Who’s Your Daddy?

Alright, so I’m sitting at my desk, “working from home” and generally minding my own business, when the cell rings. I don’t recognize the number, but when I answer, a young girl’s voice shrieks out:

“Hello…DADDY??”

FREEZE. FRAME.

Do you ever have those ‘Scrubs‘ moments, where reality pauses for a while, and in your head, you’re facilitating a vagina transplant*, giving an Oscar acceptance speech or wondering what would happen if the paternity-related phone call was NOT a wrong number?

Funny. Scary, but funny.

UNFREEZE.

Me: “Err..hmm..hehe…wrong number child..”

And the weird thing is, I’ve got quite a few of these phone calls from different kids in the past. I wonder where I’m headed to.

*Best Scrubs fantasy ever.

This Makes Perfect Sense At 3:00 a.m

“Hey whaddup?”

“Nothing except…well..we broke up…again!”

“Haha! Fuck what is this..the 15th time you’ve broken up with the same girl?”

“15th..20th..fuck knows…”

“When did it happen?”

“Just a couple of hours ago…”

“What happened this time?”

“Usual shit…distance and all that crap…dimaag bhosada ho gaya benchod!”

“Arre chhod na..you’ll be back together in 2-3 days..you always get back together. Chutia ek saal se tera yeh natak dekh raha hoon!”

“No man..not this time. The break-up was different this time.”

“Different how? Like ‘her-body-is-in-the-boot-of-my-car’ different?”

“Very funny (thinks) Waise which car would be the best in that case..Skoda I guess, no? It’s got one of the biggest boots.”

“Maybe..but fucken’ Skoda handles like a truck man…you’ll yourself die driving it.”

“What? I thought you enjoyed driving the Skoda…1.9 litre na, turbocharged and all?”

“Yeah..ripping it is fun, but it’s fucken diesel na, so it’s like a truck only. Full sardar log ka gaadi hai benchod…just like Tata.”

“Yeah, but Skoda’s expensive…it’s for the sophisticated sardar…Tata is for the common ones..”

“Hehe..yeah. (Pause) So what were you saying?”

“About what?”

“Wohi..break-up and all?”

“Haan…wohi it was just different this time. Like I’ve heard it from her before y’know – ‘I can’t do this anymore, you’re never there, I need you to be physically present all the time’ blah blah blah. Fucken’ how can I be there ALL the time? So anyway, everytime she says stuff like this and insists on a break-up y’know, because that’s her thing..that’s what she does..she runs away. And I can understand why..I mean I know the reason she behaves like this. Not many people know her like I do..”

“Dude, you can’t help it. All chicks have issues. Especially the pretty ones. In fact, they’re the loneliest of the lot.”

“Yeah I know but what’s the need to panic? I’m not running away anywhere…chill na thoda!”

“Ladki hai yaar..what’d you expect?”

“I know..so everytime she wants to break up, I convince her otherwise…but this time, it was so mindfucking..ek toh she’s acting all detached..and things are more stressful now…

“Uh huh..”

” So anyway we fought about that, shit happened, she asks if I wanna break up and I’m like ‘Ok. Just take care of yourself’. I didn’t even feel like convincing her otherwise…quite a weird break-up it was.”

“What do you mean…weird?”

“Well there was no screaming, no anger…I just wished her luck and genuinely meant it. I want her to be happy. I mean she of all people, deserves to be happy. I don’t even hate her…and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Hmmm. Waise it’s not just the chicks…we’re also retarded in a way. We only fall for the crazy ones don’t we?”

“Yeah true…the normal ones are too boring. Don’t last more than a month. And even that’s too much. (Pause) And plus I’m not saying that the break-up is entirely her fault y’know? If I could do this again, I’d do it better. But I don’t think she’s gonna change…”

“And let’s face it…neither can we. We’ll be back to our usual haraampanti in days.”

“Heh! Yeah maybe…but fucken chicks are *never* happy. At least we’re not going crazy thinking about the future and fucking up our present y’know?”

“True, that.”

“It’s like I can see God sitting up there. He’s probably looking down at the world He created, full of fucked up people like us, and He’s sitting there thinking ‘Ok so I messed up a bit, but hey..just because I’m God doesn’t mean I’m perfect.’ And He’s saying to Himself ‘I’ve got like till Eternity to sort this mess out, so I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need a beer.’ And He’s sitting there chilling, sipping Corona – obviously heaven is full of Corona – and fucken Mrs. God walks in, looks at the world He’s created and fuckin flips. And now She’s giving him The Look. You know…the raised eyebrow look..the look that says ‘Saala you’ve been hammering away in the garage for thousands of years now and THIS is what you’ve come up with?’ And then She shows Him the parallel universe that She created, and it’s fucking nice and clean, and smells like flowers, and She’s all nonchalant like ‘Oh I did this in like 20 minutes, while waiting for the cooker whistle to blow.’”

“Fuck..I can totally see that happening.”

“Totally. (Pause) I mean you do all you can and it lasts more than a year, which is a fuckin long time for people like me and her – not that I’m saying I did everything right, but still, I, or rather, we, me and her, we made it last this long – and then it just died out. And why? Because of the fuckin’distance! Because it takes 1.5 hours to drive from my place to hers. It ended because of logistical issues. Sheh! What kind of an end is that?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that when we were together, and weren’t fighting, fuck…it was such a headrush! She’s smart, hot, fuckin’ talented…every day was like an adventure. The flirting, the randomness and the fuckin’ speed at which we moved…leaving the entire world behind, it was…magical. And something surreal like that just fizzled away…turned into flat beer. A love
story like this deserves a cool end…cool doesn’t mean tragic – like fuckin devdas and suicide and all – but something consistent with the whole initial magical phase y’know?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno…she could’ve been a spy on a covert mission..like Mata Hari…she was thinner and hotter than Mata Hari of course. Fuckin that Mata Hari was fat..dunno why those guys found her hot. Plus I’d never be able to fuck someone called Mata..that’s just plain weird. Or maybe an alien..like a human female, but from a parallel universe, so technically she’d be an alien.

“Ohkay…”

“Think about it man…how many guys have made love to an alien? That’d be a love story I’d fucken write a book about, sell the movie rights for it, write the fuckin screenplay and also bloody claim royalty on the action figures…whatsay?”

“Dude..nobody’s gonna buy an action figure of you. Action figures aren’t supposed to have beer bellies you know..”

“Fuck you.”

“Hehe.”

“Hey you know what would be even better…she could’ve been a bisexual alien. Or at least a straight alien who liked to experiment. And of course she’d have hot, curious, morally-impaired friends. Fuck, now THAT would be an epic love story.”

“Yeah…instead of Romeo and Juliet, they’d fuckin teach schoolkids about you..the alienfucker.”

“Heh..yeah. But fuck that…all I get is an ordinary end, no aliens and all. How the fuck am I supposed to write about it?”

“I dunno..I guess you’ll think of something.”

“Yeah I guess I will. Anyway, let’s meet up tomorrow evening. I need to get drunk.”

“Yep sure.”
————————————————————————————————-

Disclaimer:
The conversation is inspired from real life and is part-truth, part-fiction. Resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely intentional. And yeah, it won’t kill you to leave a comment.

Random Page from a Random Life

Silhouettes danced against the dusk-hued backdrop of his mind, their contortions tempered by the need to cocoon himself in stillness. The shadows fought back of course, spurred by the rhythm of his vicissitudes. The opera swirled up to a crescendo before slinking back into peace, and rearing up all over again, as if reborn. Daylight was its death, and daylight would
not come. So they danced, till the reds bled deeper, obscuring the yellows in a wave of contempt.

And then, he awoke.

—————————-

Reality gifts you with a certain degree of control, that the mind robs when you’re asleep. Dreams, at least in my case, offer different, often wilder and deeper perspectives. Which is why I love to sleep. The fact that I can justify sloth with pseudo-excuses like the one above, just adds to the fun.

—————————-

What I learnt (and re-learnt) in the past six months:

1) I’m good. I’m bloody damn good.

2) The day I refuse to see beyond the above statement, is the day I die.

3) Letting one’s guard down is scary. Which is why I’m glad I did it.

4) The rat race is for real. This realisation is the first step towards staying out of it (or so I hope).

5) Never, ever stop giving a fuck.

And on that note, I shall sign out. Till we meet again – so long and thanks for all the pageviews.

Randomness

So I see that my blogcounter has crossed 400.It was on 399 last night and I was waiting for the scales to roll over and fall into place.Not that 400 is a significant number or a very large count.In fact it’s peanuts and only monkeys are happy with peanuts, they say(Ok so maybe THEY don’t say but I do..and they should too, whoever they are).But considering the scant number of posts, it’s still a decent quadruple century.I’d like to take this oppurtunity to thank the Academy, my producer,my cast and crew..
*Oh shit..wrong speech!*
*Fumbles around in pockets for the right speech*
Seriously though, I absolutely love the fact that you take the time to visit my little home in cyberspace.Maybe you know me personally, maybe you don’t, but it’s a fascinating realisation that something born in the deep recesses of my mind could reach out to people anywhere in the world and inspire them,make them laugh,cry,ponder,barf in disgust or just give them something to do when they’re bored to death.

And bored is what I have been lately.Not all the time of course but yes, bored enough to come up with stupid jokes.Like this one:

If a threesome is three people having sex and a twosome is two people having sex, then why is hand-some still a compliment?

Jus warming up folks.There’s more:

Porn Films that probably haven’t been made(but you never know):

Sex Files:The Chut is out there
Shaving Ryan’s Privates (copyright with my buds Priyo and Anand)
Salwar mein Talwar(copyright with Vineet)
Andar Bahar(btw this is actually a copy of ’48 hours’ and has Anil Kapoor and Jackie Shroff in the lead-hope they don’t retain the starcast ….*shudder*)
I Know Whom You Did Last Summer
I Still Know Whom You Did Last Summer(whaaat?you didn’t see that coming?)
Mera Naam Poker(ouch…)
The Sperminator
Forrest Hump

Sigh.I need to get a life.

Or maybe take one.Not to get rid of the boredom(although yes, it certainly would make things exciting).But some people have been pissing me off real bad these days.They’re called professors, spelt ‘D-I-C-K-H-E-A-D-S’.Pathetic,insecure and petty ignoramuses who strut around demanding respect.Now I’m a reasonable man,peace-loving and all so I do the sensible thing-live my life independent of them,finish my work and generally avoid crossing paths,even if that means I don’t get the oppurtunity to kiss ass,which again, is absolutely fine by me.But every now and then,when they get in my face, I imagine what it would be like to have ‘a little less conversation, a little more action’:

A full blooded M-16 unleashing a guttural fury as it shreds flesh and decimates bones to dust.Or a Heckler-Koch MP5 suppressed submachine gun, stealthily spitting out bullets that tear into the heart without as much as a whisper.Perhaps a .50 caliber armor piercing sniper round from 800 yards away.The sweet click that sounds just as a .32 caliber Silver talon is loaded, before it blasts a human head off with unexpected brute force at short range.The thunder of a sawed-off shot gun echoing through the room after it has finished ripping a full grown man into two.

No I’m not a psychotic nutcase who had a traumatic childhood and spends half his day with FPS games.But admit it-there is something surreal about the whole fantasy.And that’s what it shall remain – a fantasy.Let the dickheads wonder what I’m smiling about when they’re telling me that I’m gonna be a failure in life just because I don’t conform to their pedantic notions about education.

I really have nothing specific to say.And yet, I don’t feel like shutting up.So here’s some more randomness for you.

Ever taken off one of those masks you wear, even for a little while, and let someone walk in and see you without it? It’s a paradox really, for every look that someone takes at your naked face reminds you of how you scarred yourself and put on the mask in the first place.But once you’ve let down your guard, you realise what you’ve known all along-that you’re much bigger than your mistakes and you don’t really need to hide behind a facade.

It’s liberating.

On a day like Today…

Today.

A day as good as any other – to break the monotony,to ‘unbreak’ last year’s New Year Resolutions, to wake up with a sense of purpose and to drift off into Dreamland with a sense of contentment, to fill up deafening silences with the words you’ve always wanted to say and apologize for those which should never have been said, to fall in love and see the world in shades of rose,to fall out of love and yet stand tall, rising above cynicism,Dystopia never a destination during your Grand Trip Around The Sun, to go bungee jumping and revel in uncontrolled ecstasy as the world whizzes by, to tighten the reins on your life before it too whizzes by, to realise that children can unknowingly teach you lessons that your adult mind is too blind to learn, to strip away the different masks that you put on for the world and look at the stranger in the mirror and to hide behind them again if you don’t like what you see.

Today.
A day as good as any other,as was Yesterday, and so is Tomorrow…