What the...

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, which eventually leads one to ask what happened to the Earthlings?

Being incompatible creatures in everything except for sex, which is some inter-galactic sadist’s way of keeping us on this planet, we can pretty much not do the other’s assigned tasks.

Take for example, some days back,where I had to rush for an urgent meeting, where I had to wear the only formal clothing I have ever possessed. Now being a man and highly diorderly, the clothes needed desperate ironing.

After leaving the iron to heat and laying the clothes on the table, the laundering began in earnest and the suit came out looking worse than before. But of course, I only realized that after coming home wondering why everyone in the meeting said I should get married.

A few days back, I was dabbling in the kitchen when my girlfriend came into the kitchen to dispose off the soup, which by now had acquired a mutated gooey look, after I had hopelessly confused the ingredients. Of course, being my girlfriend, with all empathy she told me “Don’t worry, practice makes perfect”. To which I added “Yes, but what makes Mulligan Stew?”

The reason why men become cooks is not that we can cook better but because after a host of cigarettes, tharra and street foods, we think anything that doesn’t try and regurgitate itself in the process of swallowing it down is gourmet. And everybody is polite enough not to say otherwise.

Humphrey Bogart once said that the world is about three drinks behind, but ever since someone else started buying the rounds it has pretty much raced ahead.

How else would you describe a world where women are becoming manlier {much to our disdain} and men are becoming feminine? Just yesterday, I was in the market looking at this adorable looking woman with a cute face, who was a bit on the flat side. Imagine to my surprise when she scratched her crotch, dug her nose and at the same time, incredibly, whistled the latest raunchy remix at two passing women.

That wasn’t as shocking a revelation as what I had when I was walking down a dimly lit road with a lady friend, who had, recently gotten a crew cut and was very well covered in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans, whilst I on the other hand was sporting a large ponytail, whose silhouette looked like an anorexic woman {but a woman none the less}. It was in that dark street with shady looking characters who I realized would have jumped me instead of her, had their way with me before I could yell “put your willy away or I’ll whip out mine”.

Amidst flicking my Swiss Army Knife and having this revelation, I have come to realize that this truly is not a world to live in. Therefore, I shall be talking the next flight to Mars or take a holiday amongst moronically dense beings in Jupiter, who for better understanding are like cousins of George W. Bush, only more evolved {they do not chocke on pretzels}.

As I leave this hopeless world and board my X-5268 {Porche, eat your heart out} I shall leave those still hanging on to this planet with useful advice. An old Arab saying that will put things into clearer perspective for you.

“The world is like a cucumber – today its in your hand, tomorrow its up your arse”

P.S. Live it up, while its still in your hand.

Road Tripping

You know every once in a while you get freaking tired of the city and you just want to piss off to a place where nobody bothers you {or a place where no one knows you, so you can be as much of an ass as you want}.

Personally, I like the mountains and we always take the bus there.

{You don’t want to take a plane to the mountains because its never a 747 or a Cessna that takes you, its one of those rusted gray machines that remind you of your Lego set. And you don’t want to go a wee plane that might just crash into a mountain at the slightest wind change. Of course, if you ever want some atheist to become god-fearing, by all means let him take the flight.}

I hate traveling, I love going to places but hate to travel. Because no matter how hard you try and no matter how excited you are, you always end up with people who make your trip a living nightmare.

I have long legs, so its always hard to travel sitting down in one place for long and you need constant leg space otherwise you feel as comfortable as an orange in a blender.

Normally, when asked to go on a trip to anywhere my first answer is a flat NO, because you can always see yourself squirming on a seat, tossing and turning, trying to sleep and finally wasting two days of your holiday just trying to recover from the journey. No way Hose’.

But they all convince you “the last time it was not a Volvo, this time it’s a Volvo” and they bug your arse for so long that you give in. Hey, it might be a good experience “after all, last time it wasn’t a VOLVO”.

So, you go ahead, pack your bags, head for the bus station. The bus pulls in and looks exactly like the one you boarded last time but everyone say’s different. You get in and Hallelujah, the seats have legroom, how come you never noticed before? You sit down and jump your arse around trying to come to terms that the journey is going to be comfy, when suddenly a large man or woman will come and sit in the seat in front of you and before sitting they will shove their backrest right into your legs.

Aha, this IS the same bus

And no matter how far back you push your seat, the one in front of you is always two inches away from your mouth. And when, you can sleep at night because of lack of oxygen and the ‘chameli ka tel’ on the hair of the fool in front. You look around and see that everybody else has the chairs in semi-inclined position and the only person in front of you is the one trying to make a bed out of his chair.

Trying to make the best of a bad situation, you can take your feet and slide them down the aisle. Normally, that works, its comfortable. But it didn’t quite work so well on the last trip I took to the mountains. You see apart from being a place of solace the mountains are also the ideal honeymoon and second honeymoon spots.

{Now I want to tell all these honeymooners that the sex does not get better at higher altitudes. You only think it does cause your gasping for more oxygen and you think that those are pleasurable sounds. Please, spare your neighbours the torture and your fellow travelers too.}

Coming back, the bus we had boarded was filled with second honeymooners {or as I like to call them HORNYmooners}, who came along with their troop of children and would send them forward to play {in a freaking bus} while they made out under shawls.

I mean, come on, everyone knows what you’re doing. You’re certainly not pretending to be British POW’s in a German camp trying to figure out where the tunnel comes out.

So, I’m lying there with my legs stretched across the aisle and for the first time I’m actually nodding of to sleep when my legs jerk and I hear a thud of about 20 or 30 kilos and I’m thinking “oh shit, someone’s suitcase has fallen down, I hope nobody’s hurt”. And I find this wee little fella lying there picking chips that fell on to the aisle when he tripped on my leg. And its just not him, its like a fricking theme park in the aisle, kids frolicking all around.

The front half of the bus is filled with children trying to play catch‘em’catch at 1 in the night in the AISLE of the bus and the back is filled with couple’s trying to shag each other to glory. And I’m in the middle.

Now I can’t sleep at all; it’s like trying to sleep after watching The Exorcist.
Horrible pictures of what you’ve seen come to mind. And if you don’t sleep properly in the night your entire body heats up and for some strange reason, you can feel your bowels move more strongly.

I don’t know about you but I cannot use the public bathroom under any circumstances. God knows how man hairy butts have been there and what diseases may still roam.

In all my years of traveling there is one thing I’ve learnt forcibly and that’s BLADDER CONTROL. You see, even if you want to pee {and being a man, its much easier cause the world is our loo} you still cant.

I tried it myself once. Didn’t work.

At one of the morning bus breaks I went to relive myself in the woods cause if I didn’t I would need incontinence knickers by the end of our journey. So there’ I am hidden completely behind a tree, pissing away to glory and quite happy that the journey will get over without me wetting my pants when suddenly I hear the sound of bangles. And that’s enough to give me stage fright and I stopped mid-flow.

Again, it was one of those honeymooning couples, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. And you can’t pee if someone is within listening range.

I’m holding on and this woman is rambling about what crockery she wants when they get back home and all I really want to do is jump up from behind the tree, piss all over them, yell HOLI HAI and go back to my shriveled little bucket of a seat in the bus.

Fortunately, after an hour of asking myself “are we there yet?” we made it to our holiday spot. It’s quite a lot of fun, no noise, clean air and most of all no cramped seat and honeymooners.

My family went home after a week. With the memory of the torturous journey still fresh in my mind, I am still here. I shall return only when they figure out the technology for teleportation or when I forget the entire road trip, whichever comes first {hopefully, the former than the latter}.

Remember, if you ever come up to the mountains in the next few years or so. Do come and look me up.

Potato Potahto

Did you know that Indians are the largest spenders on holidays abroad and with the dollar falling, ho boy American Malls here we come. But on a more serious note, there’s a growing trend amongst people to immigrate because they think other countries are better.
Everyone wants to go to America “land of opportunities” or Britain, which, I can proudly say is filled with pre-independence based Indians {Curry on England}.

But it’s not so hunky dory to immigrate or even to study abroad because eventually like it or not, you encounter racism. And I’m sure everyone is anti-racism but really, look at the bigger picture; we are in fact all racist pigs. And racism gets really ugly. Some drunken Brits beat a friend of mine and I thought he’d be angry or terrified but he wasn’t a tiny bit fazed so I asked him “why?” and he said, “they were just trying to make some money” “some money” “yeah, you see in Britain you get money if you’re a health hazard and recently they’ve added xenophobia to their list, so… Had to agree, you can’t argue with that.

Recently some very dear friends of mine immigrated to Australia and they had many problems getting some stuff across customs. So when they told me, I was surprised and said “well, pretty tough for a penal colony don’t you think”. Yup, before Foster’s Australia was a penal colony and that makes for a good pick up line if you’re ever in a bar in Australia “Hey good looking, wasn’t your great,great,great grandfather a convict? What, mine too, only recently, but mine too”.

Another thing I stumbled on was that the Brits refer to the Queen as “mummy”; This gave Shekhar Kapoor, the writer and director of Elizabeth and Elizabeth: the golden age an idea on how to get his film prints across without plagiarism. He simple titled them “the Mummy” and The Mummy Returns”

Oh, and before I forget, I promised to dedicate this blog to my friend, which is why the blog is named such and so as to not leave the title completely useless here are some thoughts –

The amazing delicious plant is the 4th largest crop in the world and Ireland depends on it.
There’s quite a famous song based it as well, if you don’t remember it here are the lyrics

“You like potato and I like potahto,
You like tomato and I like tomahto;
Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto!
Let's call the whole thing off!”

Now isn’t that a good way to handle feuds. Just Potato Potahto it. India can make the nuke deal don’t call and say the left is threatening to topple the government, just say “oh Potato Potahto”.

And on that note would like to leave you but if you have anything to say for which I should apologize; I say to you “Potato Potahto”

Where's my mommy

Well, well well….if it isn’t you again.

Keep coming back don’t you. But now that you are here, might as well give you something to while away your time {I know I certainly am}.

I’m sure all of us at one time or the other have, in our childhood mistaken somebody else for our mothers. That perhaps, is the beginning of your abandonment issues {call my psychiatrist, its discount rate for friends and family, I’m a good customer}.

Anywho, you realize that all this happens only because we, as kids, don’t give a damn really. We’re to firkin busy looking at the He-Man’s and the Barbie’s and fantasizing {about imaginary friends, you sick bastard}. You’re too busy too care until, of course, you want to buy something or in the words of my grandma “en nu bhukh lagi hai, ya ninder ayi hai” , in other words, you’re either sleep, hungry or cranky; so you look for mother dearest.
And here’s the kicker - you can’t find her cause you too wee to look up and see their faces and God really did not give us a fashion sense to remember what mommy dear was wearing {damn Tommy Hillfiger}. So you do the next best thing, you go by leg length and width {and if mama was big, it was easier} and eventually you latch on to the first pair of legs you think meet your standards {which was - good looks}. But whatever the reason, you find yourself crying, not because it’s the wrong woman but because it’s the wrong woman in front of whom you’ve made an ass of yourself {it would have been less traumatic is someone told us that we get many chances to do that in our adult life}.

And just as strange lady is about to buy you an ice cream, MOMMY appears {how do they do that, maternal instinct?} and there goes your ice cream, just when mommylessness was turning into a good thing.

But, before I forget, the reason that I mention this is because a good friend of my dad went shopping with his family. Now, Micky uncle is quite a sharp fellow, very witty and very funny but a bit zonked at most time.

Carrying on, Micky uncle was standing in one shop when his wife and one daughter moved on. He didn’t realize and kept looking around and started {to the amazement on his younger daughter, who was still there} to talk to a strange woman about dry fruits. As he turned around, he saw his daughter staring at him, about to break into laughter; when he swung about, looked at the strange woman and said, “Darling, I’m going to the other shop” and walked out as if nothing had happened.

Enough whiling away, I have work to do and I’m sure you do to.

It's a funny life

If you’ve ever caught just for laugh on Zee café, you’d definitely think that it’s great to be a stand-up comedian.
I thought so too and tried my hand at it but failed. I’m a much better sit-down comedian.

Life can be quite funny at times, especially when it tricks you with strange absurd and embarrassment causing diseases.
Have you ever had such a disease? Nope?! Too bad!

Well, I have. It all started when I told my ex-girlfriend I was going to be a PHILANTHROPIST and to my excited amazement she was quite OK with it. I though I had found the one girl every man wanted when a week or so later she found me with another woman and blew her top off {not to be confused with a blouse}. Anywho, I later checked and found that the word I was looking at was PHILANDERING, but apparently CLOSE didn’t quite cut it with her; she left with a broken heart and I left with a broken arm and some fractured ribs.

The fact that these words were polar opposites struck me. Of course, I spent a week recovering from a mild concussion and a lasting headache but it was quite an impacting experience.
It has removed all traces of trust for the English language, I mean what kind of a moron would pronounce the sound of F with a PH, where is the logic. Like math and religion, we have all accepted any and everything dictated by a bunch of morons to be absolutley true.

While pondering over the mystery of my FENOMINAL discovery {I refuse to obey laws set by morons} when suddenly E called out of the blue and said she wanted to spend the day with me. It wasn’t too agreeable, especially since the days are getting expensive. I told her the night were better {and cheaper too}, so we met for dinner and I told her how I was planning to start an account in the bank with my unspent afternoons.

As the dinner continued, E ordered a curious drink for herself and I asked her what she was drinking. She said “scotch and carrot juice” and I asked “why?” to which she replied “I get drunk but I see good”.

As the night continued we discussed many things and realized many truths; one of them being that if I were ever a woman I’d be a lesbian.

Have you ever experienced a sharp pain in your wrists when you're writing? You have?

THE END