Tuesday, 28 May 2013

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

Monday, 20 May 2013

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?"


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

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

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!

Sunday, 5 May 2013

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.