. That is what I loved about him the most. “Well, you’re going to live with me now, so you can stop living as a paying guest,” he firmly said. So then, that was that, I moved in with Karan. And life was never same for me again. The days he couldn't stay with me were nothing short of agony, but at least I was living in the same house as him. Looking at his very clothes or even his keys made me feel good. He had that kind of effect on me.
I love living with him. Karan is my friend, my confidante, my boyfriend, my lover, my support system, my guide and the best roommate ever! He is also a lot of fun. Today I can proudly say that no other woman must be as lucky as I am, to have found her true love over the internet.

Sigh. Even as I’m writing this, I deeply feel his absence, and I desperately await his return. At the moment, Karan is out of town. I miss him so much! This time he isn’t out for business purposes, though. But I’m okay with that. After all, he has to spend some time with his wife and children too!

My Daughter Lives

When I saw my child for the first time minutes after she was born, I couldn’t believe my eyes. How can someone as ugly as me produce something so beautiful? This really couldn’t be my child. My exhausted body demanded rest, and reminded me of all the pains it had taken to bring my baby daughter into this world. But stubborn as I still am, I refused to let her go. Rishi was standing next to me, a proud father. The newly arrived little person had totally enraptured him.

Despite a failing struggle to let her remain with me, the nurse took her from my arms, and asked me to rest. And in spite of myself, I slept a dreamless sleep.
This was fourteen years ago. Since then, life has never been the same for me. Being a mother can be very demanding. But need I say that its also the best thing in the world? A span of fourteen years passing by unnoticed. How could I forget those moments? My infant baby daughter saying her first word “Mama”, and my triumphant smile at Rishi. She standing up for the first time, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and promptly landing down on her backside again. The way she was always scared of crossing the road, like I was at her age. Her cries whenever I got dressed up to go for work. Her joyous laughter at her first toy, a stuffed dog. She falling down an umpteen number of times, but never crying until she I held her in my arms and comforted her. Her excitement at going to playgroup, but her fear at seeing so many other children of her own age. The way she held my hand when she was scared. Her first school uniform and her ecstasy at her pigtails. Her very first holiday in Goa, where we learnt that she was a natural at swimming. When she shyly came and told me about her first crush, at the age of 13. The three of us have shared so many beautiful and tender moments together. How can I forget them?

But then, how can I forget the moments when my baby girl first started vomiting blood? The first time we were told that my Mahika was victim to blood cancer? The first time we were told that she had just six months to live? The first time we told her of the situation and she cried her heart out to us? The time when she stopped going to school because she was entering the last stage of her short life? The pitying looks and phone calls she received from her friends and relatives? The way she struggled to keep happy and cheerful, so that we wouldn’t lose our strength? The way she bravely faced her sessions of chemo-therapy? The times when she used to cry by herself, when she lost her lovely hair? The way she began to wilt before our very eyes and lost the entire colour in her life? The way she bid us goodbye– “Mum, Dad, I love you a lot. Thanks for being so caring. You’re the best.”

But like I knew all along, Mahika didn’t die; I knew she wouldn’t. I never had much faith in the doctor anyway, although Rishi believed him from the start. There I can see my daughter coming home from school. She is so beautiful! No wonder so many guys fall for her. I’d better hurry and get lunch ready; she must be hungry. Although I wish the people in this place, would leave me alone. Do they think I’m mad, that they have kept me locked up in this place? Is cooking for my daughter, washing her clothes a crime? Why do they tie me to the bed this way? Let me go, Mahi is back from school, she needs lunch. Please, someone let me go. My Mahika needs me. Not that stupid injection again, please. Not now, oh please not now! My Mahi must be looking for me. My daughter must be hungry…….

Aimless Post

Today was supremely spent in scratching them itchy arms (for those of you who dunno about this, I've got this allergy thing to the sun, and NOT fleas). So let's sum up this whole thing. I'm fat, I have very minor leukoderma, I have an allergy to the sun AND I bruise easily. In short, you can call me a defective piece. I suppose my parents picked me up from this sale somewhere where export quality babies with a slight defect were being sold cheaper.

Hmm...Interesting theory, but not on me.

I will scoot now, since I have a whole room to clean, and some place to make on the bed for Yashwin and Avani who are coming tomorrow. I do like them a lot and all, but but but...not enough to clean a room overnight without any grudges.

Hmph.

Walk Like An Egyptian....?!?!

Well, erm...I really don't know about walking like an Egyptian or anything. For now, it would be of REAL help if I walked like anything close to a homo sapien (oh, stop giggling at the homo you buncha dunderheads!). Anyway, I shall cease to confuse you about the origins of this post, and reveal how it came by.

Today, on the 14th of June, circa 2006, yours truly gave all the bloody passengers on Dadar station a chance to giggle. Will place the facts in a 'Mid-day'ish manner as follows.

What : Passengers on Dadar Railway Station suddenly burst into guffaws.

When : Approximately at 7:15 a.m.

Why : A clumsy ass girl who is too fat to support her own weight decided to trip over a perfectly normally constructed bridge.

How Long : Around three seconds, but enough for everyone to notice.

Yeah, people. I bruised my pride, my knee (real bad, although i know you're nowhere close to believing me), and gave the guy behind me a chance to bump into my butt. He looked adequately shocked; understandable, since nobody expects a fully (over)grown person to land on all fours in front of you. But the bloody cheek of it all was the fact was that some woman actually had the cunt to complain about the waste of time i was causing. Lady, please... my knee is throbbing, so what would you take to sew your sodding mouth up? and, needless to say, people laughed. *sob!*

I got up, tucking the atom-sized pieces of my leftover dignity into a plastic bag and hurling it away. Without looking left nor right, I started walking straight ahead
like nothing happened in the last thirty seconds. My knee hurt like it was being torn away from me, but my pride hurt even more. I sailed out of station like a poise queen, and even now, I think I only remember the incident because of the HUGE bruise on the knee that ain't letting me forget the bruise in my heart.

And just for that, I solemnly swear to NEVER laugh at a person when he falls, even if I find him sliding on his head collecting all the mud around the place. Morever, I also promise that i shan't fail to dislocate the teeth from the jaw of the individuals who laugh at me, or anybody else, when they lose their balance and jerk to their knees unexpectedly or any other body parts.

I bet from now on, those blasted giggles are gonna run around in my head for quite sometime now.

Now waittaminnit, can you hear a giggle this very minute? *confused*

Nothing, Really.

Its crazy how people have so much to do. I know IITians, people my age coming up with online music magazines (which you can check here, people doing photography, friends with an ambition. Friends who know what they want.

And here i am, no talent, no luck, no hard-work; just an inconsequential lump on the planet finishing the earth's resources needed for other purposes.

Man, i need to get a life!

...And an ambition.

...And some talent.

...and some luck for good measure.

Goodbye cruel world.

I am off.

To admire my new haircut.

PS: Where would I get some readymade success?

Not Fit to Love Me

Attitude… that looks good only on me.
No, not on you, you snotty-faced teen!
Yeah, so you hope to make me your arm candy someday,
Ma fille, believe me that ain’t happening, anyday!
Stop including me in your plans of the future,
Sticking to one person is just not in my nature.
Anyway, you just aren’t my kinda individual,
So let’s just keep this friendship casual.

What’s that? Why am I rejecting you?
Ah well, for that there are reasons more than one or two.
Let’s just not get into the intricacies of that, shall we?
You just aren’t what I would want my soul mate to be.
Why don’t you find someone more compatible?
Someone loving, caring, and even a little gullible?
So sweetie, don’t waste your time, and go find something to do,
Although why you bother to persuade me, I don’t have a clue.

Okay, who am I kidding? I love you more than I can ever express,
And now that I speak about this, I shan’t digress.
Why have you left me behind here, so carelessly?
And I used to think you loved me endlessly.
You didn’t even bother to turn around and give me a look,
Pah! For all your silly promises, you turned out to be a crook.
Nyah, now don’t bother, it won’t make a difference,
I’m closing the file on you now, kindly pardon my indifference.....

Rib-Tickling Things heard in the Train (Muktaisms are present in brackets, of course!):

Lady # 1 (in rude voice) : Please take your newspaper aside, it might hurt me.
Lady #2 (cannot believe her ears) : Its just a newspaper, woman! Not an elephant wrapped in tissue paper. How can it hurt? (Hee hee…bravo!)

College going gal (On the phone, supposedly to boyfriend) : No re, I won’t buy the red one. I know you hate red. And anyway, you said black lingerie looks best on me! (Uh huh, sure…but nothing's what looks best on ya, baby!)

Woman (On the phone, to relative) : I am on my way to your place. I am bringing some mango milkshake and idlis from Sheetal. We shall start main course with that…(ugh! Mango milkshake and idlis, together? Really?)

Man (to his friend) : ... And remember the time we lined his butt crack with butter? Hardy har har… (Doooooode…are you saying you unzipped a friend’s pants, turned him over, separated his butt cheeks, and actually put your finger(s) in there?)

Woman (to two other women, assuming discreet tone) : And you know? When I phirst deed eet with my hujhband na, I got verrry bad boils down over there. We couldn’t do all such activiteez for a month. (Erm… just a leeetle doubt there. Will this particular gem of a conversation classify under ‘rib-tickling’ or ‘bile-rising’???)

Guy (to pregnant wife) : You’re in a Virar? Be careful, haan. I don’t want you to bring our baby in your hand…. Hahahaa…. (Mister, a Virar train is all about squeezing your insides outta you. So if your baby’s in there, see that it isn’t ‘out of hand’!)

Well, now do you know why train journeys can hardly be a bore?

A Daylight Robbery!

Traveling in the train the other day, I felt a vast someone practically flop down on my lap. I turned to look at a really fat foreigner, sitting with one ass on my thigh and the other one on another lady. We both shot her filthy looks, but she was oblivious to them.
Cursing under my breath (she was really humungous!), I returned to my book. At just about that time, she noticed that a part of me existed under her, and readjusting herself she said, Oh, so sorry! I felt my anger ebbing away, and she gave me a sweet smile. I smiled back, and balanced my back on my lap this time. In case she decided my lap was a better place to sit on, or something.
Some time passed in sheer peace, when a vendor stepped in with an assortment of imitation jewellery. The foreigner beckoned him towards her, and he came to us yelling and screaming. He pickled everyone’s ears with constantly yelling Ae yerringsssssss, benglesssssssss, ringssssss layyyyyyyyyyyy.
Anyway, the foreigner (obviously new to the place) eyed all the (downright UGLY) jewellery like it was Swarovski crystal sold in a sale. She pointed to a pair of earrings, and the boy took then off the stand for her to admire.
She carefully looked at them for a while, and decided that that was what she had to buy. She asked him the price, and he said Char Sau Rupaiyya. I did a double take on that one. The firang turned to me to ask me how that would be. Four hundred rupees, I said. She looked pretty pleased with the sum Quite a steal, she remarked. I gave the vendor a dirty look, and thought it was time I took bloody matters in my own hands. So while the woman was rummaging in her purse, looking for four hundred bucks, I gently patted her arm. She looked up at me. The earrings are worth just ten bucks, twelve at the most, I told her. WHAAAATTTT? Oh my gaawwd! She exclaimed. Yep, lady. You can’t come to India and spend four hundred bucks in a train.
She rapidly zipped up her purse and started looking out of the window like nothing had happened in the last five minutes. The boy gave her a puzzled look, Oye madam, jaldi karo. Utarne ka hai mereko! he told her. The woman gave him one look, and yelled, I DON’T WANT TO BUY ANYTHING FROM YOU,YOU…YOU… BLOODY CHEAT!
After this dramatic outburst, everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY jumped in their seats. A small kid even started crying at this rude interruption to her sleep. Then the most bizarre thing happened. The woman just gave me a swift hug, and I almost died with astonishment. After the neck and back-breaking gesture, she gave me a sweet smile. Thank you so much for warning me. I couldn’t afford to get cheated since I want to wire money to my mum, back in England. I guess every rupee counts, eh? Thank you so much! she exclaimed, gratefully.
Having a great feeling in the heart region, I realized I had done my good deed for the day.

A REALLY funny thing happened the other day. I have a (brand crazy) friend, who I don’t prefer talking to much these days. Two years ago, we were the best of buddies, the kind who are just a little more than friends. Well, we stopped talking because of some crappy political reasons. Yes, people. I wish I was kidding, but I’m so not. Well, it’s a long story, and I don’t want to indulge in the gory details. But stuff like, I hate Maharashtrians and I am a Communist, does your friendship no good.

The day before, two other friends, Mr. Pseudo Yechuri and myself were to meet up to discuss a new venture we are contemplating. I messaged everybody to inform them of the place we to haunt that evening and at what time, namely the nearest McDonald’s (burgers go great with discussions!).

After receiving my message, Mr. Red calls me up. The following are the excerpts.

Him: Hey! Just got your message.
Me: Hmm…What about it?
Him: Wanted to talk about that.
Me: (confused) Oooookay….!
Him: Can we meet someplace else?
Me: Why?
Him: I try and avoid McDonald’s these days.
Me: Is it because of the mouldy cheese and stale bread you came across two years ago?
Him: Erm….no…not really…
Me: There is a Pizza Hut a stone’s throw away, in that case.
Him: Erm…no….not that either….
Me: (exasperated) Then where? Café Coffee Day? Barista?
Him: Erm… no… not really….
Me: (extremely irritated) And just why not?
Him: You won’t understand if I tell you.
Me: (back to being confused) Are you against fast food or something?
Him: Erm…no…not really…
Me: If you say that ONE more time, I shall go and scream into a pillow!
Him: Er…This may sound ridiculous to you, but I avoid places like Pizza Hut, McDonald’s and the others you just mentioned.
Me: (very very VERY confused) And why on earth is that?
Him: I try and avoid places with foreign capital investments. And since you know how I am about food, I might end up eating something, which I don’t want to do.
Me: You’re right, it does sound ridiculous.
Him: Well, that’s what I believe in. So I can’t really help it if it sounds ridiculous to you.
Me: Well okay, I’ll think of another place and let you know.
Him: Sounds good. Bye then.
Me: Bye.

So according to my friend, the moral of the story is that if you support the Communists, you’re not to sit and eat in a restaurant which has its roots in some capitalistic country. But its okay to wear Jeans manufactured by companies like Levis, Pepe, Wrangler and shoes by Sprandi, Reebok. Oh yeah, a Nokia phone doesn’t hurt too. Just no eating stuff, okay? You might get thrown outta the party if they know you shat capitalist shit that morning. Blasphemy!

Samjhe, bhidu? Now do you blame me if I don’t talk to him unless absolutely necessary?

'Life' Of Misery

Played Life with Sonam the other day. The jingle of the goddamned game had a good three to four dismal voices howling You can be a winner in the game of Life! Sorry. I respectfully disagree. I DIDN’T win today! Come to think of it, I NEVER win! This just goes to show, that all the evil forces have come together to conspire against me to let me have what I exactly don’t want from life.

Lets speculate. If my life goes according to the game board, I will be driving all around the phases of life (in an ugly purple car), with a husband stashed somewhere in the back seat. What’s more, I can be as thin as that pink peg only in a game. That makes me morose. So as I was saying, we began by acquiring a degree each, she a lawyer’s and I, a doctor’s. We are supposed to be getting $50,000 each pay day. Now the nice things in the game, I have noticed, are not a part of my life. Stuff like the salary ($50,000!!!), for instance, or Sell ice cubes, win $120,000, or maybe even Find famous paintings, collect (a whopping) $480,000! However, I’m perfectly capable of having an uncle who will leave me a skunk farm as inheritance, for which I have to give up $200,000 of hard-earned money, let me add. That’s not all. The same uncle (I’m presuming he’s the same fucker) got himself into jail and I had to bail him out. The bail cost me $2,000. Can someone please give me an uncle worth writing about? An aunt (again, I assume it’s the same uncle’s wife), left me 50 blind cats, whose maintenance I had to pay twenty fucking grand for. Give me a break please. Will someone arrest these stupid troublemakers and keep them locked up for the rest of their miserable lives? Now for that maintenance, I will gladly pay whatever it takes. Turns out, they are not an end to the trouble. The real woe lies in the fact that Sonam has relatives who actually leave her cattle ranches, money and other goodies. Hmph. I hate my life. It breaks my heart to even write about each of the bad things I went through. So I will mention some of them as briefly as possible ( sniff) :

1) Goats ate my prize orchids worth $100,000. (I wish those goats years of sex with the Satan. I hope it HURTS.)

2) I had to save a polluted lake worth $240,000. (Why should I save it? Did I pollute it? I don’t recall peeing, shitting, vomiting or abetting anybody else to do the above mentioned activities. THEN WHY THE HELL I’M I PAYING FOR IT?)

3) I had to donate $10,000 to favourite charity. (Excuse me…erm…I don’t have a favourite charity. Yay! Both of us feel so much holier after you took the money I had saved for a knee surgery…)

4) I had to purchase false teeth worth $2,000. (Yes, folks. After selling off all my regular teeth to purchase them, I was kinda hoping that they’d be made of platinum and studded with rare gems. But all I got was regular looking false teeth. Then, why the atom bomb?)

5) I apparently need to buy a helicopter worth $100,000. (I didn’t ever see my money again, nor the aforesaid helicopter.)

6) Ruddy troublemaker uncle who-needs-to-die-and-come-back-as-something-useful is back! This time, he needs a car which I have to pay for worth $100,000. (Have I gotten a degree and a good salary to pay off all these people’s debts? Remember this, if you have uncles who like to piggy back off your efforts, NEVER get a good job.)

5) And yeah, whatever earnings I was supposed to get, like Win Nobel Prize, collect $120,000 or Climb Mount Everest, collect $250,000, were distributed evenly amongst Sonam and I, all because she had a ‘Collect Card’. This particular card can help the person get half of the amount I collect at a particular space. The ruddy sponge. I mean, its fun to sponge off other people, but not when someone whacks such large amounts from you.

Yes people, she went on to become a millionaire before me. The person who becomes the millionaire gets an additional $240,000 and a $48,000 bonus for every bastard kid. Which goes on to remind me, that I produced kids in three consecutive turns, and Sonam gave me no present. Her husband was apparently infertile after the first attempt, so they went on to adopt a son and daughter, both for which I had to gift the couple. Aaaaargh!

There were some good things about the game though. For instance, every Pay Day was fun. Added a bit to my bank balance. Also the money I fleeced from Sonam gave me ounces of pleasure. But she fleeced me more, mind you. Apart from that, getting royalties for writing bestsellers is also good. So in short, there was more agony involved than gaining anything. So, the next time, I will propose to play only if my only opponent is a two-year-old kid. Although, one can’t deny the chances that he might win.

Just one thing though. Can you tell me one place where I can redeem all those dollar notes for real cash?

Ask Yourself Sometimes....

The eye of my mind is totally dark,
What would do it good is a walk in a park.
I need to feel fresh breeze move through my hair,
Goodness knows I could do with rejuvenating air.
I wish I was a child, with bruised, scabby knees,
Feeling like conquering the world, atop seemingly tall trees.
This wandering mind just struck a thought,
I want to strike while the iron is hot.
Why can't humans stop being high-and-mighty?
Cease being uppity, pretentious and haughty?

Always are we caught in the mad rush of things,
Having no time for play and fun, or enjoy creaky swings.
Is this the perfect life for we sweat for and want?
What does this give you apart from a frail body and a face, gaunt?
Sometimes, for yourself learn to live,
Don’t watch your life slip by like through a sieve,
Don’t grow up to an old age of regret,
Sorry thoughts, repentance, is all you’ll beget.
So just remember those good old childhood days and smile,
Its not worth sacrificing everything just for that extra mile!

All's Not Lost!

Whoever said a 26” waist is just right?
Don’t mope about a pair of pair of pants, tight.
Go ahead, gorge on your favourite food,
Drink those canned juices, pamper your mood.

Looking for clothes your size is not a great matter,
Meanwhile, keep praying that you’re friends get fatter.
And yeah, chubby people generally have cute faces,
And have a few extra calories stopped people from reaching places?

Eat, drink and be merry is my motto of life,
“Thin is beautiful” is all pure tripe.
What’s so sexy about a skinny arm?
In the coziness of your hugs, lies the real charm.

So don’t be reluctant, don’t hesitate,
Tickle your taste buds and don’t watch your weight.
Cheer up people, think yourself indispensable,
Versus a skinny mini, a fat person is invincible!

Startling Bike Noises

I happened to be walking in my gully one afternoon, waiting for my friend to turn up, when I heard a bike make stuttering sounds. That was really eerie, since the lane was totally deserted. No bikers, no stray dogs, no passersby, not even prying neighbours who take a peek out of the window whenever they have time on their hands (which is quite often). Being a little timid in nature, I got a teeny bit alarmed (read phat gayi). For once I wished there were strays (I hate them too, but they’re definitely and infinitely better than unidentified bike noises), or neighbours (who would hope to catch a glimpse of whoever I was waiting for, even better if it was a guy). Since I’m the kind of person who backs off from the scene of the crime rather than go headlong into it, I went farther and farther from the sound. Probably for the first time in my life, I was a bit curious though, to know the source of the sound. I couldn’t even remotely spot a bike anywhere around. So what was with the noise? Hesitantly, I started walking towards it, ready to flee if something leaped at me. But nothing jumped at me and said boo, so I continued walking, my stride becoming more confident with each step. I reached the car where the sound seemed to come from (a car making bike noises? Weird!) and cautiously peeked behind it.
Now I need you to understand this. There was a bike behind the car. Now for the sake of heaven and all his cherubic angels’ DON’T ask me silly questions like how come you didn’t see it? because I’m not blind, you know. The car was parked between the bike and the road, get it? Well, I know you don’t. The fucking car and the bike were parallel to the gutter running along the edge of the road. So if you obviously stood facing the doors of the car, the bike was hidden. Now do you get it? Next, you ask yourself (or me) why were the bloody vehicles parked like this? The only probable answer is, to help me get royally seasoned in the sun whilst I waited for the friend. The next thing that pops into your head is, why was the bike making a sound? Ah, yes. That is because, my so-not-absent-minded neighbour left his keys in the bike, and didn’t even bother to shut it. Yes. The cheek of it all.
Like a good girl, I went up to him and said Krish, your keys are in the ignition of the bike. And your bike’s still sputtering. I was so proud of myself. I do have journalistic skills I suppose, I was at the scene of the offense, and I solved the mystery with true detective valour. He interrupted my chain of pleasant thoughts and said, Tu leke nahi aa sakti kya? Jaa leke aa chaabi. Translated I’m a bastard and I had arranged for my bike to be stolen. Now that you’ve foiled my plans, you might as well go and get the keys. Without airing my thoughts, I meekly went down and got him the god-forsaken keys.
My opinion of him drastically changed when he promised me a bike ride and an ice cream at Baskin Robbins the next afternoon. Yum yum! I’m prepared to forgive anything when offered any form of ice cream.
The next day, I fell ill with a bad tummy upset.
And the day after that, my neighbour flew back to Canada, where he had come from.
And the time after that, I vowed to keep my detective skills to myself, as they are thankless.

Years of M-A-T-H-S

In nineteen years of my life, there are very few things that my thick skull hasn’t penetrated. Maths, being one the ones that haven’t. Its funny how numbers have an uncanny way of multiplying into different totals every time I try to work out a stupid sum. I’m being man enough to admit, that I sucked at the subject. And more so because of mum. Now that I’ve grown up, I know that mum’s arithmetic stinks too (she got 8 on 50 in a stinker class test), but I assume she got some sort of a sadistic pleasure in seeing a defenseless soul struggle with fractions and decimals. I cried and I sobbed and I gave her teary-eyed looks that would melt a yeti, but no, my mother was unmoved. No, I’m not saying that the woman has no emotions, but when it comes to maths, she transforms into this monster with no pity on helpless babies.
Of all the stupid bullshit involved with maths, like trigonometry (if I find person who came up with this singularly most annoying concept, I will dig him or her from his or her grave and make him or her eat his own bloody organs after painfully disemboweling him or her), BODMAS (that sounds like the name of a bra manufacturing company), simultaneous equations (simultaneous with what? Cussing?), I have had most trouble getting along with multiplication tables. I still can’t do the ruddy things. I hate them, abhor them, and wouldn’t even wish them on Isha (this girl who makes my face flush with uncontrollable rage and bottled up plans for a successful homicide). But I will not digress, and come back to those worthless multiplication tables. I detest them more than normal quantities because of my dear darling mother.
At the beginning of every, and I mean EVERY eagerly-awaited vacation, a vacation I used to wither away anticipating, a vacation in the pursuit of which I patiently bore the injustice inflicted on me during schooldays with the patience of saints, martyrs and philanthropists put together and the only time of the year I looked forward to for innumerable reasons, my mother used to make me learn multiplication tables by rote. Every fucking vacation. Where are those mums in TV serials and movies, who actually hand their kids a basketball and watch them go and play? All lies, I tell you. The cheek of it all. I had to come home half an hour early, leaving in half a cricket or lagori match, and do those tables. I accomplished little, except wet my notebooks with XXL sized tears, as I heard my friends shout with laughter and fun. Maybe that explains why I had to do the same set of tables the next year; the bloody cunts miraculously evaporated from my memory store promptly after I managed to get them in, just like stupid mischievous kids. So I generally ended up doing the same things I sacrificed my social life for, the previous year.
I vividly remember sitting at my table with my books, cursing my luck, my mum, my friends and my fate with all the swear words I could muster back then. My mum would sit right behind me with a book, and I died to get back to my Enid Blytons, if not my friends. Its decent manners to at least pretend you’re doing something boring, to make me feel better. I used to ask her some doubts, just to kill time. And since I never paid attention while she answered them, I would be in a fix if I was faced with the same problem again. So, if she sensed I wasn’t exactly paying attention, I got a back-breaking thump in the middle of a sum. Or a doubt solving quest. Or anything that convinced her I wasn’t doing a task at hand. Down came her hand on her back. Or maybe my shoulder; let’s just say any place she got. After the initial shock ebbed off, I would settle down into my chair, trying to work out the problem on my own, more befuddled than ever. In a blinding flash of insight I’d go to the last page of my book and find all the working to that very sum. Well, if she’d known we’d done it before, she could have said so. Why get into a fist fight? Mums sure are strange.
Anyway, needless to say, I am finally free of that dreaded and detested subject. Now, I sit back and giggle (and point fingers) at my friends, who are pursuing engineering and the likes. They struggle, they suffer, they bury their heads in despair, and look at me with mounting frustration. I am full of poise, dignity and not to mention lots of free time. Which is exactly why, I have time to sit for hours at my pc, churn up posts that are no use to mankind, listen to my favourite music, with a cup of steaming coffee (provided by the same woman who tormented me so much during those sinfully boring hours), with nothing to do apart from curling up in bed and reading W. Somerset Maugham’s Mrs. Craddock.
Man, I love my life!