Heads Down....

Enjoying and swaying on the island of my dreams, I was having a great time. More importantly I was smiling, for the only time in the day perhaps when I heard a call. I turned around to see the silhouette of a familiar guy, a person I adored. I Extended my arms to embrace him but he just pushed them aside with a jerk. And then he spoke.

Hey You! Yes I'm talking to you. He yelled. That deafening voice made me shiver. But as against being scared, I was quite curious about such sudden outburst of a guy who usually was the silent one, speaking only when necessary, not more than a few dozen words at a time. While his queer behaviour was what had captured my attention all this while, there was something he said which really got me thinking. The manner in which he asked that question, made it look like a subtle taunt, a comment on me. So what did he say? The more i dwell, the more I am forced to think, "Is it really that tough? That hard? To simply hope." While I just simply linger on to that thought, let me tell you what he actually said.

Have you ever felt like you don't know what's going on in your life anymore? Do you feel so lost that you are completely unaware about the destination life is taking you to?

It's pretty much like you don't care anymore. Nothing affects you anyhow. You're extremely demotivated and you feel worthless all throughout the day. Lost and incompetent, you feel useless and just a burden.

And when you lay at night you just feel so fucking confused about your feelings that you're unable to express them to anyone. You feel that the emptiness inside you will never be understood by another soul.

And then, you feel that you have nothing to look forward to in life. You just go through everyday as if it's an obligation to live. You don't want to do anything, your limbs feel as if they are not your own, not obeying any of your commands. Such lathargic attitude you have, that even breathing seems tiring.

I know you know the feels. So why not get over it, by simply hoping of something good, by being positive.

All this made me wonder a while, that if the solutions that easy, why I am actually so disinterested in living? Why does a smile on the lips is a rare sight? Why the does this young body lack energy and enthusiasm, a characteristic trait of this age? Why to.hope of bright future is such a gritty and resilient task?
All these questions that I had put forth to myself in an angry tone, to get off my depressed phase, kept me awake for the answer I thought never existed. It wasn't until dawn that, I found the answer. It lied in the simple fact of life, I had been taught, over and over, from an early age that "There's nothing such as free lunch". Previously I had always thought it only held true in material possession. But no, I realized it holds equally true with these non tangible things. Its costs something to even love or hope or hate.
So there I was sitting up straight on my bed having made a new discovery and a theory in my own great sense, realizing that its actually fine to feel dejected sometimes. Most importantly I figured out that no matter what they say, or which how much forcefully they reiterate this fact, its actually really tough and sometimes feels like a humongous task to hope. Hoping for the best till the end and when the chips are down; is one of the most difficult task at that point. Sometimes it feels nearly impossible to do so, life becomes all so gloomy and depressed and shitty, and even a pep talk which starts on motivational note ends up in abusing oneself and your imagination is amputated.
This is where I say its OK. Okay, perfectly fine. And if it suffices, I feel this too.

First LOVE

Morning seemed to arrive suddenly that day. I woke up, rubbbing my eyes and remembering exactly what had happened the previous day and then childishly wished it to just be a bad dream. But, alas it was not. The answer was real and so was her feelings. She was gone, FOREVER.

It happens every time. People lose interest in me. They get tired of me. Suddenly, they don't bother hitting me up anymore. The conversation which once used to be so lively and entertainting now becomes shorter, monotonus and almost predictable. They forget about me and I just become a distant memory. I wonder if it’s my fault sometimes. But then I realized that people never stay in my life. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
               
But still, it was pretty hard to digest the fact that a person once so close could go away this easily. All those talks, walks and everything seemed a dream, once so close to fulfillment but now broken. All the while I had dreamed like an idiot, romantically fantasising how we were even able to even understand each others' silences, but I was such a fool, because that silence communicated nothing but only enhanced our growing distances, resulting in the outcome that I was now facing. I was hurt. Badly? Yes, very badly. It seemed as though my heart was bleeding profusely. How could I have been normal, she was after all my first love. I tried so hard to be normal, tried my level best but in vain. Your first love could not be forgotten, it has this unusual knack to being in your memory for time immemorial, preserved and aching your heart every time it resurfaces.
You cannot compare any love to your first love, because when you first loved, you loved with innocence and you risked without fear. Because you didn't know what fear was, the thought of heartache was lacking in your daily. When you first loved, you loved purely, without doubt and hesitation. You loved, uneducated and unaware. You loved not knowing what love was. And it would be awfully unfair to compare any love to your first love, because from then and always on, you will search for that familiar voice in static, emotion in white noise, and magic in reality. And reality is, you'll always have that void and it won't ever be filled because it's there and it exists from experience. And it won't be until you realize that, do you finally understand that falling in love again is and could be far greater because you are so lucky if love finds you again, even if it has to force itself into the little crevice you try to fill with needless other unnecessary things. Because this time, you are aware, educated and knowing. Because if you really do ever fall in love again, you can differentiate between real and lust, and if it is real, you better know how to love and what it is to be loved..!!

The Soul Tormentor- MATHS

That day my brother asked me to help him in one of the problems he had come across while practicing a subject with which I had a really messed up realtionship, a subject which torments the souls of many students in their teenage when as it is they are struggling to keep their mind focused in textbooks. MATHS.
Just hearing its name makes students shiver, quiver and sweat. The landmark of those two mathematical digits "33" seems an impossible task no matter how much you help that guy teaching you maths get rich or the number of registers you fill.
So to help him (my brother) I took out my math textbook- not the slim CBSE one but the big fat volume which had promissed me dizzingly high board exam scores which remainend as colossal a dream as it were at that point when I purchased. So while leafing through its yellowed pages I was struck by two things-one, my sexy handwriting which was still the same and two, the number of times I had been placed in position of Sherlock Holmes and given the task to track down the absconding and elusive "X". W.ell i hope you all remember our freind x- the curious creature with such an amzing terrible sense of direction and memory that it kept getting lost or forgetting who it was.
In algebra it was practically everywhere, philosphically wondering about its purpose in life while being jostled by an army of numbers and mathematical characters stolen from either Latin or Greek. Occasionally we would find it making love with a questionable bunch of characters which were equally directionless and were suspected of blowing our pocket money in junk food-namely, w, y or z.

Looking back I realise that maths was however the most fruitful of all periods in the school. This was a period which I could bunk without giving any second thought because both me and my teacher knew the actual output fof me outside the class would be much more than what i could get inside it. It was also the subject whose notebooks could be totally used for rough work and for the artistic talent inside me finding time and space for coming out. The most important use of this period was that of doing pending work of other subjects or eating your pals lunch or settling previous dues by fighting or abusing without compromising on the volume or the the level of curse (well i prefer calling them phrase enhancers). Ha, all these things with just one compromise-33 marks. Fair deal i think.
But the best part for me was that I did not even have compromise on the 33 marks as well. How, well that's because I was fortunate enough to have the company of intelligent buddies during exam time and a careless examiner. The careless examiner helped me as he/she gave me marks for the same question twice if I did it twice. So, luckily everytime I managed to get rid of the word FAIL imprinted on the report card against the subject which I barely studied.

P.S.- The tools used above by me are non- fictional btut its advisable to use them only after having an in depth knowledge of the IQ of ur teacher and more importantly only if you are a failure. The use of it jn any other circumstance may have catastrophic aftermaths.

! W@nn@ Di€

Well it so happened yesterday that my friends were having a very serious

thought about the Jiah Khan suicide note. The atmosphere was all so serious that I had started to believe that all my friends knew this unfortunate lady very closely. They talked endlessly that how the suicide note was so very heart touching and that it would make even a grown up tough guy cry. But what seemed amusing to me was the fact that, I was not even disturbed by hearing this story so there's no point of feeling sad or melancholy. All this made me earn the title of a "Heartless Bitch".
So now to make them realize that I too am as human as they are and obviously not a bitch, I decided to write a suicide note myself (good measure to gain popularity posthumously or as a matter of fact even alive if you change your mind). Well to be very frank this is more kinda murder note which I am writing on behalf of my friends and foes who could not write this because of their general aversion for english and the fact that they just believe in murdering me and writing a letter for its explanation is just a waste of time.
So to start the following are the reasons why I want and more importantly people associated with me want me to bid-adieu to this mortal world.

1) Devoid Of Lady Luck:- this is the sole reason why I want to suicide. To be true this has been a perpetual problem with me from the time I had known the concept of couples (polite way of saying "the noble philosophy of KAMASUTRA"). This agony has seriously made me crazy as I have started to think of Raja Rammohan Roy as a big anti social element who by abolishing child marriage has destroyed our sole hopes of being in the company of women at this tender age; also I have now started to worship the philosophy of KHAP PANCHAYAT (only child marriage one) who are the only people who have come out openly supporting us and making public statements such as "marriages at the age of 15-16 will provide for all bodily satisfaction teens need  at this stage, and which would help us reduce the number of rape cases". Now since these people have been publicly outracised, I have no choice other than suicide suicide and suicide.

2) My unusual habit of passing comments:- Well this a reason why my friends want me to die and bless me with this queer blessing once a day, everyday. This happens so because I have this uncanny knack of smirking and making sarcastic and humorous comments on virtually anything and everything. While most of the times these make the people accompanying me burst into unstoppable stomach churning laughs, but sometimes they are not so good or even atrocious and the same people pass me looks as if they had seen me eating a chicken raw and alive with ketchup. Yeah the same look which you just had after reading the comparison. So because of such brazen acts of mine they want me to abode this green planet.

3) A Foodie whose Lazy and Miser:- This is another reason which make people think "why I don't die"? Parents and Friends specially, for the simple reason that the repercussions of this bed sticking and stomach enlarging habit of mine are borne by them. For example its very common that when we plan to contribute funds and eat, its always me contributing the least and also I keep a share in the total funds for myself in the name of commission by doing a decent bargain with the vendor (the only thing I have learnt since taking up commerce). So seeing me gain on their expenses makes them think of killing me. Adding on to this they are also jealous of my well built physique i.e  they envy the fact that how I am able to not gain weight given the extra kilos I stuff in my belly every single day while they sport this house of fat even though eating about half of what I do. But I rate this deadly combination very highly as it helps me to find ways to do things or outsource things free of cost, like if I am feeling hungry and feel like having Pizza, I would try to find a way to get it not only delivered at my doorstep but also free of cost. I will not tell you how because this is what only makes me stand out in this populous crowd of misers.

So to end this quite depressing peice of shit, I want to blame only one single person for compelling me to do suicide and i.e PM MANMOHAN SINGH, no reasons to be precise, but I am completing a formality of putting the blame on someone, otherwise it would not be treated with same respect with which others are treated. And more importantly why I blamed Manmohan Singh, its just because of the general trend which is- anything screwed up in your life blame the already rotten and tarnished government.

D tYPiC@L !nDI@N

I consider myself to be a typical Indian-not because of the fact that I am black, lean, girlfriend bereft or because of the fact that my country's education system kicks me on my ass every other day; this consideration also did not come into picture because half my life i lived like a rustic in front of those so called "siphesticated people" who pronounce TUCSON as too-son and not tucson like me-but because i love both cricket and Bollywood-two great subcontinent passions. but this was until, the spot fixing scam broke out.

This is not because I hate betting for any high-principled reason. I just tend to hate gambling because while I have no objection to winning money, I cant bear to loose even a penny (no i'm no baniya, but that is my characteristic trait you can say). and I am damn sure that I would loose only as I have full faith on my luck, am not fortunate enough to have lady luck and "Godess Lakshmi" have long ago stopped following me on twitter and unfriended me on Facebook. that is the reason why I have realised for me the safest mean to double money is to out it in bank and 7% intrest on it.

But I have this late callous realization that I am no longer a typical Indian because of my aversion to gambling not for any holier reason but for the fear of loosing my 38 cm Peter England shirt. Gambling seems to be genetic for my fellow Indians who would obviously do it on Diwali for auspicious reasons, because if it  weren't, Mahabharat wouldn't have been a best seller but an ordinary book labelled "a story of a lady with five idiot husbands".

what I have realized that what these highly educated economists of our country say that by legalising betting the government would earn enough tax revenue to send every single child to school. but what they dont realise that what will happen when these freely educated blokes would come out in searxh of jobs (which is a bigger scarcity than a blue diamond) and would ebd up opening legalised betting centres which would be a lucrative business option and help pocketing those babus enough revenues to send the next generation of kids to school and so on and on till one day we'll all become a nation of school pass and school dropouts ot school kicked out bookies.

seems funny

The D!rtY P!(turE

Few weeks before I heard that Supreme Court may come up with a legislation which would make watching PORN a non bail-able offence. This news got my blood boiling and my testosterone up (because of anger and in a completely different way from how pornography does it). 

Now, obviously protesting against it in public or putting angry statuses on social networking sites isn’t feasible as anything someone would say in support of Kim Kardashian’s previous area of employment, would result in you being labeled as a vile and depraved person. So, as people already put me into that category, I thought of being the one to broach on this Grave Situation at Hand. 

In my view, the origin of pornography dates back to the time when man had learnt how to make cave drawings. Well, obviously I don’t have any documented proof of this but being a guy myself I seriously know the fickle minded nature of my type, so this is obviously possible so censoring it would result it in breaking an age old tradition of entertainment. But unlike those panelists who debate endlessly on that television news channels, my arguments are not based on constitutional provisions, or how the politicians of our country are making this act as a scapegoat for all those hell lot of scams and the rising cases of rape epidemic. For me no pornography means no more mind boggling story-lines that our Bollywood directors and script-writers could ever come up with.

Now let me explain how exactly the porn universe is different from our usual scientific universe, mind this is for all those jerks who boast their incompetency by swearing aloud that they have never watched porn in their whole life and not for those who watch these small films not for the depraved acts depicted but for the wonderfully terrible acting involved before its gets nasty and naughty.

For example, in our world if any pizza delivery guy mixes up our order, we either abuse the living daylights out of him or end up getting a pizza for free. But this is exactly what not happens in the porniverse, there the pizza delivery boy- who will invariably be 6ft. 5in. tall with physique like a bodybuilder (yeah even in porn movies you need a damn good physique)-will request the customer- who unfailingly will be a lone sexy women in a large mansion and draped in a towel (arousing the pizza delivery guy to his limit), coming from a bath or be going to it- to somehow forgive him. And her solution? Well, just try and recollect Nike’s tagline (JUST DO IT) and you’d figure out the rest.

Only in India it’s possible to refer an ex-porn star as a dedicated actress, a rape victim labeled as morally unsound, and not happening of child marriages as a reason of rising rape cases. So as a solution politicians think of banning internet pornography that’s breeding rapists. WOW, I would ode to my politicians whose mentality I think even sicker than that of a public toilet of Old-Delhi. 

That’s why I desperately want censoring of porn itself should be banned. So, why in the name of holy lake are these pig-headed politicians ruining our sole source of entertainment? They themselves enjoy those erotic hours in hotels, so then why are they against us enjoying seeing their performance. 

now here's a picture of KIM KARDASHIAN to make up(the best i can get among all porn-stars turned actresses) 

Fare WELL

23^rd January both commenced and ended with a bang for me. The day was inaugurated with a tight “Kantaap” (slap) on my face by my mother and the words “uth jaa, late ho rha hai”. I don’t have words to describe my emotional condition, my despair, pain and longing for few more precious minutes of sleep but as a result that slap I had a glowing red cheek without any parlor treatment and was radiating heat. WOW. A perfect start for the day, served like a tonic the whole day. After that I did the usual morning activities, no, wait, it was not usual at all, damn today was my farewell and it took me nearly half-an-hour (precious time) to get ready, task which normally took me 10-15 minutes on regular school days. Shit, I could have utilized that time in some more sleep. But surely no regrets.

Finally after getting ready I started my journey to the historical place “RIS-TY”. Seriously, for this place would only be history for me from now on. But unfortunately the journey seemed never ending with that long jam which prevented me from reaching the destination on time. This jam was the by-product of the money-minting talent and ability of our traffic police-men by unnecessarily stopping a truck on the excuse of checking for republic day and earning some early morning bribe. After overcoming the trauma of that elongated, unnecessary jam during which I had to answer at least a dozen phone calls about my delay, I at last reached my school which I was obviously coming for the last time (not to count the times I would have to make here again for re-tests and boards pacticals). After barely managing to make to the  school on time, I met a friend of mine, a blithering babbling baboon, who came running towards me shouting “Beer-Vodka” in front of my parents instead of usual hi’s and hello’s to remind me about our plan of becoming “BHAND”. Crap. I felt like killing him that moment but controlled that emotion somehow.

Then we left to RIS-GN. Thankfully nothing eventful happened en-route apart from the normal shitty crap conversation which for obvious reasons I would not like to elaborate.

The real fun started when we reached “RIS- Greater Noida”, a palace of a school with an amphitheatre which resembled the ground of Wembley. Well, a sweet over exaggeration of the fact that it was looking nice, not because of the decorations but because of the large quantum of “sweet and sexy” sari clad girls it sustained for the time being. Believe me it was real difficult to control both my emotions and the whistle to blow out from my mouth. These seemed to be reflex actions. And this problem was faced by all. But not long before our glands had started to release high amount of adrenalin, gate-crashed our party, the universal mood-spoiler our director “Grace Pinto”. I didn’t use the prefix Ma’am because calling her Madame would mean showing disrespect to her well maintained and superiorly built physique. On her arrival she segregated the boys and girls into different group dismantling the fundamental right of each and every child studying in a co-ed school. On top of that we were starved for nearly 5-6 hours on just one sandwich and a juice while se was served a chocolate cake. Bull shit. That was not all she gave that unbearable, torturing and fatal speech in a monotone asking, pleading and begging blessings from all the students for her dear husband Mr. A F Pinto our chairman. Crap. The only moment when I felt happy about her presence in that amphitheatre was the time when I was destined to receive an award for my favorite pastime, that of being an avid reader. Apart from this award receiving and the sight of beautiful girls all around nothing was pleasant in that oversized school.

 On returning to our school, we were given to eat and as expected all the students ran to the stall like starving rats released from cage causing havoc and chaos in the school grounds. Yes, of-course not girls who were overcautious about their expensive drape and makeup and showed the most appealing patience in such starving times. The available stock of chapattis and vegetables especially “paneer” vanished into thin air just like ninjas. Finally after stuffing out bellies we went to the dance floor to digest that food. The problem we now encountered was how to dance freely with those priceless trophies in our hands. So to get rid of it, me and mine winner friends stacked them into the bag of two 11^th‘ies. After that we all danced like Salman Khan and went crazy doing and imitating every step that we have once seen and even that of petty harlots seen in some useless Bollywood flick. Thereafter we resorted to clicking photographs with every other guy present. But the real trouble started when one of the girls who had my friend’s trophy went home without returning it while I was trying my luck to get clicked with on of those beautiful girls. FUCK. That was bad. There are only few times when you get trophies from the school principle and not suspension letters and damn our stars we even loose that. No rewards for guessing that I became the boxing bag for that unfortunate boy and was bestowed 30 mighty blows on every part of my body. I thank him for not hitting me anywhere below waist or I would have become “impotent”. Phew.

And at last like a bad dream that day had to end, we were to return tour homes; listen to the heart piercing taunts from our parents from the very next days to study, mugging our textbooks like real nerds and return to that monotonous routine. But I can definitely guarantee that each and every guy present in the farewell would always remember this day and dream of more such beautiful days in his life hereafter.

although i am looking horrible, but still these are some last memories of this school. :)