Men Just Want That One Thing!

I find it amusing when some women (please note, I mentioned “some” not ALL) roll their eyes and say, Men will be men!

Why of course men will be men. They cannot be bug-eyed aliens from the planet Zorg?

Or the last son of Krypton with a red cape hanging from his back?

Another one is, All men are the same!

Hell yeah! There are so many similarities between Hitler, Tagore, and Salman Khan.

And this one is my favorite, Men just want that one thing from us, sex!

Absolutely right. Try seducing him when he is getting ready for office and asking for breakfast.

Or strip in front of him right when India needs 6 runs from the last ball of the match. God save you!

I wonder who invented these one-size-fits-all phrases?

It's an undeniable fact that some beasts torture their wives, rape, molest, tease, and force to have sex without even caring whether the girls want it or not. That's mean, sick, and terrifying! But they are “some beasts” and not all the men. Imagine Subhash Chandra Bose molesting a girl or Abraham Lincoln eve teasing. Next time you hear someone using one of these one-size-fits-all phrases, protest in the name of humanity! Because the term “All Men” includes your caring dad, loving husband, that crazy friend who has been there in your ups and downs, that inspiring teacher in your school, your favorite cricketer, the freedom fighters of your country... it's a long list.

There are two sides of a coin and it's your call.

It Took Me 20,000 Hits To Write This Shit!

My blog has reached 20,000 hits and I think it's time to re-evaluate my profile as a blogger. I should have stopped writing long ago, right after I passed my graduation with English. But someone continued poking holes in my self-esteem bucket and made me keep updating this blog. I found that for every “wow, you write so well” I get a “fuck this creative bastard.”

For every “wow that's so unique” I get a “where did you copy that from, bastard?”

For every “Ajesh, you should start posting ads on the blog” I get a “why don't you just go fuck yourself, you shameless blogger?”

For every positive comment there is one negative comment and what I've learned is that if we the Bloggers are going to write something of any value, we are surely going to piss some people off. If you write for others, I have to say this to you with my Caps Lock on.

THROW YOUR PEN OR KEYBOARD FROM YOUR WINDOW AND NEVER WRITE ANOTHER WORD!

We Bloggers don't always get it right. Sometimes we write in a heat of passion. Sometimes we pretend to be great humorists. Sometimes we write for no reason.

Sometimes we deserve a high five. Sometimes we deserve a knock-out punch straight on our face.

What I've realized is, for those of who write, we write because we cannot survive without it. It soothes the savage beasts in us. It baby seats the fussy eater in us who refuses to write anything but the best. Those of us who were born to write knows that we cannot, we must not, and we should not refrain ourselves from this addiction called writing. Sometimes we say it proudly. Sometimes we write it poorly. And sometimes we write with the blessed ideas freshly baked from the universe. Nevertheless, we write because the show must go on.

Earnest Hemingway puts it better than many other authors.

He said, “Writing is easy. You just sit down at a typewriter and cut open all of your veins.”

Those of who survive to write, know what that guy tried to mean. There are many times I finish writing a story or blog post filled with emotional tears, feeling so exhausted but happy. As if I forgot to sleep for weeks. But then the old writing ghost taunts me. Do you think your readers will like this? Will they appreciate your thoughts? Words, when placed rightly side by side have this long history of provoking wars. Rarely there has been a movement that did not start with written words. The almighty words!

We may write craps. We may write epics. But we the sojourners need some basic ingredients that cooks up a writer. The passion to write, the heart of a poet, the thoughts of a philosopher, the soul that can be detached easily from the body, and the undying narcissism that pokes us in the middle of nights to say that we have something to write about. I love to write and write to love. And I keep checking the page views of my blog, that's the proof that people are coming to my blog, reading my posts, even if they don't feel like writing a line or two...

27 September, Friday 2013

Dear diary, today I'll be knocking on heaven’s door right after I hear the first thunder. I wonder whether someone will open it and let me in. I’ve a firefly to deliver. But I can’t find one of my shoelaces so I think I will have to go barefoot. It’s good in a way; I don’t want the grasshoppers to know where I’m going. For they might want to come with me too. I could fit only 2 chairs on my hot air balloon. One for me, one for the firefly. You know Broom is peeping over my left shoulder to see what I’m writing. I’m pretty sure he will accompany me to the front porch and stand there till he sees my balloon becoming a tiny dot in the northern horizon and vanishing behind that white cloud which looks like a momma ship.

I’m going to leave you here, diary. On this planet. On this table, in front of this window so that you can invite the sunlight when he passes through this window for a nice and warm cup of tea. Actually it’s ok if you would like to invite the breeze also. But I don’t think that’s a good idea because those chocolate wrappers and old leaves follow breeze wherever he goes. Broom doesn’t like to work when I’m not here.

I may not come back, diary. I’m stacking the blankets here. The red one’s for you, the blue is for Broom, the green is for the grasshoppers, yellow is for the chickens, and I’m taking the black one with me on the balloon. The poor firefly gets scared when the thunder strikes. I will hide him under the blanket. Maybe someday, someone from Earth will land on this comet and find you. Tell him not to step on the grasshoppers and leave broom alone. He can eat the cookies in the jar at the kitchen but the bread crumbs are for the chickens.

Wait! Mom’s calling me. I think it’s the doctor again. He thinks I hallucinate and make up weird stories…

I will come back before the first thunder strikes.

Monday Morning Hues

I love the second half of the year much more than the first six months. I can hear the footsteps of the winter, the sky is cobalt blue with clouds like white ships without any hurry, the golden sunlight on the old wall of my veranda silently wishes me a good morning everyday, the coolness in the air, the love around me... it’s time to shake the sand out of my shoes and get back into the swing of things… joys of life. Oh I completely lose my mind at this time of the year.

Going to work on Monday mornings is not the same any more. I wake up early, realize that I'm still alive and greet the day with a smile. Then brush my teeth staring up at the clear sky with the eyes of a connoisseur (we have a beautiful open veranda in home). There was a time when this same guy was all grumpy, agitated and frustrated on Monday mornings. I cursed my luck, complained on Facebook, screamed abusive words, and did every other things I know to make others feel how bad I feel on Mondays. Most of them agreed, some didn't.

I realized this cannot continue for long. Am I going to waste every single Monday of my life? This cannot go on unless I can be the president of my country and ban Mondays forever. But then Tuesdays will become Mondays.

Or, I can listen to what Mondays try to tell me.

So I sat there calmly in my room on a lovely afternoon right after I had my lunch.
“Ajesh calling Monday, Ajesh calling Monday, can you hear me Monday? Over.”
Nothing worked. No one replied. I continued...
“Can you hear me Monday? Answer me, over.”

Then I heard a faint voice, like that of a baby ship suffering from cold.
“Yes Ajesh, I can hear you. Over.”

I realized I'm feeling a little uneasy suddenly.
“How would I know you are Monday? But not Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday?”

I swear I heard a smile, “did you realize you're feeling uneasy with me around? That's how you feel on Mondays. But I'm in a little hurry and you have something to ask, come to the point.”

I was convinced. “A lot of people, even me... hate you. But I don't want to hate you, I mean I do hate you but I realized I should not hate you. Make me understand why I shouldn't hate you.”

“You have a pen and a notepad ready? I'm telling you 5 points which can change how you feel about me.”

I quickly opened a new Office Word document and nodded, “yes, I'm ready... please proceed.”
Did I just hear a chuckle? Not sure, the baby-ship-suffering-from-cold began...

Point 1: Without me, you will never see a Friday. Just like the color black is essential to validate the existence of white, Fridays exist just because there are Mondays.

Point 2: There will be approximately thousands of Mondays in your life till you retire from work. You mean to say that you'll stay grumpy, agitated, and curse your life on all these days? Tsk tsk tsk! What a waste!

Point 3: I give you a new opportunity every week. But who needs an opportunity when you can update your Facebook status saying how bad you feel about me? This continues. Every week. Every month. Every year. Now count the number of opportunities you have missed already.

Point 4: You complain that “life sucks” but life's a very good friend of mine and he says that it is you who suck! You have a faint-heart, that's your problem. Both of us agreed, you suck!

Point 5: Watching you cursing Mondays and Life is so freaking entertaining. It's like watching a comedy show on TV with enough supply of cheese popcorns.

Before I could say anything to Monday, he was gone! I had this conversation with Monday a year back. Here I am on another Monday, sharing the secrets with my fellow faint-hearts.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

Now that's a title!

I thought about this title last weekend when I was drunk.

And I kissed a girl.

Well I thought it was a girl until the next morning one of my friends told me that it was strange of me to kiss him last night.

I told you I was drunk and the music was quite loud.

In the morning I realized it was no music but the ringtone of my mobile.

Every time my girlfriend called me, I danced with the beats!

My mobile showed 17 missed calls in total.

But I was right about the lizard on the ceiling. It looked like a dragon but was actually a firefly.

I was really drunk and missed my girlfriend. So I sent her a text:

“I'm drunk! Come here baby... miss you.”

I had a reply from her, she was really pissed off.

The next morning I checked my inbox and saw a text from my boss.

“Retard! Double-check before sending me these creepy texts.”

And I thought it was my girlfriend!

Then one of my friends wanted to go home. I wanted to drop him.

From the 6th floor... but I don't remember anything like that.

The next day, they told me I wanted to drop him just because he wanted to pee.

I was so drunk last weekend!

Then I had 8 more pegs of whiskey and suddenly remembered that I had to call my mother.

She acted strangely on the phone. She went on telling me I was not her son!

I was so shocked and sad. Someone took the mobile from my hand and replied her something which I don't remember at all.

The next day they told me it was not my mobile at all. And that was not my mother either. She was a girlfriend of one of my friends.

Then there was this strong blow on my head. Everything became dark. How could my friends hit me just because I was drunk?!! I don't remember anything else!

Later, the next morning they told me we were having a bullfight last night. I was the bull.

And I ran towards a poster of John Lennon on the wall screaming “this is Spartaaaaa!”

I really don't remember anything.

The Quick Brown Fox Jumps Over The Lazy Dog, But...

…but the dog quickly grabbed him by his furry tail and asked,

“Hold on a sec pal, why do you keep jumping over me when there's plenty of space around?”

“Do I look like a fence?”

“I don't even try to catch you because I'm lazy. But this time I had to stop you, not because I'm angry but I'm just curious...”

“Seriously, why do you keep jumping over me, man?”

The fox looked scared at first, then realizing that the dog won't do anything it regained some of its courage to speak.

“I... I can't help, that's my habit...”

“I've done that countless times and I will do that again and again because I've done that again and again.”

“Now can you please let go of my tail? I have to come back again to jump over you.”

The lazy dog look disgusted now.

“Look pal, I didn't stop you for countless times, but today I did. And I won't mind chasing you if you try to jump over me once more.”

“I have nothing personal about foxes but I hate the ones that jump over lazy and sleepy dogs.”

The fox look scared now and tried to explain...

“But I have nothing to do with it. It's the humans who made me jump over you for the sake of their alphabets. I hate this job. Jumping over a dog who does sleeps all day long.”

The dog let go of the tail of the fox and shook hands with him.

“Pal, you see a pub over there? I bet you won't mind having something to drink...”

So the quick brown fox and the lazy dog went to this pub again and again. They became friends, had a lot of fun, got drunk, danced together, jumped over each other and did everything silly.

Moral of the story: Stop looking for morals everywhere. Live your life!

Teri Kehke Lunga!

I misspelled a word on Twitter. The Grammar Nazis circled and attacked me.
"What is this strange looking word?" One of them asked.

"What does this even mean?" Asked another one.
"… how the hell do you pronounce it?"
My followers were waiting.
I quickly typed with my middle fingers...

FCUK U!

Rhyme Time for A Piece of Dime

Rhyming words is not that tough,

Poets are mad they always laugh.

All they do is blink and think,

And chew their pens till they stink.

They look at birds and trees and sky,

Some lonely creatures with greaves of sigh!

They don’t bath or comb their hairs,

They weep in dreams but laugh in mares.

I tell you that the Poets are mad,

The more they think, the more they had.

Rivers, flowers, and all that nice,

They talk to birds and dance with mice.

They love to love and love to live,

Give to get and get to give.

They write at nights and sleep through days,

To make the world a better place.

They wink at stars and jump on cloud,

Scare the pilots then laugh out loud.

They tickle the cow in the Milky Way,

Then dive at once on a stack of hay,

I know a poet, who flies in night,

He still doesn’t know this blog I write.

If flying that high makes a crime,

Then I’m not a poet and I can’t rhyme.

Yes Facebook, I've Dumped You!

Yes Facebook. It's over. I've dumped you. No, no please, don't. Just don't try to explain anything. I don't want to see your trembling lips and all those mails saying how much you're going to miss me, and my friends will miss me, and how even God will get angry of me for dumping you.

Don't try to convince me that I will miss you. Yes, that worked last time, but after 3 months, I'm sure I took the right decision and I mean it this time. We're over. And let me tell you something, it's you who made it bitter.

When I first saw you in 2010, you were cool. I liked the way everything happened between us. To put it correctly, you looked good when you were just starting out on campus. God, I can't believe I used to spend so much time with you. You were attractive and spending time with you was fun. But what happened to the Fun?

I don't exactly remember when was the first time I had this doubt about you. This nagging doubt that things were not working well between us. That I'm wasting my time with you. Everyone was talking about you, everyone wanted to be with you. And a campus kid became popular. Let me put it straight, Facebook. I liked your simplicity and I had complete faith in you. I believed that you will respect my privacy.

No! Just shut up and stop this begging and pleading.

And stop mailing me.

You enjoyed being loved by others, you loved being popular. But with every passing second you were slowly becoming boring and nagging. I hate being controlled. I hate and then ignore people who try to control my life. You were changing the whole set-up of my life. I wanted my own time but whenever I was with friends, you would appear. Whenever I was alone, you would come. Whenever I was enjoying my favorite dishes, you asked me to share images with you. I was sick and tired of sharing my life with a retard who has no respect for my privacy.

Was it really important for you to follow me everywhere I go? And then telling my friends what I was doing? You know there's a definition for that in dictionaries? Stalking!

I hated when you went on forcing me to be friends with Nagrajan Muthuswami. We didn't know each other, we shared no hobbies, but Facebook you forced me for days to be friends with that unknown guy. And you continued this thing for years. I didn't know any of these people, they were not my friends, they are yours.

For God's sake, stop sending me those mails!

I don't care how much Sreeparna will miss me. What I really care is Facebook, that you are everywhere. No matter what I buy, where I eat, what I wear, there you are standing right there to attract my attention. Like a stalker.

I don't want to see my friend's cat. I don't want to share my food pictures. Inviting friends for a real-life treat is a much more interesting thing to me. So what if one of my friends is going to watch a new movie? Why do you keep telling me that? I really don't want you to keep reminding me my friends' birthdays. I remember the special ones. And those I don't, I don't because I don't want to wish them. You can keep all my friends, all 167 of them.

But one thing is for sure, we are never, ever, ever, ever getting back together.

YOU vs. YOU

You’re reading this.

Yes you! I’m talking to you.

Before you go to the next lines, let’s make a deal.

You read it right, a deal.

And that deal is you will read the whole post with a smile on your face.

Be it a fake smile, but do it… NOW!

No no, hold it right there. You cannot go to the next lines without a smile.

No cheating…

Good, there is the smile, not maybe on your lips but in your heart.

Now you know your heart can smile too! How weird is that?

You can smile inside without putting a smile on your lips.

So if you can smile inside, you can see inside, and hear inside…

Remember when you close your eyes and imagine things?

That’s it… that’s the eyes of your heart and they never need glasses.

Don’t tell me you don’t hum a favorite tune in your mind.

Hey, don’t forget the smile… we had a deal.

Good.

So, if your heart can smile, see, and hear… it can speak as well.

Remember how your heart used to tell that you are here to be a great dancer, a chef, a pilot, an astronaut, a designer…? Its fact that you don’t pay much attention to what it says.

But that’s not we’re talking about…

Once again, your heart can smile, hear, see, and speak as well.

Just like you.

So what are all these doctors saying heart is like a machine that can only pump blood… blah blah…

Right, that’s not your heart. All these things happen in your brain. I got it, smartass.

But hey, that means your brain can smile, hear, see…

Isn’t that weird???

You have another person inside your body.

Who reacts differently at times, like a complete different personality.

You stopped smiling long back, did I mention that to you?

Oh common! We had a deal.

So this inside-your-body personality, that nutcase who…

Smile

Hear

See

And…whisper in your ears.

…is maybe your heart, or brain, or soul.

Whatever it is, it’s not you.

Or maybe,

It’s the real you.

Then who’s the one outside?

An imposter? One who loves to see dreams then forget them?

One who can hear the real you speaking but ignore?

Now the imposter wants you to close this blog.

And the real one as well.

But the imposter will try to forget this post.

The real one won’t.

You’re to decide whose smile lasts.

Where The Road Meets The Sun

“Let me buy you a hotel room.”
“Oh, thanks but we have a tent with us.”
“Really? Come on, just let me buy you a hotel room up here in this next town.”
“We’ll be fine. Really. You’ve already helped us so much by picking us up. We weren’t expecting to get a ride at such an odd hour."
“I don't want anything from you in return. I just want to buy you a hotel room."
I was slowly losing my patience. "Thanks, but we would like to sleep in the tent."
"Okay. Then please at least don't say no to this.”

The old man gave me some money. I looked back at my friend over the seat, not knowing what to do with it.
“My daughter ran away last week,” he hides his eyes to the road through the windshield.

“Please," the old man says, "I insist.”

With Every Passing Day

Once upon a time my mornings were about a melodious chirping on my window frame and a little sparrow asking me how she looked before she starts her day. She'd brush her feathers neatly and ask me what was my plan for the day. I was sleeping, so I didn't know what surprises the day had for me. I could barely open my eyes wide enough to know if her tail feathers were matching with her scarf feathers, or her little eyes were as shiny as black beads. To me, she always looked beautiful, even though this daily ritual baffled me.

Mornings now, are about swapping dreams and joy with my laziness. Mornings now, are about savoring; they have become deep, intimate, and quiet. Mornings now, are about those baffling, indecipherable moments when I wake up, where I don’t know who I am, who I’ve been, or who I want to be. My weekends start with finding a little spot of light on the wooden beam of my ceiling, and guessing what time it is by its placement. Then softly closing my eyelids to see if I can still see the yellow spot of light.

Dilemma of An 80’s Kid

Almost all of us wanted to do the things that only our elders could do. We made a big wish list that we were determined to fulfill when we will be as tall as our parents. It was a list full of unfulfilled wishes like watching movies, buying ice creams, chocolates, eating those street side junk food, not giving exams, playing all day long… it was truly one long list.

We, the 80’s kids had a lot to celebrate. Our local park was our Facebook, passing short notes to friends in school was our Twitter, and those golden afternoons under the big bright yellow sun was our Instagram. Special moments were shared with friends every single day; we didn’t have to care how many people retweeted them on Twitter or liked on Facebook.

Life wasn’t easy back then, but it was simpler than now. Galaxy was something we could see easily looking up at the sky in starry nights. Apple and Blackberry were just fruits; tablets were medicines, and receiving handwritten letters were a lot more special than emails. We invented the shortest form of cricket even before Lalit Modi could dream of it. We danced and screamed our lungs out when Tendulkar hit sixes in Sharjah, we didn’t require cheerleaders to cheer for us.

Carrying a new pencil box with an attached sharpener and a hidden eraser or a pen that glows in dark were as exciting as carrying a new mobile or tablet to school. Sharing tiffin, comic books, bubble gums and other secrets with friends happened every single day; we didn’t have to Whatsapp for that. Whenever all our friends were together we always chat, we didn’t need to download WeChat for that. Back in the 90’s life gave us unlimited data plan; we didn’t have to pay anything to the service provider.

We were born with the best of things but we wanted to copy and paste the western culture in this country. Our prayers worked, the world around us started changing faster than we could ever imagine. Suddenly, bringing good grades in exams was a lot more important than playing cricket with friends and flying kites. Then came that much awaited day, our parents came to us, touched our shoulders and said...

“Don't be so irresponsible, you're no longer a kid.”

Now it's official, we are no longer kids. And we have no right to be wrong. Today Facebook reminds us of our best friend’s birthday. We no longer draw greeting cards for them; there are lots of online sites to take care of that. Playing cricket is passé, now IPL amuses us and match fixing is our favorite topic in social get-togethers. Galaxy is now available at only 20k, Apple is now a lot more expensive than it used to be. Temples are no longer to pray; instead Temple Run has become viral worldwide. We eat in good restaurants and check in on Facebook to show our friends where we eat, wear expensive clothes, talk smart, pretend to be smart, and carry smartphones. We no longer look up at the sky to see the old Galaxy. Making money is more important than relationships, using to-do lists to remember client meetings but forget to laugh heartily, waiting for our appraisals, waiting for that one vacation in a year, saving money to buy our dream cars, applying for loans…

And then, one lonely afternoon, some of us switch off their mobiles and write a post like this.

Flying Away on a Wing and a Prayer

My life has changed. Bright and colorful!

My old friends may be envious, but I’ve made new friends.

They are of my kind, happy, colorful, and prosperous!

My life has changed!

People admire my beauty, praise my abilities.

They talk about me; I bring smile to their faces.

People who once called me an ugly caterpillar,

Now call me a butterfly.

My life has changed!

A (S)hort (M)urder (S)tory

If you’re reading this sms, that means you still don’t know that your brakes won’t work.

I’m sorry, but I always find it hard to say goodbyes to the people I love so dearly.

So this was the best way for both of us.

The Last Confession

Dear,

They’re calling me mad for what I’ve done.

At least you’re the one who knows I’m not!

I spent sleepless nights in this Jail asking them to contact my lawyer.

To write a letter to my wife…

They called the doctors, they tortured me.

Today the court has ordered to put me in an asylum!

We’ll never be able to meet again.

But trust me, I wasn’t angry, neither mad, when I pushed you down from the 12^th floor.

It takes Two to Tango!

“Listen, I don’t really understand why you always try to race with me.”

“Oh yeah? Says the one who himself is trying to beat me for the past 25 years!”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you are!”

“No… listen, why don’t we just forget all these competitions and stay together peacefully like we did last night?”

“You know what? I felt the same last night, but you shocked me in the morning.”

“Dude! It was you who started racing…”

“And you were there chasing me all the time…”

“That’s just to maintain the balance.”

“Balance? For whom?”

One of my feet looked up at me, “For this big guy, the one we have been carrying for so many years.”

It was getting late for office, I had to run to catch the metro.

The other foot whispered, “Here we go again!”

To Whom It May Concern!

School had finished a few hours back.

But he was waiting in front of the school gate, hoping mom will come to take him home.

It was getting late, his feet hurt.

He couldn't wait in school, the gatekeepers and boys were laughing at him.

Like they always do.

What's taking her so long? He thought.

Maybe, she is busy cooking something special for me.

Or perhaps she is on her way, let's wait for a few more minutes.

There's no one he can ask to drop him home.

Besides, he still remembers what his mother told him the day when he went to school all alone.

“Never talk to strangers. Never.”

Today he is a teacher of the same school.

But mom is nowhere in his life.