Statue of Puberty

Two things in life stand out and are deemed important. Whiskey and Common Cold. For those of you who don’t have a clue as to what this means, drink whiskey and rub your nose against dust or someone’s live germ filled phlegm.

If you’re a chik and are back after a healthy puke, try reading the next few lines just for kicks, you’ll need to have a stomach full for more dwaaaak time.

Recipe to healthy Dwaaak (in case you haven’t graduated from kindergarten, dwaak is the sound effect that comes about when you’ve hit the sink or toilet seat head first):

I always wondered why the Chinese food we get in India tastes and seems for all known reasons like a mixture of poop and dry vomit. We haven’t come close to believing in it ourselves, but just coming down to have a closer look, the cornflour which binds most of the dishes made and called Chinese, alongside the gooey liquid (which often looks like a used finger bowl) couples up to look like a photosensitive version of light brown shit.

It’s strange how we like this food and especially so if we are to eat anything Chinese that starts with an ‘H’. Hunan gravy for example, is finger bowl and low carb, low salt, high volume pungency with a dash of aginomoto and traces of lemon. Of course the truth is that Hunan is nothing but vomit churned like curd with yeast. Any taste which remains is then excruciated out of the gravy and served hot just to make it presentable. It goes well with noodles, (but for once, use your hands and eat like a south Indian, I say)

I had a friend back in the old days (very ancient, we used to wear leaves then, I had cool bell-bottom banana leaves then) who used to eat a Chinese dish with chapathi. Now we’d call this “Indi-Cheenee bhai bhai” (vaguely translated, Indian Chinese brother brother) in the food(om) and pronounce the title upon him. This weird combination is the most healthy thing you can ever do to your Chinese food. The cleansing that the chapathi does is beyond known recognition qualms.

Coming back (and also, baring any social and racial discrimination), our Chinese food is actually Ghurkese (as coined by Pals our friendly neighbourhood saint). The Ghurkese are clever people, don’t be fooled (Note: The Ghurkese are Nepalis who own Chinese stalls). So yes, don’t be fooled by their innocence, they are very clever people these ‘ghurkese’ and they will make (or claim to make) Chinese food with food (and FDA approved edible items, duh), but serve you sweat (yes Nepali’s also sweat FYI, their proximity to India could be the plausible cause for them to be sweaty) and phlegm, mixed in gutter water and if you’re lucky, you’ll find ants in your soup too (as Farro did, back in non-Amar days). Yes, he ate ants in his soup and quite cleverly covered it up (pun very clearly intended).

Our office caterers, KRSH (name changed cleverly to avoid debarring, I can be smart at times see) have bhaiyas serving Chinese every Friday. Now if ever there’s a bad tummy that you need to push your lousy day at work to smirk with, is when you replace that Ghurkese food maker with a Bhaiyan to make a close controlled reel of Bhaikese food which by far will be the most amazingly ugly semi-edible named set of food items ever served. Yes, our office caterers are the best in ugly sweat and hair oil (chameli) food items. They specialize in serving your food with stones and hair (of which someone used to pelt at their neighbours glass, and also the same chameli oil drenched strand of hair).

I’ve assumed that the sinks and toilets have filled their quotas for the day …. which is where I will come to the point of saying that Whiskey and Common Cold are the best cure to ugly food (as discussed above). Simple pieces of reasoning here,

1) Whiskey cleanses everything
2) Common Cold makes sure you don’t have to smell it.

there you go, cheers and healthy eating……..

PS: Remember me next time you drowse your mouth into a pile of hunan (NOT to be mistaken with the point when you hit your head to the toilet seat)

I’ve been accused of buying household items only to not use it enough (or at all – before this there was the portable vacuum cleaner, handy sewing machine amongst a large a list spanning 10 years), read on…

After a good deal of thought on buying a treadmill, I did buy one only to find myself not using it for all its worth. Contemplating the belief that I would indeed get those extra pounds off, the heavy task of assembling the darn thing by itself was a huge workout. Very conveniently I skipped the mill for a week (body ache post assembly was incredible, of course, that being the reason). A week later, dawned a new beginning. Yes, I stepped on the rotor of that 3HP mean machine. I walked, jogged and ran, pumped my heart beat to a max, burnt calories like i’d never done so before. It lasted whole of twenty minutes after which I decided to rest my weary legs (for a whole week). This cycle continued for a good 2 months (20 minutes of workout followed by a week of rest).

The end result … I’ve gained a decent deal of pounds post buying the treadmill, which on scale, is a difficult task to achieve, you’d expect that outta me, now won’t you (my mum thought so, and that’s the prophecy she made, makes her a genius, i think).
She’s contemplating beating me with a whip to get me thin now after her second failed attempt at pushing me into her yoga class. I would think the whip’s the right way, most of you would too.

(dab) dab (dab) ….

Last week, was the time I turned a year older (and dumber). This au contraire to the year that passed fell far short. Last year in Charlotte, Raj and gang took me to Hooters, which for obvious reasons I cannot forget. The pretties had me do ‘stuff’ with balloons on top of a chair whilst they were ‘dancing’ around singing me a birthday duel.

This year was a drab, with ‘stuffie’ noses and ‘dancing’ mercury dots. Yes, I fell ill just before my birthday (or bewdaday as apoo calls it). I did however meet the boys this time (missed them last time round, although I’m sure if they’d been in Hooters, I’d be the last person they’d want to wish). The drinks were on the house at CT (despite the size) and bird as usual got sloshed and began to blab about mortality. Bird was in pain that night, his wisdom tooth was coming off (or going off track, which pretty much sums up why we so affectionately call him Bird). Bangd (who earlier in the day called me up to hitch CT’s phone number, to apparently book the place for the evening??#$ … now that’s a first!) seemed to think otherwise and kept referring to Bird’s tooth as Beak. We requested Bangd to slap himself hard and sanity prevailed that night.

(dab) dab (dab) …

During our conversation with Bird, he mentioned some strange curtailed facts. He lectured us on how a certain mortality defacto struck him when he hit upon an old school snap. His exact words then were “I saw the picture and suddenly realized that we are all mortals” and also went on to add, “I don’t remember my childhood man, not a bit”. This time round we did think of throwing the convenient anti-amnesia punch-on-head (soft portion = chota dimaag) but fortunately for him, didn’t. Come to think of it (we do this a lot now), it’s true isn’t it? We remember so little of our childhood and very soon will remember only a tiny few incidents of the time we’re letting go today.
I drabbed back into my old albums to leech a few of my bacha snaps. These snaps are my own gift to me this birthday.

it always starts with a smile ….

then there are times ….

and a true classic …

… and yes Bird , i don’t remember these either …. “God, please install more memory in my next life”

Don’t think I have much to say now … maybe mum’s whip will make me run on the treadmill (or atleast out of the house).

Actually not quite about cats and dogs … but read on …

Ever wondered why men (except Apoo) are inclined towards dogs more than women (note: men like women too, but we’ll talk about that a little later). Just the same, there are more women in this world that like cats more than dogs, compared with men (and no, I cannot tell you if they do like men the same way, that’s been a mystery for ages someone tells me).

Let’s try and probe this a wee bit, and to make things interesting lets map cats and dogs to their likes and dislikes, and around that, understand key areas which define their appeal.

The Truth (in bits):

• Dogs come when they’re called; cats take a message and get back to you later
• You’re not a real person until a cat ignores you; you are not Apoorva Joshi if a dog ignores you.
• Cats must attack their master’s shoelaces when they are tying them; Dogs do the same when no one’s looking.
• Cats are quite good at domesticating humans; dogs are quite good at domesticating themselves.

So why is it that more women in this world prefer cats when all the qualities they need in a partner is so easily satisfied by dogs. Things like:

• Dogs listen
• Dogs don’t want to have sex (with humans)
• Dogs obey
• Dogs never say no to shopping
• Dogs listenDogs don’t watch sports (unless explicitly asked)

… And a ton of lopsided entries should ideally have put the doggie variety on their priority list.

We men don’t do a fraction of what’s mentioned above, that apart, the discussion point here is that cats are a tad better in the ignorance department (At least we lie our balls off whilst trying to evade a funny situation. Cats just don’t bother).

It all falls in place if we’d consider the hoop, that women albeit showing that burst of impatience on the outside, are a practicing lot on the patience scale within a secret society that engulfs us. They’re practicing the art of patience with the best in the business (and no, we men are not quite there).

Note: There are women-kind (?) who do like dogs (viz. Mahi). But these could be discarded ignornants and lazers who don’t have the big picture (or were intended to be men, but nature toyed with them).

So, what do we have here? A gender clan trying to romp up scales of power? Yes men, beware of this growing degree of women who’re training themselves to rule this world and us.

We’re no less than dogs to them, and it’s about time we step up and growl, swell and show our fangs.

(see, this is why I grow my nails)

What do you fear most?
Death? Failure? Ghosts? People? Pizzas? Roaches?

Most of us have some or all of the above fears rolled up on each other. We seldom realize the essence of all this though.

What is the purpose of this innate emotion? Everyone has some part of it governing their daily lives. A businessman fears a market collapse, a farmer fears famine, the army fears insider ambush, your mum fears you (or you fear her / your dad fears her).

We recognize the facts around fear being both positive and negative. During this stance we no longer have a problem seeing audacity and fear as one and the same. The problem therefore, lies in our thinking. As so many of us think, fear does not intend to stop us from doing what we should do. Fear also prompts us to act, which is where we could place courage. We often mistake courage to be the opposite of fear. Courage actually is positive fear (the opposite of negative fear). We tend to place courage as fearlessness because we don’t quite have that model of positive fear in our braincells. Hence, till the time we learn to think on the lines of positive fear, we cannot really begin to understand that we can positively enjoy being afraid. Make sense??

On the flip side, Yea enough!! we all know fear don’t we. Some shy away from admitting it, some quite fearlessly proclaim it. What do you think fear is all about?

Fear as it stands, holds two parallels. a) Real Fear, and b) Assumed Fear

The Real variety deals with knowing the consequence(s). You know you lie at the end of that cliff, hanging to your next breath essentially which is held around the tree root that you are dangling on to. The sure option that precides here is a fall = death (unless you’re Krrish or Poopman) OR rescue (self or otherwise). This is a Real Fear.

The Assumed stance comes about when we base our thoughts on probability. And that, with the proclaimed knowledge of being hopeless at Mathematics / Statistics, isn’t really a good idea.
You are standing in front of an audience of over a 100 people. You are to address a presentation/seminar. That funny feeling hits you. Anxiety coupled with darting and differed doses of simulated fear. The cause is unknown.

What do you think these two fear forms pronounce? Well, for starters it doesn’t do much. But looking deeper, we could actually reflect upon ourselves and have defined, the stems for our own living. We take fear as a single form of discomfort and do not think from the other side. Yes quite right, the positive side. Fear is a beautiful exponent of how much we can do. But that hardly comes through to our heads, does it?

There is so much to learn and do on the other side. If we don’t get ourselves to believe in the other aspect of fear, there’s no way to understand it. If we don’t understand fear, there’s no way we can understand our lives (which we seldom realize). Ask yourself the question Is Fear what life is all about?

Think about it…

0130 hours
April 15, 2006
Chakala, Andheri (E)

The night was brighter than usual. The moon played its share of governing the streets, waxing ahead into time. The breeze was never there like always, with the still air subtly breathing down warmth and heavy drums of moisture. Mannu and I got off the rick next to the Petrol Pump. I met him and Baangd at OnToes, Juhu a little earlier where I also came across two of Baangda’s weirdo stoned dudes (ettes?), who apparently heard about Iyer’s grinds with Security guards (No, this breed don’t ask for Blog/MSN accounts. They’re more the ‘striking that dreary conversation with the sleepy souls’ breed).

Back to ground reality (or Chakala), we notice this crowd gathered around our famous Navik, LP chain. Part of the junta seemed stoned and were ambling towards transport, while a few others seemed to not know if they already stamped into one of the bars or survived the hair of a pompous blimp (they just goddamn stood there). We stretched out to seek why there was this confusion and found our Pandus (Mumbai Police) banked outside Navik, trying to woo the crowds out of the bars.

Navik, LP and the chain that exists, have been known to stay open 24/7. I recollect this incident which had me and Mannu come out of Navik at 09:30 AM one day after hitching in at 2 AM. The ‘we did this for the first time ever’ part included in this act was coming out of a bar with the sun beating down on you (and also, sleeping for 18 hours thereafter – everybody home thought I died – response to stimuli of any kind was next to nothing).

Yes, coming back to the night at Chakala … we saw Navik, LP and all it’s brother’s and sisters shuttering down (with people still inside) just so the cops get bored and go home. But the cops apparently had other ideas. We stood on the other side of the road with traffic beaming around us alongside a few dozen men, waiting for the cops to clear the shine. But it never came to be!! The pandus stood their ground like brave honest men (or maybe they ordered to-gos).

Waiting for Tullee’s never a good idea and so we hitched upon the idea of making a back door entry. We recollected one of the nites when we were escorted out of Navik (again pandu attack from the front and shutters down) from the back doors. We niftily made our way to the back road (pitch dark – not that it made a difference to me) to the exact same place where we came off that fine night and voila!! found the back door throwing light at us. We scampered in, made our way through the kitchen (still not sure which of the lined restaurants we were going to) and into the main passage area. And there we lay. We had made it in. Something told us the night was yet to begin (not figuratively).

We went upstairs en route to our favorite sitting area and were flabbed to see a pleth of lukka public standing in the aisle area waiting to be seated. Both, Mannu and me sighed Fugggg mann!! in unison. We desperately tried to scope our way to a seat and luckily (God wanted us to have good booze quick, one would think) found a couple (two gudwa gujarati’s) holding hands and sitting on the same side of a parallel four seater table. We didnt think it to be fair to pass judgement on masculinity or gender then (we were starved for drip) and so we considered sitting there. Sharing tables is common practice in Indian bars BTW and so we politely asked them if they could sit face to face, so that Mannu and me also don’t look like two Gudwa’s (Konkani and Manglorean) holdiing hands. But the love between them seemed somewhat insatiable and they refused to budge. We complied (for lack of experience in dealing with the Gujju kind under influence and in love with the same gender, with that same gender seated adjacent, bah!). Now both these guds were wearing red t’s and their faces seemed like someone’s dog gave birth to them (face only). They spoke very little but somehow we did feel the action was happening somewhere else.

So we were sitting in front of the two GGs sipping onto the spirits that called us in, when outta the blue Bobby Darling‘s colonial cousin (BDCC) decides to step in. That prompted both Mannu and me to scamper for the menu and check the name of the Bar. Where the hell were we? But hell no … it was the very same Navik we raised our spirits to I would think for a better part of our teens. What in the world is happening here man? Where have all the straight boys gone? These thoughts were running down our cells when BDCC decides to come towards our two GGs (who I’m sure wanted to lap dance in turns) and asks them if they were done. Mannu and Me blast out of turn to say “We’re just getting started …” but the two items (GGs) flash their credit cards indicating 1) that we’re further doomed, 2) that BDCC has two hunks to comply with for the night, and also 3) that the GGs ought to seek a room (finally!!).

As we sat there disgruntled, God throws in a quarter of hope. BDCC’s boyfriend (or something) calls in and asks him/her to come down just as we see the GG’s bill being paid. A glimer of hope? Yes indeed!! BDCC goes down, GGs follow suit, Mannu pushes me to quickly grab the end of the table and make it our own … Voilaaa we have it all for us now!!!

We sat there … kept shooing a few standies (told em we were expecting more dudes at our table and could not lend em out .. IOW .. buz off) and drank to someone’s glory .. told each other tales from the wise man’s oak tree (the barn below the tree) and made vague funny conversation. Just as we were assuming our presence in our seats (shifting asses for support), two hefty goonies made way to our seats, sat down and tried to be polite with “I hope you don’t mind”. We did but darn it, we decided to play good samaritans and have the weary travellers sip their methods.

To describe them, the guy next to Mannu had a deep and hoarse voice (you could almost hear his lower intestines vibrate) and looked like a management guru in the Bhai world; the guy next to me, mannu says, looked like Prabhu Deva. Hell yea, and these men were the kinds who would slip out the odd Browning 9 mm and shoot someone’s head off this planet.

They were quiet most of the time, PD was pretty much into his drink while MGB was into our conversation (which neither me nor Mannu remember). After a few more rounds of drinks, we came across the most stunning of scenes to ever pass our numb skilled minds on a drowny evening. MGB and PD after a brief murmur start pointing at the waiters moving around as if to target them for a crowning glory. They then pull out a restless face and look at us. We smile thinking that the pleasing personas that Mannu and Me exhibited more than matched/countered the dark side that lay in front of us.

MGB suddenly started raising that shrill voice outta his gut. The conversation went like …

MGB: B****od apna chakna kidar mara rah hai? (where the f*** is our snack?)
PD: hmm
MGB: (looking at PD) M***od, tere G**d mein dum hai tho tod ke dikha
PD: kya bhai?
MGB: Saale dum hai kya … aata hai saala! (do you have the balls to do this?)
PD: …
MGB: abey dum hai tho fek neeche plate ko, tod de plate B***od {bloody hell, show what you’ve got, throw and break that plate}
PD: …
Mannu and Me: (looking at whiskey glass and each other)

Repeat above instance about 10-15 times ….

PD: (finally picks the plate and throws it on the floor)

(The plate bounces and falls face down)
(PD and MGB look at each other while mannu and me do the same…)

MGB: B****od glass fek (throw the damn glass, f*****)
PD: (Picks the empty glass and throws it down)
(crash bam)
(broken glass pieces all over)
(moment of silence)
..
..
(waiters scamper to the accident scene and clean the floor)
MGB: abey c*****, apney aap ko hero samajta hai kya (f*****, u think you’re some kind of a champ)
PD: ??
MGB: yeh sab c*******, apun bachpan mein kiya malum (we used to do these crazy acts when we were kids, f****)
PD: ???
MGB: Andrew ko phone karu, b******* … saala aata hai (you wasted gut, should I call Andrew?)
PD: nahi bhai, Andrew ko phone nahi karo bhai (no brother, don’t call Andrew)

This conversation went on (second loop) for about 30 minutes with the management guru bhai shouting at the top of his voice and scolding prabhu deva, while mannu and me sipped on in confused terror. All this while Mannu was on the lookout for Prabhu Deva to snap out of his gut and pour a brawn of bullets down MGB’s numb skulled blab output area. But we called in for our bill and left the action for the rest of the gang to fulfill.

Incidentally as we left, MGB came forward with the most unexpected of apologies as if to say he was out of his emotional mambo out there and wishes forgiveness from the fine men that heard his story out.

… me thinks they wanted the table for themselves …

PS: The latest on Navik, LP tells us that it is being brought down with the Mumbai Road Widening Initiatives going into gear. There goes one more memorious adda. But hell wait … was there a basement entry door?

Funny conversation time yet again … small and notoriously hilarious …

Topic: Pals’ birthday which incidentally falls on 27th of this month

Bird
Dear Pals,
Many Happy Returns of the day ….have a great year ahead.
Warm Regards,

Abhi
It’s on the 27th re … but if it makes u happy

Apoo
Bird, tu item hai! I still dont get it…. why do we say “returns”? What are we returning?
Now that Bird has wished you Pals, throw us a party!

Pals
I am soooo touched by these wishes made in advance…:-)Well thank you all anyways and yeah appu tu idhar ajatereko mast party doonga…:-)

Tak
hey pals,Wish you a happy bday !

Apoo
HA!
Tak, I jes love you man! this is like asking at the end of ramayana, who was ‘Draupadi’. (yses, I know she was mahabharata, but thats the catch!)
Stop studying so much Tak!
Whats the probability we will forget to wish Pals on 27th?
TAK: Thats his Birthday!


Junta on respective floors holding tummy

Just couldn’t resist putting this on ……

I had my first real six rupees,
Stole it from my father’s pants.
went to a madrasi hotel,
to eat the sambhar of 69.
Me and some kadke dost,

had it all and we caught bukhaar,
jimy puked, joey got ulcers,
and Bagga ne maari dakar.

Oh when I went back there now,
the food was as stale as ever,
and though it was 1999,
still the sambhar was being served over there,

that was the worst food of my life.

Therez no use in complaining,
when you got no other place to eat,
rushed in the evening to the doctors clinic,
but he too was at the toilet seat, yeah

standing there waiting outside,
nurse told me I will wait forever,
oh and when I held my breath,
I knew that I had to use that loo there
That was the worst food of my life.

Back to the sambhar of 69.

Man I was getting killed,
I was full and restless,
I needed to unwind,
I guess nothing can wait forever – FOREVER… NO!!!!

And now the dhabas are changing,
new dishes have come and gone,
sometimes when I pass that old madrasi lane,
I still smell it, I can’t be wrong.

Standing in those unwashed clothes,
the waiters still call me in there,
oh the way my nostrils burn,
I know that it will be served forever,
what was the worst food of my life.

yeah it was the sambhar of 69,

the sambhar, the sambhar, the sambhar of 69

- courtesy Giri

I’m ganja now … my folks refused to take me in last night, following this crude act of violence …

and no … won’t post pics till my “kesh” decides to grow up

till soon … or till the strands stride up …

“I have a shoe bite” essentially puts forth “I’ve bought new shoes and you better have a look”. It’s not quite the best of ways to have it broadcasted, I dare say. But certainly is one of the crude and dismantled ways of frolicking around your new shines.

I always wondered why the damn shoe bites you only on one leg. Its crazy, I’ve always had bites only directed to one of my feet, left or right, ankle or toe, front or back. It’s always just been one. Not that I’m complaining but hell yea, it would be fun to have both legs down with chronic pain (well not that bad).

The question here is, are the shoes (branded and f***** expensive shoes) poorly stitched/made with tasteless lack in symmetry and hence the bite? Or is it just me? I can see a hundred million fingers directed onward now.

Okay, so God (or my folks) had this planned. My feet (or parts of it, picked up conveniently) is non-symmetric. Why God? Why Mum/Dad?

Again … I need sleep … or maybe a band-aid

Thailee tullee (booze “retailed” in plastic bags) is common practice in rural India (and yes, cities too). A major concoction of breweries mixed to form one potent tipple. One of the known “brands” in the large and scaling thailee tullee market is Poonam (a girl’s name), which is available quite freely in the suburbs of Mumbai (not the girl, pervs).

I’m not too sure if any of us has tried their hands (feet, or maybe some opening, makes more sense) on these thailee blinkers (other than Bird), but trust me you, these drips sure have the power to throw one’s suspenders off.

The core essence is the formulation of a belligerent type of ethanol (ethyl alcohol and not methyl alcohol – which kills or gives a lifetime of free 24/7 loose motions … choose the better of the two options), commonly found in most other spirits (not the scary/funny ones … this one, most of us see and most importantly smell and consume). So alcohol (yes, Johnny, Old Monk, Bacardi, Smirnoff and our other exotic brothers) essentially combines ethanol and fruit fluids (and sometimes industry essence or ‘look and feel’ alikes). This Ethyl alcohol formation is further assisted by our fermenting kings & queens (fungi viz. yeast, but not quite), which makes what we so tetchily consume [somehow da booze doesn't quite seem all that interesting now, don't it?].

Alright now, we have this park called Lallubhai Park (some say Linkin Park branded their band on it, LP said no when I asked them though) close to where we stay, which has this bhatti (recap the famous Mithun dialog “yeh bhatti meri maa hai, aaish”). Ok, so this bhatti recently underwent trauma (no, Iyer and Bangd were not making out here … actually I’m not sure), but the reason was that our pandus (Mumbai Police) came all guns (or lame sticks) blazing at these thailee outlets. The funny part was that the raid was an accident.

Yes, two police constables went there at 11 PM for their bi-weekly dose. Now, the bhatti is designed to hold 6-8 people in an L-shaped drag (bar like). Our two heroes are seated on either side of the L (like lovers holding hands – but let’s not imagine this part). Anyhoo, one of the pandus suddenly catches a glimpse of his Inspector’s bike outside the bhatti. He immediately gets up without telling the other pandu and panics to the extent of stamping up on the immediate next dude. Glasses fall, panic spreads, pandu 2 still clueless thinks he did something wrong and pleads in front of pandu 1 to ask him what he did wrong. Pandu 1 still in deep panic decides to do the best thing that came to his jalopy mind. He pretends that it’s a raid and that he is the raid officer (four glasses already down). He starts smashing everything around him and shouts at the top of his voice. Pandu 2 oblivious to the pretence tries to hold pandu 1 (assessing by now that the ethanol has turned somewhat methanol inside pandu 2). He slaps him, which prompts pandu 1 to bellow the fact that their boss is outside. Pandu 2 evidently unable to make head or tail of what pandu 1 is yelling with the shoddier commotion inside the 5 square feet bhatti. And to add to the hubbub, in comes our Inspector (again for his periodic dose, unaware of his two associate’s hara-kiri as for that matter even their presence in there). Pandu 2 looks up at his boss and the tube strikes him (“ok, so the ethyl is still ethyl”, he thinks). And alongside pandu 1 starts smashing glasses and whatever’s visible within smashing range. The inspector looking at his two poptoos smashing around, comes in a does the same.

Now all three were there for the same reason but ended up doing something totally chaotic. The bhatti owner (and Poonam) lost out big time. They were taken in, beaten up and then released. The inspector too, I suppose lost out, sure he did … he didn’t get a single drop of that nectorous awe, that’s really badddd.

Little did the two hapless pandus know that their boss would also be coming in to chill his gut. I think there’s a lesson to be learnt here (no it’s not the corporate/management thingy, we’re so used to. This one’s just straightforward and simply put).

“When you’re committed to a questionable act and your boss shows up, don’t strike the booze. Booze is innocent man. Do not beat the booze. Write this one hundred times on ruled paper”

Ah now, where’s my Long Island. I wonder how long island would come about in a thailee!! Brillianto … Bird get me a pen n paper … lets have our business plan laid out for this exotic cocktail bhatti. Bird? Wee art thou? Bird? abey bha…