Category Archives: Miscellaneous

Happy Teacher’s Day.

Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan was our country’s first vice-president, second president and the third person to have a chain of expensive schools to his name.

Dr. Radhakrishnan celebrated his birthday on 5th September. The celebrations would usually be a private affair, with only a very few close friends and family gathering at his place, cutting the cake and struggling with his complete name while singing the Happy Birthday song. They would have a plate of samosas, potato chips, a cup of Fanta and then head home with their return gift of a pencil, an eraser and a plastic scale. Literally very old school celebrations, you see.

However, on his 50th birthday, his close friends and family got together and planned a different theme for his surprise party. As the clock struck 12 on the night of 4th September 1963, about a 1000 friends, students and relatives raided his home with 10 tankers of tequila, 50 cartons of colourful pills and an unknown number of male and female strippers tucked away in as many birthday cakes.

The drunken revelry went on till the wee hours of the morning, when the neighbours, ably assisted by the National Security Guards (NSG) finally managed to drive everyone home and clear up the evidence.

When Dr. Radhakrishnan opened his eyes in the morning, he realized that two floors of his 3 storey house were not there anymore. He found himself lying upside down on a large strawberry cake, with a couple of silk stockings around his neck, a golden sceptre in his left hand and a live grenade in his right hand. A few feet away, two people were lying face-down on the ground. He identified one of them as Lord Mountbatten with his pants missing.

That was when he decided he had enough of birthday parties.

The very next day, he addressed the press and said, “Umm, birthdays are cool, but you know what I would really like? If instead of celebrating MY birthday on 5th September and thrashing MY house, you celebrate it as Teacher’s Day! Nobody pays much attention to them anyway. And I’d appreciate it if you cleared Mountbatten off my backyard immediately.”

Dr. Radhakrishnan’s missing floors and Mountbatten’s missing pants continue to remain history’s unsolved mysteries, but India has since observed 5th September as Teacher’s Day – a solemn tribute to the memorable party.

***

Today, on Teacher’s Day, I am going to revisit my school days and pay homage to some of the most amazing teachers I’ve had the privilege of learning from.

Mr. Man-thony.

Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach. And those who can’t teach, teach gym.

Whenever I think about Mr. Man-thony, the Physical Education teacher, I always wonder: what makes a man “manly”?

Some of you might imagine tough cowboys from old Westerns taming wild horses and eating bullets for breakfast as manly. For others, it might be sportsmen such as boxers and rugby players who regularly break bones with a smile on their faces.

Well, I beg to differ with all of you.

According to me, a real man is the one who doesn’t pause to think when it comes to beating 9 year old kids for not standing straight during a physical exercise routine in the blistering summer heat. Depending on his mood, he would beat kids with his bare hands, a wooden scale, or with a cane. On many occasions, it became very difficult to choose between the 3, which is what made Mr. Man-thony special : he always knew how to hit, where to hit and what to use for hitting. His decision making skills were impeccable, making him a formidable figure in the fascinating world of Physical Education teachers. And that, my friends, is what made him “manly”.

Now that we have covered his personality, let us go a bit into his abilities as a teacher. I have to start by pointing out the stark, ridiculous irony that Mr. Man-thony, himself out of shape and weighing over 100 kgs, being entrusted with Physical Education. This minor discrepancy notwithstanding, we were expected to take fitness instructions from a man with a belly so huge that it made us believe he was pregnant with quadruplet rhinoceros babies.

That said, it must be noted that Physical Education is not an easy thing to teach. This is not like pussy Mathematics or Science which you can learn sitting in the comfort of classrooms; this is much more hands-on. Children have to be taught the mystic art of running, jumping and waving their arms in roughly symmetrical patterns – a skill previously practised only within the closed confines of the Shaolin Temple. Much respect to him for sharing with us this invaluable, rare superpower which transformed us mere school students into hunky Greek Gods with sculpted marble physiques.

On Teacher’s Day, I want to thank Mr. Man-thony personally. Thank you for taking out the anger stemming from your utter incompetence and failure at life on little defenseless kids. You sir, must be awarded with a private dungeon equipped with the finest quality Italian leather belts, spiked clubs and canes made of redwood trees that you can use to discipline future generations of unruly 5th graders.

Miss Virgin Scary

Dear Lord, please protect me from your followers.

Miss Scary was one of the few teachers that I didn’t relate to. She taught us history, but I never understood why she had to commence all classes with prayers praising Jesus Christ. I’m not making this up – she really did this. She would ask us to close our eyes and pray to someone’s Holy Mother for a reason we are still not entirely sure about to this day.

I vividly remember a day back in sixth grade. I remember that day because it left a lasting impression. It was the day she told us about “The Rapture”.

She had a crazy, deluded look in her eyes… the look you find in the eyes of people who wear “The End Is Near” signs around their necks and stand around street corners. It was probably due to the temporary unavailability of antidepressants at that time, or maybe the cult that she belonged to had a nervous breakdown; we’ll never know. What we do know is that she seemed very disturbed that afternoon.

She skipped history lessons for the day and started telling us about how the world was going to end very soon. She said that in the year 2000, a great flood will begin, that it will be pitch dark outside and it will rain day and night, that only a red cross will be visible high in the sky, that the only way to save ourselves and our family was to cover our windows with newspapers and read from the Bible. Those who believed in Christ the Saviour shall be saved, the others doomed. She told us all this in the kooky, shivering voice of a woman who lived alone in her apartment with only stray cats for company.

I was 11 at that time and I was fucking scared. So were my friends.

I went home feeling extremely rattled and repeated whatever Miss Scary said in front of my mom. My mom was pissed. She said, “What kind of humans are they to brainwash my little boy with such utter nonsense? Don’t they understand that such obscure religious statements can have a drastic effect on a child?”

She then sat me down and calmly explained that there was no such thing as a Rapture, and even if it were to happen, nothing could harm us Hindus because our Lord Krishna was there to protect us. He was the dude who had once lifted the Govardhan hill with his pinky, saved a whole village from heavy monsoons, and then played an awesome flute solo inspired by Jethro Tull. As long as I prayed to Him, I didn’t need to worry about any floods.

Problem fucking solved! I was so damn relieved. Haha, losers! You can’t touch me, biatches!

You can very well see how that incident has helped in shaping my religious beliefs.

This is my holy book. Amen.

On Teacher’s Day, I want to thank Miss Scary personally. Thank you for confusing 11 year old children with your stupid religious ideologies. Thank you for believing that faith is something to be enforced upon and not something to be experienced by oneself. The year 2000 is long gone, but I’m still waiting for the Zombie Apocalypse. The umbrella and the Bible that I bought to save my family are still untouched. Do give me a call if J. Christ and da J-Unit decide to show up.

Mrs. Fat Gujju Aunty

I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.

I cannot stress enough on the importance of arts in a child’s life. Have you ever noticed how children seem to be blissfully lost in their own world when they are drawing? It’s probably the only time their imagination is fuelled, their creativity is unrestrained and they connect to a part of themselves they’ve never seen. With a blank canvas, a pencil and a few crayons, a child’s mind breaks free of all barriers and explores distant avenues. For once, the child experiences true freedom from the somewhat rigid patterns of thinking required in regular subjects.

But Mrs. Fat Gujju Aunty, my drawing teacher, didn’t give a flying fuck. To her, drawing fell in 4 categories: grade A (very good), grade B (kinda good), grade C (stick to Math, you nerd) and grade D (did you puke over this?).

I enjoyed drawing the most, but dreaded it only for the fear of getting a C or D.

I don’t blame her. She is a part of a system that believes art classes are a waste of time. Drawing classes meant copying obscure images of sunflowers, animals and a bunch of vessels from textbooks and having an older sibling (or worse, parents) help out with the colouring. These would then be impartially graded (Gujju kids got better grades because they were… well, better than you) and even if you got a D, it didn’t matter because it wasn’t a subject that you needed to pass in.

This is how creativity is stifled in schools. At an age where talent should be identified and encouraged, children are made to believe that it is worthless. If you’ve watched Taare Zameen Par, you would know what it is like to be Ishaan Awashti’s parents.

On Teacher’s Day, I want to thank Mrs. Aunty personally. Thank you for scribbling large, red ‘D’ marks over our drawings and firmly putting us back in our place. Had Vincent van Gogh been your student, he would have shot himself before the class even ended.

Miss Palm-ela

We may not pay Satan reverence, for that would be indiscreet, but we can at least respect his talent.

Miss Palm-ela was my English teacher in fourth grade. She got her nickname from her trademark open palm slap which would just sweep you off your feet. I have fond memories of being one of the gifted few to have tasted her meaty palm across the face. To this day, I rate it higher than Federer’s backhand and Nadal’s forehand.

Miss Palm-ela was no ordinary woman. When she entered the classroom, the whole class would drop whatever they were doing, shut the fuck up and wet their respective pants inside 4 milliseconds. After all, she was this massive beast of a woman with a voice of… ah her voice. I appreciate her voice much more today than I did then because it sounds EXACTLY like this.

Oh yeah, she was Satan’s daughter herself.

I remember experiencing my first Palm-ela slap when I struggled with the pronunciation of a particular word during the English class. The impact sent me reeling to the ground. She stood over me and bellowed:

Palm-ela: To manipulate the fears of others, you must first learn to master your own. Are you ready to begin?
Me: I-I can barely stand.
Palm-ela: Death does not wait for you to be ready, death is not considerate or fair and make no mistake about it, here you will face death! Now read that sentence again!

I tried again. I failed again.

Palm-ela: I’m trying to free your mind, Sachin. But I can only show you the door. You’re the one that has to walk through it.

She then pointed to the classroom door. I walked out quietly.

Our principal spotted me standing outside the classroom and asked her why I was punished. She didn’t answer, but during lunch time that day, she ate his liver with Fava beans and a nice Chianti.

On Teacher’s Day, I want to thank Miss Palm-ela personally. Thank you for demonstrating how the human hand can break the sonic barrier with illustrative examples. Discipline is necessary, but damn you bitch, those slaps really hurt. They still hurt.

***

Moral of the story?

Some of this might seem amusing, some tragic, but this is how the Indian education system works. A system where Mathematics is about mugging up formulae; where arts, music and sports are looked upon as “out of curriculum” subjects that add no value to education and actually interfere with studies; where parents are told that their 8 year old or 10 year old will never do well in life because of low scores in a fucking mid term test; where the story of our own countrymen who gave up their lives for freedom is worth about 10 marks in the exams; where poems are not meant to be understood and appreciated for the emotion conveyed, but for parroting out as is; where your grades will determine how successful you will be in life; where the notion is to carry on with the same old textbooks with obsolete information and still expect kids to be the future leaders; where beating, scolding and yelling is supposed to improve a child’s learning abilities; where parents feel the need to send their kids to private tutors, many of whom are teachers at the same school; where many children are denied love and attention they might not get at home; where society can’t break out of classroom walls and the mental walls where young minds are imprisoned at a very early age.

And in spite of this sad state, you find some of the brightest young minds coming from India. I think this is probably because for every bad teacher, there is one good teacher who’d set things right. For every teacher who beats children, there is always one to pick them up. For every teacher you hate to see at school, there is one you look forward to learn from. Those lucky enough to have that one good teacher turn out okay.

On Teacher’s Day, I want to thank all the good teachers personally. It’s your values and your blessings I live with today, and I’m proud to have learned from you. You might not be in the majority, but even a small number makes a world of difference to thousands of young students growing up.

I hope there are more teachers like you and less of those who poison a child’s mind with doubt, insecurity and fear. I wish that children can look at schools as a place for learning and growing, not as a place where dreams are crushed under an absurd load of unrealistic expectations. I’d like to see schools without illusive boundaries, clipped wings or indelible red ink marks.

Happy birthday, Dr. Radhakrishnan. Happy Teacher’s Day.

After A Break – 2.

This is a spillover from the previous post, which also celebrates the wonder years of advertising. The only difference is that this post is especially reserved for the telecom companies whose sole purpose of existence is to gently stuff one of their lifetime postpaid plans down their customer’s throat. Service with a smile.

The invaluable heritage of bloodsucking advertising started with Vodafone (then Hutch (previously Orange)). If you recall, they pioneered telecom business in India by means of their heralded ad campaign, which basically had a hideously ugly dog going around and sniffing everyone’s arse until they finally gave up and purchased one of their lifetime postpaid plans out of frustration. Inclusion of the catchy “You and I” song was enough to attract the kewl crowd*, and the Happy To Yelp dog was an instant hit with bitches who find those repulsive things cute. The doggedness paid off, huh?

They later revived their ad campaign with some popular characters called ZooZoos. I thought these were just products of computer animation, but after reading this article, I was struck dumb.

The article says:

the film-maker had to use adult actors—all slim-built women—as opposed to children, who would have been better suited to play the part of the Zoozoos.

Oh my. Just look at that sexist statement: All slim-built women, who would have been better suited to play the part of the Zoozoos. I thought the “part of ZooZoos” is, in essence, just mumbling unintelligibly and stumbling about like developmentally delayed children. So answer me this: are the ad creators equating women with these cretinous characters by saying they are best suited to play only such roles? What a sorry excuse for a career!

In any case, the Vodafone guys win my respect. Think about it: they succeeded in capturing the whole market with just a dog and slim women in white suits. The last time someone pulled off such a remarkable feat was when… Arsenal the won the League back in ’03-’04.

***

Then it was the golden age of Airtel with their eternal plea to ‘Express Yourself’. Who can ever forget their wonderful series of commercials starring the Award Winning actors R Madhavan and Vidya Balan?

1. Watch this. I chuckled when I noticed the Airtel “STD” in the title, and how it sounds almost prophetic when Vidya says, “Din mein 10 baar… 50 baar” in the ad.

2. And this one. It’s like someone swallowed a cheap romantic novel, suffered from violent indigestion, and vomited this ad for 41 excruciating seconds.

3. One more. I feel sorry for Madhavan. Even after turning off the lights and checking the house for open windows like a loyal domestic servant, he still gets cards thrown in his face. Poor sod.

Statistics show that a lot of people were left incapable of ever expressing themselves clearly after witnessing this artificially induced diabetes.

***

Next to arrive on the scene were the ironically named Idea, who launched upon the world the most intelligent ideas you’ll ever expect from people who choose Abhishek Bacchan as their brand ambassador. Whether it was the incredulous ‘mobile schooling’ and ‘mobile democracy’ to the recent ‘Walk when you talk’, one can only wonder where they get all their ideas from. My respect to Sirjee, whoever he is, for starting this legendary series. What a fucking genius, Sirjee.

The tragic end of Idea: 2 days ago, an Idea customer (their only customer) was killed when he was crossing a busy highway while still talking on the phone. Reports say that the person at the other end asked him to wait and the dumbass took it literally. Idea have since announced that they will be generously offering the deceased person's family lifetime postpaid plans at 2.5% discount.

***

Small fry like Aircel also came in to grope in the dark, but were left empty handed. When they couldn’t get a single customer to buy their service, they spent most of their free time in “saving” the remaining 1411 tigers instead. However, the tigers were less than thrilled over being saved by unknown fakeass mobile networks.

The tigers’ official spokesman has this to say:

Children, gather around! No retreat, no surrender; that is the Royal Bengal lore. And by Royal Bengal lore we will stand and fight… and die. A new age has begun. An age of freedom, and all will know, that 1411 Royal Bengals gave their last breath to defend it! HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!

And with that, the tigers started attacking and maiming Aircel’s staff.

The Indian government attempted to organize a campaign to save the remaining 11 to 14 Aircel employees, but pulled out when nobody gave a fuck. Oh the irony of life.

***

And finally, the torch has been passed over to the good people at Tata. How thoughtful of them to ask the Spastic Society of India to create a jingle for their Tata Docomo ad campaign. The resultant product of the spastic creativity was the extremely addictive tune, “Doo doo doo, doo doo doo, doo doo doo, doo doo doodoodoodoodoo”. In fact, the “doodoodoodoo” part keeps on going till a little blood comes out of your ears and for a moment you consider turning to religion to find solace from the pain.

The Docomo Friendship Express. I read somewhere that the train driver was so disturbed by the singing that he jumped out of the moving train. The passengers continued singing unaware, until the train went off tracks and crashed into a Docomo signal tower, killing everyone on board and disrupting Docomo’s network for over a week.

Tata, Docomofos.

Further reading

1. For all the tortured souls who have long endured the annoying barrage of SMSes such as “VL death pack: recharge for only 50,000” or “VL dwnlds: dwnld sxy bkini models 4 Rs 15. Thn beg 4 4giveness by dwnlding Bible for Rs 20”, I urge you to do this (if you haven’t already): SMS ‘START DND’ to 1909 to shut them up for at least a while. More details here.

2. For everyone else who want to have some fun, this is something you can do:

(I got a call when Manchester United were playing against Portsmouth)

Vodafone Customer Care: Hello sir, I’m calling to inform…
Me: That United are leading 4-0. Yes I know; I’m watching the match too.
VCC: No uhh…
Me: Oh alright. 2 own goals, but Berbatov’s goal was great. Should silence the critics till the next match at least.
VCC: Sir you can top up with Rs…
Me: You’re a Portsmouth fan, aren’t you?
VCC: No.. what? You can top up with..
Me: It’s ok. Even Leeds got relegated and it turned out great for them. If you guys play well, you’ll be back in Premier League in no time.
VCC: (silence)
VCC: Sir you can now top up with Rs. 555…

(Another call from Vodafone Kerala: this guy kept on speaking in Malayalam)

VCC: Njaan Vodafone Cuzdhomer Gare aano blah blah… postpaid ille? Ramble ramble.
Me: We’re no strangers to love. You know the rules, and so do I.
VCC: (Some more rambling in Malayalam.)
Me: A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy…
VCC: Malayalam ariyo?
Me: I HAVE BECOME COMFORTABLY NUMB.
VCC: Eeeh?

VCC: Hi, I’m from Vodafone Care and-
Me: I don’t care.
VCC: Heehee, actually I wanted to verify-
Me: I could care less.
VCC: But this is to-
Me: Not a care in this world.
VCC: Uff, sir will you please listen?
Me: …as much as I care about Careless Whisper. (hangs up)

VCC: Hello Sir? My name is Priya. Sir, would you be interested…
Me: Oh Priya, I thought you’d never ask! Yes, I’m interested. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!
VCC: (nervous laughter) Umm, no… sir…
Me: For once in my life, Priya, I’m not mistaken. I fell for you the instant I saw you dancing at Mansukhani’s farmhouse party.
VCC: (few moments of silence) No I’m calling from Vodafone, sir. I’m calling to tell you about our new…
Me: Oh? Sorry, not interested. (hangs up)

VCC: Hello, my name is XYZ. Are you a post paid customer?
Me: No, I am Batman and you have reached the Batcave. Kindly state the nature of emergency?
VCC: Umm… sorry?
Me: You should be sorry for what you did to Gotham city.
VCC: Sir… what? I don’t get…
VCC: (confusion, silence)
Me: Why so serious, son? Let’s put a smile on… (hangs up)

VCC: Good evening sir. I’m calling from Vodafone.
Me: Good evening sir. You have reached Airtel’s customer support hotline. My name is Sachin. How may I help you?
VCC: (confused) Uhh…what?
Me: If you guess my name right, you win 1000 Zimbabwean dollars. No taxes.
VCC: Uhh.. hello.. what?
Me: Wrong. It’s Voldemort. You lose and are hereby assigned 2000 hours of community service in Zimbabwe.
VCC: (hangs up)

I understand that they are trying to make a living by selling their shit, and I’m not against that. However, when they stop respecting people’s privacy and call at unearthly hours to explain their lifetime postpaid plans, they can certainly expect entertaining replies. I’m usually polite on the phone, but calls early in the morning and late at night? How can we let this go on?

Refuse! Resist!

*Kewl crowd: People who love to take pictures of themselves holding a guitar in various positions, at various angles. When asked to play a song, they will choose to play “You and I” because the lyrics are not too complicated, they just have to strum on random strings, and poof! Instant guitar Gods!

After A Break.

I am putting together a list of some brilliant ads that nearly missed out on bagging a Cannes Lion this year. Nevertheless, they were good enough to earn critical acclaim from the judges and the audience alike.

Liril 2000

A soap claiming it can “refresh 2000 parts of your body” makes the top of this list. I’m very surprised because I didn’t even know we have 2000 parts in our body that could be washed with a soap. Amazing, isn’t it?

Unless you are talking about Optimus Prime, the rest of the Autobots and the Decepticons, I don’t think too many regular people have 2000 body parts to clean up. I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars: We use Liril 2000, and we smell awesome.

Seriously people, even 206 bones + 650 muscles + 32 teeth + 6 vital organs + 1 (optional) soul don’t add up to 2000.

I find it extremely puzzling when people try to be elite in selling a product as trivial as soap. Do you really believe that the average Indian ‘tard who watches Saas-Bahu serials on Colours and Imagine would even get the schmancy psychedelic “concept soap”? It would make more sense to drop all the unnecessary gimmick and pretentious bullshit and just show a hot semi-naked model rubbing your soap all over her – you know, stuff that regular, normal people can relate to. Trust me, it is easier to sell more soaps this way than trying to convince people that a soap can refresh parts they don’t even have.

You remember how Priety Zinta bathed with your soap under a waterfall once? Yeah, those were the days. Simple, delightful visuals; an easy-to-understand message. Where has all the clarity gone nowadays?

In the real world, it doesn’t matter what you want to sell. As long as a barely clad hot girl is holding it in her hand/ rubbing it on herself/ sleeping on it, people WILL buy your shit. But no, you want ignore the time-tested formula and use your brain instead.

The new ad self-righteously states that 2000 is “a creative expression to denote large number of body parts.” In response, I can think of just 1 creative expression about the ad makers: they had 1999 of their body parts shoved up just 1 body part when they conceptualized this ad.

Airtel

The story in this exceedingly well-made commercial is really touching, and it reminds us of how we used to be.

Saif is separated from his childhood crush Sarah Jane, who moved away when they were kids. Many years pass, and they are all grown up now, but Saif still can’t get over the memories of the little girl who he recognizes only by the ‘titli’ necklace he had gifted her back then. He looks for her on many different channels and uses many different cable connections, but alas! She is nowhere to be found.

Then one day, our lovelorn hero happens to catch this really pretty girl on TV. Something clicks. Something clocks. Thanks to Airtel’s Digital Clarity picture quality, Saif notices two things:

1. Sarah Jane maturity because she is still wearing a plastic titli necklace from childhood.

2. Sarah Jane’s maturity because her butterflies have blossomed from mere larvae to these full-fledged beauties that have taken flight from her chest.

And with Airtel’s MPEG DVB-S2 technology, one can now estimate cup sizes on TV. Notice the overjoyed look on Saif’s face as he fixes his stare on Sarah Jane’s cleavage and runs over to meet her.

Phir story mein twist. Just as he is about to profess his wish to bang the living titlis out of his childhood flame, Kareena sashays on to the scene. Life takes an unexpected turn as Kareena’s ‘tit’lis force Saif to change his mind again. Sarah Jane, the mature lady she is now, understands the situation, shakes her head and smiles poignantly at her luck while thinking: “Fucking C cups, bitch! Mine were bigger!”

Dil titli, dil titli

Surf Excel

For a change, here comes some archive material in terms of its uniqueness. I always wonder how it made past the censors despite all the objectionable content.

The ad starts with a young school boy looking for his missing teacher. A classmate informs him that she’s away because “unka doggie mar gaya”.

A teacher bunking work over a dead dog isn’t the only thing that is wrong here. Read on.

The boy goes to the teacher’s home and waits near the porch. A lonely old lady is shown sitting there, longingly staring at an empty leash.

This is when it gets frightfully creepy.

The boy puts the leash around his own neck, almost as if he’s been trained to do it on cue, and pretends to be her bitch. He elaborately impersonates all bitch-actions including rolling around in the mud, raising the hind leg and pretending to pee, and playing with the dead dog’s ball (ewww), which actually brings a smile to the old lady’s face. The closing scene shows them sitting real close, holding each other, with an impassive middle-aged woman’s voice telling us, “Agar daag lagne se kuch accha hota hai toh daag acche hain”.

Just what the fuck man! What in the dead Michael Jackson’s name is that even supposed to mean?

Full marks to the person who conceived and directed this psychotic ad. I’m guessing it was either Eli Roth or Quentin Tarantino. But even that shouldn’t stop an anti-abuse organization from investigating this issue, don’t you think?

Hero Honda

Ah, my personal favourite. This ad stars an exceptionally gifted guy who rides his bike to his girlfriend’s home every time she sends him a text message.

Guy riding bike to girlfriend’s home to reply to SMS. You can almost sense that there has been a misunderstanding somewhere.

I was not really sure about the misunderstanding, so I did some extensive research on this: I contacted the top 10 telecom companies, conducted a few surveys, talked to the Tech team at a renowned mobile phone manufacturer, tested the most popular cell phone models. After around 2 months of exhaustive investigation, I came to this definitive conclusion:

We have enough evidence to confirm that there is a “Reply” option in all cell phones through which you can reply to the sender instead of actually going to their home to reply. There you go. Misunderstanding fixed.

If the ad intended to make dumb girls go “awww, he’s so fucking sweeett naaa? Like he came all the way to my fucking home to like just say good night teeheehee!” it landed straight on its ass. It came across more like “awww, look at the poor unemployed twat! He has so much time to waste and he can’t even operate a bloody cell phone!”

Birla Sun Life Insurance

A dark, grim ad featuring Virender Sehwag and Yuvraj Singh. The weird camera angles, the dull hues, the heavy pseudo-philosophical dialogues and the “sort of ominous” direction make this look like that i-pill ad with Tanaz Currim and her husband.

Notice how Yuvraj and Sehwag say, “Jab balla chalna bandh ho jaye tab…” and then suddenly go quiet, look down and shake their heads.

Wait, has somebody confused life insurance with erectile dysfunction again?

Honorary mention

This is the ad that came so close to winning, but unfortunately lost out – just like its protagonist always does in real life.

It’s the Bournvita “l’il champs” ad with Sania Mirza dressed as a school girl. A school girl with pig tails. Yes.

I won’t say much about it except that a grown woman dressed as a school girl rings a very loud bell somehow.

How To Win The US Presidential Elections And The Nobel Peace Prize In 5 Easy Steps.

A little update before we begin: just last week, my mailbox was flooded with over 3 emails enquiring why I’ve been away for so long. Well, actually just 2. The other was a penis enlargement cream commercial, but that’s not the point. The point is that people care – if not about my blog, then at least about my health and well-being.

Real life has been tricky lately, leaving very little time to do things I really love. For instance, I barely get enough time to catch all the episodes of my favourite entertainment show – Rehna Hai Teri Palkhon Ki Chaaon Mein. I was heartbroken when I found out that Kanchan’s mother wants Suman to marry Kartik, not Karan. In the name of God, how could you do that to the poor orphan girl?

Will Kanchan’s mother have a change of heart? Can Karan convince his brother to stop acting like a douche bag? Will the viewers ever figure out how the family, who sit around all day long either drawing Rangolis or bitching behind each other’s backs, pay the electricity bills and the house rent? What if we find out that Ramu kaka is an undercover Ninja Assassin hired to kill the entire family? Will true love emerge victorious in the end or will Kanchan’s mother’s rotund ass crush it under its massive weight?

All your answers in the next riveting episode. Keep watching.

And now, back to the post.

Let’s start with a few words of wisdom from Paulo Coelho:

When you really want something, the entire Nobel Selection Committee conspires against the rest of the nominees of the universe and gives it to you instead.

I agree with Mr. Coelho. If it is the Nobel Committee that you want to tuck away in your back pocket, then Urim and Thummim are of no use my friend. You have to devise your own strategy to win. If you can’t think of one on your own, just follow my five-fold success plan free of cost:

1. Be heard

Start your quest by understanding the importance of an appealing voice. Please note that you’re going to need a great voice to bullshit people about selected issues from a wide range of choices handed down to us by our forefathers. Just to help you begin, here are some free themes that you may use. Kindly grab a pencil and paper and note these down.

A. World peace.
B. Moon peace.
C. Sun peace.
D. Nuclear disarmament is countries that can’t even spell disarmament.
E. Nuclear empowerment in the USA only, so that item A. can be accomplished peacefully.
F. Tax relief for the multi-millionaires and the unemployed – to show that you care about both “extremes” of society. This little exercise can be more effective if you can make a nice PowerPoint presentation showing how you’re going to fund item E. by heavily taxing the middle class. Please use bright colours and attractive fonts in your slides so that they will be taken in the right spirit.
G. Organizing belly dancing nights and providing free booze-on-tap at every old age home and orphanage.

Now that you have your very own agenda, start your vocal training. No one would ever take you seriously if you repeated the above in an Anu Malik voice or a Farhan Akhtar voice. You would sell many albums, yes, but as I said, people will not take you seriously.

For a candidate to sound really impressive, their voice must have 4 mandatory tones: rich, deep, crisp and honest.

The rich tone signifies your credibility. It should not be arrogant, but instead very down-to-earth and humble. The I’m-a-billionaire-but-I-give-a-dime-about-you-people-living-on-the-streets kind.
The deep tone marks your masculinity, which you will use to politely threaten poor countries. This deep tone is mainly used to attract ladies across all age brackets, hence it is very important.
The crisp tone indicates clarity. It highlights your single minded focus on world domination.
And the fourth tone, the honest tone. This tone is used to carry off all the other tones smoothly. It is the gulp of water that will make swallowing shards of metal much easier.

The resultant voice should be flawless. It will not only strengthen diplomatic relations between countries, but also gives channels like CNN something to talk about.

2. No Teething Problems.

The second absolutely vital requirement for winning a Nobel peace prize is dental hygiene. Maintaining a set of flawless, pearly white teeth is yet another filling in the Nobel cavity. Please note that it is easier for people to accept a man with a perfect smile as the new face of hope than some toothless oldie who wears dentures. Please take this subject very seriously and start flossing at least twice daily.

3. What’s Your Age Again?

The third indispensable point is the need to appear youthful. You can’t achieve world peace if you delivered all your speeches from a wheel chair or had to take frequent breaks to change the incontinence diapers. To avoid this scenario and to show that you still got it, please follow these simple instructions:

1. Get photographed “playing” basketball with a group of African American youths. Playing may imply either holding a basketball in your hand and smiling, or appearing to have a serious discussion with the aforementioned youths, while still holding the ball in your hand.

2. Use youth oriented colloquialisms like “dude”, “yo”, “what’s up”, “rock the house” and “keep it real” to show that you are still a boy fresh out of college. Keep referring the urbandictionary.com to keep your “youth vocab” updated, but kindly avoid accidental usage of slang terms for genitalia.

3. Aside from wearing business suits, also wear “sporty” attire to show your extra-curricular side. Get photographed at a golf course so that your attire goes well with the background. This step could be avoided if you bear any resemblance to Tiger Woods.

4. Whenever you get a chance, please visit some broke neighbourhood to show your concern. Talk to the locals there and keep nodding your head as they narrate their list of problems. DO NOT FORGET to get photographed holding someone’s baby in your arms and playing with its hair. Also, try to get photographed patting a handicapped person’s back/ making a sandwich in someone’s kitchen/ helping an old lady cross a street. Remember to wear the same full monty smile in all photographs.

4. Verbal Stimulation Package.

The fourth step – touching people. No, not in the Bill Clinton way, silly. You must choose words that touch people deep, deep inside. For these purposes, you must consult the good people from Hollywood. Ask them to write some powerful, emotionally stirring speeches for you. They should be impressive enough to make the average redneck go, “wow, that was impersiveful…some!” and vague enough to be interpreted in at least a 100 ways. Add a touch of humour to keep your audience awake. Basically, the speech should leave people confused, but happy.

Since you are new at this, allow me to provide a few sample lines that you may use. Kindly note these down.

1. “Over centuries we have evolved as a race known for our benevolence, our love, our tolerance. Be it Martin Luther King who dedicated his life to eliminating the fallacies of capitalism, or Adolf Hitler who inspired another classic from Quentin Tarantino, we have always been known for our values. Please hand over your nuclear reserves.”

2. “As the first rays of the sun break over the horizon tomorrow, America will wake up to a new country, a new hope, a new era. I promise you all I will make very good use of the unlimited power that you have vested in me. You guys rock!”

3. “I want to thank each and every single one of you for your love and support. This is the beginning of the trust to the change we choose to put our belief in. God bless America!”

4. “What did the Pakistani tourist ask the Indian guide? ‘Which way to Kashmir?’ Bwahahahahahahahahahaha. Hahahhahahahahaha.”

5. Follow The Instructions, Not Your Heart.

And finally, step number five. Sit at home with your lovely wife and your wonderful kids and wait till you get the next set of instructions. Just do as you are told and don’t ask any questions.

And don’t forget to floss tonight.

—-

As always, it’s now time to answer the weekly question from one of our excited readers:

Ramesh McCain from Malabar Hill writes:
I want to be a Nobel laureate. Will this 5 point strategy really work?

Sachin answers:
YES IT HAS and YES IT WILL! What are you waiting for motherfucker? Start your own campaign and rule the world!

EX-Men Origins: Breakups Before Beginnings.

Every superhero has a past. A past that speaks not just of the days they’ve saved, the bad guys they’ve slain and the sequels they’ve made, but also about their failed relationships.

This summer, superheroes from all around the world will unite to face their past… and take on humanity’s biggest nemesis ever : love. For there doth not exists a burden heavier than a lovesick heart, a crisis bigger than a fucked up relationship, and a Kryptonite deadlier than an estranged lover’s fury.

In an age where nuclear warfare threatens the annihilation of mankind, 6 superheroes find a bigger problem on their hands. This is their journey – from X-Men to Ex-Men.

Only in expensive theaters.

Professor Charles Francis Xavier | Professor X

Professor Charles Xavier is the founder and the dean of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. Not the Churchgate one, silly – that’s for Lower Learning. This one’s for mutants, and there are no SC/ST/OBC reservations here.

Powers: World’s most powerful telepath, capable of astral projection, mind control, illusion casting, memory manipulation, psychic blasts, as well as sensing the presence of other mutants in a limited radius.

Breakup story:

Xavier is blessed with a power that every guy on the planet would kill for – he can READ, CONTROL AND MANIPULATE thoughts. Just think! He is the only man on Earth who’s capable of figuring out what his girlfriend is really thinking, and actually dictating her thoughts.

Imagine:

Prof X: Evening honey!

Girl: Hey, love. I was thinking that maybe today…

(Prof immediately reads her thoughts)

Prof X: ..that you want to watch Notting Hill with me?

Girl (amazed) : Oooh, it was like you read my mind there!

Prof X: Yes, and I can change it too.

(Telepathically erases her memory and derails her train of thought.)

Girl: Oh Proffie, chuck Notting Hill. Let’s watch football instead. Wait, I’ll get you masala sing dana and beer. And how about having wild, raunchy sex after the match?

Girl (scratching head): Did I just say that? Funny, I don’t remember…

(Prof X zaps her memory again.)

Prof X: Much better. Make sure the beer’s cold.

**
However, this didn’t last for too long. Just when Prof. X was beginning to think that he had it all under control, prime time T.V. shows came in to ruin his party. To his pleasant horror, he discovered that : a confused woman + even more confused woman on Star World + retarded self-help advise = catastrophe.

Girl: Xavier, you lying controlling freak!

Prof X (telepathically sensing a rebellion): What’s wrong, babe?

Girl: Don’t babe me, asshole. I know that you’ve been messing with my head all this time.

(Prof X tries to quickly change her thoughts.)

Girl: Ha! That won’t work anymore, bastard! I took expert tips from Oprah and Dr. Phil, and now you no longer control me. I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man like you. I’m a strong, independent woman…

(Prof. X attempts mind control and psychic sabotage.)

Prof X: Oh shit, I – I can’t..damn I – I. It’s like a force field inside her head.

Girl: I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need…

Prof X: Aaah stop it.. my head.. aaarrggh I can’t take it anymore…

Girl: Now you know how I felt. I’m a strong, independent woman…

Prof. X has begun frothing at the mouth.

Girl : That’s right. I’m breaking up with you. And this is for everything you did to me.

*picks up a chappati rolling pin and starts hitting him on the head with it*

Now you know why Xavier uncle is bald, permanently confined to a wheelchair and always carries an indignant expression on his face.

Scott Summers | Cyclops

Scott Summers is one of the veterans in the X-men line-up, but has had his share of relationships woes. Mostly due to his impaired vision.

Powers: Cyclops possesses the mutant ability to project a beam of heatless ruby-colored concussive force from his eyes, which act as inter-dimensional apertures between this universe and another.

Breakup story:

Scott met his then girlfriend, Rupali Gajanan Bhavathankar, at a college DJ party. It was truly love at first…’sight’ for them. As he fell head over heels in love with her, his friends cracked sly jokes about “love being blind”. However, that did not deter them and their relationship blossomed faster than plants in a greenhouse.

Until that one fateful day, when he accompanied her to a shopping mall.

“How do you like this top, sweetie?”

“I dunno. I’m blind.”

“Do you think these bangles go well with the colour of my eyes?”

“I dunno. I’m blind.”

“Ah hey! See this? Garnier’s new under-eye-over-eyelid-beneath-earlobes highlighting cream. I’ve been looking for this for days!”

“B-L-I-N-D. Get it? No?”

“Ooooh look! This beautiful Chinese porcelain vase is on sale for just Rs. 10,000! And they’re giving away free peanuts too.”

“Oh crap. I wish I was fucking deaf too.”

“What’s that sweetie? You said something?”

“Yes, I did. I hate this relationship and I want out! I’m the leader and headmaster of X-Men, not some Pappu Chutya who tags his chamiya to shopping malls. You hear me? I fucking hate you, you piece of trash!”

“I understand, love. But do you think these earrings make my ass look fat?”

“Alright. That’s enough of this shit. I’ll no longer look at the world through my ‘rose tainted glasses’. Die, bitch!”

*Scott takes off his glasses and incinerates her to ashes with his laser beam vision*

“Chapter closed. I’m moving on, man.”

James “Logan” Howlett | Wolverine

Logan a.k.a. Wolverine is the team’s most senior and probably the most unshaven member. He’s arguably the toughest guy on the team, but when it comes to relationships, he’s more of a bheegi billi than a wolf.

Powers: Healing factor, enhanced senses, and retractable bone claws. Has the indestructible metal Adamantium bonded to his skeleton, allowing for enhanced physical attributes and razor sharp metal claws.

Breakup story:

Mr. Wolverine is sitting at the table one Sunday morning, reading page 3 of Mutant Mirror and sipping on his adrak tea. His girlfriend, Parminder Kaur from Patiala, strides in.

Wolverine, who has extremely well developed senses, smells trouble.

Wolverine (to himself): *sniff sniff* Strong perfume…a hint of anger in the her walk…PMS vibes… man, I’m in deep shit!

He hides behind the newspaper and pretends he’s completely absorbed in reading.

“Wolfy, we need to talk.”

“Fuck it. Here we go.”

“What’s that?” (glares at him)

“Nothing, nothing! You were saying?”

“Listen.. I want to talk about our relationship. I think we need to work few things out.”

(mutters under breath) “Deeper shit. Logan, tu toh gaya.”

“Wolfy, I think you need to take a little more responsibility around the house. I can’t do all the chores on my own. No bai would dare to work for us because they are shit scared of your anger management issues, and I can’t devote time to my career if I keep running around the house all day.”

“So what do you want me to do? Should I stop saving the world, sit at home and chop vegetables with my metal claws?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to help me, Wolfy. I have a very important meeting coming up this week.”

“Stop pissing me off with your bullshit. And quit calling me Wolfy – it sounds like a dog’s name.”

“And you stop trying to dominate me. It’s annoying me as well.”

“You know what? I -”

Wolverine gets up and advances towards her. She grabs him by the collar and shoves him back in the chair.

Oye baith itthe tu, wolf de aulaad. If you’re a wolf, remember, I AM A BITCH! Tujhse sau guna badi kuttiya hoon main. Samajh gaya tu?

Wolverine gulps.

(rolling up sleeves) “Khasman khaneya, khotteya… nikamma na hove toh… tenu main dassni haan! Tu mere kol khade reh – pakad ke dho davaangi, haddi pasli ek na kitti taa mera naam vi Parminder nahi. Sau kutte mare hovenge, je tu paida hoya!”

Wolfy curls into a ball. His eyes have welled up.

(Showing her nails) “Aye tusi inn nakhuno nu vekheya? Tere saare waalaan nu noch davaangi main!”

Next morning, Wolfy packed his bags and ran away back to the wilderness, singing “Mahi menu nahi karna pyaar“.

It’s much safer in the wilderness anyway.

Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin | Colossus

Colossus is the Casanova among X-men. Despite having a name like Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin, he has always been a hit with the ladies. That’s because he has a power that no other mutant has – his massive, gigantic, Colossal organ that keeps throbbing and thumping all day long. I’m talking about his heart, of course. Ladies swoon and go weak in the knees when they hear it go dhak dhak. Score!

Powers: Able to convert into living organic metal form, granting vast superhuman strength and near-invulnerability. Can survive for long periods without oxygen or sustenance while in this form.

Breakup story:

All you need to know is here : Colossus: A Stud’s Story.

At this rate, he could easily qualify as a Bollywood hero.

Dr. Henry Philip “Hank” McCoy | Dark Beast

Hank is the scientist on the team. Some say he is the animal on the team. He presently works with all the X-Men, also is the team’s doctor.

Powers: Superhuman strength, speed, stamina, agility, reflexes, enhanced senses, ambidexterity with hands and feet, ape-like form, blue fur.

Breakup story:

Dr. McCoy was going steady with his crush, Jigna C. Patel. All was fine in paradise, until Jigna started suspecting him of having an affair with one of his patients.

Their relationship hit the rocks when one day Dr. McCoy returned home late from work.

“Hmm… you’re late today.”

“Yeah, a patient had come in at the last minute, so I had stay back.”

“You seem to be getting a lot of last minute patients lately…”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me. Was this patient…a girl?”

“What? What are you trying to say?”

“Don’t play games with me. This is the fourth time this week that you’re late because of these ‘last minute patients’ of yours.”

“I am doctor, for Christ’s sake! They’re just my patients!”

“Yeah yeah yell at me.. you’re a lion at home, but you turn into a little kittenpussy in front of women.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a mutant, jeez!”

“Mutant AND a cheap flirt.”

“Sigh. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m really tired.”

“Of course. Your patient seems to have sapped most of your superhuman power.”

“Merciful heavens! Give it a rest already.”

“No, you give IT a rest. I know what you’ve been doing with your ambidextrous hands and feet.”

At this point, he jumped out of the window and ran way.

Mr. McCoy didn’t report to the hospital the next day. His whereabouts are still unknown, although sources suspect that he and Wolverine are sharing a room somewhere.

Ororo Iqadi Munroe-Wakandas | Storm:

Powers: Weather manipulation (lighting bolts, wind, rain, etc.), flight by ‘riding’ wind currents.

Breakup story:

Storm was the only superhero to have had a perfect relationship. She had fallen in love with and married a local T.V. channel weatherman. Everything seemed just perfect, as if it were the script of yet another extremely intelligent Yashraj movie.

Unfortunately, Storm had no idea that the guy she had married was actually a one-of-a-kind scheming bastard.

He persuaded Storm into running a massive money-for-weather scam with him. Allegedly, he coaxed her into manipulating the weather and informing him beforehand, so that his predictions would always be correct. He would also sell this rigged weather information to other T.V. channels for dirty cash. On many occasions, he would force her to use her powers to change the weather during matches and win bets.

The worse was yet to come. One morning, without any warning, the weatherman sold the house, emptied their joint accounts, took all the money and escaped in a weather balloon.

As expected, Storm was angry beyond words, and that led to many cyclones, hurricanes and tsunamis in her locality for many days.

Moral of the story: never trust weathermen. They are all lying bastards. Use your own judgment and carry an umbrella.

Moral of the story (2): never trust men in general. They are all lying bastards too. Use your own judgment and carry a gun.

—-

Do you have an interesting breakup story too? Mail me your stories at sachin.spce AT rediffmail DOT com. The best stories win a box of tissues and my shoulder for an entire evening.

The 25 Things Thing.

Some time back, someone I no longer remember tagged me with the 25 things about yourself thing. The objective of this game is simple: you write 25 things about yourself and tag others and they, in turn, tag others and this goes on till the whole world knows 25 useless things about everyone else. Then we all realize how completely pointless our existence is and mutally agree that Pakistan and North Korea should jointly blow up the entire planet and erase our miserable 25 point history forever.

So here goes.

1. Right at the top : Metal and Manchester United are the only strings that loosely hold the remaining pieces of my sanity together. Without them, I would have been a world famous spiritual leader who spews pearls of wisdom like these. No, I’m not that right now.

But pray tell me, what is that thing he’s wearing on his head? It seems ribbed for extra pleasure too. Pope-at saala.

2. Books that I read recently : Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and Famous Five – Five go to Demon’s Rocks by Enid Blyton.

3. Oh yeah, Famous Five totally kick ass.

4. I am 100% sure that Georgina grows up to become a lesbian. Short haired, tomboy, not attracted even to a guy named Dick(!) – think about it. Better yet, imagine it.

Eww, you’re freaking sick, aren’t you?!

5. Five songs that instantly lift me up (in ascending order):

6. I hate food. All my taste buds have died a brave but violent death.

7. The last time I embarrassed myself :

I was in the lift alone, earphones blasting Metallica’s The Four Horsemen in my ears. As there was no one else around, I got a little carried away and started headbanging and playing the riffs on my air guitar.

Guess what happened next, will you?

The door opened ever so slowly, revealing around 8-10 shellshocked people who looked as though they had seen a headless horseman themselves. Sheepishly, I wrapped up the air guitar and hurried out of the lift.

I will never forget that explosion of laughter behind me.

8. While referring to me, people have used words like “pagal“, “irritating creature”, “psycho”, “I hope you die”, “goddamn pervert”, “sicko”, “weirdo” and very recently, “stupid fuck”.

As you can see, I’m not one of those well-mannered-Reid-and-Taylor-suit-wearing-polished-gentlemen-from-an-English-county, generally referred to as “His Nobility Sir Suckingham from Herfuckshire”; the ones who always bow before women and say things like, “Top of the morning to you, Mrs. Deshpande! Don’t you look like a bouquet of fresh daisies today morn!” and “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing Miss Chandiramani. The fitting distinctly brings to my mind the beauty of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in 34 Double D major.”

Also, I do not own a stable full of purebred horses that I race at the Sunday Derby or a cellar that boasts of fancy vintage French wine imported from Bordeaux, Burgundy or Bhayandar.

And I certainly do not give a shit about Renaissance art or twisted poetry or the power of democracy or faggot rights.

In short, I’m a purposeless soul.

9. What, asleep already?

10. Ok, think about Georgina and Anne again. What “adventure” would they go on next?

11. Move over Holocaust survivors, I’m a Kerala meals survivor (So far, so bad).

12. I love watching bad movies. Relishing the assault on senses has become an enjoyable hobby for me.

13. Clarification : Bad movies mean movies like Kidnap, Ghajini, Karzzzz, Quantum of Solace and any movie with SRK in it. Not the ones “starring” Georgina and Anne as the lead “actresses”.

14. The last act of craziness:

It was election time in Kerala and the entire city was plastered in posters depicting candidates with varying degrees of ugliness.

But this one candidate particularly stood out. She’s this grotesquely ugly, morbidly obese lady who smiled out of gaudily coloured posters pasted across the entire city. Curse my luck, I couldn’t avoid them as the walls of the lane leading to my home were covered in her face.

At one point, I felt something snap inside me. It was as if her ugliness had touched me at a deep, spiritual level and made my soul vomit out in disgust. I lost it and ripped out every poster I could and stamped the rest with my shoes.

Onlookers might have mistaken me for an opposition party supporter. But no political motive behind it, I swear.

15. I love Mumbai for its soul. I hate Mumbai for having sold it a long time ago.

16. Big fan of Duck Tales, Talespin, Flintstones, Jetsons, Scooby Doo, Johnny Quest and 2 Stupid Dogs.

17. Sapiosexual.

19. Weak at Math.

20. The following list will give you an idea about the categories of people who activate my gag-reflex, the severity level and a brief description:

  • Category – Hopeless romantics : Severity – Medium : Description – The kind of people who always smell roses, look towards the sky and smile like retards. The kind who fantasize about meeting their soulmate on a wondrous fairy tale night – complete with lovemaking on a secluded beach – under a starry sky, a full moon and a 93 piece symphony orchestra playing Micheal Bublé songs in the background.

    Erm, 2 things, pal – 1. Shiv Sena 2. That guy in the orchestra isn’t exactly blowing his trumpet, if you know what I mean.

  • Category – Kewl peoples : Severity – High : Description – Fake accents and hip hop culture. Hideous accessories and ridiculous slangs. Inflated egos and diminished IQs. Puppets of commercialism and victims of marketing. All of them and their mothers.
  • Category – Faggots : Severity – OutOfBoundsError : Description – There’s a reason why spiked baseball bats were invented.

    This is the only right they deserve.

21. There’s nothing wrong with guys who sing in a whiny, pansy-like voice. It’s totally acceptable and arouses wild desires in the hearts of men.

That is why guys like Enrique Iglesias, James Blunt, Chris Martin and Moron 5 turn me on.

But still, I pray to God to grant them some balls one day and make them sing like men.1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 or even 7.

22. That was my age last year.

23. My updated age this year.

24. I love THIS woman! Her sense of humour + intelligence + childlike innocence + unabashed goofiness + dropdead gorgeous looks = my dreams.

Love you, love you, love you!

25. Every morning when the day begins, I thank the Lord for all He has done. Every day is a new opportunity to go out and live, with a new hope and a new purpose.

In the wise words of Dr. Cox,

Molly: Perry, no one’s pure evil! I mean, yeah, some people have a hard outer shell, but inside, everybody has a creamy center.
Dr. Cox: There are plenty of people here on this particular planet who are hard on the outside and hard on the inside.
Molly: So they’d have more of a nougaty center?
Dr. Cox: Lady, people aren’t chocolates. D’you know what they are mostly? Bastards. Bastard-coated bastards with bastard filling. But I don’t find them half as annoying as I find naive bubble-headed optimists who walk around vomiting sunshine.

Cynical, who me? I’m as positive as a healthy 1.673 × 10−27 kg proton.

So let’s all scatter flowers from our baskets and sing the songs of summer and celebrate life in all its glory! Whoop de doo, was that the Lazarus phenomenon I just felt?

—-

As a rule, I have to tag someone.

I tag Sir Winston Churchill. You’re damn right, Sir! We’ll never surrender!

EDIT : My bad, I didn’t know that I had to tag someone who’s ALIVE.
In that case, I would like to tag Uday Singh, my building watchman. All we have to do is to wait for him to become literate, buy a computer and a net connection, discover my blog and then create a blog for himself.

The optimist that I am, I believe it isn’t impossible. After all, impossible means “I M possible”. Ugh.

Crouching Tigers, Hidden Morons.

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing one of the most feared terror groups ever. Nope, not talking about A Band of Boyz. This is much, much less serious.

Formative Years.

The El T T E was founded by Vellapillu Prybhakiran, a disgruntled college student, who thought to himself one fine day, “Hey. I’m friggin’ bored here. All of my friends have jobs, but I don’t. I have no future and I’m a certified loser. So how do I pass the time? Hmm. I know! I’ll go to the Government and demand a separate state for me and mah frenz! Ayyoo waat an idea, saarjee!

The Showdown

(With Dolby digital surround sound effects in brackets)

An auto drops off a really ugly man (in ridiculously loud clothes) outside the Sansad Bhavan. He steps out in a manner that makes you believe He has polio-quadriplegia-epilepsy.

He takes a good look around, then reaches His back pocket and takes out a comb. As He moves His hand to comb His hair, a violent storm begins to pick up in the background – clouds swirl overhead, thunder cracks ferociously , lightning flashes in blinding streaks, wind wails in a high pitched scream, trees struggle to hold on to their roots. Anna has arrived.

He makes His way towards the Sansad Bhavan. With each step, the concrete beneath His feet cracks due to the immense Force. Men who were talking and laughing suddenly go quiet and lower their heads. Women quickly cover their faces with their pallu. Dogs start barking. A sense of dread hangs thick in the air.

Everyone’s been… thunderstruck.

Vellupillu reaches the President’s office and stares at the door. The door gets so scared that it opens up by itself. (thud thud thud!)

The Prez looks up, surprised. Vellupillu swaggers into the room, sits on the chair and rests His feet on a bunch of government documents. (flwoooouufff clang bloosh!)

Delicately, He lowers His large sunglasses and stares at the Prez. (whip whoosh whoosh)

Next, He reaches into His pocket and takes out a paper, tobacco and a matchbox. Carelessly, He tosses them in the air. (tatetatetateatetateate fwah fwah fwah)

In mid air,

  • The paper wraps itself around the tobacco and tranforms into a Cuban cigar
  • The matchbox opens by itself, Scarlett Johansson comes out of it with a lighter and lights the cigar
  • Lands in His lap and places the lit cigar in His mouth.

Isko kehte hai tashan, mind it! (dhik chick dhik chick dhik chick tyaoon tyaoon tyaoon tooo!)

Prez: (WTF?) “Yes?”

Him: “I is wants separate state” (thunder crack boom)

Prez: “LOL, what?”

(Furiously takes off His glasses (whack whack whack))
(Stands up and bangs His palms on the table (dhoom dhoom dhoom))
(raises His finger (ppppeerrrffffff))

Him: “Aaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeee!!!”

(Silence)

Him: “I want separate state and that’s that. Nan ooru thadavai sonnal, nooru thadavi sonna mathivi!*” (loud applause)

Prez: [straightface] Ooh k… anything else? [/straightface]

Him: “No. That would be all.” (twirls his glasses 1750 times/sec and puts them back on (swishswishswishswish))

Prez: [snicker] You sure? Just a separate state? Nothing else? Say for instance, a separate continent or a separate planet in the Milky Way? [/snicker]

Him : (flattered) “Hehe, no dhanks da. I have zimble tastes.” [takes out a knife and combs his hair (swick swick swick)]

Prez: [wicked smile] “Why don’t you go home and relax? I’ll have it arranged, alright? Now kindly poda.” [/wicked smile]

Him: (Ecstatic) “Yesssss! Aye have da poweraa”

Suddenly fat,ugly sari clad women and fat,ugly lungi clad men appear out of nowhere and start dancing with him. (thika thikar thikar thik pe pe pe pe pe pe thikhar thikhar). Check out da moves da, it so sexy it make you sweat!

The collapse.

When our hero reached home, the police were waiting for him. But not for the reasons he anticipated. They beat the living shit out of him, put him on a boat and sent him to Sri Lanka.

Extremely embarrassed and depressed, Vellupillu decided that he would never return. And thus, he stayed – in some remote village outside Colombo where he ran a chai stall named L.T.T.E. (Lankan Thambi Tea Enterprise)- with revenge still burning in his mind.

He remained an unnoticed chaiwalla for many years, until that one fateful day…

The Rise To Notorietea.

The organization’s first case of violence was reported when they got into a gory clash with a group of Sri Lankan military men who had stopped over at their stall for chai, sutta and biscoot. Allegedly, the military men refused to pay up Vellupillu and his thambis for their order (20 cutting elaichi chais malai maarke, 10 packs of Goldflake ciggies, 2 packs of Haathichaap bidis and 25 packets of Parle G biscuits.) This pissed Vellupillu so much that he and his men picked up large kettles of hot, boiling tea and splashed it on the military men. The military men, skin scalded and all, ran away yelling “Ayyayo yenga appa kaal Raama El Tea Tea Eeeeeeeeeee! Hot tea hot tea hot tea!”

Nearby, a bunch of despo youths (the ones who watch Sun TV after midnight) overheard them screaming, and mistook “hot tea” for “hottie”. Expecting Silk Smitha/Velvet Vandana/Cotton Chandrika/Khadi Kadambari/Latex Latika, they ran in the direction of screams. However, the sight of burnt Lankan army men (who were already very ugly) shocked them so much that they lost their sanity.

The villagers who happened to witness this mass mayhem were shocked beyond words.

Slowly, the word started spreading. People were afraid to leave their homes. Things were taking on a political turn. Brooke Bond and Taj suffered massive losses.

This was just the beginning of the notorietea.

As time passed, the group established its roots firmly in Sri Lanka and continued to tighten its stranglehold. In under 4 years, the LTTE had grown from just a handful of jobless losers to this mega empire of over 2 handfuls of jobless losers.

Thus began the era of brutal, barbaric terror reminiscent of movies starring Kadar Khan, Govinda and Shakti Kapoor. The symphony of destruction, if you like.

Acts of Terror.

  1. They once carried out the infamous suicide tea attack on the Sri Lankan government, fondly remembered as the Colombo Tea Party.
  2. They begin all their terror strikes with the famous catch-phrase “Chalo yaaron, ek chai ho jaye!” and taunt their victims with the lethal line, “Would you like some more tea, saar?”
  3. Fiercely dedicated and prepared for any sacrifice for the cause of their brothers, these men have been known to wear necklaces with heart-shaped cyanide pill pendants, which they consume if caught. The pills turned out to extremely handy when 50 men swallowed them after watching the first 10 minutes of Sivaji – The Boss. Rajinikanth’s nauseating make up, ROTFLWTFBBQ dressing and pathetic direction made them take their own lives. Now that’s a good cause right there.
  4. Their weapon cache is supposed to contain stuff like AK-47s, grenades, swords, land mines, Darjeeling tea, Mumbai Masala tea and even South Indian Filter kaapi.
  5. To get any idea of how brutal they can be, watch the following videos.
    WARNING: These videos are extremely graphic. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT watch them if you are above 60/ have a weak heart/an invertebrate wuss/a faggot/a chaiwalla/pregnant because of your neighbour’s son/an autorickshaw driver.

    Atrocity!

    Horror!

    Waatdafaack!

    Br00tal!

    Le assault on ze senses!

  6. Their preferred modus operandi of getting their message across is self-immolation, or pouring hot tea over themselves.

    Sample scenarios:

    LTTE kid : Mommy, I want Kandy!
    Mom : Absolutely not, it’ll ruin your teeth.
    LTTE kid: I want I want I want I want!
    Mom : *slap slap slap*
    LTTE kid : *immolates self*

    I-T Dept : Sir, we are from the income tax department. We found some discrepancy–
    LTTE guy : *immolates self*

    Girl: Honey, I have to do some shopping. Give me your credit card please.
    LTTE guy : *immolates self*

    Girl: Honey, I have two VIP passes to Akon’s concert next week. Will you–
    LTTE guy : Akon?!! *consumes cynadine pill necklace, immolates self twice and blows up self*

    Man: Dude! Liverpool lost again!
    LTTE guy : So?

L.T.T.E. soundtrack

Cashing in on the unexpected rise in popularity, the L.T.T.E. even came out with an official soundtrack of hit songs that go remarkably well with their agenda:

Come on baby light my fire – The Doors
I’m just a hunka hunka burning love – Elvis Presley
Ek garam chai ki pyaali ho – Anu Malik
Bidi jalayle jigar se piya – Omkara
We didn’t start the fire – Billy Joel
Chingari koi bhadke, isse kaun bujhaye? – Who cares?
Jiya jale jaan jale nainon tale dhuaan chale (kundiri mundiri pundirikyo something) – A.R. Rahman
Fight fire with fire – Metallica
Tann ki jwaala thandi ho jaye aise gale laga jaa – Some guy in funny clothes

Bonus track : Tandoori Nights – God Himesh

L.T.T.E. – The Album brought to you by Waghbakri chai in association with Ship carborized matches. All songs have been remixed by A.R. Rahman. Jai ho!

People I accidentally mistook as members or supporters of the L337 Gang, but in fact are not even remotely related to them, but then again who can really tell? Pfft, this is turning out to be a testimony to my callous apathy and blissful ignorance, but then who really cares?

Malinga

muttiah_muralitharan

50-cent

Oprah

Human Torch

PS: As usual, I’m not serious. Andava solrai, Sachin pandra**. Capiche?

* If I’ve said it once, it’s like saying it a 100 times.
** God tells, Sachin does.

From The Pages of Orkut History…

Lookie what I found in one of the oldest communities on Orkut – the actual conversation between Bhagat Singh and the gang!

Instructions for the internet-handicapped :

1. Right-click on the images and open them in a new browser window.
2. Hover the mouse pointer near the bottom-right of the image and click on the tiny square thingy that’ll appear there.
3. Congratulate yourself for this phenomenal achievement.
4. Smile smugly.

Part I

Part-1

Part II

Part-2

Fellow countrypeople, this is a joke. Please don’t start yelling like Aamir Khan.

Ghajini In A Nutshell.

I know, I know… stale posts, but what can I do? I just woke up from a month long slumber. Also, this one is packed with images, so please be patient with the page load time.

Coming to the point, let’s salute the top grosser of 2008. It completely grossed me out.

Here’s a summary for those who couldn’t sit throughout the entire ordeal or died of brain inactivity midway through the movie :

Since the target audience is 7-10 year old kids, I’ll narrate it as a fairy tale, complete with colourful illustrations and shit.

So listen up little kiddies…

Once upon a time, in a fairy tale land far far away, lived a girl named Asin. Asin as in a loud, whiny, stupid bitch who couldn’t act even if whacked in the head with a rod.

Stupid Bitch.

Stupid Bitch.

She would prance around like something was stuck up her ass and irritate everyone with her whinty whine, blahity blah, kachar pachar kachar pachar all day long.

asin02np8

Then, an awesome gentleman named Ghajini decided to end this menace with a swift, gentle swing.

Hole-in-one's skull hoy!

Hole-in-one's skull hoy!

The kingdom felt indebted to him and even erected a statue in his honour.

Saddam

Then the bitch’s moronic boyfriend shows up. Oh my God, look out!

Hey, what's going on ... what the fuck?!!

Hey, what's going on ... what the fuck?!!

Yaaaarrrrggghhhh whoaaaaaaaarrgghh yaaabbadabbadooo why did you kill her oh boo hoo why?

Logic goes missing and the era of vengeance begins. Meanwhile, the subjects have fallen asleep.

The Incredibly Idiotic Hulk goes on a mindless rampage.

the-incredible-hulk-1562

The chase continues for what seems like a Sheila Dikshit term (eternity).

Aamir (left), Ghajini (right).

Aamir (left), Ghajini (right).

Ghajini is killed. Complete tragedy, I’m crying me eyeballs out.

propwatermelon

A brave martyr has passed away. A noble soul has departed. The subjects are sad. :’(

people20crying20wtc

Aamir then remembers what a stupid bitch she was. He regrets his actions. As a backup, he tattoos the most important piece of information on his forehead so that he wouldn’t forget it ever again. The subjects forgive him.

aamirtattoo

The End. Anyone still breathing at the end of the movie lived happily ever after (with permanent brain damage, though).

After-effects : Dumb retarded kids who idolised Aamir Khan after Taare Zameen Par are now shit-scared. They believe that Aamir uncle will whack the fuck out of them with a rusted rod if they do poorly in school. Parents, however, are happy. EPIC WIN FOR EVERYONE!

Go and study or I'll smash your head open grrraaaarrrghhh!!

Go and study or I'll smash your head open grrraaaarrrghhh!!

Lessons learnt :

1. This film is not related to the Mahmud of Ghazni in any way.

mahmud

2. Always wears a helmet.

bike_helmet

3. In case I forget, this is a picture of my wife:

monica-bellucci-picture-2

4. Life can be so fucking unfair sometimes – Asin killed (fair), Jiah Khan lives (unfair), Ghajini killed (unfair).

5. Tom Hanks did Philadelphia, Forrest Gump, Cast Away and then something like Da Vinci Code. Aamir does Lagaan, Dil Chahta Hai, Rang De Basanti, Taare Zameen Par and then Ghajini. Proves that they are humans after all.

There Is An Extraordinary Post In Every Ordinary Blog.

Note : All your answers in this post.

Hello ji. Sab nu mera satsriakal ji. I am going to be the new author from now on, following the unfortunate but timely demise of Sachin, the previous author. The bus that was carrying him and the rest of the baraatis toppled over into an open manhole on the way to Amritsar. Let us observe 2 minute silence for the passengers, as well as the government workers who were fixing sewage pipes in that manhole (Water supply to Amritsar has been temporarily suspended).

Allow me to tell you peoples a little bit about myself. My name is Surinder Sahni. Born and raised in Patiala, Punjab, I now work for Punjab Power (“Screwing up your lights ji.”). My hobbies include knocking over furniture, stumbling over furniture and short circuiting the entire city to create funky patterns with light. For eg., while typing the last sentence, I accidentally knocked over the keyboard, got entangled in the cables, fell down flat on my face and bumped my head against the CPU while trying to get up. But I’m fine ji.

Now that we are done with the introductions, let me take you on a journey… a stumbling-bumbling-pseudo-surreal journey into the Yashraj alternate reality. Just sit back and enjoy, it’s about to get stupider.

I first met Taani partner on her wedding day. She looked stunning in that yellow Punjabi suit, dancing away to some Punjabi number. Although her 97 sisters, 372 cousins and 564 other relatives were hot too, there was something about her that made her stand out like a decent civilian in Pakistan. God, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was experiencing difficulty in breathing partly because she took my breath away and mostly because of my chronic asthama. Sigh ji.

But as we all know, happiness has no place in the Yashraj alternate reality. In keeping with the tradition, the scenes of celebration turned to tragedy when the news of Sachin’s bus accident broke out. I knew I had to make the most of this inopportune moment and use it for personal gain by playing with the emotions of an already distraught family. And there I burst on to the scene, like Superman without the underwear. Err, I mean I was wearing it inside. I collided into 5 plates of food, bumped into 3 pillars and stepped over 3 grandmas in the process, but that’s just me being natural.

Back at the mantap, Taani’s father couldn’t handle the news and collapsed on the spot. It was clear that he wasn’t going to survive for too long. Even if he did, he wasn’t going to be paid extra for the terrible hamming.

On his deathbed, father dearest expressed a truly surprising, totally unexpected wish : “Taani beta, Suri se shaadi kar lo. Accha ladka hai woh.” Poor girl, how could she say no to a dying man? The obedient daughter that she was, Taani decided to fulfill her father’s last wish.

“Wow, isn’t that incredible? Making such a huge sacrifice to see her father happy”, I thought. But a second later, she proceeded to suffocate him to death by shoving a pillow in his face. “Buddha bastard, marte-marte meri life ki bhi maarke jaa raha hai! Behen de takke, khotte de puttar, eau de cologne… teri maa ki *%$#^!!” she was yelling. The pillow was doing its job, haule haule.

When it was done, she got up and broke into a song – “Left haath aagey aagey, right haath peechay peechay…yeh le ho gaya death soniye, oh tu ban gaya hep soniye…”

I was completely taken aback by what I saw, but I guess I’m okay with fem doms as long as they are hot and murderous.

Now you know why I’m portrayed as a submissive male in the movie.

—-

Married life wasn’t as exciting as I had expected it to be. We didn’t sleep in the same room, or even talk to each other for that matter. Quite clearly, the age and the cultural differences were impeding our relationship . She was just 22 and I was 23 years old (Age difference). She was into Westsidaz ghetto gangsta hip hop, I was more into melodic Norwegian folk metal. She supported Liverpool, I was a Mancunian. She liked watching Oprah, I liked watching Oprah secretly. She liked to LOL, I was more of a ROTFL guy (Cultural difference).

To sum up, she was an extrovert while I was a shy pervert.

1 hour into the movie, and still no progress. She would lock herself into her room and I would be alone in mine, blithely downloading Hentai porn on my Compaq laptop and making angry love to that stupid yellow Tiffin box.

Now you know why the whole Sumo wrestling thing was included in the movie, even thought it wasn’t even REMOTELY related to the plot.

1 hour 45 minutes, and it was time to save face with some dumb, clichéd introspection. In this case, it took the form of “Mujhe aaj tak kisime Rab nahi dikha. Kahan hai mera Rab?” Well fuck me if I knew the answer to that! I didn’t have a clue how to find my Rab and therefore fell back on the tried-and-tested, 100 % failsafe, scientifically proven technique of closing of the eyes and opening them dramatically to coincide with the exact time frame that your spouse is in your line of sight, triggering a completely orgasmic epiphany culminating in the realization that she is, in fact, your Rab.

But in this case, it was a wee bit difficult. The following is the sequence of the events that took place when I attempted the above mentioned process –

1. I close my eyes and open them in slo-mo and..
Do I see Rab? Nope, just a dog scratching itself. Damn, attempt failed. Try again.

2. I close my eyes again and open them in slo-mo and..
Is it Rab? Nah, it’s just… a shrub. And a man watering it generously with his ammonia hose.
Damn, failed attempt #2. Try again.

3. I close my eyes again and open them in slo-mo and..
Yo Rab dude? No, it’s just a guy drowning in the river. He’ll see Rab in a few minutes, but yet another failed attempt for me. Damn. Try again.

4. I close my eyes…
I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. Yayay! I turn around slowly and open my eyes to find …a beggar. Damndamn! Failed attempt, try again.

5. Attempt #5. I make a mental note of where she’s standing and close my eyes. Can’t go wrong this time, hee hee.
I open my eyes and…
Rab! Rab! It’s a mob of angry looking people. Each one of them clutching a shoe in their hand. They advanced towards me menacingly. “You have wasted 1 hour 45 minutes already. You better find your Rab right now or we’ll take your life away. Haule haule.”

6. For the movie’s and my health’s sake, we get it right this time. I open my eyes, look at her, she looks at me, we pretend as if we’ve had a revelation, hug. The mob is pleased.

But, but, but… picture abhi baaki hai mere dost! Yashraj alternate reality shall strike again!

Things start going downhill after a few days. On the pretext of joining a dance class, Taani stays away from home a lot. She returns late at nights. She has lost all interest in me. She doesn’t even talk to me anymore. I decide that I would get to the bottom of this and find out what’s going on.

I start following her everyday to see what she is doing while I’m at work, screwing light bulbs. I shave off my ‘stache, spike up my hair and dress like a cheap whore to disguise myself. I follow her to the dance class, but she gives me the slip every single time. It’s obvious that I have no chance of catching up with her on by 25cc Bajaj Chetak when she’s tearin’ it up on her 225cc Bajaj Pulsar. And doin’ cool stoppies and wheelies and shit that would give Valentino Rossi an inferiority complex.

Meanwhile, the truth about Taani continues to remain elusive. I don’t know what’s on her mind. Why is acting this way? Paranoia and curiosity are getting the better of me. I want answers. Desperately. After much contemplation, I arrive at a decision. I do something so unethical that I would regret it for the rest of my life. But I’m so beyond the point of caring now that I don’t think twice about my actions. I sneak into her bedroom and rummage through her stuff. 15 minutes of maniacal search yield no results. I look around for more stuff. I want a clue, a hint…anything. And then, my bespectacled eyes fall on her locked closet.

I use a set of duplicate keys to open her closet. The contents leave me speechless. It’s a collection of everything that she had kept hidden from the world all these years; objects that scream out the dark secret that she had buried in our house for so long. Among other things strewn in her closet, a suit stands out. A suit that speaks of the dual life that she had lead – one as a housewife and one as this other person.

It shatters me completely. I just sit there, clutching the suit and weeping my eyes out. As they say, truth is never simple. I cannot believe that this is happening to me. Who could have ever guessed that this sweet, innocent little girl who loved to dance and sing was actually Batman?! You read that right. Who could have ever thought of this extremely unexpected twist in the tale? I guess that’s what makes this ordinary story a little extraordinary. Yes folks, Taani is Batman. By day, she is your regular hot-girl-in-Punjabi-suit-next-door, by night she sheds the Punjabi suit to don the Batsuit and sets out to protect Amritsar city from evil.

She comes home and finds me with her Batsuit. She knows she has to make a choice : a foolish furniture-bumping-Japanese-sumo-porn-obsessed husband or a successful career in Hollywood. Not a difficult decision for her, or anyone for that matter.

It’s heartbreaking. She could never love me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness, and I could never love her because there’s too much furniture in my way. I think she and I are destined to do this forever. I watch her, watch her as she leaves me in my misery.

——-

Years have gone by. I haven’t remarried since. Memories of her smile, her laugh, her smell are still etched in my heart. I lie awake in bed and look outside the window. A full moon floods a cloudless sky with ghastly white light. On a skyscraper a few blocks away stands a tall, curvy figure. Black dupatta flapping in the cold winter breeze, the silhouette glides gracefully as the moonlight casts an eerie glow around her. There she stands, a painful reminder of a love unreciprocated, a promise snuffed out, a heart that can never heal. There she stands… a silent guardian, a watchful protector, a fair Punjabi knight…

P.S.: If this post gave you a headache, apply Vicks VapoRab on your temples and Rab gently. As for me, I’m outta here. Hum hai rahi pyaar ke, phir milenge, chalte chalte.

*stumbles and falls down*
*is run over by a 18 wheeler truck*