Statue of Puberty

Our kids (in particular, the Ghoshs, the Iyers, the Kunders, Mehtas, Manniges, Palanys, Yederys, Raos, Joshis, Nadkarnis, Mathurs, Tanks) would one day exhibit a part of our genome (time to go woohoo) when their nursery rhymes go like …

Iyer’s kid
twinkle twinkle little star
how i wonder how you are
up above the world so high
appa amma in the sky
yeh jo chaand hai na ….

Alap’s kid
johnny johnny
yes papa
eating sugar
no papa
telling lies
no papa
open your mouth
go F#*$ yourself

Baangd’s kid
mary had a little lamb
little lamb, little lamb
mary had a little lamb
to kya mein naachu?
daaad, i want busta rhymes

Mannu’s kid
Baa, baa black sheep
Have you any food
Yes sir, yes sir
Three bags full
Sahi hai Sahi hai
Ma, i’m hungry, gimme thepla and undhio

Andy’s kid
Row, row, row your boat
Gently Down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.
I will still not tell Krupal’s kid
ki woh roti kyu khaata hai

Abhi’s kid
London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down.
London Bridge is falling down,
Lamba story hai, baadmein batayega

Paro’s kid
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
I willin’t tell you what happened afterwards

Bird’s kid
This old man, he played one;
He played knick-knack on my thumb.
With a knick-knack, paddy whack,
This old man, hey he’s my own dad.

Apoo’s kid
A B C D E F G
H I J K Let me go pee
Old MacDonald had a farm, E I E I O,
Now I know my ABCs

Pully’s kid
Ring-a-ring o’roses
A pocket full of posies,
Atishoo! Atishoo!
We all fall down.
This is not helping me Pa
Can i please study for my SATs

Harshal’s kid
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
AMD struck one
Intel struck nine
Hickory, dickory, dock
I want to clock my block

Alpu’s kid
Spiderman, Spiderman
Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman
(Interrupted by Dad)
“That’s not a Nursery Rhyme”
I know dad, I was teasing

Pals’ kid
Humpty Dumpty
Sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty
Had a great fall
Waaaaaaah Waaaaaah
MuuuhMeeeeee

Krupal’s kid
I’m a little teapot
Short and stout
Here is my handle
Here is my spout
When I get all steamed up
Hear me shout
I sound like my daddy
and bloj in my shorts

This post attempts to illustrate the choices made by us and their inherited follies. With that knowledge in order, it may also hurt sentiments of all those mentioned above and also turn nasty with riot bombs being hurled towards me by respective spouses. Worry not, coz I promise to bring their genome pools into a fresh batch of Nursery Rhymes as well. I sure can wait till everyone above ties the knot.

Also a third version will be created, which will have a mix-match of the husband-wife combined gene pool and direct attempts to assassinate their characters is quite obviously imminent.

Disclaimer: If any of the above families feel the need to dispute on the Rhyme selected and it’s inherited style, they may do so by actually procreating (usually takes nine months and a couple of years at least for the first few words to pop out) thereby proving that their respective kid sings the rhyme differently. All qualms of suing me will be taken in light spirit with mixing agents like cola or soda to be consumed at Alap’s place.

I would also like to invite you all to post alternatives to the above Rhymes in the comments section below, in true spirit, exhibiting all possible characteristics of the aforementioned (including me) with no qualms on holding back on assassination attempts.

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.

Baangd: kaisa hai
me: full fit

Baangd: had booze last nite
now listening to rock songs and radin the guru’s advice
reading*

me: abey
i was with u boozing last nite at Alap’s
waste

Baangd: i know, i was just saying so

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)

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 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…

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 …

This is the story, of a boy named Apoorva Joshi.
This boy played good fair cricket
Mastered the art of swing bowling when he was very young
Soon became the captain of Nandanvan Cricket Board
His passion and love for the sport bore no bounds

Apoo was a class apart
He wore his favourite chadds and hit the grounds
He made sure he gave everything to his team
Including his peculiar bowling style
(for the rest of the world to laugh, most would agree)
But it was cute nevertheless

So what was this famous style that carried words and sentences to mighty distances?
Why was it so special that every team in the block wanted to play with us?
(not because we lost so often, we’re sure)
Why was it that we had sugandi devi’s chillar pillar coming over to witness this wonder?
Why was it that audiences from across the border were onlookers for this wondrous nature’s yell?

Well hell yea … our boy Apoorva Joshi had the style …
His bowling style dictated amassing auras of chronic nature’s calls
Apoo would start with a normal run-up, pass the umpire and head towards the crease
And then would exhibit the most natural of stances a doggie would take when he’s gotta leak

Yes, Apoo does a doggie pee
He gets his leg up and pauses for a century
God knows why it stays for so long
Ah well, I figure it’s for me to blog on

There are no two words to describe this call
The batsman’s wondering where’s the ball
The keeper, his fielders are waiting so
But Apoo, well he won’t let go

God, there were times when we were playing underarm cricket and we thought Apoo would still get that leg up … We used to think we didn’t water the pitch enough and Apoo was showing his noble gestures.

His legs went up we thought he’d spray
But we knew one day he had to pray

I know this brings the same amount of joy and glee as any other Apoo bashing story.

But trust me … you had to be there … maybe we’ll make him bowl/spray for us again though.

Bewa aka Paro aka Paras (Note: Paras is not plural for Paro)’s guju hiphop song with sub titles

Parag Gandhi (a guju dude in his office) … comes and tells him,
“Paras chal lets write a guju hiphop .. I give u a tune” .. and he goes “su kare che aatu su kare che .. su kare che aatu su kare che”

Paro had the pen hai? expression on his face at first .. and then he thought he’d give it a thought just to see what comes about …

… and this is what Paro came up with …

su kare che aa tu su kare che (what u doin hey man what u doin?),
parag ni baaju maa besi aatu su kare che(sittin next to parag dude waht u doin?),

su kare che aa tu su kare che (what u doin hey man what u doin?),
parag ni baaju maa besi aatu su kare che(sittin next to parag dude waht u doin?),

parag che ch***yo, dekhave bhootyo( parag is his mothors first born child, looks like a ghost),
shahrukh ni copy karta eeno land je tutiyo(immitating shahrukh, he broke his dick)

pachi su??(en what??)

pachi toh salo gay thai gayo che(en hes become a gay),
gaaaandu .. bi thai gayo che(mad … hes become a bi)

chokraoo ne pherve (dates all his guy friends),
chokri ne puche .. ben aani recipe su che?(asks all his female friends … sister cud u share this recipe with me please?)

su kare che aa tu su kare che (what u doin hey man what u doin?),
parag ni baaju maa besi aatu su kare che(sittin next to parag dude waht u doin?),

eena daddy toh hairam, mom che pareshan (his daddy is shocked, his mom is tensed)
bhai ben nu toh khabar nahi pan purush mitr bole .. aaiii parag aaviyo run!!(dont know bout his bro n sis but his male friends say .. ohh parags coming run),

su kare che aa tu su kare che (what u doin hey man what u doin?),
parag ni baaju maa besi aatu su kare che(sittin next to parag dude waht u doin?).

roaking gaan Paro … you roak bhai …