Amitong was not in a good mood. He saw 3 black and 4 brown cows around a really small pond. He was not particularly upset, but only mildly disturbed. It’s hard to face that sometimes. It’s the kind of mood that often amounts to nothing. And that's just what happened. He saw the cows, his mood was ruffled, he forgot about it and then he was ok again. Then when he thought about how pointless this mood change was, he was a little disturbed. “Why do these cows bother me so slightly? Or is it the fact that they are around a pond?” He could not bear to hear himself think. The whole thing was degenerating pretty rapidly.
His muses were bovine, his thoughts pedestrian and his mood changes mild. It was very middle-of-the-road. If he were a painter, he would have painted the Mona, if he were a musician he would have played at a sub-local level and if he were a sportsman, he would have always won first round matches, but no more. It was all coming to nothing pretty quickly.
His normalcy needed something extreme, he decided. It was time for him to buy a navy blue shirt. Or maybe brown shoes. No, not the brown shoes. Too much, too soon. He decided also that beer must be had. “But how can beer be different this time?”, he heard himself think and sipped some beer. As was the norm, he fell asleep on his sofa after the first glass. As he woke up in the morning, he saw exceptional people on TV, playing sport beyond the first round, murderers on trial, judges trying the murderers, reporters covering the judges trying the murderers. None of these people was ordinary, he thought. “And yet here I am.” The voice in his head was pithy again, making statements between the ordinary and the normal. He hoped this would disturb him greatly, but he was within control.
And then he thought, “I must do something, I must change my name.”
The end.
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Saturday, September 25
Monday, July 5
Styles and tribulations
Fingers inside your skull push your eyeballs up towards your brain. Your knees lose the ability to hold up your body, their sides feel like they are in zero gravity.
The first one gets rejected. You have a prescience about it. But for now, you know that it's not good enough. It's going to be a long day. You walk the next hundred miles within the centrally heated glass cage with your symptoms getting worse.
They have a place for those like you; tired, stressed people quickly deteriorating into a darker realm of consciousness. You reach this area of the forlorn and exchange pathetic glances with your fellow sufferers. You realise that although they feel your pain, they cannot help you. Their presence makes you more miserable, their pitiable faces multiply your tribulation so that you cannot share the cushions of suffering anymore. You escape from the frying pan.
It is time to opine on a sequined flutter of red, purple, mauve, magenta. You look up in desperation to understand whether an approval, rejection or something in between is sought. You are not sure, so you go with implied thoughtfulness -- a good point counterbalanced by a bad one. The reaction makes you proud, it's been many years and you have learned your lessons well.
You're now near the end, the plastic bags in your hand are drawn to the earth, as if magnetized. However, your experience overrides your fading strength. Like a champion boxer, you know that the abuse must be suffered, yielding to the ache and staying knocked down would mean humiliation and defeat. The circuitous path leads you to the beginning of the journey.
At the portal to this world, faced with Hobson's choice, you knew you would be back. But there's much to be proud of. Even though you are poorer and enervated, you smile to yourself when you observe that the cushions of suffering are vacant. You have survived.
The trek whose defining characteristic was its lack of definition is in its final hour. You muster up everything that is within you and say, "I think this is it. This is the dress, honey." She smiles with contentment, the shopping will soon be over.
Images combined from here and here.
The first one gets rejected. You have a prescience about it. But for now, you know that it's not good enough. It's going to be a long day. You walk the next hundred miles within the centrally heated glass cage with your symptoms getting worse.
They have a place for those like you; tired, stressed people quickly deteriorating into a darker realm of consciousness. You reach this area of the forlorn and exchange pathetic glances with your fellow sufferers. You realise that although they feel your pain, they cannot help you. Their presence makes you more miserable, their pitiable faces multiply your tribulation so that you cannot share the cushions of suffering anymore. You escape from the frying pan.
It is time to opine on a sequined flutter of red, purple, mauve, magenta. You look up in desperation to understand whether an approval, rejection or something in between is sought. You are not sure, so you go with implied thoughtfulness -- a good point counterbalanced by a bad one. The reaction makes you proud, it's been many years and you have learned your lessons well.
You're now near the end, the plastic bags in your hand are drawn to the earth, as if magnetized. However, your experience overrides your fading strength. Like a champion boxer, you know that the abuse must be suffered, yielding to the ache and staying knocked down would mean humiliation and defeat. The circuitous path leads you to the beginning of the journey.
At the portal to this world, faced with Hobson's choice, you knew you would be back. But there's much to be proud of. Even though you are poorer and enervated, you smile to yourself when you observe that the cushions of suffering are vacant. You have survived.
The trek whose defining characteristic was its lack of definition is in its final hour. You muster up everything that is within you and say, "I think this is it. This is the dress, honey." She smiles with contentment, the shopping will soon be over.
Images combined from here and here.
Wednesday, March 31
The three someones of the two states of my life - a Shenoy
It was another Friday evening. Naren, 'Chuck' and Krish celebrated one year of moving 'to onsite', or specifically the Netherlands with yet another evening of alcohol, games and office gossip.
"Man", said Naren. "The appraisals are a real bitch this time. I sucked up all year to the guy sitting in Kolkata, but it turns out that it's Boss, who sits next to my cubicle, who will appraise me. And he thinks that I have an attitude problem."
"That sucks!", Chuck and Krish echoed.
"Yeah, not just that. He says he's going to rate me 'Excellent, but in an ordinary way'. This will postpone my promotion by two years. I don't even know if it's worth staying here anymore."
At this point, Chuck who got tipsy and emotional even with the idea of consuming alcohol exclaimed, "I feel for ya buddy! I really feel for ya!"
Then he said something they didn't expect, "You should threaten that bastard with his life."
"How can he do that? Boss stays 50 km away and the moment Naren wakes up tomorrow, he will be too chicken to say anything against Boss", Krish asked, realistic as always.
"I know a way", Chuck declared, and proceeded to lift a dart from a pockmarked board behind the door.
Before the others knew what was happening, Chuck hurled it with all his strength at the window.
To everyone's surprise, the dart shattered the double-paned glass and traveled like a missile before lodging itself in a tree, nearly half a mile away. Krish and Naren looked at Chuck agape.
"This is all you need to do, Naren. Take a couple of more swigs, write a note to Boss and throw it with all your might. Heck, I'll even write the note for you."
After drinking another half a bottle of the Absinthe and meditating on Boss' face, Naren threw a dart from his house. Feeling a little stupid, he went to sleep.
The next morning Boss called Naren to his cabin.
"Naren, I am in mortal fear. I don't know how you got a dart next to my bed, but I have no choice but to believe your note that you can throw a poison-tipped dart at me from any distance. This is blackmail Naren, you know it. However, you leave me no choice but to recommend you for a promotion and change your rating to 'Excellent in an excellent way'. Just stop threatening me, I beg of you."
Naren bounded out of Boss' room and called Krish and Chuck for an emergency coffee meeting to tell them what happened. "How on earth were we able to hurl darts across such long distances last night, Chuck? What was the trick?"
Chuck smiled his crooked smile and said, "Absinthe makes the dart throws stronger."
------
For those who don't know, why this is called a 'Shenoy', it's named after the famous Narendra Shenoy. Some Shenoys here and here. You can find many more on his blog.
"Man", said Naren. "The appraisals are a real bitch this time. I sucked up all year to the guy sitting in Kolkata, but it turns out that it's Boss, who sits next to my cubicle, who will appraise me. And he thinks that I have an attitude problem."
"That sucks!", Chuck and Krish echoed.
"Yeah, not just that. He says he's going to rate me 'Excellent, but in an ordinary way'. This will postpone my promotion by two years. I don't even know if it's worth staying here anymore."
At this point, Chuck who got tipsy and emotional even with the idea of consuming alcohol exclaimed, "I feel for ya buddy! I really feel for ya!"
Then he said something they didn't expect, "You should threaten that bastard with his life."
"How can he do that? Boss stays 50 km away and the moment Naren wakes up tomorrow, he will be too chicken to say anything against Boss", Krish asked, realistic as always.
"I know a way", Chuck declared, and proceeded to lift a dart from a pockmarked board behind the door.
Before the others knew what was happening, Chuck hurled it with all his strength at the window.
To everyone's surprise, the dart shattered the double-paned glass and traveled like a missile before lodging itself in a tree, nearly half a mile away. Krish and Naren looked at Chuck agape.
"This is all you need to do, Naren. Take a couple of more swigs, write a note to Boss and throw it with all your might. Heck, I'll even write the note for you."
After drinking another half a bottle of the Absinthe and meditating on Boss' face, Naren threw a dart from his house. Feeling a little stupid, he went to sleep.
The next morning Boss called Naren to his cabin.
"Naren, I am in mortal fear. I don't know how you got a dart next to my bed, but I have no choice but to believe your note that you can throw a poison-tipped dart at me from any distance. This is blackmail Naren, you know it. However, you leave me no choice but to recommend you for a promotion and change your rating to 'Excellent in an excellent way'. Just stop threatening me, I beg of you."
Naren bounded out of Boss' room and called Krish and Chuck for an emergency coffee meeting to tell them what happened. "How on earth were we able to hurl darts across such long distances last night, Chuck? What was the trick?"
Chuck smiled his crooked smile and said, "Absinthe makes the dart throws stronger."
------
For those who don't know, why this is called a 'Shenoy', it's named after the famous Narendra Shenoy. Some Shenoys here and here. You can find many more on his blog.
Tuesday, December 29
Fictional countries of the world: Vomitland
This came up in an conversation with a friend. Given the plummeting standards of this blog, I don't know if this can be a regular feature here, but what the heck.
Country: Vomitland
Language: Vomitelsh (derived from, and exactly the same as Welsh)
Main revenue source: Tie-up with an internet tycoon to make money off .vom URL extensions. (e.g. google.vom)
Flag
Explanation
The colours symbolise a maturing of vomit from the fluorescent green of adolescence to a bright yellow signifying some liver problem. The words are Vomitelsh and mean 'Why throw down when you can throw up?'
Ironically, the average citizen (depicted in the flag) always throws up while looking down. This signifies the irony of life in vomitland. However, vomiting is not legal unless the depicted complex pose is reached, which is in reverence to the country's pagan God of Hurl.
Country: Vomitland
Language: Vomitelsh (derived from, and exactly the same as Welsh)
Main revenue source: Tie-up with an internet tycoon to make money off .vom URL extensions. (e.g. google.vom)
Flag
Explanation
The colours symbolise a maturing of vomit from the fluorescent green of adolescence to a bright yellow signifying some liver problem. The words are Vomitelsh and mean 'Why throw down when you can throw up?'
Ironically, the average citizen (depicted in the flag) always throws up while looking down. This signifies the irony of life in vomitland. However, vomiting is not legal unless the depicted complex pose is reached, which is in reverence to the country's pagan God of Hurl.
Wednesday, December 16
Short story - Really spicy chicken
This is something I wrote as a writing exercise recently. The facts aren't accurate, but it's meant to be a story based on real family events.
---------------------
Really spicy chicken by Rohan D'Sa (Dec 14, 2009)
Every birthday of every cousin was celebrated in this way: an extended family dinner at the said cousin’s house. There was meet-and-greet, after which the children separated from the adults and later saw them
again only for supper. Oddly, we never cut birthday cakes, made wishes, or blew out candles. The only time the birthday babies actually felt special was when they were wished by the visitors coming in through their door.
After the pleasantries, the men always settled down into the living rooms and had drinks with potato wafers - always potato wafers. Beer-whiskey-rum was had in similar looking glasses. Us non-international middle-class types never had different glasses to go with different types of liquor. Most glasses, in fact, were those given free with booze that was usually purchased from military canteens. The women were either in the kitchen or joined the men, but invariably were the only ones cooking. The uncles who hosted, however, always seemed busier with having to go many times to the market.
During this time the children got together, played games, ran around the house, and screamed and yelled during that precious play time which was the highlight of the evening for us. Those few hours always left us dead tired at the end of the day. In the last of those years, the boys split up from the girls and played cricket, while the girls did whatever else it is that girls do when they get together.
Surprisingly, I don’t remember missing a single birthday in a family of fourteen cousins. It amazes me to think now of the unlimited reserves of energy our parents had in preparing for those evenings, taking their children to attend them and cleaning up afterward.
Year-after-year, for fourteen occasions a year, they did this unfailingly. I still marvel at it when I get tired after planning a romantic anniversary evening with the wife.
Then there was this one year where for my brother’s 14th or 15th birthday, my mom had reached the peak of her culinary (as well as pungent green chili addition) skills. She made the spiciest, yummiest chicken curry that I or presumably anyone has ever eaten since.
My eldest cousin ‘Sannu’, my elder brother and I were the last warriors standing in the field. We fought for the last bit of masala we could lick off the cooking utensil. While our eyes watered, turned red and our sleeves mopped up the residue from our trickling noses, we continued eating like the masochistic maniacs the delicious dish had transformed us into.
A little over two years ago, the same trio sat around a table on the night of my bachelor party, the kind of parties that include only booze and male company. We had all assembled in Pune, the city of our childhood - Sannu had come from Dubai, my brother from Mumbai and I, from Chennai. We laughed loud, intoxicated laughs when Sannu recalled the really-spicy-chicken incident. Our sleeves mopped the tears induced by this laughter and, I suspect, the sadness at the inevitable end of our childhood. The last of us was getting married and with everyone scattered across the globe, there would be no more birthday celebrations with cousins. But it was a happy occasion and we avoided the sadder subject by sipping scotch late into the night, from appropriate whisky glasses.
---------------------
Really spicy chicken by Rohan D'Sa (Dec 14, 2009)
Every birthday of every cousin was celebrated in this way: an extended family dinner at the said cousin’s house. There was meet-and-greet, after which the children separated from the adults and later saw them
again only for supper. Oddly, we never cut birthday cakes, made wishes, or blew out candles. The only time the birthday babies actually felt special was when they were wished by the visitors coming in through their door.
After the pleasantries, the men always settled down into the living rooms and had drinks with potato wafers - always potato wafers. Beer-whiskey-rum was had in similar looking glasses. Us non-international middle-class types never had different glasses to go with different types of liquor. Most glasses, in fact, were those given free with booze that was usually purchased from military canteens. The women were either in the kitchen or joined the men, but invariably were the only ones cooking. The uncles who hosted, however, always seemed busier with having to go many times to the market.
During this time the children got together, played games, ran around the house, and screamed and yelled during that precious play time which was the highlight of the evening for us. Those few hours always left us dead tired at the end of the day. In the last of those years, the boys split up from the girls and played cricket, while the girls did whatever else it is that girls do when they get together.
Surprisingly, I don’t remember missing a single birthday in a family of fourteen cousins. It amazes me to think now of the unlimited reserves of energy our parents had in preparing for those evenings, taking their children to attend them and cleaning up afterward.
Year-after-year, for fourteen occasions a year, they did this unfailingly. I still marvel at it when I get tired after planning a romantic anniversary evening with the wife.
Then there was this one year where for my brother’s 14th or 15th birthday, my mom had reached the peak of her culinary (as well as pungent green chili addition) skills. She made the spiciest, yummiest chicken curry that I or presumably anyone has ever eaten since.
My eldest cousin ‘Sannu’, my elder brother and I were the last warriors standing in the field. We fought for the last bit of masala we could lick off the cooking utensil. While our eyes watered, turned red and our sleeves mopped up the residue from our trickling noses, we continued eating like the masochistic maniacs the delicious dish had transformed us into.
A little over two years ago, the same trio sat around a table on the night of my bachelor party, the kind of parties that include only booze and male company. We had all assembled in Pune, the city of our childhood - Sannu had come from Dubai, my brother from Mumbai and I, from Chennai. We laughed loud, intoxicated laughs when Sannu recalled the really-spicy-chicken incident. Our sleeves mopped the tears induced by this laughter and, I suspect, the sadness at the inevitable end of our childhood. The last of us was getting married and with everyone scattered across the globe, there would be no more birthday celebrations with cousins. But it was a happy occasion and we avoided the sadder subject by sipping scotch late into the night, from appropriate whisky glasses.
Sunday, August 30
Press Help for F1
After Force India finished 2nd in the Belgian Grand Prix, Dr Mallya tried to convince the very obstinate sports minister, Dr Gill about recognizing Formula 1 as a sport. Here's what happened:
Mallya: Good evening Dr Gill. Hope you're having a good times.
Gill: Tell me Dr Mallya, I don't have time. I'm a leader you know, not a cheerleader.
Mallya: Sir, I've come for a request. This is about recognizing Formula 1 as a sport.
Gill: Is this formula some new drink of yours or...
Mallya: No sir, it's racing using specially designed cars in circuits...
Gill: Ah that! But we have already decided no? Then why are you here again, Dr Mallya. Please don't try to Force India.
Mallya: But F1 is a sport! Just like tennis or cricket.
Gill: Sorry to spoil your cheers. But I disagree. It is entertainment.
Mallya: And what about our home-brewed IPL? It's the biggest entertainment event in the country!
Gill: That is cricket baba. It is all about human endeavour and spirit. Not your kind of spirit Dr Mallya, but real, human spirit.
Mallya: But isn't that also entertainment?
Gill: See, we don't mind if sports has entertainment, but entertainment cannot be sports, and that is final. Stop mixing your drinks.
Mallya: *peeved* This is the time to act, minister. My team's performance has taken F1's popularity to a new high...Gill: You're always talking of highs. I don't know why you are so interested in wasting Fuel. Is it because it's a competing brand? *laughs* Jokes apart, these are the nation's resources, for which two brothers are already fighting. We cannot have one more king fishing in our waters.
Mallya: F1 really is a sport! Look at how much weight these drivers lose after every race! Arjuna Ranatunga had a pot belly even till the end of his career.
Gill: I cannot comment on other country's sportsmen, Dr Mallya. And besides, do you think it's wise for you to talk about beer bellies? Anyway, you know that we are not exactly 'doctors' right? It's only titular.
Mallya: *dreamily* Aahhh titular... good times...
Gill: Snap out of it, Dr Mallya!
Mallya: Sorry about that sir, but all you need to do is recognize it as a sport, you can really help F1 in the country.
Gill: F1 may mean help, Dr Mallya, but helping F1 is going to be a Royal Challenge.
Mallya: Do you mean to say there is absolutely nothing *wink* we can do about it?
Gill: Dr, your black money and White Mischief are getting you nowhere. Stop wining. Our decision is final. Now please leave. I have to go make number 1. Mera number 1.
Original photo location: www.newstrackindia.com/gallery/pictures/3304
Friday, May 15
Day 28 - IPL 2
Battle of the North Indians was won by Punjab tonight. And everyone took a chance to hug Preity Zinta. A low total by Delhi ensured that they lost their third game, and made the points table much more crowded. Chennai's suddenly not hot tonight - and not only because it rained. Why did you lose, Delhi? Do you not like Chennai? Why so cocky, capital?
And speaking of South, check out this nice short story called 'In the South' by Rushdie - based in Besant Nagar, Chennai. There are some brilliant lines as usual, I leave with you with one of my favourites passages that talks about old age:
And speaking of South, check out this nice short story called 'In the South' by Rushdie - based in Besant Nagar, Chennai. There are some brilliant lines as usual, I leave with you with one of my favourites passages that talks about old age:
The old move through the world of the young like shades, unseen, of no concern. But the shadows see each other and know who they are.Good night!
Saturday, April 18
Top 10 complaints of wives during the IPL (and how to counter them)
During the coming month you IPL-crazy husbands may receive a number of complaints from your cricket-indifferent wives. The following post contains some good responses that may deliver you. Or leave with you a black eye. Godspeed.
Complaint # 1: "I can't watch anything else during prime time."
Response: "If you really think about it, what is 'prime' time? 8, 9 and 10 can hardly be called prime numbers seeing as how they are divisible by numbers other than themselves and 1! 11 is the only real prime number in the vicinity. By the correct definition, the match ends exactly when prime time begins! Give or take half an hour!"
Complaint # 2: "I don't like you looking at strange women."
Response: "They're not strange. That cheerleader is Connie, this is one is Linda, and the wildly heaving one is Jane."
Complaint # 3. "This tournament is too long."
Response: "It's not too long if you think about it! It's just a little over a month - shorter than our honeymoon!"
"Our honeymoon was only two weeks? Really? Why are you crying?"
Complaint # 4: "I can't sleep. At night you keep mumbling, 'Dada should be captain'."
Response: "Hello! Shouldn't he be? I mean... McCullum? Seriously now!"
Complaint # 5: "Isn't this affecting your work?"
Response: "I'm doing this FOR work! Last year the promotion went to the guy who helped the boss win the fantasy team competition. I'm already at #2 on the leaderboard for this year."
Complaint # 6: "There's no quality time anymore."
Response: "I agree. For real quality, it's Test cricket all the way. This new generation will be deprived the pleasures of a beautiful forward defensive stroke or a well-judged leave outside the off stump, but such it goes. Grace has yielded to strike rates and beauty has acquiesced to urgency..."
Complaint # 7: "We don't ever get out of the house."
Response: "We went to the restaurant with the large screen last week. And the sports bar with the wide screen the week before that, and that TV showroom last month..."
Complaint # 8: "You don't listen to what I'm saying."
Response: "Of course I do. You asked me to change the lawn and mow the baby, right? Just kidding. Ok, back to the TV - Mandira's saying something to that bald fellow."
Complaint # 9: "I need a vacation."
Response: "I was hoping you'd say that. Here are our passports and tickets. We're going to South Africa. Surprise!"
"Why are you crying again? Are you throwing those passports into the fire? Stop!"
Complaint # 10: "I never get to use the internet anymore."
Response: "But I have a blog - and no one really reads it till I write about the IPL!"
Note: This is a work of fiction. Pure fiction. As in, stuff like this has never happened and resemblence is surprisingly co-incidental and all that.
Complaint # 1: "I can't watch anything else during prime time."
Response: "If you really think about it, what is 'prime' time? 8, 9 and 10 can hardly be called prime numbers seeing as how they are divisible by numbers other than themselves and 1! 11 is the only real prime number in the vicinity. By the correct definition, the match ends exactly when prime time begins! Give or take half an hour!"
Complaint # 2: "I don't like you looking at strange women."
Response: "They're not strange. That cheerleader is Connie, this is one is Linda, and the wildly heaving one is Jane."
Complaint # 3. "This tournament is too long."
Response: "It's not too long if you think about it! It's just a little over a month - shorter than our honeymoon!"
"Our honeymoon was only two weeks? Really? Why are you crying?"
Complaint # 4: "I can't sleep. At night you keep mumbling, 'Dada should be captain'."
Response: "Hello! Shouldn't he be? I mean... McCullum? Seriously now!"
Complaint # 5: "Isn't this affecting your work?"
Response: "I'm doing this FOR work! Last year the promotion went to the guy who helped the boss win the fantasy team competition. I'm already at #2 on the leaderboard for this year."
Complaint # 6: "There's no quality time anymore."
Response: "I agree. For real quality, it's Test cricket all the way. This new generation will be deprived the pleasures of a beautiful forward defensive stroke or a well-judged leave outside the off stump, but such it goes. Grace has yielded to strike rates and beauty has acquiesced to urgency..."
Complaint # 7: "We don't ever get out of the house."
Response: "We went to the restaurant with the large screen last week. And the sports bar with the wide screen the week before that, and that TV showroom last month..."
Complaint # 8: "You don't listen to what I'm saying."
Response: "Of course I do. You asked me to change the lawn and mow the baby, right? Just kidding. Ok, back to the TV - Mandira's saying something to that bald fellow."
Complaint # 9: "I need a vacation."
Response: "I was hoping you'd say that. Here are our passports and tickets. We're going to South Africa. Surprise!"
"Why are you crying again? Are you throwing those passports into the fire? Stop!"
Complaint # 10: "I never get to use the internet anymore."
Response: "But I have a blog - and no one really reads it till I write about the IPL!"
Note: This is a work of fiction. Pure fiction. As in, stuff like this has never happened and resemblence is surprisingly co-incidental and all that.
Tuesday, October 28
Caferati LiveJournal results are out!!
For those looking forward to the Caferati Livejournal results, they are finally, FINALLY out!
Two of my entries have made the shortlist. Please vote for your favorite blogger. Remember 10 is highest rating you can give. :)
The formatting is awful, so I've reproduced the same here with the relevant voting links. You need to sign up with Live Journal before voting.
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Entry 211 - Dead Man's LiveJournal (Vote here):
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Entry 229 (Vote here):
Excerpts from Vijay Mallya's diary
(Somewhere in May 2008)
Another loss. Got piss drunk. Broke some bottles of competitors' booze and had a few swigs of RC. Blanked out. I hate cheap whiskey.
Awoke to Rahul's sms. Says he's not going to play the game anymore. What a relief. Finally, I can replace that white elephant. Need to make travel plans to Goa to poach some Rajasthan Royal team members for next season on their Goa vacation.
Note to self: Check cockpit glass in the flight. Never know what happens.
Worried about Gian. Says he's unhappy and not performing because he doesn't have NFL cheerleaders rooting for him. I told him I pay him a bomb, and he can go get whoever he wants to cheer. He said not a good idea. Look what happened to Cristiano, he says. Am pissed again, need to speak to some presswallahs.
Broke some more competitor bottles and spoke to the press and took a dig at Aguri. Always helps. Pretended like I know a lot about F1. Am so smart, drives me crazy sometimes. Feeling a little better.
Another day, another disaster. Heard SAB Miller's coming out with a brand to take KF head on. To think I named my team after one of their brands. Should have just called them Anitquity Blue Bangalore like I originally planned.
Was pissed again, so spoke to the press again. Feeling much better. Based on Rahul's sms that he's not going to play, said that Rahul and Charu didn't listen to me. Also said that I wanted Misbah and some 'others' in the team. Hope it makes me look good. Love it when I talk like I know stuff.
Note to self: Support ladies sports more. Working with so many men is definitely not my thing.
More bad news, I looked at Rahul's sms again. He said he's not going to play the blame game anymore. I hate cheap whiskey.
Vote here
Two of my entries have made the shortlist. Please vote for your favorite blogger. Remember 10 is highest rating you can give. :)
The formatting is awful, so I've reproduced the same here with the relevant voting links. You need to sign up with Live Journal before voting.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 211 - Dead Man's LiveJournal (Vote here):
May 20th, Youth
I was born today. Maybe not this year. But today.
June 14th, Youth
Love has lost its sheen. The birthday was bloody. Told them all it was an accident. Wonder how they think 15 exactly same-sized wounds are possible through an accident. Age can seem any old statement seem sane.
April 4th, Youth
It happened again. The dream. The paper cutter. Still with dry blood on it. The screaming in my soundproof music-cum-self-torture room. C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon! The music cuts through me, way deeper than the stupid knife ever can. Je vous aime, je dois partir.
April 17th, Youth
Road kill. Today it was just a dog. Still the flesh on my car seems to be morphing into fingers pointing at me, making it out to be the guy I might have run over years ago. It was just one glass of rum with some Cola. Couldn’t have been the drinks. The fucker shouldn’t have run across the road while I was blinded due to the overtake. I shouldn’t have fuckin’ pressed the pedal to the floor for the next 25 mins in sheer high speed panic. What could I have done if I had killed him? I had alcohol on my breath. Everyone lost. That bump still wakes me up at night. Was it a limb or a head?
April 20th, Youth
I hear the shame through the day. Not just the night. What can you do to make up the fact that you might have killed some one and were too chicken to find out? Love is all around. Yeah right! Lord, send me an angel to protect me and hug me when I hold myself behind locked bathroom doors. The shame will always persist.
May 20th, Middle Age: Birthdays. Tales of woe. Birth. Just reminds you that you were non-existent before this day. Makes you wonder when the last one will come, and what becomes of you after that. Will it be a shark bite or an avalanche or some stupid thing like cancer that makes you seem infinitely less heroic?
September 30th, Old age: Lost my breath. It’s no laughing matter. No flashing life-in-a-moment, just a major reduction in brightness, contrast and volume. The movie of your life may be only a switched off fucking TV. What if death is nothing but a scam? What if you just… die? Where does that leave you and me and our stupid code of bloody living around in morals and shit?
February 11th, Old Age: Anniversaries. What do they mean but the mathematical equivalent of anything important? Miss Jones and Mr Smith so and so did so and so this day. Big, fucking deal. Diaries. What are they good for? Release? Or public thinking? Either way, this Live Journal is now dead. And so is its writer. Hello paper cutters, meet Mr. Radial artery.
Vote hereI was born today. Maybe not this year. But today.
June 14th, Youth
Love has lost its sheen. The birthday was bloody. Told them all it was an accident. Wonder how they think 15 exactly same-sized wounds are possible through an accident. Age can seem any old statement seem sane.
April 4th, Youth
It happened again. The dream. The paper cutter. Still with dry blood on it. The screaming in my soundproof music-cum-self-torture room. C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon! The music cuts through me, way deeper than the stupid knife ever can. Je vous aime, je dois partir.
April 17th, Youth
Road kill. Today it was just a dog. Still the flesh on my car seems to be morphing into fingers pointing at me, making it out to be the guy I might have run over years ago. It was just one glass of rum with some Cola. Couldn’t have been the drinks. The fucker shouldn’t have run across the road while I was blinded due to the overtake. I shouldn’t have fuckin’ pressed the pedal to the floor for the next 25 mins in sheer high speed panic. What could I have done if I had killed him? I had alcohol on my breath. Everyone lost. That bump still wakes me up at night. Was it a limb or a head?
April 20th, Youth
I hear the shame through the day. Not just the night. What can you do to make up the fact that you might have killed some one and were too chicken to find out? Love is all around. Yeah right! Lord, send me an angel to protect me and hug me when I hold myself behind locked bathroom doors. The shame will always persist.
May 20th, Middle Age: Birthdays. Tales of woe. Birth. Just reminds you that you were non-existent before this day. Makes you wonder when the last one will come, and what becomes of you after that. Will it be a shark bite or an avalanche or some stupid thing like cancer that makes you seem infinitely less heroic?
September 30th, Old age: Lost my breath. It’s no laughing matter. No flashing life-in-a-moment, just a major reduction in brightness, contrast and volume. The movie of your life may be only a switched off fucking TV. What if death is nothing but a scam? What if you just… die? Where does that leave you and me and our stupid code of bloody living around in morals and shit?
February 11th, Old Age: Anniversaries. What do they mean but the mathematical equivalent of anything important? Miss Jones and Mr Smith so and so did so and so this day. Big, fucking deal. Diaries. What are they good for? Release? Or public thinking? Either way, this Live Journal is now dead. And so is its writer. Hello paper cutters, meet Mr. Radial artery.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 229 (Vote here):
Excerpts from Vijay Mallya's diary
(Somewhere in May 2008)
Another loss. Got piss drunk. Broke some bottles of competitors' booze and had a few swigs of RC. Blanked out. I hate cheap whiskey.
Awoke to Rahul's sms. Says he's not going to play the game anymore. What a relief. Finally, I can replace that white elephant. Need to make travel plans to Goa to poach some Rajasthan Royal team members for next season on their Goa vacation.
Note to self: Check cockpit glass in the flight. Never know what happens.
Worried about Gian. Says he's unhappy and not performing because he doesn't have NFL cheerleaders rooting for him. I told him I pay him a bomb, and he can go get whoever he wants to cheer. He said not a good idea. Look what happened to Cristiano, he says. Am pissed again, need to speak to some presswallahs.
Broke some more competitor bottles and spoke to the press and took a dig at Aguri. Always helps. Pretended like I know a lot about F1. Am so smart, drives me crazy sometimes. Feeling a little better.
Another day, another disaster. Heard SAB Miller's coming out with a brand to take KF head on. To think I named my team after one of their brands. Should have just called them Anitquity Blue Bangalore like I originally planned.
Was pissed again, so spoke to the press again. Feeling much better. Based on Rahul's sms that he's not going to play, said that Rahul and Charu didn't listen to me. Also said that I wanted Misbah and some 'others' in the team. Hope it makes me look good. Love it when I talk like I know stuff.
Note to self: Support ladies sports more. Working with so many men is definitely not my thing.
More bad news, I looked at Rahul's sms again. He said he's not going to play the blame game anymore. I hate cheap whiskey.
Vote here
Wednesday, September 10
The Bunty Gopal (entertainment consultant) chronicles
Day # 12053
Arrived at Bambo. Small town. I’m here to create entertainment. Of course, it wasn’t always like this. It all happened after the incident. Happy birthday it ain’t.
Day # 12091
No one goes out to watch movies anymore. The ethyl mercaptan that randomly emanates from the ground here must have something to with it. To put it plainly, stuff here stinks. Real bad. This was not always the case. Village used to make the town habitable. Village, the air purifier. His hobbies included smelling good and listening to grammatical sentences.
Day # 12126
I’ve realized that people here don't give a crap about stuff in general. The one thing that mattered to them before the incident was Village. But Lopya the snail put paid to that. Lopya is slow. But there was always serious doubt about his knowledge of the English language. Village was at risk.
Day # 12294 – The incident
Serious tense confusion caused serious chaos. This was the incident: Lopya told Village, "I am was small. And I'm sitting under the tree. When I am sit what happen?" Village collapsed at the sheer grammar of the sentence. It was a sentence that killed Village and changed a town.
Everywhere people chose to move to the city. Houses were deserted, yards were deserted, so were the toilets and the official hanging area of the town where the barbaric townspeople would have their weekly hanging. This town misses entertainment.
Day # 12370
Bouncy hangings have been scheduled once a week. My idea. The bouncing should enthuse the people. Here’s the plan: a male volunteer is forcibly selected. Then an angry mob which sometimes includes the family gathers around the gaily coloured platform and sings, "And as you do, so shall you reap, eeyah eeyah oh.". The noise of the trapdoor beneath the man's feet entails a roar of jubilation, all-round cheering and much bouncing. The townspeople loosen the noose and carry out the dead volunteer. I plan to name this sport after me.
Day # 12399
Despite my attempts at entertainment, Bambo is fast becoming a ghost town. Without any ghosts. Just the ghost of the air purifier. Lopya still stays on. Keeps asking me to get Town. Don’t know what he means.
Day # 12421
Enough is enough. But then, how can enough be anything other than enough? Anyway, brainwave. The weekly hangings will be more fun if people don’t die. But how?
Day # 12435
Got it. Put the noose around the ankles.
Day # 12436
After much convincing, Bambollians have decided to give my idea a shot. Tomorrow is the big test.
Day # 12457
It worked. Also, I installed Town, Village’s city cousin. The people are back, entertained and jumping. My work here is done. Time to move on.
Bunty Gopal (a.k.a Bun G.)
(Entered in the LiveJournal Caferati Flash Fiction Contest)
Arrived at Bambo. Small town. I’m here to create entertainment. Of course, it wasn’t always like this. It all happened after the incident. Happy birthday it ain’t.
Day # 12091
No one goes out to watch movies anymore. The ethyl mercaptan that randomly emanates from the ground here must have something to with it. To put it plainly, stuff here stinks. Real bad. This was not always the case. Village used to make the town habitable. Village, the air purifier. His hobbies included smelling good and listening to grammatical sentences.
Day # 12126
I’ve realized that people here don't give a crap about stuff in general. The one thing that mattered to them before the incident was Village. But Lopya the snail put paid to that. Lopya is slow. But there was always serious doubt about his knowledge of the English language. Village was at risk.
Day # 12294 – The incident
Serious tense confusion caused serious chaos. This was the incident: Lopya told Village, "I am was small. And I'm sitting under the tree. When I am sit what happen?" Village collapsed at the sheer grammar of the sentence. It was a sentence that killed Village and changed a town.
Everywhere people chose to move to the city. Houses were deserted, yards were deserted, so were the toilets and the official hanging area of the town where the barbaric townspeople would have their weekly hanging. This town misses entertainment.
Day # 12370
Bouncy hangings have been scheduled once a week. My idea. The bouncing should enthuse the people. Here’s the plan: a male volunteer is forcibly selected. Then an angry mob which sometimes includes the family gathers around the gaily coloured platform and sings, "And as you do, so shall you reap, eeyah eeyah oh.". The noise of the trapdoor beneath the man's feet entails a roar of jubilation, all-round cheering and much bouncing. The townspeople loosen the noose and carry out the dead volunteer. I plan to name this sport after me.
Day # 12399
Despite my attempts at entertainment, Bambo is fast becoming a ghost town. Without any ghosts. Just the ghost of the air purifier. Lopya still stays on. Keeps asking me to get Town. Don’t know what he means.
Day # 12421
Enough is enough. But then, how can enough be anything other than enough? Anyway, brainwave. The weekly hangings will be more fun if people don’t die. But how?
Day # 12435
Got it. Put the noose around the ankles.
Day # 12436
After much convincing, Bambollians have decided to give my idea a shot. Tomorrow is the big test.
Day # 12457
It worked. Also, I installed Town, Village’s city cousin. The people are back, entertained and jumping. My work here is done. Time to move on.
Bunty Gopal (a.k.a Bun G.)
(Entered in the LiveJournal Caferati Flash Fiction Contest)
Friday, August 8
The man without a mission
There is neither principle, nor axiom. Neither virtue, nor vice. Merely a compulsive vacillation that takes over the being. Exigency triumphs over a studied decision and memory falls prey to a sudden rush of blood. The first road out is the first road traversed. The mind sails through without thought and there is but goalless travel.
He rides the wind, aiming to reach nowhere in particular. A man without a mission, he is unique only because of his month end flicker of electronic pulses. Survival is his only reason for existence. He is without inspiration, joy or purpose.
An eternal gloom prevails with no dusk or dark in sight. He wonders why he chooses to carry on.
He rides the wind, aiming to reach nowhere in particular. A man without a mission, he is unique only because of his month end flicker of electronic pulses. Survival is his only reason for existence. He is without inspiration, joy or purpose.
An eternal gloom prevails with no dusk or dark in sight. He wonders why he chooses to carry on.
Saturday, May 24
The Indian Premiere League of Extraordinary commentator-men
[Updated]
Ravi: Sunny bhai, where's my shaving cream? Finding it will do my confidence a world of good.
Sunil: I'm sure Siva would have taken it. *evil snicker*
Aamir: This is going to be fun, this IPL League.
Ravi: Siva, have you seen my shaving cream?
Siva: Ravi, why do you assume that I have taken your shaving cream? I don't think shaving cream is the issue, the issue is that you all think that...
Arun: What perplexes me is that at the toss yesterday who took the coin? I'm not going to cover tosses anymore, this is my 3rd 2-rupee coin.
Aamir Sohail: I saw the man, Sachin Tendulkar.
Arun: Did he take the coin? Ah, it was a terrific coin from my perspective.
Aamir: The coin, it was not taken by him.
Arun: Then who took the coin? And why are you suddenly talking about the little master? What perplexes me was why they used my coin?
Sunil: By the way, I am the one who is called the Little Master. Sachin is simply the best batsman in the world.
Siva: Why does everyone assume that I steal everyone's coins? I just bought a new car. My dope days are over. Look, I've even put on weight. *points at toe*
Sunil: So do you thinking stealing is not a hard man's game, Siva? *evil snicker*
Arun: What perplexes me is why we've not been...
Ravi: Siva, do you have the cream or do you not have the cream? I need to shave like a tracer bullet.
Aamir: He doesn't have the cream, he does.
Ravi: So does he have it or doesn't he, Aamir?
Aamir: He doesn't have it, the cream.
Arun: He really perplexes me.
Ravi: Ranjit, Didn't you use it last?
Ranjit: Yes indeed, but this is indeed is way-are I kept it after using it, as a matter of fact. Speaking of crickut, Jayasuriya...
Sunil: Sachin is the best batsman in the world. His record speaks for itself. Look at his test average. And look at this myCan, it's like magic. And now myTummy. Wow!
Ajay: Sachin may be the best player, but that Lekha Washington. *Drools and forgets his lines*
Ranjit: All right Sunil, but in T20 crickut...
Sunil: Test cricket is the real test. In my day, I faced the mighty West Indians without a helmet, and they only had to raise on eyebrow, they never sledged, which brings me to sledging. Australians need to stop sledging, because sledging is not cricket...
Aamir: What is he saying, Sunil Gavaskar?
Sunil: Are you asking me or referring to me in the third person?
Ravi: Guys, I need to get my shaving cream, or I'm not going...
Anchor 1 from Sprite: Maybe you can use Sprite...
Pommie: Wow, inflation in India is only 7.83%. That's awesome!
Ravi: Sunny bhai, why is my shaving cream in your pocket? I just get the feeling this search is going down to the wire.
Ajay: Lekha Washington... shaving cream...
Aamir: You seem to be smitten by her, Lekha Washington.
Kris: This is definitely, whatdoyousay, a Citi moment of success.
Ravi: Sunny bhai, where's my shaving cream? Finding it will do my confidence a world of good.
Sunil: I'm sure Siva would have taken it. *evil snicker*
Aamir: This is going to be fun, this IPL League.
Ravi: Siva, have you seen my shaving cream?
Siva: Ravi, why do you assume that I have taken your shaving cream? I don't think shaving cream is the issue, the issue is that you all think that...
Arun: What perplexes me is that at the toss yesterday who took the coin? I'm not going to cover tosses anymore, this is my 3rd 2-rupee coin.
Aamir Sohail: I saw the man, Sachin Tendulkar.
Arun: Did he take the coin? Ah, it was a terrific coin from my perspective.
Aamir: The coin, it was not taken by him.
Arun: Then who took the coin? And why are you suddenly talking about the little master? What perplexes me was why they used my coin?
Sunil: By the way, I am the one who is called the Little Master. Sachin is simply the best batsman in the world.
Siva: Why does everyone assume that I steal everyone's coins? I just bought a new car. My dope days are over. Look, I've even put on weight. *points at toe*
Sunil: So do you thinking stealing is not a hard man's game, Siva? *evil snicker*
Arun: What perplexes me is why we've not been...
Ravi: Siva, do you have the cream or do you not have the cream? I need to shave like a tracer bullet.
Aamir: He doesn't have the cream, he does.
Ravi: So does he have it or doesn't he, Aamir?
Aamir: He doesn't have it, the cream.
Arun: He really perplexes me.
Ravi: Ranjit, Didn't you use it last?
Ranjit: Yes indeed, but this is indeed is way-are I kept it after using it, as a matter of fact. Speaking of crickut, Jayasuriya...
Sunil: Sachin is the best batsman in the world. His record speaks for itself. Look at his test average. And look at this myCan, it's like magic. And now myTummy. Wow!
Ajay: Sachin may be the best player, but that Lekha Washington. *Drools and forgets his lines*
Ranjit: All right Sunil, but in T20 crickut...
Sunil: Test cricket is the real test. In my day, I faced the mighty West Indians without a helmet, and they only had to raise on eyebrow, they never sledged, which brings me to sledging. Australians need to stop sledging, because sledging is not cricket...
Aamir: What is he saying, Sunil Gavaskar?
Sunil: Are you asking me or referring to me in the third person?
Ravi: Guys, I need to get my shaving cream, or I'm not going...
Anchor 1 from Sprite: Maybe you can use Sprite...
Pommie: Wow, inflation in India is only 7.83%. That's awesome!
Ravi: Sunny bhai, why is my shaving cream in your pocket? I just get the feeling this search is going down to the wire.
Ajay: Lekha Washington... shaving cream...
Aamir: You seem to be smitten by her, Lekha Washington.
Kris: This is definitely, whatdoyousay, a Citi moment of success.
(Incorporating some points from Wanderer. More contributions welcome. :) )
Thursday, May 22
CRAP Chronicles - 1
CRAPMan Log May 21st 2008:
Cricket is very cultural to me. But this IPL is only after making money which is very bad. It is like vomit on a lovely Cultural programme. It is like Cola in my Chaach and rock music on AIR. Since starting only, my CultureSensetm is tingling pleasurably err... uncomfortably seeing many cheeringleaders with lots of skin. Normally, even seeing naked ankles is infusing wrong feelings in me. I am never seeing such things unless it is these internet websites which is also by mistake sometimes.
Using my psycho Culture powers, I sent a subliminal Cultural Message to our cheeringleaders in politics. Glad to see it is working. That is me, CRAP man, always working.
Next target: Handholding in public.
Wednesday, May 21
The legend of CRAP Man
Little Hagannath was born on the 14th of February. He first noticed how cultureless India on his 6th birthday. His uncle Ramu didn't make it to his birthday party. After the party was over, his mummy told him that Ramu uncle was in a park. With some aunty. That night little Hagannath dreamed that Ramu uncle was in the park with some other aunty doing dirty, dirty things. It might have been the result of watching a Rishi Kapoor movie earlier in the day, but it opened his eyes.
It was out of this crisis that a hero arose. He would weed out public hand holding, hugging, Valentine's days and other Western influenzas with his superpower: CultureSenseTM.
With this awesome ability, he set about the task of protecting his nation from falling in to chaos. An IT recruiter by day, by night he is Culturally Righteous Assisduous Policeman - CRAP Man.
Watch this space for more CRAP Man adventures...
[Sketches of CRAP Man solicited]
Monday, May 19
Little Red Riding Hood, my boss' version
Fyi, I would now, manage your expectations on a strategic resource's growth story. This is, essentially, about a resource called Little Red Riding Hood. The same walks through the woods to reach out to her grandmother to ensure a successful delivery of food to the above mentioned.
Ok enough frustration release, back to work now.
At the end of the day, a wolf wants to utilize the resource but is afraid from the public point of view. He touches base with the same, and she naïvely gives him visibility on her roadmap. He drives the resource to pick more of some flowers, which she does. At that point in time, he leverages the longer time frame to go to the grandmother's house and takes ownership by role-playing to be the resource. He swallows the grandmother whole at the earliest, and holds on for the girl, disguised as the grandmother to engage the resource. When the resources touches down, he utilizes her whole too. A hunter, however, comes into the loop and cuts the wolf open to resolve the issue.
Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother emerge unharmed from the eating perspective. They fill the wolf's body with roadblocks, which phase him out.
--------------------------
Sent from my BlackBerry Handheld.Ok enough frustration release, back to work now.
Tuesday, May 13
Excerpts from Vijay Mallya's diary
Another loss. Got piss drunk. Broke some bottles of competitors' booze and had a few swigs of RC. Blanked out. I hate cheap whiskey.
Awoke to Rahul's sms. Says he's not going to play the game anymore. What a relief. Finally, I can replace that white elephant. Need to make travel plans to Goa to poach some Rajasthan Royal team members for next season on their Goa vacation.
Note to self: Check cockpit glass in the flight. Never know what happens.
Worried about Gian. Says he's unhappy and not performing because he doesn't have NFL cheerleaders rooting for him. I told him I pay him a bomb, and he can go get whoever he wants to cheer. He said not a good idea. Look what happened to Cristiano, he says. Am pissed again, need to speak to some presswallahs.
Broke some more competitor bottles and spoke to the press and took a dig at Aguri. Always helps. Pretended like I know a lot about F1. Am so smart, drives me crazy sometimes. Feeling a little better.
Another day, another disaster. Heard SAB Miller's coming out with a brand to take KF head on. To think I named my team after one of their brands. Should have just called them Anitquity Blue Bangalore like I originally planned.
Was pissed again, so spoke to the press again. Feeling much better. Based on Rahul's sms that he's not going to play, said that Rahul and Charu didn't listen to me. Also said that I wanted Misbah and some 'others' in the team. Hope it makes me look good. Love it when I talk like I know stuff.
Note to self: Support ladies sports more. Working with so many men is definitely not my thing.
More bad news, I looked at Rahul's sms again. He said he's not going to play the blame game anymore. I hate cheap whiskey.
Awoke to Rahul's sms. Says he's not going to play the game anymore. What a relief. Finally, I can replace that white elephant. Need to make travel plans to Goa to poach some Rajasthan Royal team members for next season on their Goa vacation.
Note to self: Check cockpit glass in the flight. Never know what happens.
Worried about Gian. Says he's unhappy and not performing because he doesn't have NFL cheerleaders rooting for him. I told him I pay him a bomb, and he can go get whoever he wants to cheer. He said not a good idea. Look what happened to Cristiano, he says. Am pissed again, need to speak to some presswallahs.
Broke some more competitor bottles and spoke to the press and took a dig at Aguri. Always helps. Pretended like I know a lot about F1. Am so smart, drives me crazy sometimes. Feeling a little better.
Another day, another disaster. Heard SAB Miller's coming out with a brand to take KF head on. To think I named my team after one of their brands. Should have just called them Anitquity Blue Bangalore like I originally planned.
Was pissed again, so spoke to the press again. Feeling much better. Based on Rahul's sms that he's not going to play, said that Rahul and Charu didn't listen to me. Also said that I wanted Misbah and some 'others' in the team. Hope it makes me look good. Love it when I talk like I know stuff.
Note to self: Support ladies sports more. Working with so many men is definitely not my thing.
More bad news, I looked at Rahul's sms again. He said he's not going to play the blame game anymore. I hate cheap whiskey.
Inspired in part by Great Bong's hilarious post: http://greatbong.net/2008/05/09/bangalore-royally-challenged
Saturday, April 26
The real Jaypant
You thought Jaypant was fictional? No, he crawls the web, sending emails to innocent damsels like my wife under creative aliases like 'shubham friendship'. Here's one she received today.
From: shubham friendship <shubham.friendship@gmail.com>
Date: 2008/4/26
Subject: Shubham here , Sorry to disturb u.
To: shubham.friendship@gmail.com
Hi,Sorry to bother u this way. (No kidding!)This is not to trouble u but to ask u for friendship. (How are the two different, exactly?) If u reply, i'll take it that u wish to know me as friend n then we exchange mails.Actually i had an Orkut account. But Orkut was too much weird. People posting any scraps. So i noted ur id from it and then closed it. and now i ve dared to mail u. (Wow, a new business model, Goodbye social networking!)About me , i'm Shubham. 30 years n i'm mechanical engineer n now well settled in Mumbai. I m married for 4 short years n got a beautiful daughter on 1 yr. My family s most in priority for me. (I can see that.) My parents are in Kolkata n all my family members are proud of me. (No shit, wait till they read this.) But i'm no sant-mahatma. (You don't say!) I take life as it comes n enjoy it to fullest. I ve my share of things which i keep it to myself. But to tell u humbly, i'm not a bad man. (Ladies and gentlemen, the epitome of humility!)But like all people in this world i also have dreams n ambitions. So i go for it ..What i'm looking forward in this friendship is :1. Mailing n may be chatting on gmail, if u r comfortable.2. No exchange of phone numbers or addresses.3. Just frank n true discussions on life , friendship n our dreams.
(The three bullet points of a highly effective Jaypant.)So do i take it that we can be net-friends?Really n eagerly waiting for ur answer.Take care n good luck for ur family n life.(Now you know, that his Orkut search include married women.)
Shubham (a.k.a. Jaypant)
Monday, February 18
Orkut fraandships - Jaypant wannabes!
This is really hilarious, a little amateurish, but funny nonetheless. Reminds me of my original Jaypant post.
Saturday, January 26
Jaypant: Naked woman on Mars
I am recently analysing on the naked woman on Mars and seeing how she will match to be my true love. Now I am telling you. Read from here till down.
- She is not looking a very fit. I am fitness frikking. I am going to gym and all my instructors are praising my dole. It is making them a very happy, and they are constantly laugh when I leave. I think this is in admirity of my back mussals.
- She culture not looking a right. Whole world is seeing her privacies, and this my parents will not agree.
- She is not looking very photogenic. I am cannot enjoy my manliness.
- Overall, she's not being a right for me. After all, long distance in relationship is also not in my desire and this case, it is not only a long, but elongated distance.
Even despite all her natural problem, I am being like true Indian and inviting her to my house like we are invite Jade Goody the baddy, even after she is racingly abuse my Shilpa Shetty. I am not like racing, and I am not like monkeys that are causing such problem also. But on that feeling, I will talk later. Thank you for offer, my dear Mars lady. But, I cannot do. I am being sure you can find better man then me. But this is only my modesty.
Monday, January 21
Bharat Ratna nominee - My neighbour, Vijai Venkatraghavan
Dear Sir,
I would like to nominate my friend Vijai Venkatraghavan for the Bharat Ratna for the year 2008. You would already have heard what I have to say, considering his achievements are common knowledge, but I re-state the obvious for those who don't.
I would like to nominate my friend Vijai Venkatraghavan for the Bharat Ratna for the year 2008. You would already have heard what I have to say, considering his achievements are common knowledge, but I re-state the obvious for those who don't.
Vijai works for an MNC technology company. He is also my neighbour. Based on these two factors alone, I'm sure that his case will be considered.
His achievements include the following:
Fight against global warming
Vijai has always been an environment friendly citizen. His stoical insistence on not having a social life has saved so much in emissions, that at least one generation more will have fresh air to breathe. In fact, in the dark days just prior to my marriage, when he held the coveted "roommate" status, I have seen organisms of various species walking out from under the door of his room in very straight and orderly files. They then proceeded to crawl under his bathroom door and enter the bathroom which I have still not opened after his departure. The ecological balance that was destroyed when civilisation engulfed Chennai was restored by this sterling gentleman in one small room.
His achievements include the following:
Fight against global warming
Vijai has always been an environment friendly citizen. His stoical insistence on not having a social life has saved so much in emissions, that at least one generation more will have fresh air to breathe. In fact, in the dark days just prior to my marriage, when he held the coveted "roommate" status, I have seen organisms of various species walking out from under the door of his room in very straight and orderly files. They then proceeded to crawl under his bathroom door and enter the bathroom which I have still not opened after his departure. The ecological balance that was destroyed when civilisation engulfed Chennai was restored by this sterling gentleman in one small room.
Contribution to Forex inflows
This wonderful genius of an employee, nay associate, has contributed numerous dollars to his organisation in terms of high billing rates without any obvious effort. He has added revenue to this organisation, thus increasing the number of indirect support industries and generating employment for India.
Conservation of natural resources
The other day, when we went to the gym, and I realised that I had forgotten my socks, Vijai gave me this environment-friendly piece of advice, "Why do you take your socks out of your shoes?" I knew then that the fight against water shortage in this country had a deserving spearhead in Vijai: a clear respect for the water shortage in the city, and a responsibility to humanity at large.
If all the citizens of the country were like Vijai, or at least of his height, we would have saved billions of dollars in lower ceilings and fewer stairs / lifts. His vertical advantages must be considered when cloning future citizens to save maximum cost for a developing country like ours. Without responsible citizens like Vijai, the country would be much worse, Sir, and hence I am confident that this gem of a person will definitely be awarded with the Bharat Ratna this year.
Regards,
Rohan
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