My God in Ayodhya

Sep30 2010. Today's the verdict. Well, not the final one. But, it's got to be a milestone. The saffrons are there. The greensas well. Will they embrace white and thus complete the Tricolour regardless of the verdict or will they paint the land red? Time will tell, like it has always done in BR Chopra's Mahabharat.

In the meanwhile, what does that man have to say who, in all this hullabaloo around him, has ironically been pushed to the sidelines? He's called by various names. He's Rama, whose place of birth is as contentious as Lindsay Lohan's life. He's Rahim, whose dream of a blemish-free religion has been mercilessly stoned to death.

Probably this is what my God wants to scream out.

dafna do mujhe

chaurahe pe

kabr khod do meri

ya jalaa do

kuch sookhi lakdiyon ke saath

maar to tumne

kal hi diya tha

cheekha tha bahot

pehle

koshishein ki thi

samjhane ki

manaane ki

bataane ki

tum nahi samjhe

koi nahi samjha

ungliyan uthi

uthti rahi

bas

ab numaish mat karo

meri

mere nange jism ki

rooh toh rahi nahi

bahot pehle hi

chhod gayi

sikudi

simti

le jaao mujhe

daal aao kahin

apni is duniya se door

bahot door

waise bhi tumhari is duniya mein rakha kya hai??

So ja bachche, laado so ja

Meri Rajjo, meri laado

Baarah baras ki ho gayi aaj

Gubbare laaye hain iske chachu

Chhupte chhupate

Karfoo laga hai na ghaati mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Apne ghar se apne hi bageeche mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Teen gubbare laaye hain

Teeno laal

Bada pasand hai rajjo ko

Bachpan se koi aur rang

Dekha hi nahi na bechari ne

Raaton ko jab shor machta hai

Sannate ka

Neend nahi aati laado ko

Kehti hai ammi, kahani sunao

Sona hai

Thapkiyan deti hun usey

Is dozakh ke dard ke saath

Is dozakh ke jhooth ke saath

"Nahi rahe jo baag bageeche

Kal se dekhna fir se khilenge

Tootey jo saawan ke jhooley

Kal se dekhna fir se hilenge

Aag ka gola nahi girega

Tu ghar se bahar niklegi

So ja bachche, laado so ja

Kal se thandi hawa bahegi"

--

Ek awaz si aayi toh hai

Dil mera dehla to hai

Rajjo, uth ja, Rajjo

Bahot so liya

Uth ja na

Rajjo

Chulbul Pandey in XLRI

We at XL know one thing - to live life XL size! We have formal committees for the most informal of all things in the world. While the most popular committee ensures the absence of sobriety on the campus, Film Lovers In XLRI (FLIX) has pirates who screen awesome-quality shit on huge lecture screens. If it's a movie, it's on FLIX.

I'm one of the six pirates of the campus. We have screened all kinds of movies - from downrightly sleazy to cult classics with audience-of-five. But, this Tuesday was different. We screened Dabangg. The rest is history.

Marketing maniac that I think I am, this was the first teaser that I sent to the batch.

Normally, teasers cease to be anything more than movie posters. They aren't teasers, really, in absence of the tease quotient. But hype had to be created this time. The subject of the teaser read "SCREENING OF THE YEAR".

By 8pm, Anshat and I decided to spice up the movie watching experience. We got popcorn, cold drinks and 'thanda' paan!!! And I sent out another teaser with strategically placed fonts.

Next, I printed out the following and stuck it in the hostel elevator.

(Munni Zandu Balm hui, Darrrling tere liye)

2315 hours. Lecture Hall 2. The experience.

Imagine sitting in a theatre in Bengal watching a Mithoon-Da movie from the first few rows with the "mass audience", as we elitists call them. The atmosphere was equally electrifying in XLRI. The hall with a seating capacity of 70 had 90 people to start with. Whistles, desk-bangings, roars of "Why are we waiting, FLIX is masturbating!"

Chulbul 'Robin Hood' Pandey then took the hall by a storm, a tsunami rather. It was a cheap, sleazy, double-meaning dime-a-dozen flick with a difference. Colossal screen presence of Salman even when he breaks into a dance everytime between a fight, Gawd-level action sequences and "Makkhi" - it was more than we could take. [Makkhi happens to be the nickname of a batchmate Nitin Makhija whose name was shouted everytime "Makkhi" was mentioned onscreen].

Dialogues like "Dekhen, kiske batashe kitney gol hain!" [Let's see, who has the balls!"] flared the lecture hall more than what's happening in Kashmir.

And, among all this, there was Anshat, shouting out his sales-pitch "Popcorn-popcorn-popcorn"!!!!

A night to remember!

Fire And Flood

A sordid tale

Of desert storms

And some frozen blood

Strewn around

The skulls and bones

Unnoticed, unheard

Some purple petals

Of a black rose

Dead from within

Fixated

Obsessed, repulsed

By the raging flood

A Cynic, Some Cannabis And The I-Day

Sixty-three, eh? Long time on earth, you juggernaut named India.

Reams of printing material wasted in long droning newspaper articles. Some singing hymns in the might of the elephant, some 'critically analysing' where we stand today. Yet others (the coloured pages) breaking the news about how did our national lady M.Sherawat celebrate I-Day this year.

Tons of flowers plucked for gigantic garlands for our 'leaders'. The remaining plucked to be wrapped in the Tricolour before the hoisting ceremony by the most corrupt blood-sucking parasite of the locality in the capability of the 'chief guest'.

TV journalists going to inaccessible military locations once a year to show the rest of India how the 'sons of India' celebrate this day there. Empathy converts into TRPs. It's either Siachen or Shit Rukh Khan - what this day means to him and when is his new movie releasing.

A twenty-4 hour patriotism that spills over to the status messages. SMSes with flags made of hyphens, dots, asterisks and slashes. Universal, hollow wishes of "Happy I-Day".

A holiday for the whole of India.

It's a day of spin doctors. Of speeches and promises and hidden agendas. Of parades and shenanigans and hooplas.

Of shit.

So? If not this, then what? This. [link]

Oral Contraceptives For Men!

Today's ad-making event finally breathed fresh air into this about-to-go-extinct blog!

We had to select one of the four categories - tobacco, alcohol, oral contraceptives and guns - to make a surrogate ad of. For all those who had the sanity enough to not opt for a course in Business Management, I'll lay out the concept of surrogate advertising in simple terms.

We can't show an ad for a product category X. So, we choose to make a product of category Y of the same brand name and promote it on mass media. By this we expose the consumers to the brand and build associations we want to build. Classic examples are McDowell's Soda, Seagram's Royal Stag Mega Music, Bacardi Blast, Red & White Bravery Awards.

Back to the event. We brainstormed, conceptualised, shot, searched for relevant videos and images on the web, splitted the videos, arranged and joined the pieces together IN ONE HOUR. The result wasn't the most technologically sophisticated ad of the world but we hope the message got conveyed. There simply wasn't any time for it. No sexy models. No expert camerapersons. No geeks on the computer. We did it all ourselves.

Remember, the product is "Guardian Angel Oral Contraceptives FOR MEN' and we make an ad for 'Guardian Angel Helmets'.

Some nuances might get lost in the first viewing. A repeat-viewing would essentially bring forward the subtleties. Voila!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaU1d_bwgVw

Team: The Achmeds - We keel you! [Abhishek Dassani, Abhishek Joshi, Varun Kumar Gupta]

Tagline: We do not believe in taglines.

Life. 40.

Ghosts of past. Lingering shadows. Coffee Stains. Yellow newspapers. Lonely cobwebs. Dusty notebooks. Empty bottles. Cigarette butts. Unpacked cartons. Rotting fruits. Dirty dustbin. Broken glass. Rusty bed.

Footsteps. Door. Knock. Knock.

Creak.

Light. Bright.

Smell. Voice. You.

Illusion. Dream.

Life.

[Dedicated to the only reason of my existence.]

I'm Sorry

The last post raised a lot of eyeballs. There was flak from all quarters. The dumber sex got all trigger happy, threatening of dire consequences if I didn't take down that post. Damn, this world of VHP, Raj Thackeray and women!!

I somehow got their tempers in control by promising an apology to the womenfolk worldwide. Here it goes.

--

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry because I didn't realize that you didn't have the intellect enough to understand the disclaimer. Although you decided to read further at your own wish and peril, just like you always decide to choose the wrong prick as your guy knowing everything about him, I should have taken more care. You obviously didn't choose to be eternally retarded. It was forced upon you.

I'm sorry because I called a spade, a spade. I wasn't as politically correct as you always are. I didn't appreciate you for my vested interests. I didn't disguise intentions in puffery and seduction as you always do. It was honesty, a concept as alien to you as USBs and URLs.

In fact, while I'm on it, I just realized I'm sorry for a few other things as well.

--

I'm sorry about how you must feel when you think about how big a curse you've been on man-kind. From Troy to the epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata, you've been the reason of betrayal and bloodshed. Closer home, you are the reason behind 89.97% of the scuffles at school and you don't even know that.

I'm sorry that you suck at mathematics. Numbers make you dyslexic and pukish. Logic and reason elude your pea sized brains as well. I sometimes cry at nights, thinking about how unfair must this world seem to you: a world of walking supercomputers - males! Hang in there. God must have alternate plans for you: like a sex change operation.

I'm sorry that you are attracted to men seven point five times your age. Or probably, it's just fashionable. Or, for that matter, it's something like Lyin' Eyes. Whatever it is, I'm sorry that it's the only way you can drive a Ferrari while you still have baby teeth.

I'm sorry that the only way you can get a ticket is by cutting the queue.

I'm sorry that the only way you can win beauty pageants among similarly challenged species is by being exemplarily dumb. [link1] [link2]

I'm sorry that the only way you can finish assignments is by acting dumber than you already are and letting some big-hearted guy help you in pity.

I'm sorry there's a wiki how page dedicated to you that reads "How To Act Like A Dumb Girl" [link]

Enough. I'll let this do the talking. [lyrics] [video]

Do you want more or I'm sorry enough already??

Lucky Bastards

Disclaimer: Meant to offend. Go screw yourself.

--

I don't think of females as the inferior species. I think they're just dumb.

It's not their fault, really. They're just wired this way. It thus becomes our duty to accept them as they are, always making them feel they're "special". Poor souls - misconstruing pity for chivalry.

Anyway, this post is not about them. Quite contrarily, it's about us. \m/

Here's why we were lucky to be born with a wee-wee and the wisdom chromosome.

• We don't have to guzzle down liquids we can't even afford to smell, sport hairstyles that make us look like buffoons and play sports we don't even understand to be"cool".
• We don't have to spend one-third of our lives looking at our own reflections in the mirror. We recognize ourselves way sooner.
• We don't have to shave more than one-twentieth of our body.
• There is no concept of "tomgirls". We are happy with what we are.
• We can afford our underwear.
• We buy shoes we wear more than once.
• Cockroaches are scared of us.
• We understand music.
• We don't wear t-shirts with quotes at exactly the places we don't like people to stare at.
• We aren't hypocrites. We accept that we think about sex all the time.
• We don't substitute sex with chocolates!!!!
• We think chocolates are sweet brown confectionery. NOTHING ELSE!!!
• We don't eat more than our dietitian recommended when we're depressed.
• We don't have a dietician.
• We are never depressed!!!
• We don't have to harp on about our right to equality to settle down for a "33% reservation".
• We don't need a "beauty sleep". We sleep when we want, where we want and how we want.
• We don't believe in keeping wastes in our body. The world is our urinal.
• We don't care if our best friends forget our birthdays. We wonder if they don't.
• Our clothes are comfortable. We can stretch, bend and run in them.
• We aren't destroyed if someone else wears the same outfit at a party.
• We don't appear in advertisements of products for the opposite sex.
• We can wear whatever we want to a water park. (if clothing's a compulsion)
• We choose "just the right gifts" in 58 seconds straight.
• We don't fake accents.
• We don't use creams for everything from fairness to "enhancement".
• We don't stuff our clothes to look "big".
• We know stuff about the Italian Mob.
• We know the difference between a USB and a URL.
• While fixing a bulb, we don't have to stop and think which way to turn.
• We don't have to seduce our bosses for a promotion.
• Our clothes are never wrinkled. At least to us.
• We know no one cares about the fingernails.
• People look into our eyes when we talk.
• We can afford to wait for year-end sale schemes.
• Our phone bills are minuscule.
• We don't know what peach, burgundy and magenta mean. We don't care.
• We find beauty in everything. And everyone.
• Our shampoos don't nauseate us.
• When we take more than five minutes to take a bath, we're having fun.

We don't think we rule the world. We would rather prefer beer, porn and someone to clear the mess we leave behind.

P.S. Contribution from a fellow lucky bastard Sakya: We know if we're oversized. We don't ask rhetorical questions like "Do I look fat."

Pink Freud

Dawn had never been more beautiful. More painful, neither. Critters filled in the uncomfortable silence. Still in his arms, she rolled down the window. The wind was misty. Or, perhaps, it was the heaviness of her thoughts. It had rained, probably. There were droplets on the glass. Few and far between, like stars on a cloudy night. And there was her face - the moon - going back into the darkness of anonymity after shining so bright all night long.

It was a night of ecstasy. Of liberation. Of emancipation. Of flight. Of fantasy. Of love, or whatever was left of it.

He had never been there before - in the concaves of her body. But she didn’t stop him this time, ironically, when she was about to walk away from it all in a few moments. How else could she have carried his memories with herself. She had to. She had to, if she wanted to survive among the ghosts of the past and the wolves of the future. And she did. A part of him: his being.

And then it happened. Beads. Big ones. All of a sudden. Uncontrollably. Inexplicably.

She hadn’t cried for ages. Ages, that had been dark and cruel to her. Times, that had made her feel like a worthless blot on humanity. Today it whelmed over. Over and over again.