my first blog post for 2011--wohooo i am so excited!!

YeY, bloggers- here i come!!.....My soon-to-be-2-year-old-and-feeling-proud-of-it-already daughter.

To all those who are married, are honeymooning after a tirsome Indian wedding , about to get married soon , already are much too married ( and are thinking of the next logical step-No, not divorce silly)-thinking of having babies and are ready with the mis-en-place, if you are in two minds over what t0 choose-boy or a girl?........I strongly recommend a daughter...they are the best thing a man can have in his life.....:)

Arabs are GREAT ( no offence please)

Arabs are indeed a bunch of lucky dudes….Not only because they dig petrol from barren places but also because they can marry as many times as they want to, provided they stick to number 4 by divorcing the odd one out. I have often pondered how it would be to live with 4 wives, all of them young, pretty and HOT, no matter how old you get. Perhaps it’s my testosterone which makes me think this way, but on a humane level I wonder how a man can leave his wife, just like that. Is sex so important in life that you spend a fortune on it? ( an Arab has to shell-out a ton of money as man-dowry).Will my sensitivity allow a thing like this?

The other day, after a bitter fight, I told my wife: If you think you don’t need me, if you think you are better-off without me, then let’s get a divorce. And she agreed on it, and I left the house for office in silence.

After few hours I was all regret and sad and apologetic at my temper, though as they say ‘it takes two to tango’ ( Hindi-taali ek haath se nahi bajti). I looked at my mobile wallpaper and stared at the lady and a small girl in her lap, and thought this is the same woman I thought I loved the most. I thought of all the time spent with her, and I felt sad and had a strong wish to go and hug her.

I don’t think I have enough Arab in me to marry several times. I am an emotional bloody-fool. I am stuck with one woman and will be for the rest of my life. I can never leave her, coz I love her, even if I want to. Even if she tries to divorce me I would beg  her not to leave me. I will climb a water tank, ala Dharmendra in Sholey, and shout suicide warnings and convince her to take me back as husband. Shame on me!

See why I admire Arabs? They are the only true ‘Men’ left in the world and tame enough women to their hearts desire. I wish I was born an Arab, at least in my next birth, and for that reason I believe in reincarnations. Amen.

Why No comments on this Blog?

Keira Knightley

And for several magazines, she is the sexiest woman ALIVE..................Duh!

wow-Google translator is really a funny man

मैं धोनी के लिए खुश हूँ. उसकी पत्नी इतनी सुंदर है, इसलिए घरेलू, तो अच्छी लग रही है और इसलिए ... ... .... और मैं ज्यादा बहुत खुश है कि वह है अंत में खुद को एक से अधिक कारणों के लिए शादी कर रहा हूँ. मेरी पत्नी शुरू में संदेश के लिए ले लिया है जैसे कई-बहुत जन्मों के अंत में उसके प्रेमी गूंगा करने का निर्णय लिया था उसे होशियार किसी के लिए. कम से कम कहने, वह दिल बुरी तरह टूट गया था. वह खाना बनाना और नहीं भी अपनी बेटियों को आश्चर्यजनक रूप से भारी pampers बदलने से इनकार कर दिया था और मैं के लिए मेरे द्वारा पकाया Kitchidi पर जीवित था. मुझे आश्चर्य तो क्या धोनी के बारे में खास है कि मेरी पत्नी की तरह शादी की महिलाओं को अपने sexier और बेहतर पति की तलाश भूलना (कोई गंभीरता से, मैं आईने में एक अपने आप में अच्छा कर इस घटना के बाद लग रहे थे और खुद Hotter धोनी से मिल गया और कई कारणों के लिए ऐसा ही लगता है ). और के रूप में व्यवहार करते हैं अगर वे बस उनके 14 वें जन्मदिन का केक काटा था. कोई आश्चर्य नहीं कि महिलाओं को अभी भी एक पहेली अल्बर्ट आइंस्टीन की राशि नहीं कर रहे हैं! और ई = MC2 इस मुद्दे का समाधान होगा! अचानक जब मैं धोनी की फोटो के ऊपर, मुझे लगता है, जैसे कि, मैं अपनी पत्नी के पूर्व प्रेमी में देख रहा हूँ देखो. ज्यादातर महिलाओं को यह अपने पति को नहीं पहेली, इसमें कोई शक नहीं कर सकते हैं! और अंत में मंदी देश मैं रहते हैं और कारोबार majorly नीचे हैं पर लगा है. मैं गंभीरता से पता है कि जब मेरी विकेट गिर जाएगा नहीं है, लेकिन यह निश्चित रूप से होगा. और कहा कि एक कारण हो सकता है मुझे वापस भारत आने के लिए और अपने दम पर कुछ करना के लिए होगा. एक रेस्तरां या शायद एक डीलरशिप फ्रेंचाइजी /.


And the above is a translation on the below.....which is an excerpt from one of my earlier posts, which could be read here ....:)))



I am happy for Dhoni. His wife is so pretty, so homely, so good looking and so………. And I am much-much happier that he has finally got himself married for more reasons than one. My wife initially took to the message as if her boyfriend of many-many births had finally decided to dumb her for someone smarter. To say the least, she was severely heart broken. She didn’t cook and even refused to change my daughters surprisingly heavy pampers and I had to survive on Kitchidi cooked by me. I wonder what’s so special about Dhoni that married women like my wife forget their sexier and better looking husbands ( no seriously, I had a good look at myself in the mirror after this incidence and found myself Hotter than Dhoni and have many reasons to think so.) and behave as if they had just cut their 14th birthday cake. No Wonder women still are an enigma!No amount of Albert Einstein and E=MC2 will solve this issue! Suddenly when I look at the above Photo of Dhoni, I feel, as if, I am looking at my wife’s ex-boyfriend. Most women can do this to their husbands!Enigma, No doubt! And finally the recession has hit the country I live and the businesses are majorly down. I seriously don’t know when my wicket would fall, but it surely would. And that would be a reason for me to come back to India and do something on my own. A restaurant perhaps or a dealership/Franchisee.

Am i foolish?

Once, when I was a kid, we had gone to Maldives for vacation and I was fooling around with crabs and waves when this man in his 50s came and started having a conversation with me. After the initial ‘is-he-a-pedophile’ and ‘will-he-rape-me-or-do-something-the-other-uncle-tried-doing’ thoughts, we settled beneath the shades of a coconut palm, facing the candy blue lagoon and few European surfers and a can of coca-cola(on the rocks).. During the conversation, which was on hard core spirituality, he told me that the best quality in a man is that he should get bored with life. Buddha got bored, Mahavira got bored, Dhirubhai Ambani got bored, Jamsetji Tata got bored, even Albert Einstein got bored with life. Unless you get bored with life you just live like an Animal( a dog perhaps) and to qualify as humans, the most important condition is that you should get bored. The more you get bored the more human you are and the more easily you get bored the more successful you are. I still haven’t figured the veiled denotation of the above funda, but I think it holds true in life.

I am bored with my life.I now want to run a café in Bangalore or Kochi, which has a casual yet a plush ambiance, which serves different types of mocha, an assortment of Italian delicacies, a combination platter of Indian starters/salad/main course/dessert, a buffet for lunch( or a table d'hôte), and  rest  À la carte. I want to get a bar license (but Not to start with), own a bar which has a lounge serving tequila’s and Kahlúa’s of the world , or even get a franchise for steak/grill  restaurants like ‘Ponderosa’, or even Dairy Queen, Hardees or Applebee’s. Wish me good luck!

Dhoni, his marriage and the recession- How things affect a seemingly normal guy!

I am happy for Dhoni. His wife is so pretty, so homely, so good looking and so………. And I am much-much happier that he has finally got himself married for more reasons than one. My wife initially took to the message as if her boyfriend of many-many births had finally decided to dumb her for someone smarter. To say the least, she was severely heart broken. She didn’t cook and even refused to change my daughters surprisingly heavy pampers and I had to survive on Kitchidi cooked by me.

I wonder what’s so special about Dhoni that married women like my wife forget their sexier and better looking husbands ( no seriously, I had a good look at myself in the mirror after this incidence and found myself Hotter than Dhoni and have many reasons to think so.) and behave as if they had just cut their 14^th birthday cake. No Wonder women still are an enigma!No amount of Albert Einstein and E=MC2 will solve this issue! Suddenly when I look at the above Photo of Dhoni, I feel, as if, I am looking at my wife’s ex-boyfriend. Most women can do this to their husbands!Enigma, No doubt!

And finally the recession has hit the country I live and the businesses are majorly down. I seriously don’t know when my wicket would fall, but it surely would. And that would be a reason for me to come back to India and do something on my own. A restaurant perhaps or a dealership/Franchisee.

I am already an established crackpot, but these days it looks like I am the only one in my company who is recession resistant. All my colleagues are shit scared of losing jobs but here I am, happy that it would open another window for me.Below are some quotes to hold up myself.

“When one door closes another door opens, but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.”

- Alexander Graham Bell –

Or in other words….

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one, which has been opened for us.”

- Helen Keller -

But are these words just words for the sake of forming some quotable quotes, so that we remember the famous personality who quoted them? Is THINKING BIG an over hyped thing?

Man, I will never see an end to my self doubts!

And, Its become very hot here. The sand is mostly so hot that you could roast peanuts on them. Or to provide a better picture, apply some spices on your hand and stand in the sun for half hour,then  take a bite of  your hand and it would taste like chicken from KFC. That was an exaggeration on a grand scale, but it’s so hot that you can at least make fried eggs by breaking eggs on my terrace….

"Few things about me, untold until now…..": -Part 2

CUT to the Year 2000!!Fresh out of college and just joined the “first-job” of my life. No worries, no commitments, no I-supported-you-till-now-now-you-support-me parents, no loans, no credit cards, no girlfriend/wife to please, and life, presumably, one silky-smooth ride. After a harsh 16 years of studies, I believed, that my moment too had arrived. No more pocketmoneyworries, no more papa-please-buy-me-this and no-you-useless-fellow-you-will-make-me-go-bankrupt tensions!

As with life, my heart too was soft and as infusible as a 3M sponge cleaner. Testosterone flowed, as if the dam which stopped its flow abruptly burst. Life was inspired by the teachings of Osho and Buddha. Zen was the norm of the moment. Life was mere moment one lived.Nothing more nothing less. True and only Happiness came in living in the moment. Worldly desire was the mother-in-law of suffering. And Greed was its first cousin.

 The moment I walked into the office my eyes searched for anything pretty-in-a-drape.

“Okey,Manoj. Welcome to XYZ Ltd.Being your first day, take it easy.we will start with Induction tomorrow. Just get familiarize with the place and people today. Mini, Please show him around. Let me know if you need anything! ”

My boss said, pointing towards the prettiest thing I had seen in at least a week’s time. Mini,that was her name: My boss’s executive secretary.

I muttered to myself with a sigh, “Aah, what a life. Is this what is work-life that most people blot?This is wonderful. Too good to be true.What a boss, what a beautiful colleague, what an office”.

“Come Manoj.We will show you around and then we will get into your job details.” Mini said directing me to follow her. I fought to keep the pace with her. She sprinted as if she was on engine powered skating wheels.She showed me around as if she owned the place and had been around all her life. I realized that all pretty things in drape are not the potential-for-romance types.She turned out to be the first person I got acquainted with in my professional life and also the type with whom I liked to keep a distance.

In the process of getting to know my colleagues I met Nayan and Sharan. They had rented a 3 bedroom house near the office and invited me to join  them. I was staying with an Uncle and had wanted to flee ASAP.The invitation sounded godsent. At the next available chance I moved with them.

The house was an archetype of luxury, at least for the lesser mortals that we were then;The out-of-college-ness and under management training stipend. The house consisted of Three large rooms with attached bathrooms. It was after years that I had the whole bathroom to myself, a stark dissimilarity to our 1-for-50 hostel bathrooms. Blue tiles, a hand held shower and a bathtub, finest European style WC-Aaaaahaa, finally I was living my toilet dream.An escape from the 6am routine and waiting for my turn to use the toilet. The feeling of utter  helplessness when one has to wait outside the loo with 10 ATM pressure building under the tummy and the only wish in life is to ease the pressure as if it was some death wish came rolling into my memory. What an ultimate luxury.Really, small things like a personal toilet does matter in life when one knows what it’s to stand for minute after minute, with such hellish pressures in ones stomach.

It was the second day of my moving in and I already had a feeling of Bonne hominess. Nayan came with a bottle of Bacardi and the couch in the Hall became our makeshift Bar.2 pegs, 3, and then 4 and finally the bottle was only air filled. I was drunk! Not pissed drunk but drunk! We looked at each other and out of my drunkenness everyone else looked stone-sober.I pretended To be equally sober.

More about it later…….

Few things about me, untold until now…..

When did I first see her? No answer to this question. I probably saw her in an unobserved, overlooked kind-of way, but, during the course of the year, somewhere, somehow along the line fell for that unmistakable charm. Simi Venugopal-That was her name, and after twenty years I still remember her name as if it were the name of someone whom I met every other day and had no chance of forgetting. 

I observed her whenever I could. When I stood in the school assembly, my eyes unintentionally scanned the place for a look of her.I would gaze at her and marvel at her beauty. It was some sort of meditation which lifted me above everything else that existed in and around me. A sort of extrasensory communication existed between us. I literally sent her emails through telepathy and she returned my mails promptly. 

She was no ordinary beauty. In fact she was so extraordinarily beautiful that none of my friends found her pretty enough to give a second look. I was even laughed at for my lousy taste. Dark woman with Glasses.”Have you gone mad?”….But as they say, love is blind, so was I.I was blind and also Mad!

I would wait in the bus stand for the 8.30am bus when she was likely to alight from one of the city buses, having reached in a private bus ahead of my 9 am School bus. To the doubts of my parents, I would simply reply, “Maths tuition dad! So much in syllabus but so little time. Teachers say unless she takes extra classes we will never complete the portions.” My ever suspecting Dad would gawk through the top of his reading glasses, Perhaps muttering to himself, “ Beta, don’t teach your father to screw. After all he is your baap.” Quietly, I followed her till the school, and she would occasionally turn to admit my presence, smiling in return.

I would walk several times to catch a glimpse of her during the periods and she would do the same to attract my attention. My heart palpitated when she appeared before me.I would fear that the world would hear my heartbeats. At least the school would and would also read my thoughts. Songs from chitrahar sounded as if the lyricist had written them keeping us in mind. All the sappy words meant more than what they actually meant when the lyricist wrote them. White doves fluttered, roses swayed as if out of extra load of the dew drops, green grass with tiny orbs of mist sensuously massaged the feet, and wind carried scent as if perpetually air freshened, even still air of the class room felt like cool breezes from the Arabian Sea. 

I prayed to gods of all the corners of the heaven and even the satans of the hell to come to my rescue. I Prayed, “ Oh Krishna, the lord of romance and love, please help me. Make her come to me and accept me. I love her and you know it. You are antheryami, you know everything. Help me and I will stop coming to you every nowandthen .Lord, this is the only time I will ask your help, please if she becomes mine, I would visit Guruvayoor and offer you a KG of Butter. Whichever brand you wish!” 

But I had no courage to go to her and drain my heart. I doubted if she would reject me at once. I had no idea then that beauty was skin deep or if it was deeper till the hypodermis or some other layer of the body.I looked several times at myself in the mirror and made a decisive observation that I needed little more than mere courage. If I would have had the courage to propose her I would have been a different man with a different wife. But as they say it all happens for good, so was in my case. 

But when I look back I do go through fits of wistful nostalgia. The boy I was; hyper romantic, shy, sensitive and emotional. A far cry from the greedy, insensitive, dominating, idiotic, and self obsessed man that was to become of that good natured boy I was. 

P.s: This is wriiten in jest.Please don’t take things at face value. Suggest to add doses of salt-pepper.Ciao

Happy B'Day to me !

I was born on the 7^th of May,  more than three decades ago. I know,SHIT! Am old (my hairs have already started graying, though I feel it’s sexy to have a salt-pepper hair).However, not-so-long-ago, I was not so old.

I was born on a Friday, sometime in the morning. The day was pleasant, though a bit hot, but much less hot owing to the reason that we didn’t have much global warming back then. As usual, the sun emerged out of the sea, sometime past 6 and awakened the world.My Dad, out of previous night’s fatigue of not having slept the whole night, decided, that he could do with a cup of tea. He called his Father-in-law(my grand father) and officially appointed him the guard to my anytime-on-labor mother. And as it always happens (more often in movies), the moment my father left for the much needed cuppa, my mother announced her decision to go on labor. Thus I was born, much unannounced, much welcomed nevertheless.

But my story starts much before the start of my mother’s labor. I was conceived roughly nine months prior to the above mentioned day, out of love my father had for my mother. And the love was cemented and put on government registers 2 years before that fateful day when the seeds-of-love was sowed and the universe conspired with Einstein’s space-time to create me, exactly at the stroke of   09.15am.

I had a tough time coming out to the world. The world sympathized with the pain my mother went through in bringing me to the world. But what about me? Not a word of solace. The narrow fallopian tube squeezed me as if I was some carrot passing through a juicer. Seriously!

I was put confined to a dark, intimidating sack for the first nine months of my life, fed intravenously through a tube fitted to my tummy. The place was so dark and silent that it made me feel as if I was out somewhere in the space, between the andromeda galaxy and the milky way. Only sounds were the heart beats of my mother, which sounded like some African percussion instrument given to a child to play. And the food was so tasteless that I had no impression of having eaten anything for the whole nine months. But I had no rat race, no competition, no ego, no this, no that…!I had a lazy long sleep, nine month long sleep, only kicked the walls of the sack few times to make sure I was alive; Or to show the world that I was alive and kicking.

When I was born I was completely covered with a sticky, jelly-like liquid which though to protect me from infection, was so below the grooming standards that I had to yell at the nurse to clean me up. That was the first instance I showed my diplomatic side to the world; my yelling was taken to be cute and the nurse couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Then I saw her peep into my between-the-leg device and shout, “it’s a boy, It’s a boy!”.I was officially declared a boy, having ended nine month old anticipation.

My journey started from that very day, technically, and it passed through several hairpin bends, patchy roads, shaky bridges, and also through some real beautiful Kashmir valleys ( minus Lashkar-e-thaiba). I made friends, who separated every time my Army officer father got a transfer, slowly dissolving into the boundaries of memory like the sun which disappeared into the horizon and reemerged later into another sunrise, through Facebook or Orkut.

A pristine me, as pristine as the word pristine could define, created after a great effort of nine months in the darkest and quietest parts of the universe, soon got tarnished through layers and layers of data that was forced upon me through years and years of schooling and tutoring…..turned into what I call me, writing this stupid birthday post. A rosy, soft, untainted me, who knew not even what hunger meant suddenly had to cry, having suddenly learnt that only a “crying baby gets the milk”. Thus started my cry, cry for food, cry for attention, cry for love, cry for money, cry for salary raise, cry for promotion….a life of crying.a career of crying.

Then was the pursuit of happiness.  Happiness came to me naturally when I was born, when my mother placed my tiny mouth over her breast, when she touched my coiled and tightened little fingers,  when I was shown a crow, or a cat, when I was given a toy car which moved every time the keys were turned, when she lifted me and rubbed her nose on mine, or even when I wetted my knickers.

But with years belting under my skin, it was tough being happy, or truly happy.It became clear that grinning was one thing but actually being happy was another. Or is it, to quote the chorus of Oedipus:”Call no man happy until he is dead”….

(P.S: Just writing for the sake of writing, I am happy. In fact I was never so happy in life. One can never be happy unless he is content with his life. unless one reflect on life and realize that unless there is night, there is no beauty in a sunrise.)

I Wish myself a happy birthday….

Random Motivational Post ((Pssst-Click on them for better view and xtra motivation)

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

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.

Sigh of relief

Arun kissed on her forehead. He could see her eyes roll upward. She was sweating. Tiny drops of sweat lined above her thin lips. She wiped it with her kerchief. He kissed her lips. She pushed him away.

‘w-h-a-t?’ he asked, frowning.

‘ No, you gone mad?’ She said, smiling.

‘W-H-Y?’ he asked, visibly upset.

‘No, Not today Arun. I am not prepared.’ She said.

‘Please, w-h-y?’ .
‘ Its dangerous today.Not today Arun.’ She said, smiling, trying to sound persuasive.

He caught her hair and pulled towards him. He kissed again on her lips. His hands circled her. There was no stopping him, passion had masked him. He was already aroused. She tried to push him away, but he was much stronger. She had to give in. He was kissing her neck. She felt his hands on her back, massaging her gently. She too felt passion sweep inside her. Her grasp on his shirt got weaker by the minute.

He was unbuttoning her shirt. She resisted, but there was no way he could be stopped. He slid his hands and caressed her breasts. He pulled her shirt. He kissed on her navel.

The rotating fan looked down at the two naked bodies; it could see passion disgorge into the air like steam from a cooker. It continued to look down at the two naked bodies with yearn. Skin rubbed against skin, curves took the place of starkness, and hands felt and stroked the curves.

He stopped abruptly. He lifted himself and walked towards the chair on which hung his blue Jeans. He pulled his wallet and searched. A blue sachet of Condom emerged. The neck of the sachet was slit, which revealed a pink, rubbery, moist and lubricated condom. It took a silhouette.

The fan continued to look down at the bed below with longing. The couple looked like one conjugated corpse, bunged in between by sudden jerks. Arun stopped in between, as if exhausted. After a while he continued. A sudden roar followed, muscles tightened, hand-clasps stiffened.

The bodies separated, the oneness stopped, separateness creaked. Two naked mortals lied close to each other; devoid of passion; ceased with lust.

Two weeks passed since the Fan last saw Shalini in his room. It disapproved the ways of the humanity; the adulterated relationships, the lust for flesh, the shortness of human remembrance. It remembered how Arun had vowed his fiancé few days back, and how Shalini had spoken about her boyfriend who lived in Bangalore. The fan had seen many couples, some in love, some were just couples, and some were married. Yet it was confused about Arun and Shalini. “What were they? None of it that I knew, Just that they worked in an office together. They were just colleagues. And yet they behaved for a short time, as if they were married, as if they were in love” It said to itself.

It remembered the short conversation in between the lovemaking.

“I love you Shalini.” Arun had whispered.

“What? What did you just say?” She had asked.

“ No, I just meant that in case you get pregnant, don’t worry, I will marry you. Only if your boyfriend rejects, that is.” He had said.

“Stop-It . In your dream will I marry you. Have you looked into a mirror?” She had screamed.

It was a Sunday morning and he was awakened by the ringing of his mobile phone. He sluggishly picked his phone. It was as if a bombshell had exploded that Arun mounted from his bed and shouted.

“w-h-a-t?”

‘”I think I am Pregnant. I missed my....”, She repeated, sounding more distressed and dramatic.

“No, I mean, It can’t be possible. I used condoms.” He was rubbing his eyes as an obscurity had enveloped his vision.

“ What do you mean? “ She sounded annoyed.
“ No. amm, I mean, check once again. It may be a delayed thing.” He said.

All hell froze when she told him that she had confirmed using a pregnancy detector. The two lines were very obvious and clear.

There was no mistake. She was pregnant. He couldn’t think of an answer. He remembered how he had pulled the condom out in between. It was his mistake.

“I am an Idiot, I am a bloody fool”, He cursed.

“What do we do now? Abortion?” he asked in his most composed voice. She was furious to hear about abortion. She sounded greatly upset. She cut the line.

He couldn’t think; his head was spinning. His eyes turned red and he could feel his heart palpitate.

He thought of several options. “What do I do now?” he asked himself, loud enough for the fan to hear.

He imagined breaking the news to his parents. He wasn’t sure how his father would react. He was engaged, he was to marry in few months time. It would be utter chaos.

He had no other way. He had no escape. He knew Shalini would never agree for an abortion.

He would have to marry her. He would have to break his engagement. Otherwise the news would spread like wild fire. He would never be able to walk into his office. He could never face his relatives. He could never face his colleagues. He felt blood rush into his head. He could feel his head spin. He felt tired and restless.

He looked upwards, towards the fan and fell onto the bed. He will have to speak to Shalini and solve the matter.

He tried calling her. Her phone was switched off. He was restless.

He walked aimlessly.

He sat on the bed. He dialed her number again. It was switched off. He messaged her. The message went undelivered. He resent the message and again it failed.

He walked restlessly in his room, the soft breeze from the fan gently brushing his hair.

He sat on the chair and switched-on the laptop. He tied his hands around his head and looked contemplatively at the fan.

He opened his Gmail account and started composing a mail.

My Dear Shalini, 

I am very sorry for what has happened, more so for the reason that I am responsible for it. I know I have done a mistake and I take the responsibility. I would certainly be with you every minute, every moment, and would like to accept you. I would like to marry you, if you agree for it. Please call me as soon as you read this mail. We shouldn't delay it any further and risk the consequences of it, on our relationship, on our future child.

Thanks dear, I love you. 

Yours, 

Arun 

He was about to click on the send option when he noticed the date. It was first of the month. There was something strange about the date. It was fourth month of the year. It took another few seconds for him to realize that he may have been terribly fooled.

He noticed his phone ring and jumped to collect it. He could hear her faint groans of laughter and he knew he could take a deep sigh of relief.

hello friends, how are you doing? Hope alls fine at ur end.

I just noticed that I haven’t written much on this blog for long….so thought of posting something real quick…..

My updates:

Pretty mundane life, like it was since I started having memory. Life seems like a long chase for wealth accumulation. And the only goal in life is to be rich before 45. I plan to buy my second apartment soon and again this time too without any kind of Loan. I am allergic to loans, or rather it’s a kindof phobia which I feel is good to have. But before that I need a car for me in India, and I am confused which one to buy? Or will have to listen to my wife: Why do we need to buy a Chai-Shop to have a glass-tumbler of Tea? Makes sense though, considering we come home for 30 days in a year for vacation.

And I think I am missing a vacation in this tussle of materialism. I have joined a mutual fund scheme for the sole purpose of vacation, that is, in 2012 when it matures.  I would go to New-Zealand when I get the money without burrowing a hole in my as-such worn leather wallet.

My daughter is 8 months old but easily the naughtiest in a radius of several hundred kilometers. Her fav pass time is to see her mom sweat in the cold Kerala rainy weather. And of course chewing on the  un-chewables like telephone cable when her mom is speaking to her dad.  She has started on solid food and is on a special royal diet of mashed rice, drops of homemade ghee, papadams, boiled potatoes and carrots. She eats only if the entertainment- quotient is in the right proportions, like the crow her mama shows is dark enough or the white cat meows in support.

She has two shiny and pearly teeth on top and bottom gums , and plans to make good use of them on her mom and granny. The other day she bit her mother’s fingers and her mom almost cried.

Job-wise it’s the most dreaded season of appraisals and KRA’s. I hate Novembers for this reason. Next years emoluments  depends on one signature of my boss, and how I hate to be reliant of him. I am waiting for that one day in my life when I would decide the fate of few men who work for me. Yes I want to be self employed and that’s what I meant by retirement at 45 and not the retirement my father took from government service at the age of 60.

Ciao, that’s all for now. Have more to write but laziness doesn’t consent me to go on. So maybe next time.

Ayyo, Zillion come back with his wrong-place ripped!!!!!!

I am back after a short, Kutti ( small in mallu) break. It wasn’t a break, and i had no say in the break. I was on a hectic trip, which was hectic and kick-ass. It was kick-ass, bcoz my ass was figuratively getting kicked, if not quite literally. Sorry, for the unparliamentarily usage of certain cuss words, but my trip would have been confrontational for the most staunch parliamentarians of any era.

And my ass-kicking aint over yet. I have to make a PP presentation, which is a tad more meaningful per se , to the above mentioned cuss word. BTW, i had a round trip of the world, From Bahrain-Dubai-Doha-Istanbul-back to Bahrain, if you call this round the world, though it was nothing short of a world trip by its sheer displeasure.

The best thing that happened in my life, during this short trip, was that I walked into the duty-free shop and stumbled over this book called Disgrace, by Nobel Price and twice Booker prize winner J.M.Coetzee. In fact, this particular book won the 1999 booker, which i wasn’t aware of, until i Wikipedia-ed his name.

Those of you who have read J.M Coetzee may ignore this, but if you haven’t , then you should sprint, and grab it at the available shortest moment of time. Go grab a book by this writer and though i wont say that your life would be changed for ever, it certainly would make a lasting impression on you.

If i have frightened you by mentioning Nobel and Booker prizes, then i must say that he is one of the easiest to read writers; by Salman Rushdie Standards, but i would say he falls even below in the readability factor, even easier than V.S Naipaul to show comparisons. The book has subtle philosophical jaunts, that are highly tangible and the narrative has a thriller like gripping quality. Said that, i would add that it would help, if one stops and shows some respect to the philosophical contend and not merely read like any thriller.

The first thing i noticed about the book was the narration, which throughout the book was in the present-tense, as if the story is unfolding at the very moment that the reader is reading. The plot is unique. Its about a professor, David Lurie, who is twice divorced: seduces one of his students. And doesn’t do much to protects himself from its consequences. The girl, though gives in willingly, later makes a racket owing to her own personal troubles, and the Professor who is in his 50s and has a 25 year old daughter, is disgraced. The college forms an inquiry committee, but the professor accepts all the charges without any opposition, is dismissed and leaves the city. He drops in at his daughters farm and starts living with her.

An extract is added below to give an example of subtle philosophies the book is filled of.:

He continues to teach because it provides him with a livelihood; also because it teaches him humility, brings it home to him who he is in the world. The irony does not escape him: that the one who comes to teach learns the keenest lessons, while those who come to learn nothing. It is a feature of his profession on which he does not remark to Soraya. He doubts there is an irony to match it in hers.

Suraya is a prostitute that he was frequenting, and her leaving the town and refusing to meet him further leads him towards the main event of the story, the instance when he seduces his student, Melanie Isaac.

He starts helping her in her farm and starts to get to his usual life, comes to harmonizing terms with his newly attained life. But the harmony and peace lasts for a short time and the farm and their house is attacked by a gang of 3 raucous attackers, who ransack the place, pour spirit over David and sets him on fire. His daughter Lucy is raped. Professor escapes with burns and his daughter is traumatized.
The later part of the story is that of coming to terms with a disgraced life and the trauma of violence, the transfer of power the country is going through, post- apartheid, and the after effects, leading to the differences in the lives of South African Junta. The story is also about the change in relationships; trauma and violence that leads to it and the surviving instincts of humans. The evident philosophy and inner profundity of the novel is of Disgrace, redemption, extreme alternations of relations in tensions , salvation and ruin.

NOTE: I didn’t yawn even once, and on the contrary, couldn’t keep the novel aside, other than to eat, sleep, and few other things not worth mentioning.

I don’t know why my interest in literature has accrued certain deviations oflate, and it seems to be variable and parabolic towards terrorism, politics and political vandalism; and converse survival resists of the poor, and also sadly benevolent , but i undoubtedly enjoyed this book. I vastly vouch for Mr. Coetzee, though i have a speck of bias towards Naipaul. It May be bcoz i havet yet read the best of Coetzee, which i very well plan to, in immediate future.

J.M.Coetzee has inched into my favourite writers league, the league in which Naipaul and Rushdie dwell , and i look forward to more of his books, especially Life & Times of Michael K.


I highly recommend this book and the writer.Alas, sadly the book had only 210 (roughly) pages which got turned in much shorter time, much too shorter for a $ 12.8 book.



Ciao all.