Statue of Puberty

Technology has been our friend for a very long time now. Right from the time our Neanderthal friends started using the first of hand tools (which BTW, is pretty handy now, mostly used to scare pigeons that want to hump in your bedroom and on occasions to pelt away at your boss when he’s not watching), thru’ to the weapons age which carried a history of pain inciting methods and finally on to the computer age (and very soon perhaps the robotic age).

We invented the airplane a hundred years back. People could now travel the world (with a hole in their pocket) just for kicks, make business trips, flirt with stewardesses and on occasions drop bombs on unsuspecting countries.

A subsidiary of the above meant that people could travel to remote places of Africa and hump monkeys and just for fun hump humans immediately after traveling back. Humpsters that we are, HIV and a pleth of other monkey-hump-cycle-invoked diseases (which otherwise sat pretty inside the monkey) came out to travel in airplanes. In case you know the person responsible, and if he traveled by road, just for information … the motor car also stands as a technological aid. If he walked his way to another country, he was a loser anyway.

Speaking of motor cars, this again was a brilliant wheel merchant in the invention scale. To the numb, the motor car in principle started off with the basic principle of the wheel (which to me is the greatest invention). We now have the luxury of not just one wheel but millions of tiny revolving rivetty structures designed specifically to meet the needs of our daily commute. We can now not only run over innocent bystanders, but also make a mockery of property worth plenty and if we’re bored, shout at hapless commuters for being stupid.

The microwave ‘wave’ took the cookstorm world by surprise too. People could not only have their food ready instantaneously but also warm their undies for that special day feel.

Theater and Cinema followed closely by Television all gave us the entertainment that was promised. Who could have come up with innovative methods to execute people, derive innate pleasure with sadistic plots in soaps based upon an even more sadistic looking mother-in-law.

The internet marked a more recent technology wave. It has revolutionalized the way we seek information and gather courage to speak to a stranger without knowing rats ass (sometimes literal) about them. We could now stupefy our persona to a level not thought of earlier. Some of the other benefits include writing crap about anything and everything you want in the world and not giving a damn (as is the case now … also refer the links on the side for more crap).

Coming to the present … news is just in that a blind pair of mice have had their eyesight restored with the first of light-sensitive cell transplants. This quite obviously means that I still have hope, and in a hundred years, I’ll be able to enjoy the wonders of science (or robotic pornography over the internet as it exists then) just like the rest of you.

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)

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.