The sun at its radiant best. Angry blue skies. Arid earth. Hot collars.
No cloud cover. No respite.
A few harried salesmen and other sundry parched throats trudge along towards their destinations. Beads of sweat wet the foreheads. Their thirsty eyes look up in hope at those delightful soft drink hoardings. High up in the air, the hoardings look down at the tired souls and give hope. Magical blues and revitalizing greens. Cool cubes of ice floating in those tall glasses with multicolored nectar. A sight to quench your thirst while a greedy corner store awaits you.
A sun burnt cart puller. Dark sweat laden skin and thin sinewy muscles bounce off the sunlight while they exert the very last bit of energy left in them. The malnourished man pushes them to the extreme to carry his cross and inch towards his destination and to the few rupees that will feed his family this evening. Each step costs a fortune in blood and sweat, but ironically, is worth only a few pennies. A drop of life trickles down his forehead, works its way down to the bridge of his nose, finds his parched lips, ignores his kiss, finds the chin, drips down to wet his bare chest and dissipates into the wetness of his chest.
The cart puller curses the sun. But then he repents. He is poor. He has no education. But he is wise. He knows deep within, that the sun may be merciless, but the sun is still a friend. Not like the rain.
The sun is always angry. But it is honest.
The rain, it is enticing and beautiful and pleasurable. But it is sly.
In the rain, no one will hire his cart. An empty cart is directly proportional to an empty stomach. Sorry. Six empty stomachs.
Not far away a man in his air-conditioned car looks out at the world. Cradled in his seat of luxury, awaiting a traffic signal to go green, he looks out at the beggar knocking at his window in disgust. The beggar, deformed and probably deranged, brings his sun burnt thirsty lips close to the expensive window pane. He knocks on the window and makes a sad face. A man pleading for life sustaining bread and a nourishing drink of water. A man begging to live.
In his mind, the beggar too curses the sun, for the sun cares not for those who have little. He sides with the rich and roasts the poor. The beggar tries to open his mouth. But his dehydrated lips give up. He mumbles some words that say nothing but mean despair. The man in the car, however, can hear nothing. His ears are tuned to the throbbing music that reverberates through the expensive beige interiors. He breathes in cool air and gestures to the strange life form outside his window. Be gone you creep. “Why the fuck cant they work. If I give him money I know I will end up feeding the beggar mafia”
The beggar trudges away towards other carriers of hope that await the signal to go green. One of them holds the key to nourishment.
And then there are the children. Hopping and skipping to nowhere. Their unruly hair and their oily pigtails braving the mighty sun, making friends with the scorching sunlight.
How can they be unaffected by the mighty summer? Does innocence nourish, shield, and protect. Or is it the benevolence of the sun for those that will, hopefully, one day, bring about compassion that the worlds needs.
The sun lives in hope and burns with anticipation. He lights up those little lives and is optimistic. One day, before he collapses into himself to become a supernova, these little ones will work up the magic of innocence and sing songs that extend compassion. One day they will eradicate sin. On that day, everyone will see the light.
God looks down at the sun. He looks down with a wry smile. A glint in his eye.
“They will not understand because they are not programmed to”
“Not many will understand that my greatest creation is not man or the sun or the water or fire or the planets. Not even the universe. Not love. Not the heart. Not even the brain.
My greatest creation….
Equilibrium….
Which I created in abundance….
Right and wrong
Rich and poor
Hot and cold
Life and Death
Love and hate
Creation and Destruction
Cyclical
Interdependent
For that which sustains also destroys
One feeds the other
One negates the other
One leads to the other
One balances out the other
Fuzzy logic… yeah… equilibrium…. My greatest creation
Showing posts with label Places and People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Places and People. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Friday, September 25, 2009
You know that I love you, don’t you???
“You know that I love you, don’t you”
“Yes baby”
“Then don’t ever leave me.” He sounded upset.
“Why do you say such things baby. And that too over a long distance phone call. It hurts”
“I don’t know what comes over me. Sorry. I guess I am a bit frustrated. Life is not really great, you know”
“Don’t worry babu. I loooove you”
“I don’t have much money you know. Or I would have come down to meet you. Things are really tough. I lost my job because of the fucking recession. I think the bastards needed an excuse to kick people out and recession was their excuse”
“Doesn’t matter. We will meet soon honey. Till then we have the phone baby. And If you don’t have money – I will call you”
“You are chooo sweet honey” he cooed.
“I love you baby.”
He saw her in his mind. She was radiant. Her jet black her and her cute nose. He wanted to bite the nose.
“Heh Heh… You know what I want to do now”
“No. What?” She was all innocence, wasn't she?
“Guess” he teased.
“Shut Up. That is all you can think of” she said in mock annoyance.
“You don’t like it? Ok. Wont talk about it” he teased again.
“No baby. Of course I do”
“Then why are you taking bhav”
“Shut Up”
“He He… listen to me na… You know what I feel like doing”
“No babu. Tell me”
“I want to kiss you”
“And”
“I want to feel your tongue on mine”
“And”
“I want to move down slowly, smelling your skin, kissing your neck”
Giggle. “Shut up. I am feeling ticklish”
“I want to run my tongue over your lips, find your chin and work my way down to your breasts”
“And then”
“Move up slowly again and find your mouth. I want to smell your breath. I want to feel the wetness of your mouth. I want my body to be warmed by your flesh. I want to tickle your breasts. I want to feel them grow in my hands.”
“You are so good baby" she cooed. "I can feel your hands baby and your breath. I love you baby. Come here na. What are you doing there. Come her Now. Pleeease”
“Shhh. Listen. Can you feel my tongue moving back down your neck. Can you feel my tongue moving towards your breasts. I can feel the taste of salt on your skin baby. I can smell your breast. I can hear your heart throb”
“Baby" she moaned "I can feel your body against mine. I can feel its warmth. I feel your strength. Your large manhood and your rigid hardness. Your hard harsh hands crushing my delicate body. I want you baby. I want you now. Move your hands lower down na baby. Feel me there. Find me. I want you there”
“Baby. My hands are reaching down. I feel your belly button baby. How I love it. Its depth. Its….
CLICK.............................................................................
"Hello... Hello... Baby... are you there baby.... Helooooo"
“Fuck” she thought “the line dropped.”
She wiped her brow. The air conditioner wasn't working for three days now.
She smiled to herself. And then stifled her laughter.
The fifty year old lady in the next cubicle was doing her version of the orgasm. It sounded suspiciously like an alien being tortured in Area 51. “Now which was that film”
“Poor woman. She’s giving it her all” she thought "But she wont last long. Its her first day live on calls and the big boss would be monitoring all her conversations. Alien shrieks don't work for the boss. But I wonder what her story is. Everyone here has a story. If only someone listened carefully, they would find a story screaming out loud through each fake orgasm"
That reminded her. She had to collect her paycheck from Burger King for the part time stint she did there during the last month. But she was doing two fucking shifts back to back this week. Sex sells. Even during a downturn.
"I wonder when I'll find time" she grumbled. "A million corny B-movie dialogues to be spouted sixteen hours a day - I can feel your large manhood and your rigid hardness. What the fuck is rigid hardness" she laughed to herself. "Hard harsh hands crushing my delicate body" she laughed again.
The middle aged alien looked at her in disgust.
Her phone was ringing again.
“Fuck! Seven calls on queue” she muttered to herself “Seven horny toads salivating, one of whom will help pay for my child’s education”
“Wait… I am coming baby”
“Seven calls on queue bitches. Everyone on the phone. NOW”
PS: This post is inspired by a tweet that grabbed my attention a few days back on Mentalie's blog
“Yes baby”
“Then don’t ever leave me.” He sounded upset.
“Why do you say such things baby. And that too over a long distance phone call. It hurts”
“I don’t know what comes over me. Sorry. I guess I am a bit frustrated. Life is not really great, you know”
“Don’t worry babu. I loooove you”
“I don’t have much money you know. Or I would have come down to meet you. Things are really tough. I lost my job because of the fucking recession. I think the bastards needed an excuse to kick people out and recession was their excuse”
“Doesn’t matter. We will meet soon honey. Till then we have the phone baby. And If you don’t have money – I will call you”
“You are chooo sweet honey” he cooed.
“I love you baby.”
He saw her in his mind. She was radiant. Her jet black her and her cute nose. He wanted to bite the nose.
“Heh Heh… You know what I want to do now”
“No. What?” She was all innocence, wasn't she?
“Guess” he teased.
“Shut Up. That is all you can think of” she said in mock annoyance.
“You don’t like it? Ok. Wont talk about it” he teased again.
“No baby. Of course I do”
“Then why are you taking bhav”
“Shut Up”
“He He… listen to me na… You know what I feel like doing”
“No babu. Tell me”
“I want to kiss you”
“And”
“I want to feel your tongue on mine”
“And”
“I want to move down slowly, smelling your skin, kissing your neck”
Giggle. “Shut up. I am feeling ticklish”
“I want to run my tongue over your lips, find your chin and work my way down to your breasts”
“And then”
“Move up slowly again and find your mouth. I want to smell your breath. I want to feel the wetness of your mouth. I want my body to be warmed by your flesh. I want to tickle your breasts. I want to feel them grow in my hands.”
“You are so good baby" she cooed. "I can feel your hands baby and your breath. I love you baby. Come here na. What are you doing there. Come her Now. Pleeease”
“Shhh. Listen. Can you feel my tongue moving back down your neck. Can you feel my tongue moving towards your breasts. I can feel the taste of salt on your skin baby. I can smell your breast. I can hear your heart throb”
“Baby" she moaned "I can feel your body against mine. I can feel its warmth. I feel your strength. Your large manhood and your rigid hardness. Your hard harsh hands crushing my delicate body. I want you baby. I want you now. Move your hands lower down na baby. Feel me there. Find me. I want you there”
“Baby. My hands are reaching down. I feel your belly button baby. How I love it. Its depth. Its….
CLICK.............................................................................
"Hello... Hello... Baby... are you there baby.... Helooooo"
“Fuck” she thought “the line dropped.”
She wiped her brow. The air conditioner wasn't working for three days now.
She smiled to herself. And then stifled her laughter.
The fifty year old lady in the next cubicle was doing her version of the orgasm. It sounded suspiciously like an alien being tortured in Area 51. “Now which was that film”
“Poor woman. She’s giving it her all” she thought "But she wont last long. Its her first day live on calls and the big boss would be monitoring all her conversations. Alien shrieks don't work for the boss. But I wonder what her story is. Everyone here has a story. If only someone listened carefully, they would find a story screaming out loud through each fake orgasm"
That reminded her. She had to collect her paycheck from Burger King for the part time stint she did there during the last month. But she was doing two fucking shifts back to back this week. Sex sells. Even during a downturn.
"I wonder when I'll find time" she grumbled. "A million corny B-movie dialogues to be spouted sixteen hours a day - I can feel your large manhood and your rigid hardness. What the fuck is rigid hardness" she laughed to herself. "Hard harsh hands crushing my delicate body" she laughed again.
The middle aged alien looked at her in disgust.
Her phone was ringing again.
“Fuck! Seven calls on queue” she muttered to herself “Seven horny toads salivating, one of whom will help pay for my child’s education”
“Wait… I am coming baby”
“Seven calls on queue bitches. Everyone on the phone. NOW”
PS: This post is inspired by a tweet that grabbed my attention a few days back on Mentalie's blog
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Rain Makers... Mumbaikars
A beleaguered humid city
Prayers for respite from summer
Rain gods answer
Little raindrops rejoice
Summer runs asunder
A few days of joy
Then the city down under
Gutters run wild, shoes soiled,
Clothes don't dry, Yada Yada Yada
The city prays for winter
Aunt winter wears a sweater
Though its only 20°C-old
Days end early, Asthma attacks, Mosquitoes bite
Exams here and vacations round the corner
The city longs for summer
PS: Looooooong days.... shrt psts...
This post is dedicated to the city of complaint boxes.... I am... proudly... one of them... I enjoy the rains now... I look forward to complaining about it soon... WATCH THIS SPACE...
Prayers for respite from summer
Rain gods answer
Little raindrops rejoice
Summer runs asunder
A few days of joy
Then the city down under
Gutters run wild, shoes soiled,
Clothes don't dry, Yada Yada Yada
The city prays for winter
Aunt winter wears a sweater
Though its only 20°C-old
Days end early, Asthma attacks, Mosquitoes bite
Exams here and vacations round the corner
The city longs for summer
PS: Looooooong days.... shrt psts...
This post is dedicated to the city of complaint boxes.... I am... proudly... one of them... I enjoy the rains now... I look forward to complaining about it soon... WATCH THIS SPACE...
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Brown but not Out...
Chain reaction. Two angry young ladies. Kadambari wrote something followed by Agent Green Glass. I started to comment on AGG’s blog and realised that I had ended up writing a full-fledged post…
AGG and Kadambari are very angry. And rightly so. Angry with the recent attacks on Indians. And they have a very interesting solution. They recommend that we retain our posture of peace and ahimsa and attack these nations with our largest weapon - Our population.
Procreate and conquer.
Interesting concept and communities and religions have tried this before but with very limited success. This is also one of the reasons why societies, historically, were partial to that the male population. And men could marry multiple times. But I digress.
In my opinion, however, procreate and conquer is unlikely to bear dividends.
When populations migrate, they eventually take on the identity and adapt to the culture, habits and customs of their new adopted land. Over time and generations, the original identity is lost. Third generation brown skinned people living in the UK, for example, ARE as British as any white skinned man is. Loss of jobs to India hurts them as much as it pains a white skinned citizen. Bottom-line – if the procreate and conquer theory succeeds then brown skin may overcome but India won’t.
And some day in the future... we may have brown skinned citizens of one country attacking brown skinned people of another country.
Furthermore, we are not equipped as a nation to procreate exponentially. We prove this to ourselves each day. Moreover, we don't want to continue to create a nation of servants.
Its probably utopia... but the solution lies instead in managing our problem of procreation while at the same time empowering our already massive population with infrastructure, skills and knowledge to take on the world.
History is witness to the fact that it isn’t always the most populous nations or communities that have succeeded in creating new markets. Look at what the English, historically, and the Japanese, more recently, have achieved.
The solution lies in flooding the world with the power and output of our most potent weapons. Our mind and our creativity in “Jugaad”.
Most importantly, it is critical to achieve this from “our shores”. Work harder… in our country… to create our land of dreams… for us tomorrow… for our children…
While this is easier said and done, we have, over the last twenty years or so demonstrated considerable initiative to make this possible. Furthermore, the good news is that even if we achieve success with a fraction of our population, our strength in numbers ensures that returns are massive. It also helps that while the developed world is getting older... we are relatively young.
At the same time, we have to stop lending ourselves to the situation we often find ourselves in...
We have to stop being colour discriminatory ourselves. Oh yes! Indians ARE colour discriminatory. Our markets are flooded with products like ‘fair and lovely’ and our classifieds carry matrimonial ads for “young, fair complexioned men and women”. Bottom-line – A large part of our population still believes that the white skinned man IS superior. This shows in our behaviour and our attitude. Unfortunately, the way the world works… if you give an inch…
We have to treat ourselves, our infrastructure, and our nation with more respect. You will never find an Indian throwing litter on the streets of a developed nation. But bring him back to his country of birth… and he starts flinging garbage missiles out of his car and out of his window. Then we go and blame Slumdog Millionaire of bias. And we think nothing of badmouthing our roads, our infrastructure, our people, our habits, our democracy, our politicians and our everything to all and sundry. As a result, the picture that the world has of our streets and our people reflects on us. A people that thrives in filth… A people that come from the back of beyond.
Change is critical. Change is constant. Unfortunately, we hate change. We are Indians. So remain our habits. Even in Rome, we do as the Indians do. We lend ourselves to caricature.
We compete on cost. We fear competing on quality. We forget our ability to do "Jugaad"... our ability to conjure up solutions. We underestimate our creativity... And we are looked upon as cheap.
Ahimsa is history. Ahimsa was a very practical solution to a problem of the time. Ahimsa was not an excuse for cowardice. Ahimsa should not be used as an excuse for cowardice. Two men beat up one. Three friends of the man being beaten up stood by and watched. They came from the land of Ahimsa. They offered the other cheek… not theirs… but that of their friend. They were non-violent… not by choice… but by compulsion… They were cowards. Cowards attract bullies. Remember school. I don't recommend violence. But if you are dragged into it. React.
If we smell the salts... wake up... change... be practical... not just radical... think... create... improve... little by little... each one... everyone... the possibilities are endless... and brown will be the colour of choice... of success... of opportunity...
Finally... a day where we all go colour blind... Ah... Utopia... maybe... but feels good...
AGG and Kadambari are very angry. And rightly so. Angry with the recent attacks on Indians. And they have a very interesting solution. They recommend that we retain our posture of peace and ahimsa and attack these nations with our largest weapon - Our population.
Procreate and conquer.
Interesting concept and communities and religions have tried this before but with very limited success. This is also one of the reasons why societies, historically, were partial to that the male population. And men could marry multiple times. But I digress.
In my opinion, however, procreate and conquer is unlikely to bear dividends.
When populations migrate, they eventually take on the identity and adapt to the culture, habits and customs of their new adopted land. Over time and generations, the original identity is lost. Third generation brown skinned people living in the UK, for example, ARE as British as any white skinned man is. Loss of jobs to India hurts them as much as it pains a white skinned citizen. Bottom-line – if the procreate and conquer theory succeeds then brown skin may overcome but India won’t.
And some day in the future... we may have brown skinned citizens of one country attacking brown skinned people of another country.
Furthermore, we are not equipped as a nation to procreate exponentially. We prove this to ourselves each day. Moreover, we don't want to continue to create a nation of servants.
Its probably utopia... but the solution lies instead in managing our problem of procreation while at the same time empowering our already massive population with infrastructure, skills and knowledge to take on the world.
History is witness to the fact that it isn’t always the most populous nations or communities that have succeeded in creating new markets. Look at what the English, historically, and the Japanese, more recently, have achieved.
The solution lies in flooding the world with the power and output of our most potent weapons. Our mind and our creativity in “Jugaad”.
Most importantly, it is critical to achieve this from “our shores”. Work harder… in our country… to create our land of dreams… for us tomorrow… for our children…
While this is easier said and done, we have, over the last twenty years or so demonstrated considerable initiative to make this possible. Furthermore, the good news is that even if we achieve success with a fraction of our population, our strength in numbers ensures that returns are massive. It also helps that while the developed world is getting older... we are relatively young.
At the same time, we have to stop lending ourselves to the situation we often find ourselves in...
We have to stop being colour discriminatory ourselves. Oh yes! Indians ARE colour discriminatory. Our markets are flooded with products like ‘fair and lovely’ and our classifieds carry matrimonial ads for “young, fair complexioned men and women”. Bottom-line – A large part of our population still believes that the white skinned man IS superior. This shows in our behaviour and our attitude. Unfortunately, the way the world works… if you give an inch…
We have to treat ourselves, our infrastructure, and our nation with more respect. You will never find an Indian throwing litter on the streets of a developed nation. But bring him back to his country of birth… and he starts flinging garbage missiles out of his car and out of his window. Then we go and blame Slumdog Millionaire of bias. And we think nothing of badmouthing our roads, our infrastructure, our people, our habits, our democracy, our politicians and our everything to all and sundry. As a result, the picture that the world has of our streets and our people reflects on us. A people that thrives in filth… A people that come from the back of beyond.
Change is critical. Change is constant. Unfortunately, we hate change. We are Indians. So remain our habits. Even in Rome, we do as the Indians do. We lend ourselves to caricature.
We compete on cost. We fear competing on quality. We forget our ability to do "Jugaad"... our ability to conjure up solutions. We underestimate our creativity... And we are looked upon as cheap.
Ahimsa is history. Ahimsa was a very practical solution to a problem of the time. Ahimsa was not an excuse for cowardice. Ahimsa should not be used as an excuse for cowardice. Two men beat up one. Three friends of the man being beaten up stood by and watched. They came from the land of Ahimsa. They offered the other cheek… not theirs… but that of their friend. They were non-violent… not by choice… but by compulsion… They were cowards. Cowards attract bullies. Remember school. I don't recommend violence. But if you are dragged into it. React.
If we smell the salts... wake up... change... be practical... not just radical... think... create... improve... little by little... each one... everyone... the possibilities are endless... and brown will be the colour of choice... of success... of opportunity...
Finally... a day where we all go colour blind... Ah... Utopia... maybe... but feels good...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A Simple Life
I put up a forum post recently in this bloggers forum called A Blog Post Written By You... That You Love the Most. The idea was to find some good blogs to follow.
The post got some 25 odd responses and I discovered a number of great blogs. But the one that stood out and simply blew me away is a blog called "A Simple Life" written by this chap called Ravi Lobo.
The writing, in my opinion, is outstanding, simple, lucid and fresh.
The reason I put this up is because I have a feeling that the number of people who don't know about this excellent little blog far outnumber the ones who do...
Give it a read... I promise you will not regret...
The post got some 25 odd responses and I discovered a number of great blogs. But the one that stood out and simply blew me away is a blog called "A Simple Life" written by this chap called Ravi Lobo.
The writing, in my opinion, is outstanding, simple, lucid and fresh.
The reason I put this up is because I have a feeling that the number of people who don't know about this excellent little blog far outnumber the ones who do...
Give it a read... I promise you will not regret...
Monday, May 18, 2009
Effective and Efficient Processes to make Swine Fly
Last week I happened to visit three countries. The UK has over a 100 cases of swine flu, Dubai does not have one yet (I think) and India has one detected case of swine flu.
Dubai and the UK are not screening anyone for the flu. India is. If you can call it screening, that is. As usual, we are the best at designing processes and most awful at implementation.
Swine flu screening, according to our babus, is a process of making tired and jet lagged travelers fill up a declaration form stating that they are in the pink of health, stand in yet another mile long queue to have the aforementioned form stamped by a babu in a face mask and finally have jet lagged and now queue phobic traveller submit the form to a bored looking chap in immigration.
Why can’t just bored babu stamp the swine form??? Well, he obviously can’t. How can bored babu have the same skill sets as face mask babu??? Face mask babu is obviously a doctor or nurse or something like that. And one needs all that education to stamp a swine flu form with the power and the passion of a blacksmith, doesn’t one???
Also face-mask babus are gifted face readers. The man looked at my face and through my hair when he stamped the form. For all that matters, even if I had cancelled out everything on the form and instead written in bold that “I AM AFFLICTED BY SWINE FLU”, the man would in all probability, have stamped the form with all his passion and vigour, said “Ookay, theeeeenk you siiiir” and let me go on to bored babu.
Maybe, just maybe, face-mask babus are actually voodoo doctors. Maybe the harder they hammer the form with the stamp, the further swine flu flies from the person whose name is on the form. Maybe “Ookay, theeeeenk you siiiir” is a voodoo charm. Maybe its swine flu that is making me write this...
Finally, I am sure the screening process aims to achieve more than just screening. It aims to make the country immune to swine flu. An old grandmother remedy for disaster says “Feed a fever and starve a cold” and so therefore only old grandmother babu could have conceptualized this brilliant process. After all, only when you throw in a few thousand people in twisted serpentine queues, with a potential swine flu victim on all four sides of every passenger, can you ensure that we have the maximum potential traveling population exposed to swine flu.
And how well the process works…One swine flu over the babu’s nest...And landed in Hyderabad…
Dubai and the UK are not screening anyone for the flu. India is. If you can call it screening, that is. As usual, we are the best at designing processes and most awful at implementation.
Swine flu screening, according to our babus, is a process of making tired and jet lagged travelers fill up a declaration form stating that they are in the pink of health, stand in yet another mile long queue to have the aforementioned form stamped by a babu in a face mask and finally have jet lagged and now queue phobic traveller submit the form to a bored looking chap in immigration.
Why can’t just bored babu stamp the swine form??? Well, he obviously can’t. How can bored babu have the same skill sets as face mask babu??? Face mask babu is obviously a doctor or nurse or something like that. And one needs all that education to stamp a swine flu form with the power and the passion of a blacksmith, doesn’t one???
Also face-mask babus are gifted face readers. The man looked at my face and through my hair when he stamped the form. For all that matters, even if I had cancelled out everything on the form and instead written in bold that “I AM AFFLICTED BY SWINE FLU”, the man would in all probability, have stamped the form with all his passion and vigour, said “Ookay, theeeeenk you siiiir” and let me go on to bored babu.
Maybe, just maybe, face-mask babus are actually voodoo doctors. Maybe the harder they hammer the form with the stamp, the further swine flu flies from the person whose name is on the form. Maybe “Ookay, theeeeenk you siiiir” is a voodoo charm. Maybe its swine flu that is making me write this...
Finally, I am sure the screening process aims to achieve more than just screening. It aims to make the country immune to swine flu. An old grandmother remedy for disaster says “Feed a fever and starve a cold” and so therefore only old grandmother babu could have conceptualized this brilliant process. After all, only when you throw in a few thousand people in twisted serpentine queues, with a potential swine flu victim on all four sides of every passenger, can you ensure that we have the maximum potential traveling population exposed to swine flu.
And how well the process works…One swine flu over the babu’s nest...And landed in Hyderabad…
Friday, May 1, 2009
Change the Name... Mumbai to Dumbbai
The next time I hear a Mumbaikar complain.... I will hit the looser... all of us from Mumbai are loosers... we are back at being the city that "bounces back from the depths of despair"... some spin doctor coined that... and coined that to eclipse that distasteful fact that what we really are is "apathetic"... Worst of all... we fucking believe the spin doctors... we believe that we are indomitable... bring it on... natural disasters, terrorists... we the brave Mumbaikars will prevail... bull shit... the only thing that gets us cowards out of our houses is the stomachs that we have to feed.
Were was the other 60% of "brave" Mumbai when they were needed to make one little contribution that could potentially drive major change. When all one had to do was stand in line and vote. Hello...Where did everyone vanish... the lot of them...
Brave Indeed! the fuck worths could not even brave the sun!!
But wait... for the fuck worths... there is still hope... the spin doctors are at it again... look at the excuses...
1) It was too hot (its fucking Mumbai... its hot and humid all through the fucking year)
2) Summer Holidays - the north Indians went back home (who the fuck thought this up???... the chap is a talent... find him... honor him... kill him!!!)
3) Extended weekend - everyone is out of town (Ya... the streets of Mumbai were empty indeed... who thought of this one???)
4) All politicians are corrupt (and if you don't vote.. you fucking looser... you bet the most corrupt is also the most likely to win... and you share responsibility... fuck worth)
I am ashamed of being a Mumbaikar... I am ashamed of being a part of an indifferent dumb people... I am ashamed of being a Dumbbaikar.. I hate me...
Were was the other 60% of "brave" Mumbai when they were needed to make one little contribution that could potentially drive major change. When all one had to do was stand in line and vote. Hello...Where did everyone vanish... the lot of them...
Brave Indeed! the fuck worths could not even brave the sun!!
But wait... for the fuck worths... there is still hope... the spin doctors are at it again... look at the excuses...
1) It was too hot (its fucking Mumbai... its hot and humid all through the fucking year)
2) Summer Holidays - the north Indians went back home (who the fuck thought this up???... the chap is a talent... find him... honor him... kill him!!!)
3) Extended weekend - everyone is out of town (Ya... the streets of Mumbai were empty indeed... who thought of this one???)
4) All politicians are corrupt (and if you don't vote.. you fucking looser... you bet the most corrupt is also the most likely to win... and you share responsibility... fuck worth)
I am ashamed of being a Mumbaikar... I am ashamed of being a part of an indifferent dumb people... I am ashamed of being a Dumbbaikar.. I hate me...
