Alarm

every morning i wake to the horrible din of a wailing child and a screaming grandmother. these contests are seperated by loud bumps (the child being thrown upon a wall or being attacked by heavy blunt objects) followed by the child pushing her volume a notch higher with the grandmother (screaming at the child) following suit. this starts at aproximately eight in the morning, therefore serving as an adequate alarm clock.

as i walk down, i exchange pleasantries with the grandmother (wearing low cut cleavage baring ugh suits) as the housewife hurls hateful glances at me. the man of the house smiles at me from behind a newspaper. the child sits in a corner, suitably mangled and quiet (children should be seen and not heard). These people are short, grimy and have several disorderly sharp teeth. All of them except the child, that is. the child is still human.once when i crept up on them, hoping to record the scene. the mother, for all the sadness in her voice, was relaxing on a chair while uttering her remittances. meanwhile, the grandmother bent with her hands on her haunches, so as to get as close as possible to the child while screaming. the man of the house was holding the child by his feet and thrashing her against the wall. i thought one of them noticed me, so i fled the scene.

once, i asked the grandmother why they beat the child as they do.

'we all went through it', she said, 'how do you think we became the way we are.'

CAricature

HEre is a caricature I made on Monday (26th June). Its a guy called Phillipe. People from Google wanted this work done as his farewell gift. Good fun doing it Rubbadubba

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Swan Lake?

We found this place in the middle of the crowded Lajpat Nagar marketplace. Pretty trippy, huh?

the keeper

the lion in winter

company

who keeps who?

Blood on the Dance Floor

"Lets go to a shady bar. Slimy sorts" I suggested to my friends. We entered a place that was promisingly bathed in red light. Unfortunately it turned out to be family dining restaurant where people were going through chowmein, kofta-naan and pizzas in gangster red light for some reason.
We hastened to the pub across the road. Ice CUbe in Noida. This one was all blue and UV light. My white men's shirt shone as if I was being beamed up into a UFO. This was more like it. We settled into a Los Angelesy red couch.

The dance floor, right in front of us was on fire. During the rest of the evening, where we slumped worse and worser and worserer on the couch, we witnessed lots of dance floor violence. All happy smiling violence. Not the type where a bouncer kills the fun by chucking a fellow out. This was a gender based drama and one where no feminist could complain. In 3 instances it was plain writ on the guy's face that he just wanted to climb on the girl he was dancing with. And all the girls took the shit with a flick of the hair and a determined smile "No we are not spoilsports! Its ok! Tee hee!"

The girl : A girl with a good face. My friend declared she had potential. She was dressed in corporate wear. Out to party after work. Dancing in spurts. Promising herself she wouldnt do it again. Smiling. The guy: Wore his jeans to his chest. Wondering how the hell to get fresh with the girl until he fell on her and hugged her with roaming hands with the elegance of a grizzly. The girl pretended it hampered her dance moves,which she was very keen on, and pushed him away to continue her cheerful jig. The guy having achieved something after all walked off oblivious to the object of his affections, and sat down to wipe off all that sweat on his brow. You have to give him full points for chivalry as he offered her the handkerchief once his wipe was over.

Then the DJ announced stag entry was not allowed to a pub which was 80% full of men.

You With The Stars (TM)

There's a place near NFC called Jamia where people who want to hang with the stars study. some short and grimy people with sharp teeth came and installed an interesting machine there. a sign lying by its side said it was called 'You With The Stars (TM)'

it worked like this.

there was a picture of Amitabh Bachan holding a scimitar, unknown individual and Dharmendra with gun painted onto a cutout board. the unknown individual had a hole where his face should have been. there was a camera installed at a short distance in front of of it.

you're supposed to go and put your head in the hole between Amitabh Bachan and Dharmendra and smile. one of the aforementioned short people, standing next to the camera presses a button on it and Amitabh Bachan's scimitar swings and takes your head off.

'Fame has its price', the goblin explains.

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A Gory Shawarma Story

we were getting one of our jaded, this day has been hell sort of tea time shawarmas at the Al Bake. these snack times consist of grave silences and blank stares, punctuated by Al bake's usual violences. One of these suddenly caught our attention.

'Mutton Shawarma!', someone to our right shouted out, 'mujhe mutton shawarma chahiye.'

for the unacquainted, this lebanese chophouse only offers chicken shawarmas.

the boy was doing his best, travelling more than the linguistic length from Lebanon to here, to convince him that mutton shwarmas didn't exist. there was the clanging of cleaver past making mince of meat on the pan in the background, with a rich garnish of expletives that expressed Oedipus Rex and other such disorders with an unnatural fervour.

'Kya bol raha hai', the man said, 'maine pichli baar hi mutton shawarma khaya tha.'

the boy smiled. a group of girls behind him followed suit. the tension broke and the man whipped out a country made and held it to the boy's face.

the cleaver stopped. the abuses stopped. like this was the crescendo they were building up to.

'hansi ura ta hai saale', the man said, 'ab hans.'

suddenly, the boy who was mincing the meat appeared behind the man, grabbed his hair and with a single swipe, took his head off.

there were no animesque spurts of blood like i had seen in Kill Bill. In fact, there was almost a placid calm about the man's headless body as it lolled onto his plate of shawarmas and animal cud they call mayonnaise. Abhinav, who was sitting across the table immediately went into denial.

the rest of the place soon returned to its conversations and petty violences. it was as if the man wasn't there.

except abhinav.

his number is +919810428071

call him up and he'll still deny it.

Converse

On the way to work the other day, in an auto:

Ira: Bhaiya, aage se loge ya peeche se?
Bhaiya: Peeche jaam milega, aage se hi loonga.
Ira: Amen.

PG 13

Standing in the queue of a supermarket... i couldnt help but notice something funny that i had to tell someone... think me weird for this...
There was this cute girl standing in the line for the counter next to me...i was checking her out...it was both ways i think...or so i hoped...
Anyway...there was this kid standing right behind her....couldnt have been more than four or five years old....little guy...grow up to be one horny pecker fsure...this kids been checking her out as much as i have been...freud, you were right...anyway...he reaches out to her ass and pats it...the girl is slightly taken aback, but coming from a kid...she acts a sport...the kids mother seems to busy chatting up another auntie in the line to notice..."Haan...shootout at lokhandwala ki tickets hi nahi milee..." the kids going bezerk by now... he seems to have got the first taste of carnal pleasure and can barely keep his hands away...
He starts groping the girl again, and carried away by the ecstacy of it all...rams his head Zidane style into her behind.
The girl lets out a little yelp...and i couldnt help but smirk...not too many others seemed to have noticed...anyway...the girls reaches the counter and pays...and the kid and his mom are next...the girl trots off at a hurried pace... and the kid has a somewhat disappointed look in his face tugs at his mothers fat hand...suddenly his eyes meet mine...and i'm kinda shocked when i saw the expression...that gleam could only mean one thing...for all men of all ages....its like he was telling me..."Man! i almost had that piece of ass!"
I wanted to reach out and strike him. Horny bastard.

_

The Yaagi strips

who strips?

Yaagi does..

wot yaagi?

You Are A Geek If....







- created by Sasidhar & Malvika