Life As A Duck

I have never wanted to be a duck. Even at my imaginative best when I was a kid, I never really wanted to be a duck. Though, I might’ve fantasised about being a dog. My own dog, that is. I always wanted to skip school and more so during the winters. Every morning when I used to wake up, I always got jealous of my dog because she always slept till late cuddled inside the warm blanket. I’m still jealous of my current dog. Layla spends 18 hours out of the 24 inside the bed. I want that life.

An Open Letter To Ted Mosby

Dear Daddy,

We’re writing to you today because we’ve had enough. We’ve been sitting on this couch for about 8 years now and we’ve got blisters on our butts. Our lower bodies are completely paralysed since we have not been able to get up from this place since you started to tell us the story of how you met our mother. Frankly, we don’t want to know anymore.

My First Time

I was never really a sharp kid and I always had average looks. I never socialised too much with people neither did I have an attractive personality that people would come talk to me. My confidence was usually on the lower side and I never really had the motivation to take big steps in life.

I know I’m pretty old now, 27 years and 5 months or so. But it’s never too late to start over, right? I’m sure there have been people experiencing their first time who’re even older than me. I never judged them. I was actually never in a position to judge anyone since I hadn’t myself done anything worthwhile in life. I had imagined myself doing it a lot, heard from my friends’ experiences, my parents’ experience, them showing me evidence and what not. It left a deep wound and permanent scars in my mind. Those images are still etched vividly inside my head and I can’t seem to let those memories go.

14 Ways To Apologise

There are plenty of ways in which we apologise after knowingly or unknowingly hurting someone, screwing up, spilling coffee, or Tweeting shit. Some take the orthodox route but some really show their creativity in doing so. Here are 13 different ways in which people can apologise:

1. Sacrifice a Horse: In ancient culture, this was a pretty common practice. Nowadays, a little less common, but still very effective. I don’t think any man would be pissed off at his woman if she hunts a horse and presents its head to her man.
   
   
2. Do the Chicken Dance: Nobody looks more idiotic than a person doing the chicken dance. It is the ultimate public torture which has no equals whatsoever. Give up and agree to do the dance to wash away all your sins.
   
   
3. Comb Anil Kapoor's Hair: It is known to have killed many a men. Plenty women have disappeared, too. Scores are required each morning to comb Anil Kapoor’s body hair as he walks out of the bath. Only the bravest take up this challenge. Do it and you shall be forgiven.
   
   
4. Walk Like an Egyptian: This popular song celebrates the ancient Egyptian torture of walking like an Egyptian. Although, no known Egyptian is known to have ever walked like this out of will. Three rounds of walking like an Egyptian in your colony in full public view is what your friends need when they catch you stealing their money.
   
   
5. Dress Like Govinda: He has embarrassed himself, his family and his colleagues from the Indian Film Industry all his life. It’s time to embarrass yourself if you have wronged someone. Dress like him and show the world that you suffer too.
   
   
6. Don't Pee/Shit for a Day: No human is capable enough of holding one’s own pee or shit inside his/her body for so long. Either dirty your pants, or don’t go to the loo at all for a day. Either way, repent for your wrongdoings!
   
   
7. Sleep with Rakhi Sawant: It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman, if you can survive a night with Rakhi Sawant, you will be forgiven for even the gravest of crimes!
   
   
8. Eat Vegetarian Food: Tinda. Tori. Kaddu. Karela. Baingan. Lauki. Gheeya. Tori. Kaddu. Karela. Eat all this. Cry.
   
   
9. Say You’re Sorry and Mean It: The most difficult out of the lot. Most people don’t take this route for obvious reasons. But if you do get the courage to do so, I’d say, go ahead with it, it’s the best way to ask for forgiveness, and the result is always positive. Try it.
   
10. Sleep with Laloo Prasad Yadav: Just imagine doing it. Just imagine. That should be enough. Just imagine nibbling on his ear. Oh the flow of his hair growing from inside his ears. If you can imagine this and not puke, you’re not all bad.
    
    
11. Act with Sonam Kapoor: She could’ve played the role of dead Satish Shah in Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro beautifully. Now try and spend 3 hours on the big screen in front of a candle. Talk to the candle. Kiss the candle. Make love to the candle. People WILL pity you.
    
    
12. Take a dip in the Holy Ganges: There’s muck and shit and piss and puke all over, around and in it. There are dead bodies and ashes to give your company. How about men and women and children bathing and washing clothes? After all this is done, take a dip in the water. Oh now I understand why you’re washed away off all your sins. Hmmm.
    
    
13. Be Kamaal R Khan: You’re a guy with no life, no friends, no work, no job, no girls, no skills, no talent, no looks, no creativity, no class, no respect, no standing, no popularity. You’re Kamaal R Khan. You’re forgiven.
    
    
14. Watch an Imtiaz Ali film starring Shahid Kapoor: This is my personal favourite. If I have sinned, if I need to punish myself, I will watch an Imtiaz Ali film. If I have to make it worse for me, I will watch an Imtiaz Ali film starring Shahid Kapoor. Forgive me please?
    

23 Reasons Why It Sucks Working For A Big Company

Working for a big company, or an MNC, has its perks. It also has a downside. I personally don’t prefer such establishments so much. Let me elaborate why. Here are 23 reasons why it sucks working for a big company:

1. Timings – Strangely, it’s a problem if you arrive even a minute late, but it’s no problem when you spend 8 hours extra or leave at 4 in the morning.
   
2. Holidays – Are we back in school that we write letters and get approvals for leaves? And only an idiot could’ve made the rule that adds Saturday and Sunday as holidays too if you take a leave on Friday and Monday.
   
3. Dress Code – I want to be comfortable when I work. I want to wear shorts. I want to take off my slippers. But I can’t do that because I’m not wearing any shorts and my slippers are at home. It’s tough to take off a suit, and frankly, too much effort.
   
4. Hierarchy – Again, are we back in school that we have to refer to our seniors as Sir and Madam like we used to call out our teachers?
   
   
5. Politics – A wise politician was once asked why did he leave his comfortable MNC job and he said this “There was too much politics going on there…”
   
   
6. Policies – Companies have more policies than the nation of India. Be it regarding leaves, late coming, dress codes, internet, etc. There are just way too many of it, more than half of which are usually not followed.
   
   
7. Rules – Don’t eat at your desk. Don’t click pictures. Don’t make noise. Because this is a concentration camp.
   
   
8. Taxes – The bigger the company the bigger the amount of tax that’ll be cut from your salary. PF would be compulsory, gratuity will mature only after 5 years and taxation overall will be a bitch.
   
   
9. The Corporate Feel – It sucks. Plain and simple. I don’t want to head into a block of concrete and work as a suit wearing slave.
   
   
10. Meetings – The favourite pastime of senior management. A meeting for anything and everything. A junior took a dump twice in the same day? Let’s hold a 4 hour long meeting.
    
    
11. Processes – What’s with all the paperwork and processes, man? I know it’s a required when the size of a company grows but it’s such a pain in the ass and what a royal waste of everyone’s time.
    
    
12. Restrictions – You can’t browse the Internet. You can’t log on to Facebook or Twitter. GOD! As if I don’t have a smartphone with me and I can’t do these things otherwise! Also, you can't smoke lest you start a fire!
    
    
13. Locations – Have you noticed how these new and upcoming places are all outside the city? Be it Gurgaon, ITPL, Hinjewadi, Navi Mumbai; it’s all lifeless.
    
    
14. Culture – What culture? You can’t overshadow the hours of slavery we all put in by making a stupid Rangoli!
    
    
15. Intolerance – These places are so strict that even if you crack a sexist joke, they’ll probably fire you. It’s a joke for heaven’s sake.
    
    
16. Comfort Zones – What’s up with these? I know it sounds good that you got bean bags and beds. But we all know what it’s actually for. You want us to work day AND night. Wait. I should get my bags and move into the office.
    
    
17. Non-Existence – In a pool of 1500 people, nobody knows your name.
    
    
18. Morning Rituals – The worst part of the day is in the morning when you feel like a labour when you swipe/punch your card to let the machines know you have arrived.
    
    
19. HR – A job that can be done by monkeys. Plain and simple.
    
    
20. Creativity Killer – Restriction is the key. Do you job and nothing else. That’s the mantra. Creativity is for junkies.
    
    
21. Foreign Influence – When foreigners come and take a dig and tell you how amazing you guys are. We are just doing double the work in half the time for half the money. What do they understand?
    
    
22. Skill Murderer – Time to make the learning curve go down.
    
    
23. Humanity – Thanks to all the politics and the cut-throat competition, you forget you are human.
    
    

A Ban On Dry Days

After a manic Monday and a tiring Tuesday you get a break on a Wednesday. It’s a midweek off. You just want to kick back and relax at home. Or maybe you want to head out and grab a peaceful drink on a sunny autumn afternoon. You deliberately don’t want to drink at night because you have work on Thursday, you’re a responsible employee.

You wake up at 12 and get ready to head out. Be it your local ‘theka’ aka ‘Wine and Beer Shop’ or your neighbourhood pub; you find both the establishments shut. Why? It’s Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi’s birthday. You Bapu allows you to drink beer but this time ‘round some other Bapu is forcing you not to. It’s not because of the Mahatma’s philosophy or beliefs; it’s just a petty way through which the Indian Government can feel strong and in control.

On exactly those days when people get some extra relief in the form of a midweek holiday, the government decides to spoil it for them. It’s not like drinking is illegal on a dry day per se, only buying is. One can buy and stock alcohol a day before a dry day and then drink later when all the shops and pubs are shut. It’s idiotic. Drinking is not illegal, buying is. They’re not trying to put a stop to drinking but only making people’s lives more difficult by causing this inconvenience. This also forces people to spend more by buying liquor from the borders and bootleggers. Don’t forget the risk of procuring illicit liquor and putting the body in harm’s way.

• Guru Ravidas Birthday
• Swami Dayanand Saraswati Jayanti
• Maha Shivratri
• Good Friday
• Ram Navami
• Mahavir Jayanti
• Buddha Purnima
• Janamashtmi
• Maharishi Valmiki’s Birthday
• Muharram
• Guru Nanak’s Birthday
• Guru Teg Bahadur’s Martyrdom Day

These are just some of the official dry days in Delhi. There are the usual Eid, Dussehra, Diwali and other national holidays, which I had mentioned earlier. On all these days and more, like voting days, etc., all booze shops are shut. On the three big national holidays, even pubs are not allowed to serve liquor. How is this fair to someone who does not celebrate any of these days? And what if one ‘celebrates’ by drinking?

It’s only in Delhi that the government is so strict. Of course, I am not counting Gujarat, which is a completely dry state. My personal experiences in Maharashtra and Karnataka have been quite different. It’s not as absurd there as it is here in Delhi. Here it’s like they’ll keep a dry day on the day some great personality ended his dry run and had sex with an actual girl some 80 years back.

I don’t understand the purpose of dry days. They don’t stop anyone from drinking liquor, only a little difficult. They’re not on those people’s birth anniversaries who condoned the act of drinking. If the government actually thinks that drinking is immoral or such; how will dry days help? Just for the record, in my humble opinion, drinking is not immoral. It’s a lifestyle choice. Just like smoking. Just like eating non-vegetarian food.

I call for a ban on dry days. Do you?

Delhi Police Haaye Haaye

It was Friday and I’d had a hectic day at work when I came home and saw a huge tent right opposite my apartment. I figured it was some religious thing since it was in the middle of the road right next to a nallah, which is apparently a tributary of the Yamuna river. It was about 9-10 at night and I was hoping it’d end soon. In the meanwhile, I found out from a friend of mine that this was the famous Chhath Puja. I was annoyed and I decided to pour myself a drink.

I shut the door and the windows tightly. I poured myself a drink and increased the volume of the music I was listening to. It was 11 PM and the noise from the tent only increased with time. I tried to stay patient but I was losing my cool. I’d anyway had a long day at work and when I came home to relax I found this crap going on. By 11:30 PM by head was splitting and alcohol wasn’t helping either. I decided to call the cops.

“Hello... Blah blah... You call is on hold. Please stay on the line... x 15”

I shit you not. I was on hold for the longest time and then I gave up. Or maybe the call got cut automatically, I don’t really remember. I called again.

“Hello... Blah blah... You call is on hold. Please stay on the line... x 7”

“Hello main dilli police se bol rahi hoon. Main aapki kya sahayata kar sakti hoon?

“Ji. Yeh main mayur vihar se bol raha hoon. Mere ghar ke saamne yeh do ghanto se tent laga hai. Udhar shor sharaba ho raha hai. Naach gaana ho raha hai. Loudspeaker laga hai. Aur jahan tak mere ko malum hai, 11 PM ke baad yeh sab allowed nahi hai na?”

“Sir hamare paas already complaint aa chuki hai. Yeh Chhath Puja chal rahi hai. Ho jayega na thodi der mein khatm.”

“Achha... Theek hai... Main thoda aur intezar karta hoon...”

That was it. She was rude and she was trying to justify what was happening there. This wasn’t the help I was expecting. I poured another drink, a big one this time, and switched from classic rock to heavy metal for further distraction. To my surprise, it still wasn’t enough and the noise from outside still overshadowed everything. I went to the balcony and took another look and saw more and more people coming in towards the tent. It felt like the party was about to begin. It was 12:30 AM and I decided to call the cops again.

“Hello... Blah blah... You call is on hold. Please stay on the line... x 9”

“Hello. Haanji main XYZ bol rahi hoon. Main aapki kya sahayata kar sakti hoon?”

“Haanji. Main Mayur Vihar se bol raha hoon. Aur yahan kaafi samay se bahar shor ho ra...”

“Aap Dilli se bol rahe hain?”

“Ji...”

“Yeh Faridabad hai... 011 laga ke 100 dial karein...”

“Hello?”

She hung up. I was appalled. I don’t know why I was connected to the Faridabad line and why they couldn’t transfer me to the correct one. I was losing my cool and I was to burn that tent down. I didn’t have enough petrol neither did I have want to go to jail. I called them again, this time, with the area code. It was 1 AM now.

“Hello... Blah blah... You call is on hold. Please stay on the line... x 13”

“Hello. Main Dilli Pulis se bol rahi hu. Main aapki kya sahayata kar sakti hoon?”

“Haanji. To main Mayur Vihar se bol raha hoon. Yahan pe mere ghar ke saamne ek tent laga hai. Udhar kai ghanto se loud music aur shor sharaba mach raha hai. Abhi ek baj gaya hai.”

“Aap kis area se bol rahe hain?”

“Ji, Mayur Vihar... New Ashok Nagar metro station ke paas...”

“Achha...”

“Haan... To yeh dikkat kar raha hai. Kaafi samay se chal raha hai. Ab late bhi ho gaya hai... Sone mein dikkat hai. Ghar pe boodhe log bhi hain...”

“Sir humne to force bhej di hai. Ab wo nahi jaate to hum kya karein?”

“Arre but aapka kaam hai nay eh theek karna? Ab aap batao main kya kar sakta hoon? Karna to aapko chahiye na kuch?”

“....”

“Hello?”

She hung up, again. She didn’t even finish the conversation and hung up on me. I was pissed off. This incompetency from their part was killing me. We count on them to help us out when we need them to and this is how they treat us. I am not paying my taxes for this. It was 2:00 AM now and it was time for another call.

“Hello... Blah blah... You call is on hold. Please stay on the line... x 23”

Again, no answer. I was fuming now. There was just no stopping this idiotic religious practice that was disturbing everyone else who was unfortunately situated around this place. Had it been a private party or a wedding ceremony, the cops would’ve immediately come and harassed the merry makers and taken a good few thousand bucks and then would’ve been seen drinking in their Gypsy a few minutes later. But alas, this was religion. This was a sensitive topic. How could they do anything about it? It was 3 AM now and I wanted to sleep. I called from a different number this time.

“Hello... Blah blah... You call is on hold. Please stay on the line... x 13”

“Hello. Main Dilli Pulis Sahayata Kendra se bol rahi hu. Main aapki kya madad kar sakti hoon?”

“Ji main aaj paanchvi chhathi baar phone kar raha hu. Mere ghar ke bahar raat 9-10 baje se tent laga hai aur udhar bahut loud shor ho raha hai. Abhi 3 baj gaye hain. Hume sona bhi hai. Kuch kijiye.”

“Ji hum karte hain kuch.”

“Yeh pehle bh bola gaya tha mujhe. Main baar baar phone nahi karna chahta.”

“Haanji samajhte hain hum.”

“Yahan bhagwaan ke naam pe kuch bhi ho raha hai ab. Aise sahi nahi hai. Main bhi raat bhar aapko phone nahi karna chahta baar baar. Please band karaiye ise.”

“Ji hum dekhte hain ki kya kar sakte hain...”

“Okay...”

What else could I say? I gave up. There was no hope. I made my last drink and went off to sleep. It took me a good couple of hours to sleep properly. Till 5 there was music playing outside, I remember. By 6 it faded away and that’s when I drifted away into a deep sleep, finally. It’s one night I don’t want to remember, ever.

It made me realise, yet again, how helpless we are in front of religion. Religion was created to make people do good and be good. But what have we made out of it? The whole country, the government, the police; everyone bows down in front of these religious fanatics. Lunatics, rather. Be it Chhath Puja or Kaanwad, things that cause trouble to others, are a menace to society, should NOT be allowed. The authorities should not be afraid of religion. In the name of secularism we are living in a country where we’ve made religion such a sensitive topic that no one dares take an opposing stand. People have become extremely intolerant and would be ready to kill in the name of their God.

I think we’re living on a hot volcano ready to erupt anytime now. There are riots happening in smaller towns currently, don’t be too surprised if you witness one sometime soon in a metro city. This is not the country I dreamed to live in. This is not the reason why I want to live in India.

Dear cops, government and everyone else who is in control; don’t take my love for the country away. Do something. Fix this mess.

The Day After Diwali

I was dreading the day after Diwali even on the day before Diwali. As luck would have it, Diwali, this year, fell on a Sunday. My kind employers decided on not giving any extra leaves and announced the Monday after Diwali as a working day. I was cribbing and pulling my chest hair in an attempt to overshadow the pain I was feeling because of this working Monday. I went into extreme depression. In protest, I decided to celebrate a wet Diwali. I played with water balloons, pichkri, gulaal, and grease. I’m sorry but I was depressed.

Thanks to my hectic work schedule, Diwali was a solemn affair this time ‘round and it was surprisingly quite awesome. There was no drinking, no gambling, no pimping. That is only to say that I did not get shit-faced, I did not bet my dog in a round of poker neither did I sell myself on the streets for some more money. I remember this Diwali for a change. I actually spent quality time with my family. I even met with my better half’s family and ate all the kheer at their place.

Let’s get to the day after Diwali. I woke up fresh and active like it was the first day in heaven and I was to be greeted by a line of 100 angels who would do anything on my command. I was not hungover, is what I mean. As soon as I realised it was a Monday and I had to go to work, I retreated into my shell again and felt like I was being molested by a cactus. It hurt.

I somehow managed to get out of bed and got ready to go to work. As soon as I hit the main road, I was pleasantly surprised. The roads were empty. It was like there had been a zombie plague and more than half the people were dead. Somehow everything turned to sepia mode just like those old pictures from the British Era. I could picture horse carts around me and pretty British women speaking in their ugly accents and dogs and Indians waiting outside restaurants. This life was good. I anyway always stand outside only when I go to Hauz Khas Village on a Saturday. So, not much has changed.

The drive to work which usually takes over 50 minutes every day, took a little less than 25 minutes on the day after Diwali. It was so smooth I almost came in my pants. Work was kind as well since most of the clients were on leave. I left before 7 PM for the first time in the last 6 years and this time I did cum as soon as I stepped out of the office. It was worth dirtying my pants this time.

Even in the evening, the roads were empty, people were hardly to be seen, autos couldn’t scam too many people, buses couldn’t kill too many people, there was no background music comprised of honking while I drove back home from work. While I was driving with my head outside the window and my tongue hanging out, I felt a tear drop down my eye, a tear of immense happiness as I came once again in my pants.

This was the life I had always dreamt of. A life where my Twitter TL is not filled with crap jokes being Retweeted a thousand times, a life where Indian stand up comics don’t act like pussies if you take their case for a change, a life where the population is directly divided by 4, a life where a man cums in pants thrice a day and people still don’t stare.

The day after Diwali was beautiful. I am glad I had to work that day. Or else I would’ve gotten drunk, gambled all night long, put up my dog as the big blind, put myself up as a bet while I went ‘all in’, and woken up in a sewer with a hangover.

Between Chhoti Diwali and Badi Diwali, we all grew up.

The End Of The World Of Absurd Arguments

There are some arguments that we get into that never get over. Then there are some arguments that end up in fights. There are also those arguments that lead to relationships breaking up. Why not bring an end to such ridiculous arguments and never again waste our time over a discussion that is completely fruitless?

Here are some of them:

To do God or not to do God?

This is the evergreen argument between believers and, well, believers. We all believe in something. Be it God, elephants, spinach, cycles, music, or ourselves. But we don’t go about challenging people on any of these random beliefs other than the sensitive issue of God or religion. We’re not going to get anything out of it. The religious fanatics do not understand logic. And the atheists will never believe in the power of a prayer! Let’s end it at that. Let some do God and let the others get done by God. Get it? No? Don’t argue.

Shahi Paneer vs Butter Chicken

“Oh my God how can you kill animals and eat them? Just how do you do it you filthy animal?” vs “Oh so how was the Shahi Paneer and Dal Makhni the other day? And the day before that? And the day before that? That’s all you can eat, right?”

I like to go to a jungle and strangle a pig and take its intestines out, wear it around my neck, roast the pig on fire and eat it with its dry blood smeared on my hands and mouth. You like to go to a jungle and find a cow and feel up its titties till it secretes milk, drink the milk and eat some grass and chill with the cow. If the pig and the cow can live together, why can’t you and I do the same?

Men are from bras women are from penis

All men are pigs. All women are bitches. Men can’t do without them bitches. Women can’t live without the swines. Why the hell don’t we all just stop dissing each other and have consensual sex and be happy?

Balls balls everywhere, not a ball to kick

You find cricket too slow? Don’t watch. You think there are too few goals scored in a football match? Don’t watch. Your parents are planning to have another kid and are having sex? Don’t watch.

Zindagi ke nashe

Don’t justify if you smoke by saying “Oh man one day everyone has to die!” and don’t tell a smoker “Oh dude don’t smoke why are you killing yourself?” Drinking is another thing. Drinking is cool. I like drinking. And if you don’t drink... Chill, I’m not going to kill you. It’s okay. I understand your loss. I’m sorry.

My Childhood Dream

When I was a kid, all my friends wanted to become pilots, doctors, cops, etc when they grew up. I was a little different back then. I wanted to be a balloon seller. Yes, I wanted to become a ‘gubbarey wala’.

This blog post is based on true events. Continue at your own risk.

The story begins from my play school days. I don’t remember much but I sure remember crying on the first day I had to go there because I was feeling sad I had to leave home. What if I didn’t come back? For the record, that was just the beginning, I hated going to school till I passed out of the 12^th standard and I used to secretly cry every morning in the school toilet. The only thing I learned at Pink N Blue, my play school, was how to fold my arms. I’ll always be thankful for that. Why? It’s because now I can pose like an interested intellectual during a crappy conversation I have with anyone and everyone. Just fold your arms, squint your eyes and people think you’re Obama!  

The other vivid memory I have is of the fancy dress competition I took part in while my time at Pink N Blue. There were kids in Superman costumes, doctor costumes, girls wearing a fairy dress with a magic wand, and the works. I had the opportunity to be whatever I ever wanted to be albeit for a few hours only. It’s said that a human is most creative and imaginative when he/she is a kid. I grabbed this chance and became a character nobody ever wanted to be, be it in a fancy dress competition or in real life. I became a balloon seller. I became a gubbarey wala.

I wore a dirty set of Kurta Pyajama, wore the regular Hawaii Chappals and tied some balloons on a Danda and I was done. I lived my dream. I became what I wanted to be. I went on to the stage and recited my lines nervously. “Gubbaarey le lo... Gubbaarey le lo... Laal wala le lo... Peela wala le lo...” I was so innocent back then. And believe you me, I was so good at it that I won the 3^rd prize as well. I don't think I had ever been happier. It’s an achievement I have still not been able to match. To actually win a fancy dress competition by becoming a balloon seller, who does that shit?

That was not all. A few years down the line, I grew up, saw the world, met more people and had a little more sense in my head. It was a friend’s 6^th birthday party. I was probably 7 years old. It had been about 3-4 years since that 3^rd prize win at the Pink N Blue fancy dress competition. I had seen plenty of cartoons, read many comics, played a lot of games, and experienced life a lot more by then. My horizons had broadened. But the moment I found out that there was a fancy dress competition organised at that birthday party, I went into a flashback. I forgot about everything else and dug up my old Danda. I tied some balloons on it. I wore my white set of Kurta Pyajama. And I walked out of the house like a man on a mission. I was proud of that avatar. I had never been as confident about anything else till that point in my life. This time, I wanted to win the first prize.

I reached the party all excited. I was anxiously waiting for the fancy dress competition to begin so that I could show my uber cool costume off. After a few round of snacks and cake cutting, the action began. I was third in line to present myself on the stage. As I walked, with the danda and balloons in my hand, about to recite my lines, this girl started laughing. I was a little taken aback. I was surprised. The other kids joined in on the laughter and I started fumbling with my lines... “Gobre le... Lo... Laal le lo... Gobre... Le... Lo.....” And I walked away with my head hanging in shame to the other room and cried a little. I changed into my regular clothes and grew up. I came out a changed man. And I also put cake in that girl’s cold drink and forced her to drink it. I hear she is suffering from diabetes today. Heh.

Now I don’t want to be a balloon seller. But I did, once upon a time, want to be a Gubbarey Wala. What did you want to be when you were a kid?

I could've been this old man. I could've.

All Bad Things Must Come To An End – Goodbye Breaking Bad

I died a little inside after watching Breaking Bad end. No show has ever affected me to the extent that I’d be in an emotional hangover even 12 hours after I watched its final episode. I don’t think any show will match up to the class Breaking Bad maintained any time in the near future. This show was a masterpiece and will be forever etched in the minds of all its fans. It’s given us all memories to last a lifetime.

Conceptually interesting to capture anyone’s attention to at least give it a shot, Breaking Bad had its viewers’ attention from the first episode itself. The most interesting bit for me was probably how they showed a ‘nobody’ diagnosed with cancer trying to finally do something BIG in life. There was no bucket list. There was only a desire to ‘live’ life as much as one could before dying. The journey began from there and it was the best one I’ve ever taken.

Masterful acting by all its characters, even if we hated a couple of them for personal reasons, was really the crux of the show. Of course a brilliant script helped them churn out some great dialogues on screen and credit must be given to the writers of the show as well. The details in each scene, in each episode, was just mind-boggling. There wasn’t much music in the show to be honest, or maybe I just didn’t notice it, but whenever there was a song or two, it really was unforgettable. The theme, although, was eerie and amazing. The locales were grey and colourless, much like the main characters of show. It’s hard to tell between right and wrong in this show. At times you root for the guy who is right but then you sympathise with the one who is doing wrong.

The show leaves you wondering whether doing the wrong things for the right reasons is acceptable or not. Is it?

I’d like to thank the creators for not stretching this show just because it was successful. Its length was perfect and I’m lucky to have experienced it at the time of its inception. Other shows, in particular Dexter, must take learning from Breaking Bad as to how a show must pan out and end on time. It’s of utmost importance to maintain the legacy of a show, which Dexter created beautifully but couldn’t sustain, so that people watch it for genuine interest and not just so that they could see how it ends because they had liked it once. Case in point: How I Met Your Mother. It took them eons to find the mother. I still watch it but only because I have spent years watching it and I wouldn’t want that to go to waste.

It’s been an emotional few weeks which led up to the final episodes of this show. Breaking Bad will definitely go down in history as one of the best shows ever made. The ones who haven’t seen it might not be able to relate with the obsession but, trust me, it’s been crazy. The way this show has affected its following is nothing less than remarkable. Game Of Thrones fans might be able to relate to what I am saying, although I am not a GoT fan at all.

I’ll surely miss watching Walter White, Heisenberg, Jesse Pinkman, Saul Goodman, Hank Schrader and the rest of the team every Monday. I’ll look forward to a show in the future, which is as engrossing as Breaking Bad was, so that I get my fix again. Till then, let me rile in the after effects of a masterpiece of a show and continue talking about it to fans around me in the coming days.

Thank you Vince Gilligan, Bryan Cranston, Aaron Paul, Dean Norris, Bob Odenkirk and every other actor and crew member responsible for making Breaking Bad so good. Thank you for the amazing journey. I, like a lot of others, shall sorely miss you. Thank you for being so perfect. Cheers! :’)

All bad things must come to an end. But the bad was so good. Why did it have to come to an end? :’(

Kitty Lu - The Most Beautiful Toilet In Delhi

Kitty Su is one of the poshest and the sexiest night clubs I have ever been to in Delhi. Not like I’ve visited too many of them, but I have, time and again, gone to clubs to party the nights away. Which, at one point in time, meant getting drunk even before entering the club and eventually hitting at every girl inside and getting rejected by each one of them individually. Pune had a couple of nice ones which I used to frequent whenever I had enough money. In Bangalore, I went to a pretty cool place once but got caught driving drunk after that so it was my only ‘party’ experience there.

Delhi, on the other hand, has been pretty cool till now. I have checked out a few nice clubs here like Kitty Su, Pangea, Agni (yeah it was okay) and even Blue Frog (kind of a club, right?). Pangea was undoubtedly the poshest place amongst the lot. And it was through a Twitter contest that I got free entry and free beers there. But it paled in comparison to Kitty Su in one respect. Kitty Su’s restroom is by far the most amazing toilet I have ever seen.

This post is not about me showing off my hep night life although till now I have done exactly that. This post is about Kitty Su’s washroom. It is about that beautiful place on Earth where every man should go and take a leak at and smile at his companions and come out walking with swagger. No man shall ever have the want to see Niagara Falls or Kempty Falls. No man shall ever feel ashamed to show his penis to another man again. No man shall ever crib about the warmth of the pee flowing out of his penis.

As I walked to the lower level of Kitty Su where their washrooms are located I was amazed at the lounge area located right outside it. Plush beautiful couches right out of some New York club greeted me and I still hadn’t seen the best part. As I made my way through to the men’s room, I walked past the wash basins, the toilets and started looking for the urinals. To my surprise, none existed. I stood perplexed as I looked here and there wondering what to do. The whole place was kind of empty and I was about to enter a toilet stall when this dude walked right past me and went to the wall right in front and started peeing.

The wall, I had earlier assumed, was just for show. It was a beautiful wall and in my wildest dreams I couldn’t think of peeing there. It had water flowing from the top along the wall. I simply thought it was a beautiful waterfall/fountain of sorts to make the washroom look habitable. But as I went a little closer to inspect I saw that the base of the wall had a boundary and within that boundary was ice. It was filled with thousands and millions of ice cubes. It had a slightly raised platform where one could stand and pee right at the wall on the waterfall. The pee would then get mixed with the waterfall and get mixed in the ice. The ice in process would then let out a cool whiff of air that would tingle your senses like never before.

I took it slow as I wanted to enjoy this experience. I knew I couldn’t afford to drink any more beer so this was my only chance to pee here. I started whistling a little and looked towards my left. I saw a mirror and I could see my penis there as well. Not bad, I thought. I turned towards my right and I saw the guy who had inspired me to do the impossible. He was coolly grooving to the faint sound of music we could hear from the floor above and he was sipping on his Whisky while he peed happily into the most beautiful man made waterfall ever. I was impressed by his confidence and suddenly realised that there were no dividers. Peeing here was like a community thing it seemed. Thankfully there were not many people in there. This place was for bold men. This place was for men who were not ashamed of their sexuality. This place was for men like me who did not cringe at the idea of a flaccid penis. This place changed who I was. As I walked away, washed my hands, and exit the washroom to go to the floor above, I noticed how there were only dudes there. 

This was a gay club. Oops. Kitty Su.

I might not come for your crowd, but I shall definitely come for your Kitty Lu. I might even cum in your Kitty Lu. Till then, keep rocking!

Do you like it in your mouth?

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No Country For Petrol, Men

“Tum mujhe petrol do; main tumhe aazaadi doonga.” This is what Subhash Chandra Bose would’ve said had the Britishers been ruling us today. Heck, they would’ve run back to their land of football, WAGs, idiotic accents, and underperforming cricketers; looking at the petrol prices here. No war. No drama. Gandhi would’ve lived. Nehru would’ve ruled. Bhagat Singh would’ve been chilling at a pub with Milkha Singh. No ifs. No butts. Sirf Jatts. Sunny paaji would’ve been so happy.

I was having a talk with my girlfriend about the increasing prices of petrol in our country. Sadly I was wearing the ‘No girlfriend. Save petrol.’ T-shirt that very day as I didn’t know I was going to meet her. Thankfully, she called me before coming to my office, so I quickly smeared my t-shirt with some dog poop to hide the idiotic text. Otherwise it would’ve been goodbye sex and hello YouPorn. Although I never really said goodbye to YouPorn. But that’s a different story, a different time, a different blog.

It would be idiotic to complain about increasing prices. It’s the natural world order. Like Asians taking over the world, gays getting married and having legal anal sex on the streets or dogs finally evolving to be able to talk to humans and tell us that their way of wanking off is actually wagging their tails. So I’m all cool with paying 400 bucks for a movie ticket, 3000 bucks for a meal for two, 8000 bucks for a semi deluxe room in Patna and 30000 bucks for a gram of gold. Only thing that has remained constant is the price of potato per kg. Buggers don’t go higher than 10 bucks a kilo.

What I’m not cool with is the mercurial and exponential increase in the price of petrol. I pay 70 bucks a litre and that’s apparently the cheapest in India. That means 70 bucks to travel 8 kms. That means 140 bucks to the nearest mall where I can go eat expensive dahi in the form of Cocoberry Yogurt. But that’s cool, the yogurt, it’s healthy and all, and you can’t make it at home, no? But paying 18000 bucks for fuel every month is not. I already have just one kidney, one testicle, one nostril, one moob, and one butt cheek. I’ve donated the rest for fuel money. How will I pee if I sell my penis too? The government does not understand the need of a man’s penis in this country. The roadside walls will go dry if they don’t get irrigation.

This petrol price rise coupled with the constant ‘recession’ that’s been happening in India since 2006, which, for some reason, does not seem to end, EVER, has really taken a toll on my monthly budgets. I can no more subscribe to Bang Bros or GrehShobha or get fish pedicures or attend Shiv Khera’s inspirational speeches or save up for my future kid’s tuition fee at a premium computer institute in India like Maya Academy or Arena or Aptech or NIIT or Faridabad Technical Computer Language Model College. I have no future. Thank you petrol. I can’t even burn and kill myself for I can’t afford to do that. What, men!

I think I will give up soon. Last I heard that even Saif Ali Khan couldn’t afford to buy petrol so he somehow managed to get a job at a petrol pump and siphon off little little amounts of petrol for Kareena so that she could drive to Priyadarshini Park to run for 8 hours till she loses all her fat, skin and only her skeleton is left for us to see. Just imagine the tits and it might work.

There is no hope left, my comrades. Give up now and buy a donkey. At least you’ll get some ass this way. Spank and ride all day long. No Petrol No Tainsan.

Delhi – The Mini Punjab

I have always wondered why everyone outside Delhi thinks that everyone inside Delhi is a Punjabi. I used to ridicule at that thought and curse those people for their ignorance but then it dawned upon me that they’re right in thinking so. We all may not be Punjabi but we sure are fascinated by them. Like crazy. Sach bol riya si main.

A ‘Madrasi’ from down South can be found singing Punjabi songs in the Metro and a Bengali will be singing Punjabi songs as if his mother taught him that. We all try and speak Punjabi whenever wherever we can even if we don’t understand the difference between kiddan and kitthe! Each Sardar we encounter on the road becomes our paaji and any girl in a Patiala Salwar becomes a kudiye.

We can do Bhangra on Megadeth and eat chhole bhathure at a 5-star. We’ve all been to Amritsar and know at least one person living in Chandigarh or Panchkula. And who hasn’t had the langar at Bangla Sahib Gurudwara and he oil laden Halwa served in fistful portions? We blend with the Punjus in Karol Bagh like rum with Coke. We’ve all embraced their loudness, their music, their dance, their food, their appetite for alcohol, their willingness to get into a raada and their sex drive.

Mind you, we’re not Punjabis but we still are.

Now if we continue like this how the hell can we expect people outside of Delhi to think otherwise? But I’m glad we’re like this. At least it makes us a little jolly if nothing else. The Punjabi ways are usually happy but alas there’s a backside to it as well, their temper. But I guess that’s something we’ll have to live with and Delhi’s extreme weather doesn’t help us at all.

Thanks to the Punjabis we at least have an identity. We ‘Delhiites’ can be referred to as something. Our characteristics can be defined. Otherwise, what is a Delhiite? Other than being a rapist or a dumb beautiful girl? What qualities define a Delhiite? I have been trying to answer this question for ages but I am still struggling with the answer. There is no Delhiite. Everyone in Delhi is an outsider. Delhi is a city, a state full of outsiders. And that’s the best part. We’ve embraced each and every one of them. Be it the Biharis, the Gujaratis, the Marathis, the Assamese (maybe not so much) or the Kashmiris. Sorry Parsis you’re outnumbered here but you’re most welcome to live here. We’ve a lot of crows in Delhi. And together we all become Punjabi at one point or the other and that’s what unites us.

So the next time a Keralite (I know the difference between the different states in South India) asks me if I’m Punjabi I won’t say no. I’ll proudly say “Whore paji whore dass ski haal chaal hai?”

Where Is Your God Now?

Massive devastation is what is happening in Uttarakhand right now. The most religious of places are being washed away by the power of nature. Or as some of you might want to call it, God’s wrath. Ooooooh. Scary.

According to religious nuts, God is all powerful and blah blah. So God killed his devotees here in India? God killed his own Earthly self in the form of temples, shrines, shivlings, etc?

“Oh yes Parvati. I’m going to create man and then I’m going to make them praise me and then I’m going to kill them all and kill what they create of me.”

“Sounds like a plan prabhu. But after that?”

“Woman don’t be asking too many questions off your man. You have no right to do that. Go get me a drink and prepare that chillum. Imma gonna get wasted tonightttt! Weeee!”

Is that what you actually think happened? Can’t you for a moment attribute this to freaky nature? Or better still, to our activities in those areas which might’ve caused an imbalance in nature? Why do you think it was us sinners who actually forced the Lord to open his 3^rd eye and 4^th shirt button and unleash the fury amongst thousands of innocents? Oh why oh why oh why you tell me la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-lies?

BTW, I just got my first Android phone. A Micromax. It’s pretty decent I must admit. But then I think my next purchase should be an iPhone. Android is too complex for me. I want simplicity. What say?

Coming back to the topic. In spite of all this mumbo-jumbo, I’d request you all to help those in need. Go give some clothes or dry ration or something to any camp organised around your home or office. Too lazy to do it like me? Get online, which you already are, and donate some money off your account. One less night out next month is hardly going to change your life. But a 100 of you thinking the same and donating 500 bucks will surely make a difference up there where people are struggling for their lives. So just go do it now. Here’s a start: http://goonj.org/

Also, try and not attribute anything and everything to God. Don’t stand in front of a train and say if it is in God’s will I will survive. Don’t blame all bad things on God and neither give God the credit for everything good that happens to you. “Beta hua hai bhagwan ki dua se.” It wasn’t God. It was you who did not use a condom and now we have another kid in the already over-populated country of ours. If you don’t understand something that’s happening or why it’s happening, accept it, try and figure it out, don’t simply say it is God’s handiwork and give up.

So the next time it rains, don’t assume it’s God peeing or a thunder is God burping and farting. It’s just sweet old nature which wreaks havoc and causes problems all across the world. Nature is not racist. We are. May peace be with us.

BREAKING: Apparently, 50 tonnes of wood and ghee arranged for all those who were deceased in the Uttarakhand disaster. WTH???

Life On Twitter

We start off due to peer pressure or not

Either way, initially we’re as good as a bot

From there we start exploring the world of Twitter

Not knowing eventually we’ll be feeling bitter

We get a 100 odd followers and we easily get happy

We start cracking jokes about how life is fappy

We reach 500 and we’re mini-Twelebs of our own

With every subsequent follower we loudly moan

Hitting the 1000 mark is then the real deal

You start getting RTs even on your Bhindi Roti meal

Some of us get there because of DPs that are pretty

Some stop replying at all like Shakti Shitty

The 2000 milestone makes you celebrate a little more

Post that you officially become a Twitter whore

You sell your soul for even underwear brands

And for a free phone you donate your testicular glands

Three to Four K is just a little step towards the big league

It’s when you reach 5000 you start acting like a real peeg

Mentions go unnoticed, you start unfollowing some Tweeps

And you create brouhaha when you get mentioned by a creep

Now you think you’ve become better than the rest

But you know it’s as fake as a silicon breast

Twitter has now become more important than you real life

And you start Tweeting “Hey! What’s for dinner dear wife?”

After 10000 you take on the role of an activist on Twitter

You may talk about principles, but outside you still litter

Your dad is shown the mid finger and you create a hue and cry

But know you know nobody gives a shit and that’s not a lie

The ones with 20 to 30 thousand are now celebs in real life too

Their fans want to Twitpic them even while they take a poo

Half of them are comedians or at least that’s what they think

Their careers are over in a second, you just need to blink

You’re either Sonam Kapoor or KRK if you cross the 50k mark

You don’t do shit, but all day like a dog you bark

You may sit in a corner of your loo and Tweet all day

But on Twitter you’re probably the coolest Tweleb of Bombay

So where are you right now? At the bottom or the top?

I’m still rotting deep down, my journey’s been a flop

But I do hope someday you get where you want to be

My rhyme is over, I’ll Tweet this when I go to pee

Interview With Mark Juckerberg

I was travelling in the metro the other day and going towards Gurgaon. I had a nice deal in hand where I could drink as much liquor as I wanted for just 400 bucks. I had my whole clan of about 30 friends with me and we had booked a full bogey in advance. Playing Antakshari and eating Aloo Poori during the long and tiring journey from Mayur Vihar to Gurgaon, we chanced upon an intruder trying to enter our pre-reserved bogey.

The man was happily listening to some music and wearing Bermuda Shorts with a Sando Baniyan. He had hair under his arms which were even longer than the hair on his head. And the most surprising feature of him was his skin and hair colour. His skin was white like Tide and his hair was yellow like piss. He was definitely a firangi. Owing to our attraction towards the Gori Chamdi we let him enter and even gave him a seat and a Khasta Kachaudi to eat.

Me: “Hey man. Who are you and where are you from?”

I said to him. He did not reply.

Me: “Haha lagta hai ganvaar ko angreji nahi aati.”

I said mocking him, and we all erupted in laughter and it was so loud that we broke one of the windows. This startled the man in the shorts and vest and he took off his headphones and shut his lappy.

Him: “Hey. Thanks for the food. Do you think if a hen eats Tandoori Chicken, it will be cannibalism?”

Me: “Wow. You can speak good English. Who are you?”

Him: “I am Mark Juckerberg. I am The Facebook. Oops, I mean Facebook. Sorry Sean.”

Me: “WOW! You mean to say it is because of you, I have these 29 friends with me?”

Mark Juckerberg: “Uhm. Yeah, I guess. I miss Orkut.”

Me: “Hehe tu to Chirkut nikla re.”

Mark Juckerberg: “What?”

Me: “Kuch ni. Hehe. Saala. Chirkut. Tell me, why did you make Facebook?”

Mark Juckerberg: “I was studying in MIT. And I cha....”

Me: “WHAT? MIT, Pune? Maharashtra Institute of Technology, Paud Road, Kothrud, Pune? Bhai I am sure you must’ve had Durga Coffee na? 8 rupees only. Epic stuff.”

Mark Juckerberg: “No dude. MIT in the USA.”

Me: “USA you mean... Under Skirt Area...”

We all started laughing again.

Mark Juckerberg: “What are you talking about? I am talking about The United States Of America.”

Me: “Yeah Chirkut, we know. So tell me, why did you make Facebook?”

Mark Juckerberg: “Well. I had an Indian friend where I was studying. He said the marriage business in India is big and booming. People love to show off their photos. And a thought occurred to me, why not give them a platform where they could showcase to the world with pictures of their rokas, mehendis, mooh dikhais, sagai, shaadi, suhag raat, honeymoon, etc etc.”

Me: “Are you serious? Kutte...!”

I slapped him hard.

Mark Juckerberg: “What was that for?”

Me: “Because of you, our parents have started forcing us to get married too. I am only 32 years old and my parents are asking me to get married otherwise they will throw me out of the house.”

Mark Juckerberg: “You still live with your parents? Haha, you Indians are amazing.”

Me: “Yeah yeah. We know we are. So you’re telling me the main motive behind creating Facebook was to get Indian people married?”

Mark Juckerberg: “Exactly. India is the biggest threat to the USA and if you guys continue with your procreating, you’ll soon be out of space and there will be so much chaos that you will kill each other and India will cease to exist.”

Me: “Banjo. What you’re saying is the truth. It might actually happen. But why are you living in India? Aren’t you scared for your life?”

Mark Juckerberg: “Till the time you know that you can send friend requests to random girls and make funny pages for jokes you copy from 9gag, I have nothing to fear. You can’t touch me. Also, I am trying to locate the founder of Orkut. I heard he is hiding in India. And apparently he is working at a call centre here in Gurgaon. So I keep travelling in the metro in the hope of one day running into him.”

Me: “Bhai tu to chirkut hi rahega hamesha.”

Mark Juckerberg: “Say what you may but I have succeeded in what I wanted to do. You guys have gone mad about Facebook and can’t live without it. I know each and every thing that you do on Facebook. I can tell you right now that you have sent 48 friend requests to girls you don’t know and that you Like your own pictures. Your favourite page is Aap Chutiye Hain and you’ve morphed a photo of you standing next to a ‘Farari’ which you’ve spelt wrong.”

Me: “Chup hoja kutte if you want to live. I think this conversation is over and you must go back to where you came from.”

Mark Juckerberg: “Are you sure? The place where you’re going to drink today is owned by this friend of mine. Instead of 400, I can get you the same deal at 350. Now what?"

Me: “Tu bhai hai Mark. You are a true friend. HEY GUYS! MEET MARK. HE WILL BE DRINKING WITH US TONIGHT! WE WILL BE PARTYING WITH A FIRANG!!”

I shouted and the whole clan started clapping. The train suddenly came to a halt and we all got off at the station. We got off and found auto rickshaws for us.

Me: “Do you know where this place is located at?”

Mark Juckerberg: “No dude. I don’t know the exact location.”

Me: “Ok. I’ll tell the auto guy the route. We’ll meet you there directly.”

I stopped an auto for him.

Me: “Bhaiyya, in bhaisaab ko Chinar le jao.”

The auto guy agreed and I paid him in advance. I gave Mark some tips about how to mingle with the locals and set him off. Then I sat in my auto with a friend and we started towards our destination.

Friend: “Bhaiyya lekin hum Chinar to ja nahi rahe. Aapne use udhar kyu bheja?"

Me: “Bhai us gore ko maine Chinar bheja aur kaha ke udhar pahuchte hi waiter ko bole ‘Bhaiyya main aapki biwi ko baja ke ayah u. Ab thodi beer pila do. Ganda ho gaya hu.’ Uski India trip yahi khatam hogi ab. Na rahega Mark. Na hoga Chirkut ka comeback. Chal. Check-in marte hain ab Facebook pe. Pata to chale logo ko hum kitne cool hain.”

Friend: "Bhaiyya Aap Chutiye Hain."

Me: "Kya bola harami?"

Friend: "Arre I meant Aap Cheeteh Hain."

I got 99 Likes on my check-in. Win.

Mark Juckerberg

8 Ways To Become A Millionaire

Allah ke naam pe de do baba is not something I’ve ever said to a random person. I might say this to a Fraudi Baba who promises to increase the length of my tiny penis; a penis so tiny that even an Asian penis looks like a Black penis in front of it.  But other than that I’m not particularly poor when it comes to money. At least not so poor that I sell crack behind railway stations in the hope of one day meeting Fardeen Khan who then would cast me in his comeback film which would have a 3D rendition of his late father, Clint Eastwood.

I’m not particularly rich either. Forget a crorepati, I’m not even a lakhpati. Heck I’m not even a pati yet. Problem is till one does not get that ‘lakh’ or ‘crore’ you can’t really get a pati or become one in today’s world. Hence my pursuit to become a millionaire has now begun and I’ve figured out 8 of the most interesting ways to become one. Do read:

1. Marry a rich boy/girl: This is probably the easiest of them all. If you’re a boy, go watch Hungama and see how to patao a rich girl who’s the daughter of an industrialist of the likes of Radhe Shyam Tiwari. If you’re a girl, well, you don’t need to do much. Probably just show your armpits, even if they’re all sweaty and hairy, in a sensuous way and the rich dumb boy will be bowled over by your beauty. Or if you can, simply bowl him over by your booty.
   
   
2. Work Hard: This is the most boring and the least interesting way out of the lot. I mean, who in their right minds would want to struggle and work hard and show sincerity while at work? Ain’t nobody got time fo dat.
   
   
3. Write a book: Can you read this? If yes, you can probably write as well. And by writing I mean basic English language evn iF u rYt lYk DiS. Go ahead and write a book on your life, your dog’s life, your nostril’s life or a prose on the poop your dog left on the porch a week back which you forgot to pick up. If Chetan Bhagat can, so can you.
   
   
4. Rob a bank: There are about 30 odd states in this country. And each city in those states has got a bank of its own. And all these lame banks have tiny branches in big cities. And each of these tiny branches has that old rickety security guard who carries around that big dunalli (double barrel rifle) which is heavier than him. The next time he takes a break to take his Insulin shot for his Diabetes and a steroid shot for his asthma; take over the bank in the hope that they have more than a few thousand bucks stored there.
   
   
5. Save up: This is probably the hardest of the lot but it’ll surely work. Study hard all your life, get a decent job, stay single and live on the streets. Make do with the bare minimum like just have an apple a day (avoids doctor’s fees as well), drink water off a cow’s behind, sleep under the innumerable flyovers in Delhi/Mumbai alike and just keep saving money in your sole bank account till you save enough to call yourself a millionaire. Once you do get there, go to Goa and spend it all. Repeat cycle.
   
   
6. Kidnap a rich man’s child: This requires some planning but if it’s thought out well you may become a millionaire overnight. Watch the Fardeen Khan starrer Love Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega, enjoy Johnny Lever’s epic role, and forget the rest. It’ll show you everything you DON’T need to do. Khiladi on the other hand could provide with some real inspiration. No wonder one of the actors in it is called Deepak ‘Tijori’. Don’t kidnap a wife though; they might never answer your call.
   
   
7. Be born rich: If you’ve reached this point, you were probably not born a millionaire. So the next best thing you CAN do is to study real hard and become a scientist. Not the song. But an actual one. Figure out a way to plan your next birth. I’d suggest go for a C-sec in any posh hospital in South Delhi or South Bombay. Chances are, you’ll be born into a millionaire family by default. Cool, innit?
   
   
8. Become a ‘Millionhair’ instead: This idea has been inspired by the greatest Indian ever born, none other than, the one and only, Anil Kapoor. Who cares if he is actually a millionaire. If you’re got a million hair on your knuckles, I’m pretty sure there are a billion inside your nose and a trillion under your arms. The head is a combination of all and the chest is the multiplication. I wouldn’t dare talk about Anil Ji’s balls in public like this but I’m sure you can imagine how hairy his pubic area must be.

So which one do you think is the best way to get rich? I feel it’s number 8. Do share your views in the comments section. Good luck!

Quality Quantity Potty

“Sir it’s closing time, can I take your last order?”

“Haan bhai please get us 12 large pegs of Royal Stag with Thums Up”

The above mentioned conversation often happens when you’re at a place where you have taken an ‘unlimited’ package of alcohol. To get your money’s worth and to get drunk you end up ordering more than you can handle as time is running out. You gulp down the last round in about 20 minutes and you walk out of the pub half falling.

We Indians do not believe in quality but in quantity. Who cares about what you’re having if you’re having too much of it. And this does not stay restricted to booze. Be it food, kids, cars, houses, etc. we like to have them in numbers rather 1 or 2 of them which are really worth it. I have a friend who owns 4 Wagon R’s. I have countrymen who’ve somehow managed to populate this country to the extent that it has in itself become the biggest problem of India. And I don’t drink less than 6 pegs when I drink.

Imagine the plight of the villagers who have not much to do with their lives. The current crop of villagers is still better off than the ones that preceded them. What do they do with their free time? Nothing much. Just have sex and produce more babies. How bad can that be? What are condoms? Kaun dumb? Tu dumb saale.

Rather than buying a small hatchback and a sedan we’d rather have 6 tiny cars just so that we have a good number of cars in our garage. Instead of having a couple of drinks of a nice expensive scotch we’d rather drink 8 of some local whisky. Honey badgers here in India don’t give a shit about hangovers. And if there’s a buffet? Bhai khana aan do. Bas aan do. We’ll stuff ourselves to the point where we have to step out, not for a smoke break, but for a fart break. That’s how you get your money’s worth when there’s something unlimited. Food, booze or sperm.

Take my blog for instance. I, at times, blog just to keep it populated. I need to show regular updates just to satisfy myself that I’m blogging regularly and bombard viewers with opinions they don’t want ever. Although I’d rather just have a few quality blogs, I still prefer to publish the not so great ones, the mediocre one, just to keep it going. It’s ingrained in me. And you. And the rest of this country.