Vicious fires had enveloped me ,I felt suffocated,panting for air, I tried to run but apparently i was no good.what sins had i commited to deserve hell ? Just when i was about to be incinerated to human debris, suddenly a flurry the cacophonic beeps jolted me.After a frantic search operation i saw it was my motorola screaming its batteries out.I opened my eyes trying to embrace the world ,but the poor ones struggled to adjust to the gleaming sunlight and consequently fluttered trying in vain to figure out what exactly was going on.I realised that the makeshift curtain was dangling for its life on the pelmet admitting the most blinding sunlight straight on to my face.The fan hung lifelessly on the cieling as the daily ritual of the 7 a.m power cut 7 had commenced.
I flung my t shirt to one corner and laid bare,trying to teleport my self back to the world of fairies (deepika padukone in my case) again.Just as my eyes shut my brain cells launched an enquiry,why,why did the alarm beep? it signified something,something very morbid.It was the day after sunday.No its got to be a lie ,the heart retaliated , by pounding viciously at my chest from the insides.It was just yesterday,the friday night when i was gyrating in an intoxicated state to "smack that all on the floor ".Duh , Only if saturday and sunday were 48 hours each.Truth had befallen me , my stomach churned, i started feeling sick.The countdown i begin every week had to be reset to 5,the monday morning blues had turned me pale.Resigning to my fate i somehow managed to get the clothes on my zombie like structure with each step demanding a zillion times more enery it demands on friday mornings . To complete the enslavement i put on the leash, a tie which we address as a 'fanda'.
The bike trudged along and i made it a point not to let the speedometer beat the 30 mark.I frequent this activity enroute office,it lets me savour 10 mins of my life but not the embarassement of being late. Not ready to see the piece of celluloid that assigns me work,i decided to dump my self with everything edible available in the food court and at the same time conforming to the chew-your-food-32 times rule.20 minutes and a bloated tummy later i discovered that my misery only got aggravated.Ultimately i convinced myself that there is no more running away and i dragged myself to the hellhole i call my cubicle.
Nerdy rotund masses of flesh were already there smirking , giving me dirty glances reminding me of the sacrilege id commited coming late to their temple.These no-lifes have a pack of cookies and a coffee mug filled up to the brim , eveready on their desk,because may be if they decide to go to the food court , the manager might get hints of their incompetence.They strictly believe doubling the mandatory hours to be clocked is the only way to climb the ladder which is the entry to the managers coveted arse hole.Very smugly yet frivolously one of them mentioned how he had to come both the weekends to finish the work assignedand patiently waited for me to arch both my eyebrows as high as humanely possible symbolizing appreciation coupled with generous scoops of unbelievability satiating him of the superhuman act he had commited.I obliged ,and with a sparkle in his eye,oozing of contentment he got back to beating the dayslights out of the hapless keyborad.
I hesitantly opened the mailbox,fogetting the atheism i preach most of the time and chanting gods name at a rapid rate praying that no work should yet be assigned to me ,after all, like me the rest of the world has also come out from a sunday full of gaiety and are not yet ready to work. Shattering all my self convincing inane beliefs mails demanding the culmination of certain tasks before eod(end of the day)had flooded my mailbox.Umpteen fowarded mails claiming that females wearing the skimpiest of clothings had been captured in them and their degree of beauty till date was unsurpassed .They were begging to be opened , but i persevered,keeping them as a reward once i finished the work assigned.
Update:Its 7 p.m.Lunch was a sad 20 min affair.The pretty females in the mails must be fully clad in nightware ,brutually tired ,waiting for their owner to give them his nod of appreciation, they must be surely asleep by now .The gang of no-lifes are having their 16th coffee break of the day and are in no hurry watsoever to leave,as the last bus leaves at 11 handing them another four hours to complete the work which incidentally, they should have finished the number of times they have had coffee today.I have another couple of hours to freedom and precisly another 12 till my cellphone decides to play the spine tingling beeps again cataplulting me to this world of gruesome reality.
Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Satire. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Butterfly effect
"The idea that one stroke of butterfly flapping could eventually have a far-reaching ripple effect such as a tornado"
The butterfly effect
I had never known the power of this statement till I realized that it precisely sums up my entire life.It was roughly 8 years back when i had scored handsomely in my tenth board but little did i know thatthe butterfly had flapped.I belonged to the elitists who would go on to study amongst many other things, how current flows through a wire, butalas would never know the current flowing through my spine and the rush of blood to the headfrom a soft feminine touch.I would know the answers to the most flumoxxing puzzles that for ages, haunt,but sadly would never know 'what women want'.
The undertaker had answered,the coffin was ready.Whatever little interaction (read:ogling) i had with pretty damsels , came to the most abrupt end,an anticlimax.In the new science class the only distiction between the two sexes to the naked eye was the donning of a trouser versus a skirt.Majority of the female species were monstrously chested (in the x axis notthe z axis) and the amount of hair on their face and legs could put most boys in our class to shame.
Across the corridor ,in the arts/commerce sections awaited life(not for us :( ).'Sexy' used ten times in succesion defined each one of them indivdually.And it was not justtheir flawless eyebrows, glowing skin and the hypnotizing whiffs of perfume when they passed by ,It was their junior school skirts which not only made the 'one inch above the knees' rule look insanely idiotic but also made some of the einstiens in our class actually believe they were from not very well to do families.To top it all was the legend that made rounds about their very malleablemorals and that they are very obidient, obliging to 'whatever' they were told to do.True Story?? I would neverknow.
Believing every syllable mummy said to the tune of 'work hard beta!! youll get what you want',i did!!only if mummy knew all her son wanted was a peek at the ever elusive female anatomy below the necklineand above the knees.After realising that i was a perennial no-hoper i found solace in the desibabas and the tb6 mokbas and an ocaasional late night sun tvs on mute(comprehending the plot of these moviesnever required sound) where voluptious over weight aunties gave intotheir carnal desires and consequently gave 'it' to tom's dick and then harry.I had no such aunty.I put in a lot of hardwork and "single handedly" catapulted myslef to another scolastic achievement,an admit in an engineering college a la the inception of the storm.The college suffered the fate of all other of its contemporaries with the most dismal beauty beast ratio.(who is the beauty and who the beast is very debatable in an engg college)we wudnt have been aysphyxiayted to death had the beauties ever heard of a pantheons called beauty parlourswhich removed the beacons of manliness from them .Salwaar kammezes teamed with floaters,luminous hair due to bucket loads ofcoconut oil,stern beliefs such as washing hair catalyses baldness and facial hair look best when black were some notions carried and subsequently physically flaunted by the "fairer sex".
The few who indeed had some feminine qualities apart from their anatomy were taken up in a jiffyby the ones who owned a bike and rode it and the girl on it with equal ferocity,the studs who scored notonly in the basketball games but also in the after dark games and the coochikoos who could pull the guitar and the g strings with equal panache.What remained was a highly desperate lot of mes and the only string we could pull was the 'nada' of our pyjamas .(Do not ask me for what!!!)
Occasional trips to the city revived our faith in the almighty.The same sinous 'art girl' eyes,the same pendulum like oscillationg posterior , the covert glances which notice every smile,murmur,sigh and that has been contrived keeping them in mind.They are players indeed, but not on a level playing field.Because the poor ones like us have never played with anything apart from our computers.These eyes ,what they whisper,leave not even a clue in our otherwise high I.Q brains.That eye blink,that suggestive head tilt , that intentionalstrand of hair that has to be put aside time and again, those slowrythmic euphonic sylables numb our mind to the extent that we understand nothing.Nada.Zilch.May be something has been conveyed by sign language,but programming languages are the only kinds we understand.The storm has picked up velocity.
We had heard (sources never came to light) that after college and once your wallet is a little heavy, everyone gets a girl and life is worth living again.So after 4 tiring years of 'nada' pulling , we stepped out of the gates that bound our testosterone for what seemed like eternity.But wise men have reiterated 'once a loser always a loser'.Hopes were only a few light years from reality.Just add a few hundred years,and plenty more pounds to the science girl back in school,bam you get a caricature of my female peers.The eye candy we got from across the corridor and later away from our college in the city has now totally vanished.Any visual contact with the arts/commerce girl has evanesced into thin air for good.There is no going back now,i can only pick the remnants from my reminisces and daydream about it while i bang the keys on my keyborad sitting in my cubicle.The flutter of wings has finally become a tornado and i I am amongst the thousands who have become casualties.
May we all R.I.P.
Amen
P.S:The 'I' here is not me.He is a stereotypical engineering student.
A fictional character :D
The butterfly effect
I had never known the power of this statement till I realized that it precisely sums up my entire life.It was roughly 8 years back when i had scored handsomely in my tenth board but little did i know thatthe butterfly had flapped.I belonged to the elitists who would go on to study amongst many other things, how current flows through a wire, butalas would never know the current flowing through my spine and the rush of blood to the headfrom a soft feminine touch.I would know the answers to the most flumoxxing puzzles that for ages, haunt,but sadly would never know 'what women want'.
The undertaker had answered,the coffin was ready.Whatever little interaction (read:ogling) i had with pretty damsels , came to the most abrupt end,an anticlimax.In the new science class the only distiction between the two sexes to the naked eye was the donning of a trouser versus a skirt.Majority of the female species were monstrously chested (in the x axis notthe z axis) and the amount of hair on their face and legs could put most boys in our class to shame.
Across the corridor ,in the arts/commerce sections awaited life(not for us :( ).'Sexy' used ten times in succesion defined each one of them indivdually.And it was not justtheir flawless eyebrows, glowing skin and the hypnotizing whiffs of perfume when they passed by ,It was their junior school skirts which not only made the 'one inch above the knees' rule look insanely idiotic but also made some of the einstiens in our class actually believe they were from not very well to do families.To top it all was the legend that made rounds about their very malleablemorals and that they are very obidient, obliging to 'whatever' they were told to do.True Story?? I would neverknow.
Believing every syllable mummy said to the tune of 'work hard beta!! youll get what you want',i did!!only if mummy knew all her son wanted was a peek at the ever elusive female anatomy below the necklineand above the knees.After realising that i was a perennial no-hoper i found solace in the desibabas and the tb6 mokbas and an ocaasional late night sun tvs on mute(comprehending the plot of these moviesnever required sound) where voluptious over weight aunties gave intotheir carnal desires and consequently gave 'it' to tom's dick and then harry.I had no such aunty.I put in a lot of hardwork and "single handedly" catapulted myslef to another scolastic achievement,an admit in an engineering college a la the inception of the storm.The college suffered the fate of all other of its contemporaries with the most dismal beauty beast ratio.(who is the beauty and who the beast is very debatable in an engg college)we wudnt have been aysphyxiayted to death had the beauties ever heard of a pantheons called beauty parlourswhich removed the beacons of manliness from them .Salwaar kammezes teamed with floaters,luminous hair due to bucket loads ofcoconut oil,stern beliefs such as washing hair catalyses baldness and facial hair look best when black were some notions carried and subsequently physically flaunted by the "fairer sex".
The few who indeed had some feminine qualities apart from their anatomy were taken up in a jiffyby the ones who owned a bike and rode it and the girl on it with equal ferocity,the studs who scored notonly in the basketball games but also in the after dark games and the coochikoos who could pull the guitar and the g strings with equal panache.What remained was a highly desperate lot of mes and the only string we could pull was the 'nada' of our pyjamas .(Do not ask me for what!!!)
Occasional trips to the city revived our faith in the almighty.The same sinous 'art girl' eyes,the same pendulum like oscillationg posterior , the covert glances which notice every smile,murmur,sigh and that has been contrived keeping them in mind.They are players indeed, but not on a level playing field.Because the poor ones like us have never played with anything apart from our computers.These eyes ,what they whisper,leave not even a clue in our otherwise high I.Q brains.That eye blink,that suggestive head tilt , that intentionalstrand of hair that has to be put aside time and again, those slowrythmic euphonic sylables numb our mind to the extent that we understand nothing.Nada.Zilch.May be something has been conveyed by sign language,but programming languages are the only kinds we understand.The storm has picked up velocity.
We had heard (sources never came to light) that after college and once your wallet is a little heavy, everyone gets a girl and life is worth living again.So after 4 tiring years of 'nada' pulling , we stepped out of the gates that bound our testosterone for what seemed like eternity.But wise men have reiterated 'once a loser always a loser'.Hopes were only a few light years from reality.Just add a few hundred years,and plenty more pounds to the science girl back in school,bam you get a caricature of my female peers.The eye candy we got from across the corridor and later away from our college in the city has now totally vanished.Any visual contact with the arts/commerce girl has evanesced into thin air for good.There is no going back now,i can only pick the remnants from my reminisces and daydream about it while i bang the keys on my keyborad sitting in my cubicle.The flutter of wings has finally become a tornado and i I am amongst the thousands who have become casualties.
May we all R.I.P.
Amen
P.S:The 'I' here is not me.He is a stereotypical engineering student.
A fictional character :D
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
An affair to remember
Saturday evenings usually beckon very casual gettogethers.People turn up all dressed up and with evening plesantries floating around along with the lip smacking snacks complemented by the inebriating spirits.These evenings usually have all the ingredients to make it a very congenial affair.The men flock the bar and small todlings try to invent new games to keep busy. In this utterly 'casual' affair there is a very complicated clandestine operation going on.Complicated because men will neverunderstand it,clandestine because they never get a clue its happening there,right in front of their very eyes.
Lets call it 'The adventures of the fairer sex'.Deeply engaged in registering what her counterparts are donning, whether it fits the occasion or has it been an absolute fashion catastrophe for this wonderful evening and simultganeouslysmiling sheepishly deep down inside because of the 'thought' that she herself has turned up in the most splendid attire adorned with just the right amount of ornaments.Not an earing less not a necklace more. Ultimately When she is unequivocally convinced that no other in the gathering is remotely nearing the beauty she is emanating today,then does she finally take herfirst breath. Dont be fooled by the nonchalance in her step,every step is precisely calcualted to the scale of millimeters.A bit more than what she's planned and she just might tumble , as she knows being a female is backbreaking not only on the count bringingpeople on earth but also sporting footwear which duly entitles her to a nobel prize in suffering (if there was one) Best partis she'll accept it gladly , after all the 3 inches added to her height are pricesless.
Getting pangs of temporary amnesia ,she forgets the hours(being very conservative here) spent in front of the mirror at home , getting hypnotized by the wooden door which reads 'LADIES'.Sometimes I do wonder that may be this is the biggest conspiracyon planet Earth and that the entire male population has been kept unaware of something mystical that is inside thatroom.Another fifteen minutes and an ego boost later they actually do come out.(Proof that god does exist).
Now commences the part which she doesnt really fancy because the figure flaunting and the new dress in your face phase is over.Oh yes,this is the part where she supposedly mingles around with the lesser mortals. The accent with the oodles of perfume scent is flowing,the fake smile is tiring the corners of her lips and the greets with upping her flawlessly made eyebrows have a silent "damn dint want too see you" message attached.Very few words delicately chosen are spoken(thank you almighty),and the other garrulous ones,umm..err(oops ,ive always filtered them out)lets just say speak.
Then the formality begins,u know the part when she is supposed to put a few morsels of food in her mouth,inviting theo-my-god-ure-dieting-hehe's leaving her with an itch to yell "hey bitch youve left out the no wonder its showing part!!" Anyhow after downing exactly 14 gms of food and giving a cold shoulder to the awaiting dessert the evening finally ends.That is for us who have descended from mars.For the fragile one from venus ,the show still has the finale left.Another selfappeasing session in front of the mirror.The last pose,the last smile and the last walk.A lifetime is then spent washing awayall the colours(they call it make up) that had been applied initially after taking an equally painstaking amount of time in the first place..Finally she puts herself to rest dreaming about the flawlessly wonderful show she had put up a few hours before.
Lets call it 'The adventures of the fairer sex'.Deeply engaged in registering what her counterparts are donning, whether it fits the occasion or has it been an absolute fashion catastrophe for this wonderful evening and simultganeouslysmiling sheepishly deep down inside because of the 'thought' that she herself has turned up in the most splendid attire adorned with just the right amount of ornaments.Not an earing less not a necklace more. Ultimately When she is unequivocally convinced that no other in the gathering is remotely nearing the beauty she is emanating today,then does she finally take herfirst breath. Dont be fooled by the nonchalance in her step,every step is precisely calcualted to the scale of millimeters.A bit more than what she's planned and she just might tumble , as she knows being a female is backbreaking not only on the count bringingpeople on earth but also sporting footwear which duly entitles her to a nobel prize in suffering (if there was one) Best partis she'll accept it gladly , after all the 3 inches added to her height are pricesless.
Getting pangs of temporary amnesia ,she forgets the hours(being very conservative here) spent in front of the mirror at home , getting hypnotized by the wooden door which reads 'LADIES'.Sometimes I do wonder that may be this is the biggest conspiracyon planet Earth and that the entire male population has been kept unaware of something mystical that is inside thatroom.Another fifteen minutes and an ego boost later they actually do come out.(Proof that god does exist).
Now commences the part which she doesnt really fancy because the figure flaunting and the new dress in your face phase is over.Oh yes,this is the part where she supposedly mingles around with the lesser mortals. The accent with the oodles of perfume scent is flowing,the fake smile is tiring the corners of her lips and the greets with upping her flawlessly made eyebrows have a silent "damn dint want too see you" message attached.Very few words delicately chosen are spoken(thank you almighty),and the other garrulous ones,umm..err(oops ,ive always filtered them out)lets just say speak.
Then the formality begins,u know the part when she is supposed to put a few morsels of food in her mouth,inviting theo-my-god-ure-dieting-hehe's leaving her with an itch to yell "hey bitch youve left out the no wonder its showing part!!" Anyhow after downing exactly 14 gms of food and giving a cold shoulder to the awaiting dessert the evening finally ends.That is for us who have descended from mars.For the fragile one from venus ,the show still has the finale left.Another selfappeasing session in front of the mirror.The last pose,the last smile and the last walk.A lifetime is then spent washing awayall the colours(they call it make up) that had been applied initially after taking an equally painstaking amount of time in the first place..Finally she puts herself to rest dreaming about the flawlessly wonderful show she had put up a few hours before.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The cricket pundits..Really
Last time I blogged i eneded up ranting about the quality of commentators these days.More so the Indian lot,barring the god of commentators , the revred Mr Bhogle.That leaves us with the two most prominent Jackasses on the screen today, Mr shastri and Mr gavaskar.Well being biased is one thing and trying to do a phd in ass licking completely another. For years altogether now , they have been going on and on and on, all gung ho about the asesome foursome sourav,sachin,dravid and the very very special laxman [reallly???]. I mean enough is enough!! We know you like them, but expressing your homosexual feelings for them on national television is clearly not on!!There is another team playing too,wonder you have a word of praise for them too??
Evolve,reinvent,think and speak are some things which seem completelety alien to these genlemen.With he deep sighs Mr Shastri takes on screen, it seems he is panting for breath after a session of self mollification.See the IPL,him raising his voice at the toss to supposedly make the
atmosphere 'electrifying' leaves him with no clue how lame he sounds.
The other day I was privilidged to get to see the highlights of one of Sachin's innings back in 1996 in Sharjah (etched in our memories isnt it:D), when he single handedly obliterated the aussies,making two consecutive mammoth hundreds, a collosal effort by a tiny genius .Well guess what??Who was there to poop the party ?The pooper himself,Mr Shastri.Mumbling the same rants he chants today,the same,indistinguishable pieces of unintelligible speeches which can fit into any setting.
A few Quotes:
This period of play is very important.....Is it??
The key to the game is to string a patnership here...Well when wasnt it??
[49th over]..One gets the feeling hes gonna cut loose here...Oh i thought otherwise..
A single after a six/four...Intelligent cricket,verrrrry intelligent,following a six with a single......Screw you Mr,the ball wasnt there to be hit else he would have hit it again
These inane remarks get on to my nerves.Facts which even a fith grader would assimilate.Havnt once these two morons given us any analysis or for that matter an expert opinion for which they are warming their arses there.
If these two are in one league,there is a man,whom we dont get to see much of nowadays may be because he's been hung by his balls by the taliban(at least that is what i pray for) , yes you guessed it right Mr Ramiz Raza.Well if these two are awe-inspiring ass lickers beating jenna jameson at it , i sure can vouch for the fact that mr raza can give the best blow job in the history of cricket . I mean what else can one say when a person is such an extereme partisan that if he had his way, every time Aloo hit the ball to the boundary he would run up
,pull his pants down and then do what he does best.Believe you me , im not exaggerating here.
Enough said , but i feel its time for our sorry asss commentators to rethink what they speak,even if they want to keep holloring the same cliches over and over again, at least revamp them.So , Most honoured sirs , if you cannot even do that i solemnly put forward my words in the most
suave manner possible:'Please' FUCK OFF!!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
IPL
Whats going on with everyone here in the land of snake charmers or rather the slumdogs now(bad citizen :P) apart from the dance of demo'crazy' i.e elections? What has had the unbashed success kicking the sorry arses of the hallowed saas bahu tortoutous 2 hour dramas,well no dimes for guessing, its the brainchild of Mr Lalit Modi(another Jackass) IPL. Why i keep calling him that is simply beyond my comprehension,he's simply one of those creatures whom u just set your sight on and you feel like dropping a telling blow.If all of you can not correlate then i must humbly request a 'my bad' but i can site an example to put foward case .Appam Chutiya :D
a aa Yep now i see a bleak smile on all your faces ,with ghastly nightmares of Mr.Sree flashing in front of your eyes dancing like a maniac who would do anything to get a speck of your attention and all you want to do is pull him out of the 15" CRT or your new L.C.D and slap him at a rate unheard of. Ok enough trying to force my minds upon you.Well its time to reveal my lil secret .I too am a big IPL fan, rooting for saadi dilli.As the daredevilry continues with a few blips every now and then I feel delhi have got their combination a wee bit wrong .I mean playing A.B over Warner(all due respect to AB's 105*) is beyond me.Plus Mc Grath cooling his heels..hmm...some food for thought.Also delhi is too gung ho about their batting line up which i feel wouldnt have won them one match had it not been the heroics of the unlikely Dilshan.Enough expert comments from my side,but with chargers and punjab looking good,and the late surge of the challengers its anyones game as for now.
The highlight of this second edition of craziness for me has undoubtedly been the fakeiplplayer.
Boy the names he addresses players with, this guy for sure got his priorities wrong and should take to writing full time.His wit and caustic humour has me in absolute splits.Name calling is what has never been before and a small peek a boo into the "colourful" life of the cricketers also has my eyes sparkling green with envy.
To sign off I really dont know what prompted me to write this blog,may be my utter dislike for mr modi or my love for the delhi daredevils or may be,just may be listening to the utter gibberish of some commentators(read ravi shastri,sunil gavaskar) who've had the same things to say for years altogether now just swaping the names of the players, i feel i have a better picture to present :D .
And as i do not have the credentials of neither Mr Sunny nor Mr Shastri who still makes it a point to score with his willow(read:below) to compensate for his cricketing day failures with the willow(Fakeipl player fans gimme a nod here :p) so the best medium of venting out my fanboy rants was indeed this.
Asta la vista
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)