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*


4 responses to “There Is An Extraordinary Post In Every Ordinary Blog.

  1. Man…i ran out of vicks vaporub.The esaay just wouldn’t end.
    Bless the truck driver

  2. zzzz.. haule haule

  3. Freakozoid!!! Thats one insanely funny post. I have been laughing all the while (my neighbours must think I’m demented….who cares!!!)
    Wuz Awesome!!!

  4. Man you must breathe humour for air, i suppose.
    whaz freaking awesome *still guffaws…=)) *

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