Sunday, February 23, 2014


Lazy Sunday Evening. Eat. Sleep. Browse. Repeat. Minus the Homework, that I was pushing ahead like a 6 month baby trying to push the bathroom door, coz he doesn't want to poop in the diaper, it was an Ideal weekend. *bliss* . Cheese balls on my left, Cold beverage on my right, and the laptop on my bare hairy belly(Please Note: I’m Not Single. I am not Jay Baruchel. I have a very stunning girlfriend. This occurs very seldom, and I was just trying my best to perpetuate a lazy and clumsy stereotype weekend) . My cheesy bathed fingers move above the keyboard like some electrostatic force repelling it to touch, but in fact they were looking for the first letter to punch in, so I could commence with the scripting of story I’ve been thinking about for a while, on Vuvuzela Horns.  
This powerless charade would go on for a few minutes. Then, The explorer Dora in me changes tabs and jumps in the internet pool to catch up on what’s up in the brisk functional world, we live in. Looking at the mourning status updates and tweets on the non-operating WhatsApp last night for a few SLEEPING hours, made everyone look like Jayshree Ben, The Gujju Gossip Empress. Who bitched about one social medium, on another social platform, without considering the fact that the latter NOW owns this social medium, everyone’s bitching about. Then, I updated myself with some EPL Facts and Parody Videos, so I could indulge in public forums and look like an intellect SOB. I now repeat my hideous finger flirting with the keyboard again, with respect to my Vuvuzela story. Its always the initiation of a post or a story that’s annoying and tedious, coz it gives you a projectile you’re supposed to flow with, with your entire story. It started to get really boring and monotonous and mundane, like HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER. I opened my Documents folder, to go through my previous drafts, where I saw this post. The LAST Blogpost, that I had written named “Everyday is my Mother’s Day”.  I read it with an involuntary smile on my face, that was growing with the continuation of the post.  I wrote this on Mother’s day last year. Since then, a lot had happened. I swapped to Mass Media after 3 years of engineered torture. A collapse that led to a Jaw Fracture and broken teeth, that still remains. My curriculum, My Work as a screenplay writer, My treatment, My relationship and above all PROCRASTINATION kept me away from Blogging.
 I opened my blog immediately, and started going through all my posts today. The initial ones were so embarrassing. I felt how Sylvester Stallone and Jackie Chan must have felt about their career, that started off with pornography . I was going to delete the previous posts, but then I stopped as it projected a certain graph of my performance as a writer. Also, Its always necessary to look at the rear view mirror, when you’re heading ahead. Who knows you might just need a detour. 

With a promise to consistently blog henceforth.. Im bringing Sexy Back

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Everyday is My Mother's Day..!

9th May(Actual Date Of Writing)

Heaven doesn't exist. Mothers do. They are and shall always be the purest form of love. Perhaps love was discovered by a mother as her heart wears no boundary. Besides, nobody knows you better than your mother. And there's no point in asking her whether she's proud of you. She is and will always be, no matter how great a douchebag you've become. He keeps telling her "Some day you'll be proud of me!" to which she smiles—as mothers usually do. As selfless as her mind
The poor mother looks at her son in amazement and wonders where has her innocent lil' boy disappeared. This was the very kid who used to point at her tummy whenever someone asked him "Where are you from?". To him, his mother has grown old now whereas to her, he remains a newborn. From a very young age, he knew we belonged to our mothers more than anything else. Birth might have separated him from her but a child actually never leaves the mother's body. As tranquil as her lap. You appreciate her more when she's gone. For more details, get in touch with those who've lost her. 
No matter how short the barber crops your hair, she will always find them long. To her, you are the most eligible bachelor. For good or worse, an Indian mother loves reminding you that she's your mother and there's a bigger chance of her inquiring "What?" instead of "Who's that lucky girl?" when you mention your marital intentions. As intrusive as her concerns. Once you settle down, you'll realize that she is present in your behaviour too. Turns out the risky habit of telling everything to your wife is cultivated during those years spent close to dear mama.
As nourishing as her hands. Single or married, the burden on a woman pretty much remains the same. Kitchen often becomes her coveted part of home. In there, she works harder than the exhaust fan. Well, she deserves air-conditioned kitchen with no noise or steam to deal with. Almonds are good for her provided you have them. She cares for you as if her life depended on it. A mother straightaway fetches her children a glass of water whereas they ask her whether she needs a glass of water. Difference. 
Why are they the way they are and why aren't we the way we're supposed to be? As unblemished as her intentions. Worrying is their favourite pastime. She laughs at the lil' boy's jokes, not because they were always funny, but because she thinks she's responsible for his happiness. He may turn out to be a crappy stand-up someday but it's OK for the time being. In an ideal world, we'd be celebrating Mother's Day on a daily basis. Coz Mom, I may not be too blunt about how much I love you..  but I value, respect and owe you for being that ONLY figure in my life, whose never shown her back on me, even when you were taken for granted a several times. I Love You Maa.. Happy Mothers Day.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

The Jog

In the evening when I am back from college, its been happening for past 2 days now. I pull up my socks, wear my running shoes, pick my headphones and I am off. Off to the locality park. The sun's set and only half of the lamps in the park are on. The headphones play "chasing cars" and even though the tempo of the song doesn't match my jogging speed it's somehow relaxing. This is the time I am at perfect ease. It's pretty dark and no one sees each other's face except where they cross the dimly lit patches. This is my "me" time.

Because sometimes the path is the greatest listener.
I usually think about the day, my actions and have the deepest introspection.

This is the time when I am aware of my every step and life seems bearable even lovable to most extent. At other times I use the aid of music to get away from people, situations and also my own self and thoughts. But this stretch of time is different. Here the music isn't a means to be oblivious to the world around me rather it makes me more aware.

And in that time I wonder maybe all this adds up to something. The long hours of jog, the useless days of exam preparation which im flunking for sure, the hours of writing drafts in my blog, the senseless chats on my phone, the never ending questions of sex and the existence of a God, the meaningless jokes, the decisions as to whether I should bathe, or shave or not, quoting lyrics in a conversation, My narcissistic approach towards everything, My ignorance revenge to people's ignorance towards me, impatience, Tight hugs and the small peck on the cheek. Maybe all this is who I am. And this is the time when I happen to love who I am, and for people to accept, how I am.

Monday, April 8, 2013


Lessons learnt over the past two months:

# Failures hit you in the face when you least expect it.
# Sometimes your hundred per cent is nature's fifty.
# You might know you are better, smarter and more confident than everybody in your vicinity but you don't need to show and flaunt that 24x7.
# Sometimes acting gawaar is the only way to survive.
# Your channel of thought makes you who you are.
# Most of the times people you trust the most let you down.
# Sometimes people may mean everything to you yet they can't replace the one's who were important to you before also YOUR FAMILY.
# Writing a blog on someone's request is a bad idea, when you dont have time.
# What people think and what people say they think are two different things.
# Never confess anything without cross questioning yourself atleast a thousand times about its consequences
# A hug and a chai solve every problem in this world.
# You have clothes, you have food and you have shelter. If there is a God he needs to be thanked every bloody day.
# dont throw " I love you's " at someone, if that someone is pushed away by it
# Nobody waits for you, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, one day everyone is going to move on.
# The no. of friends on facebook is inversely proportional to the no. of friends you have in real life.
# The most intriguing question you can ask yourself is "Why the fuck ME?"
# The definition of happiness varies from person to person.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


There was a farmer known as Manu who had everything he ever wanted in life. A good family, good friends, a pet named Moti and a photoshopped image of Aniket Mahamunkar(The Tramp) kissing Morgan Freeman. The only problem being, he suffered from incessant headaches. Headaches that would plague his thoughts, which would make him uncomfortable at all times and which would prevent him from completely doing any farming work that he was expected to do. He tried on and off to analyze his aches and wondered what could be their source. One day while farming he hit upon the reason and ran to his wife, pausing every 20 seconds to make sure the blood doesn’t not rush too much into his head. He reached his wife panting, and she co-incidentally was painting.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I have found the source of the aches” he said frowning.


“Well my headaches are related to my farming”


“They are My-Grains”.

His wife stabbed him to death with her paintbrush after that. No more headaches recorded ever since.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Let Him Smoke!!

The coldest January of my life, the coldest of all and yet, I step out, with the Jacket.
take the cigarette out and light it like I light the pyre of sorrows within. Walking on the foggy street, careful enough to not fall down, careless enough to inhale the slow poison, seeking warmth from the night lamps, gazing in to the darkness,

how I enjoy the liberation I receive with each puff that blows in the air. A man of my calibre, a slave to a pack of cigarettes and sometimes, to something as miniature as a matchstick!

How I gave her up for the unconditional, non-reciprocating, paid affection that I share with this absolute fixation.

We were happy in college, we were happy amongst our friends, we were happy we screwed around.. but we weren’t happy together. She loved me she said, I loved her I said, but in between these spoken words there was a silence we did not expect.

That silence made me light my first. I built a smoke screen to conceal what I wished to speak.

Here I am walking by accompanying in my hand... what I have merited from that relationship.

This cold night, the chill breeze that makes me want to hold the cigarette for longer, closer, and inhale stronger, the craving for her presence, her body is diminishing sooner than I thought.

And THEN, I spotted a drunken old man ..
I made my way to him, I saw an expensive lighter in his humble abode. He caught the gaze, smirked and held it loose in his hands. His hands were rough, dirty, charred, with brittle nails. I could see all his life written in those brittle fingers, which had the marks of burnt cigarettes. I stepped back. He made a gesture, inviting me to sit. I did.

“This lighter, my woman gave this to me when I married her at the age of nineteen. She fell in love with the way I smoked, the way I held her loose like I held my cigarette. We grew, we grew fonder.
But indeed, I grew fonder to the ash I collected in my lungs.
One day, she pleaded me to quit for her baby couldn’t breathe in her.
It was a cold day like this. I set the house on fire with this lighter.
. . .
You see son, no woman is worth coming between a man and his smoke!"

The man spoke with no emotion. I nodded.

I stood up, walked towards the platform, turned around one last time to see him inhale his last puff, and crush it on the ground barefoot.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

स्त्रीलिंग Facebook!!!

As a single guy I have a lot of time to spend online especially on Facebook. It is a magical site where you can spy on everyone’s life and make sure you know every aspect of him or her.

Sometimes I imagine that I will find the perfect girl online and we will have a perfect relationship and fall in perfect love. However every single time I log onto Facebook, I see the same bunch of women who make my perfect dream disappear. As a gift to my fellow single men, I present to you a guide on the types of women you will encounter on Facebook.

The Disney

This woman will have absolutely no photos of herself. All her photos will be of Disney princesses or random actors. She may put up an Edward Cullen photo and you realize that she is the spawn of Satan. There will be no photos of her. Most of her albums consist of photos of friends or random photos in which 45 million people have been tagged. You will never see her face. If you chat up with her she will speak with you but behind this shrouded veil that other humans refer to as a photo of Selena Gomez. You really wish she puts up more photos so you can catch a glimpse of her but it seems like her face does not exist at all. No matter how hard you try you will never ever see how she looks in real life, but the mere fact that she likes Selena Gomez gives you enough reason to at least purchase a few Cyanide capsules before you meet her.

The Hipster

The Hipster will only use Instagram and put up random photos of dead animals or quotes from authors who you’re pretty sure don’t exist. She will reblog posts and share images that are as abstract and fake as her.

Most of her photos will have her roaming around in random nature based surroundings. Every photo will have been methodically edited and will also come along with an accompanying lyric tag from a band nobody has ever heard of it. In fact most of the times the band will be formed after the lyrics have been read. She will post quotes and philosophy. Kafka, Nietzsche, Freud, she knows them all but the moment you ask her about common things like Hindi music or terrible movies, she will change the subject to more ‘intellectual things’.

The Hot One

OMG. She is so hot. There is no way she will ever be with you. Never. She is way out of your league. She makes your league look like the Sri Lankan Premier League. There is only one thing that you can do… Right Click and Save Image for later use.

The Pretty One

The pretty one will have some of the most beautiful profile photos. Photos that make you stare and fall in love. Everything is perfect except her grammar. Every photo has a terribly spelled caption which ends in a heart (<3) . Half of the times she manages to spell that wrong also.

She will spell great as gr8 and nice as nyc. She will refuse to spell any word correctly or even show some inclination to read the dictionary. Even a decomposing pigeon will type out a better sentence then her. Now you have to make a decision. Does your penis like her or does your brain like her?

The Hogger

The Hogger will take as many photos as she can to prove to the world that she exists. She will take 45 million photos in 1 second and upload them all simultaneously. She will constantly update her Facebook status telling people about how she is eating food and how she is crapping it minutes later. She will then takes photos of her posing near her poop and upload them to an album called ‘Summer Poop ’. She will post every 10 seconds on your wall making you believe that she has no friends or family. As much as you ignore her, you cannot ignore her digital presence. She will like your every photo and share your ever post. She will be the sole reason for deactivating your profile.

The Limited Recluse

She will never come online. She will have only 3 photos that have been uploaded, out of which 2 have been put up by her friends and one by an application that she accidently accessed. She will not post on your wall or reply to any posts. She will not update her status. She will have somewhat of a limited profile and refuse to be friends with anyone. Technically speaking her profile is in a vegetative state. Sooner or later, the good folks at Facebook will euthanize it.

The Ugly One

She is ugly as hell. Heck even Hell is prettier and hotter than her. Yet she is always hanging around pretty women and hence you have her as a friend with the secret hope in mind that one day when you comment, one of her pretty friends will find you humorous and add you as a friend.

The Perfect One

The perfect one will be the one you desire. She will be pretty, smart and she's your best friend. She will talk to you whenever you want. Never disappoint you with her replies and will be the perfect one for you. She is the girl of your dreams and is the perfect person to talk to whenever you’re bored. However each one of them comes with an extra appendage called a boyfriend. Secretly you wait for her to break up with him but you know it will never happen. You however go on with the rest of the crowd liking her photos hoping she sees the love in the multiple likes that you give her posts and comments. She never does.