Thursday, 31 December 2009


2010 Resolutions…..

1.      Will not use creditcard unless absolutely necessary. Pay back all dues in next 2 months.But will buy my dream watch in two months, an Omega seamaster , and first resolution- DUH!
2.      Will listen to wife on matters of finance, health, fitness and food and keep her happy.Will reduce 10 kgs of excess weight.
3.      Will do best to control anger and short temperedness. Even if someone calls me an A-hole I will smile at him/her.
4.       Needs to recheck the lost bond with my father. Next vacation and I need to give him a tight bear hug….hope I manage enough courage to do so….. we have fallen so apart that I need to gather enough courage. Can someone manage Dutch courage without those golden brown volatile liquid. I will need it.
5.      Stop cockiness in the name of sense of humour. Will not tease or pull someone the wrong way. Will be more diplomatic and not blunt. Be empathetic to colleagues, esp the boss.
6.      Will be modest and refrain from showing off. Will not give another reason to my wife to call me a BIG-SHOWOFF.

That’s all. Cant think of any further. Wish everyone a great New Year. Ciao 2009.

Tuesday, 22 December 2009

My health

Few days back one of our neighbors son died in Kerala. He was 36. The cause of death was alarming. Cardiac arrest or in popular terms heart attack. Just few years( 5 years) elder to me or as Arundhati Roy says :

Thrity- six.
Not old.
Not Young.
But a viable die-able age.

No doubt we are slipping into an unhealthy lifestyle. We now have the money to flaunt. We have no time to cook as in my case, being single until my wife returns in Feb next year. I eat oily, fried and unhealthy food and never exercise.

The other day I was checking the Death-clock to find out when I would die. The meter says I would live unto 2069, that is, I would be 91 when I die. I seriously doubt. If things go this way I wouldn’t be alive to see my 50th birthday.

I wonder the state of my arteries. I hope no plagues are forming in them. I hope my blood pressure are normal. I hope my heart is not under tremendous pressure to cope with the needs of the body. I hope my valves are not damaged by the blood pressure.

Frightening isn’t it? No doubt. I have not even lived 1/3rs of my life and I seriously doubt my longevity. I want to live longer. I want to see my daughter grow up and have her family. I want to see the world by living longer. But are there ways that can make me live longer?

Perhaps Exercise and healthy diet is not all. Our attitude, genetics, ,mental health etc play a part in our health but as the case these are not in our hands. I feel our attitude plays a major role. Constantly worrying  about problems could affect negatively.

Its not to induce any sort of paranoia. I feel Its a positive way of looking at a negetive thing.I feel I took health for granted and  some amount of fear could make people like me conscious. Health is serious WEALTH. We can CREATE WEALTH only IF we have HEALTH. EVERYTHING else is SECONDARY……  

Please suggest me some ways to be healthy. All suggestions are welcome.

Saturday, 19 December 2009


Buddhadev rubbed his chest. He stared at the  alarm clock. He had woken ten minutes before the time. It was 6. 20. He vaguely remembered the events of the previous night. It was a sleeplike delirium. He had tried to getup from the bed. It was too difficult.  For a brief moment he doubted if he was getting an attack. But the pain had vanished. His left hand had become somewhat numb. He slept on the right side. The pain had completely cured.  Stomach acidity. A doctor’s visit was coming, again a deficit in the month’s budget.

He got up from the bed to impede the further assault of morbid thoughts. He went to the bathroom, noiselessly, to avoid his wife from awakening.
After brushing and washing face, he put his only track pants and headed to the main door. Habitually he searched for the morning newspaper, aware that he had stopped it last month. The sacrifice for the internet connection without which his daughter had refused to eat.

He latched the door soundlessly and started his daily morning walk. For few minutes it was hard, but later the walk was effortless. Few men waved as they passed him. Soon the world around shrunk; nothing else but subconscious, cataleptic thoughts.

  “ 1st of June is a Sunday. Pay would be delayed. Bindu’s Tuition fees Rs.250. would be getting overtime next month. Howmuch? Rs.600? Total Salary be 6000. Rent has to be paid. 2000. Left 4000. Milk Rs. 150. Can squeeze in Newspaper? Will see next month. Will repay Sudheers Loan. If he asks otherwise pay him later. Grocery bill. Will stop taking credit.How much? calculate today. May be Rs.1000. LIC premium. Bloody premium. Big mistake. Wouldn’t taken it. He cheated. In 20 years 4 lakhs. 5 years 20thousand. What is 20thousand. A new fridge and washing machine. Bindu’s marriage. 4 lakhs? Gold at 12thousand. May be provident fund. Chief engineer coming next month. One more shirt. Meter Rs.50. Diwali coming soon. Need Rs.5000. Promised a fridge.Retirement. just 10 more years. Bindus marriage. After retirement. Provident fund loan. How much balance. 1 lakh may be. How much land. May be some gold. Wife’s gold. If she pass exam? Stupid girl.not bothered. Sankar’s cycle. tyres. Gas. Rs.350. Minus left 3650. savings? Will try 2000. balance in bank 40thousand."

He was almost home. An hour had passed. Only possible if one doesn’t look at the watch often. He was not tired. He was fresher than he had started. There was a crowd before his house. "what happened?”. He hurried. Few men were standing in the veranda. He rushed inside with curiosity. His wife and daughter were howling, squatted on the floor beside a covered body.  His daughter was calling for her father. His wife was beating her chest, wailing angrily, asking, why did he do this to them? Why didn’t he take them with him?

P.S: This is to clarify that there is no SUICIDE in the story, as mentioned in the comments. Perhaps the story wasnt read properly.

Thursday, 17 December 2009

What the fuck is wrong?

Noone is reading my blog. It hurts. I am almost crying. I cannot stop my eyes getting lakedup. It feels as if I am having a nightmare where a psychopath serial killer is trying to murder me and I am screaming but no sound is coming out of my throat. Its as if my vocal chords have gone on hartal.

Like a flop bollywood producer I am in desperate need of viewership. My ship is sinking like a cheap toy titanic( or like the overcrowded boat which capsized in tekadi). And like a bollywood producer I am forced to add an item number to my blog with some sex scenes.

Its so easy with sex. It sells. Its been selling since ages. Remember, its supposed to be the oldest profession, arguably, unless someone looks at politics as business. Even in times of recession, sex sells. Go have a look at the hot Russian or Lebanese prostitutes in Dubai and you would know. In Dubai it’s a billion dollar industry. Its supposed to be illegal and against Islam, but its something without which the economy would tumble. If the whole of Dubai is a cake, prostitution is the icing. Arguably Dubai is the prostitute capital of the world. I hope someone doesn’t comeup with my identity and deports me out.

I feel and from the knowledge I have from friends who work in hotels in Dubai, the distinction between prostitution and film industry blurs. Atleast to some extent. I have heard of struggling actresses staying in 5 star( dubai is supposed to have a 7 star hotel) hotels and entertaining rich customers. Its a reality. I have also heard of underworld extortionists who seek sexual favors from up-and-coming actresses for role in films. I don’t justify or denounce them, its each to their own. I feel the word chastity or preserve-your-virginity-for-your-spouse is an invention of the human. I feel only rape accounts for a crime. It’s a crime and the world needs to be free of such crimes. But consensual sex, I think it will stay as long as humans have the libido (or horny-ness), and no account of law or religious restrictions would stop it.

We have several restrictions as humans. We have invented several taboos and perhaps some are necessary for the cultural existence of the human race. We are supposed to hide our private parts, we can’t fart, men cant look at a woman’s breasts, a woman cant look at a mans crotch, We cant use words like cunt, dick, ass, …etc, which are rather unholy words. I remember our obsession with taboo words as children. Whenever we, my brother and me fought, we called each other Kundi, chandi(both means ass in Malayalam) and my dad would punish us( usually a Chinese handshake-pinch using nails while shaking hands). And we hide and wait for the right prospects to call each other such fine and pleasurable words.

I remember one of my ex-colleague who was asked “what the fuck do you think you are doing here” by his boss and he complaining against him with the HRD for abusive language.His boss(even mine) was asked to apologize. I felt bad for the boss. Common what the fuck is wrong with FUCK. We all are born out of fuck, aren’t we? Probably he is going to vegetative propagate his wife and have kids. I wish Him all the best. :D

BTW, the brand manager in my company, who goes by the name of Kunal Kapoor has been re-christened by us for his nasty attitude.  He is nowadays called Kunt Kapoor( Cunt has been changed to Kunt to sound KOOL)..:D

Wednesday, 16 December 2009

The jeans and the fastness of my life and my new found admiration for Dalai Lama and more.......

Hallo frends……hope you guys are doin good. Me too is not doing all that bhad. In fact I am doing good. Though Not as good as I like to be but still not that bad that I crib about. I have not been in the mood to write oflate for some unknown reason. Now that I have mentioned that I feel the reson is more due to laziness than lack of any other reason. Of course I can come up with any numbor of reasons for not writing a blog post but I want to be honest. After all honesty is the best policy. But oflate I have also wondewred if honesty is indeed the best policy. Yesterday I thought I would be honest, sorry, in fact I didn’t think I just blub-blubered during a conversation with my wife and I told her that I haven’t touched the threadmills for a whole month.There she goes. I told her that running is not the only thing you can do with a threadmill. I told her that it can be used very effectively to dry cloths, especially underwears and banyans, and she was very furious with me. After the conversation and ever since I have now second thots about being honest. In fact I can save half of my troubles from not being honest.

Weather( or is it wheather) here is very fine. Yesterday it rained and I felt I have reached Kerala all of a sudden. Then I vaited for some more time for more rains and then I realized that one should never expect too much in life and it was not Kerala. It stopped raining after just few puddles of water on the streets unlike Kerala. Now I am waiting for more such rains. Rains give me a feeling that I am back to the place I belong. It looks cloudy, but winters are mostly cloudy so I think its winter-clouds and not rain-rain-clouds.

Yesterday I shopped for cloths. Not that I have too much money or I have become rich. I realized that I have very little cloths which I like to wear and not I am forced to wear. I like to wear cloths that I like to wear. I don’t like to wear cloths just because I have to wear them since I bought them. You know what I mean?

I wanted a pair of jeans. SO I went to Marks & spencers and then I searched for some jeans. Suddenly I realized that the cloths there were rather boring and I decided to walk off and try somewhere else. Then I went to NEXT and searched. One over-enthusiastic-over-selling salesman came running to me and for a moment I thought he is going to kidnap me. He suggested me lots of options, which I realized were the most expensive of the lot. I smiled at him, my usual thanks-for-the-help-but-sorry smile and I saw the smile on his face vaporize. I almost heard his unspoken words which iam sure meant: bastard-you-come-to-waste-my-time-fuck-off….

Then I went to H&M and saw few nice cloths and finally ended buying few t-shirts and jeans. I am happy and now waiting for some occasion to wear them. I hope some occasion comes soon and I showoff my new cloths. Life is tuff, one has to find occasions to wear cloths and not just buy them.

The otherday I realized that I was leading a fast life. The fastness of my life had sweeped into everything. As arundhati roy says in The Dog of small things- it was sweeping into my life like tea from a tea bag. I even ate very fast. Perhaps that’s why I gain weight too fast. My wife eats very slowly, perhaps that’s why she is skinny. But my problem is that I have no patience. What I want I want it now. I cant wait. I rush everywhere. I rush in the bathroom, I rush when I brush my teeth. I even rush when I write this. I just want to finish this stupid post and post it in my blog so that someone comments on tham and my ego is inflated. I am an egoist. I need conformity. I constantly want people to coime to me and tell me how good I am. I hate everyone who is honest and tells me that I am as bad as most of the people in the world. I even think very fast. Thoughts pass by as if it had an engine and someone was knocking on the accelerator pads. So I am thinking of reducing the pace. Now I want to just write slowly, word by word…. Letter by letter, and think also slowly. But its dificlut. Its difficult coz like most humans, I am a device of habit. I do everything out of habit I have formed since my birth. I even think out of habit. Its not easy to come out of the bondage of habit. But I should try and be slow. The pace can make me sick. The pace can even sweep into time and make me age faster. By thinking slow, we live more. We age slowly. I don’t know if its true but I feel it should be given a try. By the way, my dad is several kilometers slower than me. Is it the age that had made him slow? Or is it my greed to be successful and rich before 45 that has made me fast.But whatever I don’t like the fastness. I like to be unhurried.

The other day I was watching the interview of Dalai lama and was really impressed with him. He is a great spiritual leader and I believe we all should give an ear to his teachings. Or perhaps just a bit more than few ears.

That’s all. Nothing more to write. Take care and thanks for dropping in. It feels great to write a non-sense post. Try it yourself sometime.Ciao.

Sunday, 6 December 2009

Not yet named story- Please suggest a name...

She walked towards her home, with a hungry stomach and a tired mind. Holding her fake leather hand bag, she walked in her own leisurely pace, in a red sari and matching black blouse, her mind several miles away. Walking past a halwai shop she looked pensively at the display of assorted sweets, ignoring it, she increased her pace.
Children played cricket, quite a few layers of brick formed their wicket, numerous beggars lined up, lifting their aluminium begging vessel, some of them without a full hand or legs mutilated and some blind. She dropped few coins on to few beggars; received god blesses in return, and then walked past them, crossing a junction and towards a slim lane. She felt a sea of humanity, as if parading with her, all in coherent motion but different worlds.

Sarita entered her neighbourhood and smiled deliberately at many old aunties and uncles she came across, some even staring at her from behind once she crossed them, looking at her well curved silhouette and lusting at her dancing butt. Many around her neighbourhood found her attractive, some even said, “She is a real good maal . Look at her when she moved. From the front and also from the back.Ha!..”
The oldest were the one she reviled the most. Some of them would stare at her plainly, without shame and that stare extended from her face to her breasts, she would impulsively move her sari pallu covering them. Most men made her feel self-conscious.

She walked through the slim lane and reached her house. The most copious in that slum and between several scruffy houses, her house stood out. Theirs was the only house painted recently, that was one year back during her sister’s marriage. Most houses saw paint during someone’s marriage or more often, once in its life time.

Several cows wandered in the street, often coming in the way of hurried cyclists and unconcerned, dumping their stomachs content onto the busy road. Gau maa: they were often called and most had a vermillion marking on their forehead. Sacred they were, but creating mayhem for the passengers. Cow dung also gave a distinctive local odour to the surroundings. Some villagers who migrated to cities often missed the smell of their villages and would say, “ my village has that aroma and fresh air which is never there in these cities and how I miss it”, not realizing what they smelled..

Opening the makeshift gate she entered her slum and found the bicycle of her father. She placed her sandals outside, washed her feet with the water placed outside for that purpose in a metallic bucket and entered her house, placing her right foot first.

Her old man sat on a plastic chair, sipping tea from a steel tumbler. Without giving a glance, she walked straight and entered the only other room in the house. Placing her handbag on the table, she removed her sari and wore her long nightie.
“ aah, you have come?” mother greeted her.

Without concern, she lifted the glass jug and poured several mouthful of water into her wide open mouth.

Sudhakar had his tea. The tea was not the same he used to have, he preferred a stronger brew. His wife had cut-short on the tea powder. “Tea have become very expensive, what to do?” he had had a conversation with his wife few weeks ago. These type of conversation happened quite frequently these days, he realized.
“Its increasingly difficult for a common man to survive.” He had said despondently.
The barber, Muraad, had told him about a potential groom for Sarita and ever since, he was seen with a perpetual thinking state of mind. The last he was in such state was before Kusum’s marriage. He didn’t want to think much about those times, he felt his muscles stiffen.

Clinching a steel tumbler of tea, Sarita came to the room where Sudhakar was sitting. She switched on the TV: a colour TV which the Govt had given to the poor people like them, just before the election and waited for the screen to come alive. Her favourite serial was about to start and nothing mattered to her during those hours. Her only worry was the power cut which frequented and more so during the serial time. Soon, the rest of the ladies joined her.
Sudhakar puts on his third shirt out of four, a cream colored he had stitched for his daughter Kusum’s marriage, sniffing first and frowning at the disgusting odour. He applies talcum powder over his armpits and sniffs again and then walks towards the crowded street.

He goes straight to Muraad’s shop, sits on the wooden bench and opens the leaf of the news paper. Muraad was occupied with a thick haired boy and in between, he glanced at Sudhakar.
“Muraad bhai, did they call you?” .
“Yes SudhakarBhai. They asked me if they can come this Sunday”

Sudhakar looked into the eyes of Muraad, the date didn’t matter to him much.
“No Problem Bhai, Did they inform their demand?”
“Boy looks forward thinking, I don’t know much details, but I feel it’s a good match” he looked at Sudhakar through the top of his glasses and continued with the boy, now not so thick haired.

Sudhakar looked engrossed in the news paper, but he was thinking ahead about coming Sunday. He would buy some biscuits and Pakode from Sundar’s Shop and Rasna. That would be enough, even for Kusum’s girl seeing he had offered the same. And it had worked. He had to arrange some money; he got up and walked towards his home.

He reached home and saw his wife waiting outside on the door steps. Sarita sat alongside and they gossiped. He knew they would be talking about their entire neighbourhood and the events of the entire day;  who went where;  who had  guests. “These women have nothing else to do”, he mumbled to himself and entered the house. They stood up to greet him. Sudhakar went straight to his room, hanged his shirt and went to the bathroom for a shower.

 After bath he walked to his room, sprinkled some talcum powder on to his armpits, looked into the mirror and combed his greying hair. He looked at his stubble and bulged his cheeks with his tongue. He noticed that he had not shaved for days.

He came back to the main room and saw that his wife had placed a plate on the table. He adjusted the chair and sat for the diner to be served. Aloo gobi, dal, and roties were served and Sudhakar had his diner, even though not hungry.
The family slept very late, like one big herd of cattle in a shed. Sudhakar slept on the cot, his daughters and wife slept adjacent on the floor. Few minutes of turning and all looked still, but Sudhakar looked up on the ceiling in the dark. He thought about his elder daughter Kusum’s wedding. Now again he has to go through the ordeal. Even after Sarita’s marriage he would have to start again for his youngest daughter Ekta.

“ Bhagvaan, these daughters’, he mumbled again to himself and his mind meandered through various thoughts. Being dark and wrinkled, no one noticed the dark circles around his eyes. When did he last sleep? He couldn’t remember.

Sudhakar was the first to take bath in the morning, followed by his wife Indira, then Sunitha and the last-Sarita.  After Sarita’s bath, everyone joined at the prayer room and Sudhakar performed pooja before the framed photos of several gods and goddesses. Sarita closed her eyes and felt the image of her favourite god, the elephant headed Ganesh form before her closed eyes and smiling at her. That was an indication that things would work out. She thanked the god several times and while doing so, closed her eyelids forcefully, forming several horizontal wrangles across her closed eye lids. The fragrance of Agarbathi spread the house.
Muraad came with the boy at eleven in the morning. Sunitha and Indira spread the biscuits and pakodes in steel plates and while placing them on the table, took turns to gape at the boy. Sunitha managed a giggle and the boy smiled in return and then took out his kerchief to wipe his lips.

The boy hesitated and slowly sipped Rasna, the Rasna tasted overly sweet and he had an urge to guzzle down at once. He looked around at people and followed the pace with the snacks served. Sudhakar and his wife stared at the boy, his wife even walked few times around to have a complete picture of the boy. Every time the boy looked at Sudhakar’s wife he caught her gaping at him, but without any uneasiness she continued her gaze.
“Pakodes are very nice”, the boy commented this to Sudhakar and Sudhakar gave him his tired smile in return. Sudhakar’s wife, Indira, called him with a gesture, which only Sudhakar understood and he went inside for the titter-biter.

“Boy is good, ask him the matter fast. Doesn’t He wants to see the girl?”, Indira asked her husband insistently. These were few occasions when she demanded things from Sudhakar and he nodded his approval.

He came back to his seat and Asked Moorad, “boy wants to meet the girl?’ and looked at the boy. The boy gave Sudhakar a retiring smile and looked at Moorad for confirmation. The boy was guided towards the other room and he entered the room where Sarita stood waiting. The door was slightly slammed. 

to be continued........ very long, so thought of writing in parts....

Thursday, 3 December 2009

Spot me

Hi, The above photo is of us when we went boating in the Kerala backwaters. Its taken in 2005....Spot me in the photograph (Please Click to enlarge). 

Hint: I am the most drunk looking guy. 
Hint 2: 4 guys at the back, standing are houseboat staff.  
Hint 3: Iam posing after meager 3 beers, 6 Taquila shots, 4 large Vodkas, 3 rum & Cokes, and 2 cigars.....lost count......from 9am until around 7pm when the photo was taken.....