Insanely Serene

Tired, confused, alone

Vacuum inside my soul

I'm honest, I've always been

I'll never be in your control

I beg not for approval

Of skin, of bones, of blood

A foreign fear inside

Of slipping away unheard

I try, I cry, I die

The tears, the sky, the night

A dark, abandoned cave

Rotting to survive

Enough, the spirit hurts

She's caged, its been a while...

...The wind against my face

The light of being alive.

So close! So far!

They were never strangers

To each other. Even though

They had never met,

They had never talked

He'd been through a lonesome road

And he had suffered enough

He had fought the world

And the devils inside his soul

The walls had been closing in

He was suffocated by the noise

He was tired, way too tired

But he would die to hear Her voice

And there She was finally

In the white robe he had sent

She was an angel, so beautiful

Arms outstretched She came

But in a flash everything changed

Her bosom was all so red

She came and fell into his arms

Trying to utter his name

The bullet that hadnt touched him

She took it for Her "love"

And the voice he fought to hear

Would always remain unheard

Surveyphobia

A plague has come upon XLRI. And it has its roots in new 'in' thing: 'status' messages. There was a good old time when I looked forward to the hyperlinks in them. It was our desi version of StumbleUpon. Anyone who discovered anything interesting over the web shared it with his e-circle of friends.

But this plague is different. Its called "Survey".

From carbonated drinks to smoking habits, from product placements to IPL and from a new car to a new home, every XLer has been bombarded with questions, the answers to which he has none. The questions are masterpieces in themselves. The best one I came across was"

• "During the past one month, how long(in minutes) have you usually taken to fall asleep at night?"

ROFL! I would lend my kidney to the person who could possibly answer this. Do notice the couple of words in brackets. "In minutes". Count baby, count.

And the seven-point scales. Phew!

Every morning I open my eyes, I ask myself:

• "I dont want to wake up."

Staunchly agree/strongly agree/a lil less strongly agree/moderately agree/weakly agree/slightly agree/neutral

If this continues, there would be a time when an XLer would propose to the girl of his dreams in the following fashion:

• "Rate on a scale of 1 to 7(7 being Strongly Agree). Would you marry me?"

The "surveyors" are leaving no stones unturned to make the survey reach even their mausi-ki-bua-ke-devar-ki-maami-ke-bhatije-ki-beti. Some surveys are even disguised in 'tinyurl's.

Yours truly has also joined the bandwagon. But this one's different. This one is not for market research. This one is for my blog! :)

Kill Me

If you're the one with the trident

Kill me 'coz i wear a cap

I don't believe in your gods of stone

I have no saffron flag

Your folks were killed in front of your eyes

Their screams were all you heard

Forget the times when I touched their feet

Kill me 'coz I grow a beard

If you're the one in the Pathan suit

Kill me 'coz I have none

I dont chant prayers on a microphone

I don't fast for a month

A pervert raped your pregnant wife

And shot her in the head

Forget the Rakhi she tied on my hand

Kill me for my sacred thread

Kill me, brother, for I have sinned

Kill me 'coz my sin is great

Kill me because it was my choice

To be born in a different faith

Kill me 'coz you are only a man

And its human to be driven mad

To pay heed to the sensible mob

To follow...to be misled...

In memory of Late John Lennon

"You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one."

Mr. Shit

Claimer: Some might think that this post is based less on logic than on bias. It's true. 200%.

The hoopla started with DLF IPL Season 1. If someone could bring filthy rich glamor to IPL of this dimension, it had to be Shit-Rukh-Khan, henceforth referred to as Mr. Shit. He was the best thing that ever happened to Mr. Lalit Modi, whose wet dreams got a dream climax with Mr. Shit. Along with a few budding fashion models cum part-time cricketers, the guy went on Dandi-Yatra-ish ramp walks in a golden sling designed by some Malhotra guy. Preity Zinta, Shilpa Shetty (IPL2), Katrina Kaif and Akshay Kumar could only dream of this hype. After all, Mr. Shit has been doing this for ages.

He is a superstar in the true sense of the word. The guy hams and stammers and looks like a cross between an Al Pacino body double and Pinocchio. But he exemplifies what an awesome network of 'friends' and 'well-wishers' at respectable production offices and media houses can do to a wannabe. Add to that 'special friendships' with KJo and Arindam Chowdhary (both deserving assholes in their own right, pun intended as hell), he's set to rule the hearts of all the oh-i-am-a-girl-i-have-to-like-him-no babes out there. He's the grand daddy of social networking in India; Facebook and LinkedIn can take a leak!

The controversy-loving, publicity-begging, one's-own-trumpet-blowing (no pun intended, i wish!) idiot used all the business sense in the IPL, compromising on the much more needed sense: of cricketing. His team, KKR, was the first to break even, thanks to shitloads of merchandise guzzled in the first year. It started off its campaign with a bang with the McCullum knock I'll never forget in my life. And thud! That was it! Mr. Shit generated controversies on-and-off-the-field and his team kept on biting dust. And when things seemed to slow down a bit, there was the corny-yet-ever-effective formula to gain headlines again: the owner-captain spat.

Then came IPL2.0. John Buchanan was the new wand of publicity. The team that finished sixth among eight promised the Kolkatans of some magical turnaround. The team of eleven had some eight captains, six managers, twelve hairdressers and seven PR guys among them, thanks to the theory of Mr. Jo Buch. Merchandise was still flying off the shelf. Mr. Shit was still raking in the moolah. But alas! the histrionics did not pay off on the field. The team finished eighth among eight!!! And with it ended the purple patch in business. The black-and-gold t-shirts became more stigmatised than HIV. And dhandha became mandaa!

IPL 3.0 started with a tinge of sense and sanity. The hype was put to rest and cricket became he top priority. Who knows if the team starts winning again, the business can see a turnaround! And the buggers have won two matches as well! Lets see if one of the most unpopular teams of all time is able to win some respect this time.

MangoMan's discovery # 1239

KKR is an anagram of KRK! That says it all!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the blasphemous uninitiated ignorants who have no clue about KRK, this is for you.

Link1 Link2 Link3 Link4

Kartey Nahi Hum

Ho chali hai aadat zeher peene ki ab

Dil chhota yuhi kartey nahi hum

Dhuan hai, nasha hai ya deewangi hai

Ye soch aahein bhartey nahi hum

Lagti hai thokar jab raastey mein

Ashqon ko zaaya kartey nahi hum

Raha hoga shayad fasana koi sa

Nafrat ke sholon mein jaltey nahi hum

Peshani pe harf godey khuda ne

Mukammal jahan chaaha kartey nahi hum

Par ye bhi sach hai gaye hain wo jabse

Jeetey nahi hum, martey nahi hum

Ashq- tears; zaaya- waste; fasana- story; peshani- forehead; harf- words; godey- engraved; Mukammal- complete

Randumb Snippets

I never wear bright colours. Gurdit says that I wear colours resembling a 'dead lizard'. Can somebody explain to me what-in-the-name-of-that-lizard's-arse does it mean? And why does it have to be dead?

--

These are some of the masterstrokes by the genius professors we have out here at XLRI:

• "You would have looked very smart if you hadn't brought your face."
• "When rape is inevitable, its wise to enjoy it."
• "Boss, I can tell you at least maximum(!!!!????) would have done it wrong."
• "Saari Raamayan khatam ho gayi aur tum poochh rahe ho Seeta kiska Baap!"
• "You wretched-face creatures with no sense of dressing and walk in sleep..."
• "The only thing you have learnt in XLRI is how to stand still after a bottle of whiskey."
• "Can you please come down from the House of Lords (last benches, slightly elevated as you go back every level) and sit in the House of Commons (the front benches)?
• "(The graph is) pressed from the top and getting big from the bottom...
• "...but, a very big but..." [if you don't get this last one, Think JLO, think Malaika, think Nicole]

--

Sometimes I think what do the toppers(read: ghissus) get after burning midnight oil (it's a phrase!), slogging till their butt swells up, and giving up on the obvious delicacies of life! Even if they get an 'A' , their CQPI (cumulative grade) comes down! Poor souls! Their life can best be compared to the disclaimers on sleeping pills: "May not cause drowsiness"!! (link)

--

I got this sms a couple of minutes back. "Characteristics of VKG- finds smsing her taxing but blogs every moment. has nothing to talk about to her but adds a new topic to his blog daily. Finds walking with her taxing but goes to jubilee park with friends every week. Listens to everyone's complaints but not her. Will do every other work when with her but when alone, he either does "kuch nahi" or watches movies. Will give advice to everyone but not her."

Poor her! Or, poor me? :P

Kasoor

Aaj phir se aayi hai sharam, Aaj phir se darr lagaa hai

Aaj phir hum hain akeley, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

Aaj phir chuppi hai chhayi, Aaj phir aandhi hai aayi

Aaj phir se hai andhera, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

Aaj phir thukraye gaye hain, Aaj phir dhokha hua hai

Aaj phir jhaanka hai khud mein, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

Aaj phir kashma-kash hai wahi, Aaj phir dil hai ye roya

Aaj phir 'Gumnaam' hain hum, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

--

I'm not sure if the following lines can do justice to the lines above, but an english translation follows for the Hindi-impaired friends :)

Yet again I am ashamed, Yet again I am afraid

Yet again I am alone, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Yet again there's a silence, Yet again its all too dark

Yet again I'm stuck in (a) storm, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Yet again I've been rejected, Yet again its been a betrayal

Yet again I peek into my soul, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Yet again the dilemma has crept, Yet again the heart has wept

Yet again I am so lost, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Claimer!!!!!

Disclaimer to this claimer: Do not proceed if you find words of wisdom like "fuck", "screw", "damn", "butt", or "ass" offending/fucking/screwing your damn butt/ass. Also, keep all the potentially dangerous equipment away: you might want to kill yourself after reading this.

--

The demented author of this blog has been leased out from an asylum-cum-penitentiary-cum-zoo to save this world from an inevitable apocalypse. Anything he writes scribbles here is for the same mission and is the result of a severely tormented childhood.

Any resemblance to anyone living, sleeping, fucking, inebriated or dead is purely intentional. If the content seems to malign any club, organization, company, or individual, it is meant to be so. Get a friggin' self esteem and be offended. Go sue/screw me. I don't give the-tapeworm-in-your-intestine's ass!!

The images used are NOT the properties of the respective owners from whichever shit-holes you are leading your pitiable lives in. I won't give you credit. Its your damn butt's mistake to not use a watermark before uploading it over the internet. Even a seventh grader knows how to do that. I wont give you any credit for any material lifted from your blog and published here, verbatim or otherwise. Go get fucked, fuck yourself or get electrocuted.

I am not responsible, nor will be held liable, for anything anyone says on my blog in the blog comments. I'm not their goddamned nanny. Go chase their asses if you are a crybaby and have a grudge. Or what the hell, bring it on!

Also, do not come to me if your kid wastes time reading this shit rather than preparing for his board exams that guarantee a most-fulfilling rat race in store for him. Learn parenting first.

The intention is never to endorse/glorify/promote/sell any kind of intoxication. Yes, I do all kinds of shit but use your balls and brains before making a decision, that is, if you ain't already doing it.

This blog is not for my fellow inmates, ingrates or illiterates. Pregnant, probably pregnant, about to be pregnant or dieing to be pregnant women are advised to consult their husband, boyfriend or both and the physician before reading. Eating less than seven hours before reading may result in unhealthy movements of bowels. Not recommended for people over the age of 105 years and 7 months.

Although I might claim otherwise under the influence of heavenly spirits, this blog does not offer any legal, medical, veterinary, psychiatric, gynecological, archaelogical, astronomical, anatomical, astrological, philosophical, dermatological or zoological advice. Get in touch with a competent professional, your local daaru ka adda, neighbourhood association of amateur lawyers, your barber, washerman, gardener, aanganbadi kendra, phone book, online directory, local emergency number, mother or Google for the same. If you cant, it means you are an orphaned, computer-illiterate loner. Exit this window and repair your life, if any.

Do use your useless-and-hibernating-in-hell discretion before clicking on any link that might lead to any obscene, prurient, poisonous, pornographic, bad, disgusting, hostile, repulsive, virulent, frivolous, rotten, infectious, malignant, antagonistic, irritating, obnoxious, harsh, embittered, rancorous, resentful, acrimonious, pestilential, baneful, noxious, toxic, venomous, pernicious or repetitive material. Its not my fuckin headache!

Should you link to this domain or use, reproduce, republish, regurgitate, repeat, reiterate, rebound, reecho, reverberate, mimic, imitate, parrot or duplicate the information contained on this blog, you alone are responsible for that action. I never asked you to do so. Even if I did, fuck you!

Any funny/pathetic/offending/harsh translation by Google translator is purely the responsibility of Google, Inc. Go screw them!

Yes, I suffer from delusions of adequacy and grandeur. Its too hypocritic of you to not to.

All disputes subject to jurisdiction in Jamshedpur only. Move your asses down here at least. The limits on the financial damages is 10 INR irrespective of your hailing from any food-deprived land with hyperinflation.

And finally, FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY!!

P.S. Quite contrary to the overall mood of the post, I would like to give credit to Herche. 12.679% of this post is inspired by the disclaimer on his blog.

Psychedelic Patterns

They are all there. They are all cheering, hands in air. Roars and Applauses. He is the light at the other end of this tunnel. They are taking His name. The one in the red turban and an unkempt beard is a bit over the board. He's joining both his hands in an inexplicable manner so as to devout himself. The lady with the slightly unhooked blouse is screaming like never before. Their hands are dirty and their hair is rough and messy. The legs are weak and the feet are bare. Its scorching hot. They do not feel an ounce of heat. These are the winds of change.

"What the blip happened to the the picture quality?"

They are all there. Some new as well. Some did not make it.

He's blurry eyed. He can't see them clearly. The noise has risen like anything. They need their rights. They need their dreams fulfilled. They want back a part of themselves that they gave to Him. They do not seem to get it back. Why does this always happen?

They are all there. They are a JPEG image from this high. They are colours. The red crowd there - in the middle of the left row: He has to take care of them. They keep Him happy. He loves being happy. Everyone loves being happy. The chamiya loves the pearls, too. They have wild sex, every night. Its wild for Him at least. The blue in the right row do not even know the red are there. They have their own deals. They have their own ideals. They need to be listened as well. Do you have a friggin's clue what how many pixels they are and what their pixel size is? Be wise. Be calm. Be careful.

They are all there. They have assembled again. Long time back. Many centuries back in time. They are silhouttes. But not silent. They have voices, equally strong, equally shrill, equally loud and equally clear. The heroes are in white neat robes, fresh from their burial, not a long time back, together, all at once. They are taking Him to the gallows.

"Plug the earphones out, you bugger."

Its silent as death. Am I deaf as well? Its dark. Am I blind as well?

"Achcha, match shuru hone wali hogi na"

--

The above post was written and saved after six glasses of bhang. There were patterns in my mind. Of crowds, of cheers and of a hero. This is how I interpreted them. This is an unedited copy (punctuation and italicisation aside).