When your profile pic looks away

A farewell rhyme for 2010

Scams of epic proportions in India,
Silence and then much noise on matters Radia.
Apple ne humko iPad diya.
And that Kalmadi fellow, he made lakhs ya.

Arundathi put the sexy into secede,
We saw Ayodhya play it safe and proceed,
Then Obama graced us with his presence,
As Nithyananda seduced people with incense
And the Pope fought issues with nonsense.

We were left wondering,
As we confused causation with correlation,
Do we call the rich man 'king'?
Or is the richest man called Raja, by conflation.
Oh yeah, and we also had serious inflation.

Somehow we still completed the CWG,
And before that, the DLF IPL 3.
But in neither case was the follow-up very good,
Suresh and Shashi were not sufficiently screwed.
Manmohan Singh just nodded his head and stood.

Sachin's run machine was at its strongest ever,
And the world came down with World Cup fever,
There once was a dog called Spot,
And just for fixing it, poor Pakistan were caught.
Again Manmohan did nought.

The Indian blogosphere scales new heights,
As rameshsrivats puns and krishashok writes.
(Heck, the latter even has soundbytes.)
We can now make any topic trend,
And even break media silence in the end.

Assange's leaks made headlines everywhere,
For top secret documents and then for a condom tear.
If you're leaking, you might as well leak some runs,
And give Sachin half a ton of tons.

And so 2010 is done.
If only 2011 is half as much fun.
Because anyway in 2012, we're all done.
Happy MMXI everyone.

A World T20 ditty

Anyone can bowl short to our batters,
A little bounce sees them in tatters.
It makes Gambhir looks very serious,
And Murali Vijay, he don't seem victorious.
The man beast can't play the hook or the pull,
The only beast he resembles is a lot of bull.
And all Mr Yuvi can do is push and prod,
That, and wobble his jiggly bod.
Heck, no wonder everyone's sobriquet isn't 'God'.

It's not for us - this pulling and cutting,
We're more comfortable with slogging and ducking.
But captain courageous did score a few runs,
And the other CSK boy Raina even got a ton.
All in all, it wasn't such a bad trip,
At least it the boys had a Caribbean dip.
Hey you know what the BCCI can now do,
After the money-counting is through?

Perhaps they can organize a party or two.

(Image Copyright AFP)

Aman ki arse-whooping

While ToI tried to do a bang-up job of trying to impress us with a 'peace initiative' called Aman ki Asha, the real Aman ki arse-whooping happened in the IPL auction, with none of the franchises bidding for Pakistani players.

Of course, this has nothing to do with the lack of desire for peace between the two countries. But given the proclivity of the Pak-based terrorists to attack even friendly cricket teams, it's just a safer choice to keep the neighbouring cricketers out of the team in the first place than have to 'ban' the players after an untoward incident takes place.

And just like that, I shall now break into verse.

Aman ki asha got whooped,
As no Pak player got booked,
As the IPL franchise kooks,
Even splurged on Shane Bond.

The Pak players now feel hurt,
Their nation is insulted they blurt,
Cricket's image is damaged, they assert.
But what about when LeT attacked the Lankans?

If anyone really is to blame,
It's not the administrators of the game.
The culprits are always the same,
They're the blasted terrorists.

Limerick a la Tharoor

(Updated)
If we all must continue using Tweeter,
Our language, folks, needs to be neater.
We cannot call people who fly cattle,
And expect not to get into battle,
When some cattle still travel by sleeper.

Or even better, to Tweeter let's call a ban.
For being social is the very nature of man.
And if we don't want to be left in the lurch,
Pay heed to what they say in research,
Tweet makes for a very lonely man.

Context for last line:

(Also, for those who didn't get the 'Tweeter' references, please check out the inimitable Arnab in Amit Varma's post here.)

Shit

Warning: Graphic imagery ahead

It's time we admitted it, we know it's been too long,
For the people as they pass, they sure do feel the pong,
It's been far too unhealthy, and now it just feels wrong.

This should have happened to us a fair few days ago,
But laziness kept preventing me from ever letting you go.
And now I can't escape the fact, there's a precious urgency,
In my fumbling, disquiet desperation, the heavenly door I see.

As I struggle with my belt, a rude reminder fills the air,
My lungs exhale a cough, and my hands, they just don't seem to care.
The unzipping happens swiftly, the pants they are yanked down,
The seat is ready, and if it doesn't happen soon, I'll be the talk of the friggin' town.

As the nether regions egest the caked cylinder in a slow, yet striking way,
I feel the world around me go quiet, as all my force I bring into play.
And as solid dips into the liquid of the murky depths below,
My mind clears, as do my intestines, and dear turd, I wish you cheerio.

Inspire

Flavour, do flirt, I crave a delicious fling with you.
Neutrality, it's been long and it's not me, it's you.
Sinuous longing, I hear your high-pitched plea; fractious hoping, I see the canvas white still.
Scar the immaculate attire, gouge out the inert; escape the ashen trails for the adventure of dirt.
Asleep in a living universe, dear soul, take flight.
Be inspired, break free; the time is right.