The art of picking your woman in your arms

You know, I was dying to do some armchair activism today. I was looking forward to write a post titled – Dear India, what the fuck? – and scream my lungs out about the way our priorities are royally misplaced. How we don’t care about rapes and farmer suicides and discuss AIB as if it is the latest discovered deadly virus. How we don’t bother about the bovine Sakshi Maharaj distributing his pearls of unbelievable wisdom but are ok with attack on an activist’s car because she circulated pictures of rapists. But then I thought, what is the point? We should all acknowledge the fact that we have been self-centred chu***as since hundreds of years and move on to other important topics.

Like the art of picking your woman in your arms.

Bollywood has always been an inspiration to the society. You can actually trace back all the crimes to Bollywood. If you go to a jail and do a heart-to-heart with all the inmates, 99% chances are that 99% of them will cry over how they saw a Bollywood movie and lost control of their senses. So, it is only understandable that we can find the roots of how we romance in Bollywood because that too is a crime in this country.

I was exposed to Bollywood as a kid. I think it was accidental that the first scene I saw of a movie was a man strangulating a woman with a wire. I could not sleep the whole night. The second scene that I accidentally saw was of robbers looting a village. It took mom a while to pacify me. For the longest of times, I imagined Bollywood movies to be a dreadful and nasty planet where people hurt each other for fun. Much like Earth.

How wrong I was.

Because then I discovered its romantic side – couples smiling at each other and singing songs while heavens play the orchestra, couples changing their clothes five times in a song as if they had a whole day dedicated to this activity of changing and singing, couples kissing behind gigantic flowers and making the flowers shudder. It was a new world. Blissful and sensuous. But then something was always disturbing me, slowly pushing me into the depths of anxiety. It wasn’t until years later that I was able to put a finger on it.

It was the ease with which heroes picked up the heroines in their arms. Even as a child, I knew that was something superhuman. When Shammi Kapoor lifter Sharmila like a dry twig in An evening in Paris, I gasped. Was it that easy? The question nagged me for years. The first thing I would notice in a song is the picking business and then wonder about it for hours. Of course, there was a category of actresses who were never lifted (like Meena Kumari) because lets face it, our heroes were not trying to be in the Olympics.

image from here

And then SRK happened in the 90s. I think he set some sort of a world record by picking each and every woman who crossed his way. It drove me crazy. It was as if he was not able to control himself. Whenever he saw a woman in his movie, he had to open his arms, tilt a bit, give her a dimple. And then while she was swooning at the gestures, he would pounce at her and pick her up.

Of course, I never tried it at home at that point of time. With woman that is. I tried with buckets. And boy, were they heavy! When I got married, I told my wife (very early in our relationship), that I was going to pick her up and walk across the room in a slow gait singing a song, just like Veer picked up the heavy Zaara as if she was tied to strings from the ceiling. My wife was game.

Image from here

I remember, the first thing that appeared in front of my eyes after I picked up my wife were stars. Not the romantic, twinkling variety but those that appear with shooting pain. But then I remembered to my horror that I was supposed to walk across the room and my wife was looking expectantly at me, as she gripped my neck in what I think was a deadly Taekwondo lock. There wasn’t much time and I was not supposed to drop her on the floor. It was an arranged marriage.

I galloped across the room cursing all the Bollywood actors. I even forgot to sing the song. We never tried it again.

Now that I look back, I don’t blame the heroes. They must have been on drugs. You really don’t know what you are doing when you are under their spell. It must have been tough for them. SRK had a back problem years ago.

It was a childhood fantasy for me. But I did what I always wanted to do. At least I tried. My wife was euphoric later although I could see beads of perspiration on her forehead when I was sprinting across the room with her in my arms. Isn’t that is what is important in life? Trying.

Valentine’s day is upon us. So I thought I would share the story of what I thought at that point of time to be one of the most intimate and romantic gestures I had shown to my lady. Of course, now I think it was anti-feminist. And no, it isn’t a case of sour grapes. How can you even think like that? Look at the way our society treats women. It is all because of these Bollywood heroes picking actresses in their arms and showing them as weak. Why would anyone pick a woman in his arms? She can’t walk? Did you take her permission? I think we should carry out a campaign, burn effigies and beat our chests if a hero tries to do that again. We should debate this on news channels. How dare they show women in poor light?

The armchair activist inside me is waking up again. Maybe I should write the “Dear India, what the fuck?” post. It is amazing how my perspective changed over the years. It took only a handful of stars.

Chronicles of Dearth : The case of missing Yaun-doms

….there was a planet called Dearth. The dominant specie on the planet was called Insane (pronounced In-saan*). The name of the planet had seen better days but Insanes had squeezed out all of the planet’s resources and thus a resolution was passed to change the name of the planet to commemorate the achievement.

An interesting episode happened on POL011 on planet Dearth in the klear 5690*. POL or Piece Of Land is very similar to how we define countries on Earth.

POL011 was the second most populated POL on Dearth and this was a major concern for the King. Now the king did not have any real power other than to be a poster boy or pardoning convicts he found sexy. The real power sat with his Prime Minister who was a part of a governing body. Sadly, the Prime Minister was as helpless as the King. He was deaf and dumb and was puppeted by the governing body run by Madaam Pasta.

Population explosion was such an immense problem on POL011 that the King, PM and Madaam Pasta decided that insanes have to be educated about not producing babies every time a power cut happened. Educating the insanes of POL011 was as difficult as asking the PM to speak two words, so the governing body finally passed a bill to put 11000 yaun-dom* machines throughout the POL. Yaun-dom were special devices very similar to our condoms but with a special chip embedded in them which made them reusable.  They were almost like mini- robots that could lid the desirable places.

One fine Klatoony day (Klatoon was the name of their Sun), a minister came running as Madaam Pasta was pouring  cere-lack in baba’s mouth. Baba was her 40 Klat-years old son.

“Madaam!! They are all gone!” the minister said as he kissed her ring.

“Elaborato,” Madaam said with exasperation.

“Madaam, all the Strawberry flavoured yaun-doms are missing from the machines!” the minister said.

Madaam raised one of her eye brows and looked at baba.

“What? Noooo! Of course not! And that is not even my favourite flavour! Why don’t you ask Zeezaazee?” Baba said throwing his hands in the air.

” Your Zeezaazee is a poor farmer. I don’t think he uses local brands,” Madaam said thoughtfully.  

A few minutes later, an SOS message was sent to the ministers to immediately teleport themselves in the King’s War room. After everyone had arrived, the Prime Minister was the first to speak. He talked in sign language which was interpreted and voiced by a T608BOSS robot standing behind him.

“Did we check with Ass-aram? We might have to raid his ass-rum,” the robot said.

“I don’t think he uses yaun-doms,” the King said trying to hold a giggle which earned a stearn look from Madaam.

“What about Imraan Kissme?” a minister asked.

“Checked. He is clean.”

“No one in this fuc*ing POL uses a yaun-dom. That was the fuc*ing point of installing the machines. Do you even realize what will happen if the media gets a whiff of this?” Madaam Pasta screamed, Unable to hold herself anymore.

The robot coughed.

“Get the MIB on it,” Madaam said.

The MIB (Madaam Investigation Bureou) was a coveted organization that was given only those tasks that were supposed to linger on for hundreds of Dearth years. So this decision emancipated nothing but a collective gasp from the ministers and a quick sign from the PM which made the robot gasp an electronic gasp.

The MIB started its investigation but things were about to get worse. Soon, the chocolate flavoured yaun-doms went missing from the machines. And then the news was leaked to the media. And then the banana flavoured ones went missing too.

The media houses did everything from organising panels to discuss the order in which flavours went missing to showing closeups of yaun-dom vending machines for hours as hinsanes (male insanes) cried bitterly holding the machines in their arms. As the king pondered over a proposal of installing hi-tech fly shaped, almost invisible 6755SONAM cameras on all the machines, media houses conducted audience polls to know the favourite flavous of the citizens.  Unsurprisingly, the result came in exactly the order in which the yaun-doms went missing.

[Others including lichi, pomegranate, butter scotch, vanilla etc]

Even after the cameras were installed and MIB worked full time on the case, flavours after flavours vanished from the machines. There was anger in the inhabitants of POL011 as they loved getting things for free and the King seemed simply incapable of providing them the simplest of such free pleasures. There were marches on the street where insanes dressed up as huge yaun-doms and burnt outdated robots dresses up as the King, PM and Madaam. The Po-lice was deployed who stunned the protestors (especially shinsanes (female insanes)) by touching them with their tasers at inappropriate places. The situation went quickly out of hand.

The PM finally addressed the POL. The robot stood behind him and passed on his message as the PM gestured.

Finally, the yaun-dom machines went empty and MIB searched fervently for an excuse for its incompetency. The MIB chief got a personalized slap from Madaam Pasta. The King launched a new scheme called YYHH (yaun-dom yaun-dom Hota Hai) where the citizens were given door to door service of their favourite flavours. A huge amount of currency was transferred from the SOD (Save Our Dearth) fund for this activity.

The flaw in the scheme was stark the very next year when the sale of balloons declined during the festival of la-colourina*. The king realised with horror that the insanes of POL011 wanted to collect free yaun-doms for an entirely different reason but it was too late to make any amendments. To recover the losses, Madaam Pasta gave a brilliant idea to increase the breathing tax.

*  *  *

Meanwhile, in the neighbouring POL92, the notorious gangster The-wood was laughing hysterically in the company of the King of POL92 and his ministers. POL92 was enemies with POL011 over a disputed area called POL011-0191.

“This was a brilliant idea. Who needs killing drones and bombs?” the King said.

“The-wood is a brilliant mastermind. Who would have thought of this,” one of the ministers said.

“Yes, they are already on the brink of a collapse, teaming like nanodrakes*. All we had to do was to give then a nudge. And no one believes in using yaun-doms in that POL. The idiots believe in the more the merrier,” The-wood said.

Later at his home, The-wood went to the store room and took almost half an hour to select a flavour to use that night, chuckling at his idea of using a teleporter on a robotic fly to steal the yaun-doms.

*Insaan – means human in Arabic. It is a commonly used word in Hindi

*yaun – Copulation

*nanodrakes – very similar to ants. They can copulate from both ends and hence indulge in chain-mating.

*la-colourina – A festival similar to Holi but played only with  balloons. In recent years, price of balloons have gone up in POL011, just like the price of petrol in India.

*klear 5690 – Similar to Earth years. On Dearth, a klear consists of 225 days. Each day is 12 hours long. Insanes work only for 3 hours a day.

The news that inspired this post – 10,000 condom machines missing, CAG finds

CroreHit Shetty goes to Hollywood

New York Depress starring Brave Willis and Emma Wandson

Crore-Hit Shetty was pacing worriedly in his office. His last 7 movies have been blockbusters, generating revenues of over 100 crores each. Producers were falling over each other to make a movie with him. Top actors were rubbing their nose on his toenails to give them a chance. Recently, Kamsina Kaif had a massive heart attack when she was approached to do a dance number for his movie. She was overwhelmed to death.

Suddenly the phone rang. It was his dear friend, Safe-Run Khan.

“Are you taking me in your next or not?” Safe-Run shouted the moment Crore-Hit picked up the phone.

“Oh! You won’t believe what I am directing next. I have a Hollywood offer!” Crore-Hit blurted out. He could not hold it any longer.

“What!?!? Please take me! Please! I will dance in all the weddings of your family. Tell me you are not joking!”

“No, I am not! I have been approached by Hippo Searchlight to make an international movie for them.”

“So what is the problem? Why do you sound worried?”

“I don’t have a story!” Crore-Hit said exasperatedly.

“Bah! But you never did! Come on! Pick up any older movie of yours. Pick Chennai Depress. Turn it into New York Depress,” Safe-Run suggested.

“Oh my Crores! You are a genius! I will give you a role in it,” Crore-Hit said and kept the receiver back. Safe-Run wanted to tell him that he would be happy to play even a telephone booth in his movie, but he kept that for later. 

Crore-Hit started working on the modifying the script. He took help of his lungi friends like Sajid Crap, Sajid’s sister Farha Crap, and Arbaaz Crap. The first thing they did was to take away all the South Indian characters out of Chennai Depress and fill them with stereotyped Caucasians. Then the locations of all the romantic songs were changed. There was one song atop the New York subway now and another one where the actors hang upside down from the Golden Gate. Just-Teen Burger was roped in to lend his voice to the lead actress while Yo Yo Donkey Singh was finalized to playback for the male lead.

“What about the crappy one liners and stale jokes?” Crore-Hit asked the Crap clan.

As an answer, Farha Crap took out the ‘Stereotype encyclopaedia for Blondes’ from her bag. The elite directors spent the rest of the day digging out jokes from the book and fitting them in various parts in the screenplay. 

“Have they finalized the starcast yet?” Karamchand, the editor-in-chief of Film-unfair asked Crore-Hit Shetty in a page 3 party.

“Yes, they are taking Brave Willis and Emma Wandson.”

“Isn’t Brave a bit old for the role? And Emma is 1/10^th his age,” Karamchand said.

“But the audience loves old men and young girls. It’s aphrodisiacal,” Crore-Hit said flashing his teeth. 

Finalizing the actress for the item number was a monumental task. Crore-hit finally decided to hold a dance competition and invited Brave Willis to judge it with Farha Crap. It was a disaster. Three actresses shot each other with machine guns while one of them had her eyeballs clawed out. One actress was found naked tied to a commode while another one’s hair caught fire mysteriously. Another one died in a landmine blast just outside the venue. It was finally decided that an international celebrity should be taken. Sunny Lube-onee was finally signed because of her varied ‘exposures’ in the field. 

The movie went on floor and the Hollywood production house was pleasantly taken aback by the amazingly grotesque treatment of the subject. Crore-Hit convinced them that this is what the audience want nowadays. He told them that they leave their brains at home (India’s latest contribution to the list of Idioms) and laugh at all jokes from the Stereotype Encyclopaedia. The highlight of the movie was Brave Willis pelvic thrusting a song in the voice of Yo Yo Donkey Singh on top of a subway train as Emma Wandson quivered semi-naked in front of him. She lip synced Just-teen Burger’s rendition of the duet as a group of hundred dancers gyrated with her atop the train. The whole of New York was out on the streets to see this unbelievable spectacle. 

The movie earned billions of dollars. Crore-Hit Shetty was rechristened BullShit Shetty in international circles.

Safe-Run Khan loved his promised cameo in New York Depress. He was the one who helped Emma Wandson get on the train by giving her his hand, followed by Emma doing an ‘Obliviate’ on him. He looked forward to promote the movie in India by appearing with the lead star cast on the best television shows like See.Eye.Duh and ‘Niyati entangled in the whirlpool of relationships’.

Meanwhile BullShit Shetty was offered to direct the next part of Aven-jerks – The rise of Loki, Tinda and Tori. 

Indian Idle

“Hello everyone! I am Nitin Haddkari and you are watching a very special episode of Celebrity Indian Idle! Please welcome our judges for tonight’s show. Our first judge is our very own number 2, Mr. Raul Gandhi…..” 

“What does Raul know about dance?” Mrs. Shukla who was sitting in the crowd whispered to her neighbour.

“Does it matter? What do Sajid Khan, Karan Johar and Mithun Chakraborty know about dance?” Mrs. Taneja replied.

“And why is Haddkari even hosting this show?” Mrs. Shukla asked.

“What else is there to do now? Besides, his hairy legs are turning me on,” Mrs. Taneja replied.

“Ummm. Me too.” 

“….Our second judge for tonight is Asaram Beg-u, who has taken out time from his busy schedule to be on this show. We had to beg for his presence because that is what he likes to see people do……”

“Christ!” Mrs. Shukla gasped.

“……….Our third judge is my driver Mansukhiya. Mansukhiya has been a loyal servant of our family from the last 20 years and is the CEO of one of my companies. So let’s have a round of applause for our judges and let’s begin the show!!”

The judges take their seats. Raul and Asaram Beg-u have quite a tussle for the centre seat but then Raul points at Rob-us Wadra sitting in the audience. Beg-u mumbles somethings like ‘bloody national calamity’ and sits on one of the side seats. Mansukhiya sits on the floor before Haddkari comes and yanks his arm and say something like ‘Are you Chu*iya?’ and pushes him on one of the seat. 

“Our first contestant is the very gorgeous Sonak-chi Sinha! She has done some amazing award-winning work last year in movies like Rowdy Rathore, Joker, Dabangg 2 and Son of Sardar! Please welcome!” Haddkari announces.

All 130 kg of Sonak-chi Sinha enters the stage in a bright red sari. The song Po-Po-Po-Po-Po fills the auditorium and Sonak-chi gargles to the tune. The audience cheer her loudly. Shatru-gun Sinha is in tears to see his baby girl do him proud.

“That was a perfect performance! Judges what do you have to say to this?” Haddkari asks the judges as Sonak-chi stands next to him chewing her finger.

“I loved it! Sonak-chi, your performance reminded me of our scams. The gargle step is so much like the way we have gargled the citizens of the nation and spit them out. Outstanding!” Raul beamed.

“It was a beautiful performance. Sonak-chi, will you come to my camp and dance with me?” Asaram ji asked shyly.

“Rubbish performance! Ye koi dance hai (Is this dance)?” Mansukhiya mumbled. There is a collective gasp and everyone stares at him. Haddkari throws his mike at him.

“Saale harami! Nikal bahar! Bahar nikal! (Bloody illegitimate! Get out! Out get!)” Haddkari screams as he drags Mansukhiya out. Sonak-chi is bawling by now.

“Khamosh!” Shatru-gun Sinha screams from the audience podium which makes Sonak-chi instantly stop and shudder.

“Sorry ladies and gentlemen! Mansukhiya will be replaced by Kanta Ben who is my maid and the Chairman of one of my companies,” Haddkari announces. Kanta Ben comes and sits next to Raul. She smells of phenyl which makes Raul dizzy. He looks at Asaram Beg-u and is alarmed by a cockroach stumbling out of his beard.

“Our next contestant is our very own silencer MaunMohan Singh!” Haddkari announces.

MaunMohan Singh enters the stage and waves at the audience. He then proceeds to stand in the exact middle of the stage and stares at the audience for two minutes. He then looks at Haddkari and says – done. Raul is in tears by now.

“What a wonderfully poignant performance! Judges what do you have to say?”

“This was by far your best performance MaunMohan Ji. I am short of words,” Raul says wiping off his tears using Kanta Ben’s pallu. He almost faints in the process.

“You remind me so much of all those silent movies I have watched as a child. You have revived my old memories,” Asaram says wiping a sole tear with his beard.

“Aigo! Mast performance! After all, you have been practicing from the last 9 years.” Kanta Ben says.

“It seems MaunMohan ji have won the heart of our judges! Our next performance is a belly dance by the one and only Baba Rum-de! Please welcome!”

Baba Rum-de enters the stage and performs a unique belly dance called Kapalbhati where he flips alternate coins on his belly. He then makes the coins jump in air as the dance becomes fierce and his belly quivers alarmingly. One of the coin lands in Asaram’s beard and kills the cockroach residing there.

“That was one sexy performance Babaji. Lets ask the…..,” Haddkari said.

“You killed him! You bloody killer! You killed Abhimanyu!” Asaram was up on his seat before Haddkari could complete his sentence.

“Who in seven hells is Abhimanyu?” Raul asked.

“The cockroack,” Asaram said sobbing.

“Why did he name his pet cockroach Abhimanyu?” Mrs. Shukla whispered.

“Maybe it was his beard. The poor thing might have been lost in that chakravyuh for years,” Mrs. Taneja whispered back.

“What do you have to say Raul ji?” HaddKari asked.

“I loved it. It was very arousing,” Raul replied.

“Oh! You haven’t seen arousing yet *wink wink*. Kanta Ben?” HaddKari said.

“Mast! Mast! What a stomach! Jusht like the utensils after I clean them”

“Thank you Rum-de ji. It was an honour watching you dance. Our next participant is the sexy, the seductive, the pole-bearer Sunny le-nahi. Please welcome!”

A pole is fitted in the center of the stage and Sunny enters wrapped in a plastic sheet. The pole dance starts amidst wide eyes and rising trousers. Haddkari crosses his legs like Sharon Stone. Mrs. Shukla sighs and faints. Beg-u hides his face with his beard. Kanta Ben whispers deva-re-deva and covers Raul’s eyes with her pallu. He thrashes desperately for fresh air but chokes and faints. During the dance, the plastic sheet covering Sunny gets entangled in a nail on the pole and comes free. Kanta Ben faints too. Sunny keeps dancing. Haddkari is on all five begging for mercy. Rob-us Wadra whistles and fires shots in air from his expensive gun. The audience thrust their children under the seats. Bachelors are busy making video of the once-in-a-lifetime event. Married men stare at the ground as their wives study them intensely. Suddenly the programme goes off air.

There is an uproar on Twitter and internet about the way the programme turned vulgar in the end. A committee is organised. It is found that PoleMeBaby, the company that provided the pole used in Sunny’s performance is at fault as all this happened because of the nail. The licence of the company is cancelled.

And, of course, Sunny le-nahi wins the first prize of Celebrity Indian Idle. 

[images from 1,2,3,4]

Starbucks Snivel – Ravan and Duryodhan

This is the concluding part of the series. Read the first two parts of the series here – 

Costa Chatter – Sita and Draupadi

Barista Banter – Ram and Yudhishthir

Duryodhan was transfixed by the iPad. He had never seen anything so fascinating before. He was also surprised to see Narad Muni managing the Apple store. When he prodded Narad, he was curtly told that ever since Surupnakha convinced Brahma to telecast Big Boss in heaven, everyone was talking about voting Narad out because of way he kept instigating Gods against each other.

‘Hence, I have taken an alternative job. Would you like to see the new iPhone 5?’ Narad inquired. Duryodhan was busy watching Shakira on the iPad and did not pay heed.

After making up his mind to buy the new iPad, Duryodhan left the Apple store and walked into Starbucks to have a taste of the much talked about Cold Coffee with extra cream. Karna had been pestering him to taste it.

As he walked in, he was shocked to find Ravan sitting at one of the corner tables, his moustache completely drenched in the extra cream of the cold coffee as he gulped the last drop of it from the glass. Duryodhan smiled on seeing the legend and touched his feet.

‘So you too are smitten by this cold coffee?’ He asked as he sat on the chair.

‘Try it,’ Ravan said and ordered a coffee for Duryodhan and another one for himself.

‘I thought you had ten heads,’ Duryodhan said.

‘I didn’t. Logically, you cannot balance ten heads on a demon body. I don’t know where the bloody idea came from,’ Ravan said.

‘You are right. By the way, I am a really big fan,’ Duryodhan said.

‘Your actions speak. It was very distasteful – ordering your brother to disrobe a woman.’

‘So was kidnapping one.’

‘Hmmm. Do you know that they will burn my effigy every year in the future but spare you?’

‘Will they? I am heartbroken that there is no festival attached to my death,’ Duryodhan said as the coffee arrived. He took his first sip and looked amazed.

‘Go on. There are no words,’ Ravan said as he laughed loudly. One of the windows of the shop cracked.

‘It seems you have seen the future?’ Duryodhan asked after his breathing became normal as the cold coffee slid down his throat.

‘No I haven’t. Brahma filled me in after he returned from one of his trips. It is not a coincidence that both of us are sitting here instead of hell. He was shocked after he came back from the future one day and went to Indra’s palace straightaway. He convinced him to move me to heaven as he thinks that I am a saint in comparison to humans living in Kalyug,’ Ravan explained in a serious tone.  

‘Really? I do not understand,’ Duryodhan said licking the extra cream.

‘Duryodhan, in our times, women are always scantily dressed but we never blamed them for our deeds. You never blamed Draupadi for wearing a single piece of cloth that day when Dushasan disrobed her. In Kalyug, men would put the entire blame on women – what they wear, where they go, what they think. They will blame phones and clothes for rapes, even chowmein. Pretty convenient, eh?’ Ravan said with a chuckle.

‘Strange how the wheel of time turns. We, at least, were open about our treachery.’

‘Yes, and proud of it! The humans in Kalyug will be shrewd. Talk about taking lessons from our stories!’

Ravan and Duryodhan were peacefully drinking their coffee, when they were suddenly taken aback as Sita and Draupadi entered Starbucks to buy a muffin. The ladies did not notice them as they quickly hid behind the ‘Heavens Now’ paper magazine lying on their table. The headlines screamed – ‘Will Menka and Rambha kiss and make up? Indra says No comments!’

‘It will be an ordeal to live in Heaven trying to avoid confrontations like this!’ Duryodhan said.

‘You will get used to it. Turn into a crow or something the next time something like this happens,’ Ravan said.

As the ladies moved out after buying two muffins, Ram and Yudhishthir entered Starbucks a few minutes later to buy brownies for their wives to pacify them.

‘Jesus! This is getting on my nerves!’ Duryodhan said hiding behind the newspaper again.

Ram and Yudhishthir bought two bags full of brownies and ran after Sita and Draupadi.

‘What the bloody heavens is this? A college campus?’ Ravan said with disgust.

As the villains finally settled down to enjoy the rest of their coffee, Surupnakha entered the shop searching for Ravan.

‘BRO ji!’ she shouted from the entrance and made Duryodhan choke on his coffee, ‘Please do not send me to Ram in the future. If you have to instigate him with your jokes, send a pigeon. He tried to insult me in front of that Yudhishthir. Hain Ji! I gave him a big piece of my mind.’

Then her eyes went to Duryodhan.

‘Hey sexy! When did you arrive? Hello, Myself Dolly,’ she chirruped with a wide grin. Duryodhan had a sudden bout of cough.     

***********                                                           

Krishna was sad from the past few days. With the permission of Indra, he finally gathered everyone from Ramayana and Mahabharata in the amphitheatre containing the giant screen. The Pandavas and the whole clan of Lord Ram sat together towards his left while the Demons and Kaurava clan sat towards his right.

‘You were born for a purpose and all of you have fulfilled it. Do not bring your animosity to this floating city. Do not forget that you all are just souls and avatars. You are all dead. Forgive each other. Do not bring the problems of your time on Earth to the heavens,’ he said in a voice that boomed in the sky. He went on for an hour with his gyan and stopped suddenly when he heard Ravan snore loudly. He then cleared his throat and left.

As everyone dispersed from the meeting, Sita walked towards the edge of the floating city and sat on a cloud watching Earth below. It was the night of Diwali. The Earth was filled with lamps and looked like an upturned sky shimmering with stars. People were celebrating the day of Lord Ram’s return to Ayodhya with Sita after their exile ended. Those were happy days, she remembered and sighed.

‘Sita, can I sit with you?’ she heard a voice behind her.

‘Yes Ram.’

Ram came and sat besides her and looked at the Earth below.

‘Sita, I am sorry for everything. I was a bad husband,’ Ram said.

Sita looked at him.

‘You were good Ram but then you abandoned me at a point when happiness had just returned in our lives. You made an example of me. Twice. And that too when I was not at fault. My exile did not end with yours Ram. It ended with my life. I had a right to a happy life, didn’t I Ram?’

‘I am sorry sweetheart. I wish I could change everything back to how it was,’ Ram said. There were tears in his eyes.

Sita sighed. Thoughts churned in her head. She has to move on. Krishna was right.

‘Happy Diwali Ram,’ she said and kept her hand on Ram’s.

‘Happy Diwali Sita. Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?’ Ram said.

‘Costa,’ Sita said and smiled. Both of them stood up and held hands as they walked towards the floating city centre.

‘Where is Yudhisthir?’ she asked Ram as they walked.

‘The Pandavas are with Draupadi asking for her forgiveness. I bought brownies for you,’ Ram said.

From a high tower of a nearby building, Surupnakha watched as the couple walked away from the edge. She was smiling.

‘Hai! Cute couple! I wish I had someone to love. Mere Tote kab udenge (when will my parrots fly)?,’ she said. Then her eyes sparkled and she took a lift down the building in search of Duryodhan.

[images from 1,2,3,4,5, 6]

The Tagliatelle Khichdi of India

The Contestants

In a special Disasterchef India episode last week, Amitabh Bachpan was asked to host the show because he was still a hot dish after 70 years of existence. He graciously accepted because Abhishek is completely out of work and Aishwarya is busy burping the baby.

“Swagat! Swagat! Swagat! To all of you in this special episode of Kaun Banega Crore….”

“Cut!!!!!”

“Oh Sorry! Senile decay! Swagat! Swagat! Swagat! To all of you in this special episode of Disasterchef India. All the contestants must be really happy to be in the top 10. Today, you have to make something special. All of you have to create a single dish as a team. As they say, too many cooks spoil the broth, but you have to prove this wrong. Please welcome our guest, the chef of chefs, the lady who has swirled expensive dishes one after another, the one and only, Sonia Gobhi!”

At this point, one of the contestants, Robert Vadapav, started jumping with joy and clapped his hands like a little girl who has just located an ice-candy man. The shooting stopped and everyone stared at him, including another contestant Rahul Gobhi, whom everyone suspected, was related to Sonia Gobhi.

“Jija G, stop clapping. Everyone is staring,” he said in Robert’s ear.

“I wish I had a wire cutter right now. I would have given this Robert a nice switch on the butt,” Arvind Kajuwala, another contestant muttered under his breath.

“Calm down! Calm down! Sonia G, can you please let us know what the dish is all about?”

“Ahhh! Surrrrre. It is my interrrrrrrprrrrrretation of a Khichdi in an Italian style. I call it – the Tagliatelle Khichdi of India.” At this point Sonia removed the cover of the dish to show her masterpiece.

“Oh sweet Jesus!” contestant Batata Ramdev gasped.

“She would not have cooked such a horrible looking dish if she would have been married at the age of 16,” Om Paneer Chautala, the fifth contestant remarked.

“Oye! Stop your Khapsense!” Robert roared. He got so angry that he was up on the table and tore off his shirt showing his eight pack abs. A bundle of 1000 Rs notes fell off his stomach and landed in the Tagliatelle Khichdi of India.

“Oopsie!” he said.

“The government is working towards punishing bribery in the private sector. This act will come under that,” Manmohan Soup, contestant number six said.

“He was not bribing anyone! And you are not supposed to speak until ordered!” Rahul Gobhi barked.

“OK!!! Tasting time! Contestants please taste the dish. Then you will have 15 minutes to discuss about dividing responsibilities and then all ten of you will have to create only a single potion of the dish. You will be marked on your teamwork,” Mr. Bachpan said.

Everyone jumped on the Tagliatelle Khichdi of India like starving villagers and then ended up running in random directions and spitting out the dish all over the set.

“Can I go to the temple toilet? I think I am going to throw up,” JaiRajma Ramesh, contestant number seven said.

“The Tagliatelle is too long. We should cut it with a wire cutter and I have proof that this Robert brought this money to bribe the producers of this show,” Arvind Kajuwala said.

“Mindless negativity over corruption cannot stop corruption,” Manmohan Soup said. Rahul rolled his eye and pressed a button behind his neck. Soup went still.

“I knew that! I knew that! He is a robot! He is a robot!” Narendra Malai, contestant number eight, jumped with joy and switched on the button. Rahul glared at him.

After spitting the dish, Batata Ramdev immediately started Kapaalbhati to cleanse himself.

“Your 15 minutes start now!” Amitabh Bachpan said as things went out of control.

Virat Kulfi and Mamta Bhurji, contestant number nine and ten, who have been mute spectators earlier were in a very bad state after tasting the dish. Virat was about to sue the producers for delaying his 1.5 crores for his appearance on the show and food poisoning. Mamta Bhurji hollered about not supporting the dish.

As the fifteen minutes allocated for discussions passed, the chaos grew.

“I will not boil Tagliatelle!!” Virat Kulfi said.

“He is a robot! He is a robot!” Narendra Malai shrieked.

“Jija G, is this salt?” Rahul Gobhi inquired.

“Ask mommy,” Manmohan Soup suggested.

“While doing Anulom Vilom, you have to suck it like this,” Batata Ramdev taught.

“It?” Mamta Bhurji asked mischievously.

“Air!!! Suck air!!!” JaiRajma Ramesh explained with a shocked expression.

“She should have been married at 16 as well,” Om Paneer Chautala exclaimed looking at Mamta Bhurji.

“Khap-ist!” she shrieked.

“You will boil the Tagliatelle!” Robert Vadapav bellowed, pointing a finger at Arvind Kajuwala.

“I will cut your nose with a wire cutter!” Arvind Kajuwala bellowed back.

“He is a robot! He is a robot!” Narendra Malai shrieked again and switched Manmohan Soup on and off.

By the time the 15 minutes were over, the Tagliatelle Khichdi of India was flying in the air, landing on contestants amidst punches, ripping clothes and hair pulling activities. Virat Kulfi was bleeding blue.

“I have never seen so much unprofessionalism!!!” Amitabh Bachpan said as he walked out.

Sonia Gobhi followed him but not before hiding the bundle of 1000 Rs notes dripped in her dish under her sari and waving at the fighting contestants with a bright smile.

The episode was never aired.

[images from 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12]

The frenchie and the frivolity

2003 was the scariest year of my life. I left maa ka anchal (mom’s errr skirt) and went into the big bad world. No I was not going to school but was going to the hostel to do my second Masters. Yeah, I was that old and had never left home and was shitting my pants at the prospect of going and living in a hostel in Haryana – the land of Jats and bodybuilders and goons (that is what Haryana meant to me then). Although Kurukshetra is just a three hour drive from Delhi, Momma was drowning in tension as if I was going on a space mission to detonate a nuclear bomb on a meteor hurling towards Earth. I reassured her that I will come every week with a bag full of dirty clothes.

I took Pops with me to Kurukshetra because I was scared that the moment I will enter the hostel, I will be surrounded by 10 burly goons who will beat me to pulp on the pretext of ragging. Nothing of the sort happened and everything went pretty smooth. Pops even cleaned my room with me. Soon, it was time for him to say goodbye and leave me alone. My fears returned and all the horrible ragging stories danced around me like African tribal men. As Pops bid me farewell, I decided to skip the dinner in the hostel mess, switched off the light of my room, covered myself with a bed sheet, stopped breathing and pretended to be dead.

An hour later something happened that stopped my heart.

“No. 7!!!” Someone screamed from outside. It took me some time to realize that 7 was my room number and the voice was not coming from the door but from the garden outside my balcony. I ignored it and dropped dead again.

The boy kept screaming the number of my room again and again giving me massive consecutive heart attacks. I had visions of me stripped naked and asked to dance to ‘Babuji zara dheere chalo’ in the middle of a crowd of hostellers in the ground as they whistled and clapped and japed.

I finally had to get up before the whole hostel would have been on my doorstep. I unlatched my balcony door and peeked outside and to my relief found the garden empty. I was still scared and cautiously stepped outside.

“No. 7!!!” the voice thundered again somewhere above my head. I looked up and saw a boy wrapped in his towel staring at me.

Flying Frenchies!?!

“My underwear,” he said.

“What?!?” I gasped. This was the last word I would have imagined a stranger boy speaking to me.

“My underwear is in your balcony. It flew off. Can you throw it up?”

I looked around and found a blue colored Frenchie lying like Kareena Kapoor in Ran One’s arms on my balcony railing. The wave of relief that bathed me (because I was going to live some more) was intoxicating. I had never picked up another boy’s underwear before in my life and this was certainly not an encouraging experience on the first day of my hostel life. I picked it up like a lizard and threw it up. The boy caught it, thanked me and went inside.

There is a stranger in my lap!

As I settled in my bed again and pretended to be dead once more, someone knocked at the door. The way I reacted, it looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie. With one hand on my heart, I opened up my door and saw a puny guy beaming at me. He said hello and told me that he was my classmate. Then he barged in and as we sat on the bed, he placed his head in my lap and began chatting as if he was my wife. It was surreal that minutes ago, a guy had asked me to toss his underwear and now this head of a complete stranger was bobbling and babbling in my lap. I was speechless. What had I landed myself into?

My classmate’s name was Raj and we went to the mess together. No one jumped at me. The food was pathetic. Over the course of the next 1.5 years, I made great friends for life and spent the most beautiful time of my education in Kurukshetra. When I came back to Delhi in a hired car, the driver thought that I have left my girlfriend behind the way I alternately wept and sulked the whole way. I could not smile for two months after reaching home and behaved like Nirupa Roy and that worried momma like crazy. He son was not the same guy who walked out of the house 18 months ago.

Hostel turned me into a fiercely independent guy and I developed a rhythm to do things my own way. I also started eating anything mom made instead of throwing tantrums (as I used to do earlier) because I now knew how bad food tastes. When I look back, those two incidents on the first day played a massive role in helping me to take it easy and let go of my frivolous attempts to be an introvert. Hostel completely transformed me and I thank God for that.

Help me God. This senior better not be gay.

Although I was ragged later, it was very mild as we were post-graduate students. And horror of horrors, a senior (male) took fancy to my meek baritone and asked me to read newspaper to him as if he was my granddad. Ahem! Weird, I know.

Crazy days they were.

*Pops = Daddy, Father, Pitaji, Papa (In case you were wondering)

[images from 1, 2, 3]

Hell material

So the thing is that I died and stood somewhere between the gates of heaven and hell, with Chitragupta looking at me and opening up his magical books in which he keeps tab of all your sins down to the last cockroach you flushed down the commode for fun.

“Creature, you have to go to hell,” he said giving me a go-on-and-don’t-waste-my-time look.

“Excusez-moi?!?” I said. I looked around believing that he might be talking to a cow soul who was following me on my way up.

It was then that the clouds parted and Yamaraj descended like a feather from the upper floor of the floating city.

“What’s all this brouhaha?” he said raising an eyebrow at Chitragupta.

“The creature refuses to go to hell.’

‘And why is that so?’ Yamaraj said as he brought his huge nose sitting on a neglected garden of a moustache close to my face.

“What sins have I committed? Why am I sentenced to hell?” I said squeaking like a mouse.

Yamaraj told me that he was not supposed to give reasons and follow the protocols, which he admitted, have been changed in the last few centuries. I argued for more clarity but he was adamant. I stood my ground. This went on till eternity.

Suddenly the clouds parted again and a light shone through.

“YAMA! If you cannot do your bloody work of kicking creatures towards heaven and hell properly, let me know. I will replace you with Rajnikant. The next time you disturb my beauty sleep by your clamour, it will reflect in your yearly report card,” God thundered.

Yama shrank a foot and Chitragupta hid behind his tome. The spotlight moved on me.

“What is your problem creature?” it bellowed as it intensified.

“I am a human!” I said. Frankly I was disturbed beyond words to be addressed like a mosquito.

“Everyone is a creature here. You are not different from a cockroach in my eyes. It took me an awful lot of God hours to create both of you.”

“Surely humans are more complex to create?” I suggested.

“Do you fly?”

“No.”

“Do you have antennas?”

“No.”

“Can you squeeze through cracks?”

“No.”

“So there. A cockroach can do things you can’t do. Stop swathing in your false idea of supremacy, stop wasting my time and tell me your problem.”

I patiently repeated everything that I had patiently told Yamaraj. God laughed. It was like a mini earthquake. The spotlight shook.

“Have you killed anyone for me?” he asked.

“Excusez-moi?!?” I said.

The clouds grew darker. I was scared and close to wetting my Ariel white robe.

“No,” I said, now sure that God was not very good at French.

“Have you raped a woman in my name?”

“Holy moly. No.”

“Did you behead a man? Cut him to pieces? Did you kill people with guns for me? Did you explode yourself in a crowded market? Did you fly a plane in a building? Did you smash children on a wall? Did you torch a train screaming my name?”

“No. And that is why…”

“…you should go to hell,” God completed the sentence for me.

Stunned silence. I was sure I have landed in the wrong place – some sort of alternate villainous heaven-hell-swap reality.

“You see creature, I changed the rules a few centuries back. I realised that love would not make you remember me. If all the creatures cuddled and played ring-a-ring-a-roses, then I, their bloody creator, would vanish into oblivion.”

“But you sent prophets, avatars, your own son, messiah to teach us to love you and each other.”

“THAT was a mistake,” the clouds grew dark again and there were distinct sounds of thunder. Yamaraj motioned me to shut the fu*k up.

“But people are waiting for you to make a comeback.”

“Bollocks!”

I wanted to tell God that he was bordering self-blasphemy but I kept quiet.

“And after that I have sent more messengers of destruction than I could possibly accommodate in my office hours, I have instigated creatures to kill each other, to destroy themselves. Somehow, the fact that humans have multiple religions and brain of the size of a peanut helped me in my cause. People remember me more than ever. My name is a money-making machine, which gives me such a high. And since you have not done anything to keep my name alive other than maybe remembering me when the hour was dire, YOU are hell material,” God said as I stood transfixed in the spotlight.

“I have killed ants!” I said as I saw my inevitable doom looming large.

“2,34,453 to be precise,” Chitragupta said looking in his book.

“So many? Who are you? Hitler?” God roared, laughing at his own joke.

“It was an accident.”

And so I was sentenced to hell for not doing anything to glorify God and sitting on my ass all my life. Chitragupta assured me that I would be comfortable there as hell was half empty. It was heaven which was overburdened.

“Bad God. Bad Bad God,” I muttered as I moved towards the gates of hell.

The spotlight which had almost left me was suddenly upon me.

“I heard that,” God said.

“Doesn’t matter. I am already off to hell,” I said.

[images from here]

How suicide became taxable

This is my first attempt at creating cartoons. I have used http://www.toondoo.com/ for this, thanks to Debajyoti for the idea. 🙂

Life is like a Men’s Beauty Parlour

Cucumber face

Forrest Gump once said – “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

I beg to differ. There are no horrors in a box of chocolates.

“Life is like a men’s beauty parlour. You never know what unimaginable activity is going to hurt your eyes.”

Now there is drama in this. A box of chocolates is all too sugary, just like rose-tinted glasses.

Here is the secret. I have been to one of those….places. But I swear on my virgin eyebrows that it was the first and the last time, largely because of the eye-popping climax.

*Flashback. Misty eyed. Looking at the distant past with Aamir’s Satyamev Jayate look*

I was about to get married in five days. My mom, in a sudden urge, captured my face with her fingers and looked intensely at it. I felt like a fish, spluttering helplessly in an eagle’s claw.

“Too many whiteheads! You have to go to the parlour. I want you to shine.”

“Over my dead body”, I said.

If I have not clarified this before, let me pause and take this opportunity to clear out a few things. I am a guy. Guys do not go to beauty parlours. Period.

My sister joined the chorus basically because she was having fun on my expense. So, I was pushed into having a five day course at a nearby Men’s parlour with a completely forgettable name and an ugly owner who could have used some of the parlour’s services.

One of the activities

Everyday someone would drop me there and then pick me up in an hour. What I witnessed in those five days was a revelation. I told the guy who was attending me to do whatever he wanted because I was least interested and was about to close my eyes for an hour. He smiled and bombarded my face with one cream after another. Packs and massages rained down, sometimes followed by a lot of steam from what looked like a spare part from an alien spaceship. For five days, there were cold and hot sensations, stinging, steams, sprays and god knows what. I behaved like a patient in coma. The only time my eyes popped out of their sockets was when he applied a green cream which looked like fluorescent poop and felt like needles. I asked him to immediately remove it before he turns me into carrot and himself into a pulpy mass of flesh and broken bones. His fingers revolving on my cheeks was bad enough.

What really got my goat was that the parlour was chock-a-block with boys and men. To be honest, I did peek around to satisfy my urge to understand the need of existence of such a place. There were men discussing face packs and hair colours, waxing their arms and legs, getting their eyebrows done, replacing eyeballs with cucumber and getting a haircut which took hours to finish and hard to spot. Sometimes, I felt like sitting at one of those unmentionable places with red bulbs where people do inexplicable stuff. This was way off my radar of comprehension. This was a really bad dream. My eyes hurt.

Oh! The climax! I almost forgot. On the day of my marriage, when my face was finally revealed in the unnecessarily huge mirror shimmering with the shiny teeth of my attendant at the background, I could hardly make out any difference, except that I was a bit whiter. I guess, that was the whole idea of clogging me with all the creams. I sighed and gave him the remaining amount from my pocket. He asked me to wait and picked up a glittering tube-ish thing from his stuff and started applying it on my lips.

“Err..what is this?”, I asked a bit alarmed and looked all around to make sure no one saw what was happening.

“This will make your lips look red.”

The first thing I did after paying him and coming out of the parlour was to spit and hastily rub my lips with a handkerchief before anyone saw me and start rolling on the ground laughing his head off. Then I inhaled deeply. I felt like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, finally free after digging a long, painful tunnel and swimming in a glittering, red sludgy liquid.

Nothing so dramatic!

Everyone at my home recognised me. I was not expecting to do a Jassi on them anyways.

*Flashback over. Eyes closed after the painful remembrance*

Well, that was then. I have never felt the need to dwell near any such establishment. The taste of that glitter still haunts me. Forrest Gump was wrong. None of the chocolates would have tasted this bitter.

Life is definitely like a Men’s beauty parlour – sometimes like the pain of seeing a man waxing his arms and sometimes like a cool facemask outlining a moustache.

[images from 1,2,3]