Uncategorized

Misleading lyrics

So the lyrics of a song aids us to soothe the pain, but how often have we abused this comfort?
We start by relating the lyrics to a person but we don’t stop there.
This then becomes a compulsion.
We start forcing the words down the mould,
Even though it doesn’t fit.
For the sake of blaming someone for
Our pain.
We would rather blame someone than
To take responsibility for our actions.
And there’s the root of all your
mental turmoil.
Chin up, take responsibility.
Mind you responsibility not regret.
Regret is for the past,
Responsibility for the present.
Change your life.

the working class

A Middle class feeling

You get what you deserve,
That is the old saying.
One that survived the years for the most part… because it’s true.
Not for everyone.
Some get more than they deserve.
Because they believe they are not like everyone else.
That the rules, the ones like me and you, the people that work and struggle for a living,
Don’t apply to them.
That they can do anything and live happily ever after, while the rest of us suffer.
And They do this from the shadows.
Shadows that we cast,
With our indifference, with a pervasive lack of interest in anything that doesn’t directly affects us, in the here and now.
Or maybe it’s just the shadow of hopelessness.
Of how tired we are,
Struggling to claw our way back in the middle class that no longer exists.
Because of those who take more than they deserve.
And they keep taking.
Until all that’s left is a memory for us… of how it used to be.
Before the corporations, politicians, the system decided we didn’t matter anymore.
But we do. You and I, the people of this city…
We still matter.

funny · human nature · short stories

TOAST AND THE MARTIAN – 1

A meeting between Marvin Nate and a Martian who’s just been on our terra for a couple of hours.

 

M – Greetings, man.

 

MN – Hey there, you don’t look scary at all.

 

M – What is scary? ‘Apolome’, I’m still learning the ‘jinglish’ langua and why would you think I am scary??

 

MN – Scary means (hand signals pouncing) Dangerous.

 

M – I am shappy. So I saw a square (hand signals square) shape thing appeared to be covered by this ground fragments that we are standing on, being eaten by a human, what is that?

 

MN – That’s toast. Toast is bread. It is made brown by heating.

 

M – What is bread and why is it made into ‘ Taast’

 

MN – ‘Toast’, bread is food (hand signals eating) which we humans make to eat. Bread is simple. Toast is more fulfilling. (Hand signals stomach)

 

M – Fulfilling hoe?

 

MN – Toast is crunchy, apply butter to a hot toast and it is a much more fulfilling bite than plain bread. Butter is another food product we make.

 

M – Oh! , An innovative species you are! Toast is interesting, a way of making food gonsumption a richer experience!

 

MN – Of course… or a way of disposal…

 

M – What?

 

MN – I had disposed some pieces of stale bread by toasting them and feeding them to my irritating cousins.

 

M – I don’t understand…

 

MN – Never mind, here come my cousins.

 

MN – Never mind, here come my cousins.

funny · short stories · Uncategorized · wedding stories

THE FIRST WORDS…

POOJA AND AKSHAY

Read the gigantic plaque at the doorway of the hall of my cousin Pooja’s ‘sangeet’ ceremony. I was setting up the audio systems at the corner of the hall. The mic was malfunctioning and required fixing. An attendant who claimed that he could fix the mic offered to help me and I duly obliged. He got on with the task immediately and Mamaji came announcing, “the first words to be spoken at the ceremony would be the ganapathi sthothram and your grandmother will be the one reciting it, so get it fixed.”

Pooja was standing close by from my ‘workstation’ with her sister-in-law and her friends when our cousin Riya bought me a glass of juice and enquired about the audio system. We were able to hear the conversations that transpired between the bride and her sister-in-law. Pooja was being teased about the ‘adventures’ that she was going to have in her honeymoon when our relative  , dolly aunty came to Pooja’s rescue asking them to stop teasing the poor thing and declared that ‘our girl was an innocent dove in these matters’

On hearing this Riya tugged at my shirt and exclaimed in a controlled tone, “Ha! The innocent dove there was commenting last night about how Akshay has a huge ‘d*ck!’ All heads turned in our direction mostly with confusion, shock and embarrassment on display. It took a minute to register that the attendant had fixed the issue with the mic and was standing right next to us holding the functioning mic. The first words of the ceremony had been spoken…

funny relatable stories from my college life! · Uncategorized

ACHE-ITECTURE!

“Vivek ! Vivek! Evadey aa da thendi!” (Vivek! Vivek! You vagabond , where are you?!) Meera yelled through the phone. Its five p.m and I’m at my Panvel “room” passed out with my roomies , the expected outcome when four guys down a one litre Old Monk bottle. It was Onam and after finishing a scrumptious early meal from home I had got back to my rented flat to celebrate the true spirit of Onam like a hardcore malayali. Albeit most guys pursuing Architecture have celebrations that commence and close in bottles of Old Monk or London Pilsners. Now, we had begun our celebrations close to one p.m and the next thing I know that it is five p.m and Meera is yelling through the phone.

“Heyyyyyyyy…..” in a voice taken over by a nasty hangover , I asked the one question that you should never ask a pissed off woman expecting you..

“Sup??!! Amma has made the paaisam and saved some for you and your annoying room-mates and you’re asking me what’s up???”. That’s when I remember that while travelling from home to panvel , I had specifically asked poor Meera to save some of the Onam delicacy for me and had promised her that I will be showing up at her place and eating the onam delicacy that her mother had made for the day, “Right , Right , on my way..”

Now the accepted duration to rid the human body from the stench of rum is seven to eight to eight hundred hours of sleep , followed by a hot water bath and a king size breakfast accompanied by coffee or just exhaust a can of your room-mate’s deodorant. Ignoring the protocols , I wake up and take a glance around the room. Kabir had his  gigantic hairy arms wrapped around Karan , both in deep slumber , while Kapil is fast asleep in the other room. Now Kapil is the virtuous one of the group , a pseudo-persona that he managed to create for the outside world. No alcohol, no fooling around with girls and only academics was his true love. Meera’s mom just loved the guy. He was the one who had threatened to disown me if I had failed to show up by noon with the rum. Whereas myself , Kabir and Karan where the ‘spoilt apples’ , the morons , the vagabonds , the trouble-makers ; a badge we proudly wore.

After thirty minutes of begging and pestering , I got them to tag along. Three drunk fools who weren’t in their senses and unaware that they were stinking of rum headed to the next building where the Onam paaisam awaited us. We reached the front door of Meera’s flat and just stood there staring at each other. PEAP! Those ancient times bell tone buzzed when I hit the bell switch. “Ayyyoooooo , forgot my phone da!” , Kabir declared and he bolted down the staircase , hardly managing his bulky frame. ”Abbey! I have Kabir’s phone!!”, Karan followed and there I was standing all by myself in front of Meera’s house.

Meera’s mom answered the door and while my brain was screaming like that angry bald guy in the Roadies auditions to turn and run for it , I instead found myself greeting aunty and entered the house. She offered me a seat and headed inside towards the kitchen. Meera had just got out of the shower , water was still dripping from her hair and GOD she looked like a dream and smelled like like spring. Myself covered in rum stench , smiled at her and the words I uttered were ” Meera… you’re pretty and I’m drunk.” Her eyes were wide with shock and her delicate palm was clasped onto her lips with horror. She began to seat me when her mom appeared with a bowl of the hot sweet dish.

Kudichittundu allyey?” (you’re drunk,aren’t you?). I smiled like it was an achievement for which I was being complimented. She asked where her beloved Kapil was and I honestly replied that he was wasted and asleep half naked on his bed. The door to Meera’s house was open and with the brilliant acoustics of the building , sounds traveled far and wide. The three of us that is myself , Meera and her mom were seated in the living room when we heard laughing and giggling. Recognizing the grunts that we normally would hear in a pen full of pigs I knew it was Kabir and Karan. Hearing the giggles Meera’s mom burst out the door to trace its source. Now after escaping the culling pound , why did the two dogs chose to stick around the compound , I don’t know but they were caught and brought in for termination.

Senses had found me and I had realized that I had to get out with my boys before Armageddon but Meera’s mom had just begun grilling our drunk fannies and she wasn’t remotely done. I was struggling to keep up with aunty’s roast session when Meera   interjected , “ Ma , enough.. let them be..” she handed me the steel container filled with the hot paaisam and I was trying hard to drag the two dim-wits out who were trying to explain the benefits of rum to Meera’s mom. While departing I look at Meera , with a disappointed look she asked me to not embarrass her anymore. Poor Meera had no clue that we were just getting started..

Uncategorized

ACHE-ITECTURE

Meera’s mom answered the door and while my brain was screaming like that angry bald guy in the Roadies auditions to turn and run for it , I instead found myself greeting aunty and entered the house. She offered me a seat and headed inside towards the kitchen. Meera had just got out of the shower , water was still dripping from her hair and GOD she looked like a dream and smelled like like spring. Myself covered in rum stench , smiled at her and the words I uttered were ” Meera… you’re pretty and I’m drunk.”