Statue of Puberty

Why would you bet on anything you have no clue or control on whatsoever. Like this boy, who on a cold winter morning in Wales haplessly placed a bet with his classmate on the varied force of nature. By the time it was afternoon his sister came looking for him in school to find him sitting in the breezy chill of the day on a lonesome park bench. She asked him, “What on earth is wrong with you? Why are you sitting here in the cold?” to which her brother meekly responded “I had a bet with Roy this morning. The bet was that if I urinated on my seat, the urine would freeze and I wouldn’t be able to get up. And well, he won the bet.” “Sis, would you happen to have a match?”

I wouldn’t do something as stupid and frivolously benign (I think). I’m sure none of us would too (I think). But lets take the case of this air cargo shipment fiasco that came to be 4 years back. The cargo to be shipped was live food stock (Chickens & Goats – both alive). One of my acquaintances (not so direct), was an aircraft maintenance engineer (AME) with that shipment firm and was filling his duties to fix a section of the ATR engine which went bust on the last landing. He placed a bet with the crew that he would fix it in a couple of hours. Now, the crew who he was quite pally with, wanted him to come onboard. He wasn’t really keen of course. And so the bet was raised that if he didn’t fix the engines in 2 hours, he would fly with them. As luck would have it, It took him just over a whole day to figure the issue out. (Unlike some Nepali engineers who preferred sacrificing goats to make their airplane fly – Link). When he finally did manage to fix it (traditional AME style) he had no option but to hitch a ride to the destination drop point i.e. Sydney, Australia.

There began their epic journey, the pilot, co-pilot, 4 to 5 crew members and our fellow friend who fixed the airplane engine(s) and lost the bet. The rest of the aircraft was filled with cargo i.e live fowl and goats. About midway through the journey high over the Indian Ocean, one of the engines scuffled in and decided to move into low revs. Within minutes the other one bellowed and folded in too. Panic struck the crew as they scampered to figure their jump & p’shoot options. Our fellow AME friend in the meanwhile inspected the engine (no airborne acrobatics, just data gathering). He realized that the load was a bit too much and that the engines would be in working order if the load came down to a bare supplement.

They unanimously turned around to look at the hapless herd of fowl & goat with vicious beady eyes. They almost carried that “I’m gonna throw you off this plane” look. Little did these poor animals know what was in store for them. They were happily looking forward to being on someones dinner table, but now instead stood to live a massive free fall into the almost infinite Indian Ocean. In desperate last minute crib sessions, some Fowl shouted at their elders for not giving them flight lessons. As far as the goats were concerned, they had no hope really, except that they heavily out-numbered and out-weighed the crew members.

Now, my friend (AME) wasn’t really a heavy builder, well actually far from it. He was once blown to the other side of the hall when a test steamer engine blew out a shaft of excess steam, while his fellow team combed their messy hair and tried to salvage him from the broken plates stored at the back of the hall (he was heavy enough to break some China). Coming back to this airborne fowl play, the goats as I said were huge ass meat balls by themselves, they easily outweighed our fellow scrawny AME twice over (also explains the load). But he and the crew somehow did manage to struggle past pulling them down to the open hangar (the crew strapped in belts of course) and mercilessly pushed each meat ball into the ocean.

Now we’ve seen frogs (or tadpoles) showering in from the skies above and sometimes schools of fish too (Link), but imagine the plight of some innocent wandering ships and their crew when they see thunderous showers of goats and chickens falling down on them (and some of them brave souls alive … if free fall didn’t shock them to death). We don’t really know if this happened, but I can’t help but imagine the state of shock that these seamen would have been in when their ship in pretense had been belted by these huge ass goats and fowl. Imagine this scene where the seamen are having dinner in their open air diner, cribbing as usual to the chef that their chicken and meat are stale and stink, when that huge ton of a goat comes crashing into their plates, takes down the table and bores a hole three layers down to their ship’s cold storage. “Take that for fresh meat!!”.

News has it (since our friend AME lived to tell this tale), that they did manage to bellow out each and every goat and fowl from the aircraft, which got the ATR to rev up and land on the nearest coastal airbase, where he was almost fired by his overseas bosses. He told me that he quit that job a few weeks later and has been since working as a back-office systems engineer in a seafood shipment firm (more on flying lobsters, crabs and fish in the next post).

When he narrated this story to me, I couldn’t help but recount the story of the Nepali Goat sacrifice (Link), spelling out the fact that he should actually have sacrificed a couple of goats before the plane took off. This way, he could have fixed the aircraft, won the bet, wouldn’t have had to travel to Aussi and of course could have skipped the firing line, not to mention the majority of fowl and goats would have managed to fall into dinner tables in the manner they had hoped for before the flight took off.

He laughed it out and a couple of “why did the chicken cross the road” jokes later told me that one of the crew members with him on that fateful flight actually moved out from that shipping company. He now works with Nepal Airlines.

A long ass time since I’ve plotted the ink stand and benched my chair. Actually, it’s been long mules since I’ve done a mighty deal of other stuff too. Most notably of those involved …

1. Throwing balloons on hapless bystanders in a shopping mall and when really bored bench not just water in a plastic bucket, but the bucket itself. (Note: name of the shopping mall has been hidden for security reasons – if anybody asks, “I didn’t do it, no one saw me do it”)
2. Throwing a cat off the building terrace – 8 floors (again Bakshi was the primary protagonist and not me and pals, we’re innocent, trust us)
3. Throwing a brick near a 4 year old kid playing on her tricycle (Bakshi again, but to our defense we were kids ourselves and gravity and its effects were being experimented)
4. Torturing ants (big black ants) by picking them up and putting them inside an ant eater farm made out of a shoe box filled with sand. To top it, we then went on torturing our own bacha party kids by making them try the same with big red ants and giving them bull that this will one day make them famous (Bakshi again).
5. Breaking all the ground floor window panes and shattering glasses playing Gully Cricket, Frisbee (sometimes with stumps) and sometimes (Bakshi once again) throwing water balloons, and then running off with all our inventory before the owner could set eyes on us.
6. Doing #5 above only to have Apoo come down at exactly the same time and get a beating (verbal) from the respective uncle. Note: Apoo used to study a lot then and not play as much for some reason or maybe he knew we were gonna break glasses or maybe he just likes arguing – we’ll never know. Of course Apoo wouldn’t go down without a fight when the uncles caught him. He was our man for the occasion (which he seldom involved in) and would argue to the fullest that kids needed to play and breaking of glasses shouldn’t stop them from doing it again (or playing actually). At no point would he say that he was not even there when it happened (which in Apoo’s case is true, unlike my above claims).
7. Filling buckets of water (no, not to throw at the above-signed shopping mall, but) to carry the same to Late Mrs. Estranged’s house as an errand. Oh wait, now this I really didn’t do. Apoo has had the knack of falling in trouble with all the weirdoes of the world and Late Mrs. Estranged was one of his earliest hookups. One fine day, whilst Apoo was happily playing, this lady comes up to him and asks him to fill buckets, which Apoo (good boy that he was and is) complied with. He lifted them and took them all the way to the 6th floor and when the lady told him he had to do two more; Apoo fled home, never to set eyes on the lady again. Story has it that Apoo fled home for reasons other than that mentioned (strange voodoo perhaps). Alas! We will never be able to verify this.
8. Breaking water leveler pipes on the terrace tank in an attempt to win a bet on a box of smokes (Bird was the culprit of course, apparently though he didn’t do it either – his brother was named prime culprit).
9. Breaking into the terrace without keys but using innovative methods to fool the elevator and our watchman. You see the elevator had the terrace button blocked from inside. The catch which we picked on was that the elevator would come up to the terrace if someone hit the button on the terrace. So all we needed was an eight foot long bamboo, three people to hold it and push it into the wing and right on the terrace button from the grill gate in front when two of our clan stood inside the lift. We hit the button, the lift comes up, the bamboo gang hides the bamboo, calls the lift back to the 7th floor, get on it, the two people who’re already up on the terrace call the bamboo gang up. And tadaaa, we’re all up there. Of course it didn’t stop there. We threw water on the watchman just to irritate him from the terrace and he would freak out on the fact that we got up there minus keys.
10. Getting oneself handcuffed by Nitish (my elder bro’s best bud) for sabotaging, mutilating and completely drenching Sr. Anna on a Holi week with balloons and gooey water. Yes I admit being a part of the sabotage activity on Sr. Anna, which led to the revenge plight by our seniors (my bro included) who were far more advanced and used handcuffs (real ones) to catch, drag and drench me and Sthalu with shampoo and muddy water in front of the building. Our Holi celebrations were truly wild.

Coming back to the present, our current bacha party in Nandanvan have found a new way to broaden their views & knowledge about air-pressure, sound and basic gravity principles. Unfortunately for me, they found my car to conduct these tests. I head down to the garage on my way to office on a Tuesday morning to find that three of my wheels were completely flattened out with incense sticks dispersed around. Not a very bright way to start office especially so if you are reduced to taking a cycle pump to pump air into those wheels. It continued into Wednesday when they successfully managed to damage the tube of my rear wheel. I welcomed my stepney to the streets of Mumbai, although I’m not too sure if it was too keen on hitting the roads with the onset of monsoons (really guys, my wheel speaks with me).

I deduce that the current world bacha-party have taken strides to try and avenge all the kidaas we did when we matched their age (actually a lot less, but good attempt). I intend to let them have their fun of course. I miss my old days big time, I’ll let them make good use of theirs.

PS: to avoid damages, I’ll probably team up with them and do someone else’s wheel this weekend, and if and when asked …

“I didn’t do it, no one saw me do it!”

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)

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)

A grave situation encompasses us all …
One that has elements of terror and pain …
An incredibly mighty contamination surge has hit us …

Bird flu has hit the country bad … the rest of the world even harder …

We’re killing birds (infected and suspected carriers) in the numbers. H5N1 is killing many of our dear friend’s cousins and relatives through direct and/or in-direct means (mass culling).

We hit upon a conversation with the lead architect himself (itself) “The Bird” (some have pronounced a name upon the same, Priyadarshan Nadkarni aka Kumar Bird).

Scene 1 [ Happy Restaurant ]

Reuters: Do you have a contingency plan to curb this wide epidemic?
Bird: No
Reuters: So you wish to leave it up to the respective state and nation’s governing powers to carry forward their selective culling methods?
Bird: No
Reuters: You are speaking in single syllables today.
Bird: Singhal, that’s my boss
Reuters: Could you please elaborate on the steps you would be taking to curb this epidemic?
Bird: I have bigger things on my mind now. Like governance and taking care of the heavy responsibilities of our human kind. I’m the only one who can save this planet and it’s beings.
Reuters: (puzzled) So is that what you were created for?
Bird: Yes
Reuters: So how do you plan to do that?
Bird: Did you see my new shoes?
Reuters: Do you have estimates on the number of bird killings in your country?
Bird: You haven’t commented on my shoes yet!!
Reuters: Could we please stick to the grave topic of concern here please?
Bird: It will just take you a minute to respond to the one I put forth. You can take more though. I’d like your review to be extensive.
Reuters: (WTF man) They’re good, I’m not much of a shoe person.
Bird: Ok good. Why don’t we go to Powai? I’ll show you my office and my bus stop
Reuters: Lets please work at completing this interview. I don’t understand why you’re so not involved in this. This matter should have been at the top of your priority list.
Bird: I told you I’m not interested in small matters like this flu thing. I have a bigger picture to look at.
Reuters: It so happens that my boss will murder me if I don’t get something good out of this session with you.
Bird: What’s your boss’s name? I dislike him already
Reuters: Dilbert
Bird: Did you know that Wikipedia has info on Gilbert Hill?
Reuters: I said Dilbert, that’s my boss’s name. And what in the world is Gilbert Hill?
Bird: Give me Dilbert’s number right away!! I will tell him that you don’t deserve to be a journalist. You don’t know about Gilbert Hill?
Reuters: I don’t think we’re going anywhere with this
Bird: I told you we should have done this in Powai. You know if we put lights around the Powai Lake driveway, it would actually look like Bombay’s second queen’s necklace?
Reuters: This has been a waste of time.
Bird: Time is a human perception defined as the length of an interval separating two points on a non-spatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future.
Reuters: Goodbye Mr. Bird. And no it wasn’t a pleasure meeting you.
Bird: The pleasure was all mine … but where are you going? We still have to go see the bus stop
Reuters: (slams the briefcase and heads out of Happy)
Bird: (opens book and starts reading)

Scene 1 ends

Scene 2 [ abhi calls bird ]

Me: Item kidar hai? (bastard, where are you?)
Bird: Happy mein hai, aur kaha rahega chodu (in Happy, where else you f***in guy)
Me: I’m at Shopper’s … Chal CT? (lets go booze at our favourite joint)
Bird: Chal (ok)
Bird: I got new shoes
Me: Yea yea .. pakka mat .. chal jaldi (zzzz)

Scene 2 ends [ we already know what happens in CT ]

… once again Bird ponders upon his journey into saving the planet, strategizing and laying down the rules for the New bird Order.

Bird’s flu lives on …

I’m usually used to the same set of insane habituated anomalies that any of us here would typically find ourselves in.
Well, on a bright day anyways…

This day I choose to give you a common side of the story. Unfortunately it’s not quite so much a bright day today (I’m talking literal here … its too freaking dull today).

Ok then, as it should go, the typical day begins with what we like doing when up. Yup scratch. The pleasure of scratching never fails to amuse us.
On a bright day anyways…

And then we come to the next best thing that could happen to mankind. Rinse your mouth with booze. Aah, the pleasure of spirits cleansing your nightly evils (I think I was evil last night … yes I was … heh).
On a bright day anyways…

The toothpaste does wonders too I’m told. And so I malform the squeezy contents onto a bristled strange surface area and start massaging my tooth. Don’t really understand the true waste of water though and so too the useful resources your mouth otherwise holds. (Do not do this after the spiritual rinses BTW … this is a total waste)

The next thing happens to be a top brass activity and I shall choose not go into detail. Bloj it is. We all have to bloj cause it’s usually shit that we eat anyways … not really advisable to keep all that inside.
On a bright day anyways…

Only if the bloj goes well, will the rest of your day follow solid grounds. Not that we reclaim land or something while walking (that job’s Krupal’s).
Doesn’t quite matter if it’s a bright day or not, you’re in trouble if ur half done with Bloj.

Breakfast is the best meal of my day with dutiful preferences going towards eggs, bacon and good chai (Rum/Whiskey on Kellogg’s go well on weekends)
Everyday…

We go to work and eat crap there too (not literal this time, but it’s sundry really) I’m told, first on our way to our workplace (travel’s always the big momma), then the workplace itself (don’t have much to say there) and finally if and when we decide to head back home (yes travel again). There are healthy doses of crap all the way.
Everyday…

Back home its party time with salad, attempts at survival cooking, inventing new cocktails (sometimes with ice cream) and also wondering at times, who the f*** gassed the Gym room.
On a bright day anyways…

It’s then time to call home and lie to them that I was a good boy all day/week. They fortunately believe me.
On a bright day anyways…

Sleep always takes the cake (I prefer the rum cakes here too though) and The Creator was kind enough to have my slumber habits spelt on paper (and some tell me, it’s also written behind a garbage can in Dharavi).
All this, on a nice calm night…

This cycle repeats itself in succession, day after day (bright and otherwise … and the nites too)

PS: Pretty sure I wont mention my weekend activities here … (no intentions of pulling out scandalous endeavors) …………… Well at least for now ……………

I’m done pakaoing bout’ this un-bright day BTW, and in case you’re still reading this line you might want to hit ur head against the nearest of hard hedges/walls.

I hope it turns your sunny wheel though … be good and have a good one you all … life’s good … always good

Picked up from a board … hilarious to the core …

Yea i’m looking for Sex,

Everybody who has a dog calls him “Rover” or “Boy.” I call mine “Sex”.

Now, Sex has been very embarrassing to me. When I went to City Hall to renew his license, I told the clerk I would like to have a license for Sex.

He said, “I’d like to have one too.”

Then I said, “But this is a dog.”

He said, “I don’t care what she looks like.”

Then I said, “You don’t understand. I’ve had Sex since I was nine years old.”

He said, “You must have been quite a kid!”

When I got married and went on my honeymoon, I took the dog with me. I told the motel clerk that I wanted a room for my wife and me, and a special room for Sex. He said that every room in the place was for sex.

I said, “You don’t understand, Sex keeps me awake at night.”

The clerk said, “Me too.”

One day I entered Sex in a contest but before the competition began, the dog ran away. Another contestant asked me why I was just standing there looking around. I told him I had planned to have Sex in the contest. He told me that I should have sold tickets.

“But you don’t understand,” I said. “I had hoped to have Sex on TV.” He called me a show-off.

When my wife and I separated, we went to court to fight for custody of the dog. I said, “Your Honor, I had Sex before I was married.”

The judge said, “Me too.”

Then I told him that after I was married, Sex left me. He said, “Me too.”

Last night, Sex ran off again. I spent hours looking around town for him. A cop came over to me and asked, “What are you doing in this alley at 4 o’clock in the morning?”

I said, “I’m looking for Sex.”

My case comes up Friday.

“dropped by to say hello”, they said
I couldn’t take it anymore. I blasted out and asked them to leave at once
“don’t need this. there’s been a lot of wrongs done already”

Something told me, “this was invented”

The Geodon dosage was taking due effect.

Pleaded with the medics, “please, help my ailing head!”

In a bizarre turn of events, the selection committee named God as India’s next probable captain. After serious deliberations on the current hotchpotch between Greg Chappell and Saurav Ganguly, the committee unanimously echoed a truce and waved white flags (released ‘white’ doves on both sides etc.) and decided to suspend the latter‘s team credit cards (so no more “assumed private visits” to Nagma land for Dada, unless he gets hooked onto a TV commercial OR is funded by his wife). Mr. Chappell was also allowed to continue with due warning that he could no longer send emails to anyone on the board (despite the fact that he had nothing to do with the email leak, tells a lot about our management and their technology skills). A system admin will now monitor all outbound mails coming from Chappell’s account(s).

In a separate incident, the Bureau of Prevention and Detection of Email Forwards reprimanded the Chairman of BCCI, Mr. Jagmohan Dalmiya and remitted him to Delhi Cyber Crime Squad (yes it exists!!). The news on air was that Mr. Dalmiya apparently was pleading not guilty with due claims of a crude-techno-psychological gumball that has apparently been inside his head for the better part of his life. This, to his defense will mean that he was not thinking when he hit the forward button (that also explains a better part of what he’s been doing all this time in the Cricketing world). Some other reports say that he has always been a spammer, with members of the board getting his chain mails (”Click this link to earn $100000″, “Click here to visit Tarannum” and the likes).

Moving ahead … with the Dada b/s (versus) Chappell news flowing all over bangla channels and newspapers. Despite this, West Bengal was surprisingly quiet and sobered down with only incidents spanning burning down of Chappell effigies/pictures, stone throwing at the Australian Consulate and some Anglo-Indian homes (apparently they’re still clueless where Chappell came from), some morchas (processions) with “Chaulbe Na” (This Won’t Do) cries and banners.

By the bay, if anybun baunts to join the morcha, do note down the timings: Breakfaast – 10:00 AM to 11:00 AM followed by the briefing on how to auppear busy. Then lunch at 12:00 PM followed by the 3 hour nap. Restart the morcha at 3:00 PM and shut down shop at 4:00 to retire for the day. Contact anybun in the city for this info, he/she bill know bhere the next session will be. There aupparently is a bangla bebsite for searching, seeking and aupplying for these morchas. The pre-requisites to aupply include the phonetic adjustment and usage of “b” instead of “v” in daily diction and the aubility to eat liquids or at least claim that you eat it and not drink it.

(I’ve always wondered this one thing bout Bongs. Bengal must have come about as a direct result of their inability/reluctance to pronounce “V”. So was Bengal originally Vengal?). Anyways, coming back to the topic and point, Kolkata is relatively mild mannered in this entire fiasco. It’s lazed chaotic morchas, stone throwing, and effigy burning as usual in Bengal.

Of course, with news of the truce hitting the air (and all Bangla channels) things have gone back to where it was originally (i.e. lazed chaotic morchas, stone throwing, and effigy burning as it usually is in Bengal)

As for why God was being speculated as the next Indian captain, well it goes without saying … only He can save us now. The team’s been playing crappy all this time anyways. Now we have a coach, a captain and their unmarked love for each other, which we all know for sure is gonna further pull down the psyche of this already hurried up team. With whackos like Harbhajan Singh, who BTW doesn’t know his mother from his dog (harsh words used by my boss thrown at Manish JP – our network admin – these words still remain fresh in my head for some reason) and Ashish Nehra, who quite frankly is a true waste of talent and his own time (and he stands as his own culprit and admits it too, yes he’s gonna tell us that he’s stupid … Oh wait … he’s injured again, slipped in the bath and broke his collar bone .. I guess next time then). Both these “items” have time and again shown that their wonderful skills on the ground have always gone hand-in-hand (or mouth) with their fouled mouths. Learn to respect your team you nitwits, and that’s a sincere request.

Dravid is the pauper in this entire ordeal and he will soon unfortunately take over the role of India’s “scapegoat” for all bashing. But I still maintain, give God a chance to lead.

God save these men and Indian cricket

PS: On second thoughts, maybe we should put Dalmiya in the bootcamp and make him lead the team as punishment to his spam/chain mail. Ganguly anyways didnt really perform. Isn’t too much different from this person who doesn’t know which side of the bat to hold while batting. And plus we won’t have no spam nomore from this dude eh, ain’t that something!!

It was hot,

He tried to bend and pull, it wouldn’t let him,

He removed his trousers, and it felt a lot better…

Then he removed the jocks’ too, and woah was that something, they could breathe again!!

The jocks’ were punishing these two this day, he thought

He soared forward to take that leak