Jesus rode a Harley Davidson

Me: Hey God dude!

God: Hey.

Me: What’s up? What are you doing on a Sunday morning at the beach?

God: Taking a stroll. Apart from the fact that this is one of the only places left which is free.

Me: Wow. Cool. So, tell me.

God: What?

Me: A lot of things, like…err…how does it feel being a God and all that?

God: Can’t describe it. They just told me that I was the project manager. Sounded like fun at that time.

Me: You are the project manager for this universe, wow. So what’s this project all about?

God: Well, we bid for a project to provide man power for another project called something, but let’s call it the universe for now. Supposedly, it was on BOOT (Build, Operate, Own, Transfer) basis till the UAT (User Acceptance Test), and then it would run on a BPO model.

Me: Awesome. So we are supposed to be the manpower?

God: Yeah, that’s why you are called mankind.

Me: Oh, yeah. So why are some of us black, some brown and some white?

God: Blame it on the shipping company. When we were getting you to this planet, we dint really know how to ship you, so the shipping company just put some of you in the freezer, some of you in the oven and the rest of you were just left like that. Eventually, as is obvious, all of you survived.

Me: Oh, that explains a lot of things. What was the name of the shipping company?

God: Titanic Inter – galactic Shipping Conglomerate Limited.

Me: Now THAT really explains a lot of things. So what are you here for now?

God: Project review.

Me: Great. So what is your religion?

God: What is that?

Me: Well, you know, the thing where you distinguish between people… are you a Hindu, a Muslim, a Jew, a Nazi? What are you?

God: This is what really freaks me out. We just send you here with all that investment and you come here, destroy everything that you see, invent really useless crap like war, standing in a line, marriage, and now you got religion? Oh wow. Great.

Me: Okay, relax. Chill out mate. You got friends?

God: Yeah. Elvis.

Me: But he was supposed to be kidnapped by some alien dudes or something, right?

God: He was, he got bored of being famous and being kidnapped all the time. So we hang out together nowadays.

Me: Cool. Any others?

God: Yeah, I keep talking to Douglas and Page. I actually gave Douglas a guitar and Page a pen.

Me: But, but…they are….

God: Yeah, I know, Douglas wrote a book with the guitar and Page played stairway to heaven with a pen.

Me: No wonder.

God: I know.

Me: Phew. It’s a long walk….

God: It’s a long beach.

Me: But Longbeach is in California…

God: Oh, so now they got a long beach which is called longbeach. Awesome.

Me: Yeah, I know. Care to join me for a swig?

God: Sure. I’d like some Heineken. Its one of your inventions I like.

Me: Cheers then, eh? To life, the universe and everything…

God: Chee…uh, oh…ah…whatever….

Redbull Vodka

Veni, Vidi, Vico

I came, I saw, I conked.

Sir Arthur Charles Clarke is dead. So is Naren. Heaven is currently undergoing its biggest identity crisis because the best science fiction author has just met the best science fiction.

Finished one successful month of blogging. (Applause, bow, applause, wave hands)

A big "Thank you" to everyone who has visited this blog. Specially to the commentators. Couch Potato, Ramkiran, Big Fat Man, billy_beetle_dilly, thanks dudes & brothers. Thank you to all the other friends who have somehow managed to get the profile views to 67 in just one month. (I am lying, I myself must have visited the page about 60 times, just to check, you know.) And if you are a regular passive reader, please do let me know by leaving a comment on what you don't think about my blog. Also, I met a wonderful person called N.S, who called me all the way from where she is, which is a long way. Its a pity she realised too soon how boring I am in real life and real time. Well, you get the message, please leave a message. Beep.

- The most obnoxiously self centered gloriously mind boggling mistake of nature A.K.A Pigment / Figment of your imagination, based on which school of science you belong to.

Unchained monologue

The real proof that intelligent life exists in the universe is that they have not yet contacted us.

- Anonymous.

The realer proof that intelligent life doesn’t exist in the universe is that maybe they already have.

- Me.

The scene is this. It is a station called Eluru, in Andhra Pradesh. We (Me and colleague) had arrived at the much delayed flight from Bangalore to Vijayawada airport (if you can call it that. Its like, you get out of the plane, your luggage is thrown at you, you pass a door, and you are out. WOW). We had to travel a distance of about 42 kilometers to reach the said station to catch the train to Vizag. We had an Internet ticket. The cabbie was fast, I give him that. We reached a toll gate. There were three roads out of it. The one in the middle was the biggest, smoothest, bestest. Which, perhaps explained why it was blocked. And also had a guy for effect. The other two roads were blocked by huge monstrosities called trucks or trailers or something. It was so long that if in case the driver forgot his cell phone in the back of his truck or trailer or something, and his wife was carrying, he would have a three year old son or daughter by the time he gets out of the steering, walks down to the back of the truck, and finds his phone all dead and battery leaky. And yeah, I drink a lot of water during any flight from anywhere to anywhere because my ears are extra sensitive to any pressurized environment. So we start a woozer with this guy and try to explain the situation to him. He nods his head in total, utter, agreement to our 4 minute 32 second explanation about why it is imperative for him to let us go, and then says this masterpiece which I shall treasure. He says, “Yes. I understand. But rules are rules.” WOW. And I mean WOW. You got a road, which is clearly empty, where there is nothing going on for the next 40 kilometers (I am quite sure it must be so further up, but our sojourn ended after the said distance.), and you wont let us go because rules are rules. WOW. What, in the name of heaven, are those rules, my man, I ventured. The reply to this was even better, “Rules, Saar.” Experience has taught me that in southern India, when someone says “Saar” with that extra a in between, they usually don’t know shit and expect you to do what they tell you. In northern India, they just say, “aapka problem kya hai?” The end result of all this was that my bladder was full and I needed to relieve myself real bad. We reached the station twenty minutes late, but were before time. Here, I would like to add that if you thought this world was 3D, you are mistaken. The fourth dimension is the Indian government and anything connected to it. It works on the improbability theory, which means, just when you were expecting something to happen, it doesn’t. At the station, we still had about ten minutes for the train to arrive. There was something called “Upper class men’s waiting room”. Because of my self esteem or otherwise, I believe I am an upper – class man, and the fact that my ticket was for the AC chair car, helped in the reassertion. So the scene was this. My colleague was standing on platform No 2, I was on platform No 1, the ticket was with my colleague, and I wanted to go to the loo. And then it happened. Soon as I entered the “Upper class men’s waiting room”, there was this guy who stopped me from going any further because he wanted to see the ticket. I ran all the way back to the second platform and climbing over bridges with a full bladder is exactly not my idea of a fun life. So I got the ticket back and then showed it to him. He looked at it, looked at me, and said, “I want your ticket”. I said that was my ticket. He said the ticket is a small piece of paper and this was a complete A4 size sheet. I said it’s an Internet ticket and that’s how those things look. After a lot of he said and I said, he abruptly asked me for the PNR number, which I gave. He asked me my name, which I gave, he then asked for kilometers. What? Why, on earth or anywhere else, would I need to give a kilometer reading to go take a leak? I pushed him aside, went in, and just did what a man does in dire desperation. I pissed. Phew. But can somebody please help me with the question?

Gopi.

Dawn. Sunshine. Fresh. Change. Date. Gopi. Bed. Groggy. Hate. Day. Dream. Good. Gopi. Graduate. Jobless. Youngest. School. Problem. Study. No. Learn. Yes. Question. Always. Why. Teachers. Disgusted. Brothers. Sisters. Disgusted. Brothers. Sisters. Families. Hopes. Jobs. Settled. Gopi. Aimless. Clueless. Father. Dead. Street. People. Neighbors. Disgusted. Rinku. Love. Lala. Rinku. Father. Hate. Gopi. Job. Desperate. Applications. Interview. Instinct. Great. Appointment. Two weeks. Wait. None. Desperate. Telephone. Letter. Sent. Gopi. Surprised. Ecstatic. Shave. Neat. Shirt. White. New. Shoe. Shine. Hair. Oil. Walk. Pace. Spring. Post Office. Local. Letter. None. Post office. Region. None. Gopi. Blank. Walk. Home. Lala. Admire. Rinku. Admire. Home. Walk. Ahead. Rail tracks. Goods train. Bogies. Count. Enjoy. Kid. Hands. Folded. Count. Bogies. Durga. Idol. Majestic. Beautiful. Look. Pray. Head. Wheel. Smile. Blessed.

Pani puri soul

Greetings Intelligentsia. The nut is back. Nut reminds me of two things.

1. A mentally deranged man successfully outrages the modesty of a female nurse and jumps out of the window and escapes. The news headline next day - Nut screws and bolts.

2. A guy walks into a grocery store. “You got nuts?”, he asks. “No”, says the grocer. “You got dates?”, he asks him. The grocer replies, “If I’d have had nuts, I’d have had dates.” (Jerry Lewis)

I know I told some of you that there is going to be a short story. Well, you know me. There isn't, for now. I am in the process of neutralizing the shaken nervous system. Bangalore. Wow. I saw a bus driver doing a drift. The bus did a drift. Manjunatha swamygale (most probably his name, and he is most probably called 'Romanchak Nanchak Manja' by his friends.) nimma driving super aagi ide ri. Simply super. Namaskara. And also, I would like to take this opportunity (this is the effect of having too many meetings in one day, you take the opportunity just like that.) where was I? Ah, yes. I take this opportunity. Thank you. Now that that is taken, I realised that I have three sets of friends. The first set of people, I love from the bottom of my heart. The second set, from the heart of my bottom. The third set is basically a subset of the first and second sets. I love them. No hearts, no bottoms. I love you guys unconditionally, you know who you are. I wish, someday in my life, all the third set comes together. Anyway, the trip back was based on three things. Inefficiency of Deccan airways (may I aver - Dhakkan(?)), efficiency of some cabbie (42 Km in 27 minutes - impressive mate) and the inefficiency of Indian Railways. Describing these three things would border on a travel blog so I leave that to my good friend who blogs travels. Or travels blogs. I've taken it again. The opportunity. And I finished Jed Rubenfield's "The interpretation of murder". Good read, one-time.

Supernovaditya

They should have called me Supernovaditya. I’ve heard Nagaditya, Srinivasaditya, Krishnaditya, Sriaditya, etc. But I still think they should have called me Supernovaditya. The irony (read Bangalore University) of the naming ceremony is that, all through our lives, we are identified by something which was given to us by somebody (usually a priest or oldest surviving family member who is like both feet in the grave) who we’ll never meet again in our entire lives. At this juncture, one is compelled to opine that one should just be left alone as a kid and given a choice to choose and patent his/her name once one learns basic algebra. One chose. The chosen one is Supernovaditya. Supernovadi, for short. I just spoke to an old friend. He is becoming a father. I have known the couple for about 11 years now. It feels great. All my friends are becoming fathers. It’s like the father season. However, at normal room temperature, I am sane enough to know that I would not get to be one. Don’t mistake me, I am quite potent, but it’s just that the eve is gone. Leaving me with a heartache in the head. It’s really tough to get out of this. Moral of the story: The red bullet is always faster than the black bullet. Given the circumstances, some cry, some get drunk, some talk, some sleep. I have chosen to rename myself.

No title

Chit Chor: The wikipedia does not describe chit chor. Which is not surprising. So there.
Chit Chor: A person who steals the chat.

I am in a Friday kind of mood. Today is Friday. So I am in the right kind of mood and the right kind of day. So something is terribly wrong somewhere. But then, we’ll come to that in due course, the fullness of time, etc. QED.

Hokay. This award actually belongs to a lot of people. I would like to thank god, my parents, the entire unit, my director, my co – stars, spot boys, light boys, any boys. And also my producer who is the biggest casting couch potato I have ever seen. (Applause; bow and cup your cheeks with both your palms, show off your solitaire, smile.)
Now that all that is done, I would like to say something. The scene is a man reading a newspaper in the balcony. I shall try to get as many states as I can:

Jammu & Kashmir: Ka – boom. Followed by Ka – boom 1 to 392. (News flash the next day: There was a suspected bomb blast in some area of Srinagar where a man was reading the newspaper in the balcony. Subsequently, there were about 392 other blasts around the valley by all suspected terrorist outfits who wanted to take responsibility for the original blast. Unfortunately, all the suspected terrorist outfits wiped themselves off in this exercise except for one suspected militant, who was holed up in some hotel in downtown Srinagar but blasted himself off a few minutes ago not just because he was going to turn 39 in 2 days but the sum total of the individual digits in 392 added up to 5, which was his unlucky number. The actual cause of the original blast is suspected to be the man eating lots of roasted gram. They managed to find only the head. But he set a record posthumously for the biggest fart measuring 5.8 on the Richter.)
Punjab: Duniya mein char kaal hote hain. Bhoot kaal, Vartman kaal, Bhavishya kaal, Sat Sri Akal. Chal ab lassi pee, paratha kha aur newspaper padh.
Delhi: The only place where you have to watch television to know what is happening next door. So no one reads newspapers. Also, the crosswords are pretty tricky here. Like this one: 8 Across: A single word which describes a delhiite. The answer? TashanX. Why that X? TashanX.
Bihar: If its lalloo, its news, otherwise, its arre sasura ka hai noose ma?
Kolkatta: Bhy are you reading the newspaper in the Bhalcony?
Rajasthan: You read the paper (if you get one) on camel back.
Gujarat: Balcony ma su kar ra cho? Hole mein aao.
Assam: This is probably the only place where you get good tea, and a newspaper. (And yes. It’s a part of our country, high time we realize that.)
Madhya Pradesh: You don’t get newspapers here.
Mumbai: You don’t read the paper in the balcony. You read it in the 7:46 Virar fast. And it wont be your newspaper.
UP: There are no bhaiyyas left in UP to read newspapers. All of them read newspapers in the 7:46 Virar Fast in Mumbai.
Orissa: Same as Kolkatta but with lots of pan spitting.
Goa: If you are in Goa to read a newspaper in the morning, even Jesus cant help you baby.
Bangalore: En ri, uta ayitha? (Just when you sit down to read the newspaper, somebody will come and ask you this. It means, Sir, have you eaten? It dosent matter what time it is or if there is a spaceship hovering right above you. You ask this question first, and then you flag the spaceship down.)
Hyderabad: You get the newspaper in the afternoon because of the traffic. And its customary to shout “Maa ki kiri kiri” here.
Chennai: You’ll get the newspaper. It’ll be in tamil.
Kerala: God’s own enterprise. The pricing here is done by God himself. Only he can afford it. You get the paper, you’ll get cocoanut oil head massass, in our beetifill ayurveda zender. Wonly 20, 000 bukz per our.

Beautiful country, eh?

Halcyon Days

Hokay. Greetings to you earth beings. In your language of preference, country of origin, pertinent time zone, color, sex, creed and any other differences you might have invented to preserve or advertise your individuality (what with bombings all over the place, you seem to be doing it quite a bit mate – might I also add, there is no use, you are, after all, human). Hokay. You get the gist, greetings. There has been a request. Yeah, baby, we’re talking big time now. There has actually been request to write something about (most of) our alma – mater (alma – pater too) SIT. I will do this in style. And here it is:
My dear studentsssssssssssssssssss (spittle spittle), I take thissssssssssssssssssssss opportunity to welcome one of you, two of you, all of you. On thisss auspiciosssssssssssssssss (spittle spittle) occasion of you joining in our insssssssssssstitute, I would like to wish you all the best. May you have a wonderful life here at SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSIT. (Hooting and loud cheers from the back – The principal Mr. MNC glaring, all the students looking out for the lunch).
That was October 16th, 1995, at 12:13 Hrs TST (Tumkur Standard Time). It’s been more than twelve years since but this scene will remain etched in my mind. “Aw, crap”, I thought to myself, How am I, a thorough – bred city goon, going to survive this ordeal for the next four or five or six or seven years? The reason for the “Aw, crap” was that my dad did not wish that I should be in Bangalore. Because one of my stupid cousins (I hope he is not reading this, if you are, dude, I thought you were stupid then.) somehow got it into my dad’s head that I would live on beer and get wasted in Bangalore. Well, I came to Tumkur where I lived on whiskey and rum and got wasted anyway. I also made some friends and we all got wasted in a pleasant manner. We had the best times of our lives. We really lived it up. We got proper screwed, but we sure did live it up. And those of you who are reading this, take a moment and try to recollect the craziest thing you’ve done in college. You can gladly add it to the comments. It will be read, recollected and laughed at thoroughly by our competent professional team of the “wasted” guys. I still remember G. A, who was all dressed up in a nice suit with a bright yellow Mickey Mouse tie, when he was the MOC for Halcyon (our college fest), He set the record for the shortest speech. His speech is below:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all. Thank you.”
Curt, precise, to the point kind of speech which I really admire and what is remarkable is the feeling behind the speech, which was, that the chap wanted to get out and have a smoke. I remember those thatteidlis from Kyatsandra, which, somehow always seemed delicious only at about 2:00 in the morning. I remember Joy lying drunk in Doing’s house singing “Knocking on heaven’s door” while he was strumming “cats in the cradle” (or something like that…I was drunk myself) and I thought the boy had talent. Pity he wasted it and chose to work someplace. I would not comment on K. B. here, there is another chapter coming about him (and yeah, be very scared, big boy). Remember that once when me and Gee went to some college to find some girl and you left a series of notes outside the door? I remember Mastah, and those nice conversations with him done using the fine art of pointing at one’s nose every time you say “yooo”. It is difficult to describe the process here, but you can learn it if you watch enough kung fu movies. I remember those endless cups of coffee and loathing in Las Woodlands. Where the phrases “The stain on a napkin is not always tomato sauce”, “The stairway to Heaven is 16 steps downstairs”, ”We’re just good friends – we use condoms”, “69 is you do me, and I owe you one” among many others, took shape. Las Woodys was also the place where I first heard an interesting use of the language, embodied in the statement, “Bloody bi^%h has got cockroaches bungee jumping from her cu%t”. Still can feel that rum when I was having my first conversation with Naren. Dude, how is the great gig in the sky? I miss you. A lot of us do. And then there was a guy whose middle names were honesty, modesty, etc, etc. Yeah, right. Everyone one of us has very fond memories of college. I should thank you, Kanta from Glasgow, for the request. It made me remember a lot of things, which were dormant. Those were our days, days of glory. I once told G. A. about a funda, that in life, there are three kinds of people. There are people who direct the play, there are people who act in the play and there are people who watch the play. We, my dear boys, are the fourth and hitherto unknown clan. We are the people who don’t go to the play. We choose to go to the nearest bar instead. There is a song from a Telugu movie called Gulabi, which goes like “College lo Maharajulu ee gate dataka prajalavuduru” which means, “The kings in college will become commoners once they cross the gate”. How true.

"Hrmph!"

Nagamaki, Nodachi, Ōtachi, Ōkatana, Chokutō, Dōtanuki, Katana, Ninjatō, Shin guntō, Tachi, Tsurugi, Uchigatana, Chisakatana, Kodachi, Shikomizue, Wakizashi, Hachiwara, Tantō, Yoroi tōshi, Bokken, Iaitō, Shinai, Suburitō, Tanren bō, Daikatana, Zanbatō, Naginata, Yari
These are the different types of Japanese swords. They are large, long, short, practice, fictional swords and knives / daggers. Japanese swords have always interested me in some way. As a kid, I used to blow up my G. I. Joe’s with Sivakasi fireworks claiming to be the Samurai. I must admit here that I enjoyed that phase of life. In fact, all single offspring are off and spring. They have a compulsive disorder of trying to imagine their own free world, which is not at all like the one you saw in Taare Zameen Par (nice movie though). I wrote my first suicide letter at the age of six. The contents ran thus:
Dear Nanna / Appa and Amma,
I am committing suicide because you have not bought me (some G. I. Joe whose name, my dear, I cannot remember for nuts right now. Or He – Man, I really don’t remember, but the manufacturer in both cases was Leo – Mattel Inc.)
Yours lovingly,
Me.
Unfortunately or otherwise, I had the immediate urgency to go outside and play ring – wrong (a game played with gotis (marbles – you dirty mind (If, in case you don’t know about this, then you’ve not set your priorities right (why are so many brackets here? (Wow, is this a roll or what? (What the fuck?)))))). So, anyway, I had to leave on an urgent mission to play my last ring – wrong game on earth (The Finals). When I returned, both my parents were at home and the suicide note was found and there was no suicide. My dad smirked, said his usual “Hrmph!” which was basically Morse code for “The most useless fellow on this planet (including all other parallel universes.)” Every son has this code with his dad. There is something special about a dad – son relationship. Like this once, I was running temperature, I was lying down and my dad, after finishing the customary “Hrmph!” asked me:
Dad: Why are you lying down?
Me: I’m running temperature… (I was 6.)
Dad: What?
Me: I’ve got fever.
Dad: Precisely my point.
Me: What?
Dad: My Dear Son (Morse code for something unprintable), you are expressing the wrong feeling.
Me: (Fuck my feelings dad, my balls on the ceiling…what the fuck am I supposed to say when I have fever? Scienti – fucking name of fever??!!) Hmmm…..
Dad: Son, you should never say you have fever. Always say the fever has you.
Me: Ok Appa.
I will never really understand the what, why, when, where, how questions about the relationship that I have with my dad…None of us do, in fact. But what I do understand and realize, after all these years, is that stoic face always looking down at me and cracking stupid jokes. Like He thought it was a pretty neat dress when the hospital apron was put on me, he thought it was really cool that I could buy and drive my own bullet (he was apprehensive that my feet wouldn’t reach the ground). The truth is dad, I really love you. And musing over the fact that you haven’t killed me yet, you love me too. I’ve seen the ups and downs in your life (because of me or otherwise), and you’ve seen me from waist sizes 8 to 38. You were amazed the first time when I said Backau Wolf in a Donald Duck kind of voice because you saw some prospects of me becoming a corporate biggie or a mimicry artiste. I was amazed that you thought so. You’ve written some intelligent things like, “God give me patience, but hurry please!” in your notes (yeah, been reading them). I even remember playing “oh, daddy” by Fleetwood Mac on your birthday and you thought that was waste of electricity. To the man who introduced me to the guitar, the mandolin, the bulbul, Dire straits, British comedy, Action shoes, Reebok, tube chewing gum, space pen, currency and flight passes from every single country all over the earth, scotch, car driving, cigars, animals, nature, highway travel, etc. This is my ode to you dad. Miss your “Hrmph!” these days.

Plasmataxi Dermatogatory Huckiduckiduck

BECAUSE I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

- Emily Dickinson (1830 - Forever)

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

- Rabindranath Tagore

ooh Barracuda

Listen. If you want to marry someone, send them something like this:
iam kanandevi. i do own businas.one sistar.he was marred. Thank you.
Else choose from these:

i want very simple boy. from brahmin educated family from Orissa state she is also know about RAMAYAN, GEETA BHAGABATA, and other homework

I am a happy-go-lucky kind of person. Enjoys every moments of life. I love to make friendship. Becauese friendship is a first step of love. I am looking for my dreamboy who will love me more than i. Because i love myself a lot. If u think that is u then why to late come on ........hold my hand forever !!!
i am simple girl. I have lot of problem in my life because of my luck. now i am looking one boy he care me and love me lot lot lot ...

(Thanks K.B)

Hokay...coming back to the business of life...came to Hyd on the 6th...dint do much that day, on 7th met A. K., got drunk in a nice way and came up with the philosophy that we are born either too late or too early. If we were to be born in the 1920's or something, then maybe we would have become freedom fighters or something...(dont really know, but am guessing this considering our considerable record of pissing people off)...and if we would have been born in 2020 or something, I really dont know what we would be but I guess we'd be better than this. The traffic in Hyd is still the same (surprisingly, and oh yeah, Dakar, Safari, WRC, SBK, F1, NASCAR eat dust.). Which brings me to a "Hi God. I am Jammi" moment. This moment usually comes when I got shit loads to say but divine again and divine otherwise. You got to see it to see it. You cant believe it anyway. If in case you are aware of the probability theory and everything complex and nobelish (Its that thing which makes you get Nobel prizes.), then be very scared when you are in Hyd. If, in case you are not used to people on motorcycles (or anything with wheels and a motor) jumping off the flyovers right in front of you (when you are going below the flyover), dont be alarmed. What is really going to boil your nuts is when you hear the perfectly trained, genetically altered, high - velocity, potent driving machine disguised as a harmless autorikshaw driver suddenly blurting out "maa ki, indicator to bhi dalna yaaron" (Translation: Oh mother's. You should have put the indicator on at least, you bloody fuck). It is the, and I mean THE perfect example of order in chaos. Which leads me to think that if there is enough chaos, at some point, it will actually look like its all prim and in order. But that is not a sunday kind of thing so we'll discuss that some other time. There is an interesting anecdote which I'd like to share with you. (like the "It happened to me" column in Woman's era. You should read it, makes for interesting bowel movement.)

Me and my boss, A.R, were once going on his Royal Enfield (Built like a gun, goes like a bullet. Nirvana under your ass baby.) and it started to drizzle. We were near a place called karkhana and if you are from Hyd, you'll know this place. Its right opposite the Satyam office. Well, anyway, let me educate the newbies, and this place is like the only narrow culvert where there is a small ditch on either side of the road, and continues on both sides with a normal road. I am confident that you are confused, so please refer to the diagram below:

The traffic that day was almost close to none and then this incident happened....me and A. R. on the bike coming on from one side and some other guy (X) coming in the opposite direction. Exactly when both parties were right in the middle of the culvert and at the point of deciding which driver was worst, there was this moment of confusion among both which led to some amount of expert mis - handling and almost skidding to a halt. (If you are wondering what that crap shit explanation was and you are not a Hyderabadi, you'll lose a lot in translation.) Both parties, now at that point of no return where they decide the offender and the offended, turned towards each other and started shouting (as is usual) to lay claim that they were on the offended side. The dialogue is chronicled below:

Me: Kya yaaron, kya chala re?

X: Tum bhi kuch kam nai chala re na baap...

Me: Arre, kya bol re yaaron, hum loga left mein ich the na...

X: Kaha ka left re bhai? pindi ki meri...

Me: Arre gaali kai ko dere re? maaki, izzat se baat kar re na..

X: arre jao re bhai...maa ki ...kaha se aate ki kya ki...

Me: Aree tum jao....fuckin shit.

X: ae, gaali diya re tu? maa ki, main kaun malum? (This is inevitable in every road squabble, the "Do you know who I am?" moment)

me: Jaa re bhai..(Though the repartee "nahi sir, pehli baar mil raha hun" would have been apt, as quoted by K.B once...There are times in your life when you get the "Hi God, I am (whatever my name is) moment". This happens when something in the matrix is, well, zonked. A singular monologue just after this last sentence altered the course of the intellectually stimulating conversation that was taking place till then. The chronicle continues...)

The Voice: Maaki ki kiri kiri....bhenchod...tum dono ko chalana nai aate re.....

At this point, both parties involved in the parry stopped, gave themselves the "Hi god. We are party A and B. Where the fuck did that come from?" moment. The Voice, came from the ditch. It was from the guy, who, in order to avoid hitting the both of us, fell off into the ditch. Welcome to Hyderabad. We can fit a Hummer in the space of a cycle tyre. And oh, we will.

Ooh....Barracuda.

Hotblack Desiato

OK. First things first. I would like to clarify with a lot of clarity that I'm not getting sad again. I am, as some of you are aware and others couldn't care less, at that eventful stage in life where the phrase "Till as long as I can see" can and most probably will, mean the rest of eternity or tomorrow morning, whichever is earlier. Also, I have learnt some new things which I would like to share with you as they are completely useless commercially but technically make a lot of sense. Like some major company's front desk (read help desk) which, when approached by a perilous situation gave the most useless answer but saved the day. The story goes like this: There was once a Boeing (Trans Am, if I am correct) which was caught in a blizzard and visibility was poor and the pilot lost his co-ordinates. He then saw a huge building and he wrote on a huge paper "where am I?" and stuck it out all over his cockpit. The people in the office who saw the sign, suddenly got into a frenzy, immediately grouped and then flashed back a huge paper cutting with the words "IN AN AEROPLANE". The pilot landed safely. When asked later how he did that, he said "they gave me a technically correct but practically useless answer. I knew it had to be the Microsoft Help Desk. And I knew the way to the airport from their office." People working in Microsoft, this is a joke. If in case, you don't get it, you are in the right work place. So, anyway, coming back to the things that I have learnt, recently.

1. What is the color of the sea / ocean? blue? wrong. The water is colorless. It is the color of the sky which defines the color of the sea / ocean / any water body for god's sake.

2. What is the biggest problem with an electric vehicle? Is it the battery? Nope. The biggest problem is that when you accelerate, there is no sound from the engine, as opposed to the conventional engines that we are so used to. So if you are taking a steep corner, you have to look at the speedo just to make sure you'll still count your chickens after the corner.

3. The inside of a submarine is very cramped. All the submarines in the movies are fake.

Also decided to turn vegetarian. Just like that. Though I was never a believer in this "are you a vegetarian?" kind of stuff. Face it, if you really are vegetarian, then you shouldn't be eating vegetation. Which would make you a non- vegetarian. So a true vegetarian is a non - vegetarian. (This part was just to test your comprehensive skill set.) Also, I would like to clearly clarify with clarity that practicality is useless. If the first chap was practical, he would have chosen to walk. And I think laziness and impracticality are the mother and father of invention. One heck of a family photograph that would be. So either redefine all the definitions known including the definition of redefinition or redefine redefinition.

Jack Daniels

Life is sad. So I'm not going to write about it now. Almost all the people who are reading this are probably over the legal age limit and have a long hard story to tell. Everyone has a past. If you dont, you're probably too drunk to remember or you take an objective view of life or face it, you are plain boring. But we are not going to discuss that either. As already stated, Life is sad, so I'm not going to talk about it. What I'm going to talk or write or type (this is for those 'technically correct and objectively accurate' kind of people) about is what life does to you, which is really sad. When you are a kid, there is so much of creative potential and all the colors are what they are...but somehow, for some god - forsaken reason, everything turns to three colors when you grow up. They are black, White and aquamarine. Its really sad as long as life is in black or white, but its really really sad when it gets to aquamarine. The basic problem with life is that you have to live it. There is no other option. And as if its some consolation, all the rest of your kind is going to do the same thing. Everyone of us is born, we go to school, we study (at least some of us do and the rest pretend), we get a job, we get married, have kids, grow old and die. Thats like seven easy steps to live life. And in between the first and the seventh steps, there is so much happening that you dont get time for eating fried peanuts. Which is what you were sent here for in the first place. As my good friend G. A. once said, "All life is timepass". Is there a solution for all this? Can we make our lives more meaningful? What is a life well led? What is successful? The answer to all this, is "frankly, me dear, I dont give a damn." I, for one, am going to do what I'm here for, fulfill my purpose and all that jazz. Eat fried peanuts and drink Jack Daniels.