CUPPA:) freshly updated

THE RED MOTORBIKE IRONY

2011-04-30T14:13:00.000-07:00

The RED bindi on the beautiful woman’s forehead kept a man’s roving eyes off her pretty face.

The RED lipstick smeared on the prostitute’s face kept the same man’s dick rising to her fugly face.

The RED motorbike- freshly painted and painstakingly modified by the boys with a bike fetish made the serial killer Red Dragon by Thomas Harris look meek and humble in comparison.

The RED hot chic- wearing a summer fresh chiffon top, sporting painstakingly toned abs and straddling the motorbike made the same RED motorbike look like a tacky prop in an even tackier Bollywood music video.

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This 100 fiction was inspired my my friend's newly modified bike- and yes- I'm not that chick :/ I'm 20 kgs off the mark, but the bike is like fantabulous!!!

Cunning Cannibal Obsession

2011-04-21T14:26:00.000-07:00

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Ma new obsession is eating my mind and blowing it to a billion bits like a cunning cannibal on a suicide mission. It comes in tricky threes and is a triple threat sinful affair. It assaults ALL my senses, but it’s that one sense that loses the battle like it never even wanted to fight back in the first place, like it was born only to die for this- my new obsession.

RIP dead sense.

You'll be BORN AGAIN tomo, when I get....................................................... my next 3’s pack of Oreo biscuits.

My tastebuds 'love unto death' these triple Oreo deadly orgasms.

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PS: That's ma new 100 fiction (story in 100 words) on my new found love - no one'd mind dying with an Oreo as their fulfilled, last death wish :p

The Backside Cure.

2011-04-10T08:44:00.000-07:00

Allen felt depressed beyond cure. Now, amidst these million cricket fans cheering their home team on the field, she was drowning- drowning in that roaring noise when CSK won. Yes, she worshiped MS Dhoni. She loved the men in yellow. But, she wondered why when certain men have God’s destiny written vividly even on their backsides, she was only a nobody.

After the post match party, Dhoni took his prize-woman to his room. He rode her backside fast and hard. Her name was Allen.

Allen’s last thoughts that night: ‘Yes! Now, I’ve God’s destiny written vividly on my backside too.”

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LOL.. I hope you enjoyed it :) That's my new 100 fiction (story in 100 words)- Taking a stab at writing after a long, long time :) Great to be back- and yes, loving all the cricketing action :)

THREE STRIKES..

2010-12-29T03:37:00.000-08:00

Dave looks at the girl in the yellow kurta and blue jeggings on the bench. It’s his favorite pastime- checking out chicks and scoring them. He usually gave a girl three chances. Three STRIKES was all a girl got.

‘She’s a 4/10- ordinary face, decent body, smooth skin, brown eyes- nice, but nothing to rave about. Strike 1.’

‘A frown creased her forehead. Not a pretty sight. Strike 2.’

Dave almost loses interest, when the girl smiles.

The smile changes everything. Suddenly the face turns extraordinary, the body bootylicious, the skin sensuous and the eyes sparkling. Cupid STRIKES his heart.

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This 100 fiction was inspired by Ellie Goulding's super smile. All you guys- 'Happy New Year' and remember, let that gorgeous smile set ya face aglow.

Sheela Ki Jawani

2010-12-13T04:53:00.001-08:00

Sheela Ki Jawani....

The thumping hot item number of the month played on the radio. Sarvesh dreamt of getting under that coveted white bed sheet, right beside the gorgeous, chest-jhatkafying actress- Katrina Kaif. Hmmm, so much for pining for his ex-girlfriend Prachi, who axed his heart recently.

‘This kinda hot dreaming means I’m OVER that bi%@^ Prachi,
Time for a new girlfriend Paji.’

His phone buzzed. 1 msg received. Prachi.

He opened the text message: ‘Sashu baby, I wanna get bak.’

Elsewhere, Katrina Kaif climbed into her big bed in full PJs, under a white bed sheet. She slept alone.

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ONE-RUPEE AUCTION

2010-11-29T03:50:00.000-08:00

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To open their store with a splash and occupy the number ONE slot in Chennai, the ‘DIVA’ fashion boutique masterminded a ‘ONE rupee auction.’

Items- 100 designer dresses draped on mannequins

Participants- 100 cash-rich socialites

Minimum bid price- ONE Rupee

Time limit- ONE hour

Process- Participants submit their bids electronically onto 100 touchscreens; ONE beside every mannequin, highest bidder takes the respective dress

Expected Profit- Rs.10 lakh (Rs.10000/ dress)

On the opening night, every socialite walked to exactly ONE mannequin, submitted her bid, and in ONE hour, walked out with a designer dress, paying only ONE rupee. What a steal!
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THE SEXTUPLETS.

2010-11-25T00:37:00.000-08:00

This 100-fiction is inspired by 'John & Kate Plus 8', the reality show about the Gosselin family- Jon and Kate and their eight children: fraternal twins and sextuplets.

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‘Vivek, I wanna have SIX babies off me in the next 2 years.’
‘Wifey, my SPERMS aren’t industrial engineers with a black belt in SIX sigma. What are SIX babies born together called anyway?’
‘SEXtuplets.. But..’
‘Sorry, I’ll give you all the SEX you need darling, just forget about SEXtuplets.’
‘Vivek, I wanna lose 15 kgs before a baby. 5 babies weigh 15 kgs. So, lose these 15kgs =5 babies in one year. And then have our very own real baby. So in all, SIX babies off me in the next 2 years.’
‘Phew! At least, all the SEX’ll help.’
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DEATH BY CHOCOATE

2010-11-11T06:41:00.001-08:00

Death By Chocolate is my new story in 100 words, inspired by the true story of Lyn Lee.

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25-year-old Lawyer Lyn Lee choked on the horrible chocolate cake at her desk. It looked and tasted like her job- disintegrating and disgusting. Everything tediously legal suddenly sounded deviously delicious in her ears.

Case?...................... CAKE

Barrister?...................... BUTTER

Judge?...................... FUGDE

Trial?...................... TRUFFLE

Judiciary?......................... CONFECTIONARY

Criminal Lawyer?......................... CHOCOLATIER

Guilty?...................... RUMnCHERRY

Call to the BAR?...................... CHOCOLATE BAR

Power of attorney?...................... PERCENTAGE OF COCOA

Death warrant?......................... DEATH BY CHOCOLATE

It was her moment of bittersweet truth- the moment when Lyn Lee, the lawyer died-by-chocolate and resurrected as Lyn Lee, the chocolate entrepreneur.

The revolutionary cake chain ‘Awfully Chocolate’ was born in 1998.

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Hanky-Panky Hickey

2010-11-04T05:15:00.001-07:00

My new 100 fiction (story in 100 words) is a reflection of my current television obsession. Read more and hit the comment section below for your comments.
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Suzie cozied up to David in the basement car park. She flexed her spine and arched her back towards the car hood in the most provocative arch possible.

‘Sue, don’t do this baby.’
‘2 weeks since we started dating. And you haven’t even kissed me.’
‘It’s too dangerous.I CAN’T baby.’
‘WHY? I want a love-bite Dae, nothing too tricky
Just a big bad, rough red, hanky-panky hickey’

The buttons on her corset broke free and David lost all control. He closed his eyes and bit into Suzie’s virgin-white, silky-smooth neck.

That's how Suzie died and turned into a bloodsucking vampire.

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72 VIRGINS

2010-11-02T03:53:00.000-07:00

This is my new 100 fiction- story in 100 words. It's a conversation between 2 guys, taking on the recent foiled air cargo bomb attack. Hit the comment section below for your comments.

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‘Dude, Al-Qaeda’s now planting BOMBS in MAILS- cargo packages. A Yemini woman and her mother have been accused and arrested. Yemeni women are hot bombs. I guess Al-Qaeda’s using bombs to send out Bombs.’

‘LOL. I guess they’ll send BOMBS via EMAILS next. The next time ya see a mail with subject 'WATCH THE SEXIEST 72 VIRGINS HERE'- don't you dumbass open it, cos it's a sure shot Al-Qaeda BOoMB MAIL.Ya open it- ya'll go KABOoM..'

'Bro, I’d readily open the mail,

Die and burn, leaving a smoke trail,

For I’d find 72 virgins- my life’s holy grail’

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MARISOL'S BABY

2010-10-26T05:54:00.000-07:00

I worked with a lot of passion and conviction on 'Marisol's Baby'. This 100-word story is inspired by a true story in recent times. Hit the comment icon below, for your comments.

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18/10/2010

The baby bawls a grotesque war-cry, tearing the house into pieces. 20-year-old Marisol had seen mothers hitting their babies to silence them- what should she do?

28000 murders...

15000 pot packages...

Beheaded convicts...

Bullet-blasted bodies...

2 deadly drug cartel lieutenants tearing the country into pieces…
In Marisol’s head, these images transition like PowerPoint slides in her criminology classes.

Her baby needs no violence; but love, hope, principals, values... Today, as she- Marisol Valles Garcia is sworn in as Police Chief, Praxedis G.Guerrero, Mexico, she swears by her life that she’ll terminate drug-related crime- not with violence, but love, hope, principals, values.

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MR.BIG

2010-10-18T04:15:00.000-07:00

My new story Mr.Big- part of my 100 fiction series- story in just 100 words.

9:00am

Tina texts Sam:
U lose Sam. I choose Gerry. BIG mistake mayb– but I’m BIG on badass boys & Gerry is my Mr.BIG- the smuggest sexiest son-of-a-B I’ve eva met

2:00pm
Tina to Riya:
Tonight’s the BIG night. I’m finally letting BIG shot Gerry have me.

9:18pm
FTV Bar and Lounge, Bangalore

Tina to Gerry:
I love the dirty dancing. But let’s get BIG-time dirty in your room.

10.00pm

Room No. 669, Le Meridian

Tiny thinks, ‘Wowwww, Gerry has BIG bucks & BIG hands!’
Gerry unzips.
And that’s how Tina laid eyes on the SMALLEST dick she’d ever seen.

SINGLE IN AN ELEVATOR

2010-10-07T11:27:00.000-07:00

Check out my 2'nd 100- flash- fiction- fiction in just 100 words!

The elevator stopped. Renu was all alone. She panicked, counted to 5 and thought:

1….."Single's sexy, SINGLE IN AN ELEVATOR’s deadly."
2….."Damn! My phone’s dead. I'm dead!"

3….."I should’ve said ‘YES’ to Shyam. Atleast, I could’ve taken that solitaire engagement ring to my next life."

4….."Boring kurta. I never wanted to be caught dead in it. Now, I'm going to be. "
5….."Ironic. That I should DIE in an eLIVEator."

The elevator finally moved. Phew. She was ALIVE.

The man in the elevator smiled at her.

One second, she smiled
The next second, she died.
The elevator ghost man cried
For his beautiful new bride.

THE FACEBOOK (R)AGE ( 100-fiction)

2010-10-05T03:30:00.000-07:00

100 fiction:
Well- this is my first real attempt @ fiction in exactly 100 words. Hope you enjoy it!

Sudish liked Piya. He liked her brown eyes- they were brown pools of chocolate liqueur he wanted to dive into on a dry day. He liked her tiny waist- it was like a fresh cigarette he longed to squeeze and savor. He liked her poker-straight hair- each strand wafted like the rebelliously thin margin by which India trumped Australia in the first Mohali Test today. He liked her contrasting outfits - they were like fresh, different daily- facebook- updates.

But he also liked Riya, Anees, Pareezad....

After all, this is the FB (R)age- get fresh and different updates everyday.

WILL THE REAL FEMALE PISSER PLEASE STAND UP?

2010-10-02T05:25:00.000-07:00

You know it's weird when they say, 'Be a man!' or 'Man up!' Well, the expressions are quite gender-neutal. I mean, most of the time, they're saying don't be a pussy and measure up. Get up , Stand up. But, I think 'GET UP STAND UP' is taking PUSSY to a whole new level. Yeah, the tagline of what I'm going to be talking about would be:'Taking pussy to a whole higher level.' No, we're neither talking Manmohan Singh, nor some tantric kamasutra position at the upniche slut-club. No, don't get me wrong. Really! I was talking of the recent FEMALE STANDING URINALS IN CHINA.

Alright, I know women have alwas been expected to chase after the stupid things only-men-can-do-and-have-done for so long. Yes, we get the point. We got out of the cave and started hunting, and hunting you guys down, well- ateast the cute ones. We started wearing trousers just so that you couldn't get right into and under our skirts. We chopped our hair short, just like Halle Berry and Hermione and my frined R, just because it does get hot and sweaty, and when it does- we don't mind some gool ol' romantic necking- without our hair getting in the way. But standing and pissing? Really? I mean, does it give you guys something to think about when you're jacking off, when you see us doing things your way?

Anyways, check out the pics of this really pissing-off piss-story!

Yeah, now here's how it looks. And the translation for the scribbling on top: “If every woman can urinate standing, Shaanxi Normal University can save 160 tons of water.”

Yeah. The only reason why any woman would read that would be because SHE DOESN'T HAVE A DICK TO LOOK AT, DOWN THERE WHILE SHE'S PEEING.

Well, they made sure the walls were pink- you know, just to put women in their comfort zone.

Well, you see how that worked out- two women are running out. The third one is well on the way out. She is probably Chinese-dyslexic. And pink walls? I mean, we're women, not gay.

And this is the final straw: here is the funnel through which you piss.

Ha! Now, I know a guy designed this. The funnel is practically a boring paperplane.

Guy-who-designed-pissing-funnel, you need to be back to school, not in product design.

Well, I like sitting on my arse all day. And, it's going to be no different when I piss. How about you?

My Psychedelic Troll.

2010-10-01T03:06:00.000-07:00

Some days, I got a story to tell

Other days, I got radio spots to sell

The bottom line is that, over a period of time, I've developed a dangerous itch

Nah, not to earn pot loads of cash and get rich

I want to release that reckless, restless ghoul locked inside my soul

gnawing at my guts and rattling against my ribs- she's my psychedelic troll

'Oh, I know you won't get out once and for all, you conniving mistress of muck

So, I'll let you go on one rampage a day. You will no longer be a sitting duck'

'A drop of blood

A pound of flesh

A bout of laughter

A smattering of sex

A piece of ME

A blogpost a day gets ma psychedelic troll on a roll'

HEARTBREAKER

2010-07-23T03:48:00.000-07:00

There were a gazillion pieces on the floor- shards of glass that were once part of a beautiful stained glass painting on Candy’s bedroom wall facing her plump, pink mattress. The curtains were wide open, and even the sun squinted a little, looking at her absolutely grief-stricken eyes. Its rays just wrapped her up like a little baby and she felt a little warm, in spite of ice cold ethanol coursing her body and wreaking havoc on her very DNA.

Candy caught each of the shards reflecting a colorful day in their lives together. Their lives together- yes, Clay and Candy had lived life to the fullest for six whole months. Each little piece of glass twinkled with a blast from the past – their first awkward kiss in the auto, Clay’s delicious home-cooked meat chops and devil chutney, their disastrous first jive and her two left feet, their window shopping and harmless shoplifting, their mad making-out in dark alleys and public- private-spots, their bumpy joyrides on his otherwise super-smooth Pulsar 200, their crazy chick-checkpoint searches in churches, their awesome glass-painting and glass-breaking sessions, their fun and freaky beer downing sessions with Carol, Clay’s mom… too many memories, too little time.
‘Hmmm, right now, it’s more like-‘Clay’s & Candy’s ex- lives’’, Candy said out loudly to the full length mirror. The girl in the mirror was Candy’s image. Candy liked to talk to herself, and named her image Aphro, short for Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty. Aphro was 16 and Candy’s BFF- best friend forever. Aphro had black locks that fell to her waist, soft curls in the front framing her cherubic face, with a gloomy, gothic look now, thanks to the black kohl and tears mixing and marking their own melancholic streaks down her cheeks.
Aphro said, ‘Candy, let’s play ‘WORD-OFF’. You say something, I try to outdo you, and we go on till one of us shuts up the other. If I shut you up, you never speak of or to Clay again, and if you win, well, you can obsess with Clay till you die.’
Candy said, ‘Deal Aphro! 6 months ago, I met Clay, the cutest boy on earth. It was love at first sight.’
Aphro said, ‘6 months later, Clay met & fell for Stella. Shocked & betrayed, you gave up without a fight.’
Candy said, ‘Clay still loves me. He’s going to get down on his knees, and beg me to take him back’
Aphro said, ‘Stella today, Bella tomorrow. Clay’s a useless fella, and he doesn’t care jack. ’
Candy said, ‘We are perfect, we make each other tick. For Clay, I know I will always be the best pick.’
Aphro said, ‘You poor lil’ kid, go ask Uncle Barney: There’s always a hotter chick.’
Candy said, ‘Hot or not, Clay’s always loved me a lot. Even now, we’re best friends. He’ll be mine again.’
Aphro said, ‘Best friends after a break up. Fat chance you’ll ever make up. Love is a bad bargain.’
Candy said, ‘What do you know? You’re just the girl in the mirror.'
Aphro said, ‘I know I’m your soul sister. I’m sorry girl; you know Clay’s a traitor & a heartbreaker.’

Candy stayed shut. Candy never spoke of or to Clay again. In the years to come, Candy met many a heartbreaker, and couldn’t help leaving behind a whole trail of broken hearts. But, she always knew how to heal. She just looked inside her for the 16-year-old Aphro and never lost faith in that beautiful goddess of love and beauty that lived inside her forever.

P.S. When Candy met Clay, she was 30 and Clay, 20. When they broke up, Candy was 30 and 6 months and Clay, 20 and 6 months. People grow old, their souls don’t. Search for your 16-year-old soul or look in your mirror today. A heartbreaker may just be around the corner!

69

2010-04-16T07:35:00.001-07:00

Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.

The boiling hot water on the stove disappeared into thin air, bursting out as angry bubbles on the surface. She sat looking out of the window, her soul simmering to searing flames that tore her very core. The water on the stove evaporated into invisible, forgotten fumes. Here she was fuming inside. Her chest heaved full and heavy, as she dug her teeth into the Zinger chicken burger. Zinger burgers: her comfort food any time of the day. Crunchy and creamy, the Zinger burger took the sting a little out of her aching heart.

Where was he? Was he driving? Who was he with?

Images of red satin, two naked bodies intertwined in progressive, provocative poses in the cramped back seat of his Grande Punto – going from one position to another filled her head. She wanted to pull all her hair out of those knotted-in-vicious-vexation roots in her head. Doubt drowned devotion. Where was all that blooming love from before? Bloodied. Soiled. Lost.

Two years into the relationship, she still had no faith. No matter what he did, that seed of sneaking suspicion reared its ugly head every now and then. And he did so much for her. Sample this: her new yellow Corby lying on the coffee table in front of her was something he’d gotten her because he knew she loved to text 24*7. She put the Zinger back in the red box. The fries were getting soggy.

The Corby called out to her. No, it wasn’t ringing. It just wanted to be cuddled in her sweaty palms. It just wanted her chubby fingers to run over the QWERTY keypad. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She picked up the Corby and dialed.

1 Ravi

Dialling…

‘Hi Jen. I’ll call you back. I’m on the way back.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘I’m in Erode. ‘

‘Who is driving?’

‘My boss. Bye. Text me.’

Click.

Red satin. Provocative positions. 69? 96? 66? 99?

She furiously composed a message. ‘R u sure ur boss s drivin?’

‘Ys,’ he replied.

‘R u sure ur wyd ya boss?’ she texted back.

‘Ys. Wazz ya prob Jen?’ he texted right back.

‘Cal me nw, put me on loudspeaker. I wanna hear u talkin 2 ya boss, to know that he’s REALLY de 1 ya with nw,’ she replied without even thinking.

Impulsiveness always felt good, better than an explosive release in bed. She walked to her bed and lay down. Her Corby sprung to life. She pushed it between her ears and the plush pillow. ‘So, we’ll close at 2.5 crores this month. Good to be on track. We’ll be done with our numbers this half,’ Ravi and his boss, Prem were talking business- business she didn’t really understand. The volcano had erupted. She felt calm. It was the calm after the storm. Ravi was too good a guy to cheat on her. She always knew that. There really was no reason for her to get so worked up. The two monotonous male voices lulled her into a deep sleep. Peace.

I Gotta Feeling that tonight's gonna be a good night ….

That damn ringtone-someone was calling. She opened her eyes. Ravi wasn’t home yet. With eyes closed, she ran her hands over the crumpled sheets. The smooth bump of her Corby brushed the tips of her fingers.

‘Hello,’ she cooed into the phone.

‘Hey Jen, I can’t get last night out of my head- especially the chocolate mousse all over you during that fabulous 69,’ he whispered right back.

‘Brendon, Ravi’s going to be home any minute now. We’ll catch up tomorrow.’

‘Done-Nyteee. Sweet and hot dreams babe. Mwuaah.’

Life is like the number 69- a mirror image of a twisted kind- turned upside down, inside out. Every day, you see in others exactly what you see in the mirror every night, after hitting your daily quota of 69 sins.

Indian Penis League.

2010-03-23T08:33:00.000-07:00

I've been missing writing. Way too much actually. It's been a year. I'm watching a Chennai Super Kings match- yes it's the IPL- the Indian Penis League. Yeah, that's what I call it. Too much of testosterone, I say. Any yeah like that of Indian men, the penis gets shorter. I mean the balls are squeezed tight, all right- now don't get me wrong, I only mean the limited overs are getting super limited. Any yes, coming back to 'super', that super over between the CSK and the Kinks XI was just too super fixed. Now, when there are snakes like Yuveraj ready to strike, why would Hayden need to come out with his overrated mongoose bat? Hissssss... His day, Yuvi's day anyway.

I've just gotten back. So, I'm going to take it slow. I'm going to write atleast 50 days everyday.
Nothing over the top. Just what I feel. I need that vent, and I think I just found my space. AGAIN. Love xoxo.

THE SALEM PAYBACK

2008-12-15T10:53:00.001-08:00

REPOSTED THIS STORY OF MINE FOR ALL THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ IT:
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THE SNOOZER: March1, 2008.10.00 pm.
An old hut, Salem.

The old alarm clock goes on in an obscure, little hut in Salem, the steel city of the south; it's around six hours by road from Chennai, which in turn is the cosmoplitan hotspot of South India.

He has hardly slept four hours-he’d been drinking all evening and quite a lot lately. He turns the alarm off, walks to the corner of his one sparse house, washes his face and hands off his drunken stupor and eats an early breakfast, served by his wife - some rice porridge and thick fish curry. Fish curry is a delicacy in his house, what with his miserly sole earnings mostly feeding his kallasarayam (type of local hard liquor). He gets set for his extremely early morning shift- he works as a driver for PTC buses plying from Salem to Chennai and back.

His two little girls in torn nighties are fast asleep. He gives them a kiss each. He would never let anything hurt them- he should get them new nighties. His wife gives him his towel and a bottle of water. She seems to be worried- he must remember to get her some mallighai poo (jasmine flowers). Chellapa clearly didn’t like seeing people unhappy or hurt in the smallest possible way.

‘You should drink a little lesser, and sleep a little more,’ she silently, almost carefully admonishes.
‘Kannama, don’t start. I work like a dog, and dogs have to be fed. My kallasarayam is the only thing that could really feed me. Your family gets its food, the kids get their education, and no one else is harmed, I have never hurt a fly- so I can keep drinking more and sleeping less for all you care, why are you bothered??’

No one else is harmed, I haven’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly….

He walks towards his bus with sleep-filled eyes.
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THE SINNER: March 2, 2008 10.00 am.
Sales office, Chennai.

She sits in her open cubicle, biting at those already cropped-to-the-flesh nails. Her eyes flash around the brightly lit office, the usual commotion and noise in her sales office suddenly a stranger invading her senses. As a Major Account Manager for a set of named/unnamed accounts only in Chennai, she sells desktops / laptops to these accounts. Officially, she isn't allowed to sell to accounts outside Chennai.

She swallows hard as her palms break into a sweat. She stares at the purchase order that has just landed her outlook mailbox. It is a purchase order for 160 desktops from ‘Bharatiar College, Salem’. She then closes the mail, closes her eyes and tries closing onto a peaceful trance.

These are the various conflicting statements from her colleagues, over the last few days that color her blanched peace:

‘Jennifer, never pick a deal/order from outside Chennai. It is against ethics, and you could lose your job.’

‘It isn’t wrong to pick an order from outside. Everyone does it here. Even losing a wink of sleep over that is fruitless- losing your job is out of question! ’

‘Ethics in business is always ahead of the business itself,’

‘Ethics in business is always ahead of the business itself, only because all the malpractices and wrongdoings serve as the backdoor junk backing the business from behind’

‘These are small things- why bother?’

‘There is a God of small things watching you always!’

Two schools of thought- one telling her it’s all wrong and one placating her anxieties. Her eyes remain shut and her eyeballs motionless. She wills the guilt away, but then, it simply keeps gnawing back at her.
In the end, this is what repeatedly pounds her eardrums as eerie whispers, ‘I’ve done IT. Everyone does IT. THIS shall also pass- Salem can never get back AT me, it's after all only a city’
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THE SUFFERER: March 2, 2008: 10.00 am
BBA Classroom, Loyola, Chennai.

HE sits at his desk, looking at the OB (Organizational Behavior) teacher with a fixed, occupied stare. His sister had helped him with, read ‘completed’ his HR Case Analysis late last night. She was his sitting duck- he loved making fun of all her: ‘full flab, flat nose, flat figure and flat feet.’ However, she had always been his ultimate saving grace when it came to completing assignments, giving tips and ideas on how to go about his BBA and lending innovative/inspiring ideas on shaping his future career.

HE turns his attention to OB- Obnoxious Bozo aka the Organizational Behavior teacher, and wonders how someone has the patience to go on for hours and hours talking, and he thinks ‘she must probably be suffering from ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder).’

His stomach groans, thinking of the Chicken Rice that was waiting for him in the Loyola Canteen. He looks across at Ashwin who is sticking pencils in Ann’s frizzy hair. ‘You Rotten Onion Burrito, here’s my pencil for her hair- way to go!’ he giggles and whispers to Ashwin.

The teacher suddenly disrupts him, ‘Jaison, how do you think the Govt. could improve the working conditions of a Govt. bus driver.’

HE gets up with a blank stare, and thinks to himself ‘Who knows, and more importantly, who cares.’
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THE SALEM PAYBACK:
March 28th 2008, 6.00 am
Traffic signal, Kathiparab Junction, Chennai,

CRASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Everything in the whole wild universe comes to a standstill. The deafening crash and the ensuing silence completely overpower ‘She will be loved’ playing on the Sony player. HIS body jerks forward as if a word called inertia never existed. His seat belt is like a warrior armor strap that pierces into his own chest. His head is just a nanometer short of crashing right through the windscreen.

He just about encounters death for what seems like the longest picosecond of his life.

As if it were a preconceived shot in a blockbuster movie, he suddenly sees how it happened. A huge ‘something’ had hit them from behind, while the car was stationed at the signal. He looked at his driver, seated beside him- he was ALIVE. Shaken beyond words, he finds the door handle, which is surprisingly not jammed, and opens it. He looks for any missing body parts, but the God of small mercies had gifted him yet another life.

He steps out of the crashed car. His mind gets transported to what happened around two hours ago- at home.

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THE SAVIOUR: March 28th 2008.
Chennai, 4.30 am
Home sweet home, Chennai

HE and SHE (Jennifer and Jaison) help their mom put her bags in their Swift’s boot. She is leaving for Muscat, to see their dad, who works as a teacher there. Her flight takes off at 7am. SHE stays home, while HE hops in alongside the driver and his mom plops herself in the backseat.

They reach the airport in about forty five minutes. Before leaving, Jaison’s mother rattles ‘Jaison, take care of your sister, eat food on time, set three alarms to wake up both of you, say a little prayer every day and call me once in two days at least. Let’s say a small prayer before I leave Son.’

‘Dear Jesus, protect my children when I’m not there, and constantly be with them. Our Father who art in heaven………………………………’

************************************************
March 28th 2008.
Chennai, 6.03 am
Accident site, Chennai.

He looks at the slightly frontal-dented PTC bus, almost 10 metres behind. The bus driver sits with his mouth agape, as if he’d just woken up- from a dreamless sleep- he’d obviously been dozing when he’d hit the car. Everything still remains a traumatizing still shot, as if the director of the fictitious movie hadn’t said CUT yet.
As his eyes automatically move their line of vision to the back of his car, his eyes momentarily misses out on something.

The signboard on the bus reads ‘SALEM’.
The bus that'd hit Jaison's car came from SALEM…………’
***********************************************
Life is truly a full circle. It exactly ends where it all began.
The snoozer:
'No one else is harmed, I haven’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly…… '
AND HARM HE DID- AN OBJECT THE SIZE OF A MILLION FLIES PUT TOGETHER ALMOST LOST ITS WINGS.
The Sinner:
‘I’ve done IT. Everyone does IT. THIS shall also pass- Salem can never get back at me, it's only a city…….
AND GET BACK IT DID, THE BUS FROM SALEM GOT BACK AT JENNIFER WITH A BIG BANG, QUITE LITERALLY; HER PRECIOUS BROTHER WAS THE APPLE OF HER EYE.
The Sufferer:
‘Jaison, how do you think the Govt. could improve the working conditions of a Govt. bus driver.’
HE gets up with a blank stare, and thinks to himself ‘Who knows, and more importantly who cares.’
AND CARE HE DID, WHEN HE ALMOST LOST HIS LIFE, WITH A SLEEP-DEPRIVED GOVT. BUS DRIVER CRASHING INTO HIS CAR.
The savior:
‘Dear Jesus, protect my children when I’m not there, and constantly be with them. Our Father who art in heaven………………………………’ AND PROTECT HE DID- MOTHERS KNOW THAT PRAYERS NEVER GO UNANSWERED.

***********************************************

Every little thing we do meets the master surgeon in the eye; call the Master Surgeon God, Destiny, Science or any thing you wish.

Every wound sewed.. Every drop of blood accounted for.. Every aching muscle put to rest.. Every sagging nerve brought o justice..

Every little action of ours deserves the Surgeon’s meritorious reaction- good or bad, depending upon our action; he has got to complete what we started in the first place, it’s his job.

It’s the law of his nature’s balance and the nature of his penultimate balancing law.
In the simplest of words- 'IT'S SIMPLE KARMA- what goes around comes around.’
I’ve gone around penning a true story. Now, you come around to my comments section and tell us how you’ve avenged and been avenged.

PLAY IT LIKE PLAYBOY!

2008-11-25T01:17:00.000-08:00

ROGER BUCK rolled from side to side, under the blue blanket on his sisal mat. He was dreaming of Jessica Doe, one of the doe-eyed beauties who had just moved into the condo opposite to his, just last week . He was so shy he never had the guts to talk to Jessica, but she wiggled her nose every time she caught Roger ogling at her.

“I think she likes you. When women wiggle their noses, they’re sending you those wiggly-jiggly love waves,” grunted Ronnie Buck.

His brother Ronnie Buck, was the stud-muffin- he had already started entertaining the women on the opposite side with his funny street bum antics, wacko hip-hop routines and cute, big bunny teeth.”Bunny teeth are my sex appeal, women fantasize my milk teeth in their soft flesh ” he’d hoot. ‘Life’, according to his older, dandier, crazier cousin Ronnie, ‘was to LIVE OUTSIDE THE CAGE, and play ‘The Playboy’’.

“I hear Brian, next door is going to have his Bachelor Party toNIGHT- and a little birdie told me ‘PLAYBOY’ is the theme,” rattled Ronnie Buck.

Playboy?!
Roger had always been the Mr. Goody Two shoes. All he did was keep Brendon and Belle, his parents happy, eat his food on time, chew on Apple-Gum, and kick his feet back, like he were reading the paper and secretly watch ‘Gossip Girl’, ‘Brothers and Sisters’ and ‘Desperate Housewives’, while his Aunt and Foster Mom, Amanda watched them in the hall, after a long and hard day at work. Yeah, he did Prison Break, Dexter, Heroes, CSI NY as well, but that was just when he had to prove his masculinity to the little brat Pete.

Tonight, Roger just could not sleep. The Loud Music from Brian’s Bachelor Party and teasing images of naked women called to his deep-down and stashed -in-the-basement PLAYBOY.

“Tonight, I ought to get out and have a ball .”

He was still BUCK NAKED under his blanket. He got up and walked to the Condo Latch. Surprisingly, it wasn’t shut. He pushed the front door, walked across the porch, jumped over the low-rise picket fences and scurried to the origin of all noise.

‘Here I come! I’ve finally ARRIVED! I got my Manly Whiskers-Hurrrrrrray!!’

And that’s how ROGER BUCK opened the front door to the noisy hall of his neighbour, Brian’s Bachelor Party with ‘PLAYBOY- Rock the Rabbit’ as its theme. Playboy Rabbit logos and Playboy models were glued all over the walls. Playboy Head Cushions pimped up the divans. A handmade Dartboard with Hugh Hefner(CEO and Founder of Playboy Enterprises ), surrounded by naked Playboy models sat on one wall- with Hugh’s Weeny as the Dartboard’s Bullseye. As Roger scanned the Bachelor Party Hall, plain ol’ Roger Buck said to himself, “Tonight, I’m going to be THE Rockstar PLAYBOY.”

Then, there was sudden silence. All the men in the room took their eyes off Ramoana, the stripper for the first time since she started stripping. They stared open-mouthed at BUCK NAKED Roger Buck. The hot woman, in her red Rabbit ears and black silk garter stockings: only her Rabbit ears and black silk garter stockings, walked up to ROGER BUCK, with her golden whip falling out like Rapunzel’s single golden braid, right out from between her two rounded “ windows”, whose “knobs” right now were getting tighter with every passing second.

One man suddenly screamed out loud : ‘C’mon Ramoana, FUCK the frigging naked BUCK’. Roger never knew how they knew his Surname!

All the men joined in, ‘Buck, lose your virginity!’.

Someone hooted, “Your name is ‘BUCK’- the ‘man’ and the ‘money’ rolled into one- Women find that combination very irresistable indeed. Give her a run for her BUCK, BUCK!”

Somewhere the Sony SA-W00 Sub-woofer blared ‘Freak n a Leash’ by ‘Korn’

“ Feeling like a freak on a leash. (You wanna see the light)

Feeling like I have no release. (So do I)…….”

The hooker walked to Roger Buck. He was in her arms in a jiffy.She put Roger in between her round ‘windows’. He licked at her ‘knobs’ and made them go hard. She rubbed noses with him. She stroked his pink-with-embarrassment ears. Then, she put her fingers in between his legs. He quivered. Her red fingernails made him squirm with anticipation. The men in the room broke into a sweaty palpitation. The party was creaching its climax with the unexpected, naked , stranger-visitor.

“Da boom na da mmm dum na ema

Da boom na da mmm dum na ema

Go!” Korn screamed on.

Roger closed his eyes and all he could think of, was............................................................. ‘Jessica Doe’!!! Suddenly, he squealed in fright, snapped out of her red fingernails, ran out of Brian’s front door and Bachelor Party, jumped over the picket fences, slid onto his garden, breezed past the front door, sprang into his Condo and skied onto his sisal mat.

From his window, he saw Jessica Doe sleeping with a smile in the opposite condo.

Tomorrow, he’d tell Jessica Doe HOW MUCH HE LOVED HER!

Being a FANCY-PANCY PLAYBOY RABBIT on the prowl was great- but ROGER BUCK had finally seen
BEYOND THE PLAYBOY. Much as he loved life outside the cage, he wore his heart on his sleeve- and it belonged to his home and hearth.
Playboys grow up to ~~Men~~ Rabbits of Honor.
Roger Buck had grown up into that Buck of Honour.

That was a story of Roger Buck, a Pet Male Rabbit, raised by Amanda and her son Pete, and his struggle in finding his true identity: to be or not to be the hyped ‘IT-Playboy-Rabbit’ . Interestingly, the men at the Bachelor’s party found the arrival of a male rabbit at a ‘Playboy theme’ Party the best coincidence of the night.

Amanda and Pete reared their male and female pet rabbits in multi-level Bunny Condos, and treated them with love and care. While a male rabbit is called a Buck (which is why the men at the Bachelor Party called him ‘Buck’), a female is called a Doe (which is why Jessica is Jessica Doe).The Playboy Rabbit was the ‘IT’ MALe of this rabbit community. To be or not to be the Playboy was the real question!

Every Zakir needs his True Light!

2008-10-09T14:58:00.000-07:00

Superstars Karan and Soha play Sandeep (San) and Nandita (Nan) in a film titled ‘I’m the Boss’, where they are so sick of their manipulative Boss that they actually hatch a big plan to screw his lovely life, sexy wife and beautiful daughter.
The Dialogues are all in Hindi. I’ve transliterated them into English.

***********************************************************
Background: Walking into the Office canteen- Host of food stalls, colleagues in the background)
Scene 10:
Take 2:
Lights. Camera. Action.

Nan: I hate this San- we do all the dirty work, and our F*@*!t^% boss walks away with ALL the credit.’
San: Spot on Nan! It’s like we’re washing all his dirty Van Heusen linen and he walks out as Mr. Spotless White. Fucker- People should actually see how dirty his Jockey ass is: sockeye of SHIT
Cut.

Background : Table Near the sandwich/Chat stall.
Scene 11:
Lights. Camera. Action.
Take 3:

Nan: The other day, he called me to the Conference Hall when the Big Boss was also there, and I thought they were going to appreciate my work on my Market Survey Report.
Surprisingly, they never referred to the Report and asked me about all the Exquisite Designer Bag Outlets in Town. On my favorite topic, even I loosened up, and bragged about this new, Bottega Bag Outlet that was a Designer steal. In my mind, I was like, ‘Wow (whistle), even these arseholes know how to get a female employee talking and motivated.’

San: Yeah, up until last week- that (pause) was (pause) motivation. Then, it motivated you to kill him, when we found out about their bonuses from our collective Market Survey Reports and their special ‘bag shopping’ for stuffing their wives’ love handles with bootiliceous Bottega Bags.

If that wasn’t bad enough, none of us got our special bonuses for those individual Survey Reports that they had promised early last month. When questioned, moronic ‘Boss’ says, ‘Your bonuses- next month Guys’.

Nan: Next month guys!? Next month guys = (equals to) Next month guys, your asses are going to be screwed harder during OVERTIME HOURS at OFFICE with MORE REPORTS and NO BONUSES / NO PAY while I’m screwing my ~~ugly~~ wife’s arse at home DURING OFFICE HOURS and screwing some hot chick’s arse at the Park during MY OVERTIME HOURS.

San & Nan: URGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (with looks of exasperation)

Cut.

Scene 12:
Take 1:
Nan: We have to screw his life- make it a complete mess.
San: We got to screw his wife and daughter as well.
Nan: God will show us the light.
San: And I will discover his wife and daughter in darkness.
Nan & San: Muhahahahahahahahahhahahhahahahahaha!

Cut.
************************************************************
Kachangggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg.
A loud noise fills the sets.
Zakir, the Lightman threw the lights he had been holding onto the floor.
The Director, the Actors and everyone on the sets stared open-mouthed.

Zakir speaks animatedly,
“Lights. Camera. Action.
God, show Zakir, the lightmen the light. We are the ones who’ve been in darkness all along.
What ironic lines in your scenes!
You super stars get paid in crores for a film, sometimes even before the first shoot, and you’re doing a scene about NOT GETTING PAID, and not getting paid ON TIME? We film workers- illustrators, scenic designers, model makers, lightmen, carpenters, painters, electricians, laborers, set decorators, makeup and hairstyling artists, costume designers, etc. get 600 Rs. /day(on an average), and we’re NOT PAID IN MONTHS!
You had a scene that talks of motivation and Overtime working hours. It was a brilliant scene- especially because you stole all the lines from our lives.
As film workers, we love our cinema and we work non-stop; days and nights make no difference to us. You talk of Designer Bottega Bags? We only have swollen EYE BAGS and designer dark circles, thanks to our sleepless and thankless days and nights.
As for all the ‘screwing’ in the scenes, it’s time WE SCREW YOU!
Meet with our BASIC DEMANDS- parameters like improved working hours, payment tariffs and time limit for payment. Until then, we shall stay away from what we love.
It is peanuts for a 3.6 Billion/year Ticket sales Industry.
Give us filmworkers some credit! Every Zakir in this industry needs to be shown HIS TRUE LIGHT
CUT.”

This piece was inspired by the recent three day long Bollywood Film Workers' strike- the first of its kind in 50 years.
Quoting UNI GLOBAL UNION, “FWICE, the Federation of Western India Cinema Employees went on strike on October 1’st, 2008 The Federation, a UNI affiliate, representing over twenty film employees unions in Mumbai (Bombay) shut down all productions in Bollywood. The action was taken after many members have not been paid for months, in some cases wages had been withheld for up to six months, leaving workers on the verge of starvation. The Federation also includes the Senior Artists Association, which supports the strike. More than 100 films had stopped production. All the studios were shut for three whole days.”

ABC.. THE NEW APLHABET

2008-09-18T04:44:00.000-07:00

Raoul walked into the projector room. It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness.

‘Hey Sid, Does it hurt to keep the lights on?’ bawled Raoul in a mock, sing-song voice.

Silence.

The status light on the projector blinked green, as it remained in standby mode.

“I guess only my self-esteem got hurt- thank God no one saw me bellowing to an empty room. Damn You Sid!” Raoul murmured to himself in the same sing-song voice. He liked talking to himself- it gave him that extra pep on an otherwise mundane Monday.

He pressed the ON button on the Projector remote. It was a dual projection system- the two screens placed side by side suddenly brought the dark room back to life.

“And suddenly there was light…” he winked to himself with a sense of self-accomplishment.
Over the next thirty seconds, Raoul stood stupefied and tongue-tied. No words. No Sing-song gibberish.

Sheer Beauty always fit a silencer in his throat.

There were pictures of two women, side by side, on the two screens ahead of him.

The two women were as different and as alike as chalk and cheese could be. The one on the left was Anne Mirabelle: she was in her late forties – a bewitching, ‘chipped’ chalk, drawing irresistible patterns on Raoul’s mind- canvas. The one on the right was Rubelle: she was a stunning 19 year old – as invigorating as fresh cheese straight out of its first curdle.

The 19 year old Rubelle wore a white summer dress and looked like a fresh breath of air ready to take on the stench of the big, bad world. Her jet black, stray hair looked like charcoal art on a beatific face, her eyes a thousand rays of the sun’s first rays. Her full breasts were ripe and ready to pick, Raoul thought her shirt buttons to be his worst enemy for the moment. Her angelic face gave her a baby-cherry-like, cherubic glow – now, Raoul would rip open his shirt buttons to cradle that face in a father-like, protective gesture.

“It’s getting hot in here. Let’s take off all our clothes,” whistled Raoul to a bunch of non-existent guys in the background, as though he needed to force his plane off this romantic runway.

He turned to the woman on the right.

Anne Mirabelle stood there in complete contrast, as though her forty something years towered in utter defiance of the younger woman at her side. Her breasts were flat, non-existent- which gave Raoul the ‘chipped’- chalk- first- impression, but her strong and sensuous heart in that sturdy frame lent her a prolific sexiness. She looked every inch like a queen of the Immortals- like she’d weathered the toughest storms, fought the worst battles and braved all the biting bitching, and still managed to emerge a fiercely loved and staunchly respected woman. Her ear-cropped, copper-brown hair stood gelled and styled and her eyes were an open assault on the senses.

“Wine and women, the older they get, the more they have in common” said Raoul with eyes in slits.

“You’re talking to the Dating hotline 143-280-143. Which of these two women are you going to date, Sir?” Sid broke into the room with a laugh.

‘Sid, where the hell have you been?’

‘Well, you need to choose one, not me. So, I buzzed off. So, who’s the lucky one?’

‘Both of them are irresistible in their own ways. But, if you ask me, I think we have a clear winner. I’ve always had my list of corroborative conditions and my instinctive preferences. So I think I’ll go for Anne Mirabelle.”

“I knew you’d go for Anne Mirabelle. She’s the perfect choice. I got to call and let her know.”

“No, I’ll let her know myself. I will be presenting the entire Publicity Campaign of her book, ‘ABC (A Breast Cancer)-THE ALPHABET OF A BOOBLESS WOMAN’ to her today. This sensational, gutsy photo of forty-eight old Anna Mirabelle will inspire and attract women and men of all generations; it represents, in all its strength and sensuality, the Iron-Maiden who LOST it all to breast cancer, but who still came out WINNING and LAUGHING all the way.”

ANNA MIRABELLE is the Editor in Chief of PARADE, an international Fashion Magazine. In her earlier days as a model, she was known by another name – RUBELLE. After many years, as a model, fashion journalist and editorial assistant, she progressed to become ANNA MIRABELLE, Editor-in-Chief of PARADE. Her battle with Breast Cancer in recent times, followed by double mastectomy (losing both her breasts) has given ANNA a new lease of life. She shares her life- with all its ups and downs, in twenty profound and rib-tickling chapters, in her first book – ‘ABC (A Breast Cancer)-THE ALPHABET OF A BOOBLESS WOMAN’. This book is said to be a sure shot best-seller, with its sober, frank and completely ribald take on women, men, boobs, sex, cancer and much more.
Raoul is hired as Anna Mirabelle’s book publicist, and he is to choose the picture of Anna Mirabelle that would appear in her publicity Campaign, which starts a,year before the actual publishing date. He chooses the Anna of today, as opposed to the Anna 29 years ago.( aka Rubelle )

p.s.:

This entire post, including the book, is a figment of my imagination.

Don't go hunting for the book.

............................THE OSSIE-PLUMES

2008-07-29T05:16:00.000-07:00

It is a balmy Sunday morning in San Francisco. The radio blares on as the Porsche Boxter S roars down Noe Valley. 106.7 ZRock FM serves and smashes Rihaana’s ‘Shut up and Drive’ raw and hot. However, Rihaana can’t shut David and Brenda up, as they sing and talk over the top, like two very raucous love-birds fawning over each other after a high- adrenaline, sizzling Saturday night.

“What a magnificent night babe,” David smiles from ear to ear, as he effortlessly screeches to a halt at the water fountain standing at the entrance of Brenda’s one-storey condominium.

There at the end of her street, David pushes that wayward strand of hair behind her ear and smiles. He wags her finger, winks and says “Baby, stay home, do you laundry and be a good girl. You need the rest after yesterday’s heavy-duty passion and action. (winks) I’ll be out of here and back in no time.” Brenda looks into his eyes, happy tears blurring her vision, “You’re my pillar of strength and support- my well of happiness, fortitude and dynamism. I hope I make the right decision. Making it overnight is shelving it as a worst case scenario, but I know I can make it anyways.”

David had never been the counter-emotional type. He altered his tone to a teasing one, “The prognosis for the day is that you’re going to have a lazy day ahead. Go warm your butt. (Smiles)”

Brenda hugs him tight and gets out of the car. She waves to him, as he zooms out of sight. She walks into her home, kicks her stilettos into the air, puts on some loud music and decides to get real lazy.

She changes into her favorite night pajamas that smelled of flowers, from the Tide Simple Pleasures Detergent. She walks to the liquor cabinet: pours herself a glass of Zinfandel and fills her plate with the Potato Stroganoff hot from the hamburger helper her maid Maria had made her.

After the relaxed self wining and dining, she moves to the attic. “Maybe, I should pull out some old stuff, and feel good about old times,” she twitters to herself.

A cardboard box hidden in a dusty corner catches her attention. She opens it, only to find a gob of golden cookbooks collected over the years. A big blue diary catches her attention.

Her breath gets stuck in her throat as she looks at the two ostrich feathers glued atop the diary. As a six year old, when she’d been to the 600 acre Rooster Cogburn’s Ostrich Ranch on the Picacho Peak, she’d taken these two feathers as a keepsake, and filled in the dairy with marginalia of specialized ostrich egg and meat recipes, and childish doodles of the huge ostrich egg and the gummy Ostrich Goulash she’d eaten.

She carries the blue diary with ostrich feathers to bed that night. She smiles and thinks of David. She had made her decision.

The door bell wakes her up in the morning. She gets the door in her night robe. David walks in, gives her a hug. “So what have you decided?”

“I’ve decided that the theme for the next month is going to be ‘ostriches’; we could call it ‘The Ossie Plumes’! We’ll have big ostrich feathers at the grand entrance and ostrich masks given to every guest who enters. Ostrich artifacts and sculptures shall be placed at every table. We’ll have a special ostrich-fan dance by the ‘Ostricia Girls’ at the special hour and an entire ‘Ostrich egg and meat’ special on the menu. To ring in some extra greens, we could also auction ostrich boas, handbags, head-gear, leather belts, bags, wallets and other fashion accessories. Media and celebrities from every walk of life shall be there for a sneak peak on the opening Saturday of the month………” “Fantabulous,” he says. “I knew you are the best Restaurant Concept-Moghul I could ever ask for. You and I, our partnership is going to ‘cook’ up more than all our head-chef could. ”

The previous night had been a just-opened- pressure-cooker: starry-eyed, hot and steamy, yet eased out and very much in-its-element.
Saturday night had been the opening night of ‘Cornucopia’, the most awaited restaurant of the year. David, the Restaurateur of the year 2007 had begun ‘Cornucopia’ with great aplomb- the theme of the restaurant was to have a new theme every month. David had hired Brenda as his Conceptualiser. The first month’s theme had been ‘Starry eyed’ with Hollywood stars and their favorite foods doing the rounds.

Welcome to Cornucopia. Fall in love with David, Brenda and their ostriches.
*******************************************************************************
Last week's Wordzzle Challenge by Raven:
Cardboard box, liquor cabinet, ostrich feathers, longitudinal, hamburger helper, partnership, laundry detergent, magnificent, San Francisco, prognosis
And for the Mini Challenge: worst case scenario, marginalia, water fountain, specialized, fortitude.

.............................THE CROWN OF THORNS

2008-07-11T03:51:00.000-07:00

The drums rolled. Louder and louder.
The drum-roll was so loud; it awoke the dormant Darth Vader living within the sacerdotal priest. He was sleeping in his plush bed that stood against the wall of an otherwise sparse room of the ancient rectory.

The priest twisted and turned in his bed. He sweated profusely. Somewhere, an alley cat screeched an eerie mew. In his dreams, he walked down memory lane…

To that fateful night in the Florida Prison cell, where he was administering the last rights to the Death Row Convict #8, Robert Flamingo. Chained from head to toe, Robert still had that determinate cause popping his eye-veins. In a corner of the prison cell, there lay the crab-cakes with cucumber tartar sauce. Prior to execution, a Death Row convict could request his favorite last meal.

The last rites had to be done in three stages: first, penance for sins committed, then anointing with holy oil, followed by Viaticum (Holy Communion).

Robert Flamingo told the Priest, “I’m an honest Christian. I killed the Kingpin of the Gonzales Banking Fraud- a heartless Investment and Securities Fraud. My family and 100 other unsuspecting senior citizens lost our entire life savings, as we put them in the hands of Gonzales in the form of the Dakoita Investment Offering, in return for a stabilized income at 12% interest.

Stabilized income? We ended up losing our stability and I, my sanity. I went to Gonzales to talk things out, and probably look at some kind of compensation, but he was a snotty bastard dripping with sarcasm as to how the Government could procrastinate the proceedings in the Court of Law by letting him slip through those loopholes that they would willingly create, as a sign of returning the ‘favors’ they had had sought from the fraud in the first place. I lost my cool when I saw no signs of compromise, I fell bait to a heated argument: one that I was losing real bad.

Gonzales liked to flaunt his misplaced sense of religiosity and had a thurible at his desk; a desk he liked to call his altar. I assume he wished the holy smoke from the thurible would absolve him from his scandalous sins.

“You people are like the ‘Crown of Thorns’ on God’s head. I just removed the thorns and made God’s life easier. Your money is gone forever, just like the crown of thorns,” he jeered.

I couldn’t digest it: the contrasting, far-from-holy atrocity of his deeds. I took the thurible in hand, and in one swift blow, took a deathly swing at his surprised-as-hell head. The evil, scarlet blood oozed in a stead stream onto the white ‘altar’.
I spotted a Moses’ burning bush in his office. The sugar-sweet irony kissed my triumphant face: I mean the man had not obeyed a single commandment; and here was a Moses Bush! I’d never seen pietism and putridness get along this well. Moses would have turned in his grave. I walked to the bush, made a small ‘crown of thorns’ and left it on his bleeding head.

That’s my story father. And I accept this death penalty with all my heart. I’m one small thorn who is alright with being removed, when I know the red rose can still be preserved.”

The priest had a sheet-white expression. This man was an exemplary Jesus. He anointed him with holy Oil and gave him ‘The Holy communion’. He felt privileged administering the last rites.

As he was about the leave, Robert called to him. “Father, would you help me in keeping the red rose alive?”

The priest stumbled a little, and then said, “What can I do for your people?”

Robert replied: “There are three Monster Trucks parked in these five different Church yards where Gonzales used to send clothes, furniture and other knick-knacks to; as part of his ‘Christian Deeds’. I’ve loaded them with the money that I got to recover from this bloody scam. No police or Government has gotten there. No Church has opened these either. I just got them filled out with my men last night. These are the keys. Get the money to my people.”

The priest took the keys, walked out of the prison cell, and blessed the Guards at the Door.

That was two years ago.

He woke up with a start. The sheets were still wet with perspiration. He had aided and abetted a criminal.

Then, his heart beat slowed down.
He saw those happy faces. They’d gotten their life back.

***********************************************************************************
Raven's Wordzzle Challenge: assorted words-just make a story out of them!
I loved the challenge : so took it up :)

The words for last week's ten word challenge were: flamingo, monster trucks, Darth Vader, cucumbers, sugar-free, banking, determinate, thurible, sarcasm, drums And for the Mini Challenge: procrastinate, memory lane, alley cat, argument, Florida
***********************************************************************************************

..........................................:BETWEEN THE LINES

2008-07-03T01:37:00.000-07:00

It’s a bustling Thursday evening holding on to a lot of wet promises and raindrops against a hot-aired, empty sunset. Menaka looks at her reflection in the life-size mirror sitting pretty on one wall of the lavish washrooms, on the same floor as the ‘Bike and Psych’ Pub of one of the premier multi-star hotels in Chennai. The reflection smiles back at its gorgeous mistress.

The red halter neck and the swishy purple skirt clinging to those curves and contours lend Menaka a classy, yet smoking-hot look. She runs her hands down the front of her skirt out of sheer habit, and her eyes lock on to the stunning antique ruby-red ring on her ring finger ................................................................

………………………………………………….Menaka wishes for the antique ruby-red ring to transform into a red-hot partner. Maybe tonight is the night. She smiles at her mock optimism. Menaka could be quite the Queen Bee of any group: her diva dynamism, infectious enthusiasm, maternal instincts, nightingale voice, razor-sharp wit and way with words, group-political prowess and intuitive maneuvers get her buzzing right to the centre of any hive. Hiding behind that impeccable grace and spider-web charm is a spoilt little kid; a little kid who peeps out from behind the vixen veneer, a little kid who loves to laugh and help people, a little kid who is a staunch believer in family, religion, traditions, dignity, duties and responsibilities and a little kid who hankers for real romance.

“In a city of self-proclaimed Kings, would I chance upon the shining blade of my Knight in romantic armor? Well, maybe ‘Bike and Psych’ would provide the answer,” She takes a deep breath, joins her group of friends outside the restroom, smiles and nods as she breezes past the friendly bouncers into the yellow-lit club.

She orders a Tequila Martini and her friends order pitchers of beer, a mixture of shots and cocktails. Vinod, a friend of hers sits at the adjacent table with another friend of his.

“Menaka, this place gets a hard-on when you’re here. You look gorgeous. Meet my friend Varun, the dancer extraordinaire.”

Vinod and Varun join Menaka’s table. Menaka radiates a blazing smile, hugs Vinod and shakes hands with Varun. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, and you must know, I have a thing for dancers (winks).” Varun wears a red party shirt, teamed with black trousers. Menaka smiles inwardly at the thought she tries to push down her fluttering heart, “He’s your red-hot partner, something tells me….”
Varun returns a suave smile and says, “Not really a trained dancer, but invisible dancing shoes have a thing for me when I see beautiful women like you and my feet itch to dance.”

Menaka and Varun move opposite to each other. Everything and everyone around them fades into colorful oblivion. Their glasses clink and they gulp down their drinks. The hunter eyes the prey; only, neither of them knows who really the hunter was and who, the prey.

The First Time I saw you
you were standing In the Rain
there was something about you
that made Me Look Again
the Way That You Let The Rain
fall Down On You
the Way That You Smile
when Your Eyes Met Mine
ooh,Ooh...”- Courtesy Wise Guys (The first time I saw you)

“Can I have this dance?” asks Varun.
Menaka blushes and replies, “Oh Yeah, Why not?”

Varun draws her into a merengue sequence. Menaka knew a little jive and had always taken well to a male lead in a couple dance. “But this is whopping different,” she muses, as he led her into Caribbean twists and twirls.

As if he heard her muse, Varun tells her, “This is quite simple. Just follow me.” He suddenly put his hands over her head, loops it down her upper back and waist, comes spine-chillingly close for a tingling second, and when she closes her eyes to savor the feeling, he twists her on his right feet, does a side basic and leaves her untouched, into a dizzying twiddle, only to touch, steady and coax her into the next forward basic movement.

“Lady, swing you hips along with mine. It lends a deep flavor to this dance.” Menaka blushes at the all the activity hip-down.
“A lot of things are swinging in your favor, least of all the flavor,” she quips in an unperturbed voice. Inside, she was quivering.

The lady in red is dancing with me
Cheek to cheek
There’s nobody here
Its just you and me
It’s where I want to be
But I hardly know this beauty by my side
Ill never forget the way you look tonight. .. -courtesy Chris De Burgh, Lady in Red.

They settle into a romantic trance. The hunter had lost. The prey had won.
Only, here there was no hunter but two prey going in circles around each other. Only time would reveal the outcome of this chase.
....................................******************************....................................
BETWEEN THE LINES
She runs her hands down the front of her skirt out of sheer habit, and her eyes lock on to the stunning antique ruby-red ring on her ring finger ........................……………………………………..
It replaces her more expensive, but boring diamond-wedding ring. To her advantage, age is her beauty’s most unwanted alibi: ‘Forty something and sexy’ is quite rare in her part of the world. Her marriage had spoken only two exquisitely beautiful words to her all through its life- her two beautiful children. Those two beautiful words alone had coerced her into forming her marriage into a decent life-sentence. Now, those two words had also flown away and become birds with their own nests leaving Menaka all alone in her empty nest......................................
Menaka wishes for the antique ruby-red ring to transform into a red-hot partner. Maybe tonight is the night.

If ever marriage becomes an unsatisfied hunter, and the hunter becomes his own inescapable prey, there’s nothing wrong in burying the gun, taking up the gauntlet and shooting other arrows. Age is never a barrier for breaking free and seeking true companionship.
My dream is to fly
Over the rainbow so high
My dream is to fly
Over the rainbow so high..-- Courtesy Yves Larock - Rise Up

THE BIRTHDAY-BABY SHOWER :)

2008-06-29T22:40:00.000-07:00

YEAH! MY BIRTHDAY was up last week. I just want this post to be a dedication to all the people who ROCK my day-to-day life. I also want to thank all of you, for having surprised me TWICE and having celebrated my birthday THREE days in a row. I want to let the world know that I LOVE ALLLL OF YOU soooooo much. MWUAHHHHH & HUGSSSSSSSS.. :)

My parents have brought me here and made me all that I'm.

This year, they treated all my closest friends at L4 on my behalf.(Cit Centre's Rooftop)Thank you MA, PA, PATI N JEFF.- You're the best family on the planet. Mwuaaaaaah :)

THE SEXCEE SIX:

The six people who have been a big part of my life for the past two years..You guys mean the world to ME: absofuckulutingly the besttttt..

DOLLY, HARSH, PEETO, PRATHI, RUBY, TEDDY..

You surprised me twice on my budday, and I was on top of the world..

This is what the sexcee six gave me, in addition to the Surprise Black Forest Cake at the airport and the buffet/cake at Sigree.

& I WEAR THE BAG LIKE EVERYDAY: :):):) thankyaaaaaaa.. (though you can't see the bag)

RAJIV AND SIKKI:
Two guys who have been with me through thick and thin. They've beem friends all their lives and I know them for six years now.
You guys have been there when I need a shoulder the most! Thank-You! mwuahh :)This is what Rajiv and Sikki gave me:
(in addition to the shooters Rajiv paid for, at my Airport surprise.. It was supposed to be my treat to all of them, but my card didn't work ;);) Rajiv, 'M inDEBTed to to you.. ;))
Rajiv, Thanks for giving yourself to me on my Birthday ;);) (urggg, how I hate to admit this is what you call me: yaana kutty(translation :elepahant baby!)
Sooooo darnnnn googly-woogly cute

RAM & KRIS:
Two of my beshttt buds: the two macho men in my life..
I love their sense of humor:they are such tube-lights that this is what they decided to get me on my budday: a glow-in-the-dark lamp.. :)
I love the way the small, silver- square confetti moves inside the lamp, it's like how you guys are to me, always in my blood.. (sounded corny eh?)

MINSI AND JOE:
Minsi-->Another mother to me. Love you to insy-winsi-minsi bitz :):)

Joe--> Great buddy and companion.

Ofcourse, this used to be a huge gang back in college: those were definitely 'the best years of my life': Aditya, Dhanya, Charlee, Yogi, Rajiv, Sikki, Trisha, Kishore, Senthil.....-mwuaah to you guys wherever you are.

Minsi gave me a mix-n-match Pattiala/dupatta and two stone-neck pieces, which I oh-so loved:

Pepsi and Alex:
Pepsi (aka Hepsiba) is a cute little cherub, who looks a lot like me. (just that she is the petite version): a new friend of mine, a hip-hop buddy, a bubble-pot and a doctor-to-be..
She gave me a Lifestyle voucher, with which I bought myself this Kurta:
Sweetheart, you’re going to be a great Doc: keep the smile and love you tons.

Alex--> Pepsi’s older brother, who studies with my younger brother Jeff.
Alex gave Jeff a cross, when he met my brother at my Birthday treat, as a keepsake after his trip to Dubai: I just like to think Jesus found a way to my special day. So I thought I’d put in this pic.

God bless yall.. Hope and Pray I’d celebrate many more Buddayz with all of you around!
And Blogger Buddies and Homiez, thanks a ton for all your wishes.
Love you all: mwuahhhh & Hugs.

ps: will post pics soon :)

.......................Apam and fish:

2008-06-18T00:54:00.000-07:00

“The Biblical Feeding of the Multitude:
The disciples were only able to find 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. Jesus blessed the food, broke it, and gave it to the disciples, who distributed it to the people present - 5000 not counting women and children - all of them being fed.”

It was eight in the evening. A shrill voice piped up in the busy, noisy street: “Apam faar
Rs. 5. Big Fat Feesh faar Rs. 30.” There were too many foreigners in the place, to visit their Lady of Velankanni, the Mother of Jesus Christ, so the meager Tamil-drenched English helped. The Shrine of Velankanni stood very close to the beach, and millions thronged here to pray to the Mother of Jesus.

The 35 year-old Chellama (aka the Apam and fish lady) sat swathed in a rugged blue and brown stone-washed sari. She looked 50 though; the heat and soot from the four hot stoves right in front of her had inflicted that change. A little girl of around five sat next to her. Her hair was plaited in two and she went about helping her mother serve the Apam and fish in big banana leaves. Mother and daughter had that haggard appearance, but what contrasted their rags and no-pitch ragas that they croaked aloud while making their Apams were the cheer in their voice and the twinkle in their eyes. They were here for making two ends meet and paying the little girl’s school fees- and the ‘Lady of Velankani’ had blessed them abundantly. She was not only their Goddess, but their mother and Protector.
A Phirang lady walked towards the roadside stall in amusement. She wore a pair of khaki shorts teamed with a pink, tank top. A black backpack hugged her sun-tanned back and pink sneakers cushioned her pedicured feet from the sand and stones below. Her blond pony struggled to stay still- the sea-breeze split it in manifold stands and the wayward strands streaked her cute, cherub face.

“I want two Aapems and one big fat fish please (smiles),” said the Phirang woman.
Chellama smiled back at the lady and said, “Welcome Madam. You looking veereey bootifool. Two minutes- haat Apam and big feesh”

After two minutes, her daughter, Arokia Mary flipped two hot Apams and one big fish onto a fresh, green banana leaf and handed it over to the fairy-lady. “One day, I’ll be like you fairy-lady, they tell me stories about fairies like you at school,” Arokia Mary thought with a solemn resolution on her face.

Post-Tsunami, the number of pilgrims thronged in larger numbers at Velankanni. People, after a long day of prayer and adoration entered the busy street that led them from the main shrine of Velankani to the Beach. Chellama’s Apam and fish stall stood at the entrance alongside umpteen other similar stalls, enticing the hungry pilgrims with their steamy stoves and the delicious whiff of red-hot-curry-masala-slotted fish.

A horde of strange trinkets, colorful confetti and unimaginable paraphernalia in the string of small shops brought the place to life. A number of hair-tonsure shops welcomed people who wanted to sacrifice their hair for their beloved Mother of Velankani. When one reached the sea, there was more fried fish, varutha kadalai (fried peanuts) and a lot of horses with people riding their backs.

Sharp at midnight, Chellama and Arokia Mary wrapped up their stall, collected all their earnings and put the notes and coins it into a purple cloth-pouch that rested in Chellama’s bosom.

“1000 Rs. Arokia, after a very long time.”

Chellama hugged Arokia Mary tight and they walked back to their hut with the left-over Apam batter and marinated fish. They reached their sparse, but sufficient one-room house that had been recently built and painted in bright green along with the hundred other similar houses in the same row from the Tsunami Aid. The green paint on the walls seemed a little brighter today. Chellama took the money from the purple pouch, laid it in a bronze box and hid the box in between her saris in the shelf carved in the inner walls. She usually kept the money on her body, but decided against it today.

The small wooden clock kept ticking. The silence of the night formed a think blanket over the sleeping mother and daughter.

“Click. Click.” The wooden door creaked open, the lock having been picked. A dark figure broke into the house. He adjusted his eyes to the dark and spotted a woman and a child sleeping in sound contentment. He smirked and walked to the only furnished part of the house: the shelf. He carefully rummaged through the clothes. He found the bronze box and opened it greedily. He picked all the notes save for the sole 2 hundred rupee notes and replaced the box. He quickly walked out of the house, into the breezy night. He wasn’t smiling.

Chellama woke up in the morning, stretched a little and woke up Arokia Mary. After getting Mary dressed in her blue and white uniform, she went over to the Bronze box to collect the 200 rupee annual school fee.

The money was missing. Only two hundred rupee notes flapped in the box, as if offering an apology.

Chellama smiled!

“He’d left the two hundred rupees. He really loved his daughter. Instead of beating her black and blue and taking all the money she usually had had on her bosom, he had silently taken away all but his daughter’s school fees without a fuss. She had trusted him with the bronze box in the shelf and he had reciprocated that trust in the way he knew best. Even her fisherman- husband had a heart, and she knew ‘The Mother of Velankanni’ had begun answering her prayers.”

“Very soon, he’d stop stealing the money altogether, cease beating her for good, quit alcohol forever and love her for a lifetime.”

Faith moveth mighty mountains. Trust never rusts. Love is always a boomerang, however late the strike-back.

p.s:

1.this is my tribut eto my Velankanni trip.

2.My birthday falls tomorrow, and I'm not here with family/friends- sudden, unavoidable training in B'lore :(:(

3. L0ve you all. Will be back soon.

..........................STUCK-ON-YOU!

2008-06-06T04:45:00.000-07:00

RECAP:
The story so far (No previous episodes are co-related- this is a background check for your fancy)
Episode 1:
Stoned- The 3 MuskaJeers steal stones in place of diamonds, in the worst robbery ever!
The Characters:
The 3 MuskeJeers had nicknames for each other that swiped their personae sharp and clean:

*BEER*:He is passionate about BEER, bombshells, their b@@&$ and b*##$, big bucks, and all the good things in life- he leers lustily at whatever appeals to his senses.
*SEER*:He is the guy with unusual powers of foresight; he PREDICTS THE FUTURE with great accuracy, hence- the SEER- the MuskeJeers strategist, he plans like every tomorrow was running today. ‘Fear’ pushes and powers him.
*QUEER*:Strange are his ways: he’s ‘GAY and funny’- QUEER man! Like his penchant for mens’ rumps and rear-sides, he looks at every situation from the back and every possible corner and angle. He is quick and feminine, like a Deer

The Present:
Now, Beer, Seer and Queer have a MASTER.
This master is their penultimate boss. He is the Kingpin of ‘STUCK-ON-YOU’, an unidentified island on Earth. The Master is a Magician with powers unknown, even to the MuskaJeers. They have never seen their master. He is JUST A VOICE that calls on them, only when they are alone in ‘MUSKA-JUSKA’, the MuskaJeer’s house.

The Master’s belligerent voice bellows, “Beer, Seer and Queer: You have disappointed me with the diamond robbery. Youuuuu three stone-heads: you got me 3 stones instead of diamonds!”

Beer, Seer and Queer have no words and hang their head in shame.

The master feels sad looking at them. They looked truly sorry. Maybe, he had been a tad too harsh. “Alrigggggght, I only called you stone-heads, you don’t have to turn to stone for that reason, and turn away from me. I want you to be happy.”

The 3 Muskajeers look up with puppy-faces that prompt more pity in the Master’s heart than anger. “I know that look. I know you guys need that fantastic sexual break from reality.”

Queer lookS like an excited VODAFONE PUG on the run, “Master, You’re always more than ‘READY TO HELP’. Please Help.”

The master wraps the three MuskeJeers in his warm, invisible embrace. “Alright, MuskeJeers! It’s time for your Sex Vacation to my island, while I travel the world over the weekend. Now, here are the rules:

Rule 1:
I partition my island ‘Stuck-on-you’ into three parts, one each for the three of you. The three parts of the island shall be named after you: ‘Beira’, ‘Seirra’ and ‘Querida’. You shall not meet each other over the weekend.
Rule 2:
Here’s a ‘Muska-Juska Magic lamp’ for each of you. You can rub it once during your 2-day stay- make one wish and it shall be granted. Your wishes must be sexually mild-blowing fantasies.
Rule 3:
When you leave the island, you don’t take anything from there. Remember, they belong to me and me alone. Anything that you take, it become yours at your own risk.
Rule 4:
Close your eyes. You’ll be in and out in two days.

VACATION TIME:
The 3 Muskajeers stand with their eyes wide open, on their respective partition on the most Paradisiacal Island on earth: ‘Stuck-on-you’. A golden lamp with ‘Muska-Juska’ written across stays comfortably put in their arms.
The salty sea breeze is soothing. The night is naughty and nubile. The island’s bountiful beauty is bombastic. Sex sizzles in the air and on their minds.

On the Beira: (Beer’s third of the island)
Beer rubs the ‘Muska-Juska’ Magic lamp and wishes: “Master, Grant me the most boobalicious, buttalicious, curvalicious, sexalicious, lovealicious sex-kitten over the next two days.”

Master: “Sex-kitten? Think big- here’s a sex-tigress.”

She walks to him: a bedazzling ensemble of flesh and soul, dressed in nothing but a star-studded string bikini, midnight-blue Kajal and a tender coconut in her hand. She cuckoos into Beer’s ears, “Come. Command. Conquer.”

On the Querida: (Queer’s third of the island)
Queer rubs the ‘Muska-Juska’ lamp and wishes: “Master, Grant me the perfect bait that would ensnare my gay fancies both from front and behind, if you know what I mean. A six-pack horn that would have a hole on the top and bend backwards and fit into my ass-h*$* is what I fancy.”

Master: “Shah-Rukh is the perfect bait that would hook you on, but he’s busy with Karan Johar now.
And Queer, you said ‘master, grant me the bait’-
I as MASTER hereby grant you the BAIT- ‘the MASTERBAIT/MASTURBATE’ HORN.’
The HORNy HORN hoots to Queer: “Blow me. Caress me. Insert me.”

On the Seirra: (Seer’s third of the island)
Seer rubs the ‘Muska-Juska’ lamp and wishes: “Master, grant me the perfect crystal-gazer that helps me watch the futuristic place with the maximum population explosion: I’d like to fix the lights-out action.”

Master: “Right now, the only place where population explosion is happening is not in India/China; it’s in the ‘Brangelina House’- so many babies- adopted and real. They’re even talking of a child care centre that would house many more babies- peephole porn granted to you Seer.”

Through the crystal-gazer, Seer watches the most beautiful couple in the world go at it in bed- population or not, it definitely is an explosion.
Brad and Angelina whisper to Seer, “Ooh! Aah! Ouch! WATCH!”

THE VACATION ENDS:
The weekend passes by. At the end of it, Seer, Beer and Queer choose to play with rule no. 3. Their master had said: ‘Anything that you take, it becomes yours at your own risk.” They want souvenirs from their sexy vacation on the ‘STUCK-ON-YOU’ island. Seer hides the star-studded string bikini in his shorts, Beer flicks the ‘masturbate horn’ in his very loose shorts and Queer slips the crystal-gazer in his shirt pocket. They get back to their respective rooms in the ‘MUSKA-JUSKA’ house by Sunday night, longingly look at their souvenirs from the ‘STUCK-ON-YOU’ island and fall fast asleep.

The next day,
Beer gets up, walks to the full-size bathroom mirror and shrieks:
The star-studded bikini has become a part of his skin, permanently!

Queer gets up, and feels a pain in the front and back:
The ‘Masturbate Horn’ is naturally sheathed onto his front and back hole, permanently!

Seer gets up, and feels his right eye quake and pound:
The ‘crystal gazer’ stays molded to his left eyelid, permanently!

The MASTER’s voice floats across the ‘MUSKA-JUSKA’ house:
“Rule 3: When you leave the island, you don’t take anything from there. Remember, they belong to me and me alone. Anything that you take, it becomes yours at your own risk.”
Pauses and continues….
“And it all became YOURS- literally!!!!"

............................FIRST DATE- Quite a HANDful...

2008-05-29T04:02:00.000-07:00

Life is always quite a HANDful- sometimes your hands are sewing stitches without a break, and at others, the sand just seems to be slipping from your hands. Meet Ron & Mon, while they talk about Ron's first date.

HANDy tips from the above:

-->Women think too much, and men use it to their advantage.

-->Men are not the only ones who have sex on their minds all the time.

-->Men love to speak in double entendres, without giving a sigle hint- it's called the system of 'protected-sex-talk' , akin to 'protected sex'.

Even real dates are not as delicious and tasty as these dry fruits we all sooooo love. So, how was your first date guys???Fill in.. :)

P.S.:

Talking of fruits, my first date with the fruit I've been fida over since the first date is right below:

Aren't they lovely strawberries?

They aren' t lovely strawberries, cos they're lovely litchees!!!!

GO FRUITY!! Did you the different spellins of the fruit:

litchee lichi leechee lichee lychee litchi: and I thought English spellings were difficult!!!

AN APPLE A DAY KEEPS TEH DOCTOR AWAY.

A 'DATE' A DAY KEEPS THE 'GYNECS' BUSY AND GAY!

...........................ZEROing in!

2008-05-25T22:11:00.001-07:00

All over India, it’s suddenly going from voluptuous to violin-string-skinny. Hottest bod of the season- is size ‘0’. I’m not here to criticize or congratulate the concept.

Fashion houses become mad-houses when they’ve got to fashion a fresh-fad for the latest trend.
Here is a retail house that tries to capitalize on the size ‘0’ phenomenon.
Click on pictures to enlarge:

So, what are you zeroing in on?

ps: And i wanted people to see the idiocy in size 0, hence the nanga concept!:)

STONED!!!

2008-05-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

Prologue:
THE 3 MUSKEJEERS:
The 3 MuskeJeers had nicknames for each other that swiped their personae sharp and clean:

(Beer): He is passionate about BEER, bombshells, their b@@&$ and b*##$, big bucks, and all the good things in life- he leers lustily at whatever appeals to his senses.
(Seer): He is the guy with unusual powers of foresight; he PREDICTS THE FUTURE with great accuracy, hence- the SEER- the MuskeJeers strategist, he plans like every tomorrow was running today. ‘Fear’ pushes and powers him.
(Queer): Strange are his ways: he’s ‘GAY and funny’- QUEER man! Like his penchant for mens’ rumps and rear-sides, he looks at every situation from the back and every possible corner and angle. He is quick and feminine, like a Deer.

*************************************************************************************
THE HAUTE-HEIST:
(The High-Flying Robbery)

It is dark, silent and ten ‘o’ clock. The 3 MuskeJEERS stand at the Ravi Gaikward residence. Tonight is their night.

BEER jeers, “Crores and crores of ‘Darling Diamonds’. I’ve already begun spending it in my head. Diamonds are a hot chick’s best friend. Just imagine the blue-eyed, hot-assed…..”
QUEER cuts him abruptly, “Blue-eyed?? You might end up getting a black-eye, if we get caught today.”
SEER says, “Guys. Shut up. Let’s observe ‘two minutes of silence’ for the 3 months we’ve been planning and working hard on this ‘haute-heist’: to finally stroke the 3 sachets of sparkling Dazzle Diamonds in Ravi’s locker with sensuous slashes.”

3 MONTHS BEFORE:
3months. Three months since they started working on Ravi Gaikward’s case- Ravi Gaikward, the owner of a 100 year old Diamond Jewellery store Tribhov Bheem Gaikward (TBG), centrally located at the majestic Canberra House, Mumbai. He was a pink-faced, baggy-eyed, rotund man with lards of hard fat insulating the circumference of his stomach. His wife was dead, and he had one daughter named Riah, and a son named Rahul. Beer, the lady-lover that he was, worked his way to Riah’s heart, while Queer being gay ‘drove’ his way through gay Rahul’s arse. Seer became Ravi Gaikward’s most trusted astrologer during the two months.

And how?Simple! One afternoon, he visited the TBG Diamond store. After loafing around for a while, he gave the usher at the entrance a chit to be passed to the owner. The next day, when he returned to the store, Ravi Gaikward himself hugged Seer strong and made him his most trusted astrologer.

And how? Simple! The chit had read, “You will find a stone that will be bigger than the biggest diamond you’ve seen. The stone shall give you a new lease of life- this is your wife’s GIFT from heaven.”

Ravi Gaikward had waited for the big diamond, supposedly sent by his wife the entire day. No supplier had brought forth the foreshadowed diamond. Late that evening, as he walked out of his store, a huge stone had dropped from nowhere, just a foot behind him. He’d escaped death by a split-second.

Ravi removed the chit from his pocket and re-read it. The stone was bigger than the biggest diamond he’d seen (You will find a stone that will be bigger than the biggest diamond you’ve seen.), the big stone hadn’t killed him- it had given him a new lease of life (The stone shall give you a new lease of life), and it was his wife who had saved him from the stone- a new lease of life had been her gift to him (this is your wife’s GIFT from heaven!) Ravi Gaikward was stunned!

Queer sat hidden between the tree-branches near the TBG Diamond Store, smiling after throwing the stone a second after his target moved. He’d just missed his target by a second, as he’d been instructed to do; for a guy who missed his target, he was the happiest assassin.

TWO WEEKS BEFORE:
Two weeks ago, they struck gold, in this case, diamonds.
Seer now spent a lot of time at Ravi Gaikward’s house. As luck would have it, he eavesdropped on a conversation Ravi had with Rahul and Riah: “I’ve three sachets of my lucky-charm Dazzling Diamonds worth crores & crores, in my bedroom locker- one sachet for you, my son Rahul, one for you, my baby Riah and one for me.
Here are your keys to the locker. You can take these sachets anytime you want. Their individual value is much beyond your combined inheritances.”

BACK TO THE PRESENT:
That happened TWO WEEKS AGO. The 3 MuskeJeers come thumping back to reality. The 2 minute silence is over. The night is young, even the diamond-studded starry sky tells them, ‘Go get the 3 diamond sachets.’

The 3 MuskeJeers huddle once and part.
“Let’s go get rich today.”

And How? Simple!
Seer walks into his 10 ‘o’clock appointment with Ravi Gaikward. Rahul sees Seer go into his father’s room: he stealthily walks out of the house to meet Queer for an hour. They had fixed their love-making appointment for 10pm. “Rahul, you’re losing 21 crores because I’m gay and intelligent and you’re gay and dumb,” Queer thinks to himself.

Beer jumps into Riah’s balcony from the tree. She has been waiting for him for half an hour. It is their first time. “She looks so beautiful naked. God, I got to remember to drug her, and get her key to Ravi Gaikward’s Diamond locker.”

Aloud, Seer tells Ravi: “Close your eyes. ‘Eyelidistry’ is my secret specialty. Let me read your eyelids and predict your future.” Silently, he thinks, “We’re robbing Ravi Gaikward blind, quite literally.”

Half an hour passes. Beer steals his way into Ravi’s bedroom. His eyelids remain shut, Seer keeps babbling on about Ravi’s future. Beer moves forward. With no hindrance, he finds the locker, opens it with the key, picks the 3 sachets and walks away-hypnotized. It has been the easiest robbery in history.

10 minutes later, the 3 muskeJEERS meet at their hideout.
They open a sachet each. They stare at the contents open-mouthed! AGAPE!
They were STONED!

Each sachet contained a third of the big stone that Queer had thrown three months ago.

They went STONE-COLD!
*************************************************************************************
And how? Simple!
EPILOGUE:

Ravi Gaikward's words: “I’ve three sachets of my lucky-charm ‘Darling Diamonds’ worth crores & crores, in my bedroom locker- one sachet for you, my son Rahul, one for you, my baby Riah and one for me. Here are your keys to the locker. You can take these sachets anytime you want. Their individual value is much beyond your combined inheritances.”
-->Ravi Gaikward’s dead wife had saved his life with the stone. His wife was his Lucky Charm. To him, like Beer had predicted, this stone was the biggest diamond. Hence, he’d split the stone in three- one third for him, one third for his son Rahul and one third for his daughter, Riah. He called his wife ‘Darling’-so he called the 3 parts the ‘Darling Diamonds’. He’d intended for the stone to be a talisman of sorts to the children. To Ravi, the stone was priceless- he liked to put them at ‘crores and crores’. He wanted the kids to have their mother’s talisman any time, so he gave them the keys.

Ravi Gaikward had no other diamonds in the locker at home. He kept every other stone in his store, under the blanket of the highest security possible. After all, his family was in the diamond business for 100 years.

Double MENace:

2008-05-16T06:15:00.000-07:00

“Two eyes. Two lips. Two hands. Two legs. Why not two men?” Rita screamed at Polly in exasperation.

“One nose. One tongue. One navel. One life. One love. Looking at it from the other bank of the river, you have ten fingers; can you, by your cockeyed sense of reasoning, have ten men!?
You got to choose babe, and you got to do it FAST.”

Rita crinkled her nose and smiled for no apparent reason, “I want them both and I will have them both.” Polly threw up her hands in frustration and said, ‘I only wish.’

Tony and Ashoka- Fire and ice, Ice and Fire, interchangeable as usual. The two men in her life. She couldn’t live without either of them, and she couldn’t obviously live with both of them.

She knew Tony from when she was a little baby. He’d held her right after she was born. He’d been her ‘jatti’ buddy. She respected, feared and loved him in equitable, humongous proportions. He cared for her like he cared for no-one else. He’d helped her become her, like a potter shaping his favorite clay pot. The two of them shared a mirrored passion for life, and were alike in one unique aspect- they always stood out from the crowd. Invariably, she felt ‘at home’ with Tony. One evening, while he was rolling the rosary beads during his evening walk, she called him while in the midst of some baseless depression. He said in a comforting, yet steadfast tone, “You’re my baby. I would never let harm come your way.” The intensity intimidated even her.

She knew Ashoka for over a year now. She’d met him at her first job, and the lightening had struck heavy even before the dark clouds of passion gathered. They caught on to each other like wildfire let loose in an otherwise friendly forest. No science- neither chemistry nor biology could demystify their raging animal intensity for each other. Surprisingly, the passion did not turn out to be a queer, wet blanket with time. The tardy drops of rain after all the initial thunder and lightning were unexpectedly soft and tender indeed. It trickled down their bodies, uniting love and lust in a lasting embrace. One evening, as Ashoka's magician-tongue wagged its magic wand on her more-than-yielding rabbits, he whispered “You’re my queen. Let’s go conquer the world.” The excitement was too much, even for her.

She couldn’t say they were both like an eye each, mainly because both her eyes had different eye-powers (-3 and -3.5). However, Tony and Ashoka had so much in common that even her differently-powered eyes without glasses/lens saw the same thing and felt the same darn thing when she saw them.

Tony and Ashoka were both Taurians: obstinate and opinionated, fearless and kind, ambitious and generous. The two men were as well-built and purposeful as strong bulls on the chase. Broad shoulders with muscular thighs, the two of them drove her nuts about them. Sensual and strongly attractive, they were hard-pressingly loveable. They were distinct go-getters. They made her want to piggy-back their power-luring and green-minting adventures.

They both had eyes that laughed when their lips did. Both their lips’ loved the feel of Gold Flake Kings against their pursed, cupid shaped lips. They loved to smoke, and her femininity found it so appealingly macho and masculine that at times, she’d just sit beside either of her Kings, and passive-smoke a cigarette or two- flakey, but golden. It really cleared her head, even though she had no penchant for smoking .They rarely let their faces smile, but when they did, they revealed the perfect set of ciggie-tinged teeth. To her, their faces were the most potent and the most memorized in her brain cells.

They were the only two men who could use the whip and quip to restrict and release her. She was on their leash and yet, her spirit stood unleashed.

It was impossible to decide between them, as everyone around her was prodding her to. She was caught between the devil and the dark blue sea, with religion and her acting as the prodding Moses' staff.

That is when she hatched her plan of having them both. The number TWO was ingrained in her persona- she was Gemini by birth. She needed to have them both, and love them both, to her advantage. It was a tightrope effort- she introduced them to each other over a casual lunch, as if by total chance. They took to each other in a big way. She didn’t expect that. Soon, they were laughing over a peg of Jack Daniels….

Taurians are obstinate and opinionated- lucky for her; they were both obstinate in and opinionated about one thing- her happiness. Rita, Tony and Ashoka finally made their decision.

The priest said with a pleasing finality, ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
Ashoka and Rita came together for eternity. The rain drops were falling outside the church. A colorful rainbow spread a happy smile across the sky.

Rita turned to Tony. Tears streaked his dimpled cheeks. He looked at her in stunned silence, “I’m losing my baby girl, but I’m losing her to a better man (smiles proudly).”

She kissed Tony on the cheek and said, ‘Father, Thank You’

SO PHONEY- IS THIS LOVE????

2008-05-13T00:46:00.000-07:00

She needed him real bad. She needed to hear his voice- that reassuring, bright and breezy baritone. He stood right there; his bright eyes flickered with a barren expression. It looked like he was hiding every darn feeling inside. She wanted to shake him out of that dreamless look.
‘Maybe I’ve used him beyond his limits and pushed the envelope too far this time,’ she pondered.

Flashback:
She loved punching and poking him in his abs. He made those tiny little noises that made her crazy.
Sometimes, when she punched him so hard and fast, he’d carelessly say,
‘Don’t play games with me sweetheart, you shall pay. Revenge is sweet, but she would keep playing with him and retort, ‘Be happy. I’m not like a lot of other women today. They usually don’t punch with the hand. They are so dominant they do the same in riotous style- they hold the men in their control with a stick in hand!’
He was a quicksilver maverick- intelligent, witty, nice, yet full of spice. In fact, because of him being a full-on techie loaded with a potpourri of snaky charms, she fell for his bait.
In the end, each and every time, she not only fell for his bait, but for him.Truly.Madly. Deeply.
She fell for him so bad that she wanted to get closer to him than anyone else possibly could. Like a little girl on the beach would hear the waves of the sea sing its soothing tunes thrugh the shell near her ear, she wanted to listen to every heart beat of his.
'Lub Dub!'Lub Dub!' she heard his innermost self- his racy heart beat, as she put a stolen stethoscope onto him. Listening to his innermost pulse gave her an inexplicable, deep sense of relief, and him, a feeling of throbbing love and completedness.
Sometimes, in the middle of a busy day, she would suddenly see him, and he would say mushy stuff like ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’. At other times, he would jus flash his eyes a few times, and then go silent, conveying, ‘Hey, Do go about your work. Just remember I’m always here for you.’
He was a keen observer; he absorbed things around him incisively and intuitively. In fact, she liked to see the world through his eyes. They never failed her. She kept a diary that stored a lot of her stuff. He liked to call it crap, ‘Sugarplum, That is some serious crappy paraphernalia which I keep giving you. I can’t believe you store it.’
‘Shut up, they are beautiful, colorful, and full-of-life. They remind me of all the good times we’ve had.’
Right now, even though she punched him with all her love, he didn’t respond. He didn’t look away either. Probably, he wanted to speak to her- she got a niggling sense of that. Those lovely, big, sad eyes, just kept staring back at her. They blinked and flashed without uttering a single word, like an SOS from a sinking Titanic. Only, she needed a way to get around that damn iceberg, whatever it was.

She wasn’t able to talk to anyone, only because he wasn’t even responding to her. He was like a lump of morass clinging to the bosom of her palm. He didn’t want to go away.
If she lost him right here and now, she would never be able to trace him again, because he wouldn’t be reachable.

She paused and reflected. He had always been with her. Even now, when he didn’t talk to her, he stood by her. It was her fault- she just had to recharge his energy from time to time.
That’s it! -She knew how to get him back into her life- she just had to recharge and refuel his spirits.

She went up to ATM, withdrew Rs.3800, went up to the Hutch Kiosk and paid in her overdue bill amount of Rs.3798 for the month of May.
20 minutes later, HE- Her loveable ‘Nokia phone’ rang out loud with love, in its characteristic, baritone ring tone. It was back- she could make and receive calls as usual. Her incoming and outgoing had been barred for a day, and it had almost killed her. Now, her world was the same again. Gloriously yet again!
The next time, all she had to do so as not to lose him was pay her bill on time.

This happened yesterday, when I didn’t pay my bill, all of 3800 bucks! This is exactly how I felt without my mobile- ispired me to write this piece!

(phoney love-->phone love
she--> me
He-->my nokia phone
His baritone voice-->my phone’s ring tone
His usually bright eyes-->my phone’s display
Used him beyond his limits--> I overshot my credit limit and got barred.
His abs--> my phone’s keypad
Tiny little noises-->keypad TONES
Games with me-->games on the mobile
“Other women today control with a stick in hand, in style”
Stickà stylus-->writing stick in PDA’s
Style-->stylus
“Him being a full-on techie loaded with a potpourri of snaky charms”
Snaky charms--> the game ‘snake’ loaded on my mobile.
stethoscope--> ear phones
“Says Mushy Stuff”-->SMS (Texts like ‘I love you’ ‘I Miss you’ )
Flash his eyes a few times--> a missed call
Crappy paraphernalia-->pictures taken on my camera
My Diary--> ‘My Pictures’ folder on my desktop with the pictures
He wouldn’t be reachable--> ‘not Reachable’ when I don’t pay my bill on time.)

HIP- HOP skip and jump

2008-05-02T05:27:00.000-07:00

Play the PLEAY:
I slipped into my favorite three-quarter harem pants: they were black, elastic, tight at the hips and looser near the knees. I teamed them with a short red top and a black sports-bra that encircled my neck. I looked into the mirror and gave a tiny smile of satisfaction. Hip-Hop was going to be fun today.
As I walked into my hip-hop dance class, I felt the air escape my lungs. The beats and the booty, the grooves and the gyrations, the popping and the palpitations, the sweat, the spirit and the sensuousness, the libido and the liveliness, the passion and the pressure- ooh, it was too much to take- I’m ‘THE DANCER’!

‘It was too much to take’ – does it convey passion and heat?
In reality, it was really ‘too much to take’ because-I Floundered, Fidgeted, Flailed, Fumbled, Fell Flat, Flipped all wrong- in short I was THE ‘Fucked-up’ DANCER.
But, hell- it was way too much Fun. I loved dancing, just like my bosom buds- Pretzel and Rubel. And we loved Hip-hop, or whatever WE made of Hip-Hop.

We joined Hip-hop because we loved popping, hand-stands and head-stands.
Actually, that’s a lie- we joined because that was the only week-end class available with decent timings.

I was a little late for class. I waved a big hello to Pretzel and Rubel, and joined them for the initial stretching.

‘PLEAY,’ Balaji said. I raised my foot on to the side bar, stretched forward a few times and then pleayed.

If you are wondering what the hell ‘a pleay’ is, there is no need to panic. Even we, the AIADMK (All-in-All Dubuku Mokkai Kroopu) gang of girls found it very funny when Balaji, our dance instructor had first spelt it out loud.

BEND- THE END.

‘So, what’s a pleay?’ we had initially wondered.

Balaji had come to our rescue, ‘With one leg, stretched onto the side, on the side bar, your arms holding the bar for support, and your back straight, BEND the other leg such that that thigh is parallel to the ground.’

/>‘Acrobatic,’ said Pretzel.
‘Painful’, I silently cursed.
‘At least you guys can think of playing with Pleay. My leg does not even reach the bar. Yikes!’ Pretzel and me found the painful pleay heavenly, as our inner sides cracked up at the funny situation Rubel was in. Rubel was a little on the shorter side, you see. Getting her leg on the bar was like a little kid reaching out for the jar of colorful candies on a way over-the-sky shelf.
‘Put your leg on the lower bar Rubel,’ Pretzel managed to say with a straight face. A pissed-off Rubel got her leg onto the lower bar. She had to be satisfied with the local, colorful gems on the reachable, lower shelf. She was darn cute to watch and be cuter to watch her expressions would when she reads this blog. ;)

STRETCH- THE WRETCHED RETCH

However, Pretzel’s and my joy was short-lived. Now, it was time to stretch before the dance session. Balaji came right behind a few other co-dancers, and STRETCHED their one leg on the bar as far as possible- the space between the two legs were forced apart as wide as a stout Iyer Maami’s (South Indian Brahmin Aunty) hips.
(Disclaimer: No harm intended to any region, caste, sex, size)

‘AaOOOooooooooch,’ I screamed.

No, it wasn’t because of the pain I was undergoing. The scream was in response to one of our dance-mates squirming in pain as Balaji went down on her. (Pun unintended- I meant, Balaji getting her to stretch her leg to the maximum possible extent on the side bar)

This was like gang rape- Balaji was stretching each of our one-leg-on-the-bar beyond imagination. Rubel went through it next.
When it was my turn, and Balaji ‘went down on me’, I willed funny thoughts into my head, in order to forget the terrible pain:
“1.One leg up, and the other down- I must look like a dog waiting to piss.
2.If he stretches my legs any farther apart, this may be the pink-ribbon day I lose my virginity.
3. What if he stretches me to an extent I can’t take, and I fart in his face. Yuck! But yeah, that’d keep him away from stretching me EVER again.”

When it was over, I looked at Pretzel with a sadistic smile. I thought, ‘Your chance Bebo.’
But, Pretzel, as always, was the clever B!#@*. She was last in line, and stretched on her own, even before Balaji could do the honors.
‘I have a back problem, so I did the maximum I could on my own.’ (whiney face)

Did I say it before? B!#@*

WARM-UP TO ME BABY..

I never really knew that she could dance like this.She makes a man wants to speak SpanishComo se llama (si), bonita (si), mi casa (si, Shakira Shakira), su casaShakira, Shakira…

Balaji, our flexible instructor now moved on to warm up, with this sexy Shakira number as the warm-up song. This was a nice feeling- moving around like butterflies with light wings. This was relaxing.

Relaxingggggg…
Until…
‘Now stay on your toes, bend down and do Push-ups’
‘Do girls do Push-ups, ever? I thought they only wore push-ups,’ I slyly thought.

Then Balaji went on to Ab-Crunches.
My abs and stomach knew only ‘lunches’. Crunches were real hard to get by.
I didn’t do them all too well. I consoled myself by saying that I already had a to-die-for six-pack- dying with six packs of flab and flesh.

Throughout, Balaji said, ‘Flex, don’t Point your feet. Flex in Hip-hop and Point in Jazz.’

Like we cared about jazz- hip-hop was torturous enough!
Flex or point- there was no point trying to teach us technique.

THE ROUTINE- OH NO, This is NOT A ‘ROUTINE’ CHECK-UP..

The Routine was a set of 8 moves- in one step, a series of which makes a set of routines, to perform for the song ‘Take it to the Floor’.

Now get this right- one routine--> one step-->8 --> in like 4 seconds.
Now, let me check, what did you say the speed of light was?

To top it, every step had an extra ‘and a’ peppered in.

‘And’ was no longer a conjunction, it was a step in itself. Dance defied grammar!
It was like
‘1,2,3,and a,4,5, and a, 6, 7, and a, 8.’
So sometimes a routine, i.e. a step had 11-16 moves in 4 seconds!!!

To get the hang of one move- even that was difficult. Pretzel, Rubel and I struggled to get through the 11-16 steps in 4 seconds.

When each move began to look like a cake walk, Balaji would do the 11-16 moves together in 4 secs- that’s an average of almost 3 moves in one second, when we could only do one thing 11-16 times in four seconds.
We could only let 11-16 drops of saliva drop in 4 seconds, ogling at Balaji, in awe.

(proud of it too!!)

Balaji added another clause to this deal: dance was becoming advanced grammar from Wren and Martin.
‘Don’t just do the step. Throw in THE ATTITUDE and THE ENERGY. Summa Kalainga pa! (Just go casually tease the audience)!’

Yeah right!
We pissed like dogs (kicking one leg up).

We salivated like dogs- looking at Balaji in awe.

We panted like dogs- we finally did 11 moves in 4 seconds.
Now, you wanted us to look great and throw in attitude and energy.

'JUST GO TO THE DOGS!!' (Pant pant- woof woof)

Attitude and energy- That was like spiking a cute, little, lazy Vodafone pug, and asking it to dance electrifying ‘hip hop’ and look like ‘Snoop DOGg’.

"I JUST LOST MY VIRGINITY."

Yeah, that’s exactly what my harem parents said, when I was in Splitsville- that is when I was splitting my legs and dancing a split move.
My black pants just gave away at the back, with a huge slit, right in between my butt cheeks, and my blue underwear saw the world in a whole new light!!

STEPS 5, 6, 7, 8…. SCORE 100..
After all that tossing and turning, we finally did get our moves right.
We’ve just finished our first EXAM in dance, and it feels awesome- absolutely.
We’re the first inter-2 batch across India to have been certified ‘highly commended’ by a dance school in the UK- by 2 phirangs who flew all the way to judge us. We were truly lauded and appreciated.

pa-rum-pum-pum-pum.. (trumpets and jazzy, hip-hop beats)

We're getting our picture in the papers- the whole bunch of us. :)

(Keep this confidential- actually, the entire thing was kinda 'rigged'- we were ALL ranked 'highly commended' even before the judges saw us, with our photos to be in the paper, only to encourage more people to join the dance school for hip-hop, kind of a marketing gimmick- but hell, we got a 'highly commended' certificate and an after-the-exam-party at Hawana!! So TUT-TUT..)

We had spent an ENTIRE day on shopping clothes for the exam!

....AND we didn't find one single attire we wanted ;) So, we wore what we already had.
ULTIMATELY, we ended up being dressed in black and pink, and I think we all looked really good!

...THAT IS,

if you thought

Pretzel and me, showing some cleavage, in non-hip-hop clothes looked good ;)

and Rubel in the decent hip-hop clothes looked better :)

She always made extra efforts to dress decent- what do you call wearing one black, close-necked three quarter sleeved Tee below, and one collared, Pink TEE on the top, on a day, where the temperature went up to 41 degress celcius- she was the only smart-ass hip-hoppee though!!!!!

We have a show coming up soon- will keep you posted on that..

We're 23 GOING ON 24..
AND WE’RE TURNING INTO TODDLERS of 5, 6, 7, 8 THAT DANCE...
STEPS 5, 6, 7, 8….

PS:

BALAJI, you’re the best tutor, we dance because of you- THANK YOU :):):)

Special mention:

Rubel was always told to give out more expressions, as she was concentrating on the steps, and had a monotone expression; in the end, she pulled out a million expressions from cute-to-sexy-to-hot-to-happy-to-hippie-to-heppie-to contrived-to mystical-to elusive-to open-to closed-TO MANY MORE.

JOEY( of friends)- I think Rubel could become a better actor than you! and yeah, she is a better actor even without doing her eyebrows (we didn't do our eyebrows that day)- remember Joey had to 'do his eyebrows' once..

Al-the-guys-who-love-Pretzel: (WHICH INCLUDED ALL GUYS btw, cos everyone loves pretzel)

GUYS, You can ogle at sexy Pretzel for all you care DURING HIP-HOP EXAMS, you can ogle at her 'wherever' you want to ogle and stare. SHe doesn't mind.

She wears such heavy eye-make up, that she CAN'T see WHO is looking WHERE.

(She lined our eyes the same way, it was the smoky look, of-course. )

All wired-up, boosted and padded!

I did a lot of warm-up and push-ups before the dance..

Warm-up by warming and heating my curly(PUBIC) hair into straight strands under the blow-drier.

Push-ups by wearing A push-up BRA!

Captain Jane COOK: 20 DAYS 8 MINS.

2008-04-28T00:18:00.000-07:00

Pass on some pasta please:

8 mins. That’s all I needed to move from a woman-who-can’t-cook to a woman-who-can-cook. Sunfeast Pasta was an amazing discovery to me, when you have none of the cooking-woman’s traits, and your delirious mom left you for TWENTY days, in order to be with her romantic, solitary, loving, loveable and most importantly starved (for food and otherwise;)) husband in the Gulf, and left you scratching your head with a brother (B), more potently referred to as a hunger-monger.

B usually grits his teeth and gives the most obscene madman a run for his money, when even mom gives him anything remotely burnt, botched, bland or boggy.

If mom cannot be pardoned for her slightest culinary slips, I was going to be dead meat.
Dead meat reminded me of something- B was a carnivore. Chicken and chicks were the two most important things in his life.
B’s favorite saying: ‘If you can’t find me a sexy chick, I’ll turn gay.’

If I didn’t give him chicken, I’m sure he’d say, ‘If you can’t give me scrumptious chicken, I’ll turn into a cannibal, and eat you up.’

So I have
a)8 mins,
b)Sunfeast Pasta and Pasta Maker- Pizza style,
and
c)FEAR of being eaten up.

I was scared of B.
I would do anything to please B.
I just needed his nod of approval.

Without chicken at my disposal, I wanted to chicken out of cooking for him.

What else could I do?
Arey O Samba!
Arey, I don’t know how to make Sambar! (A south-Indian vegetable gravy)
Arey, I can teach him Samba, we could dance like ballroom experts, that would satisfy him- but he would only get hungrier then!!!!
Arey, I’ve heard of a Sushi-Samba in Chicago which serves a mix of Japanese, Brazilian and Peruvian cuisines, but you see, I had the money to fly him half way around the world (muhahahaha), but did I have the money to treat him free food at an expensive restaurant?- nahhh ;);)

B: I’m darn hungry. My stomach is groaning

(I came crashing down from my kitchidi of thoughts. I just needed to cook it up my scared soul and serve it down his craving food pipe )
I: Just give me 8 mins sweetheart.

Preparing the pasta:

1.I pulled out the ‘Chicken Manchurian’ savage left from our ravage binge last night. It was in good condition.
2.I shredded the three pieces of Chicken from the Chicken Manchurian.
3.I beat up two eggs, and scrambled them on a hot tawa, with lenient licks of Cheese Spread lacing the hot scrambled pieces.
4.I boiled the Pasta for around 5 mins, before emptying the Sauce maker- Pizza Ishtyle into the pan.
5.When everything boiled into a gooey broth, I flicked in the scrambled eggs, stirred the contents and covered the Pasta Pan with a lid.
6.Three minutes later, I poured out the hot and Pizza-flavored mixture onto a big silver plate.
7.I knew presentation mattered a great deal. I shaped the entire content into a star, lined the outer edges with fried capsicum, and added a dash of tomato sauce.

8.Voila.

THE CYNOSURE

2008-04-19T22:29:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER 1:
BRAHMANIFICATION
– THE CREATION.
CYNOSURE-->sin(cyn)? no, (4) sure..

Trupper and Lowerina:

Every now and then, in a fit of creative inspiration, God liked to sit with Jesus, the Holy Spirit, Mary Magdalene and Jesus’ 11 disciples, and create a never-before-on-earth landscape.

God looked at the latest beautiful landscape he’d sculpted over the last five days. It was one of his best masterpieces. The prototype looked like no other land of his on Earth.
The mountains, the hillocks, the plains, the valleys, the passes, the forests had been molded by his archangels, under the supervision of his Creative team.

‘This landscape chef-d'oeuvre (masterpice) has got to be on South Indian soil: its dark opulence, lush mellowness, stark finesse and blatant fertility fit right there. I will call it Raish, plant it on the Sabbath day, and watch its resplendent bloom from here,’ God said.

Then, at the head of the beautiful landscape, he fitted in a wheatish, dusky plot. On this plot, Jesus and Mary Magdalene made two black nymphs in their image and likeness: Trupper and Lowerina.

Jesus said, ‘Trupper and Lowerina would be lovers who spend every day of their lives loving each other, just like we do.’

Mary Magdalene said, ‘The two black lymphs will be an example to mankind- an example of unrelenting fidelity, everlasting love, delicious trust and mutual respect.’

Jesus said, ‘They will look at the world through our eyes. They will spread love and carry forth our mission. But, like us, they will have to live separate lives to do their respective work.’

Mary Magdalene said, ‘That’s not fair Jesus. They cannot be indefinitely separated: let them consummate their love every now and then. Please.’

Jesus smiled and replied, ‘Well, alright. I will put Trupper and Lowerina on either bank of Sclierra- a fish-shaped milky-white river. Every morning, they shall guard Coripupe- the Green Lake of Visionary Wisdom, bang in the middle of the milky-white river, and once in every five seconds, in a flash of lightning- they shall meet each other for the briefest of seconds in a feather-light lip lock. A black moor called Macabrow shall stand like a protective dark cover over Trupper and Lowerina.In the nights, they can hug each other and be together in sleep. Are you happy now?’

Mary Magdalene lets out a breath of relief, ‘Yes, My Lord.’

Thus was planted the RAISH landscape in Karnataka. Trupper and Lowerina were born at the head of the land. As originally planned, from their birth, they lived on either side of the milky-white river and guarded the Coripupe- the Green Lake of Visionary Wisdom. They met every five seconds for a fleeting kiss, and parted soon after, going about their work. Their nights were spent in each other’s arms, under the prtection of Macabrow, the black moor. As they grew, they were proud of their looks; after all, they belonged to the most beautiful landscape. Their days got longer and more exciting.
Someone asked them: ' Ready to sin(cyn)?'
They replied: 'no 4 sure'

THE DEBUTANTE-
FIRST TIMER:
SIN(cyn)? O SURE!

It was Raish’s first time. Raish waited in anticipation.

Raish’s Landlord brought forth the best 'silk threads of labor'. He sheared the moor, and plucked out all the extra black sheafs. Trupper and Lowerina felt all the abominable pain in the world, as they lost some of their loveable black sheafs.

He then forced Tupper and Lowerina apart and brought a huge, transparent blue cover towards the Green Lake of Visionary Wisdom. Both the black nymphs tried to resist the intrusion and the foreign, transparent dome.

Trupper said, ‘Sclierra- the Milky-white river, start flooding. Do not let the transparent, blue dome cover the Coripupe.’

The river flooded and gushed out. However, the landlord pushed the blue dome further closer towards the Green Lake.

Lowerina said, ‘Trupper, Let’s dodge the dome. We shall move around the Coripupe, so that the dome doesn’t land.’

They huffed and they puffed, but the blue dome firmly settled on the Coripupe, which shook wildly under the dome. In a while, everything calmed down.

All of a sudden, Trupper’s body was gripped still in the tight grasp of Raish’s Landlord. He was angry and frightened at the same time. A shield of the best black was suddenly fit onto Trupper’s body. And just like that, he was released.

Lowerina watched Trupper in fascination. Trupper had always had a raw look she so loved, but now, he looked very macho.
Lowerina complimented Trupper, ‘The black shield fits you so very well, and it makes you bigger and better.’

As Lowerina progressed to kiss him hard and tight, she’d been held down by Raish’s landlord as well: she looked at him with an anxious frenzy. A big black paint was splashed at her, it lined her curves and when it just about dried, silver dust was sprinkled all over her.

This time around, Trupper stood agape at Lowerina’s new look.
‘You look like you are bathing in the dark night clouds, your body aglow under the moon’s teasing silver beams.’

The two shimmering black nymphs looked at each other for one long second. The lust was extreme; however, like every other time, the love they felt for each other raced past the lust, and they melted into a long, passionate embrace.

A huge shining light shone at them, like the bright headlights of a car. They broke away from each other, like two teenagers spotted for promiscuity. The now-blue, once-green lake flirted with the light.

The entire Raish Landscape silently writhed and moaned, curved and bent, quaked and smoothened, pouted and flattened, lived and loved ahead of the lights.

CLICK! FLASH! CLICK! FLASH! CLICK! FLASH!
Trupper and Lowerina faced the flashes of light with great élan. They loved it!
People asked Trupper and Lowerina: 'ready to sin (CYN) now?'
Tupper and Lowerina replied: 'O SURE!"

ps:
-RAIsh, The beautiful landscape IN Karnataka AKA AIshwarya Rai.
-The mountains, the hillocks, the plains, the valleys, the passes, the forests AKA the curves and figure of a Ash.
-Wheatish, dusky plot at the head of the landscape AKA Ash’s face.
-MacaBROW, the black moor AKA Ash'a Eye- BROWS.
-CORIPUPE, the Green Lake of Visionary Wisdom AKA Aish’s green eyeballs, that have the CORnea and PUPil.
-trUPPER and LOWERina, the 2 black nymphs AKA The UPPER and LOWER lashes of Ash’s eyes.
-SCLiERrA,The milky-white river AKA the sclera (white portion) of the eye.
-The Debutante AKA Aishwarya Rai’ first photo- shoot/portfolio.
-Shearing of MacaBROW with silk threads of labor AKA plucking and shaping eyebrows
-The foreign, blue dome AKA Blue Contact Lens
-The flooding of Sclierra, the milky-white river AKA Eye-watering/tearing because of wearing lens for the first time.
-The Black Shield AKA Artificial eye-lashes
-The Black paint with silver dust AKA Eye-Kajal.
-A huge shining light AKA the focus lights in a photo-shoot
-The entire Raish Landscape silently writhed and moaned, curved and bent, quaked and smoothened, pouted and flattened, lived and loved ahead of the lights- AKA Aishwarya in different poses during her first photo-shoot.
-CLICK! FLASH! AKA Lights, Camera, (photograph(er)/(ed)) Action.

KARMA- THE SALEM PAYBACK

2008-04-06T02:23:00.000-07:00

******************************************

THE SNOOZER: March1, 2008.10.00 pm.
An old hut, Salem.

The old alarm clock goes on in an obscure, little hut in Salem, the steel city of the south; it's around six hours by road from Chennai, which in turn is the cosmoplitan hotspot of South India.

He has hardly slept four hours-he’d been drinking all evening and quite a lot lately. He turns the alarm off, walks to the corner of his one sparse house, washes his face and hands off his drunken stupor and eats an early breakfast, served by his wife - some rice porridge and thick fish curry. Fish curry is a delicacy in his house, what with his miserly sole earnings mostly feeding his kallasarayam (type of local hard liquor). He gets set for his extremely early morning shift- he works as a driver for PTC buses plying from Salem to Chennai and back.

His two little girls in torn nighties are fast asleep. He gives them a kiss each. He would never let anything hurt them- he should get them new nighties. His wife gives him his towel and a bottle of water. She seems to be worried- he must remember to get her some mallighai poo (jasmine flowers). Chellapa clearly didn’t like seeing people unhappy or hurt in the smallest possible way.

‘You should drink a little lesser, and sleep a little more,’ she silently, almost carefully admonishes.
‘Kannama, don’t start. I work like a dog, and dogs have to be fed. My kallasarayam is the only thing that could really feed me. Your family gets its food, the kids get their education, and no one else is harmed, I have never hurt a fly- so I can keep drinking more and sleeping less for all you care, why are you bothered??’

No one else is harmed, I haven’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly….

He walks towards his bus with sleep-filled eyes.
***********************************************

THE SINNER: March 2, 2008 10.00 am.
Sales office, Chennai.

She sits in her open cubicle, biting at those already cropped-to-the-flesh nails. Her eyes flash around the brightly lit office, the usual commotion and noise in her sales office suddenly a stranger invading her senses. As a Major Account Manager for a set of named/unnamed accounts only in Chennai, she sells desktops / laptops to these accounts. Officially, she isn't allowed to sell to accounts outside Chennai.

She swallows hard as her palms break into a sweat. She stares at the purchase order that has just landed her outlook mailbox. It is a purchase order for 160 desktops from ‘Bharatiar College, Salem’. She then closes the mail, closes her eyes and tries closing onto a peaceful trance.

These are the various conflicting statements from her colleagues, over the last few days that color her blanched peace:

‘Jennifer, never pick a deal/order from outside Chennai. It is against ethics, and you could lose your job.’

‘It isn’t wrong to pick an order from outside. Everyone does it here. Even losing a wink of sleep over that is fruitless- losing your job is out of question! ’

‘Ethics in business is always ahead of the business itself,’

‘Ethics in business is always ahead of the business itself, only because all the malpractices and wrongdoings serve as the backdoor junk backing the business from behind’

‘These are small things- why bother?’

‘There is a God of small things watching you always!’

Two schools of thought- one telling her it’s all wrong and one placating her anxieties. Her eyes remain shut and her eyeballs motionless. She wills the guilt away, but then, it simply keeps gnawing back at her.
In the end, this is what repeatedly pounds her eardrums as eerie whispers, ‘I’ve done IT. Everyone does IT. THIS shall also pass- Salem can never get back AT me, it's after all only a city’
************************************************

THE SUFFERER: March 2, 2008: 10.00 am
BBA Classroom, Loyola, Chennai.

HE sits at his desk, looking at the OB (Organizational Behavior) teacher with a fixed, occupied stare. His sister had helped him with, read ‘completed’ his HR Case Analysis late last night. She was his sitting duck- he loved making fun of all her: ‘full flab, flat nose, flat figure and flat feet.’ However, she had always been his ultimate saving grace when it came to completing assignments, giving tips and ideas on how to go about his BBA and lending innovative/inspiring ideas on shaping his future career.

HE turns his attention to OB- Obnoxious Bozo aka the Organizational Behavior teacher, and wonders how someone has the patience to go on for hours and hours talking, and he thinks ‘she must probably be suffering from ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder).’

His stomach groans, thinking of the Chicken Rice that was waiting for him in the Loyola Canteen. He looks across at Ashwin who is sticking pencils in Ann’s frizzy hair. ‘You Rotten Onion Burrito, here’s my pencil for her hair- way to go!’ he giggles and whispers to Ashwin.

The teacher suddenly disrupts him, ‘Jaison, how do you think the Govt. could improve the working conditions of a Govt. bus driver.’

HE gets up with a blank stare, and thinks to himself ‘Who knows, and more importantly, who cares.’
************************************************

THE SALEM PAYBACK:
March 28th 2008, 6.00 am
Traffic signal, Kathiparab Junction, Chennai,

CRASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

Everything in the whole wild universe comes to a standstill. The deafening crash and the ensuing silence completely overpower ‘She will be loved’ playing on the Sony player. HIS body jerks forward as if a word called inertia never existed. His seat belt is like a warrior armor strap that pierces into his own chest. His head is just a nanometer short of crashing right through the windscreen.

He just about encounters death for what seems like the longest picosecond of his life.

As if it were a preconceived shot in a blockbuster movie, he suddenly sees how it happened. A huge ‘something’ had hit them from behind, while the car was stationed at the signal. He looked at his driver, seated beside him- he was ALIVE. Shaken beyond words, he finds the door handle, which is surprisingly not jammed, and opens it. He looks for any missing body parts, but the God of small mercies had gifted him yet another life.

He steps out of the crashed car. His mind gets transported to what happened around two hours ago- at home.

***********************************************

THE SAVIOUR: March 28th 2008.
Chennai, 4.30 am
Home sweet home, Chennai

HE and SHE (Jennifer and Jaison) help their mom put her bags in their Swift’s boot. She is leaving for Muscat, to see their dad, who works as a teacher there. Her flight takes off at 7am. SHE stays home, while HE hops in alongside the driver and his mom plops herself in the backseat.

They reach the airport in about forty five minutes. Before leaving, Jaison’s mother rattles ‘Jaison, take care of your sister, eat food on time, set three alarms to wake up both of you, say a little prayer every day and call me once in two days at least. Let’s say a small prayer before I leave Son.’

‘Dear Jesus, protect my children when I’m not there, and constantly be with them. Our Father who art in heaven………………………………’

************************************************
March 28th 2008.
Chennai, 6.03 am
Accident site, Chennai.

He looks at the slightly frontal-dented PTC bus, almost 10 metres behind. The bus driver sits with his mouth agape, as if he’d just woken up- from a dreamless sleep- he’d obviously been dozing when he’d hit the car. Everything still remains a traumatizing still shot, as if the director of the fictitious movie hadn’t said CUT yet.
As his eyes automatically move their line of vision to the back of his car, his eyes momentarily misses out on something.

The signboard on the bus reads ‘SALEM’.
The bus that'd hit Jaison's car came from SALEM…………’
***********************************************
Life is truly a full circle. It exactly ends where it all began.
The snoozer:
'No one else is harmed, I haven’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly…… '
AND HARM HE DID- AN OBJECT THE SIZE OF A MILLION FLIES PUT TOGETHER ALMOST LOST ITS WINGS.
The Sinner:
‘I’ve done IT. Everyone does IT. THIS shall also pass- Salem can never get back at me, it's only a city…….
AND GET BACK IT DID, THE BUS FROM SALEM GOT BACK AT JENNIFER WITH A BIG BANG, QUITE LITERALLY; HER PRECIOUS BROTHER WAS THE APPLE OF HER EYE.
The Sufferer:
‘Jaison, how do you think the Govt. could improve the working conditions of a Govt. bus driver.’
HE gets up with a blank stare, and thinks to himself ‘Who knows, and more importantly who cares.’
AND CARE HE DID, WHEN HE ALMOST LOST HIS LIFE, WITH A SLEEP-DEPRIVED GOVT. BUS DRIVER CRASHING INTO HIS CAR.
The savior:
‘Dear Jesus, protect my children when I’m not there, and constantly be with them. Our Father who art in heaven………………………………’ AND PROTECT HE DID- MOTHERS KNOW THAT PRAYERS NEVER GO UNANSWERED.

***********************************************

Every little thing we do meets the master surgeon in the eye; call the Master Surgeon God, Destiny, Science or any thing you wish.

Every wound sewed.. Every drop of blood accounted for.. Every aching muscle put to rest.. Every sagging nerve brought o justice..

Every little action of ours deserves the Surgeon’s meritorious reaction- good or bad, depending upon our action; he has got to complete what we started in the first place, it’s his job.

WAD-MAD MADas!! CHILLERA CHENNAI!

2008-03-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

.................................................................................................................... THE WAD OF NOTES
It’s a lazy Thursday afternoon. The wind outside seems to have picked up a breezy tantrum from some upper air cyclonic circulation over the Southwest Bay off Srilanka-Tamilnadu. A sudden flash of rain hits the brown tiles of the ‘Isical P. Ltd’ portico- a small, but budding software company on the Nungambakkam High Road, Chennai.

Antara sits at her desk, customizing the last few slides in her ‘Comparison of the best Quality models in Customer-interface Processes’ for Abacus, her client. Antara works as a Senior Statistical Analyst at Isical. She digs what she does. After all, she wears a prestigious Six-Sigma Black Belt.

As she saves the presentation in the ‘Abacus’ folder, her stomach sends out tiny hunger growls. She ponders, ‘Tomorrow being Good Friday and thereby, a holiday, I can simply relish an extended weekend- healthy home food, a few movies, some TV and chilling out with friends.’

She shuts down her notebook, joins her colleagues Bharat and Arthi to the door, and flashes her Id at the glass door sensor. ‘Today, we’ve special Kheer with the North Indian Thali at our canteen. Yumm! Where in heavens is Anoop?’ Antara rattles.

Bharat turns to Antara and says, ‘Anoop is on the way back from a customer place. I’m just waiting for his call.’

Anoop is their team lead, an erstwhile Gulf-return Mallu. He’s one adorably cute guy in his late thirties; the cute being more attached to the soft bald patch on his head, his ever-debatable beer belly, and his penchant for Scotch, Smart women and Suave business strategies. Bharat receives a call from Anoop, and Antara watches the light drizzle outside. It’s a pleasant day.

Bharat returns with a smile. ‘Anoop tells us that he’s treating us at Crescent, since tomorrow is a holiday.’ Crescent is a typical Mallu hotel on the Nungambakkam high Road. It is swamped with the Mallu flavor- Mallu waiters, a lot of middle-aged Mallu businessmen/young, hard hair-gelled, hot-blooded Mallu Loyolites hogging on Fish curry meals, Kerala Parotta and Sear fish, and Malayalam being tossed around like a patti (dog) on the run. In fact the place is open till around one thirty in the night, and a lot of times you have the ‘party-hard-night-owls’ from Pasha flooding this place for some tummy-pampering after all the booze.

Anoop, Antara and Bharat enter Crescent at 3 pm- sharp. The kitchen is still open. The place is still like a watered down fish market- the noise is not all that loud, but the food, along with its feverish excitement is still up and running. They seat themselves in a place where Anoop can sightadichify (ogle at) the Mallu babe on the opposite side. Antara and Anita giggle at Anoop’s explicit interest in good looking women. They both mime ‘Married Mallu Men!’ in chorus. Anoop’s flour-like complexion goes beet-red. He calls onto Joji, a new waiter at Crescent.

‘I want one Egg Kothu Parotta*** please,’ Antara squeals with delight, at the thought of the Crescent Special melting in her mouth.

‘That’s pretty much her standard order cheta; get me one Mughlai Biriyani***. It would be one non-veg meals for Arthi, four Kerala Parottas and Prawn Biriyani for the muscle-hulk Bharat (everyone chuckles), one sear fish fry**, one chili chicken gravy, two sprites and one water- melon juice ‘without sugar’ for Antara- don’t ask me why, ee kochi (this girl) would eat everything packed with calories on this table, and still have her juice without sugar!
(Shakes his head with a mock sick expression)
Aan madhi joji. (smiles) Korechu fasta konduveran, sheriyo’ (that’s enough Joji, sent the food a little fast, alright.)

‘The juice with sugar chokes my throat Anoop. I cannot even taste the watermelon,’ slurps Bharat in a frigging good impersonation of Antara’s ‘I’m-pukey-voice’. (Everyone is splitting up, even Antara)

In an attempt to divert the joke that is right now on her, Antara rushes in, ‘I can never believe I keep coming to this place that reeks of all this Mallu fraternal bonding. I mean, it really goes whizzing past my pea-brain. How can two Mallus always get all over each other?’

Anoop is quick to retort, ‘a) You're reaffirming my conclusions about your pea-brain.b)being a non-mallu, you're jealous you can never get you hands all over sexy malu nri guyz b) you really must love your Crescent Egg Kothu Porotta beyond reason to keep coming here c)you can never resist my company (winks)-I'm the only mallu man you can get all over.’

Bharat says, ‘You’re wrong. Actaully, she can never resist a treat. Period.
I’m a Tamil Maghan, but the Mughlai Biriyani and Kerala Parotta are too good to really give them a miss.’

Anita pokes Bharat in the rib, ‘aaa ooh na, azhaghiya tamil Maghan Vijay nu nannaipu.’ (You talk like you’re actor Vijay at the drop of a hat)

Bharat replies with a twinkle in his eye, ‘Men like Anoop and me ooze with the charm, you see.’

Soon, the buzz diverts to Anita’s upcoming wedding in Kerala, upper-echelon politics in the organization, clients and their antics amidst other things. They end the meal with grunts, stifled burps of satisfaction and a pretty yummy coconut soufflé. Anoop asks for the bill. It comes in as 300 bucks. Anoop exclaims, ‘To the DOT!’ He places a 500 rupee note, and chews on the sounf and paan, as we all stand to leave.

The change comes in. It holds a WAD of notes- two hundred rupee notes, one fifty buck, and five tens.
Anoop collects the change, save for a solitary ten buck note as tips.

The minute we step out of the restaurant, he swears, ‘Mallu or not, Indian mentality never changes. He had to slip in those five ten bucks, and not two full hundreds, not trusting a regular like me to leave him a ten as tips. PATTI!’
*************
That, I hope was a good enough entree in a Chennai (Mallu or otherwise) meal. We count our money to the last penny. We lick and count our wad of notes like we lick our thair sadam(curd rice). No amount of world-class Kleenex butt-wipes can swipe our butts clean off our calculative instincts- we still prefer using our hands and a mug of water, gross as it may sound.
Ever wondered how you end up with a 25 paise coin in a kirana (street)shop?
Ever wondered why buying one cigarette and not a pack, in a potti kada(cornerstore) is quite unique to Chennai/ India?
Ever wondered why we would spend a 20,000 on a chic mobile, but crib when the auto guy asks us for an extra 10?
Ever wondered why we walk out of T-Nagar Saravana Stores aadi thallupadi (seasonal sale) with a million dollar smile and million dollar rags in corny bags?
Ever wonder why our beggars never throw back a one rupee coin we give him, even though he feels we’re condescending? Ever wondered why the ‘Times of India’ is launching in Chennai at a reported RS.2?’
I think I can give you ten bucks for the answer- you can retain the change!
Share with us how miserably calculative you’ve got! Don’t be ashamed! I’ve bickered over a one rupee chillera coin-chill man!

MAD MAD MADras! Cosmo Chennai!

2008-03-19T04:05:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody!
I’ve been thinking of chipping in ‘MAD MAD MADras! Cosmo Chennai’ as a regular feature in my blog for a very long time now.
There are two things that led me here:
a) I’m a HP saleswoman (enjoying all the selling, at least for nowJ) who’s pretty much ON THE MOVE. I get to ramp up and down the noisy, colorful and namma-ooru streets, gulleys and wide roads of Chennai today, and Madras yesterday. Before I move out of sales, into the ‘creative’ job I’ve always wanted to engage myself in, I thought I could see Chennai just a little more.
b) My heart beats with this city’s pulse- it is so balanced that you feel like you’re living on both sides of the cultural see-saw. It’s a Nalli Pattu Sari for a wedding, a Shopper’s odaya Kurta for work and a Cotton world ka breezy top/skirt for an evening/night out.

So, I’m right here living every moment like it were my first and last. I would just like to share my pulsating/plummeting experiences on one side, as I engage in ravenous razzle dazzle with Dell, Lenovo, IBM, HCL, Acer, etc on the other.

I have my best friends, a boyfriend, a moderately conservative/outgoing family, Stella Marian/Loyolite n the ilk buxom/hulk bozos, Maru/kannadica/guju/Bengali immigrant-vasis, Lady Andal/PSBB ki(a)d(ult)s, oldeez, phirangs (not necessarily in that order though) for company- they breathe this city along with me, day-in day-out. I religiously hope and sincerely pray you’re having a field day, every day- whichever city you are in, as long as you drop in here for a few minutes and L.I.V.E. my life for that span of time.
You could call it a ‘TELEPORT’ ritual, wherein you transport yourself here, and live this city, and my life through my eyes, ears, hands and legs!

Life is too short a word to describe the vast permutations and combinations of possibilities that it throws in our face!
Chennai is too interesting a place for you to miss this particular permutation and combination code that unlocks this city open to you!
Love and Cheers!
JJ
Disclaimer- I’m not J.Jayalalitha, I’m Jane Jeyakumar; the difference- she tries to own Chennai and Chennai owns me, she throws her weight around in/with the aid of AIADMK and I throw my weight (quite literally;)) around with a different AIADMK- ALL IN ALL DUBUKKU MOKKAI K(G)ROOPU.

P.S: Meet my k(g)roopu and have fun all the way!!!

OATS, EGG WHITE AND A BOWL!

2008-03-11T22:29:00.000-07:00

Alright! What could I do with Oats, egg white and a bowl?

I think I could whisk batter for some absolutely scrumptious, yet healthy oatmeal cake.

WHAT’S COOKING?
I’ve been ‘feeding on’ a lot of cookery shows lately:

‘Passion’ (NDTV Good Times)-

Ritu Dalmia is the flamboyant, chirpy, tomboy restaurateur who prepares and peps up as much ‘dark and devious passion in the kitchen’ as one would want to weave in bed! She’s the true-blue, cocky-cookie, sunny-side up Indian DIVA! (This is incidentally the name of her restaurant)
Believe me, she helps you get great IN BED-oops, I meant great breakfast, lunch and dinner IN BED!

‘Top Chef’ (AXN) –

Do you know what Padma Lakshmi (Top Chef’s host) and Salman Rushdie have in common?
They both were married to each other,
They both divorced each other,
They both are award winning writers (Did you know of Padma’s award-winning "Easy Exotic" cookbook)
I love ‘Top Chef’ signature contestant catfights, knife knots, pataka food and reality-saliva-dribbling cooking.

Reserving a table at ‘No Reservations’ (by the H.O.T. Anthony Bourdain), figuring out that ‘Cooking isn’t rocket Science’ (by Manju Malhi), and living like life was nothing but ‘A matter of taste’ (by Vir Sanghvi) are the other things I’ve been doing as well.

TONGUE-IN-CHEEK! cooks or looks?
Oats, egg white and a bowl definitely have tickled my taste-buds enough.
So is this about a ‘healthy bhi, tasty bhi’ cake?
Unfortunately, NO!

This is not about the TONGUE, the taste-buds, the food pipe or the rectum.
This is about the CHEEK, the face, the glow and the WOW!!!

HEAD-TURNER, BLACK HEAD-REMOVER!
I’m talking about a miracle face-pack that lends you that absolutely fresh look. Many people you know for a very long time, actually look at you face for the first time. ( first hand experience)
1. Get a bowl.
2. Crack an egg on the top, and drain out only the egg-white (albumen)
3. Add two tablespoons of Oats.
4. Stir the mixture,
5. Apply it on your face.
6. Leave it until it dries.
7. Wash off with water.

The process is a little sticky, but it’s a stickler for fresh-facedness, if I may call it that.
And people, you can also get rid of your blackheads, and get heads to take a spin at you!

‘RAISE A ( an EGG) TOAST AND A FEW PEGS TO EGGS’

You may end up smelling a little rotten, but as they say
‘NO GAIN WITHOUT PAIN’.

PRETTY confused WOMAN…

2008-03-01T04:00:00.000-08:00

I' M A COLORED COCKTAIL:

Before I get into this, let's see how much you know about cocktails!
These are a few cocktails mentioned below. Take a wild guess at each one's color!!! (answers below)

post in your answers as comments

1. ADAMS APPLE-

a) Pink b) Brown c) Purple d) Amber
2. BAZOOKA-
a) Blue b) Rainbow c) Pink d) Off-white
3. SEX ON THE BEACH-
a) Yellow b) brown c) Green d) Orange
4. ALOE VERA-
a) Blue b) Yellow c) Green d) Black

5. ABSOLUT PITSTOP-
a) Brown b) Purple c) Red d) Black
6. ANTS IN THE PANTS-
a) Red b) Brown c) Black d) Yellow
7. MIMOSA

a) Red b) Rainbow c) Orange d) Brown
8. QUICK F-U-C-K-
a) Red b) Blue c) Green d) Black
9. BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE-
a) Blue b) Yellow c) Off- White D) Green
10. BLUE DEVIL-
a) Blue b) Green c) Yellow d) Brown

10/10 Drunk Skunk- keep walking!
>5 Cheers!
1-5 Camel!
0 Get a LIFE- you don’t drink and you’re color-blind!

HEADY, STEADY, GO!!

Hmm, Go where????

I decided to get into my HEAD the other day. I really wanted to witness what the hell was wrong with my mind. Why wasn’t I ever able to focus on one, single, monotonous unvaried, unitary, unrivaled, unparalleled line of thought? (Pardon the repetition)
I started with a simple question-
Hey Janie, what’s your favorite color?
Pink.. (There I go- that was easy, I was able to picture myself in a pink kurta, near an adorable pink Hutch pug in a pink frock, pink flowers and somewhere felt like Rockstar Pink.)

Suddenly, I remembered Rockstar Pink spelling S.E.X.Y. in a strapping black dress on stage. With that, my neurons went sizzling into jet dark black holes. I could see myself in some siren-hot black bend alongside our very own Karupu (read: black) Superstar Rajni.

Black and WHITE are so much more a couple than Charlie Chaplin and silent movies ever were.
White was obviously the next color I was purifying myself in. What PUTRIDITY?????
Pink, black, white, brown, yellow were forming an entire new palette in my mind: even a rainbow would have learnt new colors from my mind.

Could I ever close in on a unanimous choice?
I guess ‘singledom’ is not wired into my genes.
If I couldn’t choose a simple color, how would I ever choose better things in life?

Careers, men, diets, figure maintenance, hairstyles, PDA’s, countries to settle in, quadruplet childcare, baby diapers, shopping, getting ready for a night out, choosing the right color to offset one’s complexion and figure, matching it all with the right accessories/ cosmetics/perfume/ footwear … - all of them come with ‘no-expiry-date options’ to choose from. It’s like being asked to choose one favorite grain of sand from a never – ending Marina Coastline. Everything comes with an equally disarming number of very delectable options.

When you’re stepping into your LURVER’s house for the first time:
A) You step in with your left FOOT forward.
B) You step in with you right FOOT forward.
C) You jump in with both FEET, so as not to take a chance.
D) You suddenly have COLD FEET about the relationship and stay put outside.

When you’re choosing a sexy black T-Shirt:
A) You pick Size M because it fits you snugly, flaunts your figure- then again, is it a little too snug, are you pinching in your tummy?
B) You pick Size L because it hides the flab, gives you room to breathe a little easy- is it concealing the curves you’re dying to go bold with?
C) You b@@&$ look like flattened tires in this Tee- must you pick a Wired, P#$&-@# to give it the bounce?
D) You wear the XL Tee in the Trial Room, switch on the little fan above ya head, and mime ‘I’m too sexy for my shirt’, and slowly whip it off your head.

When you’re watching an India-Australia match, what are you most likely enjoying?
A) You analyse Dhoni’s masculine ‘legs before the wicket’ and are clean bowled.
B) Hayden calls Harbhajan a.k.a.Bajjie ‘OBNOXIOUS LITTLE WEED!!’ It kind of TURNS YOU ON- like when your boyfriend tells you ‘Youuuuu CRAZZZZZY littleee arseeeeeee’!
C) Sachin was chosen to play in this twenty-20 match, because he has a connection with the Twenty-20 expression- ‘FIFTY-50’
D) You wait to watch the advertisements in between- they inevitably show ‘Yeh kya hua, kaise hua…’condom ads that you otherwise hardly get to see. All's well when balls are well-covered and protected! (We're talkin abt cricket only ;))

Diamonds are forvever! A WOMAN IS EVE FOREVER.
Women want everything; they can’t settle for one thing- ‘EVE’r!
I’m not looking out for a real time remedy, because the first woman EVE herself had ONLY two options-

A) not eat the apple and be happy forever in God’s Paradise OR
B) eat the apple and spell doom for herself, Adam and all the generations to come.

Two options and a bad choice have left us here,
Do you then even reckon the slightest possibility of a woman of today being able to exhibit ‘single-minded’ behavior ever?
Don’t even blame us for it! - BLAME OUR GENES. EVE’S THE FIRST CULPRIT!

Guys/gals- Tell us, in your comments, the most indecisive women in your lives, their most fickle mannerisms and what you consider their most erratic situations!

Answers to a colored cocktail:
1. d) Amber
2. a) Blue
3. b) Brown
4. c) Green
5. d) Black
6 .a) Red
7. c) Orange
8. d) Rainbow
9. b) Yellow
10. a) Blue.

Match the following:

2008-02-21T05:02:00.001-08:00

Let’s get back to school! Use you motor skills and match the following!
Post your answers as comments!

1. Match….. ...........................A) (Don’t we women love the hulk n the bulk)
2. Match stick ….................…B) David Hasselhoff- This Baywatch hottie still turns me on)
3. Macho…............................ C) (the following)
4. Machi…….......................... D) (One of the most used, n usually useless expressions in a lovey-dovey conversation)
5. Munch…….........................E) ((ado about nothing)
6. Ltn.Mitch……....................F) Masala
7. (I) mitchhhh (you)…....... G) (Tamil colloquial for dude/dudette)
8. Much………........................H) Food n Rani are always on anyone’s mind)?
9.Mirch.................................I) (the black tip is one hot place to touch!!-and I'm not talking dirty)
Eg: 1.Match.... c)the following.
refer for answers below

That was a simple brain twister to get you started. Now let’s cut to the chase.

UGLY DUCKLING Jann(ss)ie :
I always wondered why everything in life had to match. Turning back the pages of time, I never found any sense in matching stuff. A brown khameez, a green salwar, a pink dupatta and black slip-ons made enough sense to me back in college! I might have probably looked like a clown straight out of the Russian circus!

Still, I didn’t care. I was a carefree lass sipping on life’s lassi, like the erstwhile jassi! I had granny glasses, plain clothes, a simple pony tail and a hell of a lot of unadulterated fun! (Thankfully I never had braces, but yeah, what’s worse- I had two very visibly odd, yellow-tinged artificial front teeth)

BIG (BEAUTIFUL???) SWAN Jane:
Then I had to grow up, and I had to grow out of my ill-kempt self, maybe something like snakes shedding skin, or the ugly larva becoming the colorful butterfly.

I really didn’t know how it happened! Suddenly, I wanted to lose some baby flab(I must admit there was a lot more than baby fat hanging on me), conceal the existing ‘can’t really lose’ flab, throw away those granny glasses and get in contact with color contacts, wear figure-flattering clothes (whatever flabby figure God’s blessed me with) and MATCH THEM ALL WITH APPROPRIATE ACCESSORIES.

You might think that with the transition, I was missing out on all the unadulterated childhood fun!
I’m sorry to disappoint you buddies; I’m on one hell of a roller coaster having VICIOUS, ADULTERATED fun!

HOW I LOST MY VIRGINITY!!
DOTS (POLKA INCLUDED) ARE IN THIS SEASON!

Here I’m now, doing a lot of accessorizing in my life. Every accessory is like a little dot lying around, waiting for me to embrace it into my circle of life.
It makes perfect sense to join all the spread out dots and make that beautiful swan!

I hope you can join the dots in your mid and see the (beautiful) swan.

Some of the best dots that I got/get to MATCH MY LIFE WITH, on my way from an ugly duckling to the swan:
a) My 5 beautiful (one handsome) sex-dot friends are the best accessories I can wear- anytime, anyplace. They lend joy to my life and are hardwired as precious gems in my life-garland.
b) Ram & R.A.M(Random Access Memory) My Boyfriend Ram and my job which I’m beginning to like, what with all the HARDWARE that I sell.
Got to tell you we sell a lot of accessories at HP to hike up our margins- will tell you about it someday in my blog.
c) Bourjois
Did you know that Bourjois means ‘everyday’ in French?
True to its name, Bourjois lives with me everyday.
Bourjois blush, Regard Pailllete sparkling kajal (black, blue and green silver sparkle), Effet 3d lip-gloss and pink dust-eye shadow.
d) D.R.E.S.S.ed ( to kill)
For clothes that really fit healthy people- in Chennai, check out Cotton World(UPTO 60% SALE- HURRY), Shopper’s Stop(Chennai’s sexiest kurtis), Globus (for their skirts), Pretty Woman (at LUZ- their salwar khameez materials rock), Megamart (new place, not bad!)and Lifestyle (When you have the money, and the size 4 figure, that is).
Yeah, I loved Delhi! You really get to shop great stuff at rock-bottom prices!
Girls, pack your bags- we’re going there some day!
e) Pubs and partying:
Sparks:
My first Disc experience- Peetu, Dollz, Reks n me danced for the first time on the dance floor. Disco Balls shone brightly on us, with couples having the balls to coochie-coo in public. That’s where we discovered Tequilla shots, Vodka and puckered the gall to drink! Cheers to a ‘HIGH’ Life!
Bike and Barrel (Residency Towers)
My first pubbing experience- the Vodka-orange killer, the Wednesday Lady’s night, the Thunderbolt chicken, the stags on the floor above ogling at all the cleavage below, the smoke filled ambience and the sexy, dirty dancing by your table.
Dublin:
The typical sweaty, claustrophobic, orgasmic drinking/dancing experience!
Pasha:
Yeah, it’s gets as royal as it sounds! Niche partying and classy night outs- Meet a lotta stars right here!
f) Earrings and funky beads:
Can’t miss this- I get my stone studded/elaborate/simple n cute earrings at
· Tank, Mylapore.
· Bessie Koratheez (read gypsies)
· Lifestyle Accessories (atleast here, one doesn’t encounter a sizing problem)
g) Slippers:
Ready to slipper zoze random arseholes with shoes/slippers from
· Soles (My your soles get a soul)
· Lifestyle slipper section (sizez/styles are fortunately available)
· Alsa Mall (100 buks slippers)

h) Muveez and plays
· Tata sky is one of my favorite accessories- I’m back to watching some innovative Reality programming on T&L, Star World, AXN and the zillionth repeat of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Regulars in my life- Hannah Montana, Tats so raven, Phil of the Future, Cory in the house (Nom am I beginning to seem like I’m filling up my Orkut profile..)
· DVD’s from Kris/ Jeff (2 kewl brutherz) (Learnt from Jeff that Pondy is not just the place to get cheap booze but also cheap DVD’s)
· Evam and their plays keep one good-humored over an otherwise mundane weekend (Oh God was at their blasphemous best)

So much of all this really has made a big impact on my life these last three years.
They’ve shifted gears from the most sought after frills/ accessories to hardcore mainstays in my life. I’m loving every minute of my life, and I’m waiting to explore all those hidden treasures in the road ahead!

Matching my life with all these great magic stones that suddenly pop out of deep waters has been, is and will be a wonderful challenge ahead.

Life should be persistently lived on the feet- like you’re always playing at MATCH POINT. You win sometimes, you win a well-fought-out loss at other times; the point being- if you’re playing a match with the intention of winning, you win either ways!
Match up to the Match point!

Ans to Match the Following:
1. C) 2 I) 3 A) 4 G) 5 H) 6 B) 7 D) 8 E) 9 F)

FLY FIASCO, BIRIYANI BUTCHERY!

2007-12-24T02:29:00.000-08:00

FLY FIASCO, BIRIYANI BUTCHERY:

5th dec 1565
The desert seems like an endless carpet of brown sand. One gets to see an occasional trail of camels dotting the empty stretch, a rare blotch of green here and there and somewhere bang in between, like a desert rose, a beautiful green oasis called Kabul catches a passer-by’s eye. Lacing the North West frontier, along the Tawala Tuklak Khan Desert sands, the generally breath-taking place is filled with a smoky white haze. From a distance, it seems like a desert whirlwind. However, from close quarters, what really is happening here is more of a fumigation exercise- special horse hair and pig’s bristles are mixed with sulphur dioxide and released by dwarf imps that go about sweeping clean the infested paradise. Weird little insects are caught in the act, spider webs lose their intricate designs, bugs get squashed, ant lines get broken, rats and rodents are ruined. It’s a messy scene- this yearly cleaning session.

A huge troll says, “Doo doodle dundle doo, my magic ladle stirs the stew.”
Little pixies say, “Eye lie sigh die, you can never resist my apple pie.”
Cute nixies say, “The greatest Nawabs swear by our kebabs.”
The handsome, big Merman says, “I’m half fish, half human; my Biriyani is half hell, half heaven.”

That day, the Biriyani is made half heaven, half hell indeed. A paradise of the tastiest culmination of rice grains and a hell hole of black-green, ugly, two fanged insects that fall in as a result of the fumigation conveniently escape the Merman’s attention.

(Tawala Tuklak Khan is TTK Road for you; Kabul being a restaurant on the TTK Road- the troll, the pixies, the nixies, the merman are cooks of various calibers.
Kabul is a restaurant on the ttk Road, Chennai)

6’Th dec 1565
Get carried away! Literally! – on magic carpets, camels, unicorns, broomsticks..

Princess Aurora wears a deep red and black bedlah and a sweeping, frilled Kalamkari skirt. Her usually windswept mocha hair lies rested, framing a beautiful, heart-shaped face that right about now looks a little more than anxious. Her eyes twinkle with frenzy, well-concealed from her father, the King. He force-feeds down her unwilling throat a mini lunch, because he pities her empty stomach. How is he to know that Princess Aurora and her royal friends plan to feast on a sumptuous lunch at Kabul, the forbidden oasis?
Princess Aurora rushes up to her bed chamber, after a hasty oatmeal porridge mini lunch. The taste remains stuck in her throat and she yearns for some yummy food to drown the puckish feeling. She uses a bronze stick to apply the homemade kohl, and follows it with a special silver dust that Princess Cindy gifted her at the carinosa carnival. She dabs a little of the woody, balmy balanos perfume on her wrists and her delicate neck. She turns her back on her ancient mirror, lowers her Kalamkari skirt to expose just a hint of her name-tattoo that is her name in Japanese script. She shuts her bedroom chamber, goes towards her balcony, mounts her yellow & black magic carpet and commands her dark centaur to fly over the city and take her to Kabul. On the way, she picks up her cousin, Queen Snow White, who is here in India, on a break from her royal duties in a faraway dreamland. The carpet pushes through obstacle clouds, birds in the sky and treetops with great ease- honking, flipping, squeezing, and swearing all the way.
(The yellow & black magic carpet is our very own Indian Auto that moves through Indian traffic on a bullish spree)

Princess belle walks out of the land’s most renowned Madrasa: Al-IIT. Her personal tutor and Mullah had given her a short, yet interesting lecture on how a word called ‘technology’ would turn the world round some day. He had talked about his dream, where two strange men, named Hewlett and Packard from a foreign land would one day dole out various magic spells like ‘tell tell INTEL’, ‘Hare Krishna hare RAM’, ‘rock on PROC’, ‘bees bees make the KEYS’, ‘cows cows catch the MOUSE’, and make a box that would make men’s work easier. She would have to tell her father that. The King would be more than happy to dispose some brainless courtiers in his Kingdom of Nungambakkam,

(Al-IIT Madrasa is IIT, Madras for you, the box is the computer we use today, Hewlett & Packard go on to build one of the biggest hardware companies in the world-HP.
Intel chipsets, RAM as in Random Access Memory, Proc as in processor, keys and mouse that are part of the computer)

On seeing her walk out of the grave white Madrasa building, her personal Bedouin sets the tethered camel free. The camel’s eyes open out and shone a soft, almost doe-like expression. It makes a vrrrrrrrrrrrooom noise as it chews the cud between its teeth. The broad, flat leathery pads on its feet spread out on the gritty sand, thereby raising itself from the desert depth and getting ready for a short journey. Belle pats the humps and rumps of her beloved camel as she mounts it, and her Bedouin takes her forth to Kabul.

(The camel is a Maruti swift)

Princess Cindy in the meanwhile is very busy with a specific research- as to how to make and sell her special soft silverware with specific medical benefits- silver wrist trinkets that help in sustaining a healthy pulse, silver vessels that help in retaining essential nutrients, so on and so forth. She needs a break from her ‘ornamental’ life. Food is definitely on her mind. She brushes her curly, untamed hair backwards. However, the curls spring back to life and create that halo effect, very much befitting the status of a princess.
She slips on her silver bangles, throws a pink leather sling bag with silver sequins on her back, adds a silver stoned bindi on her forehead and walks out in a new pink tunic, tight, white leggings and a swishy stole around her neck. Brownstone-sequined glass slippers are a definite addition, as no Cinderella could do without them. Cindy gets on to her flying chariot, driven by her very own strong unicorn. As the chariot flies forward, she passes her time by listening to some jiggy beats by the flying monsters. Of course, riveting romance and repelling fights are equally expected on the journey, what with a strong unicorn and an equally headstrong princess with views of her own.

(Cindy now works for an organization that makes and markets specific image
Software to hospitals.
Flying chariot is Cindy’s boyfriend’s Car, strong unicorn being her boyfriend, and Flying Monsters is actually the pseudo expansion of the acronym FM- Radio)

Princess Jasmine is just rushing out of a meeting with her father’s treasurers.
She’s very involved in making her father’s Kingdom (Mallapore) the best place to be. Her main aim in life right now is to uplift the lifestyle of the people who live in Mallapore, and make this the Ideal Shopping Destination. She talks to people from various other big cities to display and propagate their best garments, robes, capes, tunics, belts, harem pants, handicrafts, utensils, artwork, fragrances, armlets, bracelets, rings, belly buttons, necklaces, gems, stones, eye paints, greasy face paints, Babucha and Roman slippers and so on. She has varied ideas about having huge hand-painted boards of these multi-faceted goods around the city that would be a definite crowd puller. Charging in cash or kind for these displays could rake in good revenue for her Dad- the King’s treasury. Various barters with other big Kingdoms are what she facilitates with felicity.

She is a wicked little sprite with as much a passion for fun as for her work. She moves out of the meeting with only one thing on her mind- her friends. She mounts her magic broomstick, with shifting sticks that regulate velocity, height, inclination and position. Her father specially got approximately 800 features integrated into this broom, knowing that Jasmine always wanted to live the high-flying life. And boy, is she flying high on that magic broom all the way to Kabul, to join her friends.

(Maruti 800 is the geared car that is symbolized by the broom here. Princess Jasmine works as Marketing Executive, Lifestyle- handling space on hire, promotions and loyalty programs and gift voucher sales.)

BANCHETTA- The sumptuous feast:

The five hungry Princesses finally meet at Kabul by a little past noon. They hug each other no end and ultimately decide that the hugging is in no way decreasing their hunger.
Special Centaurs, who are half-men and half-horses, in dishadashas and embroidered kufis usher them to a fine table. They’re served with tomato and mushroom appetizers at first. The princesses light Kabul with their exuberance and energy. Their incessant chatter enlivens the place. Each princess has one thing better to say than the other, and very soon the food and drink seems only incidental- all the banter, gossip and talk is the real reason they decide to meet up every single time. They dig into the Kebabs, mint koftas, paneer, roti, kulcha and much more.
Aurora: Heartaches heartbreaks always in toe
Love is a mess and we all still want more
My Astrologer, My King, My Queen- each now is a foe
Marriage that they want for me now seems like a bore
Let me weave my very own love lore
Weight and flab is a bloody whore
To lose it, I’d spend a crore
In the meantime, let’s forget all this and have a ball, maybe some kingdom like B’lore!

(The ball is what we call a party in our days; the king and queen are aurora’s parents)

Belle: Everything I do is split two ways
Life seems like a perfect maze
Cute men turn out to be frigging gay(s)
So I’m content being a potato couch and freaking out on Fritto Lays
But I have you girls for the rest of my days
So I don’t mind running the rat race.

(Perfect Gemini- always split two ways; two men, two artificial teeth, two big b*#$# and two gutsy balls to admit all tat)

Cindy: I love my unicorn, silver stardust and fairies
I love writing and drawing in diaries
I love chocolates, ice creams, milkshakes and berries
Life, in spite of tough parents is full of beautiful ferries
Whichever dimwit each of us marries
Let’s always eat well, dress well, and make merries

(Sorry! Sorry! SORRY PEOPLE!! Cindy got carried away with Om shanty Om’s HAPPPPPIES ending..
Cindy’s response to the above- So rude!!! Hmppph)

Jasmine: Whatever your worries
Enjoy Fried rice and French Fries
After all, the land of Mallapore gives you clothes of every size
Even if it doesn’t, be content with its caramel popcorn, Inox and cute guys
At least Inox isn’t like Albert scaring you away with its gory cockroaches n mice
At the end of the day, everyone anyway lies, cries and dies
So why not live life with your very own jhatkas, jives and pataka spice?

(The land of Mallapore is our very own Lifestyle, at least triesss dishing out all sizes)

Snow White: Girls, I’ve been there and done that
Follow your heart and be a spoilt brat
The older you grow, the more you want to live
Tons of stuff to receive and tons more to give
Love is about trust, sharing and most importantly foreplay
Accept that simple truth and marriage would no longer be a role-play
And Aurora, don’t spend a crore and get all hypo (er)
Jus zip up and get a lipo!
You girls spend so much money
I find that funny
Aurora let’s talk about brothers and sisters (the serial)
And no, not about Prince Pebble- he’s a kid and not yet got noticeable whiskers
Now am I talking too much?
I think I must shut up, who Am I? - The Rani of Katchh??
Alright, I’m a self confessed Attention-deficit hyperactive freak
But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a conversation with an auto-driving-geek….
And sooooo on…..

(Aurora and Isabel are the babbling sisters- self confessed Attention-deficit hyperactive freaks; they need to punch in those extra lines)

Finally, they get to eat the Kabul special- Biriyani. Everyone decides to be a vegetarian for the day- Cindy and Aurora are on a religious non-veg fast (Aurora is more on a diet really), Isabel is veg in India (only eats such food in her foreign land), Jasmine is vegetarian for life and Bella has no choice but to become veggie for the day.

The Biriyani tastes out of the world. Everyone digs into it with a savage resolve to fill up their stomachs with the best food in the world.

“ Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

A sharp shriek silences all the hustle and bustle. The princesses look around to find out the real source of the scream. Snow White looks paler than the time when the evil
Witch gave her the poisonous apple that sent her into the glass coffin. She’s speechless now. The shriek seems to have caught up in her throat. Her eyes are fixed on her plate. They are filled with fear and disgust.

The princesses follow her eye to see one of the grossest insects, bang in the middle of her plate of Biriyani. A huge insect, with two fangs lies meshed with the Biriyani.

Royal blood boils. The food gets stuck in everyone’s throat. The Princesses beckon the head Merman and give him a ripping rant. Snow White threatens to have him beheaded, as they do in her country. Her country, for some reason threatens to behead people for every small, big or no reason.
(In our times, the ‘threatening to behead’ in the faraway land of dreams is more synonymous with suing people left, right and centre in the US.)

In the end, the Princesses pay Kabul for all its other exquisite frills and for having given them the leeway to cackle as loud as pregnant hens in an otherwise silent paradise. They mount their respective modes of transport and move to a special shopping haven called SpendSirs, situated in the Kingdom of ‘ManyMoreEggs’.
(That’s Spencors for you, in Egmore, Chennai)

No one can be exclusively vegetarian in life. Not even a princess can live in an exclusive paradise on earth. Life is a mix of the good vegetables, the bad chicken and the ugly insects- one’s got to take that with a pinch of salt/sugar/pepper. We all need that little dirt to make life worth living.
Kabhi kabhi, Kabul mein bhi cheenee kum hota hai!

Kabini-Bikini Express.

2007-11-23T02:20:00.000-08:00

Wednesday:

Mom: So when are you leaving on your official weekend getaway?
Me: Thursday night- 11 o clock train.

Mom: I talked to Geeta Aunty. She says that Bikini place is beautiful.
Me: Firstly, it is Kabini Ma, and secondly, I know you very well. I’m sure you wanted to verify if the place really existed, and whether it really was a weekend getaway and most importantly, if you could find some reason, threatening enough to stop me from going.

Mom: Chi Chi.. I trust you makale, was just generally asking. She said you could do a lot of things there- trekking, zip riding, rappelling, coracle riding and stuff..
Me: Wowww!! I thought I already told you that! (Grrrrrrrr)You love cross checking, don’t you! (Sarcastic)
Mom: Cross checking- no way makale. But you’ll be crossing the Kaveri. So, be very safe.
Me: (OMG!! Here she goes... grrrrrrrr)
Mom: The waters will be deep. There could be crocodiles. Wear a life-jacket and pray the crocz don’t find you tasty. (Me thinking- Crocodiles???? My mom would’ve given Deepa Mehta all these bold, out of the box ideas on her movie ‘Water’. Maybe, she should have suggested me in place of Lisa Ray- my out of the box thoughts. Like mother, like daughter!)
You have an open leg wound- do have it protected and carry antiseptic. (Me thinking- They have these absolutely cool, brown sprain bandages -I could wind one over my wound, below my Capris that would add a sporty, sassy look to the ensemble. This is what they call, orrre kallula rendu manga. Translates to one stone- two mangoes. Somehow, in English, it makes no sense. )

Geeta Aunty told me that there would be many mosquitoes there-carry a tube of Odomos. No, carry two- you have a large surface area. (Me grimacing!! Then again, Mom has a point.
The Odomos selling volumes are directly proportional to three things:
a) The no. of mosquitoes infesting the country,
b) The no. of stagnant water pools
c) The average size and total surface area of the human body (the larger the more required)
Its going to be chilly at night- carry a few pullovers. (It feels pretty amazing- I already feel like effervescent Kajol with her giggling girlfriends, swathed in fluffy pullovers, right out of their tents, on icy terrain in that song from Sapney. Amazing cinematography! )
Me:Talking about pullovers, take a break from your incessant anxieties- pullover to this imminent thought on my mind.
The thought being- the right trekking and travel gear! Anyways, the Company is funding the trip. So you could spare me some money.
Mom: How much would that be?
Me: 6000 bucks for 3 days.

Mom: Great! Go ahead and get your gear.

Thursday: Shopping starts at 5 pm, train’s at 11.30 pm.….

At 9.00, as I enter home, these are things I proudly display; my train being at 11.30.

A pair of Capris (Shoppers Stop, 34 is no longer is my enemy. 36 is now my yesteryear nightmareJJJCapris sound like extension of capes- the Mask of Zorro kinds; ironic that they should be shortened pants. Humph!): Rs.650
A pair of knee length Shorts (MTV Cool Club. Ah, I need to wax! Would anyone notice unwaxed legs when what would be more prominent would be my bulging love handles? ): Rs.375
A pair of military Capris (MTV Cool Club. I like to camouflage on a forest trek. As it is, I look like a forest elephant. Do I really need to camouflage? That’s food for thought.) : RS. 350
A black and gold sleeveless top (Shopper's Stop. Slurpppppppp….. We have campfires after the trek, you know and a girl needs to be a lil’ dressed after all ;)): Rs. 550
A pair of Adidas shoes (Adidas Store, Nungambakkam. Red and black, with an absolutely cool undersurface, sort of spiked and sexy- they’re supposedly for men, and I bought them. Sounds impossible? Hee- they're Adidas- Impossible is nothing): Rs.2400
An Adidas Backpack (Adidas Store, Nungambakkam. Red and black again, Tats so raven! A girl’s got to match her stuff, you see. There was a bigger, grey backpack for a few extra bucks, but grey doesn’t paint the town RED (n black, oopsie) ): Rs.1250
Spare money for the trip (Acc 2 mom, for emergency only- I know that my 3 day trip would definitely have another fit of shopping emergency. Forget it Mom- write it off. ;)): Rs 1000

650+375+350+550+2400+1250+1500= RS. 6575

Mom: 6000 bucks all for free, and you got to go ahead and do the balancing act by spending it on a shopping spree.
Me: Free.. Spree.. What’s with the rhyming? Mom, you time and again got to go ahead and do the Kindergarten teacher’s act!

I finally managed to pack and leave the house at 9.30. Packing my new stuff with Mom was total fun. We kept laughing over the top-she stuffed in the additional antiseptic, the Odomos, the pullovers and the sprain band aid. All Moms are the same. Phew!

I then knew that some things come at Rs.6000, some at Rs.6575.

But, Some things are priceless- Mommy's love!

(As for Mommy’s bikini jokes, they’re are infinitely priceless)

Kabini, here I come!

The Trompe L'oeil..

2007-11-08T21:05:00.000-08:00

A GIST:

This is a story about Sam, an Indian Druglord with an obsession for alcohol, businesss, coupling and drugs. His life is filled with confusion, turbulence and consistent brooding and he is on a quest for peace and tranquility. He then meets a beautiful home designer Rina, who attempts to bring peace into his life. The centerpiece of this story is a Tromp l'oeil- a mysterious painting on a wall.

Chapter 1:

He stares at the beautiful piece of porcelain adorning his blood red, Sabyasachi Mukherjee futon. She sleeps like a tired, innocent lamb going all out to seduce the severe blade of a thirsty butcher knife.

“Not today,” he says to himself. “Her designing is officially seeing the end of the tunnel today. She could use a good night’s rest.”

He shakes off what is buzzing in his head, extends his right arm over her satin-smooth shirt and reaches for the light-dimmer on the headboard. A mellow yellow light now bathes the lifelike shadows of all the Goddesses standing on the mantelpiece and the live, dreaming Goddess beside him.

Sleep evades him, as is the case every other night. Gazillion things are forever buzzing in his head; they mostly concern his Bermuda quadrangle ‘A B C D’- alcohol, business, coupling, drugs, not necessarily in that order though. Tonight, however, the insomnia is truly justified- he simply could not get over something that lay outside the purview of his ABCD. He could not get over his fantabulously soulful bedroom-facelift. When he met her, he originally intended for his bedroom to become a livelier, more livable place, as against the heavy, overbearing Tuscan theme of the rest of his house. He only wanted her to try and quell the perpetual, intensive A B C D brooding in the quiet of his bedchamber. But he didn’t expect this- she fed a little of his soul to every little thing she’d done here. For example, he wanted her to make a small space in the room for the person he loved the most- his deceased wife, a smaller Taj Mahal of sorts, which would just about kiss the fondness he would always have for her, without evoking melancholy. He showed her around his wife’s boudoir. She could have chosen to get something very obvious, like a designer sari or some very expensive jewelry. Instead, she chose to frame a peacock feather that lay buried in the first page of his bible- a page that had ‘To Sam. This book will carrie you through life. Your loving wife, Carrie.’ lovingly scribbled across it. He looks at the peacock feather frame, bang in between his favorite Greek Goddesses on the mantelpiece- it reads the same.

A Shaw Rug with an interestingly sewn assortment of cloth-converted photos of the many places he had visited and a glue chip glass bookcase behind the headboard that has on its surface a jumbled, phosphate-white etching of the characters, chapters, plots he had underlined in his books are indeed refreshing extensions of himself. Sam’s eyes now rest on her grand finale- a trompe l’oeil painted across an entire sidewall. He recalls the conversation they had earlier on in the day, when he finally got around for the special unveiling.

“Rina, you almost got me there. I thought that door on the wall really opened out to some kind of a secret pathway.”

“You only wish. (Laughs)That, in any case is the intention. This is a Trompe l’oeil- the tyranny of artistic deception. It is a painting on the wall that makes the image as real as possible. It lends a deceptive, illusory 3d effect to what is really only a 2d painting.”

“You gave me an indication that every move of yours in this room jives with something in my inner soul, funny as it did sound when you said that. (Winks) So, does this mural mean I’m a conman? (Laughs loud) ”

“Laugh all you care. I don’t really want to get into what this one on your wall is, what it means, or its relevance. It could well be another brick in the wall, or in this case- on the wall (she smiles), or it could make a huge wall and world of a difference. An artist like me only lives on elevating the experience the onlooker has. Believe me- I’ll live to hear you narrate that experience. ”

Sam looks at the door that opens out to some kind of a pathway in the midst of a forest.
Blank!

“Elevating experience? Elevation must only be for cowards in the dumps, for those who bow before gravity and for those who lick the dust off destiny’s feet. Elevation, my foot! The quadrilateral of Alcohol, business, coupling and drugs keeps me high; even gravity could never pull me off my high ground.”

a.. b.. c.. d.. Sam drifts into a slight slumber.

Chapter2.

Sam could feel himself getting up from his bed. His head feels light and floaty. He zips up his Kellsport full zipper sweatshirt, ducks a little- pulls the hood over his head and buries his chilly hands deep into the front pockets. The door stands ajar, a hint of a pathway shows up and the sinister passage begs Sam’s curiosity to take the upper hand. Sam decides that he needs to take a walk. “Curiosity,” he thinks, “is a dangerous alibi.”

Bang! The door shuts its back on his beautiful room and its even more beautiful occupant. Sam starts the march down the path. He doesn’t find anything all that sinister- a normal path and an even more normal sensation.

“I guess curiosity keeps a secret way more seductive than its ultimate discovery.”

The new room and its manifold soulful manifestations are left far behind. He gets back to thinking about his a b c d. Soon he returns to his regular permutations and combinations of thinking patterns. He breaks into a jog.

His three-day stubble stands peaked and peeved, the black pupils move around like two belligerent blackberries that aren’t exactly loving all the moving around together, the small beads of brine lick at his smooth, supple and dark skin right through the bristly arrowhead-brows and the stubble sheaf; he shrugs out of his hood, the raven hair on his head releases like a muddled mop of Cupid’s curls. His heart pounds in his chest , as he whizzes into a steady run.

Sam hears the pulse pounding up to his ears. His hands and legs move in synchronization, as if they always had a mind of their own. The heady swirls in his head transform into whirlwinds that visibly touch and go every now and then. Disturbing scenes turn and churn in his head as shifting frames, each fame an amalgamation of a hundred square puzzle pieces.

A few of the puzzle pieces that appear quite repeatedly are:
- Sam lying unconscious, on a Turkey carpet alongside an empty Jack Daniels.
- The most beautiful Bong bombshell crushing grapes and making wine in his own vineyard at Brézème, France…
- A particular twenty acres of his Cannabis/poppy drug fields in Kullu Manali and Chamba under special narcotics cell surveillance…
- A little farmer girl rolling the hash (the cannabis drug’s leaves) in between her tiny hands…
- His man at Kullu paying the farmer Rs.10…
-The first time he made love with his now dead wife on a hayloft- his wife has a light halo around her head…
-The Lebanese belly dancer in a black bedlah with groovy gyrations, beckoning him to ‘feel’ her gyrations…
-His eighteen year old son rolling a joint alongside his doped friends, and he not being able to exercise his paternal love or care because of being the Drug lord himself.

Suddenly, everything turns black. He can’t see a thing- all the bling in his head goes into a monotone ding. The ground below him is only a gliding tectonic plate that might give way to emptiness any darn moment. The shifting frames and puzzles in his head deform at a deafening pace and dissolve like a melting ice mannequin into the dark void vacuuming him. All his cranial reverberations smash to a grinding halt. He is in some form of a black hole and after a long time, instead of letting his head take stock of gazillion things, he is taken stock of by the gaping, high gravitational hole.

His arms flailing, he gropes around to get a hold onto something, anything….
NOTHING..

Chapter 3:

At first, Sam feels fear. This fear rises from his smothered chest and comes out in the form of a slow grasp- a slight burp. And just like a burp releases the gas inside, this one expels the fear in the hollow of his unsteady frame.

Now, Sam just feels an easy equanimity. His pulse relaxes and the damning vortex along with its crazy, dark windstorms only prove to be a calming balm. His skin feels pebble smooth and cool, his stubble sheaf moves like tiny, chirpy wind-spurred waves on green grass blades, his eyelids open and shut on two mischievous bubbles that gurgle with energy, his hands and legs move about in absolutely uncalculated movements akin to the easy, unorganized motilities of the tentacles of a perky octopus. Sam is so self absorbed in this whirlpool of happiness that all his erstwhile worries have ebbed away into the fringes of faraway shores.
Sam only feels his own substance: fresh, uncluttered, unrestrained and clean.

All of a sudden, someone curbs Sam’s tentacle-like moves. He tries to shake free from the interruption, but in vain. He squints open his eyes and stares at a beautiful woman. He gets up and sits up with his mouth stark open on a blood red futon, HIS blood red futon. Reality tumbles on him as do her tresses on her satin silk shirt. She smiles at him. His lips twitch a little before his lips curve into a knowing, saucer-shaped smile.

“It has been such an……… elevating experience.”

“I knew it would be. So tell me about it (smiles).”

Sam looks at the open door, the tromp l’oeil and the mysterious path. “I’ve come to realize that no matter who and what are on your mind, it is important to know that at the end of the day, there’s only one person who lives with you till the last breath, and that one person is YOU yourself. It is important to take time out and pamper the self.”

“So, is elevation really required for someone who’s A B C D keeps him on perpetual high ground (winks)?”

“Everyone has got to bow down to self. I’ve got myself back today. Thank you Rina.”

“My doors are always open to you (smiles).”

“I know. Your doors (and he points to the door in the Trompe l’oeil) are not only open to me- they also open me, my mind and my self. While you were sleeping, prior to my ‘elevating’ experience, I was itching to get you up and ask you something huge. You looked too tired to disturb back then.” His blackcurrant eyes will her to comply.

She sees a definitive change- a soothing mildness caressing his firm features, a sea of placid peace engulfing his soul and an inner radiance shooting out from those blackcurrant twirls. A small excitement stirs in the pit of her stomach and rumbles upward in expectation. “I think I know what you want.”

“So will you agree and show me the green signal or show me the door?”

“I already have shown you ‘the door’ (winks); this time around, I think I’d rather try out some other door- maybe one that opens to a green path”

“My house is ready for you. My rooms are at your disposal. My heart is all open to something new and fresh (pauses for a long minute and keeps the tension alive).
Redecorate, refurbish, renovate and reignite my entire house. You’re the only designer who could transform cold brick and stone to warm home and hearth.This project is all yours. ”

Rina’s excitement breaks to the surface- her face lights up with unconditional joy, her eyes twinkle with frenzied anticipation, her brain sizzles with a cornucopia of colours, textures, paintings, artifacts and designs, her body sways and shakes with pure, palpitating madness. She finally gets her biggest break. Page 3 Tabloids would soon boast of the headline she’d always dreamt of: ‘Rina Khiandra, the golden decorator of the biggest hotshots in India.’ There is a perfect zing to that headline and it definitely is going to be a riveting roller-coaster ahead.

“This has always been my dream. This will be my dream project. This will be your dream home. You will discover your dream SELF.”

2007-10-05T06:28:00.000-07:00

The LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLONG and SHORT of DiVeRS itY…

Malls in India are becoming like the ubiquitous Mallus- they are beginning to rear their beautiful, aggressive heads all over the place and in your face (Sreesanth hovering in your head?). Stalling and shilly-shallying in malls and multiplexes over the weekend has become more like a routine drill one monotonously drags oneself through, without really being hit or bit by the monotony. Window-shopping and price-tag-ogling in those exquisite lifestyle stores, pre-booked movie-hogging in an OCS surround sound environment and caramel popcorn-popping in those perfectly plush pushback seats, birdie/birdo-gaping in the verandahs, alleys and free spaces, cappuccino-guzzling/ grenita-gulping/ panino-pelting in a milling café, assorted cuisine/furious fast food- dining or lunching in those exquisite fine dining restaurants/joints has become so much a part and punch of one’s weekend.

If you think I’m attempting to enter the mall maze right here and now, it suffices to say that I, a frequent mallee, am just giving you a blazing introduction to the mall culture; a mallee being my term for a mall addict. The introductions done away with, let’s now get to the core topic stinging my thinking equipment- DEALING with DIVERSITY.

Last week, at a very prominent mall in the city, I happened to cross paths with so many different people/mallees that I couldn’t really help getting all baffled at the striking differences in people- tall and short, fat and thin, short-haired and long-haired, calm and frenzied, haughty and humble, naughty and nice, composed and insecure, well-dressed and ummmm undressed;), svelte and crude, so on and so forth. I stood there observing all these people, never for once realizing that a lot of these people I was observing were doing the same thing as well.

It was then that I understood that jobless people doing the hopeless rounds for free in a public space do nothing but judge the other jobless people around. I repeat: JUDGE, and not observe. Hell, everyone knows that people are made differently, that variety is the spice of life and that some people are ‘differently-abled’, but that doesn’t really stop us from pointing out the differences in harsh, mean ways. When I was trying to observe the contrasting attributes in people, the first two analogies I pointed out were ‘tall and short’ and ‘fat and thin’- how much more judgmental could I get?

From a different perspective, I suddenly saw that people (including myself) are constantly and consistently judging the inconsistencies and incongruities in the people around. In retrospect, I know that judging people is ‘sucky’ (in my language) and yet, I’m such a sucker for passing funny comments about every peeping Tom’s peephole voyeurisms, Dick’s teeny-weeny and Harry’s hairy legs, to enliven the mood among a close-knit group. Cutting a long story short- where is that line between pulling someone’s legs for fun and ‘judging’ someone all wrong?

Is your line short or long, dotted or continuous, finite or infinite, dark or light, straight or crooked.. Oops, I guess i got all judgemental all over again. Some lines can never be straightened.. :)

RUNNNNNN FOR YOUR LIFE!

2007-09-05T23:03:00.000-07:00

Reebok: The Road is open. RUN!
Indian Airlines: ‘Frequent Flyer Program’ - This is the FASTEST way to fly free!
Aaj Tak:Sabse TEZ!
Western Union: The FASTEST way to send money worldwide.
Nike+: Run like you’ve NEVER RUN BEFORE.

Fast, Faster, Still Faster, want it the Fastest- that’s the motto we live and die by today.

Life around us sometimes spins so freaking fast that even the spinning earth seems like the slumbering hare in the antediluvian hare-tortoise saga.

Today, an 8 –old kid in shorts shorter than the strands of hair on his balding Papa’s head says ‘Papa, I want an XBOX 360 with the Ring of Light, XBOX Live, Digital Entertainment and personalized Console- ekdam tez’

No longer is that squeamish pimple or that first strand of moustache peeping from the deep follicles the conventional ‘innocence-marring’ mark of the teenager. Today the pure sins impugning a 13 year-old teen’s innocence would more typically be a fully loaded Motorazor razoring his motions akin to a Zorro Sword, and a sleek, sexy, APPLE iPOD nano clipped to his T-shirt, and more tempting to the eyes than the adjoining Adam’s apple.

Making the world smaller is like a never-ending purpose of life. Getting 2000 songs onto one iPOD nano is like the best, fastest way as compared to an age old granny gramophone. Granny Gramophones? Maybe they should change the Granny-Gramophone sounding Grammy Awards to the PODdys Awards or NANOs Awards or something! Agreed- it’s SHADY; I apologize- I couldn’t hold back the quip.

Here’s a humorous take on how fast our lives get!

Me (mocha) on a Sales Call:

Customer: I want the fastest workstation (advanced PC), with the fastest proc, probably a Dual Core8 AMD Opteron 3 Gig Proc, running on a 64 bit XP Professional OS, with a RAM as high as 32 GB (8*4GB).

Me (Mocha): What is it that you would need with such a fast machine?

Customer: To run my business applications ASAP.

My take on HIS ‘Hidden Agenda’: To wash my hands off work ASAP, run home ASAP, be the perfect househusband- cook and clean (the house/clothes/vessels) ASAP, get the kids’ to do their homework ASAP, ‘satisfy’ my wife ASAP, sleep ASAP and get up ASAP.

Selling is more about providing the right solution to ‘HIDDEN, UNEXPRESSED’ problems.

I came up with an ingenious solution to his problem. Guys, I bet you never would have seen better tailor-made solutions than what I’ve to offer.

WRONG SOLUTION:
For the Fast machine: A HP xw9400 Workstation- The technical specs are bla.. bla..
I’M BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE.

For the real Problem:
Here’s a detailed spec-by- spec solution:

OPTIMIUM SOLUTION:

Prob: To run home ASAP-
Sol: Dispose your status-ridden Innova, bite a ‘Bullet’- Royal Enfield bikes take you home faster and make you look hipper and zippier.
(The looks part is of course an add-on benefit the customer garners)

Prob: Cook ASAP
Sol: FAST foods- all you need is 2 mins! This is why two-minute noodles, ‘Ready-to-eat’ foods, ‘Frozen’ sausages/chicken breasts/hamburgers/nuggets, Saif’s Lays and Juhi’s Kurkure have fast risen on popularity charts.

Prob: Clean the house ASAP
Sol: Vacuum-clean your house. Vacuum your head of all worries. (If your worries are your wife and kids, then yeah, we’ll try and get you time machines- you can parcel them off to the past /future)
(Preeti, u know ma obsession with time machines;))

Prob: Clean the vessels ASAP
Sol: I know you’re not an empty vessel Sir. So, noiselessly dish out a dishwasher!

Prob: Clean the clothes ASAP.
Sol: Fully automatic washing machines. Today the clothes not only come out washed, they come out dried (you can blow-dry your wife’s hair in the drier as well, her hair’s probably worth only that), stainless (put your wife’s stained conscience in, I believe they use orbit white in washing machines), smelling like flowers (you only wish your wife smelled that way)

Prob: Get the kids to do their homework ASAP!
Sol: You think 2+2=5. So, if you want them to do it fast, just hold on to your horses and mathematical horse blinds- they’re going to do it fastest on their own.

Prob: ‘Satisfy’ your wife ASAP.
Sol: Viagra helps you get her and you flowing faster than the Niagara.

Prob: Sleep ‘ASAP’
Sol: If you’re satisfied, you don’t need sleeping pills.

Prob: Get up ASAP.
Sol: Come on, I helped you GET UP once with Viagra. Now, to get up once again, you get yourself a COCK[;)] to crow. (pun intended)
No, you BIRDbrain, I didn’t ask you to get yourself two birds- a cock and a crow; I just asked you to get yourself a cock that wakes you up with its 5 am 'cock-a-doodle-doo' or more locally, ‘cuck-a-ro-ko-ko’.

BEST SOL:

Be truly fast! Bit the bullet! Bite a new, young Girlfriend! You probably won’t need the Viagra! Make all the noise you want- you and your GF can be empty vessels leading a careless life-ditch the dishwasher! Your new GF will get wet and dry naturally(hair n otherwise)- chuck the drier, young women today smell great and use orbit white/happy dent /whisper ultra(no stains); forget the washing machine! At 5 am, you need no cock to crow; the gf gets you and you c*@$ up. Kids’ homework- 2+2=5 for you- You never really could do anything in the homework dept anyways.

Runnnn for your life!
The faster you run, the more weight you lose Sir, and the better Gf you can get!
It doesn't really matter if you use Reebok or nike- The Road is open!Just do it !(swoosh)

CHASE YOUR DREAMS

2007-08-23T06:33:00.000-07:00

Ransack your restless soul
Someplace drowned in a cranny cracking your bottomless mind pit
There shudders a silent rage of a zillion rays of light
Someplace twined into a wanton thread weaving your heart’s maze
There smolders a titillating twinkle of a gazillion supernovae

All of your delirious dreams
All of your clandestine cares
All of your insane aspirations
All of your frivolous fantasies
All of your harebrained pipe dreams
They never give in till you give up
They cause the drive and drive the cause

Combat your campaign
Into the dingiest night
Combat your campaign
Into the jubilant daylight
Cruise your crusade
Before it begins
Cruise your crusade
Before it’s over
Cut to the chase
Guillotine the goose
Cut to the chase
Give birth to the golden egg
Chase your Dreams
Heave and never leave
Chase your Dreams
Let’s Achieve!

Jane Jeyakumar

Are you a CRACK pot????? Crack the code!

2007-06-27T14:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I’d been locking horns with a dingy deadline. An article on ‘Why Men don’t cry in Public?’ had been ironically teasing ma tear glands for over two days now. It had to be completed in an hour or so - else, I’d lose that tiny little space I get in a little known magazine, read by an even tinier proportion of Chennaivasis. (SIZE does matter, that’s why I’m a ‘budding’ (read: tiny) writer!) As teary-eyed men began speaking to me in tongues (crying men speak in baffling tones!), I opened ma IBM ThinkPad (if only it could ‘think’ for me!) and powered it on.

All of a sudden, ma PASSWORD ran out on me. It used to be ‘Sammy’ (my boyfriend’s name). After having been badgered by Sammy to keep changing my password for security reasons, I’d triumphantly changed it an old boyfriend’s name only an hour ago (little did he know that my password had originally been his name ;);). In any case, he deserved it for all that pestering!). NOW, I DIDN’T REMEMBER WHICH BF, what with only one more hour to zip the article.

Fortunately, I had the men bawling and crying out loud on my PC as well. I finished my article in peace, and late last night, made a checklist of all my ex’s, narrowed it down to the three guys Sammy hated the most, and unlocked my misery and my ThinkPad after keying in the 3’rd name. Just to satisfy your curiosity, my checklist had four names in all; the fourth one- my first bf at age 4. In fact, Sammy always thought this one to be cute, impotent and insignificant.

Today, only one thought keeps hammering me: What’s with the password? I mean, the world is so system- generated and system-driven with all these gazillion codes, passwords, countersigns, smartcards, ATM cards, fingerprint sensors, barcodes, ID cards, bit locker drive encryption, etc. (I know some of these terms because they are used on laptops I sell).

All these codes were created to preserve our individual identities. In retrospect, are we really losing our identity to these random numbers? Are we drowning amidst the codes coded for us? At the end of it, are only number plates going to adorn our coffins?

In the US, social security numbers (SSN) are issued to citizens, permanent and temporary residents, just as prisoner numbers are allocated to criminals or model nos. are allocated to mobiles.
Name: Austin Biggert.
SSN: 873247123, under section 205(c)(2) of the Social Security Act, codified as 42 U.S.C. § 405(c)(2). (Now, is it just me seeing all the numbers instead of the name???)

Let’s go out there and crack zoze codes; codes that are permuted and combined in the maddening spectrum of limitless numbers, symbols, letters amidst many. Let’s crack zoze codes wired into the lives of Toby, Vodka, Fizza, Mocha and Rocksta.

TOBY: (Store Manager at a Niche ********* Mall)
Interviewing a management Graduate on barCODES on all retail items…

(FYI, practically every item purchased from a grocery store, department store, and mass merchandiser has a barcode on it. This greatly helps in keeping track of the large number of items in a store and also reduces instances of shoplifting )

Toby: What’s a ‘barcode’ to you? Give me smart answers. I need to know how innovative your ‘fresh-out-of-MBA-brains’ are!
Fresher: A barcode is a set of numbered ‘white n black’ lines on any retail item that is as visible as a ‘white and black’ striped ZEBRA on a savannah landscape.
Toby: Good One! Another try?
Fresher: A barcode is essential to help you CROSS the exit doors of a shop- It acts as a ZEBRA CROSSING; white and black lines again.
Toby: Good one again. Anything else?
Fresher: Hmmm….

Use the following codes to find out what they talk of...
They are big, brown and bittersweet.
They are gooey/crunchy/nutty.
They love PERKy Preeti, ready-to-MUNCH Rani and MILKY Amitabh.
ANS: They are ‘CHOCOLATE- BAR’codes.
TOBY: Excellent! You CRACKED THE BARCODE. You’re hired.

............................................*****************************............................................

MOCHA: (Parttime writer/me)

Event: Mocha (Chris) and fellow freelance writers at a creative writing workshop.
Process: The creative assignment given out is to break the Da Vinci Code innovatively.
Action: Mocha and Fellow writer team up to break the code.

Fellow Writer: Breaking the Da Vinci Code.
Mocha: Creating a new Da Vinci Code.
Fellow Writer: The Last Supper.
Mocha: The FIRST morsel of Controversy.
Fellow writer: The ‘Lassssssssstttttttttttt???’ Supper
Mocha: Did Jesus and his disciples NEVER EAT AGAIN???!!!
Fellow writer: Jesus took the wine, ‘broke’ the ‘bread’ and gave it to his disciples.
Mocha: All of us here- let’s drink wine, eat bread and ‘break’ the code instead of the bread, as the bread has been broken and eaten enough.
Fellow Writer: Mary (Jesus’ wife) sat near Jesus- Da Vinci version…. 1
John (Disciple) sat near Jesus- Biblical version………2
Mocha: => By 1 & 2, Mary=John.
Fellow writer: Mary & John are the same? A man= A woman???
You mean optical Illusion like the one below- MAN OR WOMAN???

Look carefully AT BOTH THE PICTURES Man or woman???? ------------------------

Mocha: No Optical Illusion. No Confusion. Great Combination. Only Bingo!
Actually just a matter of LINGO!
Freelance writer: Lingam? Are you connecting Hinduism and Christianity now? (Lingam fyi is shiva lingam, representing Lord Shiva)

Mocha: HMMMMMPH. Leave the bread aside. To Crack the code, just EAT BINGO. Let me explain the LINGO.
Today, ‘man’/‘woman’ is just a matter of lingo. ‘Dude’/’Guys’/’Ýaar’ are used for men and women alike.

"The whole Da Vinci Code is captured in one word/idea/concept- ‘UNISEX’'"

Freelance writer: The Da Vinci Code is all about SEXXXX?
Mocha: Nooo, UNIsex as in unisex salons! Today, a John and Mary have identical hair color, texture, style and LENGTH. Both wear earrings. Both do pot, weed and fag. Worse still, you have transvestites/cross dressers where John looks and acts like Mary and vice versa.

'Da Vinci predicted how unisex we’d get in the future, all those years ago. That’s all there is to it.' That was the code. You get it?
Freelance writer: I get the Lingo!
‘NO MALE, NO FEMALE, ONLY HOLY GRAIL!’ right?

Mocha: BINGO! Oops Lingo! You’ve successfully decoded the Da Vinci Code!

CUPPA:) ** freshly updated**