The Dreaming Tree

We've moved

2010-03-04T06:36:00.000-08:00

Hi there readers!

We decided to buy a domain and move :) I now blog here

http://www.warmtongue.com/

All my old posts have moved there as well, in case you wish to browse the archives. Do bookmark the new URL!

Thanks for visiting and as always, your opinions are welcome.

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Love Handles

2010-02-07T05:46:00.000-08:00

You don't stop pumping,
It's a fair way to the peak,
That violent climax, the perfect carrot,
Dangling in front of your beaded brow,
You grip her harder, she whimpers,
You smirk, such is our love,
Your thighs scream for mercy,
Your heart reminds you of all that metal,
She knows you're inching closer,
The anticipation grows,
A little more, a little harder,
More intense than ever before,
That last drop of sweat drops off of your chin,
Onto her shimmying body,
And as that final gust wind greets you at the top,
You know nothing can wipe that grin off your face,
There are few things as orgasmic,
As a well earned downhill,
And fewer things I love more than Mother Gravity.

Hump Ahead

2010-01-12T05:06:00.000-08:00

This is inspired by my daily bicycle commute to work in Bangalore.

Note: Well mannered drivers please excuse.

I'm no swanky motorist, no gutsy over-speeder,
I just stick to the pavement, I'm the bottom feeder,
But when my butt is off that saddle and safely on my bed,
I curse and scream and choke your memory till it is cold and dead.

You know who you are, on your zippy bike,
Of all the torture in my head, you know what I'd really like?
To take your scruffy, grinning face and feed it to a ravaging mutt,
Take your charred exhaust pipe and stick it up you butt.

And you know who you are, Mr. Classy IT guy in a sedan,
Oh how many poseurs I've seen from your mighty clan,
How I'd like to pick you apart in debugger mode,
Parse you through a paper shredder into a million bits of code.

And you know who you are, SUV metro boy with a chick,
(By the way, we know you bought that Pajero to make up for the tiny dick)
If only your driving was half as good as your dressing sense,
I'd spare your manhood of the excessive violence.

And as you ignore my obscene rebel yell,
I know for sure that, with me, you too will burn in hell,
Just that your oh-so-pretty broads and better halves,
Will be ogling at my bulging quads and feeling up my calves.

Happiness is a Warm Tongue

2010-01-04T07:49:00.000-08:00

So the other day I was feeling rather down,
With global warming and Copenhagen and white versus brown,
When I felt this squishy nose poking my butt,
And turned around to see this ecstatic mutt.

No, seriously, this was the happiest dog I ever saw,
And he began to jump and shove and lick and paw,
In canine worship he pranced around,
Till I grabbed his ears and held him to the ground.

But that tail wagged on, it only got faster,
With eyes that adored his new found master,
And a tongue that darted at his closest skin,
Love that I love remembering.

It took me some time to notice his unstable walk,
How he rocked and swayed like a sunflower's stalk,
In a gloomy, windy, monsoon mess,
That cheerfully shone nonetheless.

Turns out the dog as happy as a college kid with a beer keg,
Was actually missing his right fore leg,
What joy it gives me when I recall,
The 3 legged dog, who was blessed after all.

Can't Touch This

2009-12-20T01:10:00.000-08:00

Spoiler: This blog entry does not rhyme.

I recently saw a trailer for a Bollywood movie called Pyaar Impossible. It has a generic beauty falls for the geek plot. I'm as interested in the movie as Berlusconi is in keeping a clean image. What caught my eye was the portrayal of the geek.

Now before I start cussing and ranting, you need to know that this story seems to be set in the US.
Ok, now to get things off my chest.

What is wrong with Indian geeks? Aren't we just as inadequate? Aren't we socially inept, sexually inactive, hormonally deprived, visually challenged, romantically maimed and uncool enough?

Because what ticked me off is that the protagonist in the Bollywood movie is the common American teen movie geek. He wears braces, own light sabers, quotes Darth Vader, reads comic books, can't get laid and shows all the symptoms of Asperger's. He isn't white, he's brown, just like his muse, the movie's target audience and the entire crew.

I can take all the American decadent filth these Bollywood nitwits throw at me, but this time they've touched something far, far more sacred than the billions of Gods we have in India. They've crossed the line. And I take great offence.

You don't touch the geek. We go watch your movies. We blog about them. We re-tweet reviews. We buy poster of Uday Cho...oh wait no one buys posters of Uday Chopra. And you find some no brain, gora cloned, teen movie stolen POS to take our place.

They obviously believe that the Indian geek isn't worth the on-screen attention. He has pubescent facial hair and smells of Lifebuoy. He wears Bata leather sandals and checked shirts from Erode. He wakes up early and takes a bus to IIT class. If he's lucky he gets a scooter. He mentally adds the digits on every vehicle's number plate because its fun. He graduates to head million dollar firms or start his own little revolution. He quits his job in a mid life crisis to teach poor children. He grows old to be opinionated, proud, even arrogant.

He is you, he is me, but he fails to capture the imagination of our film-makers.

I understand the movie isn't half as profound as a psychopath serial killer with schizophasia, but you pea brained directors need to understand that America has her stereotypes. We have ours. Dattani exploits the riots and communal tensions in his plays. He doesn't create them, he sees them. You don't need to force feed the junta with borrowed stereotypes. Look around.

And don't you ever, ever even touch the geeks. There will be blood.

Because one day, we will inherit the Earth.

Principia Prêt-à-Porter

2009-12-02T05:48:00.000-08:00

Oi! Look at me! I'm a fucking hypocrite,
And the emperor's new values that I knit,
Supposedly with threads of silver and gold,
Is leaving my morality on a cryogenic hold.

I support equality for every gender,
As long as the women are submissive and tender,
And those that lie in between,
Wait! What? I'm sure there's no such gene.

I've saved the earth since I was 2 feet high,
With plays and concerts and such hue and cry,
And being the pampered beta or beti,
I have a carbon footprint of a super-sized yeti.

Oh but I've done so much for the little ones!
I've bought books and pencils for daughters and sons,
Of the poor and homeless and despondent and unpaid,
While my mom overworked our 14-year-old maid.

I'll grow up to be great and save my land,
In 20 years it'll be clean, shiny, honest and grand,
But since I'm a fucking hypocrite,
I'll steal for now and trash it just a little bit.

Business Jargon Haters: Minutes of the Meeting

2009-09-23T23:26:00.001-07:00

Hanging around on the office table,
Figuring out what the boss means by deliverable,
Dazed and confused you don't keep him in the loop,
Because he asks you for agenda and a focus group,
You want more money, holidays and you're pissed,
But you shut up because you're the product evangelist,
They keep telling you "We will downsize",
So you get back to work and prioritize,

And every new client's brief in your luck,
Leaves you saying what the fuck?
If only they'd put it in simple words,
And not in literal versions of recurring decimal imaginary surds,
You'd probably have a clue of the work to be done,
But then how would the MBAs have some fun?
No, you must stick to the vague business lingo,
And in the process suck your boss' dingo*.

Then in the bar you meet this lovely blue eyed lady,
And tell her you market satisfaction solutions which are consumer ready,
Till your jaw is viciously attacked by her daddy's boot,
Because he thought you were a male prostitute,
So you retreat to a corner, speechless and weak,
But promise to master this alien corporate speak,
Because the better butt and sweeter titty,
Prefer Six Sigma men with enhanced productivity.

*For more info visit www.dingojuice.com

Oh I'm Just Screwing With Your Head.

2009-09-22T08:02:00.000-07:00

Boners are inspired by different things,
Pasties and T-backs and leopard skin slings,
Some people love chicken, others prefer fish,
So dont judge a man by his kinky fetish.

Now that we've decided on a broad mind,
Lets keep our likings for the broader behind,
Not closeted inside with the dirty underwear,
But out in the open, sun-tanned and bare.

And of all the choices that the creator made,
The whore of hearts and the broad of spade,
Nothing puts my blood flow on cue,
Like the girls with a 130+ IQ.

My 10 best college moments

2009-08-12T09:30:00.000-07:00

Statutory Warning: Senti ahead.

My 10 best college moments
(in no specific order)

1. Festember 08
2. The day Nida brought Whisky to our wing
3.The day I got placed.
4. The 5 days of fucking everyone up to get the Rem out in time
5. Scoring for the first time
6. Complete psycho night with Subho and Mainak before sem exams in 1st year.
7. The 2nd year trek.
8. Everytime someone said "Dude lets have a drink. No binging, just a drink."
9. That first mug of beer in the 2nd year Balls farewell. Start of a love affair.
10. NITTFEST '09 (took them from behaaiind, shoobie doobie doopaaa)

Urinations Ruminations of a Cow Lover

2009-08-01T10:04:00.000-07:00

My college life would've been bland and incomplete,
Without the odd patched hide and tempting teat,
A day would have hardly been through,
Without stepping in freshly laid cow do,
But bovinity is not be poked fun at,
Or shooed or beaten or spanked or spat,
For though my love for cows first grew out of pity,
It later greatly helped me understand bestiality.

Now where do I begin on my muses?
Her nimble walk? or the way she peruses,
That blade of grass she's about to munch,
For breakfast, supper and tomorrow's brunch?
How her lovely tongue dives into her nose,
And the ninja tail that fights those crows,
Oh I must stare into those eyes before I be dead,
Sadly that big, blue dustbin is stuck on her head.

I'm sure the Angelinas and Deepikas and Ashes,
Pray everyday for a cow's eyelashes,
How they flutter like a butterfly's that has flung,
In some odd way, at her face, a little dried cow dung,
Indubitably, the creator had a master tape that he took home,
And designed on it a cow's genome,
For never has there been a fair animal so great,
That tastes even better on my dinner plate.

I want my MTV

2009-07-06T03:33:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I wish to ditch electricity,physics and fission,
And lose myself in reality television,
Partly because they have the mental capacity of a hammer,
Which is wisely used to nail the glamour,
And partly because, as I always say,
The obnoxious has this mysterious attraction, per se,
All of which I will use with great aplomb,
And participate in the virulent Viacom,

I assumed being a roadie was a lot of fun,
With all those bikes and women and melons and buns,
But these challenges sound rather fickle,
What if you lost a testicle?
Without the balls you'd be hopeless and meek,
Primo material for beauty and the geek,
And just before it gets all romantic and bridal,
Go embarass yourself on Indian Idol.

I adore redundant comedies,
Especially when the skirts are 10 inches above the knees,
And I'm really addressing the entire cast,
When I tell them your neither gorgeous nor fast,
I'd suggest you give up all hopes,
Of movies or sitcoms or even soaps,
Hollywood is really the latest trend,
Why not be Paris Hilton's BestFuckingFriend?

Poor Ms. Sawant was over-looked during creation,
So now she's headed for self-consummation,
I have a G.U.T that's killer,
Put her on the sets of Splitsvilla,
And to give it some international frills,
Add a couple of Yanks flown in from The Hills,
Oh the world would be so much better,
If I just got my offer letter.

The Seekers

2009-06-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

Howdy amigos. Sometime back when I discovered the FEEDJIT statistic feed I liked it because it was fancy. It shows flags and places and watching it in real time is kinda trippy (yes in Gujarat we trip on anything we can find).

Anyway one totally awesome thing about FEEDJIT is that it also shows you to what searches was your blog a result. Its like 42, you know the answer is my blog but what was the question? Here are the top 3 searches my blog has answered to. I swear to God they are all real and unlike most of my blog this list is not made up.

1. Gujju Bhabhi Pics
Search Engine: Yahoo
Location: Mumbai, Maharashtra.

Good lord if someone with any self respect read this they'd jump off Junagadh Fort's highest spire. For crying out loud, WHY? What is wrong with Yahoo! I have had thoughts about taking them to court. And to think I was the FIRST hit on this search. Boy I'm confused, should I feel good or bad?

Bloody frust Mumbaiker! Surely Borivili material.

2.Gujjus vs Bengalis
Search Engine: Google
Location: New Hyde Park, New York.

Mamata vs Modi, Patel vs Chatterjee. Oh boy oh boy oh boy this is greatest battle ever. In fact it got me thinking. Really, Gujjus vs Bengalis?

Gujjus are fat, so are bongs. You see Gujjus everywhere and Bongs are equally populous. So both of them are certainly getting some.

Ok no more comments, Gujjus wont kill me but I know a Bong who could.

3. "increase average iq" senator
Engine: Google
Location: San Jose, California.

The result is this post.

The Americans are so desperate to get smarter they search the internet to find out how. And they ended up on a post that is not very helpful to say the least.

Ok enough Yank bashing. On second thought, no.

I can imagine the convo:

President: Senator, our people are too stupid we must do something.

Senator: Yes sir, I agree.How about we invade Afghanistan?

President: Surely. I also suggest you increase the average iq, Senator.

Senator: Yes sir, I agree. Maybe invading Iraq will help us do that too?

President: Yes thats a good plan.

Deputy to Senator: Sir, how was your meeting with the president?

Senator: He said "increase average iq, Senator"!

Deputy: That'll be easy sir. Let me Google it. And since I am a patriotic American let me insert unnecessary quotes. Oh look some smart Indian guy has written about what we exactly need.

Senator: Oh these Indians, snapping at our asses ready to take our jobs. Just because they're African doesn't mean we'll let them come into our country like the other blacks.

Deputy: Sir that is politically incorrect. And isn't India in Asia?

Senator: Asia's in China you moron. Go get me my 10$ starbucks coffee or I'll feed you to that wetback Jose guy.

Deputy: Alright. And I also think they're brown and not black.

Senator: You racial S.O.B.

etc etc.

The Fifth Horseman

2009-06-06T03:14:00.000-07:00

Hello there naive mortal, I am the Fifth Horseman.

Of course, you don't believe me, who would. But if you give me just a few minutes, I'll give you the real story, not just the odd bit of general knowledge. So stay with me here.

Long long long ago, before evolution (which I happen to believe in, that creationism thing is bullshit) I was born to a family of horsemen. My dad was a horseman and my mother was a horseman's wife. They came from families of horsemen and horsemen's wives. So naturally I grew up to be a fine young horseman and enrolled into Horseman College. I was an active member of YHCA (Young Horseman's Christian Association) and did very well in college, graduating with a 10.00 CGPA.

One of my best friends was Lucifer, he was a real devil's son. No, really, he was the devil's son. So when his Dad came along with his company, Apocalypse Inc., I tried to flex my evil arm and asked him for a job. He asked me a few rather simple question and lo! I had a job.

I was overjoyed. Along with me were four other horsemen. Lucifer said his Dad had other plans for him and we bid farewell, after which he descended into the Pit of Hate, the snazzy new nightclub his Dad had started.

We were sent a letter each telling us about our profiles. The other four, who were Conquest, War, Famine and Death were recruited for the working committee, which meant they were supposed to go kill people. Not really a job I'd fancy to tell you the truth. I hate getting my hands dirty and blood really scares me.

I was a part of their PR and Marketing team, I was supposed to convince people that what the other four were doing was for their good and too make sure that the other guys didn't look to bad. Conquest was a great guy, the smartest of the bunch, real bright chap. War was rather quiet and aloof. Famine and Death went hand in hand, they were inseperable, and always played practical jokes on me. If Famine didn't get you, Death sure would.

The great thing about working for the Devil was the day you got recruited you were granted immortality. Also the Employee Stock Options were really good, they made up for the bad food we heard.

Soon enough the other four got to work. They became rather infamous and sell-out bands wrote songs about them. I on the other hand waited long for what the people over at Horseman Resource (HR) called the Offer Letter along with the joining date..

I waited and waited and waited.

It never came, well at least not till today. In fact, when Conquest quit, the recruited Pestilence inspite of my protests, I said I want to be one of them now. But HR wouldn't listen. They said "have patience!". Those bastards are so popular now, I play WoW I see them, they're at the movies, on TV, everywhere!! Its sickening to know I could've been them.

Sometimes I just wish I could go to another firm, but once your in this deep into doom and stuff its difficult to get recruited. Plus no one believes my age, and when I tell them I'm waiting for Apocalypse Inc. and that I'm the fifth horseman they call security.

I guess I'll write HR people another mail.

Substance D

2009-06-04T10:10:00.000-07:00

It was 9 years ago, when I was 13 year old in the quaint but lovely town of Visakhapatnam. It was boyhood, MTV and lots of tennis. I landed up at home after my daily dose of rather mundane education every day at 2, whence I promptly turned on the TV, tuned into MTV Select, then hosted by a young Nikhil Chinappa. I sat there and ate alone, since the house was always empty till 5 P.M.

One fine afternoon just before leaving for tennis practice I heard a song in an advertisement. It was beautiful. I don't know what, how or who. It just struck me to be brilliant. Maybe it wasn't so much the song. I had never heard anything like it before, I was 13 for god's sake.

But it stuck. It stuck through tennis, through the 10 rounds of the 3 courts, through the 50 squats. It stuck for another 7 months.

That is when Satyam's first dial up crept up. Over a period of time I discovered Audiogalaxy. I hummed and hummed. Recalling what I though were the lyrics I ran it through the search engines. Day after day, song after song. I discovered a lot of new music with the same words. And then inevitably, I found it. And it all came back as a rush.

It still does.

And 9 years down the line, through boyhood, adolescence, high school, intimacy, entrance exams, ragging, department bullshit I have found comfort and love in its music. When everything goes wrong, I have this one infallible 5-odd minute composition that links my past, my present, my has, my will-haves and most of all my aspirations.

I hope there's never another day when I mean it as much as I do at this moment.

Wish you were here.

Why I hate the New Pulsar 180

2009-06-03T02:36:00.000-07:00

Firstly, that is the only picture of the bike that I could find. Secondly, I know my blog does not normally opine on topics as lowly as this, but then sometimes it likes to bend over.

The changes, which may or may not be visible in the image, include a "sleeker" petrol tank, a more "curvy" headlamp, and tail lights that remind one of Captain Spock's ears, which in one word would be "pointy". And some other graphic nuisances.

Plainly put the Pulsar has gone from being "Definitely Male" to "Oh look at me I'm so fucking metrosexual". The brand for me has been destroyed. Its over.

And to add chilli powder to injury, the advertising campaign shows a bunch of kids sneaking into the showroom to take a peek. I'd like to ask brand positioning people over at Bajaj, Why? Where is the male? Show me the male!!

You may think I'm overreacting and I believe I strongly agree, but why I so despise of this new hideous creation is that at some time I really wanted this bike. Not because it was definitely male. Because it looked away from the then sleek-curvy look (Its competitors then were Suzuki's Fiero and Hero Honda's CBZ). It has a stud round headlight that had no plastic thingy on top of it. Even the first variant was ok, it had an evilish look to it. But now? Now it looks like a byproduct of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

The reason behing my great disappointment is also that I love the engine. It is, basically, awesome. It sounds like a dream. It rides like a hot knife through butter. Everything's great from the gear shift and ratio to the brakes, everything. Then they had to dress it up in the emperor's bloody new clothes.

Go jump off a cliff Bajaj, and make sure the rocks below are like your tail lamps, really really pointy.

I wish I were

2009-05-31T10:32:00.000-07:00

When I was ten and four,
I read this poem by a bloke called Tagore,
He raved and ranted all along,
Being the stereotypical meandering bong,
About the inane and stupid vocations he'd choose,
So I decided to sit back and step into his shoes,
Grow a beard,name an ashram and be a playa,
Now mortally afraid of another bong called Shreya.

Anyway, I sat and thought and thought and thought,
Till my heart and brain were one big blood clot,
For unlike the man I had no hope,
Of being a watchman or sweeper or even the pope,
I believed in beatniks and job satisfaction,
Somewhere in the way, a little bit of action,
Be proud, be loud and hold up your pinky,
Gyrate you hips and tell them you're kinky.

So you see the dreams I had of love and hate,
Seemed awfully difficult to satiate,
Till I realized there was one possible profession,
That would overlook all my previous education,
There'd be issues and questions to moot,
When I put somebody's mouth in someone else's foot,
Because if I must live through this anarchy,
A teleprompter I must be.

Oh what joy I'd be sure to find,
When American presidents speak my mind,
When climatic conferences invite Al Gore,
He will bravely claim his butt is sore,
Or when the porn stars ooh and aah,
I'll make them recite the Casabianca,
And they sure would've made the right pick,
Because now the boy will stand on a burning dick.

Of course the newest controversy courters,
Will be the wicked TV reporters,
For now they and their TV crews,
Will not present but make the news,
Their producers will fume and flush,
While I get them to incessantly blush,
Boy, whatever it be I promise I wont be a bore,
Not like that other dude Tagore.

P.S: You may read the original here.

Shad Ub

2009-05-29T11:17:00.000-07:00

Now that our stay in Trichy, (we say our because well I sounds a little too selfish), is temporarily (never bait fate) done with we will now proceed to detail in great length the disadvantages of learning another language.

As Arthur Dent observes in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the day he began to understand what the birds speak, he stopped flying with them. That holds a wonderful but oft forgotten truth. Of course I..errm.. we wont tell you what that truth is because that would not be any fun.

Being blessed with the knowledge of the colloquial and mysterious tongue of the soon to be rulers of the worlds the mind numbing, super intelligent, double brained, IPL champs, the Gults, is quite a pain in the chilly pickle. Which incidentally is a pain in the ass the next day.

Add to that the growing vocabulary and Dravidian pride of Tamizh and you have a Molotov cocktail. Oh wait you don't, we believe TASMAC does not allow such heresy.

Anyway the short and poignant story, which relates to an incident that occurred at a large supermarket known as Spencer's Hypermart (or Giga or something) tells the tale of woe, fear, gluttony and most of all, too much radio chatter.

After a day of hard core (kaur if you're feeling Punjabi) shopping, I (yes, there was no we at the hypermarket) waited in a short queue to get the mangoes I was holding in a flimsy, translucent plastic wrapper, weighed and billed. In front of me was this young couple who spoke Tamizh. My eyes lit up for a second, I don't quite remember why though.

Incidentally behind me was this rather fat moustached man with an equally large moustached female partner who kept screaming into the phone ( I believe he was later picked up by the TATA Indicom people for their next "hello!hello!" commercial). He had a lot of shiny yellow metal all over him, gold perhaps and he was the only one in the queue buying Begumpalli mangoes. Obviously Gult.

Translated conversation transcripts below:

Tamizhian Lady :TL
Tamizhian Man:TM
Gult Lady: GL
Gult Dude: GD (Notice the sombre word play)

TL: Wyy are you gewing me soo many blastic baggets? Just put all the vegetables in one bag noo, what will I do with so many bags (to TM) What are you doing? Where is the daughter? Why don't you go look for her instead of staring here and there?

TM looks down and obliges

GL: Who are you calling?

GD: Hello! Hello! Hello!

GL: Give it to me, I will talk. Hello? Yes Srini garu, are you good? Oh yes we are in Gujarat. It is... yes yes he is fine. He is in USA. No not Ankapalli, USA. Hello! Hello!!

TL:(to TM) See how ill mannered they are. These people no respect for environment. Look how that woman is shouting. (turns to see TM is gone and I have usurped his position for tactical advantage. )

(I grin loudly (yes I can do that))

TL: Aiyyo!

(looks around for TM)
What are you doing! Come here and help me. What will I do with these plastic bags!

GL: (to GD) I can't hear anything! (notices GD is staring at the condom closet) Oh hello?? Yes yes I can hear yes tell me, tell me. Oh no no that woman is worsht she has ruined my life. What will we do? No no we cant leave her.

TM come running and nudges GL who drops all the mangoes. I laugh and TL is looking sickles at me. TM starts gathering the mangoes while apologizing profusely. GL suddenly feels free since all the mangoes are gone and walks off into the distance while chatting on the phone. GD continues staring at the condom closet.

TL: (to TM) What are you doing? Those are not our mangoes! (to the employee) I will gomblaint to you manager, where is she? all this stupid blastic (to TM) What are you doing!?!?!

TL looks at me, I grin again. Loudly. Suddenly GL returns and GD snaps out of the trance. They look at each other.

GL: Where are the mangoes?

GD: What mangoes?
(looks down at helpless TM, then addresses GL)
Your father!! Can't you even handle the fruit? Full day on the phone. You have to get me angry all the time.

TM: No no it was my fault you see I walked into..

TL: (now hysterical, possibly because of my grinning) What are you doing? Can't help me carry all this? Go you take the daughter and sit in the car let me take care of all this billing.

---------EOC--------------

Oh the things we have to go through. Sigh.

Boris the Consultant

2009-01-01T01:03:00.001-08:00

It would be so much more entertaining if Bollywood could just time their dialogues better.

For example:

Kalia:Dude I feel so sore after last night.
Gabbar:Kitne aadmi the Kalia?

Girlfriend:Abbey gadhe! Why did you take the condom off?
Baazigar:Kyunki kuch paane ke liye kuch khona padta hai.

There are many more such instances. But I can't put everything up on the blog, after all I have to make a living.

Sadness!

2008-12-30T05:37:00.001-08:00

A visit to Landmark is required when the only readable book in the toilet has a white cover that reads Dell Inspiron 1520 Owner's Instruction Manual. The disclaimer is quite entertaining though.

Phantom of the Opera

2008-12-29T01:14:00.001-08:00

One a soap, two a soap, three a soap, four,

The in-laws claim Parvati bhabhi is a whore,

Five a soap, six a soap, seven a soap, eight,

Poor Shanti falls for the vamp's wicked bait,

Meanders to a nine and finally a tian,

Destroy Ekta Kapoor to save all that is Indian.

But as the crow flies and donkey brays,

That would destroy my semester holidays,

For if you analyze there is much bother,

In an unentertained grandmother,

So I bless that twisted lass,

For the occasional kinky saas.

And I pledge to shield my kid's eyes,

From these soap operas I so despise,

It may transform the wife to a vixen and the husband to a mouse,

Ergo it must stay away from my house,

For my future would look rather bleak,

If she could maul while I only squeak.

This is the new shit

2008-12-22T22:56:00.001-08:00

After a semester of almost illegal confinement at the internment camp we call college my foray into the civilized world is punctuated by the discovery of the television. There are so many new things that make me hold my chair and scream as if I were watching REC all over again. But then the joys of a T1 Internet connection quickly overwhelm the screams.

You may not know this but THESE are the new Powerpuff Girls. Yes the same ones that inspired sex change operations among many men. They are now chinki. I guess Chemical X is now a product of Japanese engineering too. Oh wait maybe its Honda's Chemical X. Hentai strips can't be far away either. Those bald, chink perverts must be saying "oh rook its the powerpuff girrs. We can now have threesome. Khikhikhikhikhi. We then uproad on the Internet, all those Indian engineers rove this shit."

Who holds a fucking soft drink can like this? Show me. Show me the guy and I'll kick him in the balls. If its a girl she can grow them first. There is no substitute feeling.

I have seen a LOT of lame soft drink campaigns but this one tops the charts. I am actually ashamed to be the target audience of these adverts. This soft drink manufacturer, I don't want to explicitly name it to maintain the relevance of the photograph, pays millions to its agency who come up with the idea " look, lets be totally anti-establishment. Lets go back on evolution. Maybe we looked at the chimps and thought we can hold stuff like this. But we weren't being imaginative. This (pointing at above picture) proves that we humans can be original. Darwin was a dickhead. We are the way ahead."

Then the executives clap and say "Wow. We never thought of things this way. We can be so cool. Wait I'm gonna jack-off like this too. It's so much more efficient, 2 fingers do the job of 4. Plus the sensation is awesome."

And yes I love coke with my ghee roast.

This is a cover of Yuhin Chala Chale by a bunch of yanks. They're pretty good and its another Rehman number I love. The song has an awesome bassline but you can't really hear it in the video.
Anyway its covered pretty nicely.

Ogden Nash's Stash

2008-12-15T20:34:00.000-08:00

A mister and miss tied the knot,
For love, family and god knows what,
All was good till the 7 year itch,
Whence he became a bastard and she a bitch,
They searched high and low for connubial bliss,
Till a holy sage proposed a bud of cannabis,
And as strange as it may sound,
They were surprised to find marriage counselling for less than a pound,
Now their lives are rather gay,
With a daily quota of 3 kingsize J.

Another mister always wanted to be a piolet,
With dreams of flying into the horizons violet,
As a kid he lived in airplane utopia,
Till he was bludgeoned by a strong dose of myopia,
All his ambitions were now rather blurry,
Like watery eyes after an orgy of Andhra curry,
Till the holy sage realized that if flying was the need,
Apparatus required was just a pillow of weed,
And what would really put him on song,
A nice painted, spherical glass bong.

Now I began to suspect this holy man,
When he requested for porn off my lan,
And insisted that if I were to score,
I must bring the pictures more and more,
But I played along for I was curious,
Eager to prove this guru was spurious,
So I collected all the matter I could find,
Wrote my will as the undersigned,
And when I reached for his stash,
I realized he was Ogden Nash.

My hero since was a toddler,
Was actually a wicked weed poddler,
He laughed at my childish surprise,
And told me my acting was worth a phustprize,
He put his hand on my shoulder, all wrinkled and old,
And acted as if he was speaking words of gold,
Candy might be dandy,
And liquer might be quicker,
But if true joy is sought,
Then look nought beyond pot.

Standard Format

2008-12-14T06:11:00.000-08:00

Every year, when the cold December winds freeze people elsewhere while my perma-summer town remains hale, hearty and gujju, I take a few minutes from my excruciatingly busy schedule to compile a list of what was. And as it is with all other lists, this is pointless-ness and inaccuracy taken to a newer level. To quote Drew Carey, 'the points don't matter, just like underwear to Sharon Stone'.

Anyway, shall we proceed.

2008's 5 Trippiest things:

1. Mess Food

Believe it or not, mess food is the king. It is difficult to explain, its like sweet smell of grass on a summer day, like the American intellect, like that feeling you get when a cricket ball slams into a man's crotch. Man hasn't invented words for these things. Apart from fuck of course. (To be pronounced with an elongated vowel sound.)

2. Porcupine Tree

A multi-coloured lava lamp. The colours merging, prancing around like Russian ice skaters. Layers on layers of music, which actually reminds me of the Castor oil viscosity diagram in the 11Th CBSE physics textbook. Held up by some solid bass, with chunks of pleasure thrown in by the drums almost arbitrarily. And as you pierce the layers, the occasional relief by the keyboards. Blue guitar sparks through the outer surface, the steady riff. Then the song ends and everything goes away.

3. Cows

Cute, very lovable, rather peaceful, pastel shades, abstract art shapes, wet nose, whiplash tails (for the BDSM fans), lazy and awesome competition at burpfests.
Ergo trippy.

4. Lollipops

I have often expressed my great admiration for lollipops. They are the tsars of confectionery. They are symbols of mankind, from pornography to innocence, a lollipop has the power to make you laugh, cry, dance and can choke you to death. Their names are the epitome of creativity and their flavours are swirls of joy( Oh my god! Festember's actually a lollipop.)

Most importantly you can ask someone else to buy you 5 of them because that makes you cute. But I swear you're ugly.

5. Stars

As a child I often wondered how, and very importantly why, did people name constellations. Now I certainly know how. Couple of spliffs and that's it. I remember spotting half of my wing out there, though Basu's nose was rather elongated. I spotted my favourite one just before leaving. If you slightly extrapolate the hunter so that Sirius B coincides with the bear, you will get... hold your breath... the lyrics for Stairway to heaven run backwards. Those devils! They knew everything!
Now for the other question. Why? Because its fun! I can imagine 2 Neanderthal Americans figuring them out:
NA1:"Dude look that chick in the sky has 2 noses"
NA2:"Those are her tits you moron"

etc etc

Hello World

2008-12-13T23:45:00.000-08:00

I know it is pretty bright.
But I like it :)

And the old blog redirects here, so I dumped all the old articles on this address.

Comments will be appreciated. Well at least the good ones.

Cheers!

A Requiem

2008-10-06T07:05:00.000-07:00

I could see the end so clearly, before the beginning. Lonely again with my heavy olive rucksack and a broken spirit, staring at the airport doors. Just like it was beginning. I stared blankly at the permuting arrival lounge information board. The green lights next to every flight lit up, except one. People in ties, suits, shorts stormed out of the glass doors. All looking for a familiar face.

In a time when anyone would have a thumping heart and moist palms, I was morose. And as if the overwhelming sense of precognition that showed me the end wasn't enough, my iPod began a song I otherwise loved.

Wednesday morning at five o'clock
as the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more
She goes downstairs to the kitchen

I could see everything. How we'd walk in through the same gate, through the same half built bridge, and dump our bags in front of the cafe. Sit together, have a sip. And before I could blink it would be time to go.

Through the glass doors again, past the burly guards. And I peered through the glass, slowly the sorrow dawning. The misty glass blurring my last glimpses. A lump in my throat, no crying of course, grown men don't cry. What if she turned back to see me?

She
is leaving
home
She's leaving home after living alone for

so many years

The music did not matter anymore. The absence of joy was obvious, but what remained was nameless. Two years of separation punctuated by two days of bliss seemed fatal.

Two blinking green lights pierced my sorrowful menagerie. And in the exodus I spotted straight hair and a kurta. My sweaty palms groped for the flowers and the piece of card, surely my heart would explode of excitement. Springing with my seemingly weightless rucksack I ran after her.