Does It Suck?

Being single. Does it suck?

Its been 8 months now since I officially broke up with my last girlfriend – let’s call her Kay, to protect her privacy – and the past 8 months have been quite weird. It’s not that things have been really bad, no. On the personal front, things are quite well, to be honest. I find more and more time for myself, to do things that I’ve never dared to do when in a relationship, to meet and flirt with other women – women I’d have just fantasized about talking to, for fear of being called unfaithful, and finally, the freedom to spend my entire paycheck on myself, without any guilt. It does not suck, on first appearance.

Being Single

Lately, I’ve been re-thinking my position on this issue. A quick introspection has revealed that being single, for all the goodness it promises, does indeed, suck. There are times when I miss the intimacy, and these pangs are becoming quite frequent in the past few months. To know that there is a woman in your life who loves you as much as you love her, who (almost) doesn’t judge you for what you are and do, who cares about your well-being and is a good enough friend to endure your drunken mistakes and laugh at your inane jokes, someone who knows when to fight and when to patch up, who understands your mood swings enough to change their lifestyles according to them, and finally, someone who doesn’t mind eating whatever you cook because they’re kind enough not to tell you the truth about the excess of salt or the burnt bottoms.

Well, Kay was all this and more, and not a day goes by when I question my actions that led to us breaking up. We all have the potential to be jerks, and I was one of the biggest back then. And at the time, I thought I was justified in being a jerk. Thankfully, I’ve matured enough to understand that I wasn’t. She’s matured too, making it on her own. A great job, a good house, a bike and good friends, and more importantly, she’s done it and doing it on her own, with little or no support from any family ties, in an alien city.

We’ve kept in touch, Kay and I, over the months, and have reached a stage where we can talk politely to each other, go out for coffee and occasionally, do the odd chore or favor for each other, without physically injuring each other. There was a time when we couldn’t be in the same room together for fear of ripping each other apart with our bare claws hands, and we kid about those times today.

I guess its cathartic, what we do. It’s given us a fresh outlook to the whole process of dating and relationships, to an extent that we try to set each other up with other people. Maybe its the residual feelings talking, or maybe just a sadistic longing to share my loneliness, but I’ve managed to dig up a few creeps for her to date. More importantly, she has managed to find some bigger creeps for herself, without any help from me. On the other hand, she has vehemently refused to find me a date, as she feels that my social life has a lot more people than hers, and that I should have no trouble in finding someone on my own. I don’t deny it. But the fact that I truly wish, from the bottom of my heart, that she does not find someone better than me, is cause for concern. It’s not jealousy or sadism. It’s just selfishness from a man who still loves her and is foolishly optimistic about his chances of getting back together. Very foolishly.

Oh, we did flirt with, and give up the idea of getting back together. Its like yesterday’s chocolate pudding – very tempting and a very bad idea. She’s still out there, looking for a decent guy to date, and I’m still here, resisting the urge to reach out and keep her selfishly to myself. Shouldn’t we learn from our mistakes?

PS:  She’s quite the character – fun, hyperactive like Pigwidgeon on dope, very hot and very very sexy. She hopes that this post of mine will be a very decent and non-desperate alternative to a dating site, and urges decent men who read this to get in touch for a date.

PPS: Same goes for me. Hot chicks, get in line for a good time.

Image Courtesy: Profilebrand.com

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My Pervert Uncles

There’s one in every family. There are two in mine.

The first one is a 70-year old pervert. He’s my uncle on my Dad’s side of the family and has always had the ugly habit of addressing small (male) kids as, “Hi Miss!” and “How are you, Miss?”

If that isn’t uncomfortable enough, he still follows the ritual. I ran into him at a cousin’s wedding recently, and even though I’m taller and bigger than him, he smiled at me through his dilapidated yellow teeth and said, “Hello, Miss!”

I cringed and moved away, oblivious to his hurt sentiment. A minute later, I heard him say the exact same thing to my brother, who  is taller and bigger than me. I caught my brother’s eye and we both ignored the old pervert and moved away.

This pervert family member has kids of his own, who are both grown men and I feel sorry for the fact that they have to endure this kind of sexually explicit torture each day. I won’t be surprised if those two kids grew up feeling very confused abut their sexuality. I think it borders on sexual harassment.

The second pervert in my family is another 70-year uncle on my Mom’s side, who just can’t stop from touching himself in ‘special’ places in front of everyone. I had the misfortune of running into him as well during the wedding, and while he shook my hand, he twirled his other hand inside his white lungi. I rushed to the restroom and washed my hands with soap vigorously. Who knows where that hand of his has been.

As I stepped out of the restroom, my brother ran past me and starting washing his hand.

Deconstructing A Movie Review: “Haunted”

Haunted posterTwo nights ago, my dreams were haunted by images of a crazed piano teacher trying to rape a moderately pretty woman. I didn’t understand what this meant until I realized it was a premonition of something far more horrifying. I went to see the movie “Haunted” at Inox and to my surprise, the story line was similar to my dreams. Okay, I just made that up. I did not dream any rape scenes. I was just trying to make this review a bit more interesting, because the movie has absolutely nothing to offer.

I won’t give any statutory spoiler alerts because you don’t need it. The movie’s storyline, plot, twists and turns can be predicted with pin-point accuracy after watching the first five minutes.

So, here’s the deal: In 1936, a sex-hungry piano teacher lusts after his student, who’s a moderately good-looking dame. He tries to rape her one fine day, and ends up getting hit by a candle-stand on the head and dies. (By the way, when he dies, he falls on her boobs and get a good look at them). So, this guy dies and comes back as a ghost and finishes what he started. He rapes the chick for a week (yeah, ghosts can rape women, apparently) and in humiliation, the girl kill herself. Then she becomes a ghost. But the fun is just starting – his ghost keeps raping her ghost in the house for 80 years. Yeah, its a lot of rape.

Eighty years later, the protagonist of the movie arrives in town to sell the house and realizes there are two ghosts in there, playing hanky-panky. He sees a photograph of the chick and falls in love with her (obviously) and decided to “set her spirit free”. Whatever that means.

So, get this, he goes back in time! Yeah, he goes back in time to 1936 and tries to prevent the girl from killing the pervert pianist. Instead, in a fantastically typical Bollywood twist, he fails to do so. Astonishing! Anyway, he decided to tackle the raping ghost himself and does all sorts of feats worthy of a Jason Bourne Award for Unbelievable Acts of Physical Endurance, seeks help from a church and finally a mosque, and kills the ghost. Yeah, he kills the ghost in the end.

How does he do it? Well, I think you should watch the movie for that. Why should I be the only one wasting money on such pristine crap?

Vikram Bhatt does a decent job in direction, Mahaakshay Chakraborty does not do justice to the direction. He looks as if he is about to fart all the time, he runs like a girl on dope and dances like a chimp on dope. Tia Bajpai has nice boobs and that’s just about all I can say about her acting skills.

The sound effects are good enough to keep you from falling asleep with timely crescendos and unnecessarily loud shrieks of a ghost getting raped. The movie which had a lot of hype before its release, claiming that its pushed Bollywoord’s horror genre to a new high, fails to live up to its expectations. Every one of the ten people in the huge (empty) movie hall were testament to this fact.

Its definitely worth a watch, if you have two-and-a-half hours to kill and are bored in life and need some good desi entertainment. Else, I’m surprised the movie is still in the theaters.

The Inner Workings Of The Female Brain

Hey there.

Its been a while since I’ve posted anything new. This atrocity on by part is partly due to my hectic schedule of lazing around and partly due to my utter disregard for other people’s schedules. Today, I’ve decided to take a walk down memory lane and remove the cobwebs from my stiff joints.

This one’s called ‘The Inner Workings of the Female Brain’, a piece I’d written a few years ago, before attaining maturity. Hope you enjoy it.

Eve-olutionPromiscuous as the mind is – constantly searching for newer avenues and doors to sow its seeds of maliciousness – the female brain was, and remains to this day, the holy grail of understanding. Many a honest man has lost his sanity, sometimes his identity and his life, questing for the unattainable. What makes these creatures, which share such similarity with men, so different? The answer, if known, would make me a rich man. Alas, I do not. But, I did take the time to painfully assess these creatures, sometimes probing perilously close to losing my life, and have finally managed to make my observations known to the world. I warn you, dear reader, this is not for the faint of heart.

Lets begin with the most obvious thing that anyone notices with these creatures – their gait. These sapiens have a peculiar kind of a rambling walk, bordering on a strut, that makes them easier to identify in a crowded room. (Of course, the other thing that identifies them in a crowded room is their habit of dousing themselves with strange smelling fluids! But, we’ll get to that later.) The walk is their one sure way to get attention – they gyrate their body in an unearthly fashion while walking! – and they do get it, no doubt. We men being as we are, can’t keep ourselves from looking at them. The female has realized this. So, the female’s brain – which is one hundred time more advanced than ours’ – immediately latched on to this weakness of ours and the story of Pied Piper repeats itself….
Let me remind you of an interesting remark that was made by the Shah of Persia, a few hundred years ago. He said that the single, surest way of attaining salvation – both physically and mentally – is never to trust a female. Well, over time, this aphorism has lost its charm as more and more trustworthy females graced the world and drove the Shah to exile. But then, the present day situation demands more caution on the part of the male. The female brain has quickly analyzed the greatest weakness that the Y-chromosome accords to us. It is that, while the man has to spend his time, money and efforts to woo the girl, she on the other hand just has to smile, and the guy’s hers! No one has been able to satisfactorily explain this phenomenon, but it doesn’t matter, because now there is a new wave of deception tiding the planet. The female has acquired from somewhere the tools to successfully make the man abide by her whims and fancies – so much, so that if Sigmund Freud were alive today, he would have called the male populace of the planet as a “sad bunch of toilet-tissue-emulators”! Though we must be ashamed of ourselves, not to mention cautious, we’re neither, and end up being the receiving end of nitrogenous treatments meted out to us by the female.

More than everything, the female brain has evolved so quickly, that when we were still trying to make faces at ourselves by looking at our reflection in the river, the female was busy creating masks! This disturbing fact has revealed atrocious allegations against what really went on in the Garden of Eden.  She has learned to mask her true emotions so well, that we really feel baffled when she can smile so sweetly at us, hold our hand so warmly, look into our eyes with her lovely eyes and say, “Get lost, you jerk!”

Ever seen women slap a man? Well, I have, and trust me; it’s not a pretty sight. (I have been on the receiving end of many a slap, though that’s not important to the story right now!) Every time she walks away after slapping the jerk, he holds his bruised cheek in his hands and dreamily stares after the departing female and sighs. He says, “I think she likes me…” We men will never improve.

Coming to the gewgaw that these creatures allow themselves to be part of, the smelling fluids I talked about earlier. Neither countless like-minded fools nor me have ever understood the reasons behind this strange phenotypic character. The female bathes in what are known to be “perfumes” – the very word should have made her shy away from it, because in Greek, “per-“ means toxic and “fume-“ means stench. Well, please try to explain this phenomenon. Something really smells fishy, doesn’t it?

The day the mystery of the female brain is solved, it’ll be Genesis: Chapter 1 all over again! But, lets be honest to ourselves. The day is never going to come. We men will remain the scum of the planet for at least another millennium. Feminism is indeed significant, but it should never border on chauvinism.

Why Marriage Is A Bad idea

Don't Get MarriedRelax, ladies. I’m not getting married anytime soon. I’m still single.

I was having a very interesting conversation with my business partner the other day in KFC over Zingers, Fries, Coke and Mojitos. We discussed business for about twenty seconds and the remainder of our ‘meeting’ we spent in discussing the pros and cons of marriage. We studied and grew up together, along with a few other weirdos, and now when we looked back, most of those weirdos are either married or engaged to someone. We wondered if we were in the process of missing the wedding bus, figuratively speaking, and realized that we are not.

Nowadays, I don’t think its a wise idea to marry someone. There are so many things that can go wrong and so many people that can get killed, that its definitely not a good idea. Let me tick the reasons off one by one.

  1. Show Me The Money: Women these days are not marrying for love. No sir. Gone are the days where women would fall for a guy head over heels and say, “I’ll be with you through thick and thin. I don’t care if we are poor, we’ll have each other.” Laughable thought, isn’t it? Men need to submit a resume, a statement of purpose, financial statements and visa status to the potential in-laws before getting shortlisted for a stress-test interview. If he passes these levels, then he gets to meet the girl and woo her. If she doesn’t like him, then the whole exercise would have been in vain.
  2. Show Me A Good Time: A qualifying criteria for a man to be given the green light for marriage these days is his idea of a ‘good honeymoon’. If he is planning to take her abroad, then he’s suitable. If he says Ooty, Kerala or Darjeeling, then he can go there himself, thank you very much.
  3. Flexible Auspicious Times: More often than not, the booking of a marriage hall becomes more a pragmatic thing than anything. These days, marriage halls in the country follow the 12-noon check-in and check-out times, and it becomes impossible to people to get an auspicious time to tie the knot in the evenings. Palms are greased and pundits are coerced into finding a right time in accordance with the marriage hall timings. If you’re a pundit / astrologer, then your reputation depends on your ability to provide flexible timings.
  4. The Ex-Factor: Men and women are required to completely disassociate themselves with their ex-lovers. If, for any reason, men or women are found fraternizing with their ex-es in the run-up to the wedding, then the whole thing has a high probability of ending up in someone’s death.

These and a lot of other factors (which are 18+ and I can’t mention them here, for the benefit of those readers who aren’t mature enough), contribute to a highly volatile situation where people are not advised to get married. If you’re lucky enough to find a girl who’s got no hang-ups about a live-in, then go for it. Else, make sure you have a grave site marked out for you before you enter wedlock.

All the best.

Calvin And Hobbes: The Last One

He opened his eyes to darkness. He felt around with his hands and found the wall to his right, along which his bed lay. He groped around until he found a switch and flipped it on. Harsh white fluorescent light filled the room and hurt his eyes. Reflexively, he closed them and groaned. His head hurt – no, pounded from within, and it felt like a million sledgehammers threatening to break open his skull. He turned on to his side and winced as sharp points of pain pricked his joints and when he couldn’t take it anymore, he sat up. Still dressed in his clothes from the night before, he looked down at his hands and feet, wondering how he ever got home. The last thing he remembered was his tenth beer. There had been a lot of shouting, a lot of music, loud music, and a lot of dancing. He vaguely remembered throwing up somewhere, and sure enough, he saw the dirty yellow stains on his white shirt and blue jeans.”Shit,” he muttered, and swung his legs off the bed.

Standing in the middle of the room, he stretched himself and took a step towards the bathroom when he stepped on something soft and furry. He looked down at the old stuffed tiger he used to play with as a kid, and kicked it under the bed in anger. He had suffered enough because of it, and he had no intention of ruining his life further.

“Twenty years,” he said to the bit of furry tail still visible from under the bed. “Twenty years of my life ruined because I thought you were real. They stuck me in a nut house and asked me to swallow pills every two hours. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Then, calming himself, he took a few deep breaths and said, almost chanted, “You’re not real. You’re not real.”

He walked into the bathroom, showered, shaved and came out feeling refreshed. As he stood looking at his thirty-year old beaten, worn-out, pot-bellied frame, he thought back to the day in his youth when he had burned his parents alive. The tiger had asked him to do it. The tiger had said it would be a good idea. He had listened to the tiger and killed his parents. Pain wracked through his mind and he shut his eyes tight as tears rolled down his wet cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said to no one in particular.He was different then, before the medication, before the doctors, before the black-outs…

When he turned away from the mirror, he was about to reach down to grab a shirt from the floor, when he stopped dead in his tracks. The stuffed tiger that he had kicked under the bed was now back where it had been. The single remaining beady eye and the empty socket where the other bead had been looked up at him in a cold stare, unflinching, as if daring him to talk. As if daring him to scream, to shout, to say something. He stared at the tiger, frozen in mid-step and too scared to do anything. He swallowed a large gulp of fear and said, “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real.”

He turned away closing his eyes and shut both his ears with his hands, still chanting his mantra. When he stopped to catch a breath, he heard someone call his name from behind him.

“Calvin,” the voice said. “Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”

“No!” he screamed. “Don’t talk to me! You’re not real!” He still was turned away, now crouching near the wall, his head resting against the corner. “Shut up!”

“You think I don’t miss you, Calvin?” the voice asked.

“You’re not real. You’re not real…” he continued in monotone, rocking back and forth, drowning out the tiger’s voice.

“Of course I’m real. I’m right here. Turn around, Calvin.”

And he didn’t know why he did it, but he did. He turned, opened his eyes and saw the tiger standing there in the middle of the room. The tiger was smiling at him, standing on its hind legs, holding out its hands as if waiting for an embrace. Calvin took a tentative step towards the tiger, still confused and the madness showing on his face with no inhibition. “NO…!!” he screamed. “You are NOT real!” and he ran towards the bed-side drawer, pulled out a gun from inside and put it in his mouth.

He looked at the tiger’s eye and saw the tears rolling down to its cheek and forming tiny puddles on the floor. He was crying himself. He couldn’t stop the tears.

“Don’t do it, Calvin,” said the tiger, stifling a sob.

“I’m sorry, Hobbes,” he said and pulled the trigger. As the last shard of life left his body, he thought he saw a stuffed tiger lying at his feet. He tried to smile and tried to tell himself that the tiger was not real. He tried, in vain.

4 Minutes, 400 Steps

Being a smoker is hard work, especially these days when we can’t smoke wherever we sit and work. I envy those people born a few decades before me, who enjoyed the freedom of smoking at their desks wherever they worked. They could also smoke in restaurants, public transport vehicles, pubs, coffee shops, anywhere without the fear of being fined, fired or shot.

Today, its a whole different story. The place where I work believes in a lot of green initiatives and one surefire way of discouraging employees from smoking is to place the smoking zone in a galaxy far, far away.

Now, I’m one of those people who possess a prosperous horizontal growth, and for me to walk so far to have a smoke is just too painful. I counted the time and distance it took me to reach the smoking zone – 4 minutes and 400 steps. One way. So, add another 7 minutes for an average cigarette and we get a good 15 minutes of a work-day wasted for one smoke. The stress sometimes makes me chain another smoke, so add 7 more, and we get 22 minutes. Four cigarettes in a day makes it 60 minutes and a maximum of 67 minutes in a day. Phew. Talk about losing productivity.

Maybe this is a sign that I need to quit.