Ek Michael Ki Maut - Myshtery Rejolved

Choco recommends in shudh Hindi that I write about Rakhi Ka Swayamwar. "Web dainiki mein unke swayamvar ke barien mein chapne ka prayas kare toh hum use padne ka vachan detein hain." After that barrage, all of which I don't understand - who has the courage to say no.

I cant write much about the show. I have only watched one episode. A re-run.

This is how it all occurred.

I was surfing channels. I landed on this strange one. And then I saw her. She was dressed in pink. “Mujhe Aishwarya se bhi khoobsoorat brides banna hai” she blabbered.

The earth shook.

I cringed... puked... lost my appetite... then my mind… developed suicidal tendencies... screamed… jumped off a building... and died...

I entered Heaven. I walked around. I saw a Rakhi Sawant look-alike. Dancing.

Someone told me that it was Menaka.

I overreacted. I slapped her.

The Go-On-Darling sent me to hell.

I reached hell. I sensed respite. But it was short-lived.

I was in for a shock.

The devil is a fan. He is her creator. He named her Raakh-I and sent her to earth to recruit fresh ass-in-instants.

Now he awaits her return. He was impatient and angry.

I heard that she refuses to come back. “I likes Aarth too much” she tells him “All aarth-with-lings waant to marie me”.

I think she means earthlings. I also think she means marry. I could be wrong.

The devil, unable to take the pain of longing and separation, has taken to his bed. He is found there all day, roasting in a forever-melancholy mood.

He is now called the Dev-ill.

Over a period of time, I came to realise that the temperature in hell varied considerably. I asked someone called Atom Bhai Narakhia the reason for the temperature change.

He exploded.

He screamed that it is the bloody Dev-ill’s ass-in-instants keeping him in humour. Apparently, the temperature increases each time an ass-in-instants tells Dev-ill that Rakh-I is cumming. I think they mean coming.

Or maybe not. I don’t know. I was too busy getting roasted.

I got the devil to curse me and send me into exile - to the nether world.

Now this was easy.

I tried to explain to the horny fellow “Rakh-I isn’t cumming right now. Period.”

I don’t think Dev-ill understood. He was fuming. I had abused his Ash-wariya. He was in flames.

He went on to foam at the mouth and then promptly threw a fit.

I tried to get him to smell my slipper.

He spat on me and I found myself in netherworld - enveloped in the Dev-ill's spit bubble.

There I stayed suspended for no-time. Then one day after bursting the bubble with a pin (don't ask me where I got that from) and through a small window in time, I found my way back to earth. I came to realise that I was now a ghost.

“She has had it now” I thought to myself. “I shall haunt this Raakh-I to death”

I found her. It was easy.

I just asked one random Johnny “Oh Boss… Yeh Shaadi kidhar hai??”

He pointed towards Rajastan.

Soon, I found her and tried to haunt her.

“poo” I squeaked.

I meant to say "BOOOO." God promise.

She looked at me. She raised her eyebrows. “What a hots bhooth” she said “Itna safeds safeds aur mujhe pyar se poo bhi bulata hai. How cutes”.

“Mujse shaadi karoge” she sang.

I was shocked. She wasn’t scared of me. She wanted to marry me.

I asked her why.

“These facking Indian mards wants marries me” she wailed “They wants vergen”

“Please marry me bhooth. Please say yes. Yours my Shahrukhs and I ams your Gauris. Now come on byabye… lets do the marries”

Suddenly her mood swung again.

“I am pavitra bharatiya naari and I ams vargen… but no one believes my surgeon,” she told me.

Things were getting sad. I tried to change the subject.

I asked her if she uses botox

“How dare you” she screamed “I am a vargen.”

Suddenly I found her doing an item girl version of Madonna.

“I do not mean anything wrong” I squeaked “It was an innocent question”

“Then ok jaanu” she said as she fluttered her cute fake eyelashes “Yes jaanu… I use my botox…. every mornings… for the shits”


I couldn’t even die….



In short - earth, heaven, hell, netherland or Neverland (apparently Michael got a phone call just a few minutes before he visited his doctor)... there is no respite from Rakhi Ka Dimaag-pe-vaar

Cock-Raj

Something has come over me. I was trying to write a short story, which has been lying dormant in my mind since Adam was a boy.

However, the only thought that seems to come to my mind is… cockroach.

"Now, why is this dimwit thinking about cockroaches and then writing about them on his blog?" This, I must confess, is a fair question to ask.

Truth be said. I have no answer.

I have very little control over this dim meandering mind of mine…

Therefore, I cast aside the short story and write a blog post on this pet… peeve…

I convince myself that if my fellow bloggers can write brilliant posts about cats and dogs – Then I should be allowed the liberty to write about cockroaches. Cockroaches are, after all, the creation of the same almighty that created you, cats, dogs, and me.

Now, there are some amongst us who will argue, and rightly so, that only if I had a cockroach as a pet, would I be worthy to write with authority on cockroaches.

I would therefore like to point out that this post does not intend to sermonise about the virtues of having a cockroach as a pet. This post is about a little problem I have and a brilliant plan I have in mind to cure myself of this minor irritant.

I am terrified of cockroaches - especially the big ones with wings.

For some inexplicable reason, the ones that do fly… fly straight at me. There seems to be this peculiar attraction that I hold for them.

Now there are those who have had the opportunity to witness this. They have gone right ahead and formed a number of theories to explain this strange phenomenon.

Some say that it is quite possible that, in my next life, I am destined to be a cockroach. Or it might turn out that I was a cockroach in an earlier lifetime. Others debunk the reincarnation theory and believe that I am destined to turn into a cockroach during this lifetime itself. Wouldn’t that be magical?

Finally, there are those, who to my face, tell me that I am nothing but a cockroach and that it should not surprise me when I attract others of my specie. I have often wondered if these are the only truthful people on earth. It maybe so, that the world is nothing by an illusion, and in this illusionary world, I, a cockroach, look at myself in a mirror and see myself as a man.

Anyway. I digress. As I was saying, cockroaches tend to fly straight at me. When such global calamities strike and cockroaches fly, I tend to mutate very quickly into a superhero. I mean, I can fly and jump over buildings. My superhero avtaar, however, does not need a cape and at times can be found flying around with only a dirty red (and sometimes yellow) underwear. Much collateral damage is caused and many innocent people come to harm when this strange Superhero takes off – with a cockroach hot on his heels.

Now, for those of you reading this and thinking to themselves “what a wuss”, I would like to set matters straight and state that I am not usually a scaredy-boo. I do not, for example, fear scorpions or snakes or mushrooms.

I have, on multiple occasions, had the opportunity of close acquaintance with each of these creatures and have found them to be quite harmless if not friendly.

Then why do I fear puny cockroaches? This most pertinent question deserves a long and lengthy answer, but to cut it short and say it in three words ( I have been found guilty of many a long blog post) – I don’t know.

Finally, after many years of living in fear and many cockroach-human chase sequences, I have, after much thought, decided to face up to my fear. No, I do not plan to spend a night in a casket full of cockroaches. I do not intend to compete in Fear Factor – and lose my life to cockroaches on national television.

I have instead formed a simple and implementable plan. I will adopt a cockroach and bring her up. Yes, my cockroach will grow up to be a daughter to me. I will teach her to crawl, send her to school, protect her from insecticides, lizards, and cats, teach her to fly high, eventually get her married. I plan to grow old and die in the company of my flying grandchildren. Finally, in their company, I will rid myself of my fear of cockroaches.

And yes, for those that have got here and are convinced that I am nothing but a nut, allow me to agree with your brilliant assessment. I am, indeed, nothing but a nut.

But like all good nuts, this nut has a more intricate agenda behind his nutty plan. Please read further if you still have the courage…


Joy - Part 1
A cockroach I will adopt
And keep her, safe, on my loft
She will be a daughter to me
As wonderful as any daughter can be

I will teach her to fly
And reach for the sky
She will be safe
No harm shall come her way

I will teach her to date
I will find her a mate
Of course, she will procreate
Eight hundred times eighty into eight
Million

Ecstasy - Part 2
In time my fellow humans
Your generations shall self-destruct
Your Politics, Your wars, your bombs, your holocaust
Extinct, Kaput, Finito – Ha Ha…There… watch… these morons go bust

But Stand by and Watch Human - My lineage will survive
Be Careful Human – They will Grow, prosper, and thrive
Yes, Its Funny ain’t it Human – laugh at me in mirth
Fuck You Human – Its MY descendants who inherit YOUR earth

You think I am a nut , don’t ya
You think I overreact, fuck ya
Watch this space, will ya
Cockroaches survive holocausts, can ya
Self-destruct soon, I beg ya









Congratulation to those who have got here – You have just read the worst blog post ever. No, I don't do drugs and did not write this under influence...

To those of you who have bothered to read my blog posts until this day and have made a solemn promise never to come back again – Good Bye.

To those who plan to come back in the future – I salute you and I admire your courage.

To those of you, innocent souls, who were misled into reading this because of the blog post name and came here expecting pornography – I apologise.

Candid Four Pointers... with Skilled Sugar-coating

I have to say it. I hate to say. I have been tagged.

The misfortune that has come upon me is my own doing. I incurred the wrath of a candid friend - also my favorite anonymous blogger. She was tagged and tags can sometime put bloggers who choose to be anonymous in a tad uncomfortable position. Well, one can’t really be candid.

I tried to give her a hard time. In return – the vengeful one tagged me. Tagged by someone, who, as a norm, refuses to tag anyone.

I therefore pick up the tag and try to do justice to it.

So here goes – The Four Pointer.

Four places you have lived:
1) I have lived for the longest time and continue to live in a little suburb in Mumbai. A little more than half a century ago, the suburb was a quaint little fishing village. It has now transformed into a bustling town – known for its spiraling real estate prices, shopping, nightlife, sea front promenades, and now its increasing expatriate population. And now a sea link.

2)My coming of age years. For the first time in my life, I had to move out of Mumbai after I was head hunted and landed my second job. I relocated, for a few years, to the little city not far from Mumbai. The city, then a haven for pensioners, middle class locals and students from all over the country, was just about finding its feet and preparing itself (unknowingly) to become a poor mans replica of Mumbai – inheriting all its problems. The expressway between Mumbai and Pune wasn’t built then. I lived in all sorts of rental accommodation – from a one-room pigeonhole to a two bedroom flat shared with five other fellow savages. Freedom - I have have never had as much fun. The best days of my life – house parties, army rum, sex, chilly evenings, jackets, hill stations, rain, bikes, the first steady relationship, parsi food, failed attempts at trying to cook, nostalgia…

3)Hotels. I have lived in all sorts of hotels in countries all over the world. Good hotels, grand hotels, bad hotels, small hotels, big hotels, dodgy hotels, dingy hotels, cheap hotels and expensive hotels. I have stayed in hotels for work, holidays, after missing flights and on romantic getaways. I hate hotels.

4)Hotel Decent. Anyone who has seen ‘Jab We Met’ will remember the dodgy hotel from the movie. I have, unwittingly, stayed in place exactly like that. Picture this - The room next door creaks opens. The door closes. Animated chatter. Giggles. The sound of locomotion. Creaking bed. Giggles. Animated chatter. Door Opens. Door Closes. Twenty minutes of silence. The door opens again. Repeat.


Four TV shows you love(d) to watch:
Now this is a tough one. I have never thought much of the idiot box and I don’t really enjoy idiotic company. But still….

1) He-Man and the Masters of the Universe – I watched this animated series as a child, faithfully, every Sunday evening – with bread and jam. For some reason, I had to have bread and jam religiously, every Sunday, while I watched He-Man take on Skeletor. Another reason I can’t forget the show is a recent incident in a church during a christian friend's wedding mass. During the service, the priest asked the congregation to bow their heads and make a silent prayer. One could hear a pin drop. A little child, sitting in front, across and not far from me, took this opportunity to draw his imaginary sword, raised it towards God and screamed “ BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL. I HAVE THE POWER”. The priest quickly forgot his prayers. The congregation tittered. The mother was embarrassed and the father beamed – proud of his son.

2) Giant Robot – A Japanese series dubbed in English and another childhood favorite.

3) Man vs Wild - Bear Grylls and his hair-raising adventures. Pure adrenalin. Real.

4) MTV Roadies – Corny and voyeuristic reality TV. But the concept of a long cross country road journey appeals to the traveler in me. Also, Raghu Ram, in my opinion, is brilliant.


Four places you have been to on vacation:
1) Goa – The 12 hour drive from Mumbai is brilliant. The romance in the air, the sound of the sea, the food, the people, the unhurried lifestyle - the place is intoxicating and it isn’t just the cheap alcohol. I slept on a beach once – lulled by the sound of the waves in my ears and the cool wind in my hair. I opened my eyes to a fresh early morning breeze and watched local villagers, at peace with themselves, walking past, smiling, unhurried, for an early morning service at a local church which opened up to the beach.

2) Mangalore – My grandmother’s village. Coconut groves, mango trees and jasmine plantations. The laziest place in the world with the sweetest smelling jasmine scented air. I go there when work gets to me and when I want a few stress free and lazy days. Once there – I just sleep or put my feet up and read. Heaven.

3) Phuket – Thailand… Thailand… the ocean… snorkelling…scuba diving… corals… water sports… the nightlife… need I say more…

4) Kashid – Read Goa but closer to home.


Four of your favorite kind of food:
1) Indian – The diversity in the country is demonstrated through the variety in food options.

2) Indian Chinese Street Food – The Indianised version of Chinese food tastes best at any local street side thela – especially on a rainy evening. Triple Shcezwan rules.

3) South East Asian Food – Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese and Chinese food, the best-looking food in the world.

4) Irish Stew & Stakes - Sorry, that probably makes it five. But I cant help it. It was tough short listing five in the first place.


Four websites you visit daily:
1) Wikipedia

2) Rediff

3) Candid Talk (Cant help it – Choco is prolific, writes everyday and writes well)

4) My company website (sorry… cant disclose the name… or I wont be anonymous anymore)

5) Used to be Expressive Silence too – but she pulled the blog


Four places you would rather be:
1) Goa

2) Managalore

3) The Lake District – One of the most beautiful places I have been to and the best place to enjoy English weather (I personally find English weather to be the most fair weather in the world – I wonder why they complain)

4) Kashid


Four things you hope to do before you die:
1)Travel around India for one month. I want to travel by train in second-class compartments with no fixed destinations or plans, with a limited budget and without mobile phones or plastic money. I want to live among the people and stay in cheap hotels. I want to travel to the heart of India – to its villages, B towns and C towns – and stay with people in their homes. My destination each day and the mode of transport decided spontaneously at the spur of the moment. My fellow travelers – my books and my camera.

2) Learn the guitar and master it

3) Learn to para glide

4) Retire by the time I am 45 and then write a book


Four novels you wish you were reading for the first time:
1) The God of Small Things – A book that probably wrote itself and Arundhati Roy just took credit. Never have I read anything more magical - influencing and manipulating the imagination, making it soar high and dive deep, all at once. After every few pages – I had to lie back, let my mind take over and imbibe the magic bit by bit. The only book I have read twice.

2) The Fountainhead – A book that has had an immense influence on life. .

3) My name is Red – I did not have to read this book. It sat up and spoke to me. All its characters, animate and inanimate - had life. Brilliant narrative

4) Swami and Friends – For its simplicity. I wish I could write like that. I wish I had a childhood like that. I so wanted to grow up in Malgudi.

5) The Famous Five – I know I am cheating but I want to be a child again and run to the local circulating library. The smell of old books combining with the smell of incense. Pick up a Famous Five book. Run back home and start reading the book with a mom-made Salami sandwich. Aaah! Why did I ever have to grow up…


Four movies you love:
1) Dev D – Or anything by Anurag Kashyap (I loved No Smoking). The film turned Devdas on its head and the visual imagery influenced me to write “Mother Loves Jeremy”. Now I wait for “Paanch” to see the light of day.

2) Life is Beautiful – Chaplinesque. The only movie that made me cry aloud… and I looked so stupid because I think I was smiling at the same time. The father – a hero to his son, both in a Nazi concentration camp and separated from the mother, tells his son that the camp is a game – and the one who gets 1000 points first wins a tank. Inspiring and beautiful. Funny and heart wrenching. An underrated masterpiece.

3) Oldboy – A South Korean. A man is kidnapped and imprisoned illegally for 15 years. He spends the 15 years in one claustrophobic room – with no access to the outside world. For 15 years he plans his revenge and trains himself. Only – he cannot seem to think of anyone with an incentive to do this to him. After 15 years – he is released – as suddenly as he was kidnapped. The man, a misfit, in the outside world, now has only one objective – to find the man who did this to him. The end hits you like a brick that falls from the top of a high-rise and hits you bang on the head. The film was plagiarized in Hindi and made into a bad film called Zinda.

4) Mard – I watched this Amitabh Bachchan starer some 25 times on home video when I was a kid. I still like it. The film is an absolutely regressive, B grade and senseless pot-boiler. Imagine this - A father, a king in exile, has british soldiers hot on his heels. When the soldiers are about to get to him – he picks up his little son, an infant, and with a knife carves “MARD” (Macho Man) on his chest. The infant smiles back. Mard Ko Dard Nahin Hota (A real man never hurts). The child grows up to be the Mard jisko Dard Nahin Hota – Amitabh Bachchan.


There... Done...dusted... And dedicated to Choco...

I know I am supposed to tag someone... but tags can be real drags... anyone who is inspired enough to do so can please pick up this tag and waste a post on it... only... please come back and leave a comment... so I can come over and read and be happy that someone else also had time to waste...

It’s a load of Rubbish… Read at your own Risk

Agent Green Glass finishes a 101 and Choco writes a 100, and I sit here trying to think of something to write. I realise that I have been thinking ever since I wrote some stupid story about the sweetness of salt.

I burn with envy. How can they be so prolific. Ms. R seems to churn out one poem a day. And each one seems to make so much sense.

In anger, I hunt blogosphere. I have to find another blogger as lethargic as I. My hunt leaves me frustrated and depressed. Everyone seems to be updating the blog at least once a day. And there are those idiots who do it twice.

Slowly I realise. Now I understand how the “little” boy felt in the common shower.

I can’t even update mine once a week. What can I write about? Nothing seems interesting enough. I have a few stories spinning in my head – but then I am too lazy to pen them down.

I can’t write poetry. I can’t intellectualise. I can’t write about food. I find politics boring. History repeats. Stories take too long. Films are watched and then forgotten. Work life is a constant. Women never change much. Who wants to write about men anyway? Nostalgia dawns… then yawns. And pets I don’t have.

I need inspiration. Or a muse. Or something to amuse.

Then I read Choco… write for yourself she screams… and as always she sounds candid… and threatening. I say fine. OK. I will write. For myself. Do I have a choice? Who wants to incur the wrath of a candid friend.

So I write this rubbish on my blog.

I am inspired.

I have moved my ass.

Now I move my fingers.

Still no muse

But now I am amused.

I have a post

I have exorcised the ghost

I rest in peace…

I can be lazy for another week

My blog name should change…

One post a week... by a very lazy freak

Moments that Mattered

The Best Compliment I Ever Got
Friend to Me: Boss, If you write... you are a writer...

The Worst I was ever abused
(Different) Friend to Me: Ay bhaire... dikhta nahin hai kya???

Slumdog Thrill-ionaire

We are a divided people… yet again…

And this time it’s a film…. It’s the Slumdog's film

It wasn't very long back when it was so cool to rave and rant about this wonderful (???) little film about this kid from Dharavi who makes it big.

Now, for many, it suddenly is so uber cool to run down the Slumdog film as anything but cool. Those singing hosanna a few weeks ago have now turned up their snot-filled noses and talk about the same film as:

• Yet another instance of the foreign hand's cinematic exploitation of India’s poverty (Not one shot of the skyscrapers or the multiplexes man… what the f@#k... Is Dharavi all we have to show to the world)

• An eighties potboiler all dressed up in Hollywood chique (Imagine if Subhash Ghai had made this… would they take it to the Oscars...haan…) Wait man... this ones easy… it even has Anil Kapoor… only... he would have been playing the role of the teenage millionaire if Subhash Dada had laid his hands on the script first

• One of the masters lesser works (b@nc##t... theek hai yaar music… par saala Dil Se, Roja type nahin hai. Even f#@%ing Delhi 6 has such mind blowing numbers man…. Par saala Hollywood film hai… is liye chal gaya… l@udu saala…)

• A foren film… (What the hell man… Everyone is behaving like its an Indian film yaar…. stupid d!@#heads... It’s a Howlywood film dude… we have nothing to do with it… ch@tiyas)

And where I say is the great Mr. Mutha-lick. I am so waiting for him to open that smelly trap of his. Where is he when we need him. Busy licking his mutha like a nice Mutha-licking cat??

And when are we going to make this an election issue boss... Are they crazy... its election time soon.. get down to dharavi... ban the movie... I cant believe this... have our politicians suddenly discovered a conscience???

Jokes apart... I agree. I do agree to an extent, with all the above (not mutha-lick mind you). They did show poverty and Mumbai does have another swanky side. Maybe an Indian could have made a better film… someone like Anurag Kashyap could have worked wonders with the subject. Rehman does get better with age… this is definitely not his best… his best is yet to come. This IS not an Indian Film.

What I don’t understand is this… it is the same film… nothing changed in the last few months. The book has been out for years… It was written by an Indian... no one complained all this time. So what changed in three months…

• Is it more intellectual (and therefore more swanky) to be snobbish and go against the tide… to be seen as someone with an independent mind and an independent opinion
• Are we living in denial... The film was not about Karan Johar's next door neighbours... It was based on a book about an underdog from the slums... who makes it big... Karan Johar's neighbours could be dogs (owned by a real millionaire) but they definitely not underdogs... no way...
• Is it that we just cannot stomach success by our compatriots
• Is it that we just cant view the film impartially just because it was made in our backyard… and… again… yet again... we missed the bus… we lost the plot… somebody whisked away OUR success story from under our noses AGAIN (like mutha from under Mr. Mutha-licks nose)

As for me... I loved the film.... absolutely loved it. And I haven't seen it yet. Probably wont ever. That's the way it works with me. Either is see it in the first week or my lazy bones just refuse to move by body and take me to the theatre.

I loved the film because I would love anything that acts as a catalyst to bring our countrymen international recognition.

I would love anything that can bring that 1000 wat smile to the face of that little kid from Dharavi who happened to find himself teleported from the grime, the dust and the shit of his everyday life. Teleported straight to a dazzling red carpet that might just fly and take him to his dreams. The dreams that he had dare not dreamt of just a year back.

If the movies are about dreams... dream on slumdog... Life ain't all shit all the time...

CARS CAN PUMP KIN

I had a dream. Oh, I had one of those bigger ones. A big car. One of those big ones that you buy and imagine yourself driving down the road and everyone drops everything and looks at you with their eyes wide and mouth agape.

And...In my dream it actually happened… I drove down the road and everyone looked at me with their eyes wide in astonishment. I could almost read their mind. The eyes were actually wide. The mouths were really agape. A child asked his mother “What is this thing mamma??… Why does it croak? It is a Big Froggy, no??”

“Yes my child” I wanted to tell him “It is a big froggy that uncle…no… sorry... bhaiyya... It’s a biiiiiggggg froggy that bhaiyya’s mechanic dissects every month in his metal laboratory.” Children are sooo cute, no. Can I choke one to death please?

I dreamt that I bought this car for my mechanic. At least, that is what it seemed. The man, in his almost shoulder length Caribbean hairdo, dark glasses, long!! Shorts (are they Bermudas… does any one wear them anymore), floral shirt, rum breath, a$$H@@!# drove my car more than I did. I could almost see his gleeful smile and his hair blowing in the wind as he took the 500th post repair trial. I could see his golden tooth sparkling in the sun (this wasn't true… made it up in my dream… was frustrated… please understand). His father, of curly hair fame, thanked me when I paying him. “Tank You” ha baba, lemme know if any ting happens, Ok.”

These ‘Ting’ happened like shit happens.

I dreamt that I had bought the damn car second hand. Yup. I know you are grinning too. You B!tc#. I was always smart. Born smart. I am a work of art. Just like a whistling fart.

Why pay all that dough for a new car when it depreciates like a D!@k after a fu@K. Might as well buy a good (???) second hand car and save all that money. You idiot… you.

So, in my dream, I went to this friend’s (???????) brother’s wife's uncle’s wife’s brother’s nephew, who happened to be a car dealer. “Mere rishte mein hai yaar… kidhar aur jaega to maamu banega”. Reassured, I went forward with my head in the sky and my feet in my a$$. And as it turned out, my friend WAS right. Barabar bola tha… maamu nahin bana…

Ch@t!ya ban gaya…

This smooooth operator. This grease bag. This fat pumpkin sold me a bigger pumpkin. He made me feel good about pumpkins. “Boss”, he said, “Boss, Yeh pumpkin hai naa… ekdum best hai. Aur pumpkin ka color to dekho, hain. Pumkin kya dikhta hai boss. Kya lagoge aap jab aap pumpkin ke oopar baithoge. Pumpkin mein ek baar bait ke to dekho. Wah! Kya Pumpkin hai sirjee”. In retrospect, all that remained was this small round pumpkin pulling his d!#k out (after finding it somewhere, hidden under multiple layers of meat) and getting off on the bigger “pumpkin”. Well, he did sound as if he was getting an orgasm.

I was his relative’s friend. So he thought he should pump-kin. He must have. That’s what my friend, in the dream, said a few months later when the engine screamed WHORE WHORE one morning. Horny pumpkin… my pumpkin.

And the things that happened to my pumpkin... apart from screaming out for WHORES every couple of months (a mating cry which, by the way, was answered, at lightening speed by the wannabe Caribbean mechanic slut), it found new ways to deprive me of my hard earned money between each WHORE cry. Oil leaks suddenly sprouted and when the mechanic had fixed that with his D!@k, it was time for the pumpkin to land on its ass as the suspensions gave way. Then the Air conditioning thought that that its only objective in life was to warm the cockles of my heart.

I contributed too. I loved my car, so I took it swimming. In the rains, that is. Then I pampered it more by buying it a brand new engine made by (guess who???) a Caribbean.

Now, in my disturbed sleep, I saw that my pumpkin has gone crazy. It has lost its gears. Literally.

And I am finally about to take a post pumpkin meal dump. Anyone who likes pumpkin… please give me a shout. I promise to sell you the most expensive pumpkin shit ever.

Who knows, you might just make it to the record books as the proud and bankrupt owner of the most expensive pumpkin... if you do manage to convert shit back into pumpkin.

Kya lagoge aap jab aap pumpkin ke oopar baith ke jaoge, sirjeeeeeee.