The Unsung Duet!

"Based on a Series of True Incidents"

“Baal waali ladiki”. That was the name I decided to give her when I saw her for the first time. You might start wondering, why the name “Baal waali ladiki”, why not anything else? Well, the answer is simple; she has a huge tuft of hair on her head, which is iconic (That doesn’t mean all the other girls living nearby my house are bald, their hair isn’t iconic that’s all). I read a fact somewhere that the human eye can detect a match struck 52 kilometers away in an undisturbed environment. I’m not pretty sure about that statement, but I can detect the “Baal Waali Ladiki” even from space. Every morning she is the signal of my luck. If I find her in my bus stop, that means I didn’t miss the bus, if don’t that means I have to choke my wallets and literally drain out the last of its contents. I have been watching here since the last fifteen months, day in and day out. But I act as if I never know of her presence at all. I don’t even remember a day during our daily mix up at the bus stop where we even exchanged a look. I wouldn’t have bothered about this “Baal Waali Ladiki” if not for extremely charming and cute looks and not to mention, her fuckin father.

Here enters one of the many villains in this story, dressed in a pair of overused shorts, with hair which is in contrast with his daughter’s, white and all scraped down. If the daughter’s hair could be compared with the African rainforests then the father’s resembles the grasslands in midst of the Sahara (how green it is!). With a sick and over protective haughty feeling, this man drives his daughter to the bus stop every day, drops his daughter and moves ahead only to park his car a few feet ahead. Every fuckin day I feel those evil eyes glaring at the daughter, through the rear view mirror. Fuck man, what kind of father is so protective these days? After all eve his daughter has a life, and also the poor fellows looking at her daughter also have a life. I stand in that self pitiable situation, with a “what the fuck” look on my face, for fifteen minutes every day. I can’t do anything except to drool and dream, drool inconspicuously, as I believe any trace of saliva below my lips could start a nuclear war with her father as the villain, or what’s more, he could even run me down with that rusty old Maruti of his.

After a year and half of nonstop drooling, a small voice inside my head, asked me to go a step ahead. In one of the many day-dreaming encounters, I felt her black locks of hair fall across my face. The routine duets sans the beautiful panorama and glitzy costumes. These day dreams inspired to get more out of the situation. But Alas! The Gods decided to play their game of chess with me as the King. I was sitting a square away from the queen, with an enemy king in the middle. It was either check mate or ‘fuck’ mate. There lay trillions of possibilities for a miss, but only one move for the queen. My grey cells went into swift action, they devised a plan.

The next day I morphed myself into a self obsessed fashion avatar. The trendy pair of Adidas replaced the routine formals, and I gave myself a chic hunk (I was faking it, by holding up my breath for a little more than normal) and strode down the road to the stop with a pride so superfluous that it would make every King on this earth hang his head in shame. But I didn’t realize that fate would play marbles with me, as I neared my goal post, the ball vanished and as I approached the bus stop, the girl vanished signaling a tragedy. I missed the bus. What followed later can be accounted under the section “Post tragic trauma”, but as I don’t have one in my blog I guess we should move on.

The Dinosaur:

No, I’m not going to give a Jurassic twist here, but it is just the stage for the classic entry of another person. Here enters the second villain of this titanic ‘tragic’ story Mr.Dickhead aka Dinosaur. The reason behind his seemingly gigantic name can be attributed to his bloated face and a peculiar mass of hair above his head which reminds one of the head of a Stegosaurus (One need not be paleontologist to know what it is, watch Jurassic Park). One look at him and you will firmly believe that Man evolved from Chimpanzee’s of Africa. So Mr.Dickhead, as his name seems to suggest is a pervert, and mighty big shameless flirt, who could handle multiple love stories with girls in his own class without getting caught. Every day Dickhead purposely sits behind our dear old “Baal Waali Ladiki”. What starts with a small smile proceeds to become peals of laughter and our usually reserved young lady shares some really happy moments with him, much to my amusement (I forgot to add, the girl under observation i.e. “Baal Waali Ladiki” is a very reclusive person, and Dickhead is one of the few people whom she talks with, presumably as Dickhead is her senior).

So one day with firm determination, I confronted Dickhead and indirectly gave him a hint, “Dude, please do leave some girls for us, please!”

I expected a harsh reply but Dickhead never lost his cool, “Hmmm, it’s a rat race mate, chop chop or might not get anything, try try till you succeed, which girl are you talking about anyway?”

I didn’t quite understand what he said, but I got the essence of his speech, and it didn’t take time for me to realize that perverts can be professional too.

A bit of research into his background gave me interesting results. Every day while flirting with B.W.L. Dickhead used to secretly follow another girl in the bus (popularly referred to as AIDS patient, as her physique just endorses the fact, Err myth!). Talk about hitting two birds with one stone, dudes like this one are the greatest threat to the male kind, the overuse and later recycle. And recycled products aren’t exactly the ones which match my taste. For a while I envied Dick (head), later I realized that flirts like him are best to be ignored, because ignorance is the only thing he can expect in the future.

The Master-Bat(i)on:

The title misleads right? I know about your sick, pervert mind. Well, my mind is equally sick too, the title conveys the actual crux of the story, follow it in whatever manner you may, you shall be blessed.

A little after I stopped ignoring Dino’s Dick, I found peace. Let me describe you the reason behind all my fantasies for asking this girls name. She is about 5 feet 9 inches tall (No, I didn’t take a tape and measure her, a rough estimation!), cute, fair (I wouldn’t bother about the color, but she is what she is!), cute again and super sexy. The only thing which brings out a shiver in my knees is that, she is from a pucca Hindi background and me from an out and out traditional Telugu family. Well, being born in a traditional family does not necessarily mean I should hate Hindi, but I hate (on the contrary, my entire family idolizes Hindi, it sucks!). One of the very few words I know in Hindi include “Tere Maa ki”, *beep* *beep* *beep*. Apart from that, I should be truthful; I have enough courage to break windows in front of the whole college but not enough substance to talk to a girl. That is the sole reason, why you are bearing this five page ‘hormance’ (horror romance) here.

After a few days, lady luck decided to bless me. Cupid also felt that the time was ripe for setting his weapons into action. Poor dude, in the world of laser aided nukes, our little old underwear (?) clad boy is still relying on the love tipped ancient African arrows. No wonder, the divorce rates are high.

I was walking down the huge hallway when suddenly I found B.W.L. sobbing silently. One look at her and you will be cheated, but my ultra thick celled brain detected a chance. I strode up to her in a casual way, and asked her what the problem is. In a barely intangible voice she replied, “I lost my record”. Well, talking about records, what the monitor is for a computer, the record is for a student. It can be billed the entry card for Lab session and as the report card for the overall performance. Many a time, these records end up being written by friends, neighbors or even sisters, but nevertheless in India anything can be gotten for a chocolate. I asked her when the lab was,

“In the afternoon session”, another intangible reply with the sobs increasing in intensity.

With an air of induced confidence, I told her not cry (while my sadistically motivated eyes were admiring the beauty of her eyes) and sat down on the staircase and sat down to work. A record generally is a conglomerate of a random 70 pages of shit aided with diagrams. Whatever you write it should fit in 70 pages. One can liberally use obscene language, pepper the scientific formulae and even rape the subject no one bothers. Three hours, thirty five pages. It wasn’t easy, but for her I could do anything.

Three hours (fifteen minutes) later, I looked up.

“Finished”

“Ditto”

We got up, arranged the pages in proper order and looked into each other’s faces.

“Thanks, without you I would have flunked in the lab exams”

A little balloon rose from the bottom of my heart and ended as a pop somewhere in between.

“Never mind, I did my duty, friends?”

“Yea, friends”

She extended her arm, and touched my hand.

A shot of acid ran through my nervous system, true to the name, I became nervous.

And then she took her arm and,

Slapped me right on my face.

I woke up, only to hear Anuraag shouting “Ma****hod, bus mein bhi ghusa de be, mere record laya ho kya?”

“Wtf??”

Sad, it really was.

Edit: An Epilogue: Vipul posted an excellent comment which blended with the mood of the story and I feel, it's another worthy ending! Here it goes!

"All the best with ur cupid tale.. i hope u talk to the BWL nd suddenly the 'maruti' uncle jumps in - "Hey beta.. i've been waiting at this bus stop for so many mnths in the hope tht one day this cool guy will talk 2 my girl. Will u marry her?" ;)"

[Till date I haven’t talked to B.W.L., I seek help O my fellow bloggers. Drop in your suggestions.

P.S.: If you are the “Baal Waali Ladiki” mentioned in the above story, I’m sorry about being a bit abusive about your father, I couldn’t help it! Moreover, you look cute!

Note: My next post can take ages, so please don’t wait!

You can now download the "Fight Club" Ebook. Click here.

Download the complete Imdb (Internet movie database) goofs list. Click here.

Download the complete Imdb trivia list. Click here.]

This is your Life - Fight Club 10th Anniversary Special.

16_Various Artists - This Is Your Life.mp3

And you open the door,

and you step inside,

we're inside our hearts,

now imagine your pain,

is a white ball of healing light,

that's right, feel your pain,

the pain itself,

is a white ball of healing light

I don't think so.

This is your life

good to the last drop,

doesn't get any better than this,

this is your life, and it's ending,

one minute at a time,

this isn't a seminar,

and this isn't a weekend retreat,

where you are now,

you can't even imagine,

what the bottom will be like,

Only after disaster,

can we be resurrected,

it's only after you've lost,

everything that you're,

free to do anything,

Nothing is static,

everything is appalling (evolving),

everything is

falling apart,

You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake,

you are the same decaying

organic matter as everything else,

we are all a part of the same compost heap,

we are the all-singing,

all-dancing crap of the world

you are not your bank account,

you are not the clothes you wear,

you are not the contents of your wallet,

you are not your bowel cancer,

you are not your grande latte,

you are not the car you drive,

you are not your fucking khakis,

You have to give up,

You have to realise that someday you will die,

until you know that you are useless,

I say let me never be complete,

I say may i never be content,

I say deliver me from swedish furniture,

I say deliver me from clever art,

I say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth,

I say you have to give up,

I say evolve, and let the chips,

fall where they may,

I want you to hit me as hard as you can

Welcome to fight club

If this is your first night

you have to fight.

[ Fight Club, is a movie by David Fincher, released a decade ago, it is one of the finest pieces of art in the history of cinema. A dark satirical comedy with a visually aesthetic style, minced with witty dialogues and intense action, this modern thriller will just blog those little grey areas of your brain, apart! If you haven't watched it till now, please do, for once you will realize life is not boring after all. The complete essence of fight club can be gotten in the above song. I almost forgot to add, this movie's soundtrack composed by the Dust Brothers is an epic itself. Please do check it out.

P.S. : No part in this post except the one in brackets is original, credit goes to the guy who wrote this song and David Fincher

P.P.S.: Posting on Saturday!]

The King Fucke'th!

Phew!

It's been a long time since I have posted some stuff over here, which makes me feel guilty and lazy at the same time. But like any other undergrad student, exams have taken their toll on me. Even though they are a month away, the very thought of studying has brought an emotional slide. This when combined with a week of illness is sure to burn out any poor mind's grey cell resources. This isn't exactly the writer's block (Err, or is it the blogger's block?) as I feel I passed that phase of writing long time ago. But the impending reality of exams and social stress when combined is a deadly combination which does its job with utmost precision. You might wonder where this post is leading to, and as you all know, it is just another piece of "I love to brag" shit. Shit which is omnipresent in today's world. Eleven posts got some shape in my mind, with a few even being lucky to get started. But fate, the ultimate dictator has spread his rule here. A post nearly completed, got wiped out from my computer without a trace. Shit apart, there are a few noteworthy topics floating in the world, worthy enough to find some place on my blog. Let me not bore (brag) you anymore, here I start!

Obama winning the Nobel Peace prize. I thought that the dudes in the “Giving out Nobel” committee were all the miserly brains of the West, but it turns out to be wrong, as I now picture them to be a pack of neo racist, hippo brained, bald headed buffaloes, who decide the winner by just skimming through the day’s newspaper. If that’s the case, I guess the winner for the next year would be Osama bin Laden, for his sudden transformation into a peaceful lifestyle, spending less time on Jihad and more time on trimming his beard and making America terror free. This Saint from Sudan will be the icon of peace, believe me.

That reminds me of a popular (!) saying, Err termed by me,

“The greatest is not the He who Fucke’th the world,

But it indeed is the He who the world Fucke’th”

I have been thinking of the above lines. The more I think, the more enlightened I became. Ponder upon it, you will find some shocking truths. If the above lines were to be an inspiration to you, there wouldn’t be no exams, no more shitty Monday’s, no more junk, in face there won’t be a ‘no more’ anymore. Or the effects of a Cerebral Palsy or an Alzheimer’s will sure hit you at an age you’d never wish to be hit. There was more I wanted to talk about. For instance, the biggest piece of garbage in the form of ‘Blue’, or the even more stinking antics of the housemates in Bigg Boss. But as they say, “Time and tide wait for none”

Not for me at least.

I leave you here with an excerpt from my upcoming post “Phantasmagoria”, a surreal tale with those delicate twists all of you love to read.

“It’s just a simple procedure; it will be over in a matter of fifteen minutes”

“Ma, take me out from here, please!”

“Son, you shouldn’t be rude, talk to the Doc.”

“Do not worry son, I have been doing this procedure since the past 20 years, so do not worry, if you co-operate this is a cakewalk for me”

I lie there, draped in the pale white hospital linen, surrounded by minimalistic tools, mainly chrome plated. The room had a surreal feel, it was over illuminated. Surprisingly, it was empty if not for Ma and the Doc. Ma had a hollow aura around her body, her voice sounded callous. The sterile hospital air acted as a catalyst for the arousal of horror in my brain. Horror, in the most unassuming form, horror which erected a few hundreds of Goosebumps on my arms. The doctor’s coat looked as if it were washed in a sea of detergent. The ghastly pale illuminance hurt my eye.

The Doctor had an odd smile spread across his face. Odd because, I believe that Doctor’s only smile when they have a prey in their hands. The smile was a like a cross between the vintage demon and the modern day Joker. The smile didn’t ask me “Why so serious”, but instead it was reflecting the mood of the place, “This is serious”.

“Hold out your tongue son”

I stretched out the lone piece of muscle which was going to make the difference.

“More, stretch it even more, that’s it, that’s it!, easy son, easy”

His eyeballs expanded as he peered into my now dry mouth. The size of his eyeballs increased with every passing moment. The reddish shade of the eyeballs was fast changing from a faint flash to a deep hue. He thrush a pair of tongs into my mouth, my tongue tried to wriggle out from its grip, but the truth was inevitable.”

Hopefully, the above post will be completed by next Sunday, till then, keep waiting!

P.S.: A huge thanks to Shruti, Anamika, Shilpa, Roshmi and Apurv for showering me with their faith and confidence in me. I feel really happy to have friends like you! (That doesn’t mean my other FB’s don’t mean a thing!)

P.P.S: It might take another month (27^th November to be precise!) for me to be back completely on the blogerville. I’ll be posting a random post or two, but there will be an absence from some of your blogs. I’ll be sure to make up for all of it! Cheers!

Note: Those of you who want to write a guest post up here on my blog are welcome, the topic is upto you, but it should gel with the general mood of my blog! Hope you will respond!

Conversations With My Inner Self

This post is co-authored by Shilpa Garg of "A Rose is a Rose is a Rose!"

Me: Hi, Inner Self!



Inner Self (IS) : Hello! Long time!!



Me : Yeah, long time! Had been very busy. Didn't had the time to talk to you at length.



IS : It’s ok. better late than never! What is it that you want to talk about today?



Me : There’s one thing, which is on my mind for a long time now.



IS : Tell me…



Me : I have been writing my own blog for a cool two years now. Done over 50 posts! Have some regular patrons. Have had a variety of posts on my blog.



IS : That’s good. But where is all this leading? And what is variety of posts?



Me : I’ll elaborate…well, in the recipe of my blog, I have had various ingredients in the form of some Fiction, Comedy, P+iJ (complex poor jokes), Poetry, Life, Death etc.. But one variety of post is missing.



IS : Which one??



Me : Its the Cut/Copy-Paste Posts.



IS : A Cut/Copy-Paste Post? What is that?



Me : Well, this is a post in which you Cut/Copy-Paste anything from anywhere and post it on your blog, either with no change or some minor changes. I want to do such a type of post too.



IS: From the looks of it, it doesn't sound appealing at all. Why do you want to do this??



Me : Oh, there are a lot of reasons…

It’s the easiest thing to do!!
It can be done in a wink!
You don't get to put any stress on your grey cells or don a creative hat!
You get rave reviews for doing so too. People literally thank you from the bottom of their hearts for sharing such wonderful info with them.
In fact, some believe it to be your own creation and give you amazing creative titles.
And even if some know that it not your own creativity, they’ll still post rosy, glorious comments.
You get awards/recognition too for such posts.
What more could a blogger ask for?



IS : But the comments on such posts might be marginal?



Me : NO, you are mistaken. They are in huge numbers.



IS : I believe the bloggers are an intelligent. Creative, thoughtful tribe! Why would they be glorifying such a copy cat thing?



Me : They are! In fact, most of them are so very talented and creative. I guess, nobody wants to be in anybody’s irritated or dumped books and no blogger would like to lose his/her followers or commenter’s, just because you don't like/agree with their ONE post!



IS : I don't understand, where do people Cut/Copy Paste such info from?



Me : Arre…there is so much information available on the world wide web. Then you have forward mails which you get a dozen a day, then you can Cut/Copy Paste from other blogs too!



IS : Ok, if such information is accessible to all, so why bother duplicating the whole thing??



Me : Agreed, but these bloggers think that may be their readers do not have access to that kind of information. So, they are kind of doing a social service, by providing the info right on their computer screen!!


IS: Just a thought, does the well worked out posts lose their importance, in the process??

Me: They do! In fact I received very few comments on the posts which I worked on the most (and they were elaborate). Very few people read the entire posts at a stretch; the others just go through it superficially and leave a bland comment like “Good”, “You are the best”. But in the case of Cut/Copy Paste posts, a reader can get gist of the entire content in one go and hence puts up better comments (or am I feeling that they are better?). In this process serious posts are the real losers.



IS: How can one get the gist of a Cut/Copy Paste post but not of an original one?
Me: The answer is simple. A Cut/Copy Paste post is generally (in nearly all of the cases) obtained from forwarded mails. Any blogger with some sweet 20 posts under his name tends to have constant access to e-mail (20 posts is a benchmark, for example, it may be lower too). And as it is universally known, forwarded mails are bombarded in a frequent mail user’s inbox. Hence, there is a greater chance that a reader of a Cut/Copy Paste post knows the content matter of the post beforehand.
And moreover, most of the Cut/Copy Paste posts are generally humorous. The grey cell burnout factor is minimal in their case. So, upon reading the first paragraph, one can easily get the drift of the post, thereby letting the reader to come to a conclusion without going through the entire post.

But when it comes to an original piece of writing, one cannot predict the ending just by reading the introduction. There might be many twists and turns in between and also the intensity may increase depending upon the author’s caliber so, it eliminates many of the passing readers.


IS: Judging by your above thoughts, are you telling me that the quality of comments define the posts?



Me: Nah! After a certain period of time I feel every blogger reaches the stage where he/she doesn’t care much about the “Present Sir/Mam Comments”. Yes, thoughtful and well researched comments are always useful for the blogger as they present the pros and cons of the post, and hence help the blogger in becoming better. But in the end, it is the satisfaction of the blogger which matters the most, nothing can beat that.

IS: Hmmm… looks like a logical answer to me.

Me: It is. Oops, that reminds me of something, a part of the lyric from Sum 41’s song “Pieces”.

“If you believe it’s in my soul,

I’d say all the words that I know,

Just to see if it wouldn’t show,

That I am trying to let you know,

That I’m better off on my own”

IS : That was a good adaptation!
Me: But, somehow, somewhere I don't get a good vibe about doing such a post.

IS : Ok, I get your point. Let me share with you something from a Blogger (who does a Cut/Copy Paste Post) and a Commenter on such posts. You know that, a Blog, as Wikipedia describes it, is a type of website, usually maintained by an individual with regular entries of commentary, descriptions of events, or other material such as graphics or video. Right?



Me : Right.



IS : Since it is a personal website, the author has the right to post whatever he/she deems correct/blog worthy. Since, its a personal blog, the author has all the right to publish anything he/she desires. So, in case you are happy to have a Cut/Copy Paste Post on your blog. By all means, go ahead.

And in case you do not like the idea, don't do it.

As a Commenter, you have a choice…

To read the blog and comment on it.
To read the blog and refrain from commenting on it.
Neither read (I am sure you’ll get an idea after first few lines!) nor comment on it.


Me : Makes sense.
IS : So go ahead and express what you feel on your blog, after all it’s your personal domain!




[Shilpa Garg is an ace blogger from Jammu, with a plethora of posts lined up in her blog. Her blog "A Rose is a Rose is a Rose" is one of the most popular blogs in the blogger circuit, those of you who haven't checked her blog yet, please do take a peek!]

The Indian Dream

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 3; the third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Someone asked me the reason why I didn’t have a girlfriend, while all my friends did.

I pondered over the question for quite some time, and found two answers for the question.

I replied, “I don’t have the money and also the requisite culture”.

“What!”, exclaimed the person who was expecting an answer like “I am impotent” and stuff.

“Yes” said I, stamping my fist on the table.

What happened later is something I leave for your imagination, but what went through my mind is something beyond your expectations. So tighten your pant belts, let out some air, grab some popcorn and read on.

Ek Choti Si Love Story:

I asked my close friend X, who had been hitting on the sexy up town chick Y since quite some time now, how he cooked up a relationship with her.

X who was smiling till then suddenly put up a sour and broken expression on his face and started talking to me like a drought stricken farmer who suddenly lost his already worn out crop in a flash flood.

“What to tell mate? The times are tough, She is eating away like an elephant draining all my resources and then fleeing like a cat, leaving me in such a mess every time that I can’t even understand what happened”

“What, but she does not looks fat! Is she really a glutton?”

“Oh no! I didn’t mean eating in that way, she is such a spendthrift mate and every time she spends chivalry comes to play in between and it’s usually me who ends up paying the bill”

Suddenly a reel of imagination hit my mind. The reel had the title

“A day in a man’s life” :

It’s six in the morning. Man wakes up. Get’s out of bed and goes straight to the wash basin. Takes his blue Oral B toothbrush (which has colorful bristles which fade in three months an indication for a change) and notices that the bristles faded down and reminded himself to get a new brush and the very thought of it cut 80 bucks from his monthly salary. He picks up the toothpaste which “Colgate” written boldly all over it. The tube was colossal; for once he checked the price, 59 bucks. “Great!” he thought, for once the prices didn’t change. But then his inquisitive nature which had been nurtured in a two lakh per year Management College made him see the weight. 175 grams. “Fuck” he thought, the paste was 25 grams lighter than the last month, but it cost the same. He gave one small squeeze on the paste tube, only to get a large lump on his brush. Larger the tube more is the paste, "Fuck Bernoulli", he though and proceeded to do his job.

It was 7 o clock in the morning. “Time to get some milk” he thought. Dragging his feet he went out.

“Two packets please”, he said to the surly looking old woman.

“24 rupees”, shouted the woman, taking our dear old protagonist two years back into the memory lane, when two packets of milk cost him only 12 rupees. “Hiding his tears he gave the old woman three ten rupee notes who in turn gave him a 5 rupee coin. Our man stayed there like a stray dog staring at the garbage bin for the remaining one rupee. The old woman threw him a “Are you a man” look and said “No change”. Depressed he walked back. There was another vast cut in his monthly salary, a cut of value 800 hundred rupees.

It was eight in the morning. Time for office, grabbing his bike keys he set down to the parking lot. Only when he kicked the bike to life he knew that its end was near, temporarily. The fuel indicator refused to bulge from the E symbol, which meant he had to go to his office, struggling. He waited at the bus stop for the bus to come. After a wait of fifteen minutes, a visibly overcrowded bus arrived to the stop. People on the footboard, mostly young college students refused to move their butts, forcing the passengers who wanted to get down perform all sorts of gymnastics prescribed in the Olympic rulebook. Getting in was also a fight of its own, but this time it was different. The bus driver who usually was impatient started off, without even bothering about the passengers who were still to get a strong foothold. Our ‘poor’ protagonist performed a sprint behind a bus trying to grab something which could get him on the bus. Finally he managed to get hold of a person’s leg and throw himself in. At this instant, a very old ‘gentleman’, a lucky looking 40 plus fellow decided to spit out the ‘paan’ he was chewing. Unceremoniously, he let out a projectile of the gravy red concoction out into the air, through the window, which obeying Newton’s laws of motion fell onto our dear little man’s shirt.

The moment he stepped into the office, our protagonist’s lady love called him, or instead gave him a missed call. Grudgingly he returned the call, which didn’t cost him anything at that moment, but later in the monthly phone bills, there was a huge deflection.

“Hello?”

“Hiiiii! How about a movie and shopping today? You promised me to take me out this week”

“But Darling, I..”

“You are taking me out, that’s it”

*Beep* *Beep*

A flash in his mind and everything runs past him. He predicts the future. He goes with his ‘hot’ chick to the mall for shopping. She does all the selection, while he pays all the bills. She swayed sweet ass, but he got to carry the heavy bags. A lunch at the mistress’s favorite meant a cut of 1500 bucks from his monthly salary. A movie and three hours later, his hair stood up on his scalp and his money sunk deeper down in his pocket, he was 500 bucks poor (he hopingly took a 500 buck note, only to get a two rupee change, in the interval). A good bye, a small smooch (well, it was not even like the one in the movies) and a dozen roses later, our poor old protagonist was poorer by 200 rupees again. That evening our little man, lost more than 3000 bucks all for a single smooch from his dear old lady, surely he could have done much better if not for the price tag. Our man suddenly woke up from his day dream. He set out to meet Her.

Ten hours later, weary eyed he reached his house. He was right, he lost more than 3000 bucks (everything inclusive) and a hundred more calories. He opened the door, and dropped down in his couch. He switched on his TV to watch something useful, only to find a blank screen. He reached for his landline to make a call to the cable wallah, only to find his phone line dead. Then his grey cells started to work, which reminded him that he had to pay the cable and phone bills. “Shit”, that meant another 2000 bucks cut from our dear little mister.

Rent was another hole in the wall (of the treasury) which lifted/burned a sweet 10,000 bucks from his salary.

Tired, he lay down on his cozy bed, for which he was still paying money through easy monthly installments, looking at the ceiling he fell asleep only to wake up five minutes later only to realize that there was a power cut. “Fuck, I forgot to pay the current bill!”.

He dreamed of days when everything was cheaper, when he brought those movie tickets for 40 bucks, a nice shirt for 100 bucks. Everything was left behind. After a month, the only thing he could save was a rupee. Which he dutifully donated to the kid dressed as Mahatma Gandhi, wishing him, “Happy Birthday”. He was a poor man after all. Imagine men with families now.

Ek Choti Si Love Story Continued:

I woke up from the day dream. X started giving me a weird look. A few minutes later I opened my mouth,

“Why don’t you ditch her for a change?”

“Ditch her?! Man, you are one miserable fuck, but do you know the implications after I ditch her?”

“No”

“Well, everyone in her friends circle start to treat me as a fag, a self centric, egoistic, self satisfactory, impotent son of a bitch. They will spread the word to every possible being, thereby tampering the little image I’ve got”

“Fuck”.

Another reel of wisdom hit my mind. I submerged into my dreams again,

The ‘Culture’ Shock:

Two years ago, a pub opened in my home city. Conservational people and the orthodox communities vehemently opposed the opening of the pub. A year later three more pubs opened around the city operating all through the night. Noodle straps and miniskirts became the order of the day. Booze parties of the elite, with astronomical ticket pricings were the talk of the town. I was unaware of how a pub looked like, and neither was I allowed into one as I hail from a highly orthodox family.

One day I happened to be near one of the pubs. Punk styled guys with weird hair do’s and chicks with revealing clothes were all over the place. The entrance was busy with posh cars coming in and out for dropping a passenger (utter waste of fuel). A little inside, there were couples, with the men touching women in the ‘taboo’ parts et al.

The rapid globalization has brought the western ‘cultures’ right into the laps of today’s youngsters. When fully covered was considered beautiful in the olden days, the mantra now seems to be “One’s gotta be a porn star”. Women complain that men eve tease a lot. They question in the public, what’s wrong by wearing dresses of our liking. The answer is simple, there is nothing wrong in you wearing exploding dresses and there is nothing wrong in our eyes following you. It is an act of nature; we are not to blame it. Comfort apart, another reason why women wear stuff like that is to expose their beauties. They silently hope to woo men around them.

Were pepper sprays heard of in the past?

Were I pill advertisements common in the past?

The answer is a strict no, in the past there was a more sense of security. The more one covers the less is the temptation. If men’s eyes are magnets, then clothing is a block of wood, cleavages are an opposite pole. Alcohol which was taboo for girls in the past has become common now.

Where is the new generation going?

God knows.

This ought to be remembered, there are torn vests behind those Gucci shirts, tattered underwear behind those Levi’s jeans, and teary eyes behind those huge Armani sunglasses. People are branding themselves with products, instead of branding other with their brains.

Those movies have to be revamped. The utter nonsense filmy crap has to be scrapped. Those items songs banned and remakes punished. Originality should be the key. We should be proud to be an Indian. We should be Indian at the heart and mind. What we write is inconsequential, what we think matters.

These are the days in which originality gets the lesser seat. Copy paste is the thought and ideology of every second Indian.

Globalization is thing of the heart, but not of the body.

I woke up from my dream once again. X was bullshitting me about Y. How she was a bitch and all. I faked a call and got out. Change should happen from the insides, irrespective of the outside. Then, one can see the change he wishes to be. One needn’t be the Mahatma to know that, even a Papatma with a brain can do it. Change is eternal. This my Indian Dream.

Note: Check out my movie review section towards the right of the page and don't forget commenting on it! This also happens to be my 50th post! Do wait for my next post, which is going to be an award giving one!

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