Roshan's back..!!

I jumped off the plane and found that my parachute wasn’t opening. No, in fact I was just knocking at Roshan’s door. I mean, that’s how it would feel standing there knowing that his mom would open the door. In just a few seconds the door cranked open treating my ears with a few silly noises. I would have been charred to death and instantly evaporated (due to ‘shock’), if it was someone other than his mom at the door. I mean only she had to open the door, at least to piss me off. Anyway, as usual she looked at me as if she had wasted her precious time just to open the door for me. She said- “He’s in the room. Sleeping” and vanished into the kitchen. I entered the hall and I felt this weird thought passing through my brain; I felt like I was playing ‘ball’ with a chimpanzee in an American zoo. Don’t ask for further explanations please. Then I noticed Roshan’s 8 year old brother sleeping on the sofa. I felt like watching a Lion making love with a deer. I mean, I never thought that was possible.

Finally I stepped into Roshan’s room and that idiot was sleeping too. I was kissing that chimpanzee by now. As I walked towards him to shake him up, I heard him talking in his sleep- “Sorry ma’am, I didn’t come to school because my grandfather died yesterday……. Oh Last week?? Errrrr… Oh ya, my grandmother died last week……… ohh is it? Then maybe it’s my grandmother’s sister…………” he went on. I thought about the job in hand; how to wake this guy up from sleep? Finally, I grabbed my cell phone and played one of Himesh Reshammia’s nasal growls and Roshan jumped out of his bed like a ghost. He stared at me, rubbed his eyes and said- “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah. What were you doing in school man? I thought you would be running around trees with that ‘Air Hostess’ girl.”

“What to do macha! Last night I was thinking about that day when we begged our School principal for attendance. You remember?”

“Yeah. But WE didn’t beg. It was YOU who begged and almost cried.” I reminded him.

“Shut up macha. Otherwise, he would have informed our parents about what we did that day.” He reminded me of things I had tried all my life to forget.

“Hey, how about we go meet them now? Our school teachers I mean. It’ll be nice after such a long time.”

“Get lost. No way.”

In ten minutes, we were in his car heading to school; he was driving and I was praying. He took a sharp right turn and my heart almost skidded towards my ribs. He was not a bad driver; he was a terrible driver. Just when I started thanking god that we were just a kilometer away from our destination, he applied brakes and brought the car to a sudden halt. He turned and stared at me with his round eyes. He looked like the male version of Rakhi Sawanth. He behaved like a pressure cooker, as though invisible steam blew out from his ears. I got scared; I got tensed. I recited my last prayers. I tested my lost voice and enquired- “What’s up? What happened?”

As though like the whistling of a cooker, he exhaled, hit me on my head and said- “Stupid. It’s Sunday today. The school will be closed.” He was right; I felt silly, I felt ashamed. I felt- like a Superman without powers; like a crow without wings; like James Bond posing without pants. On the other hand, Roshan’s face glowed victoriously, as though he had fought the war and won the princess.

Anyway, we just had to roam around the school, literally and head back home. In an hour, we were back at the door of his house waiting for his mom to open. As usual, she never disappoints. She stared hard at me and told Roshan- “One more time I see you wearing that T-shirt, I’ll not let you in.” I knew that was for me. As ever I didn’t care. If I’d cared, by now I would have invited you all for my tenth 'Death Day' celebrations. Anyway, I entered in and Roshan’s brother who had woken up by now was in full action like those dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. As usually he hurled his plastic monkey at me and I dodged it with perfection and grace. But I had enough for the day. I collected my bike’s keys and disappeared from there in 3.2 seconds.

“A day spent with Roshan is called a ‘Stupid-day’. It is also known as ‘Everyday’.”


The Week, That Was..!!

People of my street are planning to demand for a separate state. James Bond uncle would be the Chief Minister and Mr. I-know-everything-except-what-my-daughter-is-doing will be the Home minister (Oh My God, what an irony!). I’m planning to put my tenant into the Anti-terrorism squad. He would strip even an ant and check for bombs. I mean, he belongs there; the over-smart category. Next house Granny would be our Government’s official spokesperson; this is just to make sure that our media persons need not search elsewhere for entertainment. Hey wait, who am I? I’m the boss; they bow their heads, they fall onto my feet. I’m the only Citizen; I’m the one who’ll vote.

On a serious note, this is the biggest blunder committed by the UPA government thus far. Such a hasty decision was uncalled for. The Demand for Telangana wasn’t anything novel, it has a history limping 30 years back in time. But having said that, how can one neglect the implications it would cast on the rest of the country. Moreover it is not that KCR and his party have votes in their backyard to orchestrate his dramas and skits. Whatever the heck it is, it’s no good politics; it’s no good society.

Anyway that much for politics; that much for bullshit. Let’s talk about something more serious now. I would have jumped into a well to commit suicide at 3pm Saturday; Reason- A girl. Yeah, apparently the girl was 3 years old and her mummy was careless. It was in a general store that the girl noticed me wearing shorts. She wasted no time and began singing- “Shame shame puppy shame..” All the silly ladies around gaped at me as though I was standing naked on a dais or something. They tried their best to hide their laughter while I tried my best to control myself from dying at once. Anyway, I was wondering if I should actually share this silly incident here on my blog, but now that I have, you are welcome to throw anything you can grab on to, at my blog.

Anyway, guys I am sorry, I’ve finally updated my blog, but the fact remains that I’ve done it just for the sake of it. I didn’t/don’t know what to write. Until the tube light in my head glows back again, please wait. I’ll come up with something which might be worth a read this time. (Hey you! Put those raised eye-brows back to its place, at once!)
See you guys. Go on, share your stories of the recent past on the comments page; it’s always open. If ‘No’ is your answer, I’m not the type who would borrow a hanky, so don’t worry.
Have a gr8 Week ahead. Loosen up. Relax. Except for rare life-and-death matters, nothing is
as important as it first seems. Enjoy!! 

P.S- If you have children of age around 3, please teach them manners. :P


P.S- Snow, for me is Grey..!!

(I wrote this for Writers Lounge. The theme being 'Winter stories'. It was written with a word limit of 400 words. And for a change, it has no humor. :))

Some kind of a realization dawned. He troubled his old muscles as he glanced up at the somber sky and scratched his chin- “It will only get worse.” His cheeks were sunken and hollow; his eyes depicted poverty. It was Christmas and he was at work; he poked at the far side of the grave with his spade and it split wide open.

I love Christmas, more so for the gifts that continues to flow into the next day, my Birthday. Adoring the season’s first snow fall outside my little window, I awaited my tenth birthday. My dad owns a bakery, my mom’s a school teacher. There’s another boy in my home; dad says he’s my brother. My mom's love towards me is infinite. I love her but I hate my dad. For two reasons- he gifts nicer things to my brother; He never talks to mom. Meanwhile, the snowfall intensified and I noticed mom. She sat in a corner, her eyes, as though set deep inside their sockets. I waited for dad as she sat still, dangerously still.

He cursed the relentless snowfall, which was making his job tougher. But he had to do it, for his living. His face appeared as though it had lived with pain as a constant companion. He leaned over his spade and started to dig again.

My mom hadn’t moved an inch, I got tensed. Just then my dad arrived. He surprised me with a hug and hurried towards mom and put his arms over her shoulder. Her head collapsed into his chest. For the first time I noticed a tear drop down my dad’s cheeks. He shook her face vigorously until finally mom moved. That relieved me; the snow outside appeared better now.

He finished his job of digging, covered his face with a scarf against the snow and waited impatiently.

Within a minute, I saw my mom burst into tears. My dad hugged her and brought her to me. My mom hugged me tight; she didn’t want them to put me into the coffin. I couldn’t hug her back, I couldn’t say I loved her, I couldn’t even cry. The snow turned grey to my eyes yet again.

I had to be taken to the graveyard; the old man was waiting. I made him struggle, but I made his Christmas. My parents, I love them. By the way, my name is Kevin.



My Street's Ramayan..!!

In my street, there are two girls with the same name, both their dads bald and of course irritating. Both the Priyankas spent a lot of their high school days staring at me. Like all intelligent girls, they stopped it once I started staring back. Their dads, whom I suppose had an antenna fixed to their bald heads started receiving bad signals. Priyanka1’s dad, Mr. I-am-a-Disco-Dancer came to me one day and said “I know your dad very well.” The dumb fellow I was then, I thought – “so what?” Anyway, Priyanka2’s dad Mr. I-know-everything-other-than-what-my-daughter-is-doing wasn’t posing a problem. At least I thought so. P2’s mom wasted no time in setting her husband’s antenna right and since then, they never missed an opportunity to hurl very dirty looks at me. But man, it was too much. It was not that I had taken the girls out for a date or something. All I did was to just exhibit a small little, harmless, not-so-innocent smile. I do that with my neighbouring granny too (“not-so-innocent” doesn’t apply here). And more over, not that I see those Priyankas everyday. They are like our street’s VVIPs. You can’t catch them unless you fix a chair outside their gate and wait for them whole day long. Anyway, it’s been a long time now and I’m not interested in them at all. Thought of writing this after an incident that happened just this morning. Mr. I-am-a-Disco-Dancer crashed his 2-wheeler onto me. I didn’t fall. He fell. (Hope those antennas are broken now.)

Then to Mr. James Bond. Just opposite to my house, stays a young man of age 65. He rides a ‘Scooty Pep’ and wears a psychopath killer’s rain coat. He starts all his replies with- “No pa, it’s naat like that.” I can have a never ending conversation with him; the trick- I also start my reply with- “No uncle. It’s not like that.” It never ends, I tell you. Just last week, I had a Cricket discussion with him. He stated his theories on a few technical stuff and I bet if a professional cricketer had heard that, he would have committed a violent suicide. But he’s a nice man; he gifted me a blue Rain-coat and a wrist watch which had a Mickey-Mouse in it.

Then to my neighboring Granny. She is our street’s News agency. From who bought which television set to whose wife is pregnant, she knows it all. If there is one human being that I pity the most, it is her servant maid. Poor lady, I just hope at times, she was deaf and dumb. My mom talked to granny a couple of days back and brought me news that P1 is doing her MBA now. She also informed that P1’s dad, Mr. I-am-a-Disco-Dancer is a rich man. See, what all I get to hear and what all gets me tempted? :P

And finally, there is this tenant of ours, a newly married guy working in IBM. He thinks an earth-quake happens once in every week. He goes to work at 10 and is back by 5; doesn’t work from home. He gets a head massage every Sunday because he thinks he is stressed out. His wife doesn’t know anything but hindi; my mom hardly knows any hindi; when both of them talk I’d rather get a packet of pop-corn, throw all the movie CDs aside, sit and enjoy.

Anyway, now I’ll throw the ball into your court. Any interesting neighbors?? Any interesting characters?? Do share.

Until next time- yenjoyyy. ;)


When I was SULTAN..!!

“Every day I get to hear some or the other forts falling into his hands. I don’t care what you do, Afzal Khan, my friend, I want him dead.” I said with an angry face, loud voice and a wicked smile.

I was in class 5 when it struck to my parents that they needed to make me Mr. Nice Boy. My mom turned to her colleagues, her Google search, for suggestions. It wouldn’t ‘shock’ me if I’d kissed an electric pole, but it certainly would if her colleagues didn’t have a suggestion to offer or an opinion to share. So, as expected, they sprung into action and suggested a ‘Personality Development’ camp which was to be held far outside the city. Talking about those colleagues, someday I will shoot them and go to jail surely. Anyway, about the camp; we had to camp in for 10 days; we would be woken up at 4 and made to lift our hands and legs; I mean, we were taught yoga. A little of cleaning, praying, eating, sleeping, bhajan-ing fabricated the rest of the day. It was after dinner (at 6.45 pm) that the actual fun began; things like plays and dances. We were split into groups and I fell into a group called ‘Shivaji’. Our group had four guys (including me) and three girls, one of which I would name Miss. Stare, would stare at me at a rate of 30 glances per minute. I didn’t like her.

“I will bring him dead in 24 hours, Sultan” Afzal Khan, who resembled a skeleton promised, bowing down. “I’ll look forward to it my friend” I patted on his cane-like back and let out an evil look. Miss Stare made a signal to me that I had to leave the stage for Chatrapathi Shivaji to enter. I didn’t like her at all.

“I wand you to read this book gombletely today” our group’s new instructor announced in a Mallu accent and handed over the mini-sized book on Shivaji. We gombletely read the book and waited for him the next day. He examined each of us top to bottom; shameless I say. It took him 2.6 seconds to decide that I should be the villain, The Sultan Of Bijapur. The skeleton guy became Afzal Khan and the other became Shivaji. I objected- “Sir, this Shivaji is just half of me.” He showed us that he had a smile and said- “ You dond worry. Shivaji should be simble.” Miss Stare giggled at me until she learned about her part in the play; she along with another girl had to escort the Sultan of Bijapur ( that’s me) to my chair. I explored options as to how best I could piss her off, but ultimately satisfied myself with a teeth-exhibiting smile. This girl gets on my nerves. Anyway, the practice began in full swing. I practiced my dialogues and evil looks outside kitchens, outside toilets, everywhere. Shivaji practiced killing while I and Dr. Skeleton practiced dying.

“Not with me Afzal Khan” Shivaji punctured Afzal’s chest with his cardboard knife, and headed straight to the Sultan Of Bijapur, who was rejoicing with his girls.

The day had come and it was time for me to enter the dais. I wore someone’s churidhar, had a yellow colored half-moon painted on my forehead, tied a cloth around my waist, pushed my wooden sword through it and walked to my chair with the two girls escorting me. I had to walk like a chess champion, as though I had to think deep about my next step. Doing so, I reached the big chair and sat but immediately jumped out like a spring. That damn sword was poking. So got up, pulled it out and then sat. I could notice even the last row of people laughing like mad dogs. But I was a man, whose heart was made of steel. I sprung up, blasted my dialogues blowing off a few ear-drums thereby killing all the surrounding laughter and restored pin-drop silence in the hall (of around 150 people). Afzal Khan walked in wearing something resembling a frock, but again, a man made of steel wouldn’t giggle, so I grabbed the opportunity to shut up; then continued with my dialogues and exited with ultimate grace. My part was surely a hit, I thought. Only thing remaining for me was to get killed by that tiny little Shivaji.

“How dare you try to kill me” Shivaji tripped my foot, held me with my back resting on his arm and pushed his knife into my chest. That was it; I had kicked the bucket; I was dead.

Shivaji was supposed to drop me on to the ground gently but just before he could do that I heard him grasping for breath- “ Hey, oaahhh.. I am not able to hold on…aaaa…” even before he could complete it, let his hands off me and I fell real hard on to the ground. bloody damn idiot.. I wondered what an irony it would create if I got up and killed him. But anyway, the great fall incidentally turned out to be the best part of the play; a blood-pumping action scene.

Later as I was exiting the stage, I observed Miss. Stare laughing like she hadn’t for a decade. God, I hated her.

P.S- Unfortunately, nobody took photographs of the play that day. Leave alone snaps, that damn place did not have a single mirror for me to even see how I looked.

P.P.S- My parents' colleagues are still a pestering lot. What to do??


My Morning..!!

“Monicaaaaaaaaa….. Oh my darling…” RD Burman’s voice trickled through my peaceful ears as the clock struck 7 in the morning. If there was someone who knew how to wake me up, it was my dad. As I struggled through the process of opening my eyes, I noticed my dad standing like a policeman. “Don’t you remember that you have to go give your blood sample for the blood test?” he reminded me. I’m a man of silence and not violence, so woke up and began to make the walk to the bathroom. “Don’t get settled in your white house” another timely reminder. I remained silent and dragged myself into the loo. It was ironical, me being silent. I mean, just before I was woken up, I was having a heated argument with my dad in my dreams. Such a thing is possible only in my dreams, but that’s totally a different issue. Anyway, within fifteen minutes I was ready. By now, my dad was behind the wheel in the car, again Mr. RD Burman’s trumpets going wild. We breezed through the empty roads to the lab.

“Sir 420.” The lady behind the counter appealed to me.

“What (the hell)?”

“Rs. 420 sir.” She smiled.

Once I paid, I was escorted into a small cabin where a woman was waiting with a needle (ok, syringe). She began a search operation; where to poke this fellow. Finally, she smiled, I smiled and the blood was sucked. My God, my blood looked the darkest shade of maroon, almost brown. Finished this ‘bloody’ business with another smile and went back to the car. RD Burman never got tired, nor did my dad. Dad hit the accelerator and we were off. If you thought we were heading back home, you just put your leg into the gutter. No, my dad wouldn’t stop unless it was a hotel. He takes me hotels of his college time and puts me through his college stories. It was one such hotel; it was non vegetarian. For the first time I had non-veg for breakfast. It was so spicy that one could spot a waterfall from my eye and nose. Even small kids dint miss a stare.

We travelled another 5 kms to have the best tea and then headed home. The lion spotted the deer and was ready to attack. Sorry, I just meant to say that my mom was waiting for me. She literally blew steam into my ears- “Now, who will eat the breakfast that I prepared? Eat the same thing for lunch.” The orders came. So, here I am, the man of silence writing this post in search of some sympathy. I’ve made lunch plans with my friend already. Now how can I go keep my head into the lion’s mouth? Wats the way out?? Let’s see.

I actually also wanted to write about a play, that I had acted in, while in school. But I guess long posts are boring. Anyway, I’ll write about it very soon. Guess what, I was killed by Chatrapathi Shivaji in that play. :P

(Just this thing. Let me know your opinion. I’ve never written such stuff on my blog until recently. It has always been some fiction story or something. Always thought, such meaningless rants would be boring for people who read it. I actually still feel so. Let me know, if I should rather just write my usual thing or if such writes are okay? )

Have a super-duper weekend. Try to do nice things for people who will never find out. Yenjoyyy..!! :- :-)


Stupidity Paradise..!!

It was as much as a week ago when I rubbed my eyes as it almost popped out like pop-corn when I noticed Roshan turning the ‘volume’ knob to the left. Apparently it wasn’t one of those songs where guys with long hair rattled their lungs out or put aged hearts into mouths. Instead, it was an old, romantic, soothing number. Since I am not consecrated with super natural powers, this sudden change in him was tough to digest. I mean, it felt as weird as going to a call center and not finding an Indian. Anyway, this was all just the beginning; beginning of a possible hassle.
Since there hasn’t been a single crisis over the whole of last week; in other words, since Roshan has been out of contact, we guys at college have egressed into a consensus that if it wasn’t for Roshan, the Nobel Peace prize bore no meaning. I mean, such was the vagary of his mind. Anyway, since life without a crisis is no life, the guys nominated me as their representative for the onerous job of visiting Roshan’s place and evaluating his recent abnormal behavior. Why was I selected specially for this job?? I’ll tell you later.

I put my bike to the side and knocked at door. Roshan’s mom greeted me with tilted lips and curved eye-brows. I transformed myself like lord Rama and greeted her with a wobbling voice and a sweet smile- “Hello aunty.”

“Hello.” She said plainly, exhibited a thousand expressions, enquired her regular doubt- “You take bath with water or perfume?” and vanished into the kitchen with a disgusting face. Since I was the most equipped and experienced in handling her, I was sent on this mission. Got an idea? Anyway, I entered the hall and spotted Roshan’s 5 year old brother; he was busy breaking a tiger’s leg (plastic one of course), singing along- “Inki Pinki Ponky… His father was a donkey…” He noticed me and hurled a plastic monkey which just missed my forehead. I would have whacked him if he was my own brother. Meanwhile I could hear Roshan from the bathroom, singing some silly song of the 90s. There was something spiritual playing in the kitchen. With all this 3D effect getting on to my nerves, I made a mental note to visit the doctor later in the evening. Just as I was getting too pissed off, like how goddesses emerge from the mist, Roshan walked out from the bathroom. Such an inchoate idiot he is, he almost walked away without noticing me. I had to hurl that plastic monkey on him to grab his eye-balls. He returned an expression which reminded me of old movies where the heroes realized just before the movie ended that they were actually brothers after which followed a whole lot of hugging and stuff.

In ten minutes, Roshan came all dressed up, drowned inside his loose shirt and cargos. I stood waiting for his mom’s comment and she never disappoints. “You look like a rag picker” she said and again vanished. Finally a cup of coffee arrived which we emptied in no time. Me and Roshan decided to do the ‘walk the talk’ thing, so decided to leave. I waved ‘good-bye’ to aunty and she returned the wave with some kind of looks which I couldn’t comprehend. Then to Mr. 5yr old, I pinched his cheeks and said- “Byee..” He hurled his plastic tiger right on to my face. I am a gentleman, I didn’t retaliate.

Within a few minutes we were on to the streets strolling along checking out all kinds of stuff. After discussing various other issues of national importance, we came to the topic at hand- “What happened to you? Haven’t been to college? Cell phone’s always busy? Don’t say it’s a girl..”

“That’s exactly what it is.” Roshan smiled like Mr. Pepsodent.

“Oh my god! Where, who, when, how?” I stuttered.

“It all started when her dog barked and almost bit me on the road side,” he felt shy and continued- “I realized it was her dog when she saved me from it. That’s how it all started.”

“You shameless fellow. We’ll see you in college tomorrow right?”

“No dude. I have plans with her. I’m gonna take her out.”


“Surprise.” He said which pissed me off to the core. He noticed my threatening looks and said sheepishly- “Planetarium.” He smiled and continued- “Better than a movie na? It will atleast be informative.”
I controlled myself from bashing my head to the electric pole or indulging in any sort of violent activities such as pulling off my own hair or anything. I am basically a diplomatic person.

Through the walk, he said this and that, that and this. My legs started to ache, mind started to wander and that’s when I balked his non-stop talk and arrived at an accord- “See you tomorrow.”

It was 9am in the class, next day. I had recited the story to one and all. All were as much stunned as happy that Roshan now had a girlfriend. Just then, against all expectations, Roshan came rushing through, wearing a sad face. He came straight to me and sulked- “Dude, it’s over. She’s gone?”

“What the hell? Why?”

“She called me this morning and said her dog went missing. She was sad.”

“What did you do?”

“I conveyed my condolences,” he paused and continued- “ but before that……”

“What? What did you do?”

“The dog that almost bit me is gone man. Of course I laughed.”


School Time Reminiscences..!!

( I'd written this for a picture composition, in an English class, while in high-school. Glad I found this piece after so many years. Since I've not been able to write anything of late, just thought of making a post of it. Thank You.)

The fresh, blue, cold water circumferenced by irregular shaped coconut trees; she witnessed an eye candy. The fog appeared as if it sat resting on the water thereby blurring her vision. The boat proceeded steadily as the cold wind stroked through her face which instantly rejuvenated her senses. She stood over the dancing boat and spread her arms wide and almost screamed with a voice of joy but paused when she heard a distant, familiar sound. She opened her eyes and it took a couple of seconds for her to realise that it was her alarm clock that was ringing and the boat, the waters – everything was just a dream. “Oh God, that was such a lovely dream. Why do these mornings come?” she said to herself as she jumped out of the bed to get ready for school.

In school, she shared her dream with friends as they all exclaimed at each other. Being a Monday, the day went on; nothing special, just a normal day at school. The regular classes, regular conversations and everything about the day were sailing just about normal until the last period. Just before the final bell rang, the teacher read out the circular announcing a picnic, rather – ‘A Field Trip’ to Hyderabad. It served no surprises as all the students got excited at the mere thought of the trip. And instantly almost all of her friends concluded that they will be part of the picnic almost forgetting that they needed their parents’ consent.

Back home, she waited for her father to arrive home as her mom told her to take her father’s permission first. The clock struck 8 when she heard her dad’s car at the gate. She hurried to the gate and welcomed her dad with a wide smile. Once her dad freshened up and returned to the hall, she informed him about the trip (that was scheduled for the coming week,) and how excited she was to go. She went on to say that all her friends were going and hence she too wanted to join them and to not miss out on the fun.

Diluting her expectations into disappointment, her dad announced a firm NO to the trip. Her smile vanished and the eyes moistened. An uncontrolled tear ran down her cheeks onto the ground. Her voice seemed to have disappeared. She cleared her throat and enquired with a broken, crying voice- “Why Daddy?”
Her dad replied- “You know you have a health problem and you are not old enough to take care of yourself in case you fall ill.”

“Our teachers will be there daddy.” She managed to say.

“I said no. That’s it. It’s late – 10pm. Go to bed now,” her dad announced and headed into his room.
A week later, on the day of the trip, the clock struck 4 in the morning when her dad walked into her room. All her friends were going but she wasn’t allowed to go even after a number of requests. Her dad decided to give her a surprise and woke her up and said- “Go get ready, I’ll take you somewhere.”

“Where at this time daddy?” she enquired in a sleepy tone.

“Don’t ask anything, go get ready.” He brushed her hair.

By 5, they both bid good-bye to her mom and drove along in their car. Within an hour they reached a place by the hill just a small distance away from the city. Her dad held her hand and walked her in as she explored a picturesque lake with a few boats lying empty. They both got into one of them as her dad rowed it into the waters gently.

She noticed the fresh, blue, cold water circumferenced by irregular shaped coconut trees. The fog appeared as if it sat resting on the water thereby blurring her vision. The boat proceeded steadily as the cold wind stroked through her face which instantly rejuvenated her senses. She stood over the dancing boat and spread her arms wide and almost screamed with a voice of joy but paused. She realised that it wasn’t a dream this time. She screamed out loud, turned to her dad, hugged him and thanked him for this ‘dream-come-true’ excursion.

A dad often knows what his daughter deserves.


Spotting the Miskates... oops.. Mistakes..!!

Too many things cooking up in my mind nowadays, so no posts, sorry. But I don't want to see drought in my blog. By the way, I had been to Mysore yesterday to witness the Grand Dasara ( as we spell it here in South India) celebrations. So, I conveniently made it an excuse to update the blog.

Horses, a parade, a band, elephants in the backdrop of a Palace, wow! What is it but Grand?? Anyway, apart from it, I had a walk around the city, through exhibitions and other places. I had the camera with me and hence -

Time to select your 'Mummies' and 'Daddies' .. They are on sale..!! :P

Three Cheers to Tourism..!!

Cover your face. Sonia ji will slap you with the same hand.

Shaun Pollock would commit suicide if he'd see this.

The most "Evergreen" one of all. ;)

Edited - added later. A few pics of the Grand Mysore Palace. Couldn't manage to take good pics of the procession. :)

Until next time, yenjoyyy. :P


Saami... Murugan Saami..!!

(On one of those occasions when I give 'logic' and 'reasoning' a complete rest and let my mind free into a world of fun and silliness, such would be the outcome. Disclaimer- All the names and characters used here are only with intentions of evoking humor and nothing else.

So for now, just sit back and yenjoyyyyy. :P)

Murugan flipped aside his English-daily Newspaper and decided to take a nap under the Banyan tree. He shooed away the silly dog which was licking his shoulder and rested his head on the newspaper, his regular pillow, and stretched his legs. Just when he was about to shut his eyes, as though he’d spotted sunlight during mid-night, he jumped up and observed his assistant Kuppusaami accompanying a foreigner, a white attractive woman heading towards him. “I’m the only person to know English in Vellapatti” Murugan rejoiced. Kuppusaami indicated the need of an English-speaking person through his Gateway-Of-India (his broken teeth, I mean) and Murugan obliged.

“Hello Sir. I’m Alicia Morgan from the United Kingdom. I’m here on a survey, and the Indian culture has totally absorbed me.” The woman smiled and extended her hand for a hand-shake.

Murugan scratched his head and whispered to Kuppusaami- “Dai Kuppusaami, Murugan weds Morgan, yeppidi da irukku (how does it sound)?” Kuppusaami opened the gates of his Gateway-Of-India all over again.
Murugan came back to his senses, wiped and extended his hand after checking if anyone was around and they shook hands.

“I’m Murugan. Murugan Saami (Saw-me).”

“Good. Where did he see you?”

“Ayyo no. I said, my name is Murugan Saami.” he blushed like a girl. Alicia Murugan Saami …...

“Oh! Glad to meet you Mr. Murugan.” She clicked a picture of him and the dog.

“In Vellapatti, I am thalai (Head). I have nilam (land). I have nariya nariya (abundant) kaasu (money). All Vellapatti ponnus (girls) want to kalyanam (marry) me.”

“Sorry Mr. Murugan, but I don’t understand your language.”

“Ayyo, it’s vokay. No praablam. In Vellapatti, Subramani Saami married Mumtaz Begum. For them also language praablam. But happy family. 2 children also.”


“Why?” he gave it a thought and continued- “Your father is strict aa?”

Alicia turned around and walked away.

Edited- Will Be different episodes.. :)....


Mr. Myself..!!

Woahh, now I have something better to do on a lazy Sunday evening. Thanks to Inty Swetha aka Pranksygang of ‘Devil’s Workshop’. Still couldn’t figure out who’s the devil there… lol. Anyway, thanks Swetha for the tag. You made my evening, in the real sense :P Though I’m not that much into doing tags, not due to lack of narcissism, but for the fact that I’ve felt that maybe I’d bore people with my ‘Ramayanam’. If “You already do that” is ready on your lips- congrats ;).

Getting to the tag, I’m supposed to write 10 honest things about myself. Should be a cakewalk… Let’s see.

1) Contrary to how I project myself in my blog, I’m a far more serious kinda person. The no non-sense types. Most of the fun would be going through inside my head.

2) I don’t like people who only let out mouth sympathies and never stand up when needed. I’m glad I’m the opposite. I’ll be there when you need me, maybe not on your Birthday party. The downside though is, many people only USE me.

3) School life was the best for me. We had a psychotic class teacher in 10th, which made it that much more thrilling.

4) If there’s someone who knows me inside out, it’s my sister. I just give her a glance and she would know what I’m up to. Sometimes, that ain't good, I tell you.. ;).

5) In cinema theatres, I hate it when a few childish blokes keep giggling in between a serious scene. That ain’t cool at all. I get all itchy to give them a full quota of whacking and yelling at them to –“Grow up.”

6) Appreciation and gratitude are the two most important traits to have as a human being. I constantly remind myself of that and try to fall in line.

7) I somehow don’t like pets. I’m scared of dogs btw.. hehe :P

8) I get carried away, be it with anything in life. I easily fall into addiction. A big minus point in me. No, I don’t smoke or drink. I’m just too scared to start, for I may not withdraw.

9) I’m good at preparing Tea. Opens up a lot of business options for me - chai…chai..chai.. in the railway stations. ;)

10) And if you already dint know this, I get weird dreams. I would’ve either luckily survived a flight crash, or would have got kidnapped by an American president. :P

Dint turn out to be fun right? Blame the word ‘Honest’.. hehe… And one thing, a big thanks to all you guys who religiously read and leave a comment every single time.

Thanks to all you guys-
Thanks Sunil for always being there. How can I forget all that support you lent me during those ‘early days’. Thanks Amber- for like literally being here every single day. Thanks Richa, your comments never fail to make me smile. Priyanka, my fan ( :P), thank you for enlightening me on how-important-it-is-to-bunk-classes … hehe.. Thanks fan. Swetha Padakandla, thanks for choosing to read my blog against sleeping in office.. hehe.. just kidding. Dhanyavaadagalu ;). Priya Joyce- Your comments remind me that I’m out of my mind most of the times. Thank you. Tara- You’ve always been there. Thank you. Parul, I so adore you. Thanks for your immense patience and for your lovely words every single time. Really means so much.

Arun.. Your words of inspiration have always meant a lot.. Thank u so much brother ;).Harshita.. hehe.. your comments inspire my sense of insanity ;). The Kasabiangirl… . You inspire me n I inspire you ;). Thanks for everything. Bard, my new blogger-mate, thanks and wish to see you often . Inty Swetha, we share a lot of similarities. Come down for the ‘pinch’ challenge.. hehe.. Thanks ra. Misty Rhythm (Neha) – You’ve been coming since such a long time now. I appreciate every bit of your presence. Thank you ;). Thoorika- how can I forget you.. . Thanks da for leaving valid doubts in my comments page.. . The Rat- Thank you. Gr8 to see you here.

Stephen aka The Solitary Writer aka Stibu mama... Thanks for being my partner in crime, as you say ;). Lachu, the crazy girl … You’ll not get Roshan, don worry… Thank you. Saif bhaii… wats happening?? Thanks for all the support bro ;). Aanya.. Hieee… Thanks for liking all my crap. Nandini- my sister… :P Thanks chells. Rag, the review guy.. You are gr8 bro… And the appreciation u give me has most often humbled me. Thanks ;). Rohit, thanks bro… Hope to see you here. Saket- Thank You… Your honest comments have always been perceptive. Ria, thanks for coming by ;). Shimmer, be regular ya.. hehe. Thanks. Matangi, always great to see you here. Thanks. Prats, can I forget you.. Thank u so much.

Hope I dint miss any name here. If I did, I deserve a whack. Go on. ;)

A small memento for all you guys. Take Care.


Hometown Tales..!!

I have this habit of checking out the time whenever I start writing a post. Reason? Don’t ask. Most things I do will not have reasons. Ok, the point is, right now, as I start writing this, my watch shows, an Indian mathematician’s swear word- 4:20. Ok, now that this post has begun in such a terrible way, it can’t get worse. So don’t worry. ;)

It was 4 days ago, my right thigh itched and hence I dug my vibrating phone from my pant’s pocket. A message from Airtel said- ‘Welcome to Andhra Pradesh. We wish you a pleasant stay’. A pleasant stay was exactly what I was expecting as I was heading to my hometown (rather, my grand parents’ hometown). Airtel, though the message was heart-melting, I knew it actually conveyed something like- “ You will be charged for incoming calls now, you stupid.” Like an enlightened man, I made up my mind that I shouldn’t pick calls from unknown numbers. Three cheers to Mr. Co-Incidence, my phone started ringing flashing an unknown number. Since I am ‘ME’, I picked it- “Hello.”

“Hello Sir, Good Morning, I’m calling from Airtel.” A cute voice of an young girl from the other side said.

“Good Morning. Tell me.”

“Had your breakfast, Sir?”
I was about to ask her if she was single. I mean, man, How Caring!

“Nope. Tell me what.”

“Sir, you have an amazing offer to convert your sim to post-paid.”

“No. Thank You.” damn.. One call wasted.

We entered the small town, called ‘Madanapalle’ known as – ‘The Tomato Town’. A town where all the heroes would be walking right-royally in the centre of the road and when you ‘horn’, you’d be greeted with evil looks, as if their eyes had the capacity to launch fire balls. Anyway, we finally arrived at my relative’s place where we were welcomed warmly. I don’t know if I should actually use the expression- warm. Why would I prefer a warm welcome in such a warm place?

(Picture changed..... Over a suggestion by my dear friend, Sunil. :) )

After the 4 hour long journey, I had to make a trip to the white-house. If you are new to my blog, well, guess what is a ‘white-house’. They have this attached toilet in one of the rooms. I wonder if that is where the concept of Attached toilets originated. I mean, it is so small that, once you enter in, you would get attached. Anyway, after all the freshening-up, it was time for lunch. My plate arrived, and I could hardly see the metal below. It was that full.
“Aunty, I can’t eat this much, please take away some.”


“See my size already. Please.”


“I can’t eat this much.”



“Eat” damn… damn

After the Eating Dhamaka ended, by evening it was time to attend a marriage-reception. All my relatives were present. Everytime they’d see me, they would perform the ‘question-mark’ dance, as I call it. They would make a wavy movement of their head as if like drawing a question mark, which would mean- “ How are you and your family back home?” for which my reply would be an ‘S’ dance. First half of the ‘S’ would indicate- “Yeah, me and my family are doing good.” And the second half of the ‘S’ would enquire- “How are you and your family by the way?” Next, we would settle the matter with a mutual smile. The exercise continues throughout the evening though.

Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you about the most interesting part of the people there- GOSSIP. You go to A’s place. A says- “ C is such an idiot. How dare she did that to me?” and you would be like- “ Yeah. Right.”
Then you go to C’s place and C would be like- “ A is such a bitch. She’s shameless.” And you’ll be like – “Oh yeah. Exactly.”
6 months later, A and C would be the greatest of friends, and You’d have been named as B & would be the idiot for nosing in between A and C.

Anyway, I can go on and on writing this, but now I see this post has dragged a bit too long. So, I’ll continue maybe next time. Anyone willing to do a study on the above mentioned characteristics, you are welcome to my home-town. Pregnant ladies, please stay away. A combination of those ‘front-engine auto rickshaws’ and those ‘roads’ is the last thing I would want to see you in.

By the way, the next evening as we were leaving, I got another call, an unknown number again. I picked- “Hello.”

“Hello Sir, Good Evening, I’m calling from airtel.” The same cute voice I think.

“ Good Evening. Tell me.”

“How was your day, Sir?”

Ahaa…… Man, I’m single too. ;)


Vindictive Games..!!

(Yeah guys, the thriller that I was talking about. Though this genre isn’t my cup of tea, the process of writing a thriller is exciting. Thank you and yenjoyy..!! )

“The tea has got cold” Sheila set down her cup and waited for the two young men who knelt opposite her, clad in just a jean trouser, to do the same.
The younger man, Khalil wiped the blood over his knifed naked chest, cleared his throat- “We do it for a reason.” His voice was steady, but his hands shuddered and his eyes seemed lifeless. He couldn’t even move to rise.
The other man, Abdul looked down his bloody body, tightened his fists and squalled in wrath- “ Terii m** k**……..” but stopped abruptly and howled with unbearable pain when a knife penetrated him under his foot. Sheila wiped the blood that splashed over her arms and withdrew the knife from his foot. Khalil moved close and embraced his companion, who was squalling with pain.
Sheila tossed the knife to a corner, mounted onto the recliner, rested her head and stared at the only over-head lamp in the dimly lit basement room. She inhaled clamorously and heard her breath oozing out amidst the surrounding mid-night silence. She hurled a glance at the wall clock, crowched down to her socks, whispered to herself – “2am. It’s time” and fetched a piece of metal- A Revolver.

Shabbir Khan looked up the hanging bridge, shrouded in the december mist and darkness. His long over-coat, polished shoes, handsome and dark features always seemed sinister at night. His boots made rhythmic tocs overpowering the mid-night silence, as he briskened along the pavement. His ears and eyes sought for any kind of activity along the street. The street at this time, was dead for the day. His walking stopped when he heard a truck approaching him from behind. He slipped his hand inside his over-coat in search of his holster. The sound of the approaching truck grew and he tightened his grip over the revolver.

Sheela stood from the recliner, exposing a shining black revolver clinging on to her laft palm. She drew a thin pistol-silencer from her pocket and attached it to the revolver. Khalil and Abdul searched for their voices. Sheila hesitated, then raised the pistol with both hands. Being a school teacher and just a normal middle class woman, she’d never imagined she’d do anything of this sort in her life. She took a deep breath and fired, shifted her aim, and fired again. Both their foreheads holed, they thrashed on to the ground, moaning. Abdul lost his breath into history within no time. Khalil, Sheila noticed, was still breathing, rippling the blood formed under his nose. Sheila aimed at his nose and fired another shot and squealed out loud with a combined sense of anger and relief- “This much for killing my innocent husband, you bastards.” She grabbed her phone and her coat and hurried to her car.

“Done madam?” her driver enquired.

“Yes. Hurry. Not home. The other room.” Sheila ordered.

The driver hit the accelerator and propelled the car into motion. Sheila retrieved a letter from her purse ; a suicide note that she had written earlier. She ripped it apart into small bits, lowered the window and let it into the breeze.

The sound of the truck grew bigger on Shabbir. With one hand held tight on his pistol, he threw a casual glance. The truck approached closer and closer, but moved ahead without cooking a fuss. He loosened his grip on the pistol, set his coat right and continued walking. The street returned to its original silence ; he could hear his own breath. A cold breeze whistled along the empty lane. Just then, he heard two thuds from across the street. Having spent his entire life in a country where a gun-shot was a daily norm, he decided it came from a gun shot ; from a gun with a silencer. Within a few seconds, another thud disturbed the calmness around him. “My pals” he whispered restlessly, and drew the pistol from his holster and hurried across the lane in search of the feeble thud. Almost like a flash, a speeding car whizzed past him. He turned around, aimed his pistol at the speeding car, but ceased himself from pulling the trigger. He noticed pieces of paper flying out from the car’s window. He examined the bits of paper and then headed back in search of the bodies of his pals. He was READY for REVENGE.

Sheila jumped out of her bed. She could hear motors in the street and the sounds of human movement in the corridors. Residents of the block were calling out good byes to their school going children. Just then, the door crashed open and a tall man rushed in without a word. A shaft of light from outside made her cover her eyes. But the door was closed immediately and bolted. Before she could evaluate the situation, the tall man caught her by her neck and locked her movement. “ You think you can get away?” he pushed the pistol against her forehead, with a heavy breath he repeated again, louder this time- “ You think you can get away?”
He let a minute pass by, settled his mind and pushed the tip of the pistol against her forehead, inhaled deeply -“ I’m Shabbir Khan by the way” and pulled the trigger. The blood flushed out from her head painting the carpet red.

Revenge- It never ends. Does it?


Another Nothing..!!

Nowadays, I often run out of topics to write on my blaaag where imaginations are supposed to be rekindled. From the past 2 hours I’ve been sitting, dreaming and wondering about what to write, unsuccessfully though. I wish I’d had an adventurous childhood. I wish I’d thrown a stone on my next-door granny’s window, or burst ‘lakshmi pataki’ (crackers) under my old colony guy- Mr. Eccentric, or atleast had a crush on a 5 year old junior in school….. damn.. nothing Why dint I do anything in my childhood that could be blogged about now? Only if I had known I’d be blogging in my future then, I would have maybe made my childhood adventurous. But it’s okay. Leave alone blogging, I never thought I would even grow up when I was a kid. (Interesting ryt? But the elaboration would put you under immense mental stress where you might end up pulling your hair out of your head. So, sorry.) Anyway, did you just notice how intelligently I penned one full paragraph without actually writing about anything? (Note- No abuses allowed in my comments page.)

About 14 years ago, when my mother was pregnant (carrying my sister), me and my dad used to drop my mother at the doctor for regular check-ups and as my mother enters in, we would trickle out into ‘Vidhyarthi Bhavan’. This hotel by-the-way serves crispy dosas right from my grand father’s ‘chaddi’ days. Any local Bangalorean, especially from the south would tell you. Anyway yeah, I remember the last time I had been there wearing a Jean chaddi (Come on, I was just 8 then). As me and daddy entered the hotel, my dad’s friend Mr. Ravi & family were busy munching on to those red dosas. They spotted me and dad with looks of ‘how-on-earth-is-this-possible’ emanating from their artistic face expressions. They, then dragged their eye-balls linearly, contemplating me top to bottom and exclaimed- “What appa, you and your father have come to eat dosa aa??” I was just 8 and was an amateur in sarcasm, so I just smiled and shut my mouth.

14 years later, last month, me and dad visited the Vidhyarthi Bhavan for the first time since then. The dosas are the same (the best in South Bangalore), the tables are still the same (as old as my grand father), walls have been painted and there is soap (much needed) at the wash-basin. We ordered and filled ourselves with dosas, after which we had to wash our hands with soap to wash away all the oil off our hands so that nobody mistook us for working part-time in a petrol bunk or something. Just as we were leaving, we spotted, guess who – the same Mr. Ravi & family. They spotted us and let out their usual line- “ Ooooo… father and son have come to eat dosa aaa??”
I wasn’t in mood for fun, so I just replied –“ Yessuu. Vonly Masala Dosa.” Anyway, co-incidence… it’s unbelievably amazing sometimes. And any of you want a list of good, old hotels for local food in Bangalore, you know who to ask. If you are lucky enough, you might even find Mr. Ravi & family in any of those places. ;)

Drifting away from food and hotels, lets talk about politics. Man, I’ve decided to stop watching comedy shows on TV and instead, to just watch our politicians talk. We have two specimens here in Karnataka- Mr. Deve Gowda and his son Kumaraswamy. My mother had to rush with a glass of water towards me when she saw me laughing and coughing like a mad dog ; Reason - I was watching Kumaraswamy shedding tears in public in what was supposed to be an emotional speech, just before the by-elections in his constituency. About Mr. Deve Gowda – It’s better I don’t start talking about him here. You’ll find it hard to find the meaning of my words in the bestest of dictionaries. Anyway, in simple he is the most shameless politician I’ve ever come across.

Good-night Mr.Gowda. .. Ooops.. he's already asleep.

Mulling over this never-ending topic called- Indian Politics, it reminds me of Mr. Jaswanth Singh. What BJP has done to Jashwanth Singh by expelling him is nothing but help him boost the sales of his book. For Jashwanth Singh, who is well past his prime in politics, what else did he need? Infact, I too feel itchy to get that book of his.

Ok, enough of boring you for now. Next, I’ll try and write fiction. How abt a thriller huh?? Before you break your jaws falling off your chairs, cool down. I had written a thriller series (of 3 parts) once. If you, by any chance want to read it, here’s the link- On The Highway .
Meanwhile, I’m off to take my mom for shopping. ’Shopping with Women’ - aahaa.. I can write a book on that topic and maybe request BJP for some marketting tips. Anyway, you take care. See you next time. 


Haphazardly Random..!!

For a change, I wasn’t kidnapped by the president of America nor was I white-washing the ‘White House’ in my dreams last night. Actually an old couple were blowing steam at me for frightening their grand child. Once I woke up, I sat and wondered why the hell would I frighten a small child? But then I guessed, maybe the child would have pissed on me or something. “Your smile is frightening”, my sister's lines rang in my head and that induced a small pause in my contemplate-the-issue programme. After breakfast, I got down to some serious analysis and that’s when I could picture why these people had tenanted in my dream last night. Conventionally I should have been busy in the US or should have just survived a plane crash. But anyway, back to the analysis- My neighbours have purchased a brand new ‘cradle’. I mean to say, they have a new born baby. So, typically they have called upon their parents from Delhi to help them in changing the baby’s diapers. Apparently, the couples (both senior and junior) were so impressed by me and my name that they decided to name the baby boy as – Arjun. A part of the previous sentence is true and the rest is false. Guess work is left to you.

So, every night when I go to bed I hear the old couples’ voices through my window – “ Arjunnnnnn… luulululu.. lolololooo..” and I’ll be all like- “damn……” Anyway, this was the little scene which acquired wings made of masala and got transformed into some silly dream in my head. Ufffffff…… End Of Story.

Swine Flu..!!

Hence Swine-flew….. haha.. jus kidding… Take Care!

If I catch the Swine-flu virus, I’d better be taken to all the terrorist camps and made to cough and sneeze. I get such thoughts, what to do? Can’t help! But on further thought, the terrorists might all drop their guns and start coughing in public. So, I’d rather cough over some less-savvy local criminals. Afterall, we have over 3.11 crore cases pending in the country in trial courts and high courts. Believe that!

“ If pro is the opposite of con, then what is the opposite of progress?” this one caught my eye. Haha…!!

But I actually quite like this present government, It’s prominent cabinet ministers atleast. I liked the concept of the BUDGET this time considering the global financial crisis. What they’ve done is, in simple- Encouraged spending. Decrease in income leads to decrease in spending. The decrease in spending works as a cycle and further decreases income or employment. So yeah, I like it. But the fiscal deficits, which has hit an all time high is where it’s running the risk. But again, the optimistic approach was what impressed me. And by the way, the newly proposed – ‘Direct Tax’, which is open for public debate looks impressive too. It basically spreads the tax base thereby lessening the burden on an individual employee. Presently, the personal income tax in our country is one of the highest in the world. While the finance ministry is cooking something or the other the external affairs is too predictable. In a country like India (it’s stance), what else can you expect? It’s predicatbly predictable.. haha!

Ok sorry, I’ve stretched it too long. I wanted to post something today, started typing with nothing in mind. Here I am, going haywire.

Anyway, I don’t know what else to write right now. In an hour, I’ll be accompanying mom with a ‘Johnson&Johnson baby kit’ to see my new neighbour- Arjun. And yeah, just this doubt- tell me if there'll be something called- "Katrina kaif' ka swayamvar ? Let me know . Till next time- Yenjoyy..!!

Tata, Cheerios..!!


Sleep Until You Go To Bed..!!

(Going through a 50-50 writer's block, whatever that is. Not been able to write freely nowadays. I guess it shows as well. Anyway, pardon me if it's bad. But shtill, as i always say- Yenjoyy :P )

1.55pm, at my place.

I woke up to a brassy thud of my main door one week day. I strained my eye-balls to the corners of the eye to catch the clock but in vain. If you din’t know- laziness finds its nest in me ; I’m lazy in everything except in ‘being lazy’. So the question in hand was- how would I check the time, without actually doing as strenious a thing as lifting-my-head-and-rotating-it-towards-the-clock?

I set out with my analysis-

2 thuds per-day – both by Dad – morning or lunch time? – not morning, I couldn’t smell a Body Spray – so- lunch time – 1.30 to 2 – Dad’s office is 5 mins away - The time is 1.55 pm. I’ve slept for 14 hours – record-breaking stuff. Wow..!!

My phone vibrated like a ghost from under the pillow. – “Hello!” I sounded alert.

“Dude, me Roshan. Where are you?” You Idiot

“I’m in the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) preparing the software part of our project work.”

“That’s great. I’m in NIIT - ‘Networking’ class.” Bullshit

“That’s great!”

“I’ll meet you in an hour in IISc.” Get lost

“Nope. I’ll meet you in NIIT in an hour.” I announced putting my vocal chords into unnecessary strain.

“Nope. Let the place be Barista.” He finalised.

As I put down the phone, I raised my left hand to fetch the TV remote. Rambo on Star Movies. Perfect! With my slothful right hand I fetched the cold-coffee which I suppose would have been Hot-coffee when it was kept there. Anyway, when people (like my fat neighbouring aunty) ask me questions like- “ Don’t you exercise? How bad?” and stare at me disgustingly, I have a few ready-made words- “ I meditate for 14 hours followed by some finger exercises ( with my TV remote), then my arms ( by moving it to and fro, in and out of my mouth), my neck ( which shuffles repetitively between the TV screen and the coffee mug) and finally my legs ( basically by stretching them).”

Anyway, as the movie was interrupted with commercials of a tooth-paste-with-salt thing, I decided to head to the bathroom in search of my tooth brush.

1.55pm, at Roshan’s place.

“Bah bah black sheep, hav………..” he sang, abrupty paused and sprung out of bed like a clown. He threw a glance at the clock and yawned. “I’ve slept for 16 hours straight. Wow!” he told himself and continued- “ my dream… oh.. my dream… “ he tried to recollect. After 120 seconds, his bulb glowed when he could picture his abruptly ended dream- 3 ghosts with invisible bottoms surrounded him, manufacturing scary faces at him. Just then, a saint entered from nowhere ( like Rajnikanth) chanting- “Omm Sai Baba …. Omm Sai Baba..” He rested his arms over Roshan’s shoulder and adviced- “ My boy, chant a bhajan to praise Baba and he will take care of the ghosts.” Wasting no time, Roshan began- “ Ba-Ba Black sheep…..” and that’s when he woke up.

Anyway, he came back to the real world and retrieved a cup of tea which was placed on his book/tea-stand. He found his phone and dialled-


“Dude, me Roshan. Where are you?” he enquired.

“I’m in the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) preparing the software part of our project work.” Bullshit

“That’s great. I’m in NIIT - ‘Networking’ class.”

“That’s great!” You dumb-head

“I’ll meet you in an hour in IISc.”

“Nope. I’ll meet you in NIIT in an hour.” Get lost

“Nope. Let the place be Barista.”

1 Hour Later

Barista was empty enough at 3 in the afternoon. A few tables were occupied though, with couples trialing each other’s faces. I found a seat, ordered some weird-named coffee and stared at good looking faces indiscriminately. Meanwhile Roshan rushed in hurriedly and sat facing me. He hooked his eye-brow and asked- “ IISc?”
I nodded and copied his hooking-the-eye-brow-thing and shot back- “NIIT?”
He nodded and looked away. Letting a few minutes of silence go by, I looked at him, bounced my eye-brows as if to ask him- “What?” for which he returned a half-closed eye. With all this non-sense, a third eye could easily mistake us for two dons finalising a murder or something. Anyway, another minute of silence passed and I cleared my throat and asked- “ How long?”

“What ‘how long’?”

“Ok. Me 14 hours.” I winked.

“Yup. Me 16 hours.”

“damn…” we lifted our mugs.

“Sometimes we stay up so late that we have our morning coffee just before we go to bed.”


This, that and a tag..!!

I’m in mood to write total random stuff today. One way to settle a wandering mind. 

I ate ‘Khara Bun’. Yeah, and that too five of them since yesterday. (‘Khara’ in kannada means hot/spicy.) There’s a small story behind it though. The peon at my father’s office used brains. While he was going for lunch, my dad handed him 100 bucks and told him to get that much worth of Carbon (Carbon paper). Carbon – Khara Bun… yeah that’s what happened. 100 bucks ; Rs.4 each ; 25 buns ; 5 for me. ;)

After a long gap, saw Sreesanth on TV yesterday. My mind went dashing back to the visuals of the crying Sthree-santh. A 5 year old boy from the neighbourhood got offended when his dad told him to stop crying like Sreesanth. I remember when a dog entered the cricket stadium during the first IPL match, Cyrus Broacha commented- “Apparently, Sreesanth is not the only animal on a cricket field.” Too much man..!!

My hair started forming rings covering my forehead driving my dad into a sense of nostalgia. Reason – I looked like a south indian hero of the ‘black-and-white’ era. Anyway, in an attempt to do something about it, I borrowed a hair-clip from my sister and clipped it on. My sister said I looked like Hema Malini and giggled for an hour. The worst part was when I forgot about the clip and walked to a near-by ‘Grocery Store’. What a doofus I am..right?

I chanced upon this board near my place, snapped it and ……………………………

Want me to introduce you to this decent tailor??

And yeah, Happy Friendship Day to all of you.  I noticed that my real friends actually don’t wish me on this day. I kind of like that. I’m tired of artificial people that I’ve been witnessed to in the recent past. It’s like – If you can’t handle your friends in their worst then you don’t deserve them in their best. Simple. I’m lucky to have some genuine friends, to say the least. Note- Roshan not included :P

Since I’ve deviated from my usual fiction thing, I’ll go ahead and do this tag that StepHEN tagged me with. Good mood I’m in.

Where is your cell phone? On my computer table.
Relationship? Single
Your hair? indisciplined
Work? Uh? Uh.. uh .. uh??
Your sister?The best for me- Archana.
Your favorite thing? Dream :P
Your dream last night? My flight crash landed but I survived.
Your favorite drink? Tea and Pepsi.
Your dream car? Honda CRV.
The room youre in? bedroom
Your fears? Heights.
What do you want to be in 10 years? Can I say James Bond?
Who did you hang out with this weekend? Family
What are you not good at? Fighting.
One of your wish list items? Laptop.
Where you grew up? Namma Bengaluru.
Last thing you did? Missed a call. :P
What are you wearing? T-shirt, Bermuda. :P
What aren't you wearing? Socks. ;)
Your pet? none
Your computer? Yeah, my computer.
Your life? In a phase called- Licking Ice-Cream in HELL.
Your mood? Nice and fresh after a good sleep.
Missing? Happiness.
What are you thinking about right now? Thinking about rain and hot coffee.
Your kitchen? Not my department.
Your summer? Mangoes.
Your favorite color? Black.
Last time you laughed? Today choking on to that Khara Bun.
School? Missing it big time.
Love? What??

All you guys, you don’t need my permission to do this one. Go on.  See you all with a fiction soon. Tara, the birthday girl wants Roshan back. :P

Many Many Happy Returns Of The Day Tara.

See you all soon. Take care.


Kids..... Ouchh..!!

I banged my foot on the ground thrice "bang .. bang … bang.." as I saw my neighbor, an old lady with her 8 year old grandson at the door. I drew the latch in ‘action replay’ mode, more so like the way old bollywood couples ran in slow motion before they hugged each other. As I opened the door, a breeze hit me and ‘warning’ alarms went off inside my head. The granny adjusted her glasses and smiled. I spotted her only tooth (well known as Gate Way of India) and recollected that it actually resembled- ‘The Leaning Tower of Pisa’. So many monuments inside the jewel box. Amazing! Anyway, my eyes then shifted to her grandson, who wore blue colored shorts, the size of my hand kerchief. He too had just one tooth visible in the 'Gandhi class' (I mean front row), as he squeezed through in-between my legs into the house.

“I’m going to the market now. Can I leave Pintu here for a while?” the granny enquired.

Granny always gave me an expression of someone like a modern Mother Teresa or something, and that sent a litre of ‘good will’ into my heart (take note- my weak point), hence I replied- “Go ahead. I will look after Pintu.” I mean, after all, normal human beings can commit blunders.

I shut the door and initiated a ‘search operation’ for this boy Pintu. ‘The period of time that Pintu is out of sight’ is directly proportional to ‘Danger’. Could you guess that I love Physics? Good. Anyway, I continued with the ‘search operation’, like a hunter. I rubbed my eyes twice and discovered that Pintu was sitting on my bed, both legs and arms folded and mainly SILENT. I almost saw Swamy Vivekananda in him, when I discovered something below him. I approached him tardily as if I was there to catch a snake. I stared hard at that thing, and realized it was my laptop. I zoomed my eyes towards it and got further horrified when I noticed his blue colored shorts reflecting a darker shade now. “Oh Lord, this guy has no ‘nappy’ and he has pissed on my ‘lappy’,” I screamed inside my head, not in a mood to adore the poetic skills in me.

It took me an hour for the entire cleaning process to terminate as Pintu sat and watched ‘Cartoon Network’. God bless the founder of cartoons. “Children are like God” I reminded myself and tried to be Mr.Kind as I went into the kitchen to prepare some ‘corn-flakes’ for my dearest Pintu. I heated the milk, put some ‘Kelloggs corn-flakes’ into the bowl and glanced at Jnr.Danger. He was trying his vandalism skills over today’s newspaper, but that was nothing, so I counted 1 to 10, took a deep breath and stirred the mixture. As and when it was ready, I brought the bowl to the hall but to find that my hero was out-of-sight. The physics equation resounded with echoes somewhere deep inside me. I crawled slowly into my room, but I was too unlucky, couldn’t find him. A few precious seconds wasted, I then walked slowly into the other room, stood at the entrance and scanned through the room but found no one. There was complete silence; life-threatening silence. Like a flash, as though like in the ghost movies, “bhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…” he screamed and jumped from behind the door to the front of me leaving me terrified and cold. I almost had my foot in my mouth for a second. “hahaha… you got scared..” he vanished into the hall.

I prayed to god, recited a few ‘mantras’ and proceeded into the hall and sat next to him. “Children are like God..” I controlled myself by repeating it again and again as though like a malfunctioning tape-recorder. In the meanwhile, he trekked over to me, stood over my lap and stared long and hard at my face like a scientist examining viruses. I stuck my tongue down and returned a few silly expressions. After his research he came uncomfortably close to my face and asked- “Anna (brother), why do you have a moustache?” and tried to pluck at it. “Aaaahhhhhh…” I howled, put him over the sofa, stood and shouted at him- “Shut up.” He looked with his eyes opened wide as I went on – “ Fold your hands………. Close your mouth…Don’t open that mouth and don’t move.. Just sit.” I slid next to him, grabbed at the corn-flakes bowl, scooped it with a spoon and held it before his mouth. My dearest of dearest Pintu wouldn’t open his mouth (as his master had instructed) .. damn… “You can open your mouth to eat.,” I said aimlessly. Once he opened his jewel box, I put the spoon into it but my hero wouldn’t close it (the instruction was to only open the mouth, remember). I didn’t cry, nor did I pull the hair off my head but just stared with hooked eye-brows at the ceiling.

Just when I thought I needed a trip to the brain doctor, my eyes got filled with the sight of a goddess glowing away through the window holding colorful flowers in her hands, ringing my door bell wanting to introduce me to the staff members up above. No, I just saw Granny. She walked in and said with a tooth-exhibiting smile- “ Hope Pintu didn’t trouble you,” and I almost began to search the number to call the brain doctor but decided to just return a simple smile. She carried Pintu, who was now having his corn-flakes on his own. damn kid..
The feeling of subtracting a ton of weight from my heart commenced when she said to her Pintu- “Say bye to anna..” The intelligent boy dropped the bowl of corn-flakes (which landed and splashed straight on my lap) and waved good-bye to me. Granny apologized and left taking away her thunder-like grandson. I headed to the bathroom for part-2 of the cleaning work. My shorts this time.

Children are fun and lovely, but man- “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.”


The World- It's magic..!!

The buzzing sound of the ceiling fan played a game called ‘anxiety’ amidst the playfield called ‘Silence’ as he laid down, cushioned right below it, circumferenced with ‘Darkness’. The clock ticked revealing an hour, by which he should have been fast asleep ; Dead for the day. An unresistable drop of tear trickled down to his ears, wetting the earphones which were respiring a few emotion-reviving-instrumental-compositions. He wiped the tears off his temples as his eyes transfixed itself glaring at the seemingly-infinite ceiling. He envisioned a hugely built entity, The World waging a stern battle against him. The World flashed accusations at his face which put him into a straggled stance in between ‘acceptance’ and ‘denial’. He was right or wrong, he couldn’t draw the line. For the moment though, the pain and the anguish in him sought for replacement as the oppressiveness tended to erupt its way out. His mind questioned- “Do I deserve this???” continued as though searching for something- “ God??”. He cleared his throat and heard his voice quiver- “ I’m hurt.” A growing silence (in his head) is all what he got in response.

The clock struggled to strike 6, but as it did, he grabbed a chair, dragged it to the window and sat resting his elbows on the frame with his fists supporting his jaws. The sun, his saviour, hadn’t made it’s entry yet. Alongside, he noticed a woman- his neighbour trace a colourful rangoli design over the wet, freshly watered entrance of her house. A distant sound of bells from a nearby temple caught his ears. The wind whistled across the branches, through the leaves to find his face as it slapped a quantum of freshness on his tear-wiped face. He exposed his head out the window, inhaled deeply, walked in and sensed the freshness of his toothpaste.

He retrieved his aged, unused bicycle and peddled along the silent street. Just like the good deeds of a silent man, the first rays of the yet-out-of-sight-sun hit the earth tailing off it’s darkness. The pleasant duskiness lured his mind unconsciously into a gallery of nostalgia. He cycled along ; noticed a milk van, an early ‘factory’ bus, the whitish-looking water in the lake and the peeping sun behind the bald trees.

He rested the bicycle on it’s stand and headed into a large expanse of greenery. He entered the park and glanced at the merely visible sky through the branches curving out of the tall torsos. He walked along the pathway advancing through the slides and the swings in the children’s play area to his left and a series of benches to his right. He strolled along until he found the bark of a tree and sat over the wet grass resting his back to the unready furniture. Now, the sun well out as it climbed up the tall trees, he could notice a whole lot of people in the park. The joggers began their run while the oldies in the 'laughter club' laughed their hearts out.

An hour passed as the bow on his lips switched directions. Though not a complete smile, he was sure his face got broader, his cheeks weighed lighter, his eyes opened wider, he respired deeper but couldn’t figure out why. He’d neither talked to anyone nor did his problem see an end. Only his unconsciousness-self cognized the magic that had bechanced. The very same- ‘The World’, which he had thought was waging a stern battle against him, exhibited it’s face- The face of ‘felicitousness’ ; It’s happy face ; People’s driving force. While all these thoughts wandered through his rekindled mind, a blue-jean, white-sweat-shirt clad old man walked up, sat beside him and threw his old arm over the young shoulder and cleared that little unsettled, what-so-ever feeling that he had. The old man went on in a cheerful tone-

“Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up knowing it must run faster than the lion or be killed.

Every morning, a lion awakens knowing it must outrun the slowest gazelle or starve to death.

It doesn’t matter if you are a lion or a gazelle.

When the sun comes up, you’d better be running.”

An old lady, probably the old man’s wife came by and completed –

“ Once you get into grips with this game, trust me you’ll be one hell of a runner.”


Over A Cup Of Tea- Prats..!!

With a sleepy head I dropped in the first vacant seat in the bus, falling asleep even before the bus started and waking up only to notice i had missed my stop and the next two too ! Without a thought i got down at the very next stop the bus halted and weighed my options now - going home by bus or to walk back home ! It was then that i thought of the third option - to meet him, since he lived near by !

A call was placed and luckily you agreed to come. Starting with a cup of tea,followed by my non stop blabber, lots of smiles and a lot much of walking, we said Goodbye.

And i was glad i overslept a bit ;)

(from Arjun- And I was glad u overslept too. Thank you Prats!)

P.S - Hey guys, all of you are welcome to write a post here. Don't wait for me to ask you personally. Anyone of you ; Anyone. I would love it.


The Evolution of the Snake dance!! - Stephen

Once upon a time in blogpur,an incident occurred which was scripted in history.This led to the emergence of a new dance form.It was the time when the humans and the beasts were amongst the best buddies.It was the era of friendship and where cultural civilization was too far .The time period encountered various events which is devoid to today's generation.This hasn't been mentioned in history .
In blogpur, humans and the snake community lived together in harmony.Snakes never hissed and humans never danced.This ancient historic event took place ages ago during the reign of Prince Arjuna,the great ruler of the Choudary kingdom.
Prince Arjuna had a special liking for dance and hunting.Dancing and Hunting are not directly related to each other .He was the only person who was skilled with the art of 'Nrutya'.He was modest and humble.He was benevolent.His ministry comprised of highly talented ministers like Bahadur Sunil,Vaidya Riya,Intelligent Richa and many more.Snakes were friendly and intelligent unlike humans.Saapo,the president of the Snake community was malicious and was against the humans .He didn't want the humans to mingle with the snakes.
"Prince Arjuna,I won't let you rule our dynasty," Saapo,the snake screamed in front of the snake community members.
"I'm planning an attack on the humans ,"he added.
"But, great , humans are supposed to be snakes' best friends, aren't they?," Junior Saapo said.
"I don't give a damn about it, my target is Prince Arjuna," Saapo was furious.

Meanwhile Prince Arjuna of the Royal Choudary family was getting ready for his dance classes.He bowed down in front of his mother to seek her blessings.
"Ammo,me want to develop unity amongst the snake and the humans," he said to his mother.
"Lord Shiva,bless me," he prayed to god.

Saapo overheard all this."Unity between snake and humans,my foot," he said.
He soon thought for a while and churned out a reason from his wicked mind.
"I will see you in Panchayat ,Prince," he gave a wicked smile.

The next day Panchayat was called and all biggies of the blog world including Chronic writer,Solitary writer,Busy writer,Pink Orchid and Yem bee Aye were called.
"May I know the reason for the panchayat,"Prince Arjuna asked Saapo.
"I don't support your selfish attitude," Saapo replied.
"What are you talking ,Saapo? make sense," the prince replied.

"I don't advocate this idea of yours," Saapo,the snake replied.
"Abhey Langoor ke aulad ," the prince got annoyed.
"Why don't you take our snakes with you and teach them the dance ," Saapo said.
"We want justice," Saapo added.

Prince Arjuna didn't have any answer for this question of Saapo.
The Panchayati Samiti soon arranged a meeting.Chronic writer,Solitary writer,Busy writer,Pink Orchid and Yem bee Aye attended the meeting.
"Well ,what is the appropriate solution guys?," Chronic writer said.
"We should ask Arjuna to teach the Snakes," Pink Orchid replied.
"Naa,wait ,We should have a contest between Arjuna and Saapo,a dance contest,"Solitary Writer said.
"I second Solitary writer,we should have some sort of dance contest guys," Yem bee yae smiled.
"But Saapo said snakes don't know dance," Chronic writer said.
"He is a liar Chrony,I've seen Saapo doing rain dance many times," Busy writer said to her team.
"So,there will be a contest between both the parties ,hmm,interesting guys,"Chronic writer giggled.
"Who will be our judge?,"Chronic writer added.
"Lets call Farah Khan and Saroj Khan," Busy writer winked.
"Naa,lets get some guys from our field,call our techie "Saif"," Solitary writer said with a smile.
Saif,the techie for the community was called.He was a scientist and his inventions were famous.It is said that few of his inventions were modified by Sir Isaac Newton as at that era there were no provision of Copyright and Patents.

Saif was made to get in few bloggers from the 21st century with the help of his time machine. The samitee decided to call Ste,Sandeep Balan,Priyanka and Bharghav.
They even called blog fame Leo and Aarthi to host the contest.
Both Prince Arjuna and Saapo agreed to the accord and contest dates were announced.

A week later the contest started. People from "Simply me" ,"Conjuring Kreativity","Pragmatic Utopia"," Illusions","More Orangee","Chemerical thoughts"," Where words are thoughts" and many had come to witness this unique event.
The dance floor was arranged.
"Guys ,its a unique battle between the snakes and the human community," hosts Leo and Aarthi announced.
"We have Sandeep Balan,Ste,Priyanka and Bharghav Saika as our judges for todays contest," Aarthi said.
"It's an important event guys,if humans win,then snakes will lose their ability to stand erect and speech.If snakes win,then humans will lose their ability to speak and think," Leo said.

Prince Arjun and Saapo looked at each other with anger.
"There will be 2 rounds.Fast songs will be played in the first round and Slow songs will be played in the second round.Each judge will give you 25 points and the game will be decided by the scores out of 200 after end of round 2," Leo and Aarthi said.

"Lets start the show," the judges said in unison.
Prince Arjuna came to dance. He twined his body in all possible directions. He danced for 5 minutes.

"Aila,man Arjuna dancing hip hop," Sandeep Balan said to the other judges.
The judges were highly impressed with Arjuna's performance.

"Arjuna,something was missing daa,I am still finding it out, so I give you 21 out of 25,"Priyanka said.
"24 for you da ,no comments simply amazing," Ste gave him a standing ovation.
"22 for you,as Pri said some elements were missing," Sandeep Balan said.
"14 for you ,no expressions,no entertainment ,no excitement," Bharghav said to the prince.

The hosts next called Saapo ,the snake.
The snake was dancing pretty aggresively.He was performing continous movements.
"God,the snake is doing rock and roll," Bhargav grinned.
"23 for you Saapo,you rock," Priyanka said.
"24 for you,superb expressions and aggresions Saapo," Ste said.
"25 for the cute Saapo,god bless you," Sandeep Balan said.
"25 for you.Everything was perfect.Had a perfect feast," Bharghav said.

"So at the end of the first round Prince Arjuna is 81 and Saapo is 97," the anchors said and everyone cheered for Saapo.

It seemed the human race was about to lose the contest.It would be a humiliating defeat.Everyone from the human community encouraged and cheered for their dance representative Prince Arjun.

The second round started and Prince Arjuna came to dance.
He was better than the previous round.He performed some dance.
"24 for you ,perfect fete for us," Priyanka said.
"24 ,you were dancing well this time," Ste said.
"25,I'm impressed ," Sandeep Balan said.
"25,was a delight for us,I will write a review about this dance of yours," Bhargav gave him a standing ovation.

Saapo was over confident and he slipped while dancing.This reflected in his marks.
"10,Sorry," Priyanka refused to speak a word.
"11,didn't accept this," Ste said.
"10,disappointed," Sandeep said with a straight face.
"10," Bhargav said.

"So total after round 2 is different.Prince Arjuna gets 179 and Saapo gets 138," the hosts smiled.
Prince Arjuna laughed and screamed.Saapo was clearly disappointed.His face exhibited his frown.The snakes lost their ability to sense and stand erect.Prince Arjuna rolled on the floor and gigled.
"Snake dance ,Snake dance!," The judges were stunned.

"And thats how snake dance came into existence," Arjun Choudary, the great great grandson of Prince Arjuna said to his other blogger friends.
Arjun Choudary was an expert snake dancer and he used to teach Sandeep Malan sir in his acting school.

"Wow!,so you guys created history ,eh!," the blogger friends said in unison.
"Yes,"Arjun said to his friends with pride.


To Arjun,
hmm,finally I get to write something for my partner in crime.Partner in crime is what I call him.This is because we both are experts in this field of humour.We love and enjoy writing humour.You rock daa.You are "the humour king" . Hope you write more such beautiful posts and I will be glad to see you back in action.

(From Arjun - When you tell a crazy person to go crazy, wat happens? Such a post happens.. hehe :P ... Thanks for writing this piece bro. I've started Snake dancing classes at my place. You can join in if u r rich enuf.. :P )

The Solitary Writer.


  © Blogger templates Romantico by 2008

Back to TOP