Lider

El es lider bueno. El es el primer ministro de India. Su madre es una lider famosa. A el le gusta volar aeroplanos. El es inteligente. Nos gusta el lider. Vive con su hija y ek hijo. Estudia en la universidad de Cambridge. Su esposa es de Italia. Ella estudia con el en la universidad. Ella es hermosa. Ella no habla hindi. Habla Italiano. Su nombre es Rajiv Gandhi. El escribe un libro. El planea y evita problemas.

Filetered Vision, filetered logic

The DMK warlord Karunanidhi is an idiot, and it needs no more advertisement for he modeled it all for himself. You don't sit in the lap of you mother and then call her a whore. This is exactly what he did. Who is Ram?Which IIT did he or his engineers go to make that Ram Sethu?

Perhaps he should have had been thankful to the people extolled in our religion or mythology (what many people prefer to call it). If not for these great people, leaders by example, who have taught us the art of patience and forgiveness, he would have been tied to a tree trunk and set afire for his blasphemy. Well we are not like him. We are people who have what we call as brains, not accidentally which Karnuanidhi and many others of his like call and have, if any, for sure, and we use it to think logically and not take everything as it is presented and are not mere fanatics. So we forgive him and he keeps on ranting his jingoistic tunes.

And then there is this group of mahants in Allahabad, Varanasi who have put forth a religious edict for rewarding anybody who brings him Karunanidhi's head. Like begets like. But certainly another fall to correct a fall is not advisable. If we ask for heads so often then we'd be left with many headless torsos and also we are not one of 'those' for whom claiming somebody's head is as routine as say breathing.

But what was surprising in this whole episode was that some people went up in arms against this diktat. If I am not wrong, they said something like we are democracy, nobody can issue such a diktat Plenty of legal cases started in the already overloaded courts.

Where were these people, where were their infallible beliefs in democracy, the whole setup, when somebody asked of the head of the Danish cartoonist, or for Salman Khan to do community service, or when this one lady was asked to marry her father-in-law because the bastard-in-law had raped here and so she was now her husband's mother!!

Termites on any civilization.

Scratch where they feel necessary and meets their own ends. Why don't you guys just simply die or waste away to a horrible death.

I heard Diwali is round the corner. Isn't it time an unknown, a nobody dons the garb of Ram, kills the beast and we celebrate the home coming?

Cry of a famished soul

Disclaimer: This work is purely, to the extent a pure can be pure (like pure Ghee), a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person dead or leaving (Oops! living), any event or place is purely incidental.

I am hungry, famished and starved to be true. Haven't eaten anything since last night, well never actually had breakfast in a long time. It is 12:30 pm and I head for the cafeteria. Okay kind of food, doesn't titillate the taste buds to any extent and has the look of being hygienic.

Now given the fact that India is a 1 billion plus democracy and by the time you read this must be a trillion plus democracy, not discounting the illegal immigrants and those came on visa but lost or missing Pakistanis, crowd is expected everywhere anywhere much before you can expect a molecule of oxygen.

So there's a queue and I simply tag along the tail. Fortunately not many are hungry at this time.

There are just a handful of people before me, shouldn't be long before I can serve myself a belly filling quantity of whatever is on menu today. Taking a big shot, may be.

There is this bunch of ladies ahead of me. Gossiping, a no great guess given their laugh and intermittent "Oh! is it?" "How nice" and all that stuff. There is this gentleman standing in the queue with no acquaintance close by, bidding his time to get a plate for himself. There is this another person happily talking to somebody on the phone.

So here is how the story goes on when people actually reach the point where they can serve themselves something to eat.

1. The gentleman on phone. With the mobile phone safely ensconced between his shoulder and the ear, he picks up the plate, the spoon. but forgets to take the chapatti. Comes back after like half of two seconds, realizing that something is missing is from his plate. A Sheepish smile to the person standing behind him.

2. The guy who was standing all alone, takes half a spoon full of veggie. Takes a moment to think, decides he needs more so he takes a quarter full of spoon and serves more. Still he needs some more, so he serves himself one single instance of that on single identifiable vegetable is that potpourri of vegetables. Same goes for almost all of the things on the menu. Indecisive, or weak in estimation.

3. The ladies of course.
Lady 1: While serving herself a chapatti "Well did you know, yesterday,...."
Others make a funny face and fake a laugh. The one at the last is confused as to how many tissue papers she's need. The one before is busy cleaning every square millimeter of surface on the spoon, the plate and all the utensils thinking the tissue papers are more clean.
Lady 2: Serves herself the veggie, stops, and joins in, "But...." A little more chat when they realize people behind are almost red-faced.

Without warning there is this guy who join in the middle "Excuse me! and serves himself world full of veggies, bucket full of yogurt, pockets full of salad" and is gone before you can "What the *uck do you think you are doing? Jumping in the middle of a queue (well at least in name. Didn't your parent ever taught you some manners or the concept of the queue? Didn't you ever understand the difference in being satiated and over eating? Haven't you ever heard of the saying 'Do to other what you'd like other do to you'."

All this while, I was standing with my cheeks pulled in deep in my skull, my stomach sucked in back all the way towards my spine, I legs have no energy to hold me up. I crumple on the floor, cannot make a sound.

Somebody just stepped over me to get his share of food.

Dogs of God.

I am very much a religious person. I believe in the institution of religion and the faith. But then I cannot understand the fanatics of religion.

Every day of festivity and celebration is a tool in hands of these kind of jerks who make the life of others miserable.

Ganesh Chaturthi came again.

And everything was back to square one.

The length of the access road to my house is just a couple of meters less than a kilometer. Never would have had imagined the enormity of this 1 kilometer, if not for these days. There are 5 pandals which have idols of Ganesh in them. The first person is an ardent follower of the Elephant-head-God and wants the other to know and understand how feverishly he worships the God. The second, person, not to be bogged down by the intensity of the first person’s worship, makes his offerings, chanting of hyms all the more loud and audible. Well the fifth one cannot go beyond the maximum volume the speakers available in the neighborhood can give. Poor chap doesn’t have much of an upper hand.

Also, there is this procession on the road. The traffic policemen have cordoned off the road. If is peak time in the evening, people are returning from offices, some leaving for offices, all the vehicles that were at some time parked are now on the road. The traffic piles up for kilometers; the procession is the fastest to move, rather the only thing moving. The devotees in the procession light fire crackers, who cares if it hurts anybody, God will take care if he wants to and the injured deserved the care. The drums, the loud Bollywood music, did Ganesh ever fancy the Bollywood music especially ‘Aashiq banaya aapne…”. God knows.

And petty mortals like me wait, asphyxiating in the smoke of fire crackers, shove the silencer of the tractor into me ears, pull out my eyeballs and squash it on the road, chew off my own tongue and do what not, apart from holding that urge to take a piss.

And what do others like me do, just pray that either these kind of people go and meet their God before the next year’s Ganesh Chaturthi or the God puts some sense into these nonsense and make them understand worshiping is not about disturbing others.

Key Take away: Whenever you know there is high probability of traffic jam which nobody knows when it will clear, always wear a diaper.

The Spineless creature

This was long due and it had had this coming. This thing doesn’t have any values, shows no sign of being fair, is totally unpredictable but fairly predictable as it arrives every time at the wrong time; a totally spine less being, if we can call it a being, or else, refer it to as a totally spine less ‘X’.

What is that it here? What else the rain.

Yesterday was a horrible day. I was in office until 6 O’clock in the morning fighting the last minute battle, which incidentally started at 7 in the evening the previous day, to fix up a demo for a visiting dignitary. I went back home, took a short nap before the pangs of hunger could wake me up and turn me into a gobble-everything- type monster. Since it was bright and sunny, a must for Ray-Ban kind of day, I didn’t put on my rain proof jacket and was back in my cubicle.

Now the hell is let loose. 4’O clock the bright day suddenly puts on a dark cloak and turns to night. Dark, really dark clouds hover, strong gusts of wind and it starts pouring. Pouring like anything, like there no another chance to pour, this is the only time, the last time, show your might kind of pour.

And Bangalore, Bangalore that it is, where even a leaking pipe causes a traffic jam this was just too much. The traffic comes to a stand still, as if the director of this whole play called "living life on earth" hits the pause control.

Bad, I wanted to leave early and it doesn’t look like I will ever reach home. So I decide to stay back, so some petty job and kill time till the rain rain go away nursery rhyme bears fruits. 9’O Clock, the clouds seemed to have cleared, or it looked so, and I decided to leave for home. I walk to the parking lot, cool breeze flowing, an awesome moment. The moment I kick start the bike it starts to drizzle. Light drizzle or not, it really doesn’t matter much when you have to travel 13 odd kilometers for reach home and especially if you have breathed life to you bike, there are remote chances, if any of turning back.

You speed, you brake, flash head-lights, honk horns, zigzag between the drops of rain or at least try to do so. And you reach home; drenched, from head to toe. The vest sticks to your torso, the jeans feels heavy, the shoes are more like buckets full of water, the only thing wearable is your resolve to reach home. And you reach home.

You open the gate, and the rain stops. Just like that, all of a sudden, just dropped dead, as if the municipality shut down its water supply, as if it was tired, as if its purpose was fulfilled, as if the revenge was taken, as if the non existent day after today suddenly was visible

I was ambushed, tortured, singularly massacred, chopped to pieces, and fed to rats, the left over left to rot.

Call it timing or lack of it. Call it being unpredictability or being predictable but just at the wrong moments, call it fair or call it unfair, but this is how this lousy thing is.

I am a believer and a God fearing person, but then to retain that devotion, belief, fear I need some confirmation some support some sign of being-ness from the other. Why does it have to rain like cats and dogs here, why does it have to rain so heavily in the upper regions of Ganga and Brahmaputra, why does it have to rain so much that there are floods every year in these regions? Why can’t it rain like this in Rajasthan or Sahara or say North Karnataka?

If the Gods haven’t learned anything till now, I have good reasons to believe that will not learn it in near future; say another few thousand zillion millenniums. If it was up to me, the rain God, Indra better not cross my path.

Salsa your way to fun ...

Been too busy off late.

Juggling time between practice, office, practice and parties. And on last Saturday and Sunday it was the big show, performance, workshops and also the competition.

What practice, what performance.

Well we had our annual India International Salsa Congress.


Will write in detail about it in the next post when I am done with all that fatigue and sudden lull after those awesome parties, wonderful and exciting workshops.

To let you savor the moment:




Well we didn't win any prize, just got the participant cup. We were offbeat off and on during the entire song that was played. We lost, no surprise, but our stage presence was good and appreciated. That is the reason why probably we are just in the photo but not in the text. :)

At this point I thank my partner Vandana for bearing me for the practice sessions and surviving the disappointment. Sorry Vandana we lost, I ,for many a times, couldn't find a fix that bloody 1.

We will try next year!

We had plenty of international instructors:

• Eddie, the Salsa Freak
• Knzo
• Rozana Maya
• Maria Del Sol
  
• Ricardo and Vivianna
• Junior and Emily
• The fabulous Swing Guys
• Dave Paris and Zoe Klein
• Akhila Venkatesh
• Alex Diaz
• Ara Hwang
• Katherine Wilson
  
• Deepak and Hazel
• Katyee Namgyal
  
• DJ Joseph Enin
• DJ Gataloca
  
• Anup Thomas
• Richard Tholoor and Sneha Kapoor
• Ashwin Mushran
  

It was a fun event and I eagerly wait for it to happen next. Just with the time flies in fast forward.

.

Foot in Mouth Disease.

"Welcome on board Sir"
"Yeah Hi. Thank you"
"What is you seat number Sir"
"Hmmm... (Flipping the boarding pass) It's 13A."
"That would be towards your left Sir."
"Yeah Sure. Thanks"

She is standing there, holding a pillow to her chest. Ear to ear smile, lots of mascara and other stuff. Eyes gleaming with all the hospitality that can ever exist in a pair of eyes.

"Welcome Sir."
Nod in approval.

"Amm! You have a yellow spot on your shirt (points towards his left shoulder). You might have spilled something on it; pickle or something with turmeric maybe." Looking at her expecting probably a thank you.

Change of expression to a bad one.
Change of expression again to a good one.
"Oh this (removing that pillow)! This is our logo (SpiceJet)."

Damn why did I not notice this before? Was it necessary to be my usual self? What a noble git I am!
Sheepish Smile. "I am sorry I didn't notice this before, first time with Spice"
"Well that fine Sir. Which seat Sir."
"Well I guess you will have to move. Mine is 13 A."
All smiles. "Oh Yes, this is 13A. Sure Sir."

Okay this doesn't happen that often.

An emergency for just that one time!

I am not a sadist. No never been a masochist; never been in the likes of those like Al-Quieda.

But then sometimes, like those times when you get thoughts, because your dreams weigh down upon you, the aspiration for that one moment where you could do that one thing which in usual way of the world you wouldn’t be allowed to do, that one moment of being everybody’s hero; for that one chance of being that one being who could twitch that muscle just when needed never more; and so many of those other just one times.

So it wasn’t usual.

I boarded my flight from Bangalore to Hyderabad. I always take the window seat. The excitement when you can hear the roar of the engines when the pilot puts the thrust to 100% or when the flaps and slats deploy or when the air brakes are deployed is just too big to explain in words; and also that there are just too many people wanting to visit the loo when the whole flight time is itself 45 minutes.

So when I was given my seat though it really didn’t make much of a difference on the boarding pass, but in the aircraft it made all the difference in the world that it could ever make. The seat was as usual a window sear but also happened to be next to the emergency exits on the wings. Now that is a very good place to sit and fly. The seats here provide with the most real estate when it comes to leg room.

So as the Captain welcomed us on-board one of the cabin crew members approached us to explain how to open the emergency exits and that if we feel that we are not competent or comfortable in doing it we can ask for a change in seat. But all these instructions to open the emergency exit came with a rider “DO NOT TOUCH THEM UNLESS THE CABIN CREW YELLS AT YOU FOR DOING SO”. Message registered.

I then so badly wanted some kind of an emergency to happen so that I can just for once operate that.

It is not that simple. The urge to just for once open that emergency door, throw it, let the slides deploy and jump to slide on it. Well not a very noble, “And for the world piece” (hmm sorry peace) kind of a thought. I cannot agree no more. But I never want it to go into an emergency while in flight that is catastrophic. What I really wanted is like, when we touch the tarmac, the main exits would for some reason be jammed and fail to open, for some strange reason the cabin pressurization system would fail, or the lights would go off, something like a failure of Level C software on board. It is an emergency in the sense that the emergency exits have to be opened but at the same time is not catastrophic. No one needs to die. No one even really needs to cry too. All for the sake of that just one time opportunity!

The deam Interview

No matter how many years one has had been in the industry, no matter how many interviews he/she has braved, no matter how many interviews he/she has had taken; it still is a war of that one last breath of peace when it comes to giving an interview.

One of my acquaintances recently had to attend an interview and he had more than 10 years of experience. So when I was visiting him last week, I had to mock the interview panel as questions for his preparation. And all this time during the mock interview he was with his two year old son, trying make him sleep. Well that the best way to prepare for an interview while being under extreme stress. If you can live this you can survive any!

Now that he is geologist and the only thing I know about geology is the way it is spelled most of my questions were “What are your X strengths and weaknesses? Why do you think we should hire you? What makes you stand out from the other N people who have applied?”

More of the HR kind of questions; the only technical question I could ask was “What were your key learnings from the last job? What was the thing in the last job that you think were big, challenging both technically and resource wise and how did you solve then?”

Now that was something. Having been trained in “Interviewing skills” and “Enhanced interviewing skills” and given that I haven’t selected any of the candidates in so many interviews I have taken, and recommending background check for almost all the panel recommended for the next round of interview, I had my own comments on the answers.

Don’t say or stress on “I and hardworking, sincere. Blah Blah. These are all universal truths from any interview candidate. Try to build on your experience, how this varied experience makes you stand out from the crowd. Whatever your weaknesses, they should be the ones on which can work upon and if not then either you should not tell them or mask them as the ones which also work as your strengths.”

So the organization where he had the interview was the one in which his father had worked from the first day to the last day of his entire career. So invariably everybody, the higher ups, in particular knew the candidate, and knew just no casually but personally.

When the day of interview came, the panel had people, who were known to him since childhood, were a distant relative, or had known his cousins. Now that is what I call as a perfect interview panel. Even before you are bombarded with questions you are already comfortable. One of the many must things taught to me in my trainings “Interviews are tests, and like all tests this too makes the candidate envious. Try to make the candidate comfortable. When the candidate is nervous he/she won’t give his best shot.”

Best shot. I think here the candidate was playing on his home ground in front of his home crowd.

So the interview started. “How is your mom? How is your father?” And then the technical questions started.

Now isn’t that a dream interview?? And a scary one too, all those people who know you so well will get an insight on how deep or shallow your understanding of the subject is?

Between the Dollar and the Rupee Tussle

Okay so the Indian currency the Rupee hit an all time high against the overly popular and transacted US currency The Dollar.

While most of the news channels wreaked havoc on the TV with their 24 hour sympathies with the IT companies as appreciated rupee would mean lesser profits; the nicely suited gurus of stock market, who incidentally were never wise when I decided to take their advice prophesied the loss in share price of these major, minor, and still in incubator listed companies, I was already seeing the road ahead. Not the nicely tarred road ahead but the one with drain and rain water all over it which for some reason of perfection fails to hide some of those numerous potholes.


So I was visiting my friend who works in this big IT Company and was surprised to see that what I foresaw was actually not that far!

As the rupee appreciated:

- There was more water in the coffee decoction in the vending machine;

- There was more water in the milk in the vending machine;

- The all time available juices in the canteen disappeared;

- The floor temperature, which I was informed was usually comfortable 22 degrees, was not well beyond 24 degrees;

- Even the liquid soap in the restrooms had more liquid properties than water itself;

- The paper towels, the newer ones, have so much quality inbuilt into it that you cannot pull out one in one piece from the dispenser. The towel dispenser incidentally has “Eco Friendly” plastered on it. Yeah! Why cut trees, use that square inch of towel.

- The lifts, one overly gregarious person told me, are now mostly out of order.


Of all the things what is more worrisome is the coffee. I mean most of the IT guys when they reach office search for one thing, even before booting or logging into their systems, which is, what else, COFFEE!!!!

I am sure the ILO (International Labour Organization) has the right to perfect coffee as one of the basic rights of the IT employees which if you prioritize comes before equal opportunities.

Civilian and Fighter Aircrafts on Road.

DISCLAIMER: This post is purely a fiction, any resemblance to dead or living is purely incidental. No offence meant to any lady or any man.


I have been living with aircrafts both at home and at my office; and I just so much love them.

The place where I live, my house actually a rented place, is very close to the city airport. Another big thing close by is the wind tunnel operated by National Aerospace Laboratory.

My work involves aircrafts too.

I love watching there giants of steel, these behemoths take to sky so easily and land on the landing strip so effortlessly. It is an amazing synched dance of man, metal and machine.

The brain of all the electronics, the effectiveness of all the machinery and the intelligence of the pilot, all with one motive to take to sky and be back all safe and comfortable.

I many a times find myself standing next to the airport boundary wall, with my mouth wide open amazed at the way an aircraft comes to taxiway, moves on the tarmac, and just like a bullet from a gun, shoots on the tarmac. The flaps are all down, the thunderous roar of the engines and as if the gravity fails for that just one split of seconds “Houston we have a lift off!” well take off actually. Sometimes I am lucky to see a MIG or a Jaguar put on its afterburner so that it can take off in the least distance and climb up fast and furious. The afterburners make their presence very much audible to people in atleast 3 Kms radius circle.

And not mention the wind tunnel which when active makes you feel as if there is a traffic jam on the landing strip and all the aircrafts are standing tail to tail, with their engines running waiting for that green signal, each one fighting for that one-upmanship for how loud one’s engines are. The whole neighborhood bears a look like wind has visited is visiting and will stay for quite some time.

“Kachik. Eagle 1 to base. Kachik”

“Kachik. Base to Eagle 1. Cleared to fly. Over Kachik”

“Kachik. Eagle 1 to base. Ok. Over Kachik”

“Kachik. Base to Eagle 1. Let us kick the tyre and light a fire. Good Hunting. Over. Kachik”

So now where does this lead to?

Well when you are obsessed about things, you kind of see them everywhere. And that is exactly what is happening to me. I see aircrafts or parts of it.

You must have had seen a lot many fair sex on two wheelers, zipping past on their Blaze, Scooty or Pleasure. What you might have also noticed but may not have had related is that whenever they slow down, like the needle on the speedometer touches sub 25 sub 30 Kmph levels, their landing gears come down. The gears are deployed unless the needle pulls up above this 20-30 mark. They will be deployed even if they travel like tens of kilometers at 15 Kmph.

As soon as the brakes are deployed, two legs come out from either side of the two wheeler, much like an aircrafts landing gear and stay on there. So if they stop the landing gears touch the tar, if not then they are still deployed as part of missed approach. Very much like a civilian aircrafts, safety foremost.

Guys on the other hand are like fighter jets. Vrooooom. Vroooooooooom. Honk Honk. Screech. Screech. The landing gears never come down until they are sure that they have to land. Just like fighters aircrafts which can skim the ground, fly as close as say 200-500 feet above the ground, guys will slow down and try to balance as long as they are allowed to and can manage. Their afterburner is their horn. Great maneuverability of zipping in left and right taking sharp turns just so very much like a fighter aircraft.

Glossary
Kachik : The sound made by pressing/releasing the TALK button of the wireless set.

The mosquito that never bites!

It has been a while since this thing is happening to me.


For these last so many ‘whiles’ everybody who has seen me at office, or friends at home or the neighborhood have been saying “Hey what’s up? You look so lost. Is everything Okay?”


And I nod in agreement, trying to say in part that I am still trying to figure out the answer to “What’s up?” as also in agreement that everything is okay and they needn’t be concerned or worried about anything in particular. It is sometimes really strange that something as simple as a nod in agreement is enough to put smiles on just so many faces.


But nevertheless.


So as I was saying, though I nod, for whatever reasons I might do that, I really don’t feel like everything is okay. I am regular at my office, productive with quality, a gregarious friend who calls/meets the friends neighbors all so often, but then something is wrong.


There is this ‘something’ which is going at the back of my mind and the worst part to come is that I don’t what it is. Only if I can figure out what this is I will be able to find a way to solve it and get rid of it. But alas, I am unable to comprehend what is it that’s bothering me? It is there I know. Whenever I am doing something, it runs in the background, just outside the cone of focus and as soon as I realize that there is this something and try to focus on it, it disappears. Like a grain of sand, you don’t know it is in your fist, but the moment you realize it is there and try to contain it in your fist, you just loose it.


It is so annoying and so irritating. Much more irritating than that mosquito, who incidentally never bites you or maybe you really do not care or notice that mosquitoes ever bite you, but hovers around you ear with that “Bhiiiiiinnnnnnnn…….. Bhiiiiiinnnnnnnn……..” sound and the room is dark and you cannot squeeze the pulp out of him by grabbing in your first and tightening the embrace; and worst of you all you are very sleepy after a day’s long work!
Sometime I feel I am better off having this unhandled trace of thought running in background as a zombie than to try to fight that mosquito.

Mutual Screwing... I screw you... You screw me...

It is a vicious circle; more of co-habitation because of lack of options rather than consensual.

And just why is it a circle? Well what goes around comes around. I screw you, you screw me, simple.

The only difference being that the ‘I’ here has the option of screwing this or that, one among the many (well in many cases one amongst atleast two). But the ‘You’ here does not have that choice of whom he/she/it might choose. There is there only instance of ‘I’ available here. So whose is the one who gets the pleasure or say pain of getting screwed every so often? No prizes for guessing the answer. It is the deplorable ‘I’ here.

Now you guys must be wondering who is the ‘I’ here and who is the ‘You’ here. The ‘I’ here is the crowd, the common people, the aam junta ( the mango people), who choose the ‘You’ here which are the politicians, the corporators, the bureaucrats, the local municipality etc. So you see the ‘I’ here has many options to select from and to who takes the seat, gaddi, of power and screw them. The ‘You’ doesn’t have that luxury hence the ‘I’ has dilated muscles and you know where.

By now I am sure you guys won’t leave me alone until I (this is the real me and not the ‘I’ here) tell you where does this whole theory comes from.

Take an example.

The citizens choose the government, let’s be limited to the local government. Then the citizens ask for improvement of basic infrastructure, basic amenities, parks, clean drinking water, decent walk able footpaths, trees on the sides of the road. Essentially screwing the government, making it do thing which are most likely on the lest priority list; they being busy with milching the citizens, the government machinery to get wot not, trying to do as many nonsensical gymnastics with the law, rules so as to make sure that they get an assured chance the next time they get to the polls.

So this in part explains the ‘I’ screw ‘You’.

Of the many ways the ‘I’ screws ‘You’ (leave the Kamsutra aside) let us focus on one "trees on the sides of the roads footpaths". Now it is the time for the ‘You’ come back and screw the ‘I’. So they plant the trees with the rusted tree guards to guard them when God only knows how long the guards themselves can live the beat of the weather. And just what do they plant? Coconut trees! The ‘I’ here is happy, takes comfort in the pleasure. But the pain follows not too late. The trees grow, the coconuts hang from the tree, ripe full with the coconut milk. Then one day an ‘I’ is on the footpath walking his/her way home, or to where he/she is heading to and BANG! There falls a coconut and the nut is split open in the two halves; both the coconut and the head of this ‘I’.

So this in part explains the ‘You’ screw ‘I’.

Many may argue, "statistics prove that the probability of a falling coconut hitting a person is as low as nothingth of nothing*". Well how many times do we really get to hear from a person explaining that the hump on this head is a result of a coconut falling on him; nothingth of nothing* times! Just because no crimes are logged with the police department does that really mean the area is crime free? Not really.

But then who am I (the real I and not the ‘I’ here) to say anything. Both the ‘You’ and ‘I’ are happy and satiated. The max I (the real I and not the ‘I’ here) can do is make sure I (the real I and not the ‘I’ here) choose the ‘You’ who can screw me in less number of ways or not screw to the ‘You’ and expect the same favor in return.

* Inspiration (Anu Malik's style) from Douglas Adams "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"

My, Myself, My Poems!!!

woh hume tarka ke chal diye,
bole kaam hai jana hai.
hum intezaar main baithe hain ,
sadiyaan guzar gayin.
unki tasveer bhi dundhli ho gayi;
voh aayenge isi intezaar main hum,
apani baaki zindagi jee lenge.

Two friends, one father of a new born baby girl, one still single

beti ki sewa main raat aur din dono barabar!
woh uska raat main uthna,
madhur hi awaaz main kutch kahan
humara na sun pana
uska rona
beech raat mera main uthna
zombie ki tarah apne hi ghar main anjaan sa ghoomna
kisi tarah kitchen main pahunch kar doodh garam karna
Office se thake hue ghar aana
beti ko bahon me leke jaise sansaar ka sara sukh sara aanand paan

In sab ka mujhe intezaar hai

What wierd poems?

What wierd Poet?

Tera Khoon khoon, mera khoon pani!!!

When I Take a long time to finish, I am slow,

When my boss takes a long time, he is thorough

When I don't do it, I am lazy,

When my boss does not do it, he is busy,

When I do something without being told, I am trying to be smart,

When my boss does the same, he takes the initiative,

When I please my boss, I am apple polishing,

When my boss pleases his boss, he is cooperating,

When I make a mistake, I' am an idiot.

When my boss makes a mistake, he's only human.

When I am out of the office, I am wondering around.

When my boss is out of the office, he's on business.

When I am on a day off sick, I am always sick.

When my boss is a day off sick, he must be very ill.

When I apply for leave, I must be going for an interview

When my boss applies for leave, it's because he's overworked

When I do good, my boss never remembers,

When I do wrong, he never forgets

I don't know why I feel guilty of spamming my own blog with a forward. :(

Words of Wisdom

Fewer words of wisdom have been in said in lesser words:

Man proposes, God disposes; and either way the woman doesn't agree.

A bike … A mom…. A speedometer … BAM!

No this story is not about a mom pillion riding with her daughter /son on her/his bike and hitting her/him whenever the speedometer needle tries to kiss the 60 Kmph mark.

No this story is not about a lady, somebody’s mom, riding a bike trying to meet a target on the speedometer dial.

This story is about a naïve young boy riding his bike.

So our hero is on his way back from a big mall, one of the most buzzing ones in the city. A mall where as many footsteps fall as there are air molecules in the incoming air.

It was 2 o’clock in the Sunday afternoon. Though there were many people in the mall the roads barely has a soul. With noone on the road, it was expected to be a good ride back home, a much needed break from the daily rush of traffic, those maddening sound of horns. Well a 38 degree Celsius temperature and that too on a Sunday is after all not all that inviting for people to venture out on the roads. The mall had a central air conditioning.

And true to his expectations the road was empty. It was a 4 lane road, a delight to ride, with a Moto Pre kind of chicane in its short life of just under 5 Kms, very right called Inner ring Road. He like it all the more as it allowed him to ride his bike without ever stepping on the brakes. He hated to use the brakes. All his braking was dine by absence of throttle. Good at estimating he used brakes only when he had to come to a complete stop.

With the music from his iPOD ringing in his ears, he upped the volume and kick started his bike. Just one more traffic signal and I’m off for the beauty and then on the beauty.

The throttle was pushed to limits, the wind roared past him. As he zipped past the lone cars, the percussion in his ears ebbed and gave way to a nice saxophone. An aircraft was approaching the nearby landing strip to land. The slim needle touched 60, kissed 80, hugged 100 and stretched for the 105. He knew it was all in the reach; of his, of his bike, of the speedometer needle and within the road’s.

He entered the chicane, an S shaped turn. He entered the first curve, a very smoothly and nicely executed turn. Stayed in the outermost lane all the way, never did he cross the white line; never did any body see his tail light glow. He hated to use the brakes.

A bike … A speedometer …

He entered the second curve which tightly followed the first curve. Switched on his indicator lights and moved on to the outermost lane. He liked that lane, gave him the opportunity to incline his bike as low as possible. Needles to say it was a well maneuvered turn.


Just as he was about to straighten up, there was a cow on the road in his lane.

Never ever had there been a cow on this stretch of the road; with too less time to react, he stepped hard on his read brake, pumped his front brake, simultaneously swerving to avoid the cow. But some distances are just too small.

BAM!! He hit the cow in her stomach. All the way he went from his seat and landed on his petrol tank. Must have had braked quite hard. He doesn’t remember what happened to the cow, the animal was trying to get up some 7 feet away.

He started his bike and went on.

Not a feeling.

Speed thrills but mostly kills.

We all have had read this somewhere, everywhere, though never understood in totality the meaning nor did we ever cared about it unless we have a near ‘kills’ experience.

Only if the cow could have known about this and had not been on the road, the animal would have had been much better.

Someone somewhere said “How disgusting! You hit a cow. Cow is like our mother.”

Another replied “Then keep you mom at home, why do you let her roam on the road like this?”

…. and hence the mom.


Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any person living or dead is incidental.

Wrong Maths.

Somebody at Microsoft didn't do his Maths homework at school.

From Friend to Friend

Ok So this is funny. And if it ain't funny to you tickle yourself. All the communication happens over e-mails.

Friend 1:

Spam mail (usually a forward) with plenty of e-mail IDs in the CC List. One of her friend is in the CC list.

Friend 2:

(Reply) Ok so now my turn to ask questions. Who are the following girls? Settled/engaged or available?

Friend 1:

Mote…. Kaam se kaam rakho :)

English Translation (The smiley too) :

Fatso…. Mind your business :)

Friend 2:

Vohi to kiya.
Aur mote kise kaha, you .. you... lady finger! Hugh.

English Translation (Note no smiley thsi time) :

That's what I did.
BTW whom did you call fatso, you .. you... lady finger! Hugh.

Lady finger??? probably out of ideas. Anyways

Friend 1:

Mote mote mote

English Translation (No smiley again)

Fatso fatso fatso

Friend 2:

Yeh tumne accha nahin kiya,
Yeh tumhe nahin karna chahiye tha,
Par ab kar chuki ho to ....
Ab bhug-to

Tumhe yeh nahin karna chahiye tha,
Tumhe panga nahin lena chahiye tha,
Par ab kar chuki ho to....
Ab bhug-to

Tumhe yeh nahin karna chahiye tha,
Tumhe aag main haath nahin dalna chahiye tha,
Par ab kar chuki ho to....
Ab bhug-to

Tumhe yeh nahin karna chahiye tha,
Tumhe bail (bull) se nahin kahna tha aa mujhe maar,
Par ab kar chuki ho to....
Ab bhug-to

Tumhe yeh nahin karna chahiye tha,
Tumhe mujhe phone karne par majboor nahin karna chahiye tha,
Par ab kar chuki ho to....
Ab bhug-to

Tumhe yeh nahin karna chahiye tha,
Tumhe phone par mujhe ladne ke liye majboor nahin karna chahiye tha,
Par ab kar chuki ho to....
Ab bhug-to

English Translation:

You lazy fellas, do something on your own. This is too long for me.

.

Family and Friends ...

When the waves are high,
When the sea is rough.
Shed no tear,
Have no fear.
It is time to buckle up.
Be tough.
The sea wasn't calm always,
It just having fun,
Just for today.

Your family is the raft,
Your friends are the sail.
With this raft and sail,
You will not fail,
For sure you would sail.

But raft and sail know no sea,
They know no wave,

But Remember

Author: Can a poem have some chorus? Like Here ... Sure

Reeeemember. Buuuuuuuuttt
Rememmmmmberrrr
Know no sea, know no sea
Know no wave, know no wave
Family and friends, raft and sail
Family and friends, raft and sail
But Remember


They only know
To keep you afloat,
You know the sea,
You see the wave,
Call upon
Your family and friends,
'Cos they will save.
You know the sea,
You see the wave,

But you need to call,
And call you should.
They are high waves,
Not a high wave.
Call you should and
Call you must
Just whisper;
"I need you. Are you there?"

The big raft,
That huge sail.