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.

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.

Random At 4AM

Mumbai 'not just a metropolitan' city.. Its Moree... You see variety of specimen starting their stories early morning.. For some, its starts at late night already

Mumbai is a strange village. Sweating goes hand in hand with breathing. Its either Hot, Hotter or Hottest in this part of the Planet. So in a way, its always hot, its just the degree you need to measure for.

For the record, about 70% of Mumbai’s population lives in slum and the remaining 30% complain about harsh living conditions. Interestingly, poverty adds to the equation. It is like the most glaring cosmopolitan feature but somehow gets camouflaged by people’s never-say-die attitude..

Its 3 Paragraphs already.. Thats it. I have nothing more to speak of Mumbai, More than what pops up in my insomniaced disturbed mind at 3AM, that is wondering why isn't it cold already. Its December, For Gods Sake.

Half my blogs are about Mumbai.. It makes feel like Hank Moody, who blogs about California.
The only 2 differences being, Hank Moody is paid.. Me? Nada.
AND Hank Moody is fictional from Californiction.
Im Real... Like a Real Number.

Neway, This Post... aint about Mumbai though..
This post is merely an attempt to get rid of the sleep deprived insect in me.. and get me some sleep.. So its basically going to be a One Sided Conversation.

I'v been watching a lot of Sitcoms off late, during my exam preparation leave..

Cliche.. i know.

Does that make me a Loner??, because that would break the whole Socially Extrovert image of mine, that I wish to have for myself, just because i wish to fit in the society.
The Society comprising of, Cripples, Bastards, and other broken things. The Society i.e. Mumbai..

Maybe its all just a Camouflage, A Cover, A Lotta Shades above the Human Skin and Soul.. That I 'Think' completes me.
For Instance, if I were to classify my Shades... There would be many..
1) Obedient Son to my Father
2) Family Guy
3) Intellectual
4) Sir Knowsalot
5) Goody-two-Shoes
6) Charmer
7) Raconteurist
8) Metrosexual
9) RetroSexual
10)Caring'

Exclude all 10 Shades,
Im Alan Harper, without the Unintended Humour..

So IF ONLY.. By putting up these layers of Pretence, Im best suited for THE SOCIETY..! I do not see a problem with that then..

NOW!! Accepting it on one hand, is Fine. It gives me Closure..

But questioning myself, for everyting thats ' + ' bout me, Something that till date, I thought were my 'Traits'. The Benefit of Doubt towards Self, is beyond Appaling, Despicable, Reprehensible and Mundane

So Im just gonna follow a common drill that calls for default solution when a conundrum like this, smacks you left and right.
When You dont wish to get rid of anything, You need to convince yourself that its presence is necessary..
I believe that all 10 shades are the reason why everyone glows around me. The reason why everyone feels secure and warm around me.. The reason why the daisies bossom, The reason why the skies are clear, The reason why the winters near. The reasom why the moon is up so high.. Like a Diamond in the sky.

P.S. - Reality Check can get Ugly.

Gunnite Folks..! Sleepwell

Unambitious Martyr A.K.A Indian Women

27 november, 2012
_________________________________

*new girl walks in.*
*drinks water*
*starts running on the treadmill besides mine*
New girl: Hey.
Me: Hi.
Brain : Please just let me run.
NG: So how long have you been gymming?
Me: Two years in total. But this gym an year.
NG: Oh. I just joined.
Brain : I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED!
NG: So what do you do?
Me: Mechanical Engineering.
Brain: I am not asking you any counter questions. Doesn't that make you realize I am more interested in running than talking?
NG: Great!
Brain : I don't think you are getting the clue. *stops running* Okay now let's talk.
Me: So what do you do?
NG: I "used" to run a boutique.
Me: "Used to" is a very sad phrase. Are you married?
NG: Yeah.
Brain: I don't think I can talk to you anymore.
Me: Why did you quit?
NG: I figured my family needed me more.
Me: Oh.
Brain: Right. Brb puking.
*leaves treadmill abruptly and starts doing the spinner.*

I refuse to have conversations or even stand in the vicinity of such a woman. Seriously? Stop making yourself believe that you stopped working or you stopped dreaming because your family needs you. Family needs especially your husband's can be very well met at night after work. "My in-laws don't let me work" is even a stupid-er statement. If only you had the zeal to work and be independent you would have inquired enough before marriage to make such a mistake.

One day when you'll be 40 and lonely with a 20 year old son who has already moved out and your are alone at home waiting for your husband to come home you'll know what I mean. He'll come, order around like he is the only one who works all day long because he can and you allowed him to.
Respect is earned.

And it sure as hell isn't earned by being dependent on somebody.

You did your share when you carried the baby for 9 months in your womb. You don't have to (or make yourself believe) spend your entire life at home looking after him/her like you are the only parent.

Dependency doesn't earn you respect. Maybe sometimes only rebellion does.

EGG JAMS :'(

Because downloading paid apps is on the top of my list.
Because online shopping is suddenly cool.
Because after 17years of hating it I am suddenly a shopaholic.
Because my Phone is suddenly something I can't live without.
Because I have to fish for torrents every hour of the day.
Because Fifty Shades Of Grey/Indian TV has all of a sudden become bearable.
Because even with the anti-feminist angle Anastasia Steele is my role model.
Because watching every new show a minute after it's released is now my aim in life.
Because my love for books has been rekindled.
Because I have my birthday in 50 days and my next exam in 4.
And now you know.

HELLO PROCRASTINATION!
You have been missed! Not.




P.S: In other news it was Justin's birthday today. And apart from the fact that it comes along with my Aunt(The Bitch). The fact that I gifted him nothing, made my really proud. :')


And because cakes aren't cool anymore (read: I am broke and calorie conscious at the same time). I still called him at 12:00 AM,
If they still count that as a good gesture.

P.P.S(If thats even an abbreviation): No More Posts till Exams. Maybee... then again... Maybe not.!!!

ADIEU... :D

Deepaw-Lee \m/

So Diwali's here. I know this because the photo-tagging frenzy on Facebook has begun, with me being in tagged in a million pictures of things that symbolise Diwali, such as diyas, crackers, light-bulbs, burn victims, the superiority of the Aryan race and so on.

As you can tell, I’m totally looking forward to this festival of lights, prosperity and violently choking to death on suspended particulate matter the size of cockroaches. Every time I breathe during Diwali, it feels like my lungs are being french-kissed by a dementor. This, of course, is a throwback to ancient times when Lord Ram returned victorious from Lanka and was welcomed with a traditional feast of anti-histamines.

And smog is a really bad idea if you want the goddess of wealth to visit your home. It must really mess with navigation. I can just imagine her circling over Mumbai for hours, before giving up and dumping all the cash at Antilla, because that giant space vibrator is the only visible thing around.

But that’s just grumpy ol’ me. Everybody else seems to be happy, and by everybody else, I mean the people who are not doing Engineering, who apparently have no exams in the coming week.. and the people in the “festive season” ads that come attached to your daily newspaper. You know the ones I mean – idiots gathered around toasters and juicers, sporting grins that scream straitjackets and padded walls. Seriously, nobody should look that happy about a toaster, not unless it can cure cancer and has the ability to spontaneously generate threesomes.

It’s not all bad though. Diwali is that once-a-year chance to catch up with neighbours and relatives, so that you can remind yourself why you only meet these people once a year. Some of these people will invariably be the ones setting off firecrackers at 6 in the morning. There’s an important cultural reason which allows them to do this, i.e. murder is illegal. If you can’t think of any such person in your building, then it’s probably you, in which case I implore you, on behalf of all mankind, to firmly sit on the tip end of an exploding rocket.

Speaking of homicidal urges and vapid consumerism, there’s Bollywood, with its annual Diwali Box Office Showdown, which, in this case, is ‘Son of Sardaar’ vs. ‘Jab Tak Hai Jaan’. JTHJ is the story of SRK falling in love with Katrina and Anushka, because all the other ladies he used to romance are, in Bollywood terms, deceased. Meanwhile, Son of Sardaar stars Ajay Devgn, a man best known for brushing his teeth with dirt. If you’re wondering which one to watch, flip a coin and before it lands, go jump in Traffic.

In other Diwali news, eminent lawyer and BJP MP Ram Jethmalani recently said that Lord Ram was a bad husband because he didn’t trust his wife – a statement that outraged nobody with more than two functional brain cells. However, it did cause a flutter amongst the BJP, and understandably so, because you can’t just say something like that when you belong to the BJP. That’s like being a part of the Corleone family and announcing that the Don loved to wear pink ballerina tights. It may be true, but nobody wants it said out loud.

And I don’t know about you, but if some random man took hostage of my Wife, for soo long, He defintly was not hunting someone to play UNO with him. I think it’d be perfectly reasonable to ask her to walk through fire. Yup. Totally. In fact, that agnipariksha was the world’s first recorded instance of Truth or Dare.

Having said all that, it is important that we hold on to Diwali traditions and celebrations, because somebody needs to keep buying Chinese stuff. I wish you all a very happy Diwali, and no matter what caste, creed or community you belong to, I want you to know that if you tag me in a stupid FB picture, I will eat your children. Cheers!

Indian TV

Traditionally, killing an average sized bison(or knocking out half a Dolly Bindra) Is best achieved by drinking enough alcohol, but since one rum and cola at a bar now costs an apartment in South Mumbai, this is difficult to do. The other option is to do hard drugs. But for one, that’s illegal, and more importantly, nobody wants to be the guy that has something in common with Fardeen Khan. Luckily I’ve discovered a third, relatively inexpensive way to get the job done; put on your TV.

Indian television is the stupidest thing on the planet right now. If George W Bush, Digvijay Singh, Rakhi Sawant and Masterchef came together to form a giant super-robot of stupidity, it’d meet its match if it tried to out-stupid Indian television. Stupidity isn’t a crime though; not making even a basic effort to be anything else is a straight-up felony. And Indian television makes roughly as much effort as an Indian man on his 25th wedding anniversary.


Idiot box: In spite of several channels, there is nothing worthwhile to watch on television

In an era where television around the world is growing in scope and ambition, often surpassing cinema in its drive to be art, Indian TV is the guy in the back of the classroom with his finger in his nose. Everyone else has moved on to bath-salts and shower-gel. We’re still dealing in soaps.

This week, During my 'Exam preparation time' Midst(LOL) .. I took some time off to relax, what i saw was not only disturbing to mind, but also im not gonna hav my next boner in a decade ATLEAST..
I caught an episode of one of those shows that comes on at 10 pm and looks like all the others that come on at 10 pm. And 9 pm. And 7 am. The sort of show in which men show up once every six days, and all the women dress like they’ve just come back from Bappi Lahiri’s coming-out party. I think the name of the show was Kya Aapki Badi Acchi Kasauti Ke Baarein Mein Log Kahenge Vadhu Smriti Irani or something. And I am not making this up.
In the show, the bahu (Hindi for “person who is about to have a relentless stream of miserable things happening to her”) discovered a bomb while the family was praying. Except the bomb was stitched into the bandhgala of a child in the family. So she took him outside, bit the wires off with her teeth and then flung the jacket over the side of a cliff. As if Indian girls didn’t have enough pressure on them, now they’re going to have to add “defuse detonator attached to C4” to their list of “Things to learn for marriage” list.

If a writer anywhere else in the world came up with that, you would have only one course of action; call Warner Bros and tell them that their Looney Tunes stinking skunk has escaped and has come to your office again. But we put this on TV. You’re thinking “Why not just change the channel?” Because it just gets worse. Changing the channel takes you to “youth channels” that used to be music channels that now run reality programming where half the cast looks like it’s on heroin, and the other half look like they deal it. Another change takes you to sports channels, whose idea of post-match analysis is Sidhu dancing with three cheerleaders to Halkat Jawaani. A third change takes you to English channels, which you can’t watch because they’re like the Fill In The Blanks section of every school exam ever come to life. “She said _____________ to that _________, that _______ ____ ______” is what most shows sound like, because apparently, if we heard somebody say the word “gay” or “nipple”, god would drop the entire west coast into the ocean.

In pandering to what we condescendingly call “the lowest common denominator”, our own content diminishes us. It reduces us to a collection of our worst tics and stereotypes. It blows my mind that we currently have more TV channels on air than we ever did in the past, but somehow, at the same time, fewer unique ideas than we did back then. We need better TV. We deserve less stupidity. Though at this point, it’d probably be easier, less painful, and more fun, to just legalise drugs.