Definitely Maybe

The Un-Whore....

2011-05-11T00:45:00.000+05:30

I have lost over 17 kgs in 3 months.

That’s what I have been doing over the past few months besides being quite successful at work and partly successful elsewhere.

As for the weight loss - I had become a bit fat, 83 kgs to be precise and had begun to hate how I looked naked. I hated the gym even more and never understood why men went there. I mean they go there assuming an obscenely bulky chest or bicep will get them laid but I’ve yet to come across a woman with average intelligence that goes for men with the said bulky frame. So I don’t understand why work so hard when you can just develop a sense of humour or an ability to make conversation. Anyway I don’t understand a lot of things men and women do, so I’ll leave it at that.

I woke up on the 1st of January and as I got ready for a shower, took a look at the 4 fat rings on my chest. 40 minutes later I bargained myself a yearlong gym membership. As I write this, I’m 67 kgs and have a flat chest that I’m actually quite proud of.

Now that I’ve shown off enough, let me get to the point of this.

Part of the routine when you’re benching, lifting weights, or doing rigorous cardio is that you should have a regular body massage to keep your muscles and bones in shape. Now, I have been avoiding that for over 5 months, simply because I cannot stand the thought of being semi naked in front of another man while he devours me with his hands. It sends shivers down most parts of me.

I couldn’t avoid it any longer. It had been 5 months, the trainer insisted. I made the appointment with the massage guy. The day and time arrived. I was dreading the door bell. I felt like a whore in waiting.

He was sharp on time. I opened the door to a big man, a strong man, a man who makes his money by getting his hands on other men. I had lost my will to continue with this and was tempted to just pay up and quit gymming. But then I have a gujarati mentality with my money. I’m very careful with it and extract the last penny of its worth. Being a salesman makes you like that.

“Take off your clothes”, was his choice of first words. Quite authoritative.

I never thought I would ever have a man talk to me like that. I obeyed patiently.

I striped down to my bare essential and just stood there with him in front of me. I felt like a piece of meat just waiting for him. It reminded me of those hindi movies when the wife goes to the Ranjeet’s house to get raped in exchange for her husband or son. I felt like that wife.

“Lie down”. Everything he said seemed like a command.

“On the floor?”

“Yeah. Floor seems clean, unless you want to get a mat or something”

I lay on the floor motionless, looking at the big man standing above me.

He placed some oil in his hand. I closed my eyes. I guess this was how one prepares to be “taken”.

He bent down on his haunches and got directly on top of me. I was almost waiting for his move, for him to take control. In that moment, I felt like a complete woman.

He got hold of my legs and sprayed his hands up and down my thighs. His hands were hard, rough, forceful and vigorous. The humiliation had begun. As he had his way with my thighs, all I could remember was how many thighs and skirts I’ve had my hands on and how distant those sweet memories felt at that moment. I even forced a smile at that thought behind the extreme pain I was going through.

He smiled back. It scared me.

“Something wrong sir?”, he possibly got the wrong message.

“No. Was thinking of something else”, I kept my distance from the man. Last thing I wanted to do was make small talk with the man who was using my body as some plumbing project.

After the ordeal of my thighs ended, he took my knees in his hands and start massaging it. It actually felt quite good. The man sure had a way with my legs. I had my eyes closed, this was not completely bad. That’s when he chose his most shocking command.

“Spread your legs !”

I was mortified, even shocked if I had heard right. He confirmed it by making a sign of parting his joined palms. That sign will stay with me forever. I shall never make that sign to a woman. It was just too obscene.

Beyond embarrassed, I spread my legs ever so slightly. I thought of all the times I’ve uttered the phrase “open your legs” and how shameless it felt to open my own for another man.

He did my thighs, legs and calves and soon was done with the lower half. Being a guy, I was relieved - our sexuality is largely contained to the lower half. Ask women.

“Turn around sir. Lets do your back”

This man was getting strangely comfortable with doing me. I realised every sentence he said could very easily be said in the midst of fucking or getting fucked.

I turned around. He applied some oil in his hands and placed both his palms on my back. It felt alright to begin with.

Then he started doing me. Rough, hard, quick, sweaty, passionate, painful. My body was his temple. He seemed to be enjoying it. It was then that I had the worst, most embarrassing moment of my life.

I moaned. Quite loudly.

I hardly moan whilst fucking, unless she does something outrageously out of the manual. Here I was moaning myself out to a man who I didn’t know 15 minutes ago.

It did not end there.

As I moaned, I don’t know what possessed the man, he started to rub me harder and faster, as if I was somehow egging him on. As sleazy as this sounds, he was putting his all onto my back.

I wasn’t totally surprised when out of the blue he began grunting.

So picture this, I was lying on my stomach covering whatever modesty I had left with an underwear and moaning. There was a muscular man on top doing all sorts of things with my back, grunting. We were only half a step away from making a full fledged man on man porno and I realised the door was slightly open. One peep from my neighbour and I would have to walk face down for the rest of my life.

That did not happen and within another 5 uneventful minutes of doing my chest, stomach and hands he was done.

I dug out some notes from my wallet, to pay the man. The man had touched me, done imaginable things to my body, used his hands to have his way with me. A relationship with a massage man is the only one where you whore yourself to another man and then pay him at the end of it. You become an “un-whore”. The only other relationship that’s that one sided is that with your girlfriend.

As he left my place and I turned on the bath, I remembered his last act.

He held my neck softly, caressing it – I waited in climatic anticipation.

And just like that, he snapped my neck opposite sides, till he heard the crack both sides. That was his climax, his release.

It was mine too.

Reverse....

2010-12-20T00:54:00.004+05:30

The day was ending.

He paid off the rickshaw and walked back home slow and weary. His shirt sweaty in patches, testament to his struggle in an overcrowded train. He got off the lift, putting an end to an eventful work day only to hear mundane noises of his kid yelling, his wife yelling louder and loud television playing the same new airtel tune that he heard so often in the office. It was a timely reminder to delete the two messages from the flirtatious colleague, one of which asked him to think of her before he sleeps.

He had got the message in the evening, whilst getting coffee, still going through the events of the day, of how it began so damn horribly and how it ended, with hope – hope of something extraordinary with her, of wild sex and feelings intertwined, hope of the big deal finally closing, hope of easing off the pressure transferred to him by his overzealous and incompetent boss.

“Think of me before you sleep tonight”, said the message, followed with a smiley that women tend to use after most sentences.

“Think of me as you undress tonight”, came his quickest reply, as if he had his last few seconds to live.

“I will”, he read her reply, in no time, this time followed by the wink emoticon. He smiled to himself.

Fate had smiled at him. It was only a few moments ago he had got a call from the client saying that they have changed their mind about the deal they almost cancelled earlier.

“Look ya, we value the work you’ve put in and want to reconsider this, at better payable terms. Let us come back to you tomorrow with our modest demands”, said the immodest voice on the other end.

Those were nonetheless golden words, as any sales person would know. Of course he didn’t remember the rest of the conversation nor did he care. All he cared was to see the look on the boss’s face as he relayed the good news.

“They are willing to reconsider the thing”, were the first words that he blurted when sat in the office.

The boss, calm as ever, the smug expression, the smug smile “See I told you they would. I knew they would. By the way, did you get the copies I told you to get from the storeroom?” he mustered under his breath reminding the sales man that he was the sales man and there was someone far more intelligent and strategic above him who deserved credit for “the thing”.

Normally that would break the back of anyone, especially with what the boss had said and how he had behaved in the morning. But this wasn’t the first time in the history of Corporate Inc was the boss contradicting himself and taking credit for someone else’s work. We all let it go. He let it go, especially since he couldn’t get her off his mind. He couldn’t get what happened in the storeroom that afternoon, off his mind.

It was lunch time. He had this stressed and strained look on his face as he took copies of some papers when she entered the storeroom.

“What are you doing here?”, she asked clearly seeing him making copies. It’s a human habit that we’ll never get rid of, rhetorical questioning.

“I’m making love to Kate Moss”, he replied, sarcastic, still smiling despite the desolate look on the face. The smile was for her.

“Oh don’t make love to Kate Moss in front of me”, she teased.

It didn’t draw any response other than his wry smile.

“Why the sad face baby?”, she more inquired, than teased.

“Bad day ya. I might have lost that deal I’ve been working on for months and the asshole just fired me this morning”, he answered, without looking up, as black and white papers rolled out one after another, the sound of which drowned their conversation to the office outside.

“Yeah I heard. But you haven’t lost it yet naa?”

“No, they’ll call me this evening, but it doesn’t look too good”

“I’m sure it’ll go your way”, she smiled, her hand on his shoulder.

A girl’s hand on a man’s shoulder is by far the most underrated flirtatious gesture. Women – do that more, all men love that, even if they won’t say anything.

“Thanks ya. What are you doing here during lunch hour anyway?”, he seemed calmer.

“I was looking to find someone to make love to as well, against the copier and I saw you getting here. So you do the math”, she winked.

Physical emotions always triumph lame emoticons.

They had been playing with each other for months, had been there for each other for months. The “thing” was obvious. As she stood there in front of him, she looked absolutely irresistible even though he didn’t shift his gaze from her eyes. He didn’t need to.

She felt desirable as he had his hands on her hips as he shoved her against the copier. Even more attractive as he couldn’t wait to want her, to feel her, to kiss the inside of her lips, the bite their outside.

He couldn’t resist touching her, like he always wanted to, but couldn’t all this while. Suddenly untying her hair wasn't wrong, unbuttoning a button of her blouse wasn’t sacrilege, slipping his hands under her knee length skirt wasn’t an object of his better dreams.

Being desperate for something or someone isn’t always a bad thing, he thought as she buttoned up, set her hair and skirt straight, sometime later after they heard people come back from their lunch break.

“I’ll go out first ok? And don’t worry you’d get a positive call from the client baby”, she smiled nervous but reassuring as she kissed him fondly on the cheek.

She left the room. He left soon after, leaving much happier and content than when he entered. The call from the client in the morning was almost forgotten. Almost.

He got out off the home lift in the morning when he had got that call.

“Look ya, we value the work you’ve put in but I don’t think it look it’ll go through. The commercials are off the roof. Let me call you once more in the evening with the final decision, but it doesn’t look too good”, said the voice on the other end.

He tried reassuring the client not to back out and that it would be a quality service experience and other routine garbage that sales people usually throw at you. Only he sounded desperate and purposeful with each word. The deal was a product of half a year’s time and research. As he spoke, he felt the client not interested in what he had to say. A torn plastic container cannot hold milk no matter how hard it tries.

The worse thing was telling the boss of the call. The boss was a typical boss – A conniving unintelligent credit seeker who was pinning his own promotion on this deal, so obviously this wouldn’t go too well.

“Why are you so late?”, the boss asked him in the office lift, without wondering that he was entering office at the same time.

“Train got delayed”, he replied the most instinctive reply someone from Bombay gives when someone reaches late for anything.

“I need to talk to you for sometime boss”, he added to break the continuous silence.

The boss called him in, a couple of hours later. He narrated the phone call verbatim, about 3 times, as the boss, in shock, asked him to repeat the exact contents to see if he could decipher any “hidden meaning behind the words”.

There wasn’t any of course.

“I knew they would cancel. I hate the way you’ve been handling them. You mail correspondence. Personal interactions, it borders on incompetence. Too casual. You think you have a relationship with the client. Now the client has fucked you in the ass. What the fuck are we going to do? You have to take the blame for this with the EP (executive president). It’s your mistake. I knew they would cancel”, he repeated himself, louder with every sentence.

“I’ll tell you about what they say in the evening, boss”, was his meek retort.

“Do that. In the meanwhile, just make some xerox copies for me of all the deal papers during the lunchtime. Use the copier in the storeroom, the one on the floor isn’t working”.

And so his day began.

As he rang his door bell at night, he saw the moon overhead and his entire day flashed by him in a second. He recollected everything about everything – the deal, the boss and of course the girl. In a bizarre way, seeing his day in reverse somehow made a lot of sense, about how a day that starts one way doesn’t always end one way and if only we that time to reflect, we’d quit thinking and just make the most of our moments, the next day.

Coorg.....

2010-06-20T17:19:00.001+05:30

We were on an Industrial trip, part of our MBA course. We were off to Bangalore and Coorg. Industrial trips are usually about learning and the “real-life working” experience.

Most of us planned to use the independence and fuck around.

After a forgetful first few days in Bangalore visiting the incredibly one dimensional, non-smiling software types, I was glad that I switched my career choice from IT to Media.

We were off to Coorg – it’s a serene hill station, waterfalls, coffee plantations, Buddhist monastery and an 8 hour bumpy bus ride from Bangalore which began at midnight.

We reached our hotel early morning. At 4 degrees Celsius, it was freezing as fuck. I got off the bus and the incredible chill had escaped under my shorts to special places.

The girl told me she wanted to go to the waterfall next to the hotel, a little later. As she spoke I could see her teeth shaking. I was so numb that I couldn’t feel anything below my chest. There was no fucking way I was going close to any waterfall.

We settled down in our rooms. 4 of us guys shared a room. 3 of them had already made plans to go on a drinking spree later in the evening. One of them even researched the area for places to buy alcohol. It’s quite amazing - here I was, suffering with the chill banging against my balls and there, this guy was searching for booze at 8 am.

The sun finally came out. We were out. As everyone had gone ahead to visit some boring coffee plantations, our group stayed back and went river rafting. It was fun because it was raining, the river was flowing and the rocks below made the boat jump as it picked up speed. The water splashing all over us – It was as far as we could get from studying irrelevant business theories in class.

We then visited this Buddhist monastery, clicked snaps with young monks – some clearly pissed that some animals had invaded their silent shrine, but were patient enough not to show it. The monastery had three gigantic statues with Buddha in the centre. When you’re in the presence of something so splendid and consuming all you have to do is sit down, soak it all in and enjoy your own inconsequence.

Of course we had to go to the waterfall. It was on her “to-do” list and as a male, one should be prepared to lose every argument. But the feeling of being under a waterfall when it’s drizzling is irreplaceable by any water park in the city. Plus it’s always a pleasure to see women drenched and excited. It helped me forget how cold the water really was.

We reached back in our hotel rooms at about 7 pm. As I stepped in my room I saw the three guys stuffing bottles of all sizes and colours in a tiny cabinet. Plans were made.

As time passed by, more and more people began entering our room – all having an excited grin, the kind a boy gets when he knows he’s about to get laid. By about 8-30 pm, our room for 4, had about 17 boys and 3 girls. The first whiskey and vodka bottle was taken out of the cabinet.

And it began. The music and conversations about women, professors, our 1st year in MBA, the drinking like there’s no tomorrow, the unbridled joy of doing something where you can so easily get caught.

People sat together on the bed and spoke to each other in words that nobody could understand yet everybody acted like they knew what was happening around them. I, the only sober person in the room, was lying down in middle of the bed, with her on one side and a drunken guy on the other. Photographs later revealed that I looked like a confused pimp.

This one Punjabi guy seeing the three women started challenging the rest of the lot that he could down 3 glasses of whiskey straight. He was challenged. He began. I got nervous as he finished his 2nd glass and then his third. He looked at this one girl and filled the glass again. He drank 6 glasses of whiskey straight. I was convinced he’d not feel any chill now, even if someone puts ice down his pants.

It was about 11 pm when I began telling people to fuck off from the room, scared that a professor could drop in anytime. Everyone started dispersing. I had to hold a few hands and shoulders back to their rooms. All were done except the Punjabi guy with the six whiskeys straight. I couldn’t move him – he was 3 times my size. The other three in my room couldn’t lift their own cock – forget about another human being. So we decided to have him sleep in our room.

I had to then put everyone to sleep. Putting drunk people to sleep is an ordeal since drunk people feel the need to talk without stopping and without coherence. I finally achieved it. 3 of us, including the Punjabi guy slept on the giant bed whilst the other two slept down.

I turned off the light. 5 seconds in, I heard the Punjabi guy making strange noises. Before I could comprehend anything, I realised he got up and began vomiting on the floor. He kept going as if it were his last vomit. I put the light on in horror. I was in a hotel room full of vomit and four drunk men. A complaint by the hotel staff to my professors and I felt a giraffe humping me from behind.

“Manchanda....Madarchod. What the fuck man?”

“Sorry yaar Ken, I’ll clean everything”, he said deep in his stupor.

“Get the fuck up and walk with me to your room right now”

I summoned all the strength I had in me, walked on a bit of vomit, to lift the guy and drag him out to his room. As we walked, he claimed that he will come in the morning first thing and clean the mess.

I came back and realised all the 3 drunk guys were wide awake. Nachiket especially had his balls in his mouth looking at the state of the floor.

“Any of you fuckers want to vomit, get in the fucking sink right now”

All took turns to go in the sink silently. I washed their faces with the shower nozzle as they were done.

It was about 1 am, and our room was covered with vomit that neither of us had the courage or expertise to clean. 2 guys went back to sleep.

“We’ve got to fucking clean this Nachu, before someone finds out”. Nachu was looking the most drunk in the evening. He was looking more active than me now.

“Yeah. We have to. But who’ll do it. Ken?, I’ve never done something like this before”

“And I go around cleaning everybody’s vomit?”

We finally decided to do it together. I won’t get into the details of it but there was a “tray”, lot of water and domex used. We were done by about 3 am. Nachu was my saviour and at that moment, I loved him.

At about 3-15, we settled down with a glass of thumbs up, put the TV on and began watching Fashion TV – After Hours. It felt like an achievement especially watching topless women before drifting off to sleep.

We left back for Bombay the next day. I received a lot of apologies and thank yous from the Punjabi daredevil. I hope he never pulls the same stunt again. Then again, being a boy of testosterone, I’m sure he will.

As I reminisced, I realised Coorg is quite breath taking. Green hills, droplets of rain as you walk, long unending roads, lots of places to go to and who knows? You may also end up cleaning somebody else’s vomit – each offering was an experience that will remain with me for good, as I negotiate regular life in a loud cosmopolitan city.

Circles.....

2010-05-02T11:53:00.000+05:30

He looks at the calendar as he clutches his promotion letter in hand. It’s the month of May, 2010. The déjà vu seems uncanny yet believable. This is life after all. It comes and goes in circles.

He has been promoted to be an Assistant Manager at the biggest media company in India. He’s 24 and as such the youngest in the organisation to achieve the feat. He was showered with adjectives like flavour of the week, a deserving rockstar. He enjoyed the temporary rush.

He’s also incredibly alone. Don’t get him wrong, he’s well liked and surrounded by people but she left him a couple of months ago. She completed him. They intended growing old together. It left a gaping hole that cannot be filled. He soldiers on. It’s not the first time after all.

The split was amicable. They’re still there for each other. They’re still friends like ex-lovers can never be.

The relationship was beautiful. But like all relationships and phone calls it turned mundane after a point in time. The usual “how was your day?” calls were all was left of it. A stage was reached where conversations lasted for a maximum of a few minutes. But they still had each other. Love can be beautiful that way.

It wasn’t always this way. Relationships follow a bell curve. There is a phase of bliss before you begin to take the partner for granted. There was a time that they couldn’t get enough of each other. They enjoyed the fights after which he inevitably said sorry. It was a long distance thing and as such they relied on each other’s voices and mischievously written messages to turn each other on. When things got “out of hand” they simply switched on their webcams.

In between they paid short visits to each other. She got to know Bombay and he got to know Delhi. There was a beautiful vacation to Goa to bring in the new year. Besides their common love for travelling and spending time with each other, they plainly relished fucking each other. It was almost always raw, passionate and desperate. All they needed was a place and some protection.

They never lacked chemistry. It was pretty evident right from the time from the initial flirtation and the chase for each other over two years ago. The conversations. The messages. The staying up till 4 am so they could chat on gtalk. He pined for her. She did too. It was unspoken. Inevitability doesn’t need words.

He really felt this is somebody who really got him. He was just out of his MBA and about to start work with The Times Group in a month. It was a welcome relief. He had spent a miserable couple of weeks after losing a girl he never had in college. He couldn’t shake off the pain of knowing the girl he loved was with somebody else and he got to know this through lots of other people. The month was May. The year 2008. Life comes and goes in circles.

You start life alone like an empty bus starting its journey. You meet people. They get into your bus. Most of them meander into the wilderness of your memory, unknown. Some people make it into your life. They define it. But you carry on, alone. The bus moves on. You stop at stops. Relationships. Signals. Promotions. Speed Breakers. Excitement. Accidents. Marriage. Monotony. Smooth Roads. Bliss. They interchange in circles before the bus reaches its destination.

Have a nice journey.

Strangers.....

2010-02-18T00:22:00.000+05:30

It was a Friday evening. The harrowing week gave way to the usual unplanned weekend. He had got in the bar after a long business meeting which explained the business suit and defeated demeanour. He scanned the bar, searching for someone or something. Nothing appealed and he dug his pocket to seek solace in his blackberry and twitter, the new antidote of loneliness.

He liked his whiskey and could drown in its goodness for hours without a care in the world. Most times, sipping whiskey was a substitute for company. Things weren’t the same today. He searched some more. He continued sipping.

She entered almost unnoticed in all the darkness, noise and smoke. He noticed her amidst everything else. How couldn’t he? She was beautiful. More than beautiful she was sexy - dressed in a purple dress of some irrelevant kind. It made her legs look heavenly. It made her lips sensual. She appealed to him in more ways than one. Women can do that to men, when they want to.

She saw him. He was already watching her. He didn’t flinch his gaze. She smiled.

“Don’t look so surprised”, she broke the ice after the introduction formalities, seated across him at the corner table.

“Not surprised, just very curious. Women don’t make first moves like this – generally speaking”

“I’m no general woman”

He preferred looking at her eyes than responding, the strand of hair resting on her cheek, the lips as she spoke, the eyes that meant more than what was spoken.

“So you’ve never had a “strangers” experience?”, she spoke, sipping her drink.

“Come to think of it, never. You’d think at 43, you’d have something to show for your life”

“No wonder all you men fantasize of taking a stranger to bed”, she smiled.

“What makes you think I’m fantasizing about taking you to bed?”

“You’re thinking about it”.

He smiled, almost nervous.

“What’s on your devilish mind?”, she looked straight into him

“What’s on yours?”

“The thought of us getting the fuck out of here. Hiring a cheap hotel room where you push me against the wall, hike my skirt, bite my neck and fuck me like you’ve never fucked a woman for ages”

He said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

“But then again not all my fantasies come true”, she added as an afterthought.

“There’s no way a woman like you has ever been denied of what you want”

“That’s what you’d think. You’re a stranger”

“Explain”

“It’s Valentines day. My husband hasn’t realised it. He didn’t receive my calls all day. Work’s more interesting. Probably didn’t even read my message of how badly I wanted him tonight or what I’m wearing, for him. He hasn’t called yet nor is he in office. You men forget what’s waiting at home and fantasize of the first woman you haven’t seen”, she spoke ruefully.

Again, there was nothing left for him to say.

“Which is why I’m here. I’m sorry to have ruined our moment”, she sipped whatever was left of her drink.

“You didn’t. You’ve captivated me from the second you’ve walked in”

She took out a pen and wrote something down on a piece of tissue.

“Meet me here in about 20 minutes. It’s 2 blocks away”

He made two stops before entering the building 24 minutes later, the gift shop and the pharmacy.

He rang the bell. She opened the door, dressed as she was in the bar.

“Happy Valentines day sweetheart”, he gave his wife the bouquet of orchids – her favourite flower.

She kissed him softly, enough for him to feel the tears.

He turned to her, “How the hell did you know I was at the bar?”

“You’re fucking twitter update”

They laughed and kissed some more.

“So how was she?”, she winked

“She was a familiar stranger”

Drops of Paradise......

2010-01-09T02:31:00.001+05:30

It’s inevitable – you enter the city and it’s calm, almost unrecognizable because you live in chaos of Bombay or Delhi or wherever. Goa welcomes you, it consumes you. It knows you have the money, the time, it intoxicates you enough till you have neither. In return it gives you a mini trip into peace, into craziness switching between the two effortlessly – it’s inevitable that you’ve entered Paradise and it’s yours to savour.

And then you’re transformed. Enough to let go completely of Office, Mails, Targets as you take the first dip in the clear blue green ocean accompanied by someone you want there with you. You jump over waves as if it’s an achievement , as you wait for the biggest wave yet. When you’re tired, you float – alone in your private universe, the sun overlooking, you kiss her because it feels like the obvious thing to do.

The sea gets you hungry. There a billion places to choose. Each offering incredibly cheap booze and incredibly expensive fish. You settle for the one playing the best music. As soon as you are seated you know you haven’t witnessed ambience like this nor would for the rest of your life. You’re seated on the beach. Candlelight. Overlooking the sea against the setting sun. Waves gently rising to the shores as you take sips of your Vodka and make conversation with her, seeing her for probably the first time, even if the light is soft, coming from a stick of wax. You take her back to the hotel room and make love to her or fuck her depending on how your conversation ended and what you had to drink.

Between the beaches and restaurants – she executes her secret plan – Shopping – ‘It’s a new place so we have to shop’ – That’s her logic. So you accompany her because it’s something you have to do for life as per the implied contract when you enter a relationship. You walk around aimlessly behind her, holding the bags, giving your opinion when she’s confused, knowing fully well she’ll follow her original choice. You look at other women, you’re almost guaranteed to be happy with whatever you see in Goa, visually. She notices you ogling, but her shopping is more important so she ignores you.

You wake up and feel depressed. You don’t feel like leaving. You’re convinced that you could stay in Goa forever. But then you’re almost broke and need to earn the money so you can come to places like this again. So you leave paradise and come back to the mundane – the Targets, the Money, the Success and suddenly these pale in comparison to the feeling of jumping over the waves, or floating under the sunset, or kissing her for no reason at all.

Advice.....

2009-11-22T21:57:00.002+05:30

“I hope you don’t talk to any girl”

“No Nana, I don’t”, I replied as I indulged my grandmother in her favourite pastime, me massaging her legs.

I was visiting her after a month, that’s a long time by our standards considering how closely inseparable we are.

Being close, we usually have full length conversations. She speaks in Konkani and I speak in English and somehow there is an invisible communicator between us. I say this because she doesn’t understand English spoken by anybody else and I don’t understand Konkani spoken by anybody else.

Being a grandmother, almost all conversations drift towards the category of her giving me advice – “Eat more, you’re thinner than most women”, “reduce your weight – you’ll have health problems later in life”, “don’t work so hard – The Times of India doesn’t own you”, “go to more social functions, especially weddings or who will come for your wedding?”

Ever since 2000, when school was over, I got admissions in Xaviers College and my mom informed my granny of the length of skirts that girls wear in college - my granny had made it her personal goal to protect my innocence, away from the prying eyes of all existing women who were waiting for their chance to con their beloved one in a million boy away from them.

It’s 2009 now, I have and do get laid quite adequately, am very comfortable around women and have more female friends than male friends simply because I find women more interesting, visually.

Ofcourse my granny doesn’t know that. I’m still massaging her legs. I’m still getting advice.

“I hope you don’t talk to any girl”

“No Nana, I don’t”

“Do girls work in your office?”

“Yes Nana, lots of them”

“Lots? How are they?”

“As in? How they look?”

“Are you looking at them?”

“Sometimes. They look ok. Some look more than ok.”

“As in?”

“As in Pretty. Some Sexy. Some Pretty or Sexy depending on their mood”, I played.

Nana looked at me shocked as if I had confessed to raping a girl. She then sighed, shaking her head like a king who had lost some major war. She then looked at me as if I had failed her and had become impure. Nana displayed the above 3 expressions in a total of 15 seconds, switching from one to the next with graceful ease. Once a woman, always a woman.

“Kenneth, see”.

When Nana says “see”, it means deep advice follows. I waited.

“See, You’re 24 now. A man, almost. You’ve begun to see women. It’s natural”

“Yes. Hmmm So?”

“Well this is not the time for time for girls Kenneth. You have to get on with your career. You’ve begun well but you have to sustain it. Girls will destroy you”

Nana made it sound that the sole purpose of women is to find the ‘perfect catch’ and close the deal. Her thought is even more shocking because she used to be a young woman once and only women will turn against other women so spectacularly. Men are a simpler species.

“See....I’m not saying become a priest. Do what you have to do but see that things don’t get serious. Don’t spoil the family name. Look at your uncles, all of them have married a girl of my choice”

One mention of ‘Sexy Women’ had triggered the first conversation of my marriage and how I was walking down the path of eroding the family name.

“Nana, where is all this marriage talk coming from? I’m just a kid”

“And I hope you understand that. There is a time for everything. When the time is right, we will find you a nice mangalorean girl”

“What do you mean by a ‘nice mangalorean girl’”?, I asked even though I knew the answer. After all this was going to be the prototype of the woman I’d be living and making love to, for the rest of my life.

“A girl who can take care of you. A simple girl with character and values”.

If Ekta Kapoor would start making shows in Konkani, my granny could play “Baa”.

“Nana, Simple girls don’t exist and I don’t want a simple girl and I can take care of myself”

“You can’t even boil water. And why don’t you want a simple girl?”

“There’s more to life than boiling water Nana. Simple girls are boring. No intellectual or stimulating conversations.” I played diplomatic.

The truth is, I don’t like ‘simple girls’ because I dread how mechanical the sex would be. Trying different positions is out of question.

“You want one of those modern women. Independent and all?”

“Exactly. Someone who would contribute to the finances”

“Stay away from them. Such girls won’t even make tea for you when you reach home in the evening”

It’s quite funny yet unnerving that marriage decisions in India are still determined on tea making and cooking skills.

“So I’ll order tea from outside. It really isn’t important who does the household chores”

“You have a girlfriend right?. I’m sure”.

I do have a girlfriend. I’ve had girlfriends. Plenty. None of my household inhabitants have knowledge on any. It’s not worth the bother telling them or I would be having such conversations quite regularly. It’s difficult handling Nana even though she’s sweet. Think about the added pressure of my mom and her sisters.

“No Nana, I don’t”

“Good. Stay away from that girlfriend nonsense.”

“Ok Nana”, I said, as I wrapped up my routine of massaging her legs.

“You want tea?. You want something to eat?. You must be hungry. See how thin you’ve become”, Nana resumed being Nana.

“I want tea”, I said switching on the television.

I thought of what a source of companionship, love and advice we have in our grandparents. Their thoughts and bodies may be old but at the end of the day they want what's best for us and they think their experience of life will help us from repeating the mistakes they’ve made. I love my grandmother because she’s funny, cute and great to talk to, never mind the fact that we speak different languages - literally and figuratively.

It was about 8 pm on a Saturday evening. I wasn’t at a movie or a pub or any place where lifestyle calls. I was with Nana and this was good. Even heavenly.

“Here’s your tea”, said the nice mangalorean girl as she handed me the mug.

Is it so?......

2009-10-17T12:39:00.004+05:30

She disconnected her cell as tears rolled down her cheeks. She had just lost her virginity. The boss had truly fucked her mind up to tears. This was her first time in over one and a half year. I go through it about once a day.

My boss happens to be a very moody, lazy, egoistic and impatient man. Traits I find similar in my 6 year old cousin. But he is a nice person by heart, has our best intentions in mind.

There is a very visible sign when you’ve got my boss mad. He starts yelling at the top of his voice and can go talking for about 45 minutes non-stop. It’s quite staggering since you can’t get in a sentence in those 45 minutes because the man doesn’t stop talking, not even to breathe. In these 45 minutes he will bring about incidents happened 6 months ago, blurt out English and Hindi expressions that show how intelligent he is, make comparisons, glorify himself and sometimes even talk about bollywood actress and then somehow connects everything to what we had begun to discuss originally.

It was a normal Saturday evening when I got a call from him once. I, at once knew it was going a ramming session since my boss is too lazy to call me to make conversation on a Saturday evening.

I pressed the green button. A mistake.

“Hey Ramesh”

“Kenneth, why didn’t you give me a feedback of that meeting you went to yesterday”?.

This was the man’s first sentence on my holiday, while I was busy watching football. Plus he yelled. I didn’t like it but was used to it.

What followed was the usual loud lecture of how he worked during “his days”, how I’m a young performer but fucking it up because I don’t follow procedures and how procedures are important in life, how Madhu Sapre looked so sensual when she posed naked with Milind Soman in that underwear ad (yes he somehow connected it).

I had had enough. This man was making me miss my football match for Madhu Sapre. I gently kept my phone in my shirt pocket while he kept talking. I knew he wouldn’t stop talking for atleast another 10 odd minutes. I wasn’t a virgin. I got back to my match albeit on mute while I could still faintly hear the boss screaming through my pocket.

A goal was scored, by my team. I turned euphoric, even celebrated by punching the wall all without making a noise. It was a beautiful goal. ‘Cesc Fabregas is magic’, I exclaimed in my head as they showed the replay about 10 times.

It was just then that I realised that I was watching TV for the past 8 minutes or so and completely forgot my boss was yelling in my pocket. I imagined pictures of him shoving a hammer up my arse while I stood against a glass wall with my hands above my head.

I picked out the phone out of my pocket and gently put it to my ear ironically hoping against hope he was still yelling.

He wasn’t. I was fucked.

“Is it so?”, he asked calmly.

I didn’t know whether to say a Yes or No.

I cursed my luck. I was presented with a scenario which had a Yes or No answer and I didn’t even know the question. A wrong answer could mean a further 20 minutes. I had to play this intelligently.

So I kept quiet.

“Is it so Kenneth?”, he persisted.

Wrong move. He was adamant even though the question seemed rhetoric.

I had to take a guess and live with the consequences. It could also mean that I would miss the rest of the match.

“Yes Ramesh.”

Silence. The man was quiet. It was a sign that I had made the wrong choice. I waited. Those 5 seconds were the most fucking agonizing I’ve endured. Then God spoke.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying Kenneth”.

I had never breathed a bigger sigh of relief. Even imagined some blooming flowers in some garden.

He spoke for another 5 minutes. I have no recollection of what, since that match had begun after half time. Although this time I kept the phone on loudspeaker.

The call lasted 46 minutes, 32 seconds.

I went back to the match, turning on the volume when I received a message from him.

“I’m so sorry for my outburst Kenneth, It’s just that I want to see you do well.”

The man has a heart.

Detour.....

2009-10-07T22:20:00.001+05:30

The thing about expression today is – the more you have in your head – the more ways you have to let it out. That’s not a bad thing.

It's with this and all of other things in mind that I have started a new "daily updates" blog titled Maybe Definitely

I have been toying with the idea of a “daily updates” blog for the past 4 years. It is a testament to how lazy I have been. The idea came about simply because I only saw Definitely Maybe as an artistic expression, not as an outlet to express how I was and how I felt on a daily basis. It seemed trivial. It doesn’t anymore. Twitter and Facebook updates have made me realise people read “you” – if only you’re brief and interesting enough.

I’ve also created the new blog to listen to the long list of readers over the past 5 years – most of whom have told me to “write more often” and I didn’t because life and its shenanigans got to me (it still does). This is a big thank you to all you guys for still reading and talking to me, even though I spoke to you about once a month. Lets talk everyday from now on.

The new blog will have a daily snippet of what I have in my mind, my day or life – whichever I find interesting at that moment. Needless to say it won’t be “Definitely Maybe” style – this blog has taught me to write and connected me to you and it will continue as usual – it would be more “current” and interactive in its personality while being briefer in its approach.

For some commemorative reason, this post is also the first post on the new blog.

I hope you find the new place worth your time like you do this blog and hope to see you around there every day.

Meeting Truth.......

2009-08-01T22:30:00.004+05:30

I looked around and saw people drowning their evening in beer, loosening the tie, untying the hair, genuine smiles and laughs, ever happy foreigners discussing things they discuss, an overdose of cleavage and “Kingdom of Rust by Doves” playing at the background. It was an end of a tiring day and this felt nice, even heavenly.

The clocked on the wooden wall signalled 8:00 pm. I re-read her message.

“Let’s meet. It’s been long. Leopolds at 7:45. You’re definitely coming”

She arrived about ten minutes later. She is my hot married office colleague whom I refer to as “Savita Bhabhi”. She thinks of me as a harmless friend. That thought insults me; we nevertheless get along very well.

“Hey Nina.....”

“Hey baby”

“Hot. Black Saree and all”

“Had this important Deal closing meeting”

“Oh. I understand.”, I teased sacarstic “Closed it?”

“Like hell I did. 24 lakhs. And don’t give me your sacarsm, even you wear suits to look nice for deal closings ”

“To look formal, not to give my client a visualisation of me being wet under the rain, laying on grass, in an isolated cottage far far away”

“That’s a visualisation only you get, you pervert”

“Oh, by the way, I closed a 36 lakh deal today”

“Oh, that’s so amazing. Congratulations sweetheart”

“Yeah, that too just wearing a shirt and trousers”

She smiled. We ordered. Some sort of Vodka for her. Some sort of Orange juice for me. So much for sexual liberation.

Firangs on the other table were discussing how “Sach ka Saamna” was a total rip off of “The Moment of Truth”. Nina seemed mesmerised by the handsome guy talking. She looked at him with as much depth that if given a choice, she would forget she had a husband at home.

“So do you watch it?”, she asked turning her gaze back at me.

“I do yeah. My mom loves it”

“Yeah, we do too; it’s fun but uncomfortable at times”

“Yeah, people like seeing others suffer demons that they themselves face in one way or the other but don’t have the balls to speak out. Watching others acts as a security blanket which doubles up as entertainment, for us. Reality TV wouldn’t exist without this principle. Think about it.”

She looked at me for about 10 seconds, smiling. I have absolutely no idea what she was thinking.

“So you think you have balls?”

“Not as big as yours but yes I do”, I returned back to normal.

“Ok. Let’s play Sach Ka Saamna. We’l call it....“Meeting Truth”. You and me. We’l take turns. No lies. Ok?”

This was out of the blue but I had to make the best of this in any way I could.

“Fine. But if anyone doesn’t answer a question, you pay the other person 100 bucks”

“Fine”

We began dissecting the Chicken 65 on the table just as we would begin to unravel truths, thoughts and details of each other’s lives. Ofcourse my questions would be as dirty and as personal as possible. This would be fun.

She begins. Being a woman and all.

“Have you shook today?”, she blurted.

Apparently there were two bastards at the table.

“Yes, I have”

“Iske bare main kuck batana chaoge Ken sahab”, she mimicked that ‘Sach ka Saamna’ host.

“Jee haan. I woke up in the morning with a hard on. I wasn’t horny but I thought I’d shake anyways. What’s the point of wasting a hard-on?”

There was a big “ewwww” for about 10 seconds. It’s a chick thing. Then she repeated “waste a hard on” 4 times and laughed uncontrollably. I was visualising the Sach Ka Saamna audience with aunties and uncles clapping after my answer.

I sipped some Orange juice as I asked my question.

“Did you dress sexy today to mentally seduce the guy you were meeting to close the deal?”

“Actually it was...........”, she began.

“Sirf haan ya naa main jawaab dijiye”

“Jee Haan”, she said as she buried her face on the table.

“This is highly regretful”, I rubbed salt on the wound, as I made that noise between my tongue and teeth to show disgust. “The term ‘Abla Naari’ should be changed to ‘Abla Mard’

She laughed. We laughed. And ate and drank and asked questions. Deep rooted questions.

“Do you look down a woman’s top or blouse whenever you get the chance”, she asked.

“Yes I do. Sometimes I look forward to it.” I answered shameless

“I knew the male species was disgusting, but I’m experiencing it first hand today”.

Just then the handsome firang at the other table looked at her and smiled. She smiled back.

“Yes all of us men are disgusting.”, I repeated.

“Not all”, she replied smiling.

“What’s the dirtiest, sluttiest thing you’ve done?”, I asked the next question

She thought. She smiled after what I thought was a visual replay of the act in her head.

“I don’t want to answer that”

“Give me 100 bucks right now”

“Shut up. I’m not paying you anything”

The problem with women is that they talk big and when the going gets tough, they use their feminine charm and expect to get out of any situation, whether it is a life situation or a bet. It gets very irritating for us men with integrity.

“Nina, don’t fuck the integrity of our game. Either you answer the question or pay me the money”

“Ok. I’ll answer”

“We (she and her husband) were shopping at Inorbit Mall. I saw this really hot guy, in some store. I told my husband I needed to get in the store to check something out when I actually wanted to check the guy. Anyways long story short, he was hot. I got turned on. I wanted to do it. I took my husband to the lingerie store, told him to enter the changing room while I try out a few things. He got turned on, watching me try the lingerie. We then moved out of the store and found the men’s loo. There was no staff there. We got in and had sex. End of story”

“So basically you tricked your man to get him horny just because you were horny looking at a ‘paraya mard’ and used your man to ‘bujao your pyaas’?”

She roared in laughter. “YES”

“And you call us ‘Abla Mards’ disgusting”?

“Ok my turn now – Are you visualising what I said in your head?”

“YES. I’m even getting a slight hard on visualising the sight in the lingerie changing room”

She couldn’t stop laughing. Her throaty laugh was beginning to unnerve me. The handsome firang was looking at me weird. I didn’t know what that look meant so I stared back at him and his cute female companion.

“My Turn – What positions did you try in the Men’s loo, considering you were so turned on”

“I’m definitely not answering that. You can take your 100 rupees.”, she said still laughing and struggling with contents of her purse. “All I can tell you is that it was the quickest quickie I’ve ever had. I’ve never come sooner. Infact he was left ‘high and dry’, for once.”

“Courtesy, the ‘paraya mard’.” I added.

“Yes. If you have to put a reason to it”

There were other questions. Ofcourse, they were all strictly sexual in one way or the other. We two are very narrow minded and find little else interesting in a ‘Sack Ka Saamna’ scenario.

The answers were even more interesting and we got to know sides that we already knew about each other. There were references to numbers like 69, animals like Dog, corporate words like “Missionary”. At one point even Shiney Ahuja and Bill Clinton made the conversation.

I looked up at the clock atop the wooden wall, it was about 11:30 pm. We had breezed through a heady cocktail of Conversations, Vodka, Chicken wings, Noodles, Orange Juice, the handsome firang, Lingerie, the Men’s Loo, masturbation and a lot of other things, all in the name of honesty.

Guess honesty wouldn’t be that overrated if one gave it a serious go.

We paid the bill and got up to leave.

“Nina, what is the hindi word for courage?”

“I don’t remember”, she said confirming how drunk she was.

“Ok then, Aapke courage ki main daad deta hoon”, I gave a shot at Mr. Rajeev parting note to contestants on the show.

We shook hands, laughing as we waltzed out of Leopolds. “AC-DC’s You shook me all night long” was playing in the background.

I looked at her. She smiled. I smiled.

I started singing the song, loud.

She laughed hard, needing my arm for support.

That song had assumed a whole new meaning to us.

Unusual.......

2009-05-24T01:40:00.002+05:30

“I want to make out with you right here”, he said staring at her cabin curtain seat of the Volvo.

The Volvo would take her back to Medical school, away from the city, away from him, away from “them”. The 3-day break she took all of a sudden seemed far too less time to touch him, feel him, kiss him, love him, or know him. She was desolate. He even more so, but couldn’t show it and as usual used lust as a defence mechanism. He knew it would make her smile.

She did and kissed him, tears flowing slowly off her cheeks onto his and somehow they felt “one” sharing a tear.

“I love you and we’ll be together for good”, she choked.

“I love you and we’ll be together for good”, he repeated, waving her goodbye.

They were 19 at the time and as such “lifelong promises” don’t materialise. Life and circumstances get in the way.

4 years passed. They had their share of relationships, without letting go of their friendship. The calls continued as did the conversations.

He was at work one Friday evening when “Anita Calling” appeared on his cellphone.

“Hey Ken”.

“Heyyyy, Long Time. How are you doing?”

“Ok. I’m a doctor now by the way. Forget that. I’m back in Bombay. Let’s meet up. My parents are out of town.”

“Congratulations. Sure lets meet up. Dinner at the ‘usual place’”?

“Sure. It isn’t ‘usual’ considering we haven’t been there in over 4 years”

He smiled. “I’ll see you at 8-30, which means you’ll reach by 9-30”

“No, I’ll be on time. I’ve matured.”

He sat at the “usual”, reading a business magazine. It was 9-15 pm.

She arrived fifteen minutes later looking well, beautiful.

“I thought you had matured”.

“That’s your first line when you see me after 4 years?”

“I thought you had matured”.

“Well, I’m still a woman, ain’t I?”, she smiled.

Being late is a virtual “given” with women, like a lot of other things in life. It’s a rule in an unwritten book of rules that men have learned to abide with, without question. Ofcourse it’s easier to accept when a woman’s late because she always seems to look beautiful when she arrives finally, which somehow makes up for the irritation of the wait.

“Yes you are”, he resigned.

And so the evening began.

They caught up, smiled, laughed and talked about their partners “in between”. At that moment, all their previous relationships seemed meaningless.

“So, How’s she?”

“She’s great...........I’m in love with her and I think she’s the one for me”. He carefully worded his sentence.

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you. You deserve happiness and I mean that”.

He noticed something wasn’t “alright”.

“How’s he?”

“We.....We broke up yesterday”.

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He stayed silent, with her, without asking questions, demanding answers or offering false assurances, he knew her all too well.

“You know I really wanted to marry him”.

The moment a woman uses “marry” in a sentence, it means the guy was special. But what I don’t get is how a woman can utter the word “marriage” at the age of 23 when her whole life and career is right in front of her.

He looked at her, said nothing.

She looked “rock-bottom”, the beauty of her face stricken with loss that yearned for acceptance, belonging and love.

They ordered starters. It let time pass.

“Let’s play a game”, he announced.

“Not in the mood”.

“Thankfully “mood” is not a necessary requirement in this game.”

She smiled, “Tell me”

“Let’s rate the women sitting here”

“What!!”, she sounded bemused.

“You have to rate the women here. Give me a justification. I’ll decide if you’re spot on or not”.

“Shut up. I don’t want to play this game.”

“Of course you don’t, it’s challenging and you’re insecure”

“Oh Shut UP”

“Let’s try one. How about that woman behind you?”

She looked behind. On the seat was seated an attractive woman, in her mid-twenties, whom he had been noticing all evening. She wore a white T-Shirt and Jeans, striking features and a smile that would have you dream. He had mentally given her an 8.

“I don’t know. 6?” she quipped, hesitatingly.

“She’s an 8!!”, he ordered.

“NO WAY”, she stopped him as if she were an expert in rating women, “I mean look at her. Her face is too sharp.”

“I don’t know what the fuck that means. She’s an 8. She’s hot.”

“She’s not. Her top doesn’t go with her figure, plus her bag doesn’t cut it for me, not to mention her shoes.”

“Jesus. That’s not how you rate women. You rate women by their “inner beauty”, not their outer accessories. She’s got great tits, not to mention slender hips to move one’s hands around while you’re caressing her curvy ass.”

“You’re sick. You rate a woman; physically by how "easy on the eyes" she is.”

“Like you can see “easy on the eyes” when the lights are off. Never make rules for games you’ve just begun playing. You know the years of science that men have used deriving the rules of this game”, he said using his most convincing tone.

She laughed, “Yeah? Explain the science”

“You look at the woman. You determine how much you’d pay to fuck her for an hour. 1000 bucks is the top limit, because I don’t want to spend more than that on anyone. Divide that value by 100 and you have your rating for that woman.”

She laughed louder calling him sick every 2 seconds. The pronunciation of the term “sick” getting elongated with every laugh.

She adjusted her hair, sat back in her chair, took another look at the woman, “I don’t think I’ll pay more than 300 bucks for her”.

“You’re such a lesbian slut. Tell me what you’d want to do with her for that hour”

They laughed. Starters were long done with. The main course was on the way as they sipped their Ice teas.

“You’re saying you’ll blow 800 bucks for an hour with her?. You must be joking”

“Yeah. I’l blow 800 bucks and receive a blow back. Good barter. If only you knew how to think with a dick.”

“You guys are so sick. So sick!!”.

“Look at the whore who just said “she wouldn’t mind paying 300 bucks to bang that woman” talking”. They laughed.

And laughed some more right through the evening. His age old trick of using lust as a defence mechanism had worked once again. It distracted her from her fucked up state of mind to the thought of deciding how much money she’d pay to fuck a woman. It was perverse, to an extent but who gave a fuck if it made her flash her truly beautiful smile; clear the lines of distress from her face; forget her troubles if only for a little while and live.

They walked out. It was 11 pm and strangely the streets weren’t that busy with traffic, people, business or noise.

“Are you getting late?”, she asked as she ate her Cornetto.

“Not at all. It’s a Friday. Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No. I want to sit with you, somewhere, anywhere.”

“Ok. Does there look good?”, he pointed at the sidewalk on the road, outside the shutter of a shop just closed after business.

“There?. It’s almost on the road. Hmmm.....Screw it, let’s sit there”.

They sat. Talked. Laughed. Reminisced. Smiled. Held Hands. Felt. Saw each other. Smiled again.

Just then an “outstation bus” arrived right opposite to where they were sitting. People began adjusting their luggage on top of the bus before getting into the bus.

“Do you realize, about 4 years ago, the last time I had seen you, you had dropped me on of those very buses and here we are 4 years on, sitting practically on the same road, together but not together. We’re 23, supposedly grown up. You’re with The Times of India, I’m a doctor. How times have changed.”

“Yeah”, he mustered, practically the only time that evening where words failed him as he looked at her, “but we still have each other”, he added what felt like a timely interlude.

“Yeah we do, as we always will.”

They parted ways, holding hands and looking at each other silent, the irony of life and love still lost on them.

As he stepped on the train remembering every tid-bit of the previous three hours, every joke, the woman whose price they fixed, the unintentional glances, the sitting on the road later, the déjà-vu of the bus appearing. Everything.

Just then his cell phone vibrated. She had sent him a message that got him smiling.

“Ok, I’ll pay 650 bucks for that woman, but nothing more. PS - Thank you for being you.”, it said.

The Chase......

2009-02-15T21:21:00.006+05:30

There once existed three separate people. They still exist, un-separate.

He strode outside Churchgate Station, pumped. The shirt crisp and blue, tie well matched, trousers comfortable. Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars played on his Ipod, on repeat for the past 32 minutes since he left office. He recollected his last conversation. The conversation that would redefine his life, his career, his day. Or atleast he hoped it would.

“It will happen Ken. You know it has to.”, Stephen reassured him.

“It fucking won’t. The way things shaping and all that. Recession and all that. ” Ken incoherently cut a sorry figure.

“That’s destiny man. You know you lost those 4 deals over the past 3 months to the recession. It’s the circumstances. Not your fault. It’s written. Nobody’s doing well. The fact that you’re getting deals on the table is huge. Chin up tiger. You know you’re good for it”.

“I hope so Stephen. Those 4 deals were worth 1.5 crores. Fucking hurts like fuck.

“Tell me one thing Ken – Who cracked the Intel deal?

“I did”

“Who cracked the FAI deal?”

“I did”

“Now who’s going to crack the IOL deal today?”

“I am”, he smiled.

“There you go”, smiled Stephen, patting Ken’s shoulder.

“Stephen, you’re the cheesiest fuck I’ve ever seen. You should write movies or become a trainer or something”.

Stephen’s smiled wider, almost laughing as he visualised himself writing movies.

“Tell you what. I crack this thing today and I’l take you out for lunch tomorrow. Done?”.

“Done. I won't have breakfast tomorrow.”

It was just then that the song on his Ipod got done and he sat in the “share-a-cab” at Churchgate as he began preparing for his meeting to close the deal.

She adjusted her hair before she stepped into her boss’s office. She had memorized all the revenue figures after she got an unexpected call from her boss to see her. She picked her diary, took her Reynolds and entered his office.

“What the fuck Neena”, the boss lambasted. “I told you NO MARKETING EXPENSES for 6 months. Why the fuck did you commit to TV Ads. We’re fighting the fucking recession and you’re commiting company money to pointless fucking Ads. Ther’s no fucking revenue in it. You are our Marketing Fucking Manager. Act like it or you can get off the fucking door. Henceforth before taking a fucking decision, ask me coz you seem to be too incompetent to take one yourself.” He was literally frothing at the mouth, fists clenched, tie loosened.

“Bu.t..”, she tried.

“Leave my office right now, You’ve irritated me enough for one day”

She left his office, mind fucked. It was a state of mind she had begun to get used to over the past two weeks. She began dreading her boss’s call, a call she received daily where he let out his frustrations on her, shredding her self confidence to bits. She was contemplating resignation. She didn’t only because the job market is equally fucked. The thought of everything in her life being fucked got her mind fucked further.

She slammed open her cabin door. Ken was seated inside.

“Did I ask for you to come today Ken?” her tone authoritative.

“You did Neena, we were supposed to sign on Print Campaign deal today”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry. Just a lot of things on my mind. Really sorry”

“It’s allright Neena. I understand. Really do”

“Thanks Ken.” She inhaled as much air as she could. “Ken, we’d not be able to go ahead with the campaign. Not right now atleast. We could look at it, maybe four months down the line, but not now. Cost Cutting, recession and all that.”

He couldn’t muster the inner strength to come up with anything to say. He kept looking at her, as if she had failed him in some way.

“I’m really sorry Ken. I really am.”

It’s allright. I understand.

He didn’t understand. Of all the deals he had initiated this was the last one that he expected to lose.

“Some tea coffee Ken?”

“No, I think I’l head out. Will talk to you better at our next meeting, whenever that may be”

“You allright Ken?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just realised ther’s another meeting I need to head to, so I’l catch up with you some other time.”

He headed for the staircase. The office was on the 15th floor of the tower but he headed to the staircase to get mentally oriented again. Walking led to thinking. Thinking led to a severe mind fuck. He had reached the 7th Floor when he decided to sit on a step and just re-gather himself. Re-gather his world. He was wearing an Arrow Shirt, a Chopard watch and Marco Ricci shoes as he sat alone, on the isolated staircase of a commercial building. Life had humbled him.

He took out his phone. 3 missed calls. 1 from Stephen, 2 from his girlfriend.

He dialled Stephen’s number.

“Hi Ken”

“They backed out – cancelled the deal”

“Fuck, I’m sorry yaar – what happened?”

“Cost cutting”

“Fuck”

“Yeah”

“You’ve got another one tomorrow naa, that KPMG thing.

“Fuck everything. It’s so fucking depressing”

“Don’t worry, keep the faith, tomorrow’s thing will work out”

“Fuck everything. It’s so fucking depressing”

“Ken?”

“Yeah man.”

“I was sacked an hour ago”, Stephen sounded choked on his own spit and life.

“WHAT? Jesus Fucking Christ...............Jesus Fucking, Fucking Christ. Tell me your fucking kidding”

“I’m not. HR called for me. I was told not to report from tomorrow. 3 months salary. That’s that.”

“What was the fucking reason. You’ve been amongst our best performers over the past 2 months”

“Downsizing. Cost Cutting. Something. I was too dazed to hear. I could only see the HR guy moving his mouth. Couldn’t hear a thing beyond that”

“Fuck Stephen, are you all right? Can we meet?”

“I don’t know. I............I......I don’t know”

“Ok....Ok. I understand. Call you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Ken, I have a four year old and a two year old daughter. I’m fucking scared. Job market and everything.”

“Stephen. Relax. You’l get a better fucking job. Easy. You’re too experienced. You’re too good not to.”

“Fucking destiny of mine”

“You’re sure you can go back home?”

“Ya....yea, I think......I’l talk to you tomorrow ya”, he cut the phone.

Ken let the tear roll down his cheek clutching his phone as hard as he could.

He stood up after what seemed like an hour, looked up at the eight floors of deserted staircases above and seven below as he began walking down.

As he walked out of the building, the sunlight slowly kissed him on the cheek. He looked out, at the road, hawkers selling, people walking, talking, laughing, automobiles, taxis, commerce. He couldn’t hear a thing. He just absorbed the scenery. He was jealous looking at all those people on the road. He envied the happy lives they were leading to smile so openly, laugh whole heartedly.

He took his chai from the tapri, gazing back at the road as he sipped his chai. Just then, he saw Neena on the road. He tried not to look at her. She saw him.

“Hey Ken, You had another meeting right?”

“It got cancelled”

She ordered a chai for herself as they stood together along with the other people enjoying the dawn of evening.

A cutting chai is the only thing that binds a man earning 1000 a month to a person earning 1 lakh a month in Bombay.

“So how’s work?”, Neena tried to initiate a semblance of conversation.

“To be honest – Fucked”

“Tell me about it. I so want to throw my resignation at my boss and leave to a place where I can wet my legs in sand whenever I want”

Ken didn’t respond.

“Forget work, how’s life?”

“A colleague of mine, a very dear person to me just got fired an hour ago. He’s got two kids. The current job market”

“I’m really sorry to hear that”

A BMW slowly made it’s way towards them as they continued sipping tea. They looked at the car, a current symbol of impossibility. A symbol that also told them there was their whole life ahead of them. He’s 23, she’s 26. They would have countless such fucked up days in the future, innumerable arguments, failed deals and successes littered here and there which could finally culminate in a day where they sit on the backseat of their respective BMWs.

After all BMWs don’t just park themselves under your arse, you have to get it there.

Neena looked at Ken, “This was just a day”

He looked back “Yeah. This was just one of those days.”

“Tomorrow is a new day.”

“Yeah”, she smiled, a bright spot in a hazy day, “So, what are your plans for tomorrow Ken?”

“Chasing my BMW”

Looking Closeby.....

2008-12-31T22:22:00.005+05:30

What Men?

A trademark line of every Goan Catholic (makapav) that you and I know.

Christopher is a Goan Catholic that I know of.

“What Men, you’re not doing anything for Christmas?”

“No”

“Why Men?”

“I just don’t do much. I visit my granny for lunch and that’s it.”

“Fucker men you are”.

Christopher can make 14 grammatical errors in the same statement. But that statement somehow hit me. I’m not a very “celebratory” person by nature. I don’t do parties like typical catholics or people my age. I don’t dance, drink or smoke and hence put a serious doubt to the fact if I’m really catholic. I’m more “understated” as some oversmart MBAs would conclude. But Christopher’s “Fucker men you are” somehow hit me, it redefined my Christmas plans.

25th December – 1:30 am

I stepped out of the church. People genuinely wished each other. Men kissed their wives, Boys their girls, Brothers and sisters embraced, the children smiled and laughed playing with their balloons. People were “together”. People were happy. It was Christmas and I was happy.

“You took your coffee and cake?” said mom, tugging onto my suit.

“Mama, lets go to The Heritage (A four star hotel opposite the church)”

“Why? Madowhat?”

“ I want to take you some place nice on Christmas night. We’l have coffee and eat something”

“No. Why do you want spend all that money?”

“I have the money Mama. Chal lets go. I’l call everybody else”.

It took me 30 minutes, convincing the rest of my mom’s 3 sisters and 2 brothers and their families that we should go there.

What followed in the quiet coffee shop of The Heritage at 2:15 am on Christmas night was loud relentless conversation of what was going on in who’s life. My mom caught up with most of her siblings. They caught up with her and dad. The sons and daughters caught up with their cousins. We ate. We debated. Discussed the terrorist attacks. Asked Diandra (my 20 yr old cousin) what she ate to maintain her Size Zero figure. Ordered more coffee and hot chocolate. It was 4:30 am. Christmas had arrived and “this” was a good idea, I thought as I dug out the credit card from my wallet. Mastercard could make an ad out of this. Dissolving yourself in family : Priceless.

25th December – 11:30 am

I woke up, dressed and headed to Nana’s (my granny) house. It’s a traditional thing we do on important days. Most of her 9 children were already there when I arrived, busy in mindless conversation.

I kissed Nana, wished her, gave her, her gift. Opened the cake I picked up, so we could get this thing started. Nana cut it with my 8 year old cousin Kunal, who was dressed in a miniature Santa outfit with all my aunties and cousin sisters bellowing “Awwwwww” for 15 seconds as they cut the cake and fed each other.

There was a lot of chicken, beer, cake, idlis, whiskey, wafers, children and loud voices. I guess celebration and chaos go together. Traditional gifts like watches, designer pens, mobiles, shirts, ipods, games were given to the men and children. With women, in my family, there is only one “gift” that usually gets them up, “dinner set”. I don’t understand the logic behind their collection. Every woman has atleast 4 dinner sets and the joy of getting a new one somehow rivals the previous one. Other popular gifts include sarees, electric iron, crockery, lipstick and other things that I have no interest in.

After lunch it was time for Nana’s custard and more irrelevant conversation, where the “slightly drunk” men discussed the current financial crisis each giving their own expert opinions on the causes and remedies. It was funny hearing them especially since not one of them has any remote expertise in global credit fallouts or equity fluctuations. But it’s our job to ramble, to talk, to pass time, to disagree with something we agreed upon 10 minutes ago. My fat aunty was describing how she has become an “L” from an “XL”. Everyone clapped. Tea was ready.

I connected the Karaoke machine. We started singing. We like to sing. We all have great taste in music, it’s one of the few advantages of being a catholic. The “XL to L” size woman, Greta sang “Elton John’s - Sacrifice” considering it’s slow and hence easier to score when singing on a Karaoke machine. Greta scored 95. She is a very competitive woman. My Uncle Edward is equally cunning, so he sang “The Beatles’s – Yesterday”, which is as slow as they go. He scored a 96 which was stunning considering he was visibly drunk. He started dancing, making gestures at Greta after the score. Greta got irritated, picked up the mike and started singing “Chicago’s – If you leave me now”. It’s a song she knew by heart and used it only when it was a “do or die” situation. I was in splits just looking at how hard she was concentrating at the screen. She scored a 72. My family laughed so hard that Jesus would have heard it. Diandra then sang “Shakira’s – Underneath your clothes”, the title of the 20 year old’s song raising more than a few eyebrows amongst the elders. Diandra assured them the song had a “deep” meaning. Kunal sang “Nat King Cole’s – Love” to raptures of applauses and “Awwwws”. Walter sang “The Police’s – Every Breath you take”. I sang “The Beatle’s – A Hard Day’s night” considering how short and well paced it is. I scored a 96. Edward and I danced in front of Greta. It was 9:00 pm.

We planned a family picnic to a water park on 28th December considering how much fun Christmas was. What followed was another amazing day. Another day I spent with my family, reminding me of their significance, their warmth, their jokes and what they mean to me. Those two days shattered my basic idea of Christmas being just another holiday to “do” something with friends or listen to music. Being with family somehow seemed “cool”, it seemed nice. It was the most fun I’ve had in the entire year. Work, Money and the busy Life had made me forget that sometimes happiness can be found just by looking “close”. Love resides “closeby”. You have to find it yourself.

As I slid from that 70 degree drop water slides, my entire year flashed before me. The completion of my MBA, the great job at The Times, a heartbreak, a heart mend, money, a large screen TV and a home theatre system, responsibility, maturity, gifts for the family, my first deal worth 30 lakhs, the sexy secretary of this client I frequent without work, success, failure with the recession, the terrorist attacks that tore my city, the romantic trip atop the boat with her, the incredible sex that followed, the conversations, Christmas, family, the picnic at this water park. Just them, the slide submerged me in the depths of the pool and it felt as if I had sunk in a year and was all set to welcome the next. I hope you do too. I hope and pray for me and you that the next year be a happy, fulfilling and peaceful one. After all it’s a short life and I’d rather it were pleasant for you, me and everyone else.

We drove back. I played a cassette. “The Beatle’s – Hey Jude” played and immediately everyone began singing. John Lennon would have been proud of our collective talent. We smiled as we tapped our feet singing. The worries in the world were forgotten, if only for a little while. It’s these little whiles that I will long for, the coming year.

Life is good.

Shards of my City.....

2008-12-02T01:22:00.007+05:30

26th November – 10:30 pm.

I was at the Mahalaxmi Race Course-Turf Club, attending The Effies (Annual Advertising Awards) as part of The Times of India contingent, talking to advertising big-wigs like Agnello Dias and noticing the attractive-slutty society types who always make it a point to hug everyone at such functions, except me.

“Why was The Effies held at The Turf Club this year?, I always thought that The Taj or the Oberoi’s would be a better alternative”, I asked another creative director from O&M, whilst eating the spread of barbecued chicken and prawns from my plate.

“The Advertising fraternity actually prefers an open-air”, he replied.

Just then Agnello walked by our table. I congratulated him for JWT winning the Agency of the Year award. He congratulated us on the concept of Lead India of The Times of India which helped him sweep most of the awards.

“Kenneth, there’s some ‘problem’ at the Leopolds Cafe, Oberoi’s, CST and Mazagaon. Apparently its some form of gang war, but it could be some terrorists, so you better go home, you live close by there. I’l drop you.” relayed my ever calm Executive President of The Times of India.

Lead India. Irony Personified.

I reached home in another 15 minutes and put the TV on. I saw what you saw.

My statement of ‘Why was The Effies held at The Turf Club this year?, I always thought that The Taj or the Oberoi’s would be a better alternative’, began to pinch me in the stomach, just wondering ‘what if’ the function, like most functions or meetings I attend were to be at The Taj or Oberoi, I would literally been “in” there, probably in The Ball Room of The Taj or The Regal Room of The Oberoi, along with all the other hostages. Instead I was replying to what seemed like a million messages and calls with a standard saved reply, “I’m Fine”.

I saw CST, Colaba, Leopolds, places that an average South Mumbai, Mumbaikar like me visits most days and weekends, ripped, torn and mutilated.

Ofcourse the Taj, Trident and Nariman House ‘situation’ hadn’t begun in full proportion yet. I was still getting my head around Hemant Karkare entering CST only to lose his life, the terrorists then proceeding to Cama Hospital after trying unsuccessfully to enter The Times of India building, only to be foiled by the presence of mind of the security guards who immediately closed both the front and back shutters. I shudder to think of another hostage situation at the heritage building of the TOI with all the editors and journalists present inside.

It was 2am and I couldn’t get off the quite brilliant coverage of NDTV & Times Now of the ‘movie’ that was unfolding in front of me. It was then that news came in that they have nabbed two terrorists at Charni Road and killed both of them. The camera panned on a body of a dead terrorist lying on his stomach, in a van. The policeman, probably in a fit of rage or just in display of bravado, pulled the terrorist’s hair to reveal the bloody and bullet ridden face of the terrorist, while he still had his eyes wide Open. THAT was probably the most scariest thing I’ve EVER seen and I don’t usually get affected easily, I was stabbed and held the insides of my stomach a year ago and I’m unaffected but there was something about that bloodied dead terrorist with open eyes that shook me to the core that I actually couldn’t sleep, considering it was 3am and I live alone. They obviously haven’t showed that footage again considering how gruesome it was. Infact it was so gruesome, that it was actually after seeing that face, did the other terrorist who had pretended to be dead after the firing, actually start confessing.

Day break on 27th November.

I just assumed it was over. It had just begun. Taj, Trident and Nariman Houses, the places of ‘action’. The Taj on fire, literally. The Trident broken down and Nariman House, isolated in mystery. Windows broken. Fires Raging. Grenades thrown. The Bullets, the firing, the bodies, the tears.

Shards of my City.

Shards of me.

It continued like a K-serial without an end, frustrating especially since every time they described the attack as the “Final Assault” and then 4 hours later, they were preparing for another “Final Assault”. It was heartbreaking to watch the relatives jumping at the sight of every body taken out The Taj, Oberoi, JJ Hospital or GT Hospital, just hoping it isn’t their relative. By the end of the day, they had pretty much given whatever hope there was left and just hoped to find a “body”. The day ended, their search didn’t.

28th November – 8:00am

I was tying my tie, getting ready for work, like almost all Mumbaikars. Not reporting to work more than 1 day in this city is worse than fucking your best friend’s wife and being caught while you’re at it. Some refer to the above phenomenon as the “Bombay Spirit” : The ability to bounce back almost immediately. Come to think of it, it’s a little bit of spirit but most of all it’s just a “Compulsion of Commerce”. The show HAS to go on. We HAVE to make money. That’s what Bombay and her people are all about. So lets not hide under overused superlatives. Let’s reserve those for the brave Commandos.

As I was tying my tie I was hearing Arnab Goswami explaining how the troops were being air-dropped on top of Nariman House. The “FINAL ASSAULT” was on. I realised I’m going to work in the same city where there are troops landing on some building as I tie my tie. This is Bombay. And I love it.

I reached work. The Office was full. I wasn’t surprised. Everyone was giving their own account of what was happening, some of them so detailed and graphic, that it seemed to me as if the terrorists had phoned them before landing at The Gateway of India. I wasn’t surprised.

A guy approached my cubicle saying, “Arrey Kenneth, pata hain, Nariman House main 2500 sq feet available hain”.

Everyone laughed. You may not get the joke unless you know that only 0.1% of India’s population can afford a “20 by 20” house in South Bombay.

I read a mail from my immediate dreaded boss saying she has resigned from her job citing “Personal Reasons”

I asked Rohit, “Arrey What happened to Roshni?, Why did she resign?”

Rohit – “She took moral responsibility for the Terrorist Attacks. Her conscience didn’t let her continue”

Everyone laughed. I laughed.

THAT’S the Bombay Spirit. To find humour and just get on with it. Be happy that you’re alive and Live.

Just then another senior colleague comes to me, “Kenneth, lets close the Int*l deal yaar. We’l get those 70 lakhs toh is month ka budget balance main aa jayega.

But don’t forget that you BETTER make money “incase” you’re alive, or you can shove that Bombay Spirit up your arse.

We closed the Int*l deal in the evening, after empathising with the Managing Director about the “State of the City”. He got emotional and distracted. We closed the deal. Budget “balance main aa gaya”.

It’s a generic trick - If you ever want to build a relationship either with a client or a woman, empathise with her, talk about things she likes, fake interest when she speaks, tactfully place her on a pedestal, pick a moment and then close the fucking deal. I’m a nice guy by heart.

I reached home at 6, around 2 hours earlier than usual because I couldn’t wait to switch on the TV to Times Now and hear Arnab Goswami getting hyperactive. I swear, I’ve never been as eager even when my girlfriend sends a very filthy message of how she wants me to ravage her as she heads to my place - as I was, getting back to watch Arnab Goswami that day.

The “FINAL FINAL ASSAULT” had just begun, according to Arnab. In an hour, it was “done” at Nariman house and The Oberoi. All hostages dead, very sadly. Bombay breathed a sigh of relief. I said a short prayer for the jewish couple, the other hostages and for peace. I hope God hears me this time, its been a while.

It was Taj’s turn to hog the entire limelight now. It had to be The Taj, a symbol of Prosperous India, a symbol that was battered, burned, brutalised and raped in front of all our eyes before the brave commandos won her back from the “other people” at 7:30am the next day.

People rejoiced. It was over. Then they mourned. They mourned not only the people who died, but the Soul of Bombay, the Soul of India that was dying.

I said a prayer for the people who are responsible to keep me alive. I thank them.

People looked at disdain at the terrorists that came on that night via the Gateway of India, but lets not get emotional for a second, if you think practically they did a Remarkable job. A bunch of 10 people (possibly 5 more) took on the ENTIRE COUNTRY and WON. Yes they died but they fulfilled their objective of holding the country to ransom for 60 hours. They saw to it that the world sat up and took notice of how well prepared they were, of how 2 of them had the resilience and tenacity to fight 70commandos and not give up till their last breath. The world will take them seriously again now, after 9/11. That’s something and I applaud that determination even if you hate me for that. Let’s face the facts people, the Terrorists have come into our bedroom and fucked us hard in our arse and then left because they were “done”.

If only they were good people.

If only our politicians were half as well prepared, resilient and competent as them.

I walked by the reopened Leopolds this evening, had my favourite kheema pav. It tasted Amazing as always. I then proceeded to sit at The Gateway and see The Taj, only to find the place cordoned off. So I walked to Nariman Point and witnessed The Oberoi. I saw a few burn marks, a lot of shattered windows and a deep hollow developing in my heart thinking of all the people hiding under their beds or inside the cupboards, in those very rooms, so the terrorist wouldn’t find them. I hope they were either rescued or are at peace in heaven.

Shards of my City.

Shards of me.

I pray for peace.

Strawberry Swing..........

2008-10-11T16:59:00.002+05:30

“Congratulations. Here’s your Daughter”, the doc said, meaning it.

She was ecstatic. She was tired. He was relieved, happy. He was also going to be poorer. He welcomed a baby and a White Ambassador car he brought in the morning, both, on the same day. The year was 1966.

They were a family, a new happy family. The daughter opened her eyes to the world, sleeping, sucking, crying and sleeping some more.

“She’s soooooooo cute no?”, the mother ranted all day to visitors.

The Ambassador drove the family around. It was another addition to the family, albeit a costlier, less precious one.

She started to grow up. Nursery. School. Tears. Teachers. Pencils. Books. Homework. Life happened to her.

The Ambassador grew up. Washing. Servicing. Maintenance. Painting. Pride. Life happened to it. The year was 1975.

The mirror became her best friend. She began seeing beauty in her reflection, finding faults where there weren’t any, trying the jewellery in the dresser drawer. She was a woman in making. The mirror knew that. She didn’t.

Soon boys happened. There was Pampering, gifts, conversations, winks, stolen kisses. She stopped baby talking and started girl talking. Her physical form changed. She liked it and for a few years, boys and body was all she discussed with her girlfriends. She was 19.

By then it was 1985. The Ambassador wasn’t cool enough for her. She preferred the Fiat, Kapil Dev, Sean Connery, Cliff Richards, ABBA, Levis, L’Oreal, Lords, Skirts and lot more other things that only she knew of.

The Ambassador was getting old, with the repairs, continuous breaking down, dents caused by harmless accidents and Bombay roads.

She was a very efficient as a steno. She was a Career woman. Ofcourse in the year 1995, Stenography was a ‘Career’.

“When are you getting married? You’re 29. You want to stay with us throughout your life?”, her mom nagged her daily after she returned from work.

“Later Mama, If I go, who’s going to take care of you two?”

She was a sincere human, emotion filled and a gift.

On the side, she was also waiting for her boyfriend of 3 years, to get secure in his Professional life.

He did, 4 years later and almost immediately married a woman of his parent’s choice. An arranged marriage. An arrangement that dis-arranged the strings her sensitive heart.

She worked, for her parents. Got promoted to be a manager of some sort. Life happened to her. Her marriage was fixed 8 months later. She was 34, successful, unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

1 year into her marriage. She woke up one morning. She found her husband dead beside her. Heart Attack. Gone.

She returned back to her parent’s. Her dad drove her weary soul back in the weary Ambassador. Work went on. Life went on. She proclaimed she had the Bombay Spirit. I just thought she had Human Spirit.

Years passed. She was made General Manager at her firm. She was intelligent. But more importantly she was wise. What followed was a bigger house in which she and her parents could live comfortably. She cared, being the beautiful human that she was. She had Comfort, without actual peace of mind, Success without an actual feeling of fulfilment.

She was bathing, when she discovered a cyst on her left breast, one evening. She was diagnosed with breast cancer 1 month later. Advanced stage. The year is 2008.

She was reluctant to fight yet another battle. Her Bombay Spirit was withering. She didn’t show it. It showed.

She lay on the bed, flanked by books, an Ipod Nano, A laptop and her beautiful smile when she passed away. Life stopped happening to her.

“My Deepest Sympathies. Here’s your Daughter”, the doc said, meaning it, as he handed her to her mother.

The Ambassador stopped working completely, a month later. It was sold off. It was as old as her. It had travelled a full circle. It didn’t fetch much money. “3500 rupees for this scrap”, as the buyer put it. It was worthless. They drove to all their family holidays in it and it was worthless, a forgotten asset. She was forgotten 2 weeks after she died. “Fatima who?”, as a neighbour put it.

Her life laid no significance in the absence of her. That’s just how life is, isn’t it? People continue waking up to take a Churchgate Fast in the morning, drinking a cutting chai on the road, watching Big Boss in the night, sleeping for a few hours, living their life. It’s called being human, nowadays.

“What is happiness to you?”, I asked her, 3 years ago.

“Eating Strawberries, swinging on a swing”, she answered.

If only life were a Strawberry Swing.

Wonderful tonight........

2008-09-22T22:11:00.004+05:30

Him – I want to fuck you with ‘Eric Clapton’s Layla’ playing at the background

She thinks for 15 seconds. He waits.

Her – Which version, Original or Acoustic?

Sometimes, women just say the wrong thing. I mean, he’s hard, it’s 2 AM, she’s kinda turned on, but she HAS to play “hard to get”, even though she wants to be had anyways. “Playing hard to get, makes us feel ‘coveted’”, a difficult woman once told me.

Anyways.

Him – Maybe we should call Eric Clapton and ask him which version of “Layla” would set the mood better, for “us” to fuck each other.

Some men know how to use sarcasm, so that difficult women get the point.

Her (Ignoring) – You know I’ve always thought of how amazing it would be to make love to Eric Clapton, every time I hear the song “Wonderful Tonight”.

Him (Deadpan) – How amazing?

Her – Like “amazing amazing!!!”. Imagine, it’s ERIC CLAPTON.

Him – Yeah, I’m imagining Eric Clapton fuck my girlfriend senseless. And my girlfriend’s looking back at me, satisfied, saying it’s the best time she’s had in bed. That’s one fantastic flow of thought I want to have when I AM horny.

Her – Arrey....Don’t imagine “Eric” fucking me, just imagine him making “love” to me.

Women not only know how to “stroke” a man’s ego when the situation demands it. They also know how to cut that ego with a Very sharp knife, mix it with chutney and feed it to 16 vultures.

He didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t say anything.

Her – Accha, tell me how was your day?

Him – Was good, what are you wearing?

Her – How did the negotiations with that Birla guy go?

Him – K. Birla?. I clinched it, 2 crore deal. Are you wearing that short purple nightdress?

Her (Mild Scream) – Really??!!!

Women have this ability to extract relevant information and leave the rest of the crap ignored. That’s why they make better managers.

Him (Giving Up) – Ya.

Her (The Scream getting louder) – Damn....I’m so excited.

Him – Good. Atleast you’re getting excited one way, if not the other.

Her – Heyyy, stop with your acidic sacarsm haan. Ek toh I’m giving you “customised bhav” by getting excited for you and your giving me acid.

Him – Accha Accha, tell me how was your day?

Her (Shrieking) – Was AMAZING.

Drama comes second nature to most women. Give a girl a line like, “I just brought a new toothbrush today”. Tell her to dramatise it in 7 different ways. She’l give you 14. Or 21 if she’s Damn good. Try it.

Him (Taken aback with that noise at 2 AM) – Why? What happened?

Her – I did NOTHING today.

Him – Accha?

Her – Actually, I had set out with the script, the props etc. to finally begin shooting the documentary, but then the “weather” was so amazing naa...I called Prerna, Sara, Neeyata, Mickey, Tarun, Raj and someone else who I cannot remember right now and invited them home. We spent the ENTIRE day together, having fun. It’s been a while since we all caught up. We saw Rock On again.

Him – Again? But you just did you haven’t gone out with them in a while.

Her – Why the fuck do you have to analyse the exact thing that you’re supposed to ignore.

This is one of the reasons why “some” men make useless managers.

Him – Accha Accha, Ok. I’l concentrate on the amazing weather and your bonding session.

Her – You gimme sacarsm again and I’l hang up hard on your face right now.

Him – You wanna go shopping this weekend?

Her – For you?

Him – And you. I’m loaded after that Birla deal.

Her – YES. FUCK YES!!! We are going to Colaba Causeway and Atria Mall and Parel and

Him (Cutting her) – You don’t want to hang up “HARD” on my face right now”?

She said NOTHING for 17 seconds.

He didn’t say anything either.

Men really don’t know what to say when women give them the silent treatment. There are 10 things going on in his head. There are 1000 things going on in her head. She EXPECTS him to say the right thing. He doesn’t know what’s the right thing to say, because he doesn’t even know WHY she’s giving him the silent treatment in the first place. So usually he says nothing, awkwardly, hoping somehow she says something. But she’l NEVER say anything, because ther’s nothing women love better than getting an upper hand in conversation politics. Plus she likes to see him suffer for her attention.

Anyways, back to the story. I talk a lot.

Him – You don’t want to hang up “HARD” on my face right now”?

She said NOTHING for 17 seconds.

He didn’t say anything either.

She hung up.

Now this is a very tricky situation for guys, because She’l DEFINITELY NOT call him back. He’s got to make the call and say something really sweet and sugary to get her to listen to him. But MOST of all he’s got to sound convincing, because women you know, they’re cunning bastards, they know when the guy’s not honest and when he’s patronising them to just “get out of the situation”.

There’s another thing that suddenly crops in these situation, with guys, their GIANT EGOs. “Arrey, why the fuck should I call? She hung up. She’l Call.

GHANTA SHE’l CALL.

He’l realise this sooner or later, especially when he realises not calling her means NO SEX for a forthnight. He’l then call her immediately, his GIANT EGO suppressed by his (varied size) penis.

He called her after 7 minutes. Her phone rang.

Her (Deadpan) – Ya?

Him – I’m sorry.

Her – For?

I don’t get why women have to act so pricey all the fucking time.

Him – For.....(he’s trying to search for his convincing tone)....for being an asshole.

Her – Why? What did you do?

I told you women are cunning bastards. They enjoy seeing a man naked, metaphorically.

Him – You know what I did yaar.

Her – No I don’t, tell me.

Him – I was sarcastic.

Her – You were what?

Him – Sarcastic.

Her – Will you give me your acidic sarcasm again?

Him – I’l try my best not to

Her – Will you give me your acidic sarcasm again?

Him – No

Her – God your sooooooo cute. I want to pull your cheeks. I LOVE teasing you.

Him – I should cut off my balls and put it in a jar under your basin.

Her – Then I’l have to search for another man.

Him – Might as well, I’m anyways regrowing my virginity with you.

Her – How long has it been?

Him – 3 daaaaayyyyyssssss!!!!

Her – With that “hopping like a rabbit” dick of yours, it must feel like a year.

Him – YES!!!!. You understand my dick and me so well.

Her – It’s part of my portfolio.

Him – I’m so bloody happy after that Birla deal today.

Her – And I’m happy for you, baby.

Him – I love you yaar, you really helped through all of the 3 months.................. Like, I really love you.

Her – You better, I’m fabulous.

Him – Tomorrow evening we’l go Shopping. Dancing, have dinner and Fuck. Not in that order.

Her – Now, I love you too.

Him – What are you wearing right now?

Her – A REALLY short purple nightdress.

Him – I’m coming to your flat right now. I don’t care if your roommate gets disturbed with the noise.

Her – She’s asleep. Come fast.

He hung up.

Bittersweet Symphony.....

2008-05-20T14:48:00.008+05:30

“We look like 2 homos”, Ishaan repeated, pissed off as they entered through the sidey doors of a really expensive pub in Worli.

“No, we don’t”, Joshua blankly reassured him, non interested. He searched for women with short black skirts and inviting plunging necklines.

“Why the fuck did you have to wear a pink shirt?”, Ishaan asked, quite worried about reactions, stares and looks, he thought they would receive.

“Stop being a macho homophobe, I need to piss, Sit at that barstool”, he blurted 3 sentences that had no resemblance to each other, but then irritating friends talking, especially when there’s so much cleavage around to concentrate on, can do that to men.

Men have tremendous visualisation skills. They can visualise the colour and type of bra a girl is wearing underneath a blouse and how she’d look naked (preferably on top of him), but ask him to visualise his future with the same girl or his career, his financial future or anything constructive or “real”, you’d get the guaranteed famed response. “Let’s see”.

Joshua sat beside Ishaan at the barstool. He ordered a tower of Fosters. It cost a fortune. 525 bucks.

Ishaan spoke finally, “So she told me she was seeing someone else”

“Why are these places so fucking expensive? even the Thumbs Up costs 100 bucks. I mean, it’s a normal place, ok seating, decent music (The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony” was playing in the background, compared to Sean Kingston’s Beautiful Girl in most clubs, a song that teenagers and most of Bombay’s “hip” youth had taken a liking to). But it’s still so fucking expensive. You know what the “Profit Margin” of this place would be?”, the slightly cheap, but totally money oriented attitude of the practical MBA in Joshua finally showed up.

“Your paying for the ambience and the experience”, the theoretical Marketing MBA, Ish, offered in weak response.

“You even know what that means? or your giving me crap that a typical 22 yr old girl that you went on 2 dates with, told you. These chicks feel that they have a “nice time” in such places and the money is justified. Afterall it’s their pop or their boyfriend’s pop who pays eventually. Why the fuck would they care?”

He was right. A 22 year old who Ishaan went out 4 times with told him this. She didn’t as much as kiss him, at the end of it.

“Why are you being so fucking cynical? Stop overanalysing. And Stop Generalising”, Ishaan was starting to show frustration.

“Why, your girl’s very ‘different’? How is she by the way?”, Josh finally began showing interest.

Ish – I’m fucked. Sonal’s seeing someone else. I think she’s even gone out with him. God knows what else.

Josh – You think she fucked him? (he waited for 5 seconds) or made out with him?

Ish – Keep your voice down. Why are you being such an asshole Josh? (He answered nonetheless) Maybe yes. Must have. Surely.

Josh – What? Fucked or made out? (Josh started laughing, beginning to play with Ish’s misery)

Ish – I’m leaving. (He pretended by standing up)

Josh – Sorry yaar (his first act of “friendliness”)

He knew he had to “listen” to Ish, like those “oversmart” girls who try to be everybody’s agony aunts. But more importantly he had to “be there” for his friend, rather than strike up an interesting conversation with some inviting girl out there, He knew he could pull it off. The “flirting with strangers” part, not the “being there” part.

Josh – So what are you going to do? (there were some traces of empathy)

Ish – I don’t know. I’m feeling fuckall. I really liked this one.

Josh – Fuck someone else. It really helps. Trust me.

Men consider the act of “sexual intercourse” to be the answer to all problems. Physical, Psychological, Emotional, Mental, Anything. “Fuck someone” is the first and only “manly advice” you get. The women would rather hear the guy/girl patiently, give them a ear and a shoulder and just “be there” for them and “talk” to them.

The “manly” advice has greater success rate. Trust me.

Josh – I’m serious. It will get your mind “off” things. You’d gradually meet someone else and things will be back to normal. You know there are plenty of women for both of us, buddy. (Josh was really beginning to turn a corner. He was a real nice guy once you get to know him)

Ish – It’s not so simple this time Josh, I “loved” this one. Now all I picture is “this guy fucking her, kissing her, biting her, being wild all the fucking time, like he’s never been with a woman before”

Josh – I know how you feel. I felt that way too when I lost a girl I loved. (He lied. His relationships lasted maximum of 7 days.). We feel like the girl we loved is fucking this new guy wild. Even though it’s a little perverse and naive, that’s the first and only dominating thought that enters our heads. She’s fucking someone else. Like she has nothing else to do in life besides fucking. But’s it’s OK. It’s normal and I assure you she isn’t fucking him “yet”. She hasn’t gotten over you. (He lied again)

Ish – I don’t know (He really didn’t know what to say)

Josh – And even if she is fucking him, so WHAT? (raising his voice). She’s with someone else. Get over it. I mean life will go on right? Besides, I didn’t like her. She wasn’t worth you. You deserve MUCH better. You’re a “dude” yaar. Kate Moss would bend for you.

The idea of Kate Moss bending for him made Ish beam that captivating smile for the first time in the entire evening.

Josh – Never make someone a priority in your life when you’re just an option in their life.

That line alone could get Josh laid with some fancy literary, media or advertising type.

Josh – There are 2 girls behind.

Ish looked behind and smiled again at those 2 girls

Josh – One’s Korean, looks like and the other’s Indian. I’ve been eye teasing the Korean for sometime. You "take" the Indian.

Ish - Yeah, if we’re lucky.

Josh – (Irritated and Angry) Why do you think that you’d be lucky if she responds to your advances? (He took another swig of his beer). If she does, “fine”, if she doesn’t, “fine”. I mean men like you end up giving so much “bhav” to women and they start growing wings and 100 kgs of attitude on their 50 kg bodies. They begin to think that we need to work for their “attention” and they think they’re doing us a favour if they end up having sex with us. I mean they forget that they enjoy “sex” as well and in reality, they need our “attention” to feel good about themselves.

Sexual discrimination against men was a very touchy topic with Josh.

Ish – Relax yaar, I was kidding (he patted Josh’s back)

Josh – Fuck you. (5 seconds later). Asshole.

Ish – Come on yaar, I’m not that big an asshole. You just said Kate Moss would bend for me, 5 minutes ago.

They laughed. It was 10:30 pm. The evening was moving on well. Life was nice again.

They went up to the girl’s table. They spoke. Well mostly it was Ish who spoke with Sandhya (the Indian girl, a freelance copy writer for 2 advertising agencies)

Josh meanwhile fucked the Korean girl, whose name he couldn’t pronounce, in the loo, as was his fantasy after years of watching American TV shows. They didn’t call each other after the wild rendezvous. What would they talk about?

Ish and Sandhya, called each other, went out, shopped, fucked and broke up 4 months and 14 days later.

Ish phoned Josh, about the breakup.

They met up.

I like Like you.........

2008-03-09T15:45:00.005+05:30

Him - What are you wearing?

Her - It's 3 at night. What do you think I'm wearing, babe?

60 days ago - A restaurant in South Bombay

Nervous energy gripping them both. After all, it was a blind date. She looked absolutely radiant. Even he picked out his clothes with caution. He looked well....presentable.

Her (Breaking the monotony of Silence and the inane, "How are yous") - So Rehan talks a lot about you

Him - I hope he speaks well of me

Her (Smiles) - Yeah, he always seems to put you at a pedestal

Him (Stone Faced) - Well I'm quite brilliant.

They laugh. Nervousness out of the window

Him (Looking into her eyes) - You're looking absolutely splendid

Her (Smiling) - Jesus Christ, you took like 35 minutes to come out with your first compliment on our first date. Doesn't augur too well does it?

Him - I promise to compliment you more often, the next time we go out

Her (Laughing) - You better!

They sip their wine and begin judging each other in silence.

Her - Is he worth the effort?
Is he cute enough?
Or if he's just one of those typical men?
He doesn't have a great sense of dressing, but he can hold a conversation
and makes me laugh occasionally
God, I'm seriously looking pretty right now

Him - Fuck, have I made any wrong moves "yet"?
No Embarrassments, Brilliant.
She's really hot.
7.5/10

Her (Interrupting his thought flow) - So what do you do?

Him - I'm almost done with my MBA, got a real nice job in the Advertising industry. I'm also a writer, software developer and a casual photographer.

Her - Oh, you write?

Him - Yeah I always mention that when I meet women. (Smiling)

Her (Chuckling) - Well Played

Her - But you're still single right now.

She adds a cheeky afterthought

Him - Well Played

Her - I'm just kidding baba, You're nice. (She gently taps her hand on his)

SCORE. He gets excited in his mind.

Him - I write columns for some magazines and websites.

Her - Real nice. What do you write about?

Him - Stuff. Doesn't matter. Tell me about you.

She mostly talks about the nice things about her.

He'l obviously find out the typical not-so-nice details in a couple of months. So will she. Doesn't matter. They'l work through all that. The first few dates are supposed to be electric.

Him - So how come you're single?

Her - What do you mean?

Him - Well women half as pretty as you, are usually guaranteed to have atleast one boyfriend.

Her (Laughing aloud) - What makes you say that?

Him - I'm a guy

Him (Continuing) - With women, you have to just pick and choose the guy you want. That's that. Here we have to build a false friendship just to get her damn number, which she obviously won't give you right away, because she doesn't give her number to strangers. Then we have to work our way up her "relationship levels" (He makes the gesture of the inverted commas in the air) just so that she gets to know we are genuienly nice guys. Then when we think we are almost "there", she'l drop the bombshell saying "You know something, I've really begun to like this guy, He's damn cute and Manager at that law firm and he's hot and he's this and he's that". You realise the guy is 5 years older than you and has twice the money and three times the muscle you have.

She can't stop smiling and laughing at the same time

She rests her hand on his. He loves that.

Her - You, You're probably the most insightful guy I've gone out with.

Him - I hope that's a nice thing

Her - I won't tell.

Him - I don't understand why women have to build this false aura of friggin mystery everytime. I mean it's hard for us guys to understand you anyways. Then you proceed to draw out even complicated puzzles in our heads.

Her - Well we are what we are

Him - You still haven't answered my question about your love life

Her - Well I liked this guy. He was "nice". After some time I realised I didn't "like like" him

Him - What the?....Just repeat what you said

Her - I didn't "like like" him

Him - How old are you?

Her (Chuckling) - 22. Well things were going good at first. I liked him, but then I suddenly realised we were quite different and wanted different things. So it never came to a point where I "liked liked" him. Your understanding what I'm saying?

Him (Confused as a bird) - ABSOLUTELY friggin NOT and I don't even want to make a sodding attempt. I sometimes think generating world peace would be easier than getting through to a woman.

Her (Flashing that cute smile) - Well we are what we are

The evening gave way to night. It was going well. They were in their "private universe" having their "private conversation". It was their first date and time moved by at a leisurely pace. Things were going their way. It was nice.

He walked her back to her place. Kissed her on the cheek while holding her hip as they said their "goodbyes".

Him - You're really looking splendid

Her - Thank you. I really had a nice time with you.

As days passed, they continued to have "nice times". He didn't kiss her on the cheek anymore. Things were going well.

60 days after the first date - On the Phone

Him - What are you wearing?

Her - It's 3 at night. What do you think I'm wearing babe?

Him - Hmm, How was your day?

They spoke. Things that lovers and friends usually talk about. About 27 minutes later

Him - So, What are you wearing?

Her - A nightdress

Him - What are you wearing inside?

Her - As if you don't know

Him - It sounds sexier when you say it

Her - Jesus....You guys naa

Him - Well we are what we are

She smiles. He could still make her smile after all that time.

Him (Breaking her flow) - On another note, you know what?

Her - What?

Him (Soft and Slow) - I really, like LIKE you

Her (Smiling) - I like like you too, baby.

Lightning Crashes.........

2008-02-05T11:50:00.000+05:30

“How are you?”, she asked me.
I’m Fine.

Sunday 13th October, 11:50 AM
I kept the receiver down and gazed back at the television.
The Rugby World Cup Semifinals was to begin in around 30 mins.
South Africa V/S Argentina.

12:00 AM
I had a knife in my stomach. The hows and whys don’t really matter.
Actually nothing really mattered in that instant. The thought of loosing my life and the fact that I was consciously aware that these could be the last minutes of my short life somehow didn’t even make me realize the immense physical pain I was in.

I looked at my pathetic, naked, torn open chest. The fingers of my right hand trying their best to stop the flow of blood, albeit without any success. Liquid has a mind of its own.

I somehow gathered the strength and more importantly the faith to reach my cellphone to call someone. Mama.

I dialed the number. It was busy. “God was playing dirty games with me”

I surmounted every ounce of energy I had left. This was somehow not as glamourous as death as I would liked plus I’m just 22.

I reached my neighbor’s place and rang the bell.

5 seconds.

10 seconds.

15 long seconds. The blood had discolored the grey shorts I was wearing. Not a sight my neighbor would welcome at 12:05 AM.
She opened the door and screamed her throat out.

I waited for her to calm down. I told her to call an ambulance. I knew my legs would give way in another 2, max 5 minutes. The poise was beginning to wither away.

I slumped on the sofa. My neighbour had called everyone in the building. A man held a wet antiseptic cotton around the gaping wound to stop the flow of the liquid. Women were crying. People cared.

People were trying to comfort me, I think. I had no idea what they were saying. I was straining my ears to hear to sound of a halting automobile. Praying for the touch of a doctor’s hands. Hoping my mom somehow got the news by now. She didn’t yet.

The ambulance arrived. I can’t describe the feeling of reassurance one’s feels in such situations, knowing finally that someone is going to “look” at you. Someone who will use his expert hands and mind to see that you no longer feel the pain of a knife stab in your chest. Someone is going to mend you. Someone is going to make you feel fine.

And there I was, from waiting to watch some midnight sport, 30 mins earlier to being placed on a operating table while the doctor injected the anesthetic in my arm after he injected 4 pain killers in my bum.

I felt fine. I actually felt like an “injured dude” from the mafia minus the gun and personality.

A painful x-ray session, a painless ct scan and 2 unconscious operations later, things were looking “up”. I mean I had tubes in every conceivable hole in my body, in my nose, on my wrist, one inside my stomach and one on my d**k.

The next 7 days were pretty much the worst of my life. Living on saline and “eating” through the pipe up my nostrils. Waiting for the next day. Day after day. Day after fucking day. Time somehow filled me with its abundance, especially with the past 2 years where I didn’t have time to be with my friends, to write regularly, to just “be”. I now had time to sleep throughout the day, read the politics section in the newspaper and do the goddamn Sudoku and the rest of the puzzles. Thank the lord. Talk to my relatives. Craving to talk to my girl and know what’s happening outside. Plan the next movie with my friends, flirt with the cute medical interns and oogle at the nurses and their heavenly legs.

There was a lot of pain in the hospital, physical and mental. A lot of sadness and a dearth of hope. Some Cribbed. Some complained. Some accepted each day as their last. Some slept a lot. Some smiled. Some made small talk with the nurses. Some became friends, friends for life.

It was difficult to sleep with so many pipes in you. Try sleeping in one direction for 5-6 hours and you’ll know what I’m talking about. I dreaded the nights. I would hear screams, moans, tears of pain, struggle and general feeling that life was somehow slipping these people by. The mornings somehow brought poetic hope and happiness in the way day does, over night. Plus, early morning meant “sponge bath” from the pretty nurse. Truth be told I never felt anything sexual as in one of those fantasies that we have. I had lost all sensation down there with a cathoder stuck to it.

The hospital was a lesson in living.

You know what, Kenneth?.....Life isn’t as difficult as it is cut out to be. Life isn’t a fucking rat race. You just assume it to be impossible to win without grinding your arse against the competition and the people and the shit that goes on. Give yourself some space. Give yourself a little fucking time, to breathe, to love, to forgive, to enjoy music, to enjoy the company, to experience things, to know the truly important people, to hold her hand, to truly kiss her, to get to know yourself a little bit more because you never know. One minute your awaiting the damn match to start, the next your in the operating table counting backwards to unconsciousness or maybe worse.

Life is good, Kenneth. All you have to do is LIVE IT.

“How are you?”, she asked me, a week later.
I’m Fine.

End of the Beginning........

2007-12-25T14:49:00.000+05:30

A gay guy to his partner – Why don’t you come over to my place right now? We’l celebrate the new year by having animal sex on the floor

The Partner – I’m too drunk, I can’t drive

The Gay Guy – Well then maybe I could come to your place

The Partner – I’m too drunk, I can’t drive

Another one bites the dust. Not much has changed. Except that I’ve put on some weight and not had any sex or even made out this year. YES I have regrown my virginity. My sexual relationship with this girl looks like a bell curve and the emotional relationship represents a zig-zag curve. Yes I have been studying a lot.

The fact that my last year’s new year post is at the bottom of this page says that not much has been written on this blog all through last year and I love writing. It keeps me sane in this bad, manipulating and plastic world. Actually it’s not that bad. But so many things have happened this year. I’ve been overworked. Realized that I’m a good leader. Chosen advertising as my line of work. Realised that I stand nowhere with her. Not truly touched her. Been stabbed in my stomach. Emotionally & Physically scarred for life. Felt truly valued by all people who matter and totally worthless by people who I thought mattered. Watched emotionless while people continued to die in the middle east and Kashmir. Cried while watching Taare Zameen Par. Had this unhealthy obsession of joining the mafia, living that life without actually using the gun (I love The Sopranos) . Fallen in love with the intellect of Brenda Chenowith from Six Feet Under. Fallen out of love and then back with the “Zig-Zag Girl”. Grown up.

And in all this time, the seconds rolled by. The mundane consumed me. The smiles withered and the frowns remembered. The dark dominates the light. Flowing with the flow. Flowing with the fucking flow.

And then you realize, “Hey it’s the 31st of December” . Yet another year. Yet another chance to turn things around. This one is gonna be better than the previous. Another lease of life. False reassurances that things will change because the number in the calendar has changed.

“Kenneth, you’re such a fucking over analyser. Don’t you see the good that happened last year?”, Kate, my underdressed alter ego reminds me.

“Yeah, there’s been more good than bad, but its just easier to remember the fuck ups isn’t it? Besides its fodder for self pity and the blame game. It’s just human tendency to be scared of the rain rather than enjoy the feeling of being truly drenched”

“Oh shut the fuck up, bitch” Kate bitch talked and reasoned in the same sentence. She’s the best.

“You’ve had a lot of things going for you. A career. Money. A brain. Words. Friends that care. A brain”

Shit happens. But you know what? It happens to all of us but that doesn’t mean you wallow in the darkness like a cunt from hell. People go through worse and are smiling. People are enjoying the peace. The holidays. Experience the calm for once sweetheart. Take the time for yourself. Fuck everything”

“Fuck Everything?”

“Yeah baby, Fuck Everything”

“I madly in love with the idea of you, Kate”

“No Baby, You just need me to simplify things for you and give you that fucking reassurance that you crave for every time. Plus you like to see me wear this short black cocktail dress with a promise of release of your pent up sexual frustration”

“You fucking know me. Marry me 10 years later”

“I’m already married to you”

Merry Christmas and have a cracking fucking year ahead.

Coz you just never know.

You just never know.

Stuff in the air.......

2007-09-02T03:34:00.000+05:30

A dark hallway. We were alone, for once. Stuff in the air.

I had been seeing you all the time, but in those short, dark, illuminating seconds, I looked at you for the vey first time. As I held you, you looked beautiful. Stuff in the air.

There wasn’t much light and the strands of hair falling on your face made you look so fucking sexy. Your eager, cocky eyes stared straight at me, as if inviting. I pulled you closer. Time slipped by unnoticed. For the first time I wanted to take my time, rather than ripping off a blouse or unclasping a hook. You made me feel grown up. Stuff in the air.

My hands on your hips, caressing your soft skin under your top. I looked at you. Your inviting lips. The almond eyes. The strand of hair falling over your face so fucking elegantly. You leaned in closer. That precise tilt of your head. My grip getting firm. I tilted my head so feel you against me, to truly get to know you beneath the superficial. Your lips felt like……

You closed your eyes, lady like. I pulled you even closer, touching you. Feeling you. Kissing you. Knowing you. Stuff in the air.

Hands on your hips, moving upwards, to your back. Slow. I wanted to taste me, on you. The kiss was passionate, the feeling, true, the touch, gentle, as I began playing with your hair.

Running my fingers through your hair, while I held your face in my hands. I looked at you. You truly were beautiful, the glow in the dark.

You opened your eyes, looking for me. Uninhibited. Effortless. You were comfortable, comfortable in my grasp. The smile reassured me. The wink, a cheeky reinforcement. Stuff in the air.

I thought about that night tonight. Don’t ask me why?. Maybe it’s the Stuff in the air. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s just you. Whatever it is, I’d just like to tell you, that it was in that dark hallway, a place where we scrambled for privacy, I realized for the first time that I was crazy about you and you could be mine.

Before you disappear completely from view,
I’d just like to say how wonderful it was to sit with you,
The girl I never really knew………………………………

Words of finite wisdom.........

2007-07-21T23:34:00.002+05:30

Lines in and around, that I like and remember.

Gorgeous Gandu (Gorgeous Asshole)………………A Girl to me

Life is a bitch. If it were a slut, it would have been easy….....Somebody I can’t remember

Lets waste time chasing cars……..Snow Patrol

Clean the (entire) house………Mom to me

You’re my bestestest friend………A girl I stand no chance with

I haven't had sex for that long, that if it were possible I would regrow my virginity.......Me

Faiyaz (A boy) wants to have sex with you………A friend

Accidental cleavage turns me on, more than forced cleavage…………My wise opinion

“You’re right”
“I’m Sorry”
“You don’t look fat”
Those are the only 3 lines a woman needs to hear………from “Lost”

I want to fuck any of Tony Soprano’s women……………My not-so-secret wish

“We’l make out when you get here”…………A girl I didn’t make out with

When naked and vulnerable, a woman’s imperfections are what make her endearing………………Some Wise Person

When you’re young you want to change the world. When you’re older you just want to understand it……………Another Wise Person

Never underestimate the power of giving a girl flowers………………All men

Sex isn’t life. But life’s impossible with out it………Amen to that

Never make a decision when you’re high in the sky or down in the dumps………My teacher

It’s easy to love people in China. It’s tougher to love the person living next door………My pop

I'm a great quitter. I come from a long line of quitters. My Father was a quitter, my Grandfather was a quitter, I was raised to give up………George Castanza (My favorite person)

You know lesbians...they see me and they think this is why I am not a heterosexual………George Castanza

Seduction is enticing someone into doing something what they secretly want to do already……Me

Before you disappear completely from view,
I’d just like to say how wonderful it was to sit with you,
The girl I never really knew…………………………………

Did you like any?

The Guy's Mall..........

2007-06-22T10:42:00.000+05:30

A girl with long flowing hair and a short flowing skirt opened the door for me. Who knew that was all the pretty I was going to have, that evening.

But it wasn’t about women. It wasn’t about legs. It wasn’t about stealing glances. It wasn’t about plunging necklines. I wasn’t even in the “mood” of getting aroused. For once.

It was about boys. (I’m not gay). It was about what we liked to do. Smoke. Drink. Abuse unnecessarily. Give unnecessary advice as to how Christiano Ronaldo should dribble past those Chelsea defenders in the FA Cup final.

I was in a sports bar. There was more beer flowing than I had pissed throughout my life.The pre-match analysis had begun and the girls inside were already impatient. They made faces that we make when they take us shopping.

The match began. The beer was flowing. Ciggies lit. I don’t do either so was feeling left out.

I picked the menu card and my balls exchanged places. Everything was so damn expensive. Made me think that they were giving Kate Moss free with whatever you order.

I had 200 bucks with me. The cheapest thing was peanuts, for 70 bucks. It’s not a metaphor, they were actually selling peanuts for 70 fucking bucks. Sounds funny just repeating that. If I would pay 70 bucks for peanuts, then every morning, I would have to look in the mirror and call myself a “chutiya” (dickhead) for the rest of my life.

So I didn’t get anything.

2 minutes into the match. And I was hungry again. I was sitting, on the center barstool and was very easily noticeable, partly because my part of the table was the only part which was empty, devoid of liquor or those things they have with liquor.

The bartender finally made a pass on me :

“Hey man……I’m pouring u a beer”

The bastard was very forward.

“Don’t, DON’T!!!......I’m alright”. People around me began staring. The boring match didn’t help.

“Do you have coffee?”. I tried.

“What???”. He belched as if I had asked for his wife, for a night.

“Oh Come on. I didn’t ask for your wife. Don’t look so fucking stunned”. I muttered (in my head ofcourse)

The stares were all on me. I was stealing attention from Christiano Ronaldo.

“Cold Coffee?”. I wanted to play with him.

He wasn’t amused. The eyes said it all. I’m sure he hadn’t met my “type” yet.

I was beginning to enjoy this. I told you the match was boring.

“No, we don’t”. He kept his nerve.

“Gimme French Fries”, I ordered humbly.

“With what?”.

I dreaded that.

“With what?”. I repeated like a dumb fuck.

“Yeah, with what?”. He was embarrassing me more than my parents have done in 22 years. More than that, he was winning.

“Hmmm……With Water, Thank You!”. My insides were shaking. I was laughing like a madman on the inside.

I think I won. My friend was laughing quite loud and this girl gave me a cute smile. Yeah baby, I definitely won.

“That would be 195 bucks”. The bastard haunted me again.

“A hundred and ninety five?”

“Ya”

I hand him all the money I had on me.

“Pretty expensive init?”, Cute girl was on my side.

“Yeah…….but at 195, I’m sure I’m gonna find some diamonds inside………I’l give them all to you”

Cute Smile.

I won.

Who won the match?

Who the fuck cares? I don’t support either teams (which confused the people beside me, when I was cheering both teams like a madman).

I left the place with 5 bucks in my wallet. My friend didn’t have any money as usual. We walked home and had 2 cutting chais (Half-tea). It felt better than the French fries.

Some advice. If you happen to go to one of these places
1. Don’t take your girlfriend. They ruin the experience and get freaked out with the noise.
2. See that you’re loaded with money, or you may end up calling yourself a “Chutiya”.

Ironical needs.........

2007-05-09T21:45:00.000+05:30

“I wish I had a younger brother like you”
“You remind me so much, of my dog”
“You’re such a harmless guy”

Women keep delivering these innovative, ego-testing, dick-cutting lines to us and we have learnt to deal with it for 22 years or more.
Trust me. I’ve gotten 2 of the above 3. You guess which ones.

I think, they do it to establish the fact that you are nowhere close to their league which always seems to be a person :
1. 3-4 years older than you
2. Having 10 times the bank balance you currently have
3. A “Nice-Boy” to take home and a “Bad-Boy” to take to bed. Confusing??
Tell me bout it
4. Looks : “Cute” and “Manly” at the same time
5. Having twice the muscle and half the fat that you do

And ABOVE all

6. “CARING, KIND, HONEST, UNDERSTANDING……<10,000 sweet demanding adjectives>…MAN.

Good luck finding one of those non-existent bastards.

Another trait of the “mean and manipulative sex” is that they claim that nobody can “know” and “predict” them.
Try this out:
Tell ur girlfriend or ur friend, “I know you inside out”.
Check out the “killer look” and “defensive words” you get in return. It’s consistent with every girl. It’l make you laugh.
I don’t know. Maybe they feel, “Vulnerable, Exposed, Naked, Defeated, A loss of mental foothold”
So this is it. A girl doesn’t like it when a guy can “predict” and “know” & “understand” her inside out. But if you ask her what she wants in her guy and 10 times outta 10 you’ll get the reply, “I want him to ‘understand’ me.
Ironical?

2 down, 1 to go.
Now this is a problem mostly with Indian women. I’ve not gone out or done a foreigner, “yet”.

They seem to take AGES to move up the relationship hierarchy.
I mean she has 23 levels between, “You’re my friend” to “You’re my boyfriend”.(The guy is mentally working his way up her skirt by the 2nd level)
(Btw “boyfriend” means she’s comfortable to go down on you in a theatre.) I’m so gonna loose my female readers and this girl I like, after this post. Sorry sweetheart, but it still was my birthday, 4 days ago.

So get this, the 23 levels
“You’re a friend”
“You’re a good friend”
“You’re a very good friend”
“You’re a close friend”
“You’re a very close friend”
“You’re a very very close friend”
“You’re my best friend”
“You’re my bestest friend”
“You’re my bestestest friend”

You get the picture right?. Ofcourse you do. You’ve been through the charade. I was dumped on the 11th level once, because she didn’t “feel” like it anymore.
“Fuck your feeling”, I told her.
Ok I didn’t tell her that. Which man would have the guts to pull that one off except Antonio Banderas??

Anyways, I’ve got to end this, cos a girl with a “very low neck and short skirt exposing her silky legs” just sat beside me in the bus and asked me seductively, “Hi, how are you doin?”

Kiddin.
I just wanted to give this a fairytale ending.
In truth, beside me is seated a middle-aged man, moving dangerously close to me.
I’m feeling used.

It's Working........

2007-04-07T11:20:00.000+05:30

Middle of the Mediterranean, I lay on a sleep chair on a gorgeous yatch with my friend Kate, for company. The two of us sunbathing. Washing away the tiredness, the fuck-ups, the misunderstandings, the irregularities of life, the mess. Everything.

I especially needed the vacation. I’ve been miserable as fuck, lately. Ill grandmother, the girl I like, my frustrated pop, all contributing to the hot air balloon of sadness. I’ve not been “happy” for fuck knows how long. So yeah, sleeping like a king in the middle of the “blue-green” waters of the Mediterranean with a gorgeous semi-naked girl for company and blankness of the mind works perfectly for me.

“Do you want a smoke?”, Kate asked.

“You know I don’t smoke, right?”

“You still haven’t answered the question”, she continued.

I ignore her, going back to my state of peace.

“I’ve got some cocaine, do you wanna?”, she interrupted, oh-so-casually.

“What the fuck? Where the hell did you get that from?”

“Oh shut up, ur giving me the tone of a pussy. We’re in the middle of the ocean. I had to be prepared”

“Ur such a prick”. That’s the first time I called a girl, a prick. It fit perfectly.

“Don’t be such a pussy. I’m making you a joint. Drown ur sad life in it. It will work. Trust me.”

“Don’t call me a pussy”. I muttered (like a pussy)

She made me a joint. “Here you go, my “tiger”, take a swig”, she winked at me.

I felt like giving it a shot. We were in the middle of the sea anyways.

I began inhaling.

“Is it working?” she asked excitedly.

“No, Where did you get this from?, a grocery store?”

“Oh shut up, It takes time to “grow” on you”

“I continued inhaling, little by little, for the simple excitement that I was doing a drug. I was getting wild, for once”

“Is it working?”, she interrupted my sojourn.

I didn’t reply. It started.

Slowly descending the realities of the world and ascending the heights of fantasy, splendour and make-believe.

Life seemed simple. I wasn’t over-analysing. I wasn’t thinking. “I let ME be”.

It’s better this way. You realize the root of all fuckups is that ur mind has gotten all fucked up. Too many details. Too many faces. Too much competition. Too many expectations. No time for yourself.

I began emptying the clutter in my mind. Life isn’t a completed sequence of days, but like a “zig-zag” train journey. Look outside your window, watch the trees, the people, the landscape, the simple beauty, ther’s so much of it. Take the time. Let “you loose control.

The cocaine had become my miracle drug, life my friend and sadness a distant memory.

“Is it working?”

“It’s working, sweetheart. It’s working”

Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” was playing in the background. (how convenient). The words made so much sense, for once. I was Roger Waters.

Let yourself be, I thought. There are 10,000 people and things and circumstances and some more people, dictating the “going-ons” of my life. A big ”FUCK YOU” to all of them (with my cute smile, ofcourse).

The song was then, abruptly replaced by a loud banging sound. It was my alarm. The dream had ended. It had “climaxed” well.

Brushed my teeth, had my bath, got into some really comfortably trousers and a mind-blowing shirt. I looked in the mirror. I looked great.

I walked out of the house. I wasn’t thinking anything.

“Its Working.”

Same old new year........

2007-01-22T00:28:00.000+05:30

We sat there, none too eager, 3 guys accompanied by fried chicken, wafers, DVDs, conversation and the house to ourselves. It was everything we needed. We don’t really do much during New Years eve. Never felt the need to. Just another night to eat and have fun reasonless.

I see people draw full circles of their lives for the previous year. Make sense of it. Tabulate the good that happened from the bad. Plans and resolutions for the future. I do that too (Except resolutions. Those are too difficult).

The previous year went well. Did really well in my graduation and MBA entrances. Currently doing my MBA from a pretty decent institute.(This post will get better)

I lost a few friends. They’ve become online acquaintances. Made a whole lotta other friends. Lost a girl. Totally confused about this one.

Saw a lotta people die in train bombs, right in front of my eyes and the glint in the eye of a smiling baby an hour later. Questions about the future, confusion about the present. Decisions and then some more. Trying to walk the journey, day after day, day after fucking day.

I met this lady, 32, divorced with 3 kids. She has HIV. It was transmitted by the husband, who divorced, thinking it was her who infected him. He died 6 months ago. She was left with the 3 kids (all infected as well) with no money and blankness staring her in the face. She supports the kids by sewing clothes. She has begun to loose her sight increasingly in the past 3 months. The virus is working. She’s loosing the efficiency. Too slow nowadays. Lesser money. Hungry kids. Still she wakes up in the morning thinking, “I’ve woken up”. “Gonna get ‘this and that’ done today”. “I am going to live through this day”. I admire that. I think she’s more alive than most of us combined. I wish her well for the new year, hoping against hope, I can do so again.

He has just stepped outta other college. Done with the MBA. Glossy title on his head. Excited. It’s time to get to the real thing. Using his head. Handling people. Handling her. Handling them. Handling himself. Late hours. Meetings. 2-minute lunches. No time for sports. Wild sex with the petite secretary (his fantasy, not mine). Money. More money. Power struggle. Life. He asked for it. He craved for it. I wish him well. I really do. After all I’m gonna be THERE in a year and it seems fun, wicked & fucking exciting from where I’m sitting.

I take the train home. Cool breeze ruffling strands of my uncombed hair. I see this girl on the platform, around 5 years old, smiling at me, waving her hand to me as if to say “bye-bye” just as the train starts to leave the platform. I wave back and she gives me the “thumbs-up”.
Have a great year everyone. I’m gonna LIVE this year rather than just EXIST.

I’ve written this in the train and a petite lady just entered at Bandra ( a place ). She would make a good secretary.

Finish…….for now.

Transition.........

2006-09-06T00:31:00.000+05:30

I got off the train and decided to walk, ditching the bus for once. I had “time” on my hands today. 4:00 PM.

As I strolled down the bridge, the cool air lightened up my mood, the sky was getting darker. Exactly the kind of weather that women refer to as “romantic weather”. The sky could open up any time to droplets of water quenching everybody’s thirst for some sort of excitement to drift from their mundane lives.

I saw a man, suit in hand, tie loose at the neck, almost barking commands on his sleek cell phone. He was sweating, even in this climate. Maybe he had a larger share of problems than you and I have. Maybe he was just being human.

I saw street kids playing cricket in their school uniforms, in a small passage area (called gully, here). They had probably just arrived from school. Most of them would start working on the countless “odd-jobs” available in an hour from now returning home at 1 AM, just so that they can earn that extra “bread” for the family. 4 hours of sleep and 20 hours of mundane existence. No sign of apathy or anguish. They carried on as if life was fair. Maybe they had a smaller share of problems that you and I have. Maybe they were just being human.

I saw a man sleeping on the sidewalk. He looked “well-to-do” (with those clothes and the rolex watch), so I assumed he wasn’t a beggar. Maybe he was too drunk to figure. Maybe he had lost a lotta money in the stockmarket or the casino, or the nightclub or was just kicked out of the house by whoever. I didn’t wanna figure.

I saw a woman holding out her baby in her arms. The lay half awake creating her own sweet version of the hectic going-ons.

Then there were the first few drops of rain. I knew because the toddler had broken into a smile, as a drop of rain rolled down her cheeks.

I walked home, consumed by people, drops of rain and life.

City of mine..............

2006-07-19T03:07:00.000+05:30

The men were catching up at the end of their day at work, playng cards. They did that everyday, on the train journey back home. That was their way of "male-bonding". Discussing the slimness of the neighbour's wife or the "sluttyness" of the boss's secretary, whilst cursing their ill luck for not getting the right cards at the right time.

Then in an instant, there was a smear on blood on the "queen of hearts", and then more blood consuming and wetting the rest of the pack. Their luck deserted for good, their lives taken.The 7 bomb blasts, in the city trains had in the space 9 minutes, consumed 186 and injured 727.

What followed, is something predictable for any Mumbaikar.....panic and grit of its inhabitants.
The fact that the bombs exploded in the heart of the city and dismantled the transport system that moved around 6.5 million of its people on a daily basis didnt seem to diter the spirits of the city or its people. The "broken-trains" as my 5 year old cousin referred to them, were towed within 2 hours and the trains resumed the services of reaching the stranded to their safe homes.

The next day people were back to their offices, using the same trains and had coffee in the hallways having the same conversations of what happened in what weeknight soap or whose mother-in-law is more of a bitch or whose skirt is more tiltilating today.

Ask New York or London or Madrid to have heart like ours.

The city was back, predictably. It allways would. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldnt be the last. The riots and the blasts of 93 isn't forgotten, but they aren't remembered either. Mumbai picked itself up. Mumbai lived. Just this same week, Mumbaikars had been inflicted of 5 days of the dastardly moonsoon, followed by the shiv sena cunts rioting The city because a staute was dishonoured and now THIS. Mumbai lives, with its chest out.

But for how long can we sustain these attempts of maiming the city? There is no doubt on the spirit of the city, but maybe it because of this spirit that Mumbai continues to be a prime target for them. The politicians know that the city would recover and it can conveinently go about its normal business of doing nothing, because all would be forgotten and Mumbai would be back.

Thers gotta be a need to demand answers. Get the people involved and hang them outside Hutatma Chowk. Just having the power to take it all in won't do it anymore, or else "yeh terrorists kandhe pe bait ke kaan main muteinge" (The terrorists would sit on our shoulders and piss in our ears), one wise old man tells me. Our patience has been tested like the tension of a strong rubber band and this is probably the breakpoint of that patience, where we tell the administration to get off their arses and hunt for the culprits and their masterminds and put them to book.

Thers been a huge call by the whole of Mumbai this time, from editors to columnists, to the learned, to most importantly, the ordinary Mumbaikar that this great city has taken too much shit to keep quiet anymore.

Mumbai is back on its feet. Mumbai is back to making money. Mumbai has that gorgeous smile again.
As I see some men singing "bhajans" (a loud prayer that annoys me), right across me in the train compartment and on the other side I see a group of 6 men playing cards, one of them sayin "Fucking Maderchod(mother-fucker), whers the 10 of spades?" and the other guy almost replying to him "Agle hafte main us Mrs Gupta ka game bajane wala hoon" (I'm gonna fuck Mrs Gupta next week), I think to myself. I absolutely love this fucking city of mine.

Greed........

2006-07-05T00:04:00.000+05:30

“Kenneth, it’s interestin and I liked the pitch, but I don’t think I need it at the moment. Thanx for ur time”, said the middle-aged managing director of the company, with a please fuck off smile.

Time to bring out the big gun.

“Mr. Rohit Mehta, the CEO of Enigmatic, from the floor above, purchased it yesterday”.

“He did?”, the MD, changing his position in that sweet leather recliner of his.

“You know him?”, I fake.

“Not really, but we work in the same building, so names float, u know?”, he blurts with that cooperate smile of his.

“Well Rohit speaks of you as a bosom buddy”. He didn’t .

“So I guess you’re more than just a name in these places”. I stroke the millionaire’s ego.

“I try”, he says with that I rock smile.

I hand him over the form and my Mont Blac to sign.

Deal.

How is this guy different from my 3 year old cousin who wants a new baby-bike because her friend has just gotten one?

We grow up but never lose that quality of having the greed to be one step ahead or atleast on an even keel with a friend who doubles up as a competitor.

I guess after all, its all about the ability to show face, when you meet the guy next time.

Sounds naïve, but that’s how human mentality goes and honestly I don’t give a fuck. I made my money judging human psychology (which isn’t very difficult, trust me).

I left my job of being a marketing executive last week, for boredom of doin the same thing again and again. The learning had stopped, and plus the traveling is immense and I lost my cellphone during one of these trips.

So I’m gonna become a software developer or help my friends who’ve just started their retail softwares business, while preparing for my MBA entrance again. I did well the last time but I didn’t really like the colleges I got. I want the best.

Life seems risky at the moment, but then again I’m 21 and I can take a few risks and make a few mistakes, cos at the end of the day I wanna sit on that leather recliner and watch the next football world cup on my personal 78 inch LCD TV (with a nice arm candy(s) )

Some people.......

2006-03-18T22:55:00.000+05:30

As I strolled around the hallway of the second floor of the hospital to get a cup of coffee, I overheard some people talking in a tone that was more bitter than genuine,

“Has she finalized the will?”, blurted the middle aged man.

“I don’t think so” replied another woman. “She’s deliberating unnecessarily”.

The operation theatre is nearby.

I grab my latte and head down to where my mom was having her ECG and Laparoscopy tests.

The ECG tests turned out to be clear and the other one would take a while to begin with, so my mom told me to get some lunch.

I wasn’t in the mood to eat, hadn’t eaten in 3 days, but I couldn’t tell her that. I called a friend and asked him to accompany me to the sea face that was near the hospital.

Watching the gentle ripples and calm seas, is time well spent for me, clears the clutter in my mind.

My friend was eating his food, ordered from the takeout across the road, while I sat there motionless doing what I liked to do, in my own private universe.

A few minutes later, I came back to my senses and realized my friend was sending a SMS.

“Done with your food so quick?”, I asked with a smile.

“No I gave it to that lady”, as he pointed out to a beggar woman, who was sharing the food with her 3 kids, “She was looking at leftovers of other people’s snacks and I couldn’t take it, so I gave her my food”.

I thought about the good in people for fellow human beings, the good that is still present and also the selfishness that still hounds the minds of people, sometimes even directed at their own family members. Maybe it evens out.

I walk up to that lady and give her some money, “Aap bhi kuch kha lo” (Please eat something for yourself too).

“Jiyo bete” (You will live well, sons), she says with a tender smile on her face.

“You hungry?”, I ask him as we depart from the sea face, I had suddenly gotten back my appetite. Maybe it was the sea.

“Yeah man, very”, he replies, as I watch one of her kids playing with a ball with a smile on his face.

Life is good.

Solitude........

2006-03-09T23:54:00.000+05:30

11 : 39 PM

I’m feeling lousy.

No particular reason.

My mom has a check up at the hospital tomorrow for chest pains, but it’s not that.
With the studying period complete, maybe I’ve been too much of “me” time, where I don’t do anything constructive, which could be dangerous if handled wrongly.
I reviewed a movie in the morning, so I would be a complete looser if I go for another one right now and besides ther’s nobody for accompaniment. Maybe it’s the lack of sex. I haven’t had sex for such a long period that if it were possible, I would re-grow my virginity.

Ther’s one advantage of feeling “out and out lousy”, I observe. You should write, or type. I mean you can put thoughts to paper when you have your mind with overflowing thoughts and opinions to work with, with time to kill, rather than when you’re happy, busy or having an overdose of sex. I mean I’m not a profound thinking person, nor a prolific writer like the authors of blogs on the right, but it’s a better alternative than playing solitaire for 30-60 minutes and winning just the six games, which I’ve been doing quite a lot lately.

I just received an anonymous IM on my yahoo messenger saying “Hi, I’m Mark. I want to grind your cock”. Jesus Christ. I told him it his not humanly possible for a guy to “grind” another guy. I’ve signed out of yahoo now.

It’s time like this, I get “kinda” nostalgic and think bout the recent past and the embarrassments it brought, the sexual tension, the academic achievements, the estacy of seeing one’s name in print, the women who dumped me without trace(for greener pastures), the cricket match I lost last Sunday. It’s good when you sit down and take notice, watch the waves, instead of just swimming aimlessly. You get to learn a little bout urself and the people around you and the “going-ons” and what you could do tomorrow to better the situation.

The blinking cursor has been staring at me for the past 3 minutes. I don’t have anything else to say for the moment.

11 : 47 PM

I’m feeling lousy. Maybe it’s the music. Dire Straits.

If you have read right upto here, don’t you think I’ve robbed you of your time?, you could have done something better (hopefully). If not, write, or I could send Mark to talk to you.

Slippery.........

2006-02-21T01:53:00.000+05:30

I’ve received a few interview calls for the MBA from some good institutes.

6 months ago, I would have been ecstatic at knowing that I could actually be studying in a Management Institute with people who are around 2-3 years elder to me and actually competing with them for a quality managerial job in a multinational software company. But lately I’ve been getting the jitters for some strange reason.

The realization that 2 years down the line. I wouldn’t be 20, I wouldn’t be free. I wouldn’t be able to play cricket as and when I please. Wouldn’t see friends that I meet daily. Wouldn’t be able to give a damn about the ‘state of affairs’. Wouldn’t be able to just be a kid.

I would be tied up in a web of making big decisions, executing them to perfection, earning the tune of money that I’ve haven’t seen yet.

I’m scared of going wrong. I’m scared of measuring up to expectations. Theirs and my own.

I know that’s the realization of life and that’s “what everybody goes through” and all that jazz, but somewhere down the line the fear does grip. “What if I fuck up?”, and if I do, What next?

I meet relatively successful people who tell me, “Life is a bitch”. Where I stand, I don’t see much other than struggle. I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just observing by the ‘going-ons’ of things around me and it doesn’t really seem like ‘fun’.

The world, that a few months ago looked ‘conquerable’ suddenly looks like a gigantic lump of arsenic, in which you would have to float in and discover your own comfortable area and survive.

I know it’s a 20 year old’s tantrum who’s about to discover the light beyond the cosy cocoon, but I just wish this ‘survival’ game isn’t as hard a dogfight as I’m imagining in my head right now and that ther’s ample space for everybody who deserves it.

Two............

2006-02-01T18:19:00.000+05:30

She sat there, wearing that black dress. She wasn’t the only one in the bar that evening…… and yet she was. He was sitting at a distance, transfixed. She knew he had his eyes on her for quite sometime now. He looked at her again. His stare, reciprocated by her this time, almost instantaneously. He sat himself at the barstool beside her.

“Hi”

She parted her lips and broke into a genuine smile, “Hey”

“Vodka?”, he asked.

“Sure”

She continued, “So….What’s your story?”

“Its Saturday night and here I am alone in a bar, sipping a drink, so…… precious little to say”

Another sip.

“And what is that precious little?”.

“That I’m just another unknown stranger to you”.

Another one of those winning smiles, only this time it was filled with tease and intent.

He looked at her. She looked at him. He turned his gaze to her lower lip.

Comfortable silence ensued as time trickled away motionless.

They get to know each other a little bit, not that it mattered.

They explored each other. She used her eyes. They sat there isolated in their own private universe with alcohol in their hands.

Frank Sinatra’s - The way you look tonight had begun to play on the jukebox.

“Wanna dance?”, he asked

“Sure”

The set themselves on the floor, her hand on his shoulder, his on her hips.

The music plays on. The strangers sway their bodies in a passionate symphony, eyes fixed at each other with his grip on her body getting tighter with every beat. The distance recedes. The breath intense. The gaze focused. Lips quivering with intent.

The song nears its completion. Their lips locked.

She repeats her devilish smile, “Your Place?”.

Father and Son..........

2006-01-25T02:12:00.000+05:30

So, I was sitting at the back rows of the left aisle of the Church, Sunday morning. The mass had ended………finally. I usually continue sitting after a mass has ended. I like the silence. Its good for contemplation, not the philosophical contemplation……..rather, things like what do I have to get sorted out by this week, rating the women passing by and giving them grades on 10, talking to God and all that. So I was doing my drill and a pastor (who knew me) walked by……..This is the conversation.

Father : Hi son

Me : Why the fuck do u refer to every guy as ‘son’?

I didn’t say that……..instead

Me : Hi father

Father : So Kenneth, I’ve been noticing you.

He scared the Be-Jesus out of me by saying that.

Me (I’m fucked tone) : noticing……..me?

Father : Yes Kenneth, I’ve noticed you’re the only boy who stays after mass and actually prays his heart out

If only he knew………….

Me : Naa…..I just like being with myself sometimes, Father.

Father (Pensive) : I wanted to ask you something, son.

Scared again.

Me (False confidence) : Go ahead father.

Father (Calm as ever) : Have you ever considered joining the priesthood…….son?

Stunned silence as I watched Jesus’s statue on the wall with the words “Halleluiah” sung by a chorus ringing in my head.

The bitch had gone too far.

Me (Total Confidence) : No Father……..haven’t given it a thought and wont ever.

Father (Still calm) : Why Kenneth?

Me : It doesn’t fit in my scheme of things.

Father : It doesn’t……….why not?

Me (up straight) : To be honest, I don’t see myself living the rest of my life without sex

Just then I realized, that I had uttered the word ‘sex’ within the confinement of a church a.k.a. house of God. If that wasn’t bad, I continued…..

Me : And I love women….

Father (Smile) : So you think I don’t love women?

Me : huh?

Father : Son, we all have to give up things in order to achieve things.

Me : I’m really not in the ‘zone’ you are in, father

Father : I was just like you when I was growing up. Had a lotta passion in my life.

1. He generated pictures of his ‘passion’ in my head
2. A person who probably hasn’t seen a nude woman/man in the past 20 years compared himself to me.
He had begun to dent my pride and confidence.
I said nothing.

Me (with urgency) : I think I need to leave now, Father.

Father : okiedokie, consider what I’ve told you son.

Yes I have, I turned it into a blog post.

Father : Praise the Lord, Son.

Me : Praise the Lord, Father.

Things she'l never say..............

2006-01-14T00:23:00.000+05:30

1. I am wrong

2. I was wrong

3. Loved every second of meeting yor mother.........could we do it again?

4. I hate shoes

5. I hate shopping

6. Don't give me that sentimental bullshit

7. I want to fuck you

8. I hated Titanic

9. I have no problems if you're going out with your ex-girlfriend casually, she seems nice

10. What are you wearing?

11. Don't get melodramatic

12. I have the same taste in music

13. When are you gonna "DO" me?

14. I can finish the entire pizza in 7 minutes flat

15. I don't care how I look

16. Fuck Pretty Woman.........lets watch Saving Private Ryan

17. I play rugby too

18. It's my fault not yours...........meaning It's your fault, not mine

19. I will stop nagging you

20. You spend a lot of time with me

21. Brad Pitt is so ugly...she may never say that even when Brad turns 92

22. I hate things in an organized manner

23. Shove those flowers up your arse

24. I hate walks on beaches

25. Sunsets suck

Ok, this has gotten long.......tell me what I've missed

P.S - I got a 91 percentile in the MBA entrance exam and I just recieved a call from the editor of a national magazine for a writting stint......so a pretty cool start to the year.

Scared of shadows................

2005-12-21T01:00:00.000+05:30

The new found freedom a 20 year old achieves by acquiring a 3 room flat for oneself can never be explained in words. It’s a sense of “stepping out”, of freedom, of privacy, of not having to be worried of the folks screamin whilst your listening to Pink Floyd at a rather loud volume, something I was doing last night, whilst cleaning my desk.

I couldn’t hear the doorbell thus. Its only after repeated fist banging on my door did I realize that I had my first visitor.

“Your neighbour has been murdered”, said the burly policeman, in a as-a-matter-of-fact kinda way.

“What?” in a hoarse tone, was the only insipid remark I could muster.

“Your next door neighbour………Do…..Did you know her?”, he asked

“No, I don’t, I’m a new entrant”

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

“Well, yes……….once, today in the afternoon, in the elevator………..She welcomed me in the building”

“Well, she has been murdered, head decimated from the body. The place is in a pool of blood. She was probably killed around an hour ago. Did you hear anything?”

“No, Nothing of any sort”, I wanted to throw up.

“Well the door was open”, He continued “We are investigating the boyfriend, who discovered her body, on returning home after buying a pack of cigarettes, he says he went down for barely 20 minutes, so if he’s speaking the truth, it must have been done within those 20 minutes. Well anyways, you let us know if you see or hear anything unusual” he reiterated in a calming manner and rushed back to the site

I nodded expressionless, too stunned by the going ons of the past 20 minutes. I noticed the a crowd of forensics and cops trying to cordon the outside of her door. I walked a little to my left to get a inquisitive view and I noticed the red walls of the drawing room. I rushed back to my apartment, senseless, featureless, scared.

I closed the door…………and made sure it was closed. The permutations had begun in my head. University going girl. 21. Boyfriend was “supposedly” out. 20 minutes, whilst I was listening to music, the girl who welcomed me………

And then to the gory details.

Head decimated from her body. Who would do that?. Serial killer on the loose? My door was 5 meters away, albeit locked. How close was I? I was fucking scared.

I had absolutely no friends in this alien city to call. How was I gonna sleep?. I couldn’t concentrate, I thought TV could provide some distraction, but it didn’t. I went in, closed the windows as hard as I could and then checked the knob more than 3 times. I couldn’t decide which is less scary, the bathroom door open or closed. I left it open. I turned on all the tube lights and bulbs that each room had and gently rested on the bed. 3 hours and I lay with my eyes wide open. I wrestled with my head that I was being paranoid, that right now my building is the most secure building in the city, but the futile attempts to reassure my very scared mental state didn’t work. Nightmare followed a nightmare. The lights were on but I couldn’t stop visualizing shadows. I was just hoping against hope that I don’t hear a vessel fall to the ground in the kitchen or the familiar wooden door creaking. There were noises that I could hear in my head. Those noises turned to screams. 3:30 AM.

The sun rises at 6:30 AM, I was waiting. Yes, call me paranoid. I was thinking of taking a sleeping tablet, but then I would be the easiest prey for him if I were asleep. So I didn’t. I put on the TV. Jay Leno was on. I watched it. I flipped through channels. Sports, news, Sports, Sports, Porn, Sports.

Rays of sunshine hit the drawing table. I couldn’t imagine that a ray of light could make me feel this good. I made a toast and coffee, got ready for college. I left for college, noticing the policemen still working.

Right side of the wrong road.............

2005-11-30T00:13:00.000+05:30

Turn of a page.

It's supposed to be different.
It isn't.
Same place, same struggle, resigned to fate, conformed to conventionalism.
The sameness consumes me.
It judges me.

The responsibilities and accountability are wagging their serpent tongues on my miniscule soul, which as I gather cannot take it anymore.
The pressure stares at me, shredding me. I’m blinded, tired and worn out.
I keep trying.
I’m a tryer.
I’m not a winner yet, I know, unlike what songs like “We’re the champions” tell me.
Although, I may be one someday.
Till then, “Take each day as it comes”, useless sages tell me.
Do they even know what’s going on?
Have they ever hit rock bottom?
And if they have, do they have the mettle to scratch the walls to make their way back again………..only to realize that there’s another fall in the offing?
Can you give your all then?
Have you ever won still?
Some of you have, I guess.
I guess I have to emulate you few.
Soul searching required.

Turn of a page.

She hasn’t called yet. Its been 2 months. I made the last call.
You may gather I’m egoistic.
Maybe its just self-respect.
But, she not calling me bothers me.

Turn of a page.

I’ve got to gather the last droplets of reserve and energy left in me for that final push.
People are eager.
They expect.
They want a better life.
They want me to provide it to them.
How the fuck am I to self doubt my capabilities despite the odds, after looking at those deep, wanting, searching eyes.
Am I gonna make it?
Is there a place for me?

Turn of a page.

I’m no “the grass is greener on the other side” kind of a person. But I’m just hoping for some luck to go my way for once. Although I’ve never been a believer of luck. Desperation has brought me to a point of changing certain beliefs, it does that to people, don’t it?
Makes you know, who the fuck you really are.
Reassurance needed.
We all need it.
No matter how small the matter at hand, we need to know even if we are at the right side of the wrong road.

As self-belief trickles down my mind in abundance, I know I will sail through, coz I’m too fucking deserving not to.

Ode...............

2005-11-24T01:32:00.000+05:30

"Munich was nice too.............I mean, not as franetic as London, Japan and the others... but it was good enough", said the ex-rocker...."I don't remember how many shows we did there, maybe 4, maybe 6, dont remember.......but then how much could you possibly remember about glory".

"Tell me more", I could see he wanted to tell me more
"I lived........Life Rocked, the fame seemed like a never ending train and everything just seemed like getting better than it allready was"
"We started off sober and low as everybody usually does, you know?" I nod.
"Suddenly we had our private jets and were sipping scotch for breakfast", as he gulped the water after taking in his stress relieving pills.
"3 months and Manchester knew us. 6 months and the world knew us", "The ripped jeans and adequate shirts were replaced with the Gucci leather jackets, the Ray bans, Suede leather shoes, heaving breasts to rest our hands on, limos with those drivers accompanied, people to pour our whiskey, the music owned us, the drugs consumed us, we consumed women mixed with alcohol and heaven seem like our toilet where we reigned in the alley of paradise"

"What changed?", I asked.
"Everything", he replied

"It got to us........inevitable really, but it really got to us", as he takes another sip from the glass of water.
"Drugs?" I hinted.
"Yeah, a major part of it....... yeah, drugs money and fame proved to be our undoing", "It had to end mate, nothing lasts forever, but atleast we lived whilst we could"
"Your the only living member", I remarked.
"Yeah, David fought against the bottle, Mike jumped naked off his building thinking he could fly, Sam had a freaky accident, I work in a bank and take my pills every afternoon"

"what's in store?"
"I don't really know, I used to be scared, not anymore, I may write a fucking autobiography, those things sell u know, I'l just add a lil spice here and there, it'l probably fetch me some money. I need it badly, i need to get some repairing done with the house, its getting pretty difficult to live a charmed life nowadays, with the economy and all, you know?"

"I know"

Festivities........

2005-11-01T00:58:00.000+05:30

A Crowded bazaar of clothes and sweets, New Delhi (Capital Of India)

An Brit Journolist and his Spanish Girlfriend, 2 tourists, having tea at a restaurant in the bazaar.

Him : Pretty hot, ain't it?

Her : (wiping the sweat of her brow), yeah...but it was worth it, lots of clothes in the bag and 40 dollars spent cumulatively....(smile)

tea arrives

Her : India is one heck of a crowded country, look at these people, swarming the shops...(As she points to the nearby shops)

Him : Yeah, its a festive season out here, You've got Diwali, the festival of lights on 1st (November) and Id on the 5th. Lots of festivals out here,

sip of tea

A bomb explodes 50 meters away.

She drops the cup of hot tea onto her lap.

Jerky, panic, fear.....

Her : (loud) FUCK!!!....Let's get the fuck outta here...

Him : (Grabs her hand) WAIT, wait right here, there might be another one planted closeby because of the intended chaos. Stand right here. Don't panic

He held her hand

tears in her eyes

He takes out his videocam and starts shooting.....

The first body arrives....6 year old boy and a woman, probably his mother, probably had come here for some shopping, carnage.. They were rested on the ground. No emergency services yet.

And then the bodies emerge. One after one. One more charred than the other. One more dead than the other. All intended to celebrate their festivals....

The sorry sight of bodies taken on handcarts to nearby hospitals to give them immediate attention,

More loud crying......

The camera sees everything...

Spanish woman sees everything....

Later, after 3 hours and 2 bombs in and around the city.....

The Brit journo gives the tape to a news channel

News Reporter : So, You guys are probably gonna get the hell outta this place as soon as possible (rhetorical question)

Him : No mate, we aren't, We shouldn't bow down. We came here to see India, we will see India. Cos we love India

We love you for saying that.

Breaking up with a guy...............

2005-10-09T02:54:00.000+05:30

That said, I'm not Gay.

Although, I'm listening to James Blunt - "You're beautiful" . (Methinks, its the voice and song of the year)

Anyways, I'm talking about acquaintances who think of themselves as being one of your closest friends without reason, purpose or any justification. They call. You don't call back. They call again at 10:30 PM (while im studyin math) and they they start to discuss their disintegrating/disintegrated love life and other upheavels facing their personal life, this even without knowing my full name. They end the phone call by asking me to me to join "him and his friends" for a movie at 11:30 PM. All this after asking me "what's up?", at the start of the conversation and recieving the usual "studies" reply.

Well so obviously I have to break up with him and after years of experience, where one might think that breaking up with a person of the opposite sex could take some effort, breaking up with a guy is heck lot more difficult than the former.

I mean I cannot say "We don't have anything in common"
I mean I cannot use the same line for both the sexes and besides guys don't need to have anything in common in the first place. All we talk about is sports and women.
So that's out.

In a previous effort, I once told a guy, "We shouldn't speak anymore".
I mean thats how guys usually are. Blunt.
He replied saying "So you think I'm not good enough for you".
............9 seconds of pin drop silence.............
I turned in the opposite direction, without saying a word started to walk hastily.
He screamed, "Running away is not the solution, Ken".
I increased my pace.
I reached home and lost his number.

You may think I'm being rude.
Well I try to be nice.
But ther's only so much a guy can take from another guy.

Elusive..........

2005-09-27T21:03:00.000+05:30

It's only human to be enamoured by something hard or impossible to achieve, no matter how sinister, once we see a "no-ways" sign in front of anything or anybody, the curiousity hormone works in overdrive, be it money, women, that IPod you've been eyeing, a raise....whatever.

Although some may call that a "not a nice" principle to have, but i think having the hunger to want something desperately separates the winners from the loosers as long as you are vying for something that is ethically correct. Afterall its only human to want "more", to want it "better" and to want it "quick".

I am preparing to give an entrance exam to get into one of the top business schools in the world. I go to the gallows, November 20th facing 2,00,000 other aspirants from my country and have to be placed within the first 1000 (i.e. 0.5%) in the final rankings to have a sniff of a top business school. That's what I'm talking about. The competition is moutain high and if you dont have the balls to look up, you have no right to even get climbing. The peak is elusive.

The rewards are uncountable so the effort has to be justified.

But sometimes chasing the elusive kinda tires you down, coz' when you set your mind to one thing,you automatically have to give up on a whole lotta stuff you normally wouldn't. You loose track of other important things happening at the same point in time. You feel like you are missing out. You feel like your making too much of a sacrifice to "get there" and one starts getting self doubts like "Is it really worth it?"

The pressure especially intensifies when the goal is in sight, the final effort, that's the hardest. One final push. Its where the amalgamation of spirit, hard work, preparation, common sense and intelligence comes to the fore. Its all or nothing.

Anyways I wrote this coz' I have begun to feel the pressure now. It's crunch time. 2 hours on Nov 20th could decide whether the past year shapes my life or it was an utter waste, not that it is the end of the world if i don't make it. But a satisfying thought is that I've given in my best effort yet and the results have been showing in the preliminary tests, where things have gone well and I've been inside that 0.5% echleon group. So fingers crossed. For me, its time to remember God.

My right foot...........

2005-09-20T01:36:00.000+05:30

Humane conversations...........

2005-09-15T03:29:00.000+05:30

I am forgetfull. I have forgotten her number. But more imprtantly, right then I could recollect as to where I had kept a music CD. I ask my helpfull friend, after searching it for a while.

Me : Where's that CD (tryin to recollect the name....)

Him : Which?

Me : Oasis......Whats the story morning glory?

He looks victorious and pleasant....a slight smile

Me : (Impatient....) So, have u seen it?

Him : No (Blank, the smile receeding)

Bastard.

A few second later, as he watches me looking through my CDs.......

Him : (In an attempt to help....) So do you remember where you last kept the CD?

Me : Yeah I DO, Im just searching because i have a lot of time on my hands to kill and besides I love searching, whole lot of fucking fun (scorn)

Bastards who blurt out blatant stupidity should be dosed by strong and obvious sacarcism, it helps in the long run. They don't repeat the same mistakes.

He smiled. The Bitch.

Me : So are you gonna help now?

He actually starts to think, looking at the ceiling

Me : What the fuck are you thinking? Come here allready.....(livid)

He : (Wide smile) That attitude won't help, Ken...

He looks at my face and comes over to help. It allways works. Its like a woman scorned kinda look, although Im a guy.

After 6 minutes of exhaustive searching.....

He : Hey man, I've found it!!! (The feeling that Christopher Columbus had, when he discovered America when he was searching for a route to India)

But I was happy nonetheless.......

Me : The CD case feels light.....(After opening it...) DAMMIT, ther's no CD inside, I must have put it in some other cover...(Heart sinks again)

He tries comforting me.

He : OK. Look. Let's not loose our minds. Do you remember the case in you placed the Oasis CD?

I see dead people.................

2005-09-03T01:23:00.000+05:30

An instinctive jerk, eyes depicting fear....the little boy springs up on his bed screaming...."MOMMY!!!", He meant for the sream to be loud, but it turned out to be hoarse.Nevertheless, Mom had heard her son yell.

Mom (concerned) : What's wrong sweety?

Son (struggling to speak) : I saw it again, 3 of them, I swear I did

Mom (sitting by him on the bed) : Keane, Baby, It was probably a nightmare....

Son (adamant) : No mom, you allways make an excuse, never listen to me.......you even ignored me in the morning...

Mom (thinking) : What in the morning?

Son (irritated, pounding his hands on the bed) : I told you i saw them walking by the car window while you were driving me to school...........(livid)...you ignored me then and you are ignoring me now

Mom (sympathetic) : It's all in your head, Keane.

Son (not letting go) : No mom, I'm for real....sometimes I sense that you're ignoring me because you are as scared as I am

Mom (smiling) : (in deep thought)....(complete silence)

Son : Mom?......Are you scared too?

Mom : (back to reality)....No Keane I'm not. There is nothing to be afraid of

Son : Then why won't you make them go? and more importantly, why aren't you taking me seriously?
......(few seconds)....Mommy, I really think you are scared too.....

Mom (Reassuarance) : Keane, baby I'm tired, I've said this a million times and I will say it one last time........"There are no such things as humans"

The age old question.................

2005-08-21T01:56:00.000+05:30

She was a nice friend for 2-3 years now. She said "Lets have dinner, Im bored". Apparently, some people eat when they get bored.

We reached the restaurant. I pulled over the chair for her. She's a pretty "Direct" girl.

She : Men are bitch (Emphasising the "b" of bitch)

Me : I just pulled over the chair for you

She : Not you Ken, Men

Me : I guess i should cut off my dick then

She smiles, I sit down

She : I didnt mean it in that way, Ur exceptional!!!

Me : Ya i know that, we still split today's cheque

Fuzzy atmosphere.

She : So...as I was saying

Me : Save it......Lets start with some mindless chit-chat before we get to your complicated crap. How are you?

After 6 minutes of mindless chit-chat....

She : Why are men so naive?

Me : Dont generalise

She : I am

Me : Ok, Maybe its because we dont understand women (sometimes) that we may appear to be naive sometimes

She : You guys dont even make an attempt, as long as there is sex in the offing

Me : Thats true.....as i said, most of the time we find it difficult to know what women are thinkin bout, i know a woman's eyes give it away and all that shit...but whose got the time?

She : We are accomodating. You guys just get the wrong end of our sentences

Me : Why do your sentences have many ends, why can't they be unidirectional, like us?

She (Smiles) : 'Coz we are women

Me : There you go, you just answered yourself...women are complicated, men are lazy.....hence dont try disrupting the cycle..........What do you wanna eat?

She : Yeah rite, problem solved...what if the concept of sex was eradicated?

Me : Don't scare me

She : No seriously, what if you guys didnt get it so easily?

Me : Firstly....women aren't doing us a favour by having sex with us, they need it as much as guys do. Ok not as much as guys do, but they still need it. Women derive more pleasure than the man, cos he has to do all the "work". They get it easily whenever they "feel" like it, so dont give me crap bout women withholding sex as a weapon

She (smile): You had that pent up inside you for a long time, didnt you?.....I guess you have a fair point

Me : Yeah, i just get annoyed when women think that they are doing us a favour by having sex with us

She : But.....

Me : If you harp bout this for one more second, I swear I'l run out of here....I'l actually RUN.

She : Naa, stay....I want you here

We had dinner and ice-cream

As we walked back home, my hand on her shoulder, I realised one of the possible answers to an age old question.. What do women want? What do they need? What do they crave for? What's more precious than a diamond or more sweeter to bite into than chocolate.......They just want their men to pay attention to them.....and money to shop. It could be an exaggeration and I could be wrong, you tell me.

You can wait, I can't............

2005-08-14T01:42:00.000+05:30

I took my seat in the class and the professor came in 5 minutes later. He started talking math. That's when i realised that i really needed to take a piss, or things could get out of hand quickly. I couldnt piss. There was some construction work goin on in the restroom. I wasn't suprised. My bad luck has been running me ragged for quite some time now.....Anyways the only option that remained with me was to use the "Theory of Control"......for 3 hours, then let it out at a public restroom and come back for the next class. But i dont like controlling. I have to make weird facial expressions, keep my legs tight together and talk when i really dont want to talk or do any action whatsoever (except pissing). I hope people don't notice my continous change of expressions and postures. But people allways notice, especially during a math class.

3 light years later.

I walk briskly, increasing the length of my strides everytime. Hands firmly in pockets, tight. I see my destination, happy...the wait would be over.

I walk in to notice there is a line for every latrine, some lines as long as 4 people. The "light" feeling would have to wait a while, and it is at these times, when you feel, you cannot hold on anymore, you have to let go. Ditto with life.

I notice the facial expressions on my "colleagues". Almost all of them were worse than mine. Some were looking ahead, waiting for their turn. Some were counting the number of people ahead of themselves. Some looked at the watch. One guy lit a cigarettee. A young kid who was standing ahead of me looked the most frantic......he moved around his position at looked at the target latrine. It was as if he was ready to sink Russia.

5-8 minutes later.

I was standing there, contented, I had arrived. I pissed and pissed, to the extent that some guys behind me in the line got annoyed at the time i was taking. One even made a comment about me not pissing for a year or something like that. I didnt care. I just wanted to feel...."nice"

I walked out, feeling weightless. Life was good again. I sat in class with my feet apart, concentrated at class and had a sip from my bottle of water.

Fire................

2005-07-22T00:24:00.000+05:30

The train had been over 90 minutes late. It usually never crosses its limit of 20 minutes. The luggage of 2 heavy backpacks which i had placed next to my feet stared hopelessly at me. It was an outstation train.

Few more minutes of staring at the dark wilderness of the raintracks and munching waffers with Rock music playing in my ears and a photography magazine in my hand. I see nothing. I wanted the train to arrive and break this calmness.

Suddenly Mick Jagger's voice in my ear got distorted with the sound of the horn of the arriving train. I could feel the movement of the gurgle on the platform below my feet. Backpack on the shoulder, i waited for it to enter my eyeline.

It did and so did the Fire.

The earphones came off. Curious fellow passengers looked at the monsterious creature that was the burning train.

The pleasant song in my ear gave way to desperate screams. The train wasn't close enough but the screams filled the calm void that was the platform. It was getting frantic amongst the fellow passengers and a drop on sweat broke around my neck.

Few more drops of sweat.

The train stared me in the eye, so did the 2 burning bogeys. It slowed down as it approached the station.

The smell of burnt blood, of people burnt alive and those still burning. For some, it was too late. 90 minutes too late.

Chaos and panic had overtaken Sense. The calmness was replaced by the ambulance horns, few more cries and some more very loud cries. Material loss didnt mean anything at this moment in time.
Revenge against terrorism didnt mean anything at this time. Human life did.

6 hours later......

The affected were taken to a government hospital nearby, the cameras zoomed along the area where I was listening to "Rolling Stones - Satisfaction", a few hours ago. They were trying to improve the camera angle to get a better shot of the blood. There were the investigators carefully eyeing the "developments". The politicians made their dutifull rounds, surveyed the situations and adjusted their ties for the press conferences that lay ahead, where things like "The terrorists will pay for this" were said. Guys at offices had something new to discuss as there were no interesting cricket matches airing on TV.

My 4 year old cousin watched the image of the burnt train on TV and asked me "Why is the train black? It's supposed to be red and blue right? They taught us that at school"

The train had disrupted the calmness.

It was the start of the communal riots in my country.

A Stray Incident.............

2005-07-12T20:31:00.000+05:30

Amatuer Thieves
1. Clever Thief
2. Dumb Thief

Target
Rich Man

The sun had made up its mind to set. With drops of sunlight scattering the surrounding and no soul in sight, Rich Man left his office with his suitcase.

Clever Thief knew what it contained.

They drew towards the Rich Man as he took out his car keys from his pocket. Clever Thief reached for his knife tucked on the rim of his pants

Clever Thief (Hoarse, but commanding): This is an armed robery. Give me the suitcase.

Rich man looked at Dumb Thief who was holding a kitchen knife in his palm

Rich man (Fumbling voice snd gulping): Please don't do this

Clever Thief (Impatient): Give us the suitcase and you live

The mortified Rich Man hands them the suitcase

The thives take the suitcase hurriedly and turn the other side and start walking briskly, while the Rich Man is glued to the earth, stunned.

Clever Theif to Dumb Thief (whispering): That wasn't too difficult, 2 minutes.Very swift.

Dumb Theif (Relieved): Yeah

Clever Theif : But he may tell on us you know, I don't think he's that scared. We can't let that happen. Go Kill him. Use the knife.

Dumb Theif jogs back to the Rich Man, with knife in palm.

Rich Man receeds behind a few steps, slowly increasing his pace. He is too slow.

Dumb Theif catches hold of his shoulder, turns him around and stabs him repeatedly on the stomach area. The volcano of blood erupts in splatters and packets. Rich man tries to hold on to Dumb Thief's shoulder as he collapses to his un-euphemistic end. The shoulder of his killer lets go.

He falls to the ground as if in slow motion. Clever Thief joins the action. He watches as Rich Man struggles to breathe to his death.

Clever Thief (Angrily): You asshole, How often have I told you to stab a person on the left part of the chest to kill him instantaeously? Don't you know thats where we have our hearts? Don't you see the strippers cup their left breast to indicate love? Give me the knife.

Clever Thief stabs him on the left side of his chest until he is sure of the result, and then asks for the silent revolver just to make sure.

One bullet between the eyes and it is confirmed.

The thieves leave the place nonchalant.

The cell phone in the pocket of the Rich Man starts ringing.

The bowl of milk..............

2005-06-29T01:45:00.000+05:30

It had been 15 minutes that I had been sitting on the stairs outside the cinema hall. The movie would begin in another 20 minutes and the idiot hadn't turned up yet. The stop-start drizzle outside wasn't helping matters and they started to wet my jeans and me.

This beggar child approached me with want written all over his face, eyes and stomach. He wasn't wearing a shirt. His torso was un-clean and gave away his malnutrition. He would be around 6 years old. He had one hand.

But I don't give money to beggars.

I told him to, "forgive me"…in the native language.

He said, "Im hungry, very hungry, Its been 3 days". There was a pause after each breath

Me (Unemotional) : I'l buy you food then, but I won't give you money

He (Looking straight at me): No…..(pause)….I need the money to feed some milk to my brother out there

As he pointed to the sideway where a vacant tree lay, sheltering the little child from the rain albeit unsuccessfully

I gave him the needful.

A car stopped by in front of me, where a woman adjusted her blouse and her sloppy hair. Got out of it and tipped the chauffer 500 bucks whispering "You were great today", with a naughty grin of course

She turns back, and (accidentally) collides with the one - armed boy, who was carefully carrying the bowl of milk for his brother

She howls "You Filthy bastards" and skips past him, to a elderly man standing at the ticket counter, saying "Hi sweetheart"

The boy looks down, the milk dispersed along the smooth pavement as drops of rain dilute his heart and the milk beneath

I watch all this and accompany him this time, to get him some food and his brother some milk

I didn't feel like watching the movie and leave for home, giving my umbrella a skip and letting the rain drops hit my face and me

Being a bitch...........

2005-06-15T15:48:00.000+05:30

Pearl : Meet me at "THE INN" for dinner, Don't come Fucking late on me, Be sharp on time, you know I hate being stood up even for a second.

Me : What time?

Pearl : 9 : 30 ish

I was having dinner at this really trendy restaurant in South Mumbai, with this friend called Pearl, who is actually a visual treat.

Pearl : Ken, Im really sick of my life.

I look at my shoes.

Pearl : Ken, did you hear what i just said?

Me : Ya.

Pearl : What did i say?

Me (WOMEN!!!) : That you were sick of your life!!!

Pearl : So you don't wanna know whats wrong?

If i said "NO", i knew that it would be a longer way to end the conversation. So i say..

Me : You broke up with your boyfriend.

Pearl : Ya. Im so damn pissed. He wasn't good. The sex wasn't good and he wasn't even rich, so in one word "WORTHLESS".

I continue to look at my shoes, wondering whats more weird
'That my brown Woodland Leather suede shoes appear orange, or that all my female friends think of me as one of their girlfriends and keep discussing their private girly talks with me with gay abandon, even when i wasn't interested.

I mean for instance, I know Pearl for 3 years now and i cannot remember a single moment where there was any "SEXUAL TENSION" between the two of us.
Meanwhile Pearl.....

Pearl : You know guys?

Me : Ya, I think so.

Pearl : I think they just like me for my looks and my body.

Me : What do you want them to like you for?

Pearl : Don't be a typical insensitive fuck, Ken.

Pearl : Maybe I should behave like a guy too. Maybe, I should date 10 guys simultaneously and dump them all on the same day and then date the next bunch. You know, like becoming a BITCH.

Me (Smiling) : Ya I know.

Pearl : Why are you smiling Ken?

Me : Pearl

Pearl : What?

Me : Youre allready a BITCH.

She smiles back. I pay the cheque.

Of questions, answers and wasting time........

2005-06-10T17:03:00.000+05:30

Andy, this is me, steppin up
But im not too good with the internet questionaires, coz you have to make an attempt to be witty...as Im not naturally gifted you see, no kiddin.

Three screen names you have had:
effortless
bentspoon
stillkite

Three things you like about yourself:
Confidence
Straightforwardness
Im allways "myself"

Three things you don't like about yourself:
Like to be with myself.....most people misunderstand that for arrogance...but its OK.
Im Docile....I think
Not rich......yet

Three things that scare you:
The deep sea during night times
Male chatters who pose as female
Touchy feely men

Three of your everyday essentials:
Music
Coffee
Play some sport

Three things you are wearing right now:
Make that 2, Pepe jeans and the underwear...Im topless most of the time

Three of your favorite songs:
Guns N' Roses - Sweet Child Of Mine
The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony
Oasis - Don't Look Back In Anger

Three new things you want to try in the next twelve months:
Travel
Get into an A-Grade University for my Masters
Be Indpendent

Three things you want in a relationship:
Chemistry
Understanding
Great Sex

Three things you can't do without:
Music
Writing
Money

Three places you want to go on vacation:
London
Greece
Paris

Three things you just can't do:
Be un-helpful, where help is needed
Be hurtful to others
Make the "first move"

Three kids' names:
Joshua
Gwyneth
Il have just the 2 kids

Three things you want to do before you die:
Travel like crazy
Watch atleast one World Cup Final (soccer)
Watch an Oasis concert

Three celebrity crushes:
Actually none.
But I am smitten by the following women though
Claire Forlani
Konkona Sen Sharma
Nandita Das

Pressurised suicides.......

2005-06-06T14:23:00.000+05:30

You may read this : A suicide

For people who live in this part of the world....its that time of the year....the results of the 10th are out and 12th grade is goin to be out soon. There would be the usual suicides by students who are unable to cope with failure. the count has allready gone to 150 this year. Its something that really affects me, to see fellow students take the extreme step of killing themselves just because of one silly exam.

For those who are not familiar with our system, these exams are built up to be those, that "define your future". You fuck up here and you fuck up your life.

I have written many letters to the Educational Board...to just change the damn structure, but to no avail.

So all i can say, Dear students, if you happen to be reading this (its a slim chance, but if you have a medium, you should use it) and you haven't fared well, it's not the end of the world....Life gives you many opportunites. You can pick and choose any opportunity you want. You've got a life to live. Doing well in these exams means nothing. I fucked up my 12th grade exams and i still have my future perfectly defined right now. So please hang in there, you guys.

Nice day?............

2005-05-28T14:28:00.000+05:30

July 29, 09:30:15 AM

Off to work he goes,
A very white and red scooter under his arse.
A marose evenin, with non bright red ligts to light up the road.
The skies are signalling uncertain showers. They are black, but they are unsure.
A rich vein of thoughts corrupt him, thoughts of being tucked in bed within 2 hours,
without a care in a world, thoughts of recieving a pay check the following day, to buy the new shoes, thoughts of introducing himself to the new girl arrived at the neighbourhood.

Its his lucky day, he thinks.
The skies decide to remain kind to him.
A stream of pleasant cold air, rubs the contours of his face, as he speeds his scooter, on the suprisingly non-trafficed road.
The ever problamatic scooter, hasn't given up on him tonight.
Just another 10 minutes or so,in the current circumstances, and I’m done for the day.
Pretty good day by the look of things,
No problems. All deliveries were made well on time.
2 girls on the counter smiled back.
Made a new friend, lost an annoying one.
Last day of the month tomorrow, get some cash.
Gods good. Lifes great.
It starts raining.

Thank god, for the windcheater, no harms yet.
Please God, no more fuck ups.
Just another 8 minutes or so to go.

He joins the traffic jam, in the next lane.
Fuck, this lane, is always comfortable, never jammed.
Guess I’ve used all my bad luck for the day, in the past 2 minutes.
They are trucks, cars, jeeps.
Even the fucking scooters can't figure out a way to get their asses out of here.
Times ticking.
He waits for an agonising 5 minutes.
09:56:00 PM.

Enter good luck.
The traffic cop, stops all traffic from the adjoining road,
and lets the vehicles from HIS lane, to move.
It stops raining.
Hes got 2 minutes to reach there. It’s difficult.
Hes riding like never before.
The scooter engine blows up.
10:02:00 PM.

He leaves the scooter,
Runs with the delivery.
Reaches there.
10:07:00 PM.
Rings the bell.
Im sorry your late,
This ones for free.
Sorry Pizza Delivery Guy.

Order Time : 9:30:15 PM
Delivery Time : 10:00 PM
Take : Rupees 200.

Guess it was a mixed day after all.
The pay check would be 2400 - 200.
Thats all. Just 200 for this month.

Don't overestimate your charm.........

2005-05-24T16:23:00.000+05:30

Very Expensive restaurant. Candlelight dinner. I was going to propose "Ms. Marvellous Girl" that evening. Going out for quite sometime.

Me (Holding her hand) : I wanted to tell you something.

Ms. Marvelous Girl (Smile) : Yeah Ken?

Me : I Like you and i like spending time with you.

I observe that she is obsessively searching for something in her purse, completely oblivious to what i just said.....So much for the embarrassment of making the FIRST FUCKING MOVE. Makes you feel like that NEEDY CHICK!!!

Me : What's the matter? What are you looking out for?

Ms. Marvelous Girl : Where is my cell phone?

I definitely didn't expect to hear those exact words. But lets be polite, Kenneth.

Me : No, i haven't seen your cell phone.

Ms. Marvelous Girl (Beginning to loose her nerve) : Have you seen my cell phone?

Me (Irritated) : No. Remember where you left it last.

Ms. Marvelous Girl (Loosing it) : Do you have it?

Me (MAD) : Fuck no! Why would you say that?

Ms. Marvelous Girl : I don't know...My cell is very important to me...Lots of my stuff is stored in it...I can't be patient not knowing where it is!!!

Ms. Marvelous Girl (Looking at me suspiciously)...(With a quizzical and slightly loud voice so that she can command the attention of the other couples and waiters) : You’re sure you don't have it?

Me (Wanting to RIP her still beating heart out) : FUCK!!! Do you wanna search me?

Me (Gathering myself) : Here, take my cell and make a call to your cell.

She does that. It rings. Her mom picks it up.

Ms. Marvelous Girl (Relief as if she saved the TITANIC from sinking!!!) : MOMMMMMM?

Mom : Ms Marvelous Girl!

Ms. Marvelous Girl : Where are you?

Mom : At home, You forgot your cell phone at home, Ms. Marvelous Girl.

You don't need to know the rest of the conversation.

Later....

Me : Bye....Let's not see each other or call each other.

Ms. Marvelous Girl : WHY???......WHAT HAPPENED????

CORBA = Natasha Henstridge...........

2005-05-20T14:21:00.000+05:30

The exams are finally over....Torturious days those.Especially since the only music i heard during that period was that of my neighbour farting.....he even has an alibi, but lets not get there.

Il cut right to the chase....Have u realised that when you have to really really concentrate on something, there is allways something to divide or totally devote your attention. I have such attacks when i have to study.

*************************

Take for instance this, "TALK TO MYSELF" session that i had, some days ago.

10:00 AM
I was studyin CORBA.
Me : What kind of a word is CORBA...reminds me of COBRA, the snake...damn I have just seen one snake in my life, during my visit to GOA....wow GOA was good, how i need a vacation after this studying and shit...saw a lot of other species over there, besides the reptile....talking of SPECIES...Natasha Henstridge acted in a movie called Species if im not wrong...She looked H-O-T, when she walked around that club strutting her stuff.
And Kenneth imagines Natasha Henstridge, lying on his study table, slowly undressing, button by button, one gyrating movement at a time, twitching toes and out of control nerves not to forget the hormones and blood racing at the speed of F1 cars.

10:45 AM
CORBA = Common Object Request Broker Architecture
I just happened to realise that Natasha Henstridge took 45 minutes to get off her blouse and skirt. Back to the books now.
You get the picture?

**************************

Another mannerism i have while studyding is that i walk around the room with the book in my hand. Back and forth. When i walk facing my door,people who are walking outside, think i'm coming to talk to them and then i turn back again, sometimes leaving those people still standing right there, agitated.
They may be thinking Im nuts or something...but its OK...Ive even heard many Management Gurus study, as a walking process....so the future is atleast looking bright from one angle.

**************************

When Donald Trump says, "Youre Fired!" on The Apprentice, with those fingers positioned as if it were a snake....u know at right angles to this thumb....Try doing it at home.....If u get the position of fingers slightly wrong, you'l definetly look GAY.

**************************

Mom : We (the family) will be going to GOA, for a vacation in a forthnights time.

ME : YEYYYYYYY!!!

The heat is on...........

2005-04-29T01:47:00.000+05:30

We decided to spend the night at her place.
She used to be a close friend....sort of.

1:00 AM
It was definitely hot in there.
There was a shortage of air to breathe from.
I was changing positions.
So was she.
I was changing sides.
So was she.
I was at a loss of tranquility.
Im sure she was too.
But i couldn't tell.
Hair hanging down her shoulders.
The humidity filled the room.
The sheets were not in an orderly fashion, they were 2 hours ago.
2 bodies with sweat dripping from all over.
Hands everywhere.
Twitching and rolling.
The humidity increased by the second.
We were pretty much breathing the same air now.
The theory of CONTROL kept ringing in my head.
But, controlling was getting difficult.
I was trying.
Time drifted by, as if in slow motion.
Inertia.
Movement.
Beads of sweat dripping down our skin.

2:00 AM
Finally a gust of fast moving air.
I could hear the mild sound of the air conditioner.
She slept right through it.
She didn't even notice the power cut for the last one hour.

Musings : Not the nice kind.........

2005-04-24T02:24:00.000+05:30

Jessica, close friend and a girl who I had been contemplating proposing to, once said to me,
"I wish I had a younger brother like you.!!!"
I mean, how is a man supposed to react to a statement like that?
I think women use such statements to see how men respond to situations of extreme stress.

This is one of my favorites:
She said, "You remind me of my dog."
Meaning, I assume,
That I walk on all fours, have long flappy ears, and prefer to relieve myself in front of a water hydrant.

So, as you would have guessed by now, I am single. I am a single, nice,helpful, generally likeable guy, Who reminds women of their dog.

And I've come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a single woman.

Once, I was talking to a girl on the phone, and we were interrupted when she got a call on the other line.
She came back on line a couple of minutes later with the words
"Oh, I'm sorry about that.That was my boyfriend."
Your what?
And you know another thing? Somehow, I inspire this unprecedented amount of trust in women.
I'm considered completely harmless!
Not only by the women,
but even their boyfriends, fiancés and husbands!
"Oh, you're with him? Fine. Have a nice time."
"You want to take a walk on the beach?
I'm a little busy. Why don't you take him along?"
"It's Valentine's day. The poor guy must be alone.
Why not call him over for lunch?"
I guess I've earned that reputation over a long period of time,
But still, you know, Sometimes you wish the guys would feel just a little bit threatened.

And it's not like I look harmless either.
The following incident is a favorite example:
I was at an Archie's gallery.
This was the time when they had that stuffed monkey on sale.
You know, the one that whistled every time you crossed its path.
The kind of whistle that an average guy might make when a good-looking girl walks by.
So the monkey was on display in one of the aisles, and the first five minutes that I was
there, it must have been triggered about 15 times.
Gets quite irritating,really.
Afterthat, for a few minutes, there was no one in the shop, and I had some peace.
Then a girl walked in, and soon crossed the path of the monkey.
The monkey whistled dutifully.
And out of curiosity, with a big smile on my face for some reason.
I turned to see who the monkey had whistled at.
At exactly the same moment, the girl turned around, to see
who had whistled.
If looks could kill, she would have wiped out an
army,
Make that 7.
I dont want to remember more.

Who Called?........

2005-04-17T23:55:00.000+05:30

Saturday evening or night. Obviously I’m at home. Alone. But there was a great football game going on TV and my team was doing was doing well for once.

The phone rang. It was my aunt. Lets call her Greta. She told me to give my mom the following message, “I will meet you at church, Sunday morning. Get the house keys and cupboard keys.”

My team is playing really well now. We are leading 2-0.
My mom enters the room.
I give her the message, trying to be as eloquent as I can, “Greta called. She said that, she would be meeting you tomorrow at church and she told you to get the house and cupboard keys".

1 second.
2 seconds.
3 seconds.
4 seconds. I’m surprised.
5 seconds.
6 seconds.

Mom : Who called?

There you go Kenneth, I think.

Me : Greta

Mom : What did she say?

Me : That she would be meeting you at church and that you need to get the house and cupboard keys with you.

Mom : Tomorrow?

Me (Beginning to loose my steely nerve) : Yes. Tomorrow is Sunday rite?

Mom (Irritated by my sarcasm) : House keys and cupboard keys?

Me : Yes

Mom : Ok

The opposition team scores one goal.

Score : My team 2 : 1 Opposition team.

Calmness.
8 seconds later.

Mom (thinking) : So Greta called huh?

Me : Yes

Mom (Looking at me) : And she’l meet me tomorrow at church?

Me : Yes

Mom : And she asked me to get the house and cupboard keys?

Me : Yes.

Just then, the opposition team scores another goal

Score : My team 2 : 2 Opposition team

I want to scream in a pillow, but I think happy thoughts.

1 nanosecond later.

Mom : Maybe, I should call Greta to confirm everything.

I don’t know what to feel. Anger or Redundancy?. So I go out and sit on a bench.

By the way, my team lost the game 2-3.

Newcastle United V/S Newcastle United........

2005-04-04T17:25:00.000+05:30

Sex, Lies and the Videotapes........

2005-03-19T00:14:00.000+05:30

Get in the bedroom if you wanna get to the make up room.
Thats the latest catchphrase, in this part of the world, at this point in time.
The casting couch is spoken as if it was unknown before.

Actors etc. tellin women to give them a jump, caught on camera and the nation sits up and takes notice.
The unknown news channel quite literally pumps up their ratings, giving rise to
"Is it true, Does it happen?" forumns all over the place.
Yes you fucks, it does happen.

A rationalistic reasons out with me, "So what if it does happen? If the Girl is ready (The Guy is allways ready), its nobody else's business. It happens everywhere, in the cooporate world as well" He continues to give me his unwanted suggestions saying "Its an invasion of privacy, to place the cameras in his pants (figuratively)."

This is what i think, and il be brief.
Im against it. Yes i am, for morality reasons. I mean whatever happened to talent and merit.
I mean if being slutty is all that you need to become sucessfull, then il have a sex change operation, fill in those boobs till the bra will take and insure my cunt.
Its just not right is it?

Take it this way, What if, All mothers have to sleep with school pricipals so their kids can get admissions in desired schools. Its not glamourous as the casting couch but its important nonetheless, since getting admissions to schools of one's choice is again a big deal.
This is wrong, we say.
WHY?
Morality.
Same goes for the casting couch.

And as for privacy my friend,
Don't use the "privacy" blanket to cover your horny, slimy and upright dick.

Me, the Forgotten Warrior........

2005-03-04T14:19:00.000+05:30

Prepare the army, we are going for battle", Achilles says. He is known to be the greatest Warrior ever to be born, who fought only for himself and his glory and didn't give a fuck for his king, the king of Greece.
Anyways this piece is not about Achilles. He is famous enough.
I googled his name, and i got 2,860,000 searches in 0.07 seconds, so thats enough out of him.
This is about Me.
Its been centuries and nobody gives a crap as to who I am.

"But we just got back from the bloodshed in the riverbanks yesterday", Me one of the young warriors,tells him in a kiddish tone so he doesn't loose it. "I haven't spent a single day with my family in the past 2 months".
But the more important thing was that i hadn't slept with my wife in over 2 months, I confess to myself ever so slightly.
Achilles told me to stop whinning and be a MAN.
He corrected the angles at which i held my sword, saying "You almost got killed yesterday, hadn't your brother covered up for you".
My brother gave him a courteous smile, and slapped me on my wrists signalling me to keep my trap shut. I wasn't worthy, he believed.

The Battle :-
10,000 Warriors on either side.
Many died.
Some survived.
My elder brother died.
I survived.
My brother died of a hammer striking him at the back of his head.
He wasn't aware enough.

Achilles had won the battle. He didn't loose too many.
I went on to fight many more battles.
I improved with every battle.
The sword handling mistakes had become a thing of the past.
Or maybe i was too lucky to survive.

Today as i watch "Troy (The Movie)", i dont recognise myself amongst the thousands of computer animated figures.
If i can't, how can i expect you to know, WHO I AM.
All i can say is that i lived in the time of Achilles.

Anger Mismanagement........

2005-02-21T00:41:00.000+05:30

This is a reply to the last 2 comments for my previous post, since there are of the aynonymous nature.
Guys I don't need the kinda attention...
U guys seemed pretty pissed with the flatmate comment. All i said was , quote "It was good, It is funny, It is the theme of ur blog, no probs with that ,but the content is gettin stale",Unquote. Obvously u guys didn't understand wat i meant. Anyways i stick to wat i said.
And as regards to the deleted comments a.k.a sensorship, the message reads "This post has been removed by the author.", i.e the comment writer and not me (the blog writer).If i remove the comment, as u predicted i would (I dont have the time and inclination for that), u wudn't see that comment listed. It is called DELETING.
And yes, my friend doesn't exist as i've told every1 else whose commented, he's just a figment of my imagination, who i created to get my point of view across.
Sometimes,Fiction can be stranger than reality, isn't it?
Anyways, hope this answers all ur questions, mates.

P.S. - Merck. Wat u said, is wat
im tryin say.Maybe I
failed to get my point
across to you.
P.S. - Mia, thanx for the tip. Il think about it.

Living and...........

2005-02-14T13:21:00.000+05:30

1 year ago I met Avinash. Really nice guy, very polite, good sense of humour, bright smile. We were chatting at an event about life,soccer and all the other things that guys talk about. We overheard someone complaining about where they had to park their car that night, and that's when Avinash told me something that I will never, ever forget.

He was dying. He had ALS, which is a disease that has no cure and he was given 6 months to a year to live. But that wasn't the part that shocked me.

After hearing the person complain about their parking spot he looked me in the eye and said
"I feel sorry for people who are healthy".
I was floored, I didn't know what he meant.
I said "Isn't it reverse, we feel bad for someone like you?"

He shook his head and looked me even deeper in the eye and said the words I will never forget:

"Before having ALS, life was just there. I complained about things that I thought mattered. People cutting me off on the road, my pay, the weather.

When I was handed my life and told I had 6 months left, those things didn't matter anymore. Little things didn't bother me, nor did the big things. I stop and smell the roses, I look at peoples smiles and it makes me smile. That's why I feel sorry for people who are healthy. They don't get it.Until they are in a situation like mine, they take life for granted.

The fact that I was dying made me realize I had to start living."
For one of the first times in my life, I was speechless.
Ask yourself, what are you stressing out over that really doesn't matter?
Whose smile brightens up your day, but you've never told them that.
If this was your last day here, who would you call to tell them you love them?

Use your opportunity of life to find out what it's all about.
Avinash passed away 5 months later, but I have a feeling he did more living in his final year than we all do in a lifetime.

Light my fire.....babe.

2005-01-13T20:48:00.000+05:30

3rd Floor.
They indulged in oral sex.
One housewife tells another.
I pass by.
They look at me curiously.
The "couple" were roughly 4 years or so younger than me.
Thats what shocked the indian masses.
The MMS porn clip had become massive news.

I know its old news, but i just dont get it.
Thers an outrage.
An attack on ur "culture", cry most.

wats the big deal, afterall.
This is wat i think.
The girl is free to have sex with whoever she wants.
Its completely her choice.
Who r we, to tell her shes too young, or too bold.
Who r we, to say she acted against our "culture".
Especially where in our culture,where girls engaged or married off in their teens is considered
normal.
A situation where girls in their teens become mothers within a year, and/or continue to be maritially raped, is again normal.
So if a girl, wants to light her fire, it shouldn't cause such a furore.

The poor girl has fled the country, and is now livin in Canada.
The dimwit guy who flimed the whole thing unneccarily causing a mountain out of a mole, is
attending school again.
Both the families dont have a clue, as to how and why their kids turned into pornstars.
The clip is one of the most popular downloads at porn sites.
It was a fodder for news channels for some time, until kareena and shahid decided to do something about it.

Look what you've done.......

2005-01-02T15:06:00.000+05:30

A terrible ending to the year. 1,20,000 gone.
It came, saw, conquered, relinquished everything in its sight.It wasn't amusing.
Man, she must been really pissed off, at us lot.
I take it as a message from her, to us, that we better get our acts straightened out this new year.

Mother Earth didnt distinguish.
It lapped up and swallowed everything and everybody in its path.
The spritually correct lankans, the middle class south indians, the ocean worshipping fishermen and women, the ipods and the vacationing brits who were handling them, the massage girls from phuket, the clerics from indonesia, hungry children from somalia.

Hindus, Muslims, Christians and the rest lot, were all swept off their feet, quite literally, not given a chance to redeem or save, or distinguish themselves.

Just brings forward a thought, that all it takes is act of rage from her, or him up there, to bring it all down.To bring us back to Earth, again quite literally.

Oh, Look what you've done,
You've made a fool of everyone,
oh well, it seems like such fun,
Until you loose what you have won.
- JET.

While I Sip Water..........

2004-12-05T13:13:00.000+05:30

Why has it become so difficult for me to have moments of
clarity.The way it is now,i would never be able to hold a steadfast
analysis. Guess i should shut up sometimes, listen, learn and most
of all think at the end of it.Think in the right direction.The same
goes for all you people around me .

A suicide..........

2004-12-02T16:47:00.000+05:30

7:30AM
Shruti is nervous and Twitchy.
She has WASTED 45 minutes.
She was way too scared.
She has another 15 minutes to die.15 minutes before her parents return.
The poison is ready,ready to sip.

AN HOUR EARLIER
Shruti wakes up,to answer her cellphone.
Its an SMS,from a certain friend.
"YOU HAVE FAILED IN ENGLISH,24/100".
She wonders where the ground beneath her feat has disappeared.
She is quick enough to recover.
What should i do next?
She finds an obvious answer.
Mom and Dad,would be going out for their morning walk in 15 minutes time.
Thats when,i will have to do it.
She was very intelligent.
In another 10 minutes,she mutters,after another quick glance at the watch
How did i fail?
The papers went well.
English shouldn't have been less than 65,she thinks.
But its lost now, she thinks,
Nothing can be done now.
Its time to act now.
5 Minutes.
She lies on her bed.
Mom and Dad,leave for their Morning walk.
She hurriedly prepares a suicide note.
Her writing is wayward.
Not the usual neat Shruti,that we know.
HER CRY IS BITTER,UNCONTROLLABLE AND SOFT.
Its a small letter.

2 days ago.
They wait.
Shruti's DAD :- Shruti would definetly pass her 10th grade exams.
Why wouldn't she?
Why shouldn't she?
Afterall,She never falied any exams.
Infact she does very well in her academic studies.
Has always been an above average student.
But this is an important exam.
She should do more than well,to beat off competition.
Thers so much competition these days.
If she has to realise MY dream of becoming an ENGINEER.
She would definetly.
Afterall, i gave her the best tuitions,that money could offer.
And im confident.
I trust her.
She won't fail me.
She has never failed me.
YA.SHE would do well.
SHE would definetly do well.
AND realise my plans for her future.
SHE has a bright future.SHE would become an ENGINEER.
I would be proud of her.
I would recieve respect from everyone.
YES.
HE has confirmed her future.
HE's happy,sips another sip,from his glass of wine.
Shruti is standing nearby,
She observes her dad.
She understands and knows the thoughts flowing through his head
Shes scared to measure up to expectations.
she sips another sip,from her glass of water and prays to GOD.

Shruti's mom:- I love Shruti,my only child.Very obedient and nice overall.
She would definetly not end up like me,in a kitchen.
She deserves better.
I want her to become a doctor.
According to Mrs.Malhotra thats a very successfull career.
I would be so proud of her.
My daughter,wouldn't have an ordinary future.
She would realise MY dreams.
Would she?
OH definetly yes,why wouldn't she? she has always been good in her
studies.
And she told me her papers had gone well.
I shouldn't be nervous.
My darling daughter won't fail me.
She never has.
She will score well.
DR.Shruti Verma.
As Shruti watches,behind the blinding curtains.
She knows her mom too well,and knows exactly whats shes thinking.
I hope i don't fail them.
She says a silent prayer.

7:35AM,The Present Day.
Another 10 minutes to go.
She is sobbing.
Come on,shruti,its now or never,she controls herself.DO IT.
She is shivering ,holding the nervous glass in her hands.
ONE GULP.
ITS FINISHED.
THE GLASS LAY EMPTY.
SHE LAYS ON THE FLOOR WAITING.
IT STARTS..........................................................
.............IT ENDS.
TIMES UP.
OVER.

5 minutes later.
MOM AND DAD lay shocked besides her.
They know shes dead.
Withered way.
A substance of unrealised dreams.
Bye Shruti.

The Next Day,
she has just been burnt.
HER Dad holds her result.
ITS 86% aggregate.
ENGLISH - 73/100.
The SMS was a hoax,
Fun for a certain friend.

"THINK TWICE,
ITS ANOTHER DAY
FOR YOU AND ME
IN PARADISE"
- PHIL COLLINS.

Has he gone mad?.........NO

2004-12-01T10:10:00.000+05:30

Nowadays, the act of speaking & hearing ( rather pretending ),
is totally dependent on whos having the conversation with you. Even
before writing something we determine who the audience is gonna be
( i've been guilty of this ).Eventually there comes a time, when we
start to think manipulatively,depending on who, what , or whose gain
are we thinking about.I might be talking crap, to a majority, and
might be told to have sex ,by the remaining minority, but my point is
where is that feeling gone,where there is clear air to begin with,
there is nothing like putting on a mask, we just get a feeling to JUST
be ourselves, just doing what the amalgamation of our brain and heart
says rather than, determining what is the popular approach to the
situation is,and then following that treasurious approach.I don't
wanna go on about this, because i don't want to be a preacher here
although im writting this for myself, would be the only reader at the
end of it, so im saving myself some effort, so i could hold my coffee
mug, tomorrow morning.

Me Talks to me.........

2004-11-30T10:46:00.000+05:30

What should i write about?
What should be the central theme?
I flip through the layers of my inarticulate mind.
Sports?
No, kenneth ,too common.
Also it would really stretch the damn thing,because thers so much to write about,
Match-fixing,
Drugs,
Anna Kournikova (IM horrible at spellings, but i never get her name wrong)
Big money (I get jealous, you see),
David Beckham and his ladies,
The truly fantastic INDIAN CRICKET TEAM,
Micheal Schumacher,
Rahul Dravid,
Thats 19 Pages allready, and there are still 33 items left on the current sports list.
So thats out.
WHAT NEXT?
Should I write about Pressures people face in their lives,regardless of their age.
NO KENNETH,thats not a good idea ,looking at the complications of the present world, where even my
four year old cousin tells me "Im so bloody tensed".
So writing about pressures people face, would consume,3 dozen pages atleast,not to mention my time.
AND KENNETH, YOU ARE 19 YEARS OLD, NOT 64,to write about such mature themes.
OK SORRY,so thats out.
NEXT?
There isn't any shortage of topics, that breeze past me.Here are some of them.
SONIA GANDHI.
SECULARISM.
SEX.
Music videos.
OASIS(The Band).
FRIENDSHIP.
OPTIMISM.
WOMEN.
XAVIERS COLLEGE.
SINHALS CLASSES.
AND FEW MORE
But none of these would be of any interest to you or anyone else,because im not confident
if im creative,impressive or fresh enough to pull off any of the "THEMES".

SO HE HAS STUMBLED.
A FAILED HOUR.
Time passes by, in a useless motion, as he can't decide what to write about.
HE feels wasted.
After all the thought he writes nothing, nothing , nothing
OR DOES HE?
52 lines to be precise.

Ok lets WRITE now............

2004-11-27T00:50:00.000+05:30

I don't think im a mediocre writer/column writer.
Ofcourse 83% of the world thinks,that they are fantastic writers,something that really gets Salman Rushdie mad.
Why do people like to write,me thinks. Well kenneth,people like things thats easy to converge into.Its so easy to speak our minds,so easy to speak our thoughts.
"WRITING IS CONVERTING THOSE THOUGHTS INTO WORDS".
We speak to ourselves 99% of the time ,when we are conscious.
If only we put those thoughts to paper,all of us would be writing 1, 600 page novel, per day, according to a study.
Also it gives you a false satisfaction that your doing something ARTY.

My own prison........

2004-11-26T00:14:00.000+05:30

It could get pretty daunting sometimes to put mind to paper, sometimes even more daunting than putting pen to paper, especially during those lounging sessions I spend in my own company doing nothing, absolutely nothing, that is considering playing minesweeper on the computer as doing nothing constructive,as the pseudo-busy people tell me . I like listening to music though, for me it is an air of stimulant air that acts as breeze, for my moist, unwashed and oily face.

A view..........

2004-11-24T22:37:00.000+05:30

Viewpoint is blamed to be the basic reason, why u and i think differently.At times usual conversations could overboard and loud enough,thats whena safe way to end the thing,is to tell him/her that i have a different viewpoint and u have urs, and thats it, the matter ends there. End of the fiasco.Wasn't difficult , was it?Although today, the success rate of the above formula has begun to dwindle.Bound to be, when the world consists of a majority of speakers who don't knowhow to listen. Its "IN" to argue, over uncomplicated and unnecessary situations, so u can go home, still thinkin im better and i won and im right......... allways, how can i be wrong?
It has become a matter of prestige and self-esteem, to prove to the other guy, i know more than u damn it!, so u'd always be ABOVE that guy, in future.

Im an Indian, and a proud one at that, but that doesn't make me liable to the fact,that i can't enjoy anything that is "FOREIGN".I'm sayin this, because someone once asked me, as to why am i so attracted to the outer-lands and the outer-goods.
YES I am attracted to, their "GOODS", which include music,movies,money,state of living,privacy.open-mindedness,amongst many others .The reason, for this shoudn't be put down to the fact that im 19, a typical teenager, whos supposed to be anti-nationilistic, as being anti-nationilistic is COOL, among my peers.But it should be put down to the fact, that they are good at most of the above, and theyshould be given credit for that, doing that shouldn't provoke a negative impression concerning my viewpoint.