Saturday, 10 December 2011


Hello Readers...

Been away for a while now. Here's why...

I got hooked....for life... my sweetheart :)

Say Hello To My Darling Wife :)

Wednesday, 19 October 2011


People Have Hobbies.
Throwing Is A Favourite.

People Love Throwing....

Petals At Faces
Knives At Backs

Garbage Out Of Windows
Loyalty Out Of Friendships

Stones At Street Dogs
Chappals At Politicians

Rule-Books At Rebels
Mud At The Righteous

Cakes At Apes
Peanuts At Lesser Humans

Paanch-Sau Ke Notes At Sheila
Greased Utensils At Susheela

Compliments At Superiors
Tantrums At Juniors

Caution To The Wind
Towels In The Ring

Gold At Gods Of Stone
Cold Stares At The Helpless

So, What Do You Love Throwing?
P.S. – I’m taking a break from Blogging for a month...or mebbe two. Getting married in a few days from now. Will no longer be a bachelor boy the next time I post in this space. Wish me my fiancee luck :P


Thursday, 29 September 2011



He signalled his gang to get ready. Their weapons were loaded. All they had to do now was wait for the bastard to come out of his den.

Lala's death had to be avenged.

They were determined to kill. There was going to be blood shed tonight.

Blood for blood...the perfect barter.

A few minutes later, a uniformed white man on a motorbike emerged from the police station.

They all shot at him. A subordinate came to the bastard's aid. He was shot dead too.

Lala's death had been avenged.

Bhagat Singh was elated.

"Inquilaab Zindabad!!" they shouted in unison.


He signalled his gang to get ready. Their weapons were loaded. All they had to do now was wait for the bastard to come out of his den.

The Maulana's death had to be avenged.

They were determined to kill. There was going to be blood shed tonight.

Blood for blood...the perfect barter.

A few minutes later, a uniformed brown man on a motorbike emerged from the police station.

They all shot at him. A subordinate came to the bastard's aid. He was shot dead too.

The Maulana's death had been avenged.

Zaakir was elated.

"Inquilaab Zindabad!!" they shouted in unison.

Strikingly similar stories. Only the names differ.

Yet, one gets to be a 'freedom fighter' while the other has to settle for 'terrorist'.


Sunday, 18 September 2011


Preface – The Bear walked into a new day in the jungle. The atmosphere was filled with the cacophony of certain animals giggling away to glory. The Gorilla, the female pig, and the pack of Hyenas were at their irritating worst, bitching about all and sundry. Only a handful of the rest were actually immersed in work. A usual day in the jungle.

Just then, one of the noisy ones broke into a song, and everyone else joined in.

Virus Ke Liye Jaise Host Hota Hai
Vaise Har Ek Colleague Zaroori Hota Hai
Vaise Har Ek Colleague Zaroori Hota Hai

Koi Tere Failure Pe Haath Badhaye
Koi Tere Success Pe Aag Sulgaye
Ek Tere Burden Ko Halka Kare
Toh Koi Tere Sukoon Mein Ungli Kare

Koi Always Giving, Koi Selfish Hota Hai
Par Har Ek Colleague Zaroori Hota Hai

Ek Ghadi Ghadi Kaam Aye, Aur Kabhi Kabhi Consult Kare
Ek Kabhi Kaam Na Aye, Par Ghadi Ghadi Disturb Kare

Knowledge Aur Inputs Ka Koi Treasury
Koi Cheap-talk Ka Ghoomta Phirta Factory
Koi Not-So-Good, Koi Worse Hota Hai
Lekin Har Ek Colleague Zaroori Hota hai

Cubicle Waala, Koi Gtalk Waala
Koi Lunch Time Pe Company Dene Waala
Celebrations, Trips Organise Karne Waala
Koi Insider Information Dene Waala

Helping Colleague, Motivating Colleague
Bitching Colleague, Giggling Colleague
Yeda Colleague, Shaana Colleague
Honest Colleague, Jealous Colleague
Team Player, Ass-Licker
Big Joker, Back-Stabber
Rule-Breaker, Rule-Abider
Peeth-Peeche Oral-Crapper

Gin-Gin Ke Types Bheja Roast Hota Hai
Par Har Ek Colleague Zaroori Hota Hai
Haan Har Ek Colleague Zaroori Hota Hai

Epilogue – The Doe smiled and said, “Har Colleague Zaroori Hai Yaar!!!”

Just then the Bear stepped out of his cubicle with an irritated look on his face. "Now you tell me", he said as he dunked the severed heads of the Gorilla, the Female Pig and the Hyenas in the garbage bin.

Wednesday, 7 September 2011


She looked at herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. All she could see was evil. The grin, the raised brows, the wickedness lurking behind the deceptively bright aura...she saw it all and beamed in pride. She was evil personified.

But she wanted to be sure.

"Mirror Mirror on the wall...who's the most evil and most wicked of them all?", she asked in a voice that was only a tone short of a screech.

Pat came the reply. "You are, my lady."

But she wasn't convinced. Slaves were always out to please their masters, after all.

So she switched on her computer and visited wikileaks....

Everyone seems to believe that everything published on wikileaks is the gospel truth.

Monday, 15 August 2011


This post was published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 23; the twenty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month was FREE.
This post bagged the Bronze Batom (3rd position)

Duke led his team into the building's lobby. To onlookers, they seemed like just a group of six backpack-laden executives. But they were more than just that.

They were men on a mission. Six young men determined to get their freedom. Each of them carried a heavy backpack, and had a device held tightly in their fists. Their eyes looked far out into the horizon and their faces were devoid of emotion. It was hard to tell whether it was the look of focus or that of cold remorseless rage.

Duke led his men into the elevator. After having scaled 12 stories, he walked them out to the reception area. He then signaled them to follow him as he walked briskly towards the reception table.

Without a word of greeting, he said to the receptionist, "We wanna meet the Master."

The young lady fumbled for words, "Erm...well...the Master said he shouldn't be disturbed. He's in the middle of a..."

"We demand a meeting with him right now!!!" the six men barked out in unison.

She quickly picked up her phone and punched a digit. "Master, Duke and his team seek to meet you." Clumsily dropping the receiver, she informed them, "You may go in."

The band of six marched in, with Duke walking right in front of them, towards the Master's cabin. Having reached the door, Duke simply pushed it open, without caring to knock.

Inside, they saw the Master sitting with his feet resting on top of the table. His arms were folded behind his head. He was wearing dark sunglasses.

"Well, well. If it isn't my dear Duke and his team of five", the Master said. "Welcome my boys. Dawn says you were desperate to meet me. You shouldn't have scared the poor girl the way you did. She's such a sweet young lady."

"We don't care if she's sweet or tangy. We just came to return these." He pulled off his backpack and dropped it on the Master's table. Ditto with the device that was lodged in his fist. The five aped their leader.

"Not done boys. Just a few months ago, when I gave these to you, you were jumping with joy. What's wrong with these?" the Master enquired.

"We didn't know we'd be parting with our freedom. We've become slaves to these devices. Take these back and give us something else" said Duke. The others nodded in agreement.

The Master swore under his breath. "Very well then. Have these instead." He opened his drawer and pulled out six boxes.

At first quite hesitant to even look at the boxes, Duke and his team jumped like little kids as soon as they found out what they contained.

"Thank you Master." said Duke on behalf of his boys. "We misunderstood you. You have been kind and generous. Sorry for being rude."

"It's okay my boys. Now go out and enjoy yourselves."

After they had left the building, Dawn rushed in. "You okay Master?"


Looking at the pile of devices on his table, she asked, "They've returned their laptops and cellphones? What do we do with these?"

"Give them to the newbies. They'll love them...for a few months at least” he sniggered.

“And what about Duke and his team? Aren’t they gonna work?”

“Relax” said the Master. “I’ve given them Blackberrys.” And he burst out in a sinister laugh that echoed through the building.

We're slaves to devices...even if they're free.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Happy Independence Day!

Sunday, 7 August 2011


Goga sucked the last puff in very slowly. He knew he’d finally run out of cigarettes.

“What’s the little rat’s name again?”, he asked, treading on the stub.

“I think the boss said Abdul”, replied Tony, rubbing his eyes and stifling a cough or two. Being nicotine-intolerant wasn’t appreciated in his business circles.

“Hmm..Abdul. That snitch has been letting the cops in on our coke business for months now. We’ve lost consignments worth at least 15 million so far because of that kid. He’s gotta go down.”

“The boss said this is the area he frequents. No other clues though. No one knows what he looks like. We don’t even know if that’s his real name.”

“Damn”, swore Goga under his breath, instinctively rummaging through his pockets for another ciggie. He swore again after he remembered he’d run out of stock. “So, how then are we supposed to find him.”

Tony only shrugged his shoulders.

Just then, a lame man emerged from the crowd. He was seated on a mini-cart, propelling himself forward using his hands. He suddenly burst out into a song.

Aate Jaate Hue Main Sab-pe Nazar Rakhta Hun

Aate Jaate Hue Main Sab-pe Nazar Rakhta Hun

Naam Abdul Hai Mera, Sabki Khabar Rakhta Hun...

Tony and Goga looked at each other and scratched their heads for a couple of seconds. When realisation suddenly dawned upon them, they smiled, gave each other high-fives, rubbed their hands in anticipation of their scalp, and went looking for the singer.


Here's Abdul's Song ==> ABDUL'S SONG

P.S.:- Here's reminding you about the blogging contest on The Bloggeratti Community. The theme is "WET IN THE RAIN".

For details, go to this link ==> BLOGGERATTI CONTEST LINK

Sunday, 24 July 2011


“Doesn’t look so good.” Marsh’s eyes were still scanning the images.

“You kiddin me?” said Jenkins, plonking down his coffee mug. “They’re horrible.”

The images sure looked eerie and sinister. ‘The Indian subcontinent’, the label revealed. Although the areas occupied by its immediate neighbours seemed quite clear and free of any blemishes, India’s hinterland had what seemed like veins running all over it. The veins bore countless perforations.

“What on earth are these? “ Jenkins asked, pointing at the perforations. “Craters? Mines? Extra-terrestrial markings?”

Marsh nodded. “Call them what you will. Your guess is as good as mine. Whatever the hell those things are, they’re all over the place.”

“We’ve got to warn their government ASAP. Whadda you think?”

“Negative. The State informatics department would never let us do that.”

“Why not?” Jenkins snatched the pictures out of Marsh’s hands. “Don’t these satellite images mean anything? We’re talking about the second largest population in the world here.”

“Information sharing agreements”, Marsh contested. We don’t have any such agreement with their government....or even their agencies for that matter.”

Jenkins protested, “You mean you’re not gonna give them the slightest hint? You’re not gonna tell them that something strange is happening?”

“Not right now.”

“That sounds like never.”

Marsh smirked. “Sorry buddy. We’ve got to follow protocol here. Besides, they have a huge satellite programme of their own. I bet their government is already in the know. It’s not a dot somewhere. It’s a whole lot of dots all over.”

“Hmm.” Jenkins agreed.

“What surprises me though..”, said Marsh, signalling that he wasn’t finished yet, “ that if these things are so obvious, why aren’t they doing anything about it?”


Two project engineers are peering into a 4-by-4 feet crater.

Mhatre adjusted his soda-glasses. “Is this the biggest one?”

“I think so sir” quipped his assistant, Jaiswal. “But I guess more are in the making.”

“What do you think is in there?”

“Locals say a Tata Nano, a cow, three pedestrians and probably even a BEST bus.” Jaiswal burst out laughing.

Mhatre was serious. “It’s not funny Jaiswal. I wonder what our country’s road network looks like from outer space.”

P.S.:- The Bloggeratti Community on Orkut/FB is organising a blogging contest. The theme is "WET IN THE RAIN".

For details, go to this link ==> BLOGGERATTI CONTEST LINK

Saturday, 25 June 2011


"So, does it make sense?” asked Trilok, still perplexed. This had been the first fruitful excavation for the forty-something archaeologist.

Prof. Gogoi didn’t seem to hear him. Squatting on damp earth, the hieroglyph expert continued to study the tablet. “Do you have any idea about how old this thing might be?”

“You’re the expert, you tell me.”

The expert doffed his safari hat and beamed at the acknowledgement. “I’m certain this is of Gandolik origin. So, considering the fact that their civilisation was wiped out circa 800 BC...”

“More than 2,800 years ago?” The archaeologist felt his heart thud to the tune of a Euro-trash track.

The professor nodded. He pulled out a brush and used it to gently rid the tablet of earth that had filled the grooves in its inscriptions. For an artefact this old, it was incredibly intact. The image of a naked female form squatting at the edge of a cliff, watching a strange-looking bundle fall, and the angry waves of the sea beneath lashing at the base of the cliff became more prominent.

The professor pulled a dusty diary from his pocket and made a note. Then he pushed it back in.

He carefully picked up one of the earthen platters Trilok had briefed him about earlier. Although it now seemed to be a mere shadow of its original form, it bore signs of something having been burnt on it.

Gogoi wore his hat and stood up. “Let’s see this cliff now, shall we?”

The cliff stood a good 150 feet above the sea below. The lashing of waves was constant. Gogoi knew that the Gandoliks deified nature. He pulled out his diary and made another note. He then nudged Trilok back to the main hall where the tablet and the platters lay.

A few moments later, Trilok broke the silence, “Well?”

“Let’s see now, earthen platters to burn what seems like incense...a tablet depicting a woman making a sacrifice to the sea god...this place seems to have been an altar.”

“An altar?”


Trilok pondered in silence for a few seconds. Then he spoke up, “There’s an inscription I haven’t told you about yet, Professor. It’s on the wall outside the original doorway leading to this chamber. The entrance was covered by a huge boulder that must’ve come crashing down during the frequent seismic activity in those ages.”

“Where is it?”, the Professor asked, barely able to camouflage an accusatory tone. 

“I’ll take you there, but just be careful. We’re yet to clear the spot of rocks and other loose rubble that we fear might give way any time.”

“No problem.”

Trilok led him to a wall in a corner of the main hall, where a thick tarpaulin sheet hung to prevent stones and rubble from entering the cave. He pulled it aside to let the expert walk through first, and followed him in. The duo crept through a thin crevice in the wall. Having made their way through, they turned around to face the other side of the wall.

Trilok pulled out his torch and ran it over the basalt wall. Inscriptions....

Although worn out, the signs were quite legible. Gogoi grabbed the torch from Trilok to take a better look. It bore Gandolik symbols, as he had expected. The carvings were surely the work of someone who knew his craft well. It didn’t take him much time to decipher the signs.

“Well?” asked an eager Trilok.

“Well mister archaeologist, the image you saw on the tablet inside the hall...that was an illustration of a woman making a sacrifice to the Sea God. A very BIG sacrifice”

“How big?”

“The bundle falling off the cliff...that was an illustration of a newborn child. A firstborn child, perhaps.”

Trilok’s heart beat faster now. “ what you’re saying is...”

The professor nodded his head. His tone turned morbid, “The writing's literally on the wall, my friend.” He dug his hands into his pockets. “Trilok...what you have uncovered here is an ancient sacrificial altar!”


Ranghosa peered down the cliff. The waves kept lashing at its base. There was no way anything that had fallen down would pile up and rot. The platters to burn incense leaves would take care of remnant odours. The carvings on the tablet inside the cave were better than he had anticipated. Everything was perfect. The master sculptor beamed as he visualised the village chieftain showering praises on him for a job well done.

Only one aspect remained.

He walked towards the entrance of the cave to check on his pupil.

“Are you finished Tabri?” he asked his young apprentice. The boy had done a wonderful job so far.

“Yes, Master. Exactly as you had instructed. Take a look.”

Ranghosa picked up a flaming torch and inspected the wall. He couldn't help but notice the beauty of the inscriptions. Each symbol was properly aligned and the dimensions were consistent. Tabri had been as good as the villagers had said he was. The inscriptions reflected the markings of someone who knew his craft quite well. The effort showed. He began to bless his pupil, even before he could finish his inspection.

Tabri saw that the master was pleased. He began dreaming about possibilities...more assignments...recommendations...perhaps an audience with the mansion....

But suddenly, a loud shriek from his master yanked him back to reality.

Ranghosa’s hands were on his head, his eyes red with rage and his teeth were clenched. He was stomping his feet in disgust. “Holy Goddess of the Berry Shrub!", he yelled, "...young man, is that how you spell TOILET?!?!”

P.S. – Just a thought. Can anyone vouch for all the history that has been passed on to us being 100% accurate?

Monday, 30 May 2011


The hero yawned loud enough to produce a rattle in the dingy confines of the roadside cafeteria. He could swear he had almost drowned out the relentless cackle on his walkie-talkie. It was someone from the control room, asking him if he was on his way to the spot. He replied in the affirmative, just like he had been doing since the past 30 minutes or so. Deciding that he’d had enough of the reminders, he reluctantly dropped his now-empty cutting chai and crushed his cigarette butt next to the ashtray. He picked up his hat, and walked towards his bike like a bored zombie. Five lazy minutes later, he managed to get his vehicle in motion.

“Why can’t Superman do everything?”, he muttered to himself.

A few minutes down and the hero had reached the west end of the bridge. There were people screaming and peering over the side of the bridge, peering into the lake below. The man who had reportedly been standing on the edge of the long steel structure and threatening to jump into the lake below was nowhere in sight. “Must’ve jumped already”, the hero thought to himself.

And then he saw the other hero. He was dressed just like him. In his mind, he thanked the stars. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

Both gave each other a knowing stare, which wasn't exactly friendly. They walked slowly towards each other, one step followed by the other, in a manner befitting a Hollywood Western showdown. Oblivious to the jeering crowds and the searing heat, they walked till they reached the centre of the bridge, marked by a thick red line. Then, almost in synchronised harmony, they peered down the side of the bridge at the spot where the man had apparently jumped. The hero crossed his fingers and waited patiently. The other man dressed like him did exactly the same.

Two hours later, the body emerged, bloated at the midriff and its skin a ghostly white. But the hero was least concerned about the loss of life - he had more or less prepared his mind for a casualty. He simply wanted to make sure it didn't get any worse.

He looked at the body and compared its position to the red line on the bridge. After satisfying himself that the body was floating at a spot comfortably beyond his side of the thick red line, he pumped his fist in the air and let out a winning war cry of sorts.

The hero had cheated misfortune yet again.

“Sorry, your jurisdiction”, he said loudly to the other man dressed just like him, as we walked towards his bike emphatically.

Drumrolls....Yet again, Superman Khakhi-Man had saved the his precious day.

Trust the average Indian cop to pass the buck every time there’s a job on hand. Hell, why just cops?