A chat with the Seducers

They have been entertaining us for years. You cannot imagine Bollywood without their gyrations. In this nation where an average Indian struggles for a meal, they are like a shining beacon in cold nights giving equal respite to the underprivileged and the privileged. Why would I like to chat with them, you may ask? It is to know their secret formula, to know what makes them thrust, to know what inspires them to do jiggle their assets.

It was an honor to be connected to the Seven Sexy Seducers on WeChat and talk to them. Now won’t it be best if I share with you our chat history? That will give you enough fodder as to why I was jumping with joy when I got this opportunity.

Oh! But before that, let me introduce them to you.

Me : Hello Ladies. This is history in the making.

Mehbooba : History? Are you trying to insult me by telling me that I am old now?

Chikni Chameli : LOL

Me : No! I meant this is history in the making because all of you are here chatting together.

Mehbooba : Ah! And Chikni Chameli, show some respect. I have done more dance numbers than the number of clothes you are wearing.

Badmaash Babli : ROLF! Mehbooba, like seriously! Do you live in a cave? Chances are that Chikni Chameli is hardly wearing anything.

Ku Ku Ku : Mehboobaji, girls nowadays do not wear skin colored clothes like in your times. They aren’t hypocrites and of course they do not have any respect.

Me : Ladies! Really, this is a most interesting cat fight but can we just chat? Can all of you share your thoughts about what drove you to do all those dance numbers?

Mehbooba, Laila, Badnaam Munni, Halkat Jawani, Chikni Chameli, Badmaash Babli, Ku Ku Ku : The love of Art.

Me : Wow! 5 minutes into the chat and I have tears in my eyes. What else? You all know that the men in our country love you to bits. Movies make crores because of you. Your item numbers are the first ones to be aired to generate enough testosterone to make families come and watch the movie. So what else makes you gyrate in addition to love of art?

Laila : *blush blush*

Halkat Jawani : Why are you blushing? The last item number you did was in 1980.

Ku Ku Ku : RESPECT ladies!

Chikni Chameli : Is it because you are soon going to join their ranks? LOL!

*This was not going the way I wanted it to*

Me : Ladies, can we get back to the question?

Laila : I did it for fame too. There. I said it. We all do it for fame. We love it when men fall over each other to touch us and our bodyguards fling them in random directions. It is addictive.

Badmaash Babli : See, the basic fact is that a majority of the people are sexually starved and we capitalize on it. There is no harm in it. The whole world capitalizes on things that can be capitalized upon.

Mehbooba : I never thought about it that way. I loved dancing.

Badnaam Munni : I think the whole concept has evolved over the years. The dynamics and the stakes have changed. Heroines never did item numbers earlier. Now we do not need someone like Mehbooba. I think it started changing during the time of Laila.

Me : But the item number is not about dancing anymore, isn’t it?

Ku Ku Ku : No it is not. It is more about profits now. It is about gathering as much people as you can to recover your production costs. It is more about moving parts of your body in unimaginable ways to arouse men.

Me : And all of you know that?

Halkat Jawani : Of course we know that! Who do you think we are? Paris Hilton?

Me : Ok. Forget about all the statistics but is it exciting to know that lakhs of men lust after you? That given a chance, they will pounce on you?

Laila : Sweetheart, a man who has to pounce on you will pounce on you, irrespective of the item number. The world is abundant with pouncers. 

Me : But given the fact that an average Indian male is sexually oppressed and consider all women not related to him as objects, don’t you think that you are fanning the fires here?

Badmash Babli : Look, it is a simple demand and supply phenomenon. Stop watching movies with item numbers and Bollywood will stop making them. We are just riding on the tide.

Me : What about morality?

Halkat Jawani, Chikni Chameli : Fu*k morality.

Mehbooba : Jesus!

Badnaam Munni : LOL! Let who is without sin cast the first stone.

Chikni Chameli : Cigarettes cause cancer but we still manufacture them. Alcohol is injurious to health. Why do we manufacture guns and bombs? Why do prostitutes exist? Darling, you are talking about morality in a world that has buried it long ago.

Laila : Do you really think our society will turn Mother Teresa if item numbers are banned?

Me : I believe that they are a part of the problem. And I don’t believe morality is dead. There are people who still swear by it and are fighting for its existence. It is a matter of talking sides. It is a matter of convincing yourself that there are things more important than money. 

Chikli Chameli, Ku Ku Ku : Ha!

Me : All right ladies, lets not be so serious. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Mehbooba, tell us what you think about the new girls?

Mehbooba : Too bold for my taste. And I do not understand the concept of wiggling bosoms. I think it was Ku Ku Ku who started it and now everyone is giving the twins a roller-coaster ride.

Laila : Exactly. If we line all the ladies up against the Great Wall of China and let loose the tremors, the wall will have a gaping hole in minutes. Why is everyone doing that?

Chikni Chameli : Laila, now really! You have subjected people to enough horizontal wiggling in your songs.

Badnaam Munni : I guess people like it. And lets not talk about morality again.

Me : It is a two way road. I think a society where actresses fall over each other to do an item number says a lot about the society as well but there has to be a sense of responsibility in the industry too. Actresses are not machines on a production line that have to manufacture a product that they are designed for. It is not a simple demand and supply. We are humans with brains.

A house in the photographs

I believe that our home is like our mind. It turns overwhelming after a while. Maybe because of passage of time or because of the limited capability of our brain to run in a thousand different directions, we end up stacking a lot of memories in boxes and forget them. Ditto for our home.

But then sometimes, while staring at a drifting cloud or a bird going home, there are memories that rush back, memories that we had long forgotten, memories that surprise us because they are still unknowingly breathing inside us. It is a breathtaking moment when you wonder if a particular memory was actually a dream.

And you ask yourself – Did it actually happen?

I shifted home two years back. It was a painful experience. I had spent 25 years of my life in that house. The house has been a silent spectator of the emotions that everyone living in the house went through – bliss, heartache, gloom, love, togetherness, separation, marriage and death. The house was a member of the family; it was where everyone returned, where everyone found each other.

While I packed my life to move to a new (and bigger) shelter, I stumbled upon memories stacked away and forgotten. I opened boxes to have a look into the piece of the past they contained and was transported back. There were tears in my eyes when I fell upon a shoebox full of my collection of post-cards of Bollywood actors and actresses. Like every other teenager, I was madly in love with them. There was a shop that was a ten minutes walk from my home where a kind, obese uncle sat with his kind, obese son as I rummaged through the postcards for my picks.

My family was not rich. My father was barely able to meet ends and so the importance of money was etched in my mind from childhood. But then I had hobbies. So, I collected every single rupee that was given to me. Every coin added to my piggybank was yet another step towards acquiring a postcard, towards buying a second-hand novel from the Sunday Daryaganj market, towards getting that cassette recorded with the latest Bollywood songs from the local music corner, towards buying the latest comic book of my favorite superhero, towards buying Filmfare and reading all that our stars had to say. There were times when I had to wait for days to accumulate sufficient amount to buy a dream but the wait was always worth it.

My sister always wanted a Barbie – the new doll with wavy hair that had recently hit the market. She would look hungrily at the shiny dolls wearing glamorous clothes displayed in the windows of toy shops. Of course it was too expensive (Rs 100 a doll back then) and we could not afford it. The hair on her doll’s head was fewer in comparison and would come away after a few combs. I decided to make her happy. I took a nice, long needle and some spare wool (left from a hideous sweater that mom knitted for me) and started adding hair to her doll. I took off the head of the doll and pierced her head with the needle from inside. I then pulled it till the end of the wool and then snipped off the wool so that she now had a hair till her waist. I repeated it a hundred times and soon the doll had lush green woolen hair till her waist that my sister could comb to glory.

When my sister saw Aishwarya Rai become Miss India, she had a sudden urge to host a Miss World in our house. I again came to her rescue leaving my Hot Wheels cars and my plastic animals behind. I drew a lot of lovely women on paper wearing exquisite gowns and sashes of their countries. I then cut them and made them stand by pasting a thin cardboard strip near their legs. I made around 200 such drawings and gave them to my sister to play. She made all of them stand on a table and gave them a number and chose the next Miss World. Oh! How she loved it!

I found the lovely ladies in a box, lying on top of each other and smiling at me.

I found truckload of capacitors and resistors that my father used while repairing our old television. He had done a course in electronics and I would gawk at his notes with that immaculate writing and the complicated circuit diagrams. I found those notes.

I found Mom’s old black and white fairy photograph. When I came across the bag containing all the pictures, I desperately searched for her photo in which she was wearing a black pahari dress. As a child, I used to think that she was a fairy whenever I looked at that picture. I promised myself that I will get it framed. I found dad’s photograph in which he looked like Rakesh Roshan.

I found my old sketch book about which I blogged here.

I found a card with the picture of a village belle in the front and a sher written inside by my father. I found his wooden miniature airplane.

I found my kindergarten report card.

It was a beautiful day. The boxes that I had stacked away in my mind and completely forgotten were magically opened one by one. As the memories tumbled out, I thought that moving the house wasn’t a bad idea after all. It was refreshing. It took me to another era. It made me realize how much I have changed. It humbled me. But there was a nagging guilt that I was leaving the house behind. And then I felt as if my old house was smiling at me.

“You are not leaving me behind. I am in all of those pictures. I am the wall behind you. I am the floor on which you stand. I am coming with you,” it said.

Sometimes I pass that house and look at it from my car. Someone else is living there now. It is a part of another family.

Does it still remember me?

Forgotten Heroes – Tuffy and Pigeon

There were times when Tuffy could not believe that he was sleeping on the road, fighting with stray dogs over tiny morsels of food. He lived in a mansion once, where everyone sang and danced, where he was once made an umpire in a game about which he had no idea (all he knew was that one of the wooden boards had a bit of chicken tikka masala rubbed on it and whenever he picked it up, everyone screamed and pointed at the sky). Those were the good old days.

Pigeon sat on a wire, curiously studying the familiar dog that gnawed at a bone near one of the huge dustbins. Even though he was dirty and his shiny white mane was hardly visible, the pigeon could not whisk away the inkling that the face was too familiar. Pigeon did not have any friends. The fact that he was white gave him delusions of grandeur. This really pissed off the usual grey pigeons and they kept him at bay. As he saw the dog, the pigeon remembered the time when he was a pet and sighed. He missed how Suman rubbed his nipples while singing. Those were the good old days.

He flew towards the dog.

“I hope I am not disturbing you Sir but are you Tuffy?” the pigeon asked.

The dog looked up. It was days since anyone has talked to him.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

“It is a privilege to meet you sir! I am aware of your heroic deeds and how you helped Prem and Nisha in Hum Aapke Hain Kaun.”

“Wait! Are you Prem and Suman’s pigeon from Maine Pyar Kiya?”

“Yes, Sir. I am,” the pigeon said puffing his chest.

“You were quite heroic yourself. The way you helped Prem and Suman was commendable.”

“Thank you Sir. So what happened? Why are you here?” the pigeon asked. Tuffy sighed.

“Well! I got bored. It wasn’t as if I didn’t like the family but they were getting irritating,” Tuffy said.

“Tell me about it!” the pigeon said rolling his eyes.

“Their house was so bloody big and then everyone was calling my name all the time. I have had enough of running. And then they would sing like 20 songs in a day and made me dance on my hind legs. It wasn’t funny,” Tuffy said.

“I know what you mean. I loved the way Suman held me in her hands and rubbed my crotch but she would throw me in the air like 50 times in a day to send a message to Prem. They lived in the same bloody house!” Pigeon said.

“There was always a crowd in that house. It was as if a whole country was living there. And people will pull my hair, pick me up, toss me around, make me run. By the time I went to sleep at night, my muscles would be burning,” Tuffy said as a tear slip down his cheek.

“I must confess something. I hated my owner. She had this permanent begging expression on her face. And the way she said Prem almost killed me. I wanted to peck out her eyes. And she was a tube light. The poor guy took her to the balcony to have sex with her and she won’t let him. She made him sing and dance till he collapsed of exhaustion,” Pigeon said.

“Nisha and Prem were idiots too. She prepared food for him, wore here fancy pink dress and when they had all the time in the world, they danced! Can you fuc*ing believe that! And her sister who fell off the stairs was another idiot. Why did she have to dance all over the house to get into a room? No one in that stupid family knew how to walk. They even danced before going to the loo. I wonder how they reproduced,” Tuffy said in disgust.

The dam was broken. Old wounds were opening.

“Are you happy now?” Pigeon asked.

“Hell yeah!” Tuffy answered licking the bone he was holding in his paws, “Of course, I miss Nisha at times.”

“Why is that?” Pigeon asked in surprise.

“Nisha had a habit of touching me at inappropriate places.”

“Really? Suman also had that habit. She would run her hands all over me as if I was a Kashmiri shawl. Since I never had a girlfriend, this was the closest I came to having sex.”

“I don’t know. I was always aroused by Nisha. Once she wore a backless purple blouse and swayed her hips like melons tumbling off a cart. Heaven!”

“Oh! That was classic. Vagaries of the civilized world.”

“Tell me pigeon. Did you actually push that villain off the cliff?”

“I have never talked about this. Well no, I was not trying to kill him. I was trying to kill Prem. When Suman was thrown out of Prem’s house by his father, I had no idea that he would come after her. Oh! How I wanted to put my beak in his nose and pull out his brains when I saw him in the village. Even though I hated Suman’s shrivelled face, the physical pleasures she gave me were too much to sacrifice. I thought that if Prem died, she will be mine. But Alas, that idiot villain could not understand my intention. I was just trying to help him pull Prem down and he thought I was attacking him,” pigeon said with a sad expression.

“I would like to confess something too. When Nisha gave me that letter to give to Prem, I thought that giving it to his elder brother will create a ruckus and he will still marry her and make her life hell. And then she will be mine. She will always turn to me for comfort. But the fool made her marry Prem. I cried buckets that day,” Tuffy said.

As Tuffy and Pigeon were busy being nostalgic, no one noticed a tigress coming from behind. Before Pigeon could spread his wings, she landed her paw on his tail and closed her mouth over his head.

“NOoooo,” Tuffy shouted and jumped at the tigress. He did not see a blurred movement of her paw that slashed against his jaw, flinging him at a wall on his right. Tuffy slid down the wall like a dead fly.

Within seconds, the tigress was licking her claws as a few feathers slid off her mouth.

“Pathetic animals! I can’t believe someone took them as pets. Look at me! Now I am a majestic animal worthy of being a hero. I am elated that Himmatwala took me in. He is kinda sexy too. I love licking his shaved cheek,” the Tigress said fluttering her eyelashes. She then moaned and walked away to find Himmatwala.

The thought of another lick of the shaved cheek was too much to bear.

[Images from - 1,2,3,4, 5]

10 Commandments of driving in the country of Uttar Pradesh

The prosperous and vibrant country of Uttar Pradesh holds a special place in my heart. I am now officially a resident of this high on testosterone land. In such a short span of time, the Gun Ka Achaar, the poems of Ma Behen, the misty winters of cold shoulders and the daredevils on the pot-holed race tracks have taken my heart away.

The citizens of this country are a class apart. They work tirelessly towards bringing to life what the rest of the Indians consider unachievable. There are times when I have tears of happiness in my eyes while driving as I see everyone following the following 10 commandments of driving in this amazing country with such seriousness.

Thou Shalt driveth as in America

The citizens of this great nation realized long back that the fastest way to develop the country is to flip the way they drive. Driving in the wrong lane is not taboo here. In fact you will be amazed by the vehicles running in the wrong lanes. It gives you an instantaneous feeling that you are in America. It is a sign of progress. In fact any tourist who visits Uttar Pradesh immediately gets comfortable seeing the roads here after jumping from their hotel windows.

Thou shalt smirketh at the followers of the substandard rules

Now smirking and making fun of people who try to apply the rules followed in India is considered a privileged activity in the country of Uttar Pradesh. Outsiders are advised not to take it negatively. You really have to understand the emotion of the citizens behind this act. Try to drive in the wrong lane for a resounding acceptance. In fact, educated and well placed Delhiites who buy posh flats in NCR here end up following the American rules of driving. It is a matter of pride.

Thou shalt honketh for brotherly prodding

The enthusiasm with which the citizens of this great nation drive might drive an outsider crazy. The honking is like a symphony that reaches a rhythmic crescendo especially near traffic signals. Try listening to Beethoven’s 5th symphony while driving here and that might be the closet you will get to achieving nirvana. Honking is nothing more than brotherly prodding. It is a way to tell you that a bullet is always faster than the speed of your car.

Thou shalt achieveth orgasm jumping signals

The adventurous zeal with which the citizens here drive is commendable. It keeps the heart healthy as it keeps pumping at the rate of 150 bpm. It is a fantastic alternative to exercising in our busy lives. So, the next time you see UP-ites stopping at a signal not because it has turned red but because they are going to die otherwise, try to understand the smart logic behind it. Almost everyone (except a few sissies) in this great nation has a habit of jumping signals. Multiple jumps lead to multiple orgasms.

Thou shalt haveth no fear of traffic cops

The traffic cops are a non-existent entity in this great country. After living here for a while, it is evident to me that the country really don’t need them. The citizens take great care of each other in all sort of road related issues. There is so much caring and sharing that people have rods, bats, fists, honks and swearwords ready in case of an emergency. On exceptional occasions, even if there is a traffic cop standing next to the lamp-post remotely trying to streamline the traffic, he is royally ignored. He is similar to the lamp-post, only less useful.

Thou shalt enjoyeth pot-holed racing tracks

No matter how badly damaged the road is, the citizens of this great nation never take it to heart. Mostly, the speed of their cars is so high that they fly over the potholes. The act is therapeutic in nature. The constant flights and occasional jolts rejuvenate the body. Also, the mind remains in an alert state when so many cars are racing in the same direction. It is very similar to a computer game where rickshaws, cows and pedestrians are added to attain higher difficulty levels. Sometimes potholes are filled with sand and a few days later you might see a plant sprout out in the middle of the road.

Thou shalt decorateth the roads in red

Where else in the world will you see such ardor in the citizen of a nation where they can achieve the frightening feat of opening the door of a moving vehicle to spit on the road? In fact the citizens are so hell-bent on decorating the roads and give the nation a colorful appearance that at any point of time, you can see multiple doors opening on a road and paan flying out. It is almost like a synchronized performance of children sitting in a stadium with colorful placards.

Thou shalt useth traffic signboards for personal use

Since the country has such compassionate citizens, it is not surprising that the traffic sign boards are used for the benefit of the common citizens and politicians. So, you can see a ‘BOYS PG’ poster right over a ‘NO PARKING’ sign board. There might be a colorful mega posters of politicians draped on overhead sign-boards on highways. It is heart warming to see people using government resources for the benefit of all.

Thou shalt stopth anywhere you fancy

The citizens of this amazing nation do not believe in parking areas. Outsiders might be surprised by cars parked at unimaginable angles and in no parking zones but it exhibits the adjusting nature of the citizens. There are auto-rikshaws parked at busy intersections while their drivers pull helpless pedestrians inside. They even pull in men watering the walls midway in the act of donation. These acts (the pulling ones) restore my faith in mankind.

Thou shalt be fearless

Of course, despite all the brotherly love the citizens shower at each other, there are terrible accidents almost every day on the roads. It is a very common sight here to see weirdly crushed vehicles. Over the years, the citizens have developed a heart of steel and carry on abiding to the 10 commandments with the zeal of a warrior. They are the true heroes of the nation of Uttar Pradesh.

And in the end, I promise to follow the 10 commandments with all my heart.

I am proud to be a part of the brainless brotherhood.

My other posts on the same topic that might interest you -

A country called Uttar Pradesh

Traffic control gadgets for the ASIRW (Average Stupid Indian Road Warrior)

[Images from 1,2,3,4]

10 Disadvantages of being a Male

It is not easy being a man. Today when India is hit by a tsunami of Feminism, the men stand at crossroads. Should we jump in too and let go the flood of tears we have been holding since decades? We too have problems with the way the world and nature treats us. It is just that we bear our burdens in silence.

Here are the 10 biggest disadvantages of being a male.

No homemaking

There are times when we don’t feel like slogging. There are times when we are tired of wiping our boss’s spit from our face when he has finished shouting. We have to carry on the mundane task of being a cash machine. We are not even allowed to think about the alternative of letting our wives take that responsibility. How we wish to puff those pillows, dust those expensive showpiece, make dinner, raise our kids and be a perfect homemaker, but all those are distant dreams.

The Tennis Ball

Do you realize the kind of pressure we undergo when Momma and Mate pull us from both the ends? We are not allowed to sit and watch the tennis match between the two ladies because we are that ball. That ball, which is smacked violently and repeatedly in this never-ending match. We are supposed to take sides. Our eardrums hurt.

Road runner

There is always a war on the roads in India. A woman driver is given space and respect because everyone in her vicinity thinks that they will die otherwise. Men on the other hand have to jostle for each and every inch of a road amidst roaring honks and glaring swearwords. We are all Gladiators ready to beat the daylights out of each other.

Probably a rapist/child molester

We are at the end of our tethers trying to duck every woman and child out of our way. A slight brush of our hand on a woman’s skirt and we might be under a hailstorm of sandals. We might talk to a child with a smile and we might end up being pasted to the road by the his father’s SUV. Do you know how straining living like this is? We are a human bomb walking on needles. Of course there is the other end of the spectrum too, but they are more animals than men.

Shares. Stocks. Bonds. Budget.

Men are supposed to act smart. Even if we believe that shares are sung in a Mushaira and Bonds is the name given to all the girls who bonded with James Bond, we are supposed to act like Harshad Mehta. We should follow the rise and fall of the stock market like a Bollywood actress’s bosoms in a dance number. The latest budget should be on our tips if we want some respect.

Under a lens. Always.

Ever since we open our eyes, we are under constant scrutiny. Our parents burden us with all their unfulfilled dreams as if we are a cargo ship. Then we spend the rest of our lives dodging our wives as they suspiciously go through our shirts for a whiff of an affair, our bosses as they take a smelly dump on our career and our children who start treating us as losers the moment they develop sex organs. When we are old, the nurse treats us as an unwanted cockroach that she is too scared to crush under her feet. Ditto for our children.

Sports Journal

Even though the only sport we are good at is the in-the-night-no-control types, we are supposed to have passionate knowledge about a sport, preferably cricket. God forbid if we confess that we are not interested in it or do not remember the color of the underwear Sachin wore in an unforgettable 1993 series, we will be immediately shunned like a woman carrying an illegitimate child. Knowing about Soccer, Baseball and Rugby is an added advantage. It is not easy to be a walking encyclopedia on sports when all you really like is burgers and breasts.

The rise and fall of Junior

The problem with junior is that it is like an alien entity attached between our legs. Like the Ring of the dark Lord, it has a will of its own. It sometimes rises with the Sun and refuses to subside. It refuses to rise and shine when it is actually required to because of performance issues. It rises at the most inappropriate of places and thus has to be covered up with whatever props we can muster – a book, a lost puppy, a bowl snatched from a beggar. Compare this to women – they might be aroused even in a funeral and not a single soul will know. They could be walking on the street, sitting in a bus or sleeping in a room full of guests and no one will ever point at a hill between their legs and laugh. Oh! The pleasure of that freedom!

Facade

Since childhood we are brainwashed into being a real man who don’t cry, who does not take but give emotional support and who can break a jaw at the drop of a hat. Basically we should be robotic providers who do not go beyond a Hmmm when our children run towards us screaming that they have been selected in IIT. It is taxing. We feel desperately like crying at times, we sometimes wish we could treat our children as friends, sit with our wives and pour our heart out but we can’t. We feel unmanly with the mere thought of it. Instead we get drunk and scream swearwords at strangers on roads.

Dispensable. Always.

Yes! She could have saved him!

What boils our blood is that whenever a tragedy strikes or there is a war, we are the ones who are left to die. Women and children are the first ones to be saved. If time and situation permits, men are given a thought. Remember when the Titanic sank? Men were left on that sinking shit while women and children sat on lifeboats and saw the show. Rose had a whole goddamn wooden plank! Why are we always so dispensable? Just because we are in excess and selectively chosen over girls to live does not mean we don’t have a life and can be treated like a street dog.

So you see, it isn’t all that rosy for us men too. The world has been subjugating us in its own way. Nature have had it’s revenge too as we can’t even have pleasure at our own convenience. We are living in unbreakable molds like a Mummy and there is no escape.

[image from 1,2,3]

The boy who did not believe in love

Up was Down

On 16 Feb, 2013 Geet and I completed three years of our married life. Doesn’t sound like a big achievement, does it? After all there are couples who have spent 50 years together, where the last 10 years of their togetherness have been spent revisiting the potty training manuals, taking sagging body sponge baths via a nurse, exchanging dentures during dinner and spending half of the day getting up from the chair.

But these three years of togetherness are an achievement. Especially for a guy who never believed in love. I have seen too many marriages breaking apart around me, too many husbands beating up their wives, too many couples making compromises to believe otherwise. This notion was ingrained in me that no matter how high you are on the initial euphoria, the effect of the drug finally subsides in the morning. Your love life becomes a part of your routine and you get on with it like you get on with brushing your teeth.

I was almost 30 and Mom and Dad were panicking because they thought that their crossing-into-middle-age virgin son was going to die a virgin. It was the most terrifying year of my life when I had to finally make a decision. After all it involved another human being and I have to give up the freedom of farting noisily in my bedroom. Too much was on stake. My father created my profile in a matrimonial website and put up a really ugly picture of mine on display. On a scale of Sunil Shetty to 10, I looked like Tushar Kapoor. I went completely numb in the cold matrimonial waters, just like the survivors of Titanic. My virginity ship was about to sink and I watched helplessly as my feet grew cold.

M friends told me that it takes 2-3 years to find a bearable bride and given the fact that I looked like a cross between Mamta Banerjee and Prabhu Deva in my matrimonial photo, I extended the duration to 4-5 years and went in my crypt. But Gods had something else in mind. Within a month my parents sent me a girl’s picture (I was in Manchester then) and told me that she was perfect.

“Did she see my photo on the website?” I asked in a state of shock. The ship was sinking too fast.

“She did.”

“Are you sure she is not blind?”

I was told that there was a 33/36 match on our horoscopes and I have to stop being an idiot and talk to her. Now this was a turning point. Not that my parents had never called me an idiot but the horoscope match was too perfect. My ghosts of doubts were returning and whispering me to back out. They reminded me that I was incapable of falling in love. Now before you jump to conclusions, what the ghost meant was that I was emotionally incapable of carrying a relationship of such magnitude on my shoulders simple because I did not believe in that gesture. Secondly, what will my friends think? After all, I had distributed such pearls of wisdom like – How can two people stay together their entire lives? I will be bored to death! Ugh!

Anyways, I saw her photo and there was a sensation in certain parts of my body. Like near my heart. Let me clarify that it wasn’t lust that prompted me to talk to her. I know better than getting aroused over a photo of a fully dressed female. It was just instinct. We talked how two strangers will talk when they talk for the first time. I tried to be funny and failed and walked into a wall during our conversation. It was a good conversation.

Geet tells me that she had fallen for me during the one month we talked on the phone. I liked talking to her but nothing else happened. I don’t know why but I finally said yes.

The fact was that both of us were scared. When we moved to Manchester 15 days after we got married, I was taking deep breaths. But those were such incredible days. I rediscovered myself. I realized that my heart was capable of melting, that my eyes were capable of gleaming, that my legs were capable of going weak,  that I was capable of falling in love, that I would not die of poisonous gases if I don’t fart.

In college, Geet was the kind of girl who would stop talking to you if you ask her to be your girlfriend. She treated me like a lizard that has suddenly dropped in her lap from the ceiling when I tried to give her an innocent peck on the first day of our marriage. Like me, she too had her own battles to conquer. I waited patiently for her to come around. I worked on our friendship.

Now that I look back, I cannot imagine the last three years without her. I married a stranger and fell in love with a friend.  When I think of my marriage, I think of The Black Pearl, that was rocked upside down to be transported back into the land of the living at sunrise. Now wasn’t that lucky that ‘Up was Down’?

p.s. I am looking forward to exchanging my dentures with Geet. That way, if we are left with one chocolate and she eats it all, I can still after-taste it.

[image from here]

Strike Daddy is hiring!

Wanted – Strike Care Executives (SCE) to carry out systematic and methodological strikes of varying degrees in India and abroad.

Company Profile – Strike Daddy is a reputed firm that has an elite list of clandestine clientele who firmly believe in strikes and its positive outcomes. Our clients include prominent political parties, businessmen and unions. We specialize in organized strikes and are an OSMMI (Organised Strike Maturity Model Index) Level 5 company. Our success rate is 100% with a variance of +/- 5%. Our annual turnover (not including the black money) is 2000 crores per year which makes us the Number One Strike Specialist of India. We have been awarded the coveted Best Strike Organizer award by the ISU (International Strike Union) 4 times in a row from 2008-2012.

Job Details –

SCE-TV (Trainee Vandals) We are hiring inexperienced staff for our operations all across India. Field experience in an established company is not required. However, the aspirants must provide proof of roadside squabbles/fist fights/gun fights etc. Applicant should have failed in at least one class in his/her school. People who have not completed school and who aspire to become politicians will be preferred. Please do not apply if you look like Bollywood actor Imran Khan. Experience : 0-6 months

SCE-AV (Associate Vandals) : Applicant should have relevant work experience in a reputed Strike Organization (SO) firm. It is mandatory to carry a copy of all the FIRs lodged against the applicant. Applicants with more than 5 FIRs will be given preference. Applicant should have at least 1.5 years of field experience which must include one or more of the following activities – burning of public vehicles, smashing windows and doors of offices, manhandling/beating common man, shouting slogans, clash with police. Genuine photographs showing the applicant indulging in the above mentioned acts will be accepted. Men can also submit proofs of molestations/rape charges. Experience : 6 months – 3 years

SCE-SV (Senior Vandals) : In addition to a relevant work experience in a reputed SO firm, the applicant should have a field experience of at least 5.5 years. The applicant should have spent at least one year in jail (need not be a continuous one year term). The applicant should be a political aspirant and should have at least 2 rape charges (NA for women applicants), 10 molestation charges (NA for women applicants), 5 murder/kidnapping/black-marketing/dacoity/corruption charges pending against him/her in various courts in India. It is mandatory for the applicant to have bashed at least 2 policemen. Must have lead to the death of at least 5 people by a traffic jam or a train delay. Experience : 3 years – 7 years

Documents required – Applicants should bring substantial proofs like photographs, newspaper clippings (containing name or a clear picture of the applicant), hospital bills, television report clips (showing applicant in a clear view), FIR reports, Court case documents, Jail term proofs etc. Please note that witness accounts are not acceptable. Please do not bring broken teeth/chopped fingers/skin fragments/ears/tongue/eyeballs of your victims as proof.

Selection Procedure – We use advanced SST (Simulated Strike Tests) to evaluate the applicants on a point based exam. We use cut edge technologies like SSM (Scream Shrillness Meters), FCM (Fight Capacity Meters), AC (Animalism Capacitors), PE (Pyrophobia Evaluators), ECBCM (Effigy Creation & Burning Capability Model) etc to judge the capacity of the applicants to become a reputed Strike Care Executive. There will be group discussion rounds. Dummy Knives, stones, tree stumps, hockey sticks, swords and pistols will be provided for the same. Please do not bring any personal equipment.

Training Details – Our various level of SCC (Savage Creation Certifications) are specially designed to give you the required boost in your career. Based on your relevant years of experience, you can get a certification from Level 0 to 5. In addition to regular theory classes in strike procedures there are practical coaching by celebrity Strike Care Executives (SCE) as well. In the end of the induction course, there is an internship for 2 weeks with a reputed SCE before a final evaluation and project assignment.

Job Application Details – Walk-ins on 4th and 5th March 2013 in our headquarters in Noida, which is the best location for hands-on experience. If you are not able to attend the walk-in, please send your resume to fire&ash&guns&cash@strikedaddy.com.

Handsome salaries available. Opportunity to work in various locations in India with reputed clients. Onsite opportunities also available.

Chocolaty boys and Chui-mui girls need not apply. If you have been rejected in the last 6 months by us, don’t push your luck and make us come after you by applying again.

[image from here]

The Director’s Cut

I am a director. My vision has given wings to stories, flesh to characters and panache to words. I do not have a cinematographer, a costume designer, an art director, a make-up artist, a special effects supervisor. I do that myself. Alone.

I have the power to dissolved away my surroundings. I have the power to be deaf to tyres scraping on roads, to honks hammering my ear drums, to mouths producing conversations, to songs blaring out of machines. There are times when the car dismantle around me – strips of metal fly away, the seat dissolve beneath me, the humans vanish in fumes – and then I am sitting alone, ready to direct my movie. Ready to be devoured by what I love the most. My private universe.

I open the book and my fingers melt into the pages and then I am somewhere else. I am a time traveler.

The idea was breathing with me. It was not planted but surfaced at the right time. It took time to evolve but soon I was directing books instead of reading them. It started in the 90s. Like the rest of India, I was awestruck by DDLJ and my directorial debut was a Shahrukh-Kajol starrer named The Heir of Redclyffe by  Charlotte M. Yonge. Tears trickled down my cheeks when Guy Morville (played by SRK) dies of a fever leaving a widowed Kajol behind. Yes, such was the magic of my directorial debut. SRK and Kajol played numerous important roles in the classics like The Wuthering Heights (although I replaced them with Hrithik and Kareena in a remake later), Rebecca, Gone with the wind, Anna Karenina, The Scarlet Letter etc. The list is endless. While SRK and Kajol reached the heights of stardom by featuring in my movies, Aamir was as usual sulking. So, I threw an occasional Barnaby Rudge and Jude the Obscure towards him. You might throw a spear of a question towards me asking why were Bollywood actors playing Caucasian roles? It was, dear readers, an alternate reality. It was supposed to be insane.

It wasn’t just the classics where the Bollywood actors were shining. SRK (!), Kajol (!) and Saif came together for The Fountainhead. Who played Ellsworth M. Toohey, you may ask. Nasseruddin Shah. Movies like The English Patient, Sphere, Birdsong, The Bind Assassin, 1984, Life of Pi etc kept coming out with Bollywood actors till the director in me outgrew the SRK-Kajol pair and wanted something more. I wanted to work with Foreign actors. And thus started an era of movies where I worked with Jack Nicholson, Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt in A Finkler Question, Japanese actors in Memoirs of a Geisha, Black actors in The Colour Purple and countless other movies.

Soon afterwards, my nation started calling me back and I did The Immortals of Meluha with Hrithik as Shiva. A new idea was germinating. I wanted to go for collaborations. Sometimes blind ones. I picked up The Wheel of Time. It was an epic 14 books fantasy series and a huge star cast was required. I had no idea what the story was and hence I randomly assigned actors. It was a gamble but it created results seen never before on the screen. Katrina was paired opposite Brad Pitt. She almost fainted at the proposition. Kareena became the Amyrlin Seat (after uprooting the wicked Angelina Jolie) with a lost puppy of a Matt Damon trailing her. Yes, who would have thought? Priyanka Chopra ended up as Bradley Cooper’s sister. There were minor hiccups like Aishwarya Rai falling in love with Amitabh’s character, but then we were playing blind, weren’t we?

I had tasted blood.

I read A Song of Ice and Fire Series next and had an equally enchanting star cast lined up. And then The Malazan Book of the Fallen happened. It was strange to see Amitabh and Hrithik playing Gods. It was strange to see Rani Mukherjee and Tobey Maguire together in a scene with A.K. Hangal in the background. It was strange to see Aishwarya playing Empress Laseen talking to Sergeant Whiskeyjack played by Arnold. It was strange to see Ashmit Patel (a slave and a mistake) trying to calm down a weeping emperor played by Johnny Depp. It was strange to see Kareena commanding an army with George Clooney standing next to her as a sergeant and then she goes ahead and kills Kristen Stewart of Twilight fame (they played sisters).

In the end it is not just about the actors but about the visualization – the costumes, the makeup, the backdrop, the special effects, the music and the acting. It is about watching a book and enjoying the experience. I assume it is an art we all possess but the limits vary.

This is another reason the movies in the real world never live up to the books. I have already created them in vivid details in my mind. I have already seen them. I have already directed them.

Nothing comes close to the joy of carrying a world at my disposal in my brain. There are moments while turning pages when I forget that I am turning them, when I forget that I am physically outside the book, when nothing exists except the screen.

[images from 1,2,3,4]

The Zoo of Democracy – Guest Post on KayEm’s blog

It is a zoo of wonders, the first of its kind. It is a necessity too. Where else can we keep all those dangerous, carnivorous animals we have caught? The funding is clandestine but everyone knows where it comes from. There are enough madmen in the country with a lot of money.

It is named – The Zoo of Democracy.

So, one fine day I asked my wife if she would like to go out for a picnic. The new Zoo of Democracy was the latest attraction added to the many attractions of Delhi and I was hearing amazing reviews of it.

What happened at the zoo?

Who was that guide wearing a saffron shirt, white trousers and green shoes?

Jump to KayEm’s blog to read more – The Zoo of democracy.

The day Gods were Arnab-ised

Arnab looks at the camera and gives a triumphant smile. He feels like the king of the world. 

Arnab: Ladies and gentlemen! This is a Times Wow exclusive. Nowhere in this world, and I repeat, NOWHERE IN THIS WORLD, have you seen a debate of such a scale. Today we will talk to Gods of three religions. Yes, you heard it right ladies and gentlemen. * A pause and he stares at the screen for 3 seconds* You heard it right. Let’s call them God A, B and C. We will not be disclosing the religion they represent, neither will we be disclosing their faces. Please welcome the three Gods.

Three blank screens appear next to Arnab with God A, B and C written below them.

Arnab: “Welcome everyone to the show. Let’s start with the most important question haunting mankind. Let’s end the hide-and-seek game today. LET’S SETTLE THIS NOW AND HERE!!!! Where are all of you? Why are you not helping us? God A?”

God A: Because we are not supposed to! Unless and until a calamity of a monstrous scale happens that threatens the end… 

Arnab: OH MY GOD! You are telling me that there have been no calamities of a monstrous scale? Let me remind you sir. No! Let me remind you! 900 people died in the Mumbai riots in 1993, more than a 1000 people died in the Gujrat roits….

God B: Arnab, he meant on the scale of lakhs, crores. When there is a danger of extinction of mankind, we might appear. Until then…

Arnab: *giving a Dilip Kumar expression* Might appear? Might? MigHT? MIGHT? WE HUMANS HERE ARE COMSUMING VICKS AT AN ALARMING RATE BECAUSE WE ARE GETTING HOARSE CALLING YOU FOR HELP AND YOU MIGHT APPEAR? WE ARE PUTTING LAKHS AND LAKHS OF MONEY AT YOUR FEET WHEN MILLIONS ARE STARVING AND YOU ‘MIGHT’ APPEAR?

God C: Arnab, we cannot undo what humans have done. It is your fate. We gave you brains, didn’t we?

Arnab: *Pointing at God C with a Nirupa Roy look* YOU SIR ARE THE WORST OF THE WHOLE BUNCH! Your people are killing other people since hundred of years and you are eating popcorn and watching the show! Can you sleep at night? Can you look into the mir…..

God C: Why are you blaming me, God B’s people have been destroying one nation after another since decades. What about him? Why don’t you….

God B: Hold on! My people have always fought righteous wars! They have always fought for the love of America humanity. You cannot….

God A: Hrrrrruumph! Give me a break! Both of you should have at least appeared once in a while and made things right. Look at me. I have already appeared 9 times. All you guys do is sit on your ass and….

Arnab: SILENCE! Silence! All three of you are guilty! All three of you! And stop playing your politics here. THIS IS MY SHOW! I AM THE GOD HERE! So, don’t you guys dare to fling fingers at each other. The only finger that flings on this show is MINE! God A, tell me something. Your people are goondas. They beat girls who drink. They beat couples who celebrate Valentines day. Tell me, don’t they serve drinks in heaven when you have cultural programs where apsaras dance? Don’t you have Kamdev in your cabinet?

God A: I never said any of these things are wrong.

Arnab: But YOU NEVER DID ANYTHING TO STOP IT!

God A: What do you want? I can’t bloody come every time on Earth when someone has a flat tyre to help him.

Arnab: OH MY GOD! You are comparing hooliganism and murders to flat tyres? OH MY GOD!

God A: *rolling his eyes* It was just an expression!

Arnab: Let me tell all three of you today – YOU GUYS ARE GOOD FOR NOTHING. *Inserting a sad Anupam Kher expression* I feel like an orphan today. An orphan! And I say this on the behalf of the whole humanity. ALL OF US ARE ORPHANS! WE ARE ON OUR OWN! OH MY GOD!

God B: You really don’t have to be such a drama queen. Let us speak. You have to understand that this is not how it….

Arnab: DRAMA QUEEN? YOU ARE CALLING ME A DRAMA QUEEN? YOU THREE ARE THE BIGGEST DRAMA QUEENS I HAVE EVER SEEN! Sir, let me tell you that you guys exist because of us. If we want, we can shun you all and live on our own. Tell me how it happens then. I would like to listen. Let’s finish this now and here. Today is the day. Today is JUDGEMENT DAY!

God C: Our task was to create the world. We cannot solve your problems. We can only show you the path. It is up to you to walk on it.

Arnab: So, the three of you agree that you cannot help us?

God A,B,C: Yes.

Arnab: OH MY GOD!

*another 3 second pause and then he looks at the camera*

Arnab: Ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we have seen incompetence at the highest level. Forget politicians. Forget the World Wars. This is the reality exclusively on Times Wow – that we are alone. We have to fight this battle of saving humanity on our own. That OUR GODS ARE NOT GOING TO SAVE US! I WILL NEVER BOW MY HEAD IN FRONT OF ANY GOD FROM NOW ONWARDS!

God A: *yawning* Arnab, why don’t you become the god for humans? You have all the characteristics. *God B and C nod in unison and pass a smile*

Arnab: STOP YOUR SARCASTIC HANKY PANKY! YOUR ROSE TINTED IMAGE HAS BEEN SHATTERED TODAY. HUMANS NOW KNOW WHAT YOU ALL STAND FOR. *looks at the camera* THIS TIMES WOW EXCLUSIVE WILL BE ETCHED IN THE MEMORY OF MANKIND TILL ETERNITY.

God C : *telepathically talks to God A and B* His face is going red. His lungs will be on the table anytime.

God A,B : *telepathically* Don’t make us laugh you idiot! He has already done enough to portray us in a bad light.

God C : *telepathically* You appear as a blank screen, you fool! And you really think people care?

God B : *telepathically* Of course not. That is one reason I haven’t turned him into Rakhi Sawant yet.

God A: *telepathically* Shall we leave?

God C: *telepathically* Oh for God sake! Yes!

*Meanwhile Arnab is still rambling*

Arnab: I AM ASHAMED OF ALL THREE OF YOU!! ASHAMED!! Do you have anything else to say before we end this show?

*Silence*

Arnab: God A, God B, God C?

*Silence*

Arnab: OH MY GOD!