Friday, October 18, 2013

Are you MAN enough, then?

Google returns this pic when searching
for 'masculine men' ... hmm?
There hasn't really been a dearth of incidents in my life when I have been left feeling pretty lame in a group of friends / colleagues / random men. Most of these have had to do with set notions on masculinity, how I don't conform to manly stereotypes... and let's say I would get rated a 1 or a 2 on a scale of 10 there.
So if I were to observe 'men' around me and draw a list - 'what men should be like and should do' - I would come up with something that includes the below:

*Scratch. Your crotch. All the time. Everywhere. In public. In front on women. Blatant. Since now we have started frequenting beauty parlours for facials and pedicures, we can't even shirk off personal hygiene as a womanly affair. But, then, scratch you must.

*Stare. At women. Schoolgirls. Teenage girls. Girls even younger than that. Their legs. Their bosoms. Doesn't matter if she is feeling uncomfortable. Be shameless. Be a Man. In public transport, stand near women's section and stare at all of them, your eyes dripping with manly emotions. No woman should be able to move past without feeling your denigrating stare on her.

*Abuse. Your friends. Your colleagues. Bosses. Teachers. Random people. Call their mothers names. Sisters too. It makes you feel good. It makes other men around you feel good. You aren't friends with a guy unless you have insulted his whole family and he has happily embraced you in return.

*Pump Iron. Build those muscles. Post selfies on Facebook while flexing in the gym mirror. Tag all gym buddies and random girlfriends in those photos so that they can pretend to drool. Then quit gym, bloat up like a balloon and reminisce good old days of gymming.

*Drink. Daaru. On all occasions. Like you were born to drink. And if you don't want to drink on any occasion, be prepared to face manly remarks like 'Biwi se darrte ho?', 'Sissy boi?', 'Yaar iske liye doodh lao koi..'. They say men bond over alcohol the best. Ok, maybe a notch lower than over smoking, but then you already know my thoughts on the latter.

*Fight. And show masculine aggro in general. Doesn't matter if the person you had a tiff with is speaking softly and reasoning it out with you. You must punch him on the nose. Else be prepared to be booed by even the women standing around you 'Aadmi ho ya aurat? Lagao kheech ke saale ko...'.

There are many other manly qualities which need some more observation and scrutiny. Maybe another blog in another time. So, yeah, a rating of 1 for lean, soft-spoken, non-smoking, rarely-drinking kind of person like me isn't really unjustified. But I have decided I can live with it. ;-)

PS: The idea for the blog came from this article, which was shared recently by a friend on Facebook.


Tuesday, September 03, 2013

Budhapa is just a state of mind, or is it?

So 29. Balding. Bloated Tummy. Memory loss (especially acute whenever wife asks you to do something). Still a struggling Banker. Customary Birthday post on blog.

Blow the candle already!

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Chhatri na khol barsaat mein... !

When I was very very young and impressionable, I had seen an advertisement for Gladrags model hunt in some magazine. It said that men need to be minimum 6 feet in height to be eligible to compete. Somehow, that figure stuck in my head and I always wanted to be taller than 6 feet. But as it happens in most tragic stories, I stopped growing in height after 5'10''. I was shocked, shattered, paranoid and inconsolable when that happened. Buy then I meekly accepted it as my fate. Of course, the fact that I was still taller than more than half of men around me helped to alleviate my misery.

But then, at times, you just wish you weren't as tall as you are. For example, when venturing out of home in rainy season - all you see is a sea of umbrellas in front of you, and you also get poked in the eye (Ow!) with tips of umbrella ribs carried by all the dwarves around you.

I have now decided I don't like umbrellas after all. I don't completely blame my height. It's also the dumbness of people that's responsible for my distrust of umbrellas. Here's my advice to you, umbrella-carriers-on-the-streets-of-Calcutta:

*If you want to carry an umbrella, please also carry a plastic bag, to keep the wet umbrella in it once you have boarded a bus, auto, metro train. It may not seem that important to you, but your co-passengers certainly don't want to get soaked because you are most likely to push that dripping wet umbrella against their bodies!
*When you want to open an umbrella, please either move to a safe spot, or look around to see if anyone is likely to get hurt. Umbrellas have these pointy tips which can be pretty dangerous, in case you haven't noticed.
*Umbrella is to save you from rain, not for dueling. So, please don't rush madly through a crowd of people with your umbrella jostling for space with theirs.

Or maybe don't carry an umbrella at all. Saves so much trouble for me!

And, by the way, watch that totally awesome rain song here.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Kahan se kharidi, aisi Bokwaas script? Wait, who cares for a script, let's make cars fly!

Bringing Lungis back in fashion
- Chinnai Express collection
I was never fond of travelling by train. Even as a kid, while my cousins would fight for the window seat, I would be only too happy to lodge myself on the upper berth with a comic book in my hand. 

And then there are always painful memories of that exceptionally long train journey, of being stuck in an 'express' train that trudges along at snail speed, delayed by several hours, of bowels giving you trouble (it always happens to me in a train!), of the bawling of hawkers, of over-crowded compartments because of ticket-less passengers requesting you to 'adjust'. Watching Chennai Express was like reliving those memories. Plus SRK and his hamming thrown in. Need I say more?

The movie is all about Rahul, a 40-year old smart-ass, who tries in vain to make you laugh at his buffoonery, all done in the name (and much to the shame) of common man. In most of the movie, he just whines and cribs like an extremely nagging girlfriend, and actually does a poor job of even that with his comic timing way off the mark. He also wins the award for the shadiest hero ever, who, upon being beaten by the villain, meekly leads him to their secret hideout to capture the heroine as well. Surprisingly, the only funny moments in the movie come from Deepika, who methinks has done a somewhat better job here than most other movies where she chooses to just expose her legs instead. 

So this kid in the family sitting next to us at the theater complains to his dad during interval, 'Papa, I am bored.'
Papa suggests, 'Play game on the phone, beta'
'Kuch comedy hi nahi hai'
'Arre, second half mein aayega shayad'

And then when the movie ended, he asks, 'Papa, is movie ka naam Chennai Express kyun hai?' I did not wait for his father's reply.

Sadly, the future of Bollywood doesn't look bright either. With Shahid Kapoor impersonating a dog, and Ranbir Kapoor advocating 'padding' for men, the movie buff in me can only weep. Tragic, no?

Sunday, June 30, 2013

5 rupaiye ka common sense dijiye please

Life would have been so much simple if common sense was available in kirana stores.. because we all seem to need it. And small doses would do, better than having none at all, right?

Don't know about you guys, but it would have been  a lot more benign for me at least.. for my senses can no longer jhelofy the stupidity of people around me, which has attained atrocious levels of late.

Some typical instances of people not realizing that they lack basic common sense:

- You are talking on mobile, to one of your clients. Another client of yours wants to talk to you - he calls you on your mobile, finds the line 'busy', so he calls you again, finding it, to his surprise 'busy', and so he calls you some 10 times, shocked at how your line can remain 'busy' for full 3 minutes. I mean, obviously, there aren't any other people in the whole world who you speak to other than him. So, he decides to call on your land-line but no one picks up (maybe, because you are on the other line?) and then he calls your colleague who tells him that you are speaking to someone on phone and will call him back. This, when you have a habit of promptly returning each and every call that you missed. Stupid?
.... and I, seem to have too many such clients!

- You find that one of your friends seems to have posted a video of a girl in a short red skirt with an axe on Facebook. The post is tantalizingly titled 'Don't you want to find out what happens to this stupid girl?' and your friend seems to have tagged some 149 people in the post. Now, your friend never does such a thing... posting a random video and then tagging random people in it. Maybe, it's a spam / bug / worm? But then, how can you NOT find out what happens to that girl in a short skirt? The voyeur-with-a-dirty-mind in you gets the better of the normal-man-in-possession-of-common-sense and you click on the video.
... only fact that will save you from the ignominy of telling the whole world you are a creep is that all your friends will also fall for this trick. And there seem to be too many such worms on Facebook and too many dumb people in my friends' list.

- You are a Social Networking Activist, which means that you want to spread awareness about all that is wrong in this world from the comforts of your cozy bed, by posting your opinions on Facebook / Twitter / Orkut and other such sites. So you read somewhere on the net a headline that goes .."Madras High court ruling that sex is equal to marriage... " You jump in joy. What a kill!... and you update your status - How many of you got married today? ... oh my God, Madras court has gone senile.... This happens only in India!... and your other Social Networking Activist friends join in with appropriate OMGs and Let's sign online petition opposing this and shit. Of course, not one of you thinks it would be relevant to read the context of the decision at all (huh, like I care?).
... but don't worry, no one will find out that you are dumb, because no one will bother to know the context anyway. Your activism shall thrive and people would feel happy that they have done their good deed for the day by 'liking' your status update.


Saturday, June 22, 2013

Except you, except me

It isn't funny,
That I can hear your footsteps,
in the pitter-patter of rain.

It isn't comforting,
To find you staring back at me,
when I look into the mirror.

It isn't the same,
Them playing songs that you love,
when I switch the radio on.

It isn't fair
To know that you are around,
but not with me.

It isn't how it should be,
Because nothing seems to have changed,
Except you, except me.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Why preach when you can threaten

Smoking is cool. Smoking defines machismo. Smoking helps you calm your nerves. I totally buy all that logic. And after all, it's your life and your fucking lungs. I am really not bothered.

But then you don't let me be. You walk beside me on the road and blow smoke in the air around me. You stand next to me at the chai-wallah and light a cigarette. You stand in front of me in the queue at the station and defile the air that I breathe. I am not asthmatic. But I hate inhaling smoke like thousand others who do. And I definitely don't want to die of passive smoking. That would be stretching imagination a bit too far, no one dies of passive smoking, you would point out and laugh. So let me explain my problem in an alternative way.

How would you feel if we are all standing in a queue, and suddenly I take out my bottle, gulp some water, gargle and then spit it out all around. Obviously I do it in a way so that drops of water fall on your body. Disgusted?

Better, we are all sitting in a restaurant and I stand up, turn around so that my bums face your nose, and let out a nice, smelly fart?

I can take it to the next level, but you should get the drift by now.

You may say it's not the same thing. I would agree with you. And add that what you are doing is actually worse. The smoke that comes out from your mouth has possibly traveled across all your innards and would carry with it (in addition to the toxic tobacco fumes) traces of all kinds of germs that reside in your body. My spit or fart would be less harmful by a long shot. I am no doctor or scientist. I am just using plain logic.

So, next time you are in company of people who don't smoke, or in any public place, and you itch to light a cigarette, just be warned that I may be lurking around the corner, waiting to offer you the wettest of my spit or the smelliest of my fart. I never liked the concept of 'tit for tat' more than now. Good luck with that.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Meri pant bhi sexy hai

These trousers are apparently a
cross between frocks and leggings
I am a fashion disaster in every possible sense of the term. There was a time when I would only wear pleated trousers. Then, gradually, I moved on to flat fronts. But, by this time, the world seems to have taken several leaps as far as fashion is concerned and my wardrobe is still filled with the traditional old-school trousers.

And the woresht thing is that I don't even like the new styles that people wear these days, so how do I adapt to them? Arre, don't laugh, have you seen the kind of stuff people wear these days?

*Pants that are so tight that one cannot even wriggle their legs through them. I mean how are you supposed to sit, run, walk, or squat wearing them?

*Then, there are pants that seem to balloon above your knees. Like you are wearing a frock and then someone just took a sellotape and wrapped the lower part of the frock around your legs tightly.

*Pants that are orange, pink, yellow and red? I thought only Govinda had licence to wear those.

*And, yeah, boxer shorts were supposed to be worn as underpants, no? People seem to have adopted them as the new pajamas now.

So much so, that if you look at someone from behind, it's hard to tell if it's a guy or a girl. Clothes, hairdos, there hardly seems to be any differentiation. Sadly, gone are those days when Calcutta was wayyy behind in catching up to these mind-fucked fads. In times to come, people on the road are gonna point at me and laugh  madly - 'Look he is wearing normal trousers. Ha!'.

Death only.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Return of the skinny Hero

The malnourished, skinny
hero is back?
It is not technically a 'return', as Bollywood never really had skinny heroes. But the whole obsession with ripped abs and bulging biceps had attained completely crazy proportions of late. Even the background dancers in Bollywood songs these days seem to be gym-regulars. I mean, what had the world come to.... But then I saw the promo of Raanjhanaa... and heaved a sigh of relief.

Let me explain the background first.

As those of you, who read my blog on and off, already know, I am no Adonis. From early childhood I have been lanky, those types whose muscles refuse to camouflage the bones, and the latter stick out at odd angles all over the body. I successfully managed to thwart Mummy's attempts to feed me nutritious food, and remained proud of my lean frame. By the time I realized that girls had now started drooling over Salman Khan and John Abraham, it was too late.

But now, I am hoping, the trend shall reverse. I shall proudly wear my half-sleeved T-shirt and roam around on the roads. No more would Sonia look at me tirchi nazron se, when while watching a movie, the hero on screen lifts up the heroine in his arms and pirouettes all around. And if anyone ever makes fun of my non-existent biceps, I can shut them up by saying - Fashion hai yaar, even heroes are skinny these days. 


Saturday, May 04, 2013

'Finger on the lips' was taught in school for a reason

I am a curious fellow. And this curiosity makes me ask silly questions all the time. Sometimes, I wish I could keep my big mouth shut. At least when watching TV with Sonia and Mom, if not always.

Let me illustrate now, why I say that:

I come back home early from work. As I enter the drawing room, I find that everyone's watching some serial on TV. I remember the characters and bits & pieces of the plot from the last time I had come home early (say a few weeks back). But I notice that there are a few more characters who I don't know.
'Yeh kaun hai?' I ask innocently.
'She is fiancee of the main lead', someone replies.
'Hmm... but wasn't the main lead engaged to the the other girl?'
Everyone looks at me impatiently. 'Do you want to know one month's story in a few minutes?'
'As if these serials have a story', I murmur and leave for the bedroom.

Similarly, on other occasions too. So, we all are watching this dance show where celebrities (apparently) dance to get brownie points from judges. The women in my family, who truly understand the beauty of dance art form, let out occasional gasps and appreciating shrieks, while watching the show. 
Some couple is moving funnily on the dance floor. 
I snigger, 'Yeh bhi koi dance hai?'
The women look at me angrily, 'Aapko dance aata hai?'
'I can't dance, I agree. But then I also don't want to dance on TV!'
'This is called contemporary dance. What do you know?'
'I don't want to know', I murmur and leave for the bedroom.

One more example, let me give. We are watching some saas-bahu serial. The saas is taking the bahu's case, royally. I look at my mom, bare my teeth and say, 'Mummy, why don't you scold Sonia like this?'
Do I even need to tell you guys what had followed? Sigh. Finger on my lips from now on I tell you.

Saturday, April 06, 2013

And then I am not supposed to judge you?

I am usually nice to others. And I also try and be as patient with morons as is possible for awesome people. But then there would always be those who make you wonder what exactly went wrong with human evolution.

And I am not even talking about things like farting in public, adoring SRK and his panty-revealing antics during IPL, borrowing my pen and not returning it etc. I mean I have matured now into tolerating all of these.

But not these:

When using the Men's Room:
- Try and pee in the pan (that's why it's there!), it's not so difficult to aim you know. I don't want to step into a pool of pee when I use the men's room
- You are not a woman. So please don't start a kitty party in the men's room. Do your stuff and leave, what's with all the conversations and camaraderie while in the stalls!
- Wash your hands after you are done? The number of men who don't do this is mind-boggling! Be sure, if I have seen you just rush out in apparent hurry, I am never shaking that hand again.

And otherwise:
- I have a terrible memory. And I am totally not the guy who'd remember your name if I don't meet you everyday. So I would understand if you have the same problem. But what's with faking a memory lapse? Does it give you some false sense of superiority?
Umm... I know you are Patwari.. and your name starts with a Y and ends in an H, but I can't remember what it was.
- Govt. has made public parks where young couples can sit and express their love for each other in myriad ways. Then there are other popular places like the Rabindra Sarovar or Nandan Cinema where, unofficially, singles are not allowed at all - as they take up space which can be put to better use by couples.
But then you choose to do PDA inside a crowded Metro compartment? I refuse to blame it on raging hormones... your hand in his back pocket, and his hand somewhere on you doesn't even appeal to the voyeur in me.

There are many others. But what's the point? I can't change the world. (But I can Blog).

Sunday, March 31, 2013

How 'Run Lola Run' inspired our daily lives

Passengers waiting for Metro to stop
so that they can rush inside
I was in Bombay for three years. No, while that is a sad thing, that is not what this blog is about.
So, yeah, in Bombay I used to take the local trains to and from work. No, that's not what I am going to crib about either (I have already done that earlier here).

That was just to drive home the point that even three years of Bombay local trains couldn't have prepared me for the nightmare that is Calcutta Metro Rail. I mean have you even tried boarding a Metro these days? Here is what I wonder of all these morons travelling alongside me my co-passengers:

Did all of you want to be sprinters but actually got stuck in fucked up corporate careers? For nothing else can explain the mad dash all of you break into at the slightest opportunity.
Got off the auto? Run madly towards the turnstiles knocking off everything on the way!
Got through the turnstile? Run towards the platform, panting and heaving!
Train has arrived? Madly push into the already-crowded train!
Got off the train? Dash for the turnstiles before anyone else can make it. For this is your only chance to redeem yourself from that shameful episode.. the ignominy of coming last in 100 meters sprint way back when you were in Class I.

This, when there is a train every four minutes! I mean, I seriously mean man, grow up.

Friday, March 29, 2013

Ladka ho mere jaisa, ladki ho tere jaisi

I am convinced now that my accidental decision to do an MBA might have been actually a blessing in disguise. Because had I not done an MBA, I would definitely have ended up being a bachelor all my life.

I am privy to a lot of matchmaking conversations these days. And MBA grooms are the only ones in demand.

Sample this..

"Ladka MBA hai ji", heightened interest all around.
Being the inquisitive guy that I am, I end up asking, "umm.. which campus?"
And they give me what-does-that-mean? look. "I meant which school did he do his MBA from?"
"That we don't know.. some college in College Street, but how does it matter? He is an MBA, that's all that matters"
I decide there is no point in me participating in this conversation at all.
"He would be making 25-30 lacs I guess. Not everyone can earn that crore salary ji. What say, Vicky?" they clearly don't want me to kat lo that easily.
"Huh? How would I know... not all jobs..."
"Arre, how much do you earn, tell us?"
Now that's one question I hate. Flashes of earlier "Haw, didn't u study at IIM Bangalore?" conversations run through my mind. "Umm.. around... <some arbit figure>"
"He would definitely earn this much... see, college doesn't matter then..."

Random aunts have been calling me to ask if any of my MBA friends would be suitable for their girls, or girls they know. Apparently, it's not only the parents, but the girls themselves, who want only MBA husbands. Not without reason then that a lot of p(h)onytail MBA institutes are springing up here and there... and they get SRK to endorse them, the most eligible husband that our generation has seen, whatever that means.

So, yeah, MBA. And blissful married Life. Bet you never foresaw this correlation. Sigh.

Tuesday, March 05, 2013


She giggled, as they sat,
In the ominous shadows,
By the calm of the lake,
Not letting time slip by.

He heard her chortle,
Through the veils of thunder,
Echoing in his mind,
And it made him shiver.

She fell back into the water,
Beckoning him, with her eyes,
He laughed out loud,
As he lunged forward.

He reached for her hand,
And held it tight,
As she pulled him down,

She wouldn't let him go,
He wouldn't let  her go,
Her eyes spitted fire,
And his, untold tale of yearning.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

I need to be paid more, because I put up with Mr. Grumpy

I have dealt with a lot of weirdos in my long life of 28 years. And most of them in my short working career of last 4 years. But then there are some people who clearly drive you to the brink of your patience.

So this colleague of mine thinks he is God's gift to mankind and the whole world is out there to make his life miserable. Here's what I want to tell him and yet, being the nice guy that I am (*sniggers*), can't, so I am venting it all out on my blog instead:

*You can't complain about 'work-life balance' when you come late to office, leave early, and play the whole day on your iPad. I mean have you ever looked at people around you and realized that each of us is slogging our asses off, while you sit on your over-sized bottom doing nothing whole day?

*Has there ever been a day when you have come to office and said, 'Wow, what a beautiful day! I am feeling hale and hearty'? I am amazed at the amount of creativity that goes into coming up with ailments such as 'involuntary spasms at the back of my upper arm' - use some of that on work-related things and I may actually like you.

*Are you really that gullible that everyone around you wants to cheat you and you have to have heated telephone conversations with them, demanding compensation, reversals, alleging mental harassment, wanting to speak to seniors of call center employees and what not. And all of this while you are in office. I mean why is that everyone from mobile operator, to credit card company, to doodhwala, to kaamwali bai, to insurance company, to retail chains, to local kirana store, wants to defraud you - within a span of a few hours, and this goes on in a loop?

*If you are walking with me on a crowded pavement, and people nudge past you, you cannot screech like a schoolgirl. No you can't.

*If you do decide to come with me for client meetings, don't expect me to ferry you around in cool-cabs. And if I have managed to cajole you into one of those yellow taxis, don't crib about heat and pollution. I have enough worries in my life that to tend to a 35 years old baby which throws tantrums every other minute.

I have a tough life at work. But then, I sometimes think, wouldn't life at work be boring if I didn't have people like you around.. 

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Bollywood, you have sinned!

If you want to get into my bad bad books, you don't really have to try that hard. Try any of these things and I will run after you like a mad bull:

1. You make fun of bald men: Yes, I find such stupid jokes to be in extremely bad taste. I mean why single out bald men - make fun of those fat men, those short men, those Bihari men who hold each others' hands while crossing the road, those hippie men with long hair, that John Abraham strutting around in undies, Uday Chopra getting another movie, Shahrukh Khan doing... anything (haha, really weird!), Arindam Chaudhury, Saurav Ganguly - there are so many options. I just don't like such silly banter about bald men - and no, it's got nothing to do at all with the fact that I am losing hair at a crazy pace.

2. You say Harry Potter is meant for kids. I just have one word for you. Muggle!

3. You mess around with anything that's related to Sridevi. And Bollywood, you are testing my patience on this one. I mean why can't you leave some things alone. Just, just leave them alone, my memories of Sridevi included.

First it was Tusshar Kapoor - who's an example of everything that can horribly go wrong to a star-kid born without looks or talent - trying to bump bottoms with some female (who agreed to act opposite him!) and rendering irreparable damage to one of the bestest Sridevi songs that ever was.

Then it's that John Abraham, whose career has quickly gone down the chute (in spite of him stripping for filmmakers who are known to appreciate such things) trying to pull a fast one here. I mean, how lame does it sound! ... whoever thought it was a brilliant idea to twist around with the lyrics of the song is an ass!

And then we have some ghostly-white belle from south impersonating Sridevi herself! If you guys have run out of original ideas, fine, I can tolerate all of that. But, don't mess around with things that are too sacred to touch. Get it this time...

Saturday, February 09, 2013


"Rafique, please understand. We serve pure vegetarian food in 'Krishna' restaurant. Your appearance... ... ..
...our customers don't feel comfortable walking in when they see a Muslim attendant.. hope you understand... "

Rafique was seething with anger as he maneuvered his bike through the crowded lane, cycling furiously. He almost threw the bicycle in the alley next to the staircase and rushed upstairs. How would he feed his family now? He entered his kholi to find Ayesha adjusting the cushions on the diwan. Her dupatta wasn't covering her head. In a fit of rage, he slapped her tight across the face. "Begairat!".


Her face still smarting, Ayesha peeled the skin off the potatoes and dropped them in boiling water. She didn't even realize that tears were welling up in her eyes. Sarika's arrival diverted her attention.

Sarika looked glad and content. She had a notebook and pencil in her hands. Ayesha's eyes widened. In a quick movement, she snatched the notebook away with one hand, and pulled Sarika's ear with the other.
"How many times have I told you not to touch your brother's things?"
"Ammi, I want to go to school too"
"I will send you to school! ..." shrieked Ayesha as she forced Sarika's right palm in the pan filled with boiling water.


"Come play with us Sarika"
"No I am not in the mood", Sarika sat on the stairs nursing her bandaged palm, as her friends played with clay dolls in the aisle. She could see Amruta limping in the distance. A wicked smile appeared on her face as she got up and hopped towards Amruta.

Amruta saw her and stopped in her track. Her eyes were fearful. Sarika pinched her on her arm.
"Don't" shouted Amruta.
"Why? What will you do otherwise? Run after me and hit me?" Sarika's laugh was maniacal.


"Why do you go out to play with that Sarika, baby?"
"I don't mummy, she comes to me and hits me" Amruta was inconsolable.

She finally felt better after her mom gave her a chocolate bar. As she limped into her room, Amruta found her grandfather sleeping on the cot. She hated sharing her room with this old man, who irritated her with his stories. Even her mom and dad didn't like him and were waiting for the day when he would die and leave them alone.

Balaji woke up and looked at her polio-ridden granddaughter with extreme sadness.
"Come to me, beta"
Amruta made a contorted face and sat down to play with her dolls, ignoring her grandfather's call.


Balaji Rao was proud of the way he had raised his sons. Even though he was a man of little means, he had ensured that both his sons studied in English medium schools. And what a gem Shrikant had turned out to be. He worked in a reputed bank, had a beautiful wife and a lovely daughter. Only if polio hadn't affected poor Sarika. Balaji let out a sigh.

Neelesh entered the room with hesitant steps.
"Papa, do you want anything from the market?"
"Yes, get me some poison, will you? Better to die than have a son like you"

As Neelesh left, Balaji gritted his teeth. What sins of his previous birth had made him sire a gay son?


Neelesh sat on the ledge, staring blankly at the waves breaking at the rocks. It wasn't his fault.

"Neelesh, you are sitting here! We have been looking everywhere!"
Neelesh turned and saw Ashok and Kalpesh running towards him.
"What happened?"
"You forgot? Today is our rally!"

How could Neelesh have forgotten! These asshole Biharis needed to be taught a lesson. They'd come and defiled their precious city, made it dirty with their filthy ways and worse, undercut them to take up their jobs.

But things would change soon. Rana Saheb had taken up arms against these infidels. Only today morning, his party people had bashed the owner of 'Krishna' restaurant in a North Indian locality, for refusing to put-up a signboard in Marathi.


Saturday, January 26, 2013

Five years

They stood there, together
Like strangers,
Who knew each other too well.

Feeling claustrophobic, in the open park
He finally let go,
Letting the silence tear his heart apart.

He looked back, after they bid goodbye
polite and curt,
This wasn't meant to end. Not like this, anyway.


It had been just five years. No. It had been five fucking years. And it felt like they had met each other for the first time.


'So, you will call me, right? I don't have money to call you in London', he chuckled.
'No, I won't, fucker' .... he rolled his eyes, snatching the cigarette from his hands, and laughing madly. 'Stop talking like a kid, it's just London'.
'I am gonna miss you man'
'Abbe saale, internet hai na'....


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