Monday, January 21, 2008

Monday, January 14, 2008

Sunday, January 13, 2008

The Facebooker


Wind, water, whim. All fall still.


Hector receives an anonymous post while he's about to sip the last bit of his hot chocolate -


"Hey, can you please send me a yellow cab near Fun Wall terminal?"


Before he can reply back, a pack of Werewolves sitting on a table beside him come past and bite him. One after the other at his throat.


Another anonymous post Teet-teets in his Inbox -


"can you hurry, there're a thousand requests after me"


Hector, bleeding heavily tries to reach out to the nearest Super wall booth. The run-amocked werewolves disappear down 5th X Me avenue. Gargling hot blood Hector picks up the receiver, dials anonymous post and tries to tell him something...


"Hurckle, hurckle, bloouup".........Hot blood mixed with hot chocolate spills thick into the virtual catacombs..."Hurckle,...."


Nearby, on the street, a snazzy new Double Dare collides head on with a 1984 Superlative. And with seconds of slo-mo turns in the air, comes down with a clamouring clatter, crashing upon Hector.


Anonymous post logs out.


All beings look up in a virtual delirium. Orkut sparkles in the dusken skies.

Prudence

close to 11, i clear out of a meeting (my head hurts) and i head to a friend's farewell. the bash is over and a man in a bowtie is clearing up the leftover curry and the plates.

beer says my friend. i disagree and we go back up to the 8th floor to get my bag (for no apparent reason) and walk back downstairs becuase i'm afraid of the lift.

downstairs, past a fence, a man is frying eggs on his cart and three men are standing by. a rickshaw is parked in the foreground. drunk, my friend starts crying out to the cold suburban wind demanding a negotiation. one of the men at the cart responds and quotes forty. in a frenzy of post mortem jubilation, my friend agrees and we board the rickshaw.

five minutes past, at wondering why the fuck we aren't moving and where the rickshawpuller is, we turn around and see the man being pummeled by one of the other men at the cart. the other has brutally kicked him at his knee and has taken him down. now he is is kicking at his throat. a man is watching eating bread with devilled eggs. another is frying another egg.

in a whisper, my friend is in the situation. he pushes the man aside and slaps the other in an effort to discipline him. he slaps him again.

i sit back and enjoy my friend's efforts in the direction. when, in what is clearly an unexpected turn, the man gathers forth all the simmering hatred of native gurgaon at the intrusive metropolis and shoves my friend back. i'm quick to be on my feet.

after a furter altercation, more verbal than physical, the man grabs my friend by the muffler. the rickshaw puller disappears to go beckon a security guard. the other man, his snack over, is saying placatory things in a language we don't understand. the vendor is standing idly by his frying pan.

i intervene. i believe i have a gift for sorting such matters. maybe i am an angel in human guise sent down from the heavens to dispatch dispute.

momentary ceasefire.

the rickshawman is back. he has a security guard with him. the security guard clay like stands still with an air of no authority at all. the aggressor, meanwhile is attempting to manually elevate a large boulder of no insignificant tonnage with the express intention of putting it on my accomplice with violent force.

quick, i say, let's escape back to the building.

no, says my friend, let's sit on the rickshaw instead.

we immediately sit on the rickshaw and the driver boards as well, pushing the rickshaw forward in a frenzied but slow manner.

meanwhile, the man with the rock is moving as fast as he can with the boulder behind us, this being a 3.25 or so mph speed on account of the additional weight. he is also letting out some bloodthirsty screams in the process.

we don't look back.

his screams follow the chi curve of getting louder and then receding into quietness. onward ho, we stop at a cigarette shop and my friend acquires four classic milds at the price of three.

everyone in gurgaon is drunk after 11, he says.

we stop before a mall. no one has change. i give the rickshaw puller a fifty note expecting him to demand change from his brethren. in response, he boards a fat well to do looking family and departs at mach speed.

we sit at buzz where they play bollywood loud on imported bose speakers. my friend orders red bull for me and rum for himself. i am infatuated by a girl who has large hoop like earrings, a black top with a pink and a red flower and looks like the bastard love child of carmen electra, bruce lee and robert downey jr.

on our way back, we find an auto who quotes hundred. drunk, my friend agrees. he drops us back at our office.

as he leaves, suddenly, we see the enemy leap out of the darkness and throw his boulder and the auto, instantly smashing and upturning it. we see him pull the bloodied mess that is the autowallah and start pulping him with a fierce intensity.

we hurry into our building, thinking it prudent not to intervene.

the next morning i dream of my school. i'm back there and meeting all my juniors. we're preparing for a party in the sunlit auditorium that was spence hall.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

Big Brother: A morality play in three acts

OR
“I can see some words like ‘fuck’”

Act I
Me: Listen, there’s this blog I contribute to. It used to be accessible before, but now there’s some sign saying its blocked because of {Sex}. It says that in brackets…
Lower-level IT Division Corporate Stooge: Is it for work purposes?
Me: Huh? Excuse me?
Stooge: Does you need this blog for your office work?
Me: No no. The opposite, actually. I use it as an escape. You know, to relax, unwi…
Stooge (piercing look): I can’t help you. You’ll have to write to Corporate Systems
Me: Who are they?
Stooge: They are in Mumbai


Act II
From: Uday Bhatia

Sent: 03 January 2008 10:43
To: Corporate Systems (MUM/IT)
Subject: block

Hi,
This is Uday Bhatia from Delhi. There is a blog which I contribute to called
http://newfriendscolony.blogspot.com/. This used to be accessible before, but is now blocked due to content problems. I can assure you that there is no offensive content on it, and would invite you to verify that. If that is the case, I would request you to please un-block it.

Sincerely,
Uday


From: RR (MUM/IT)

Sent: Thursday, January 03, 2008 12:36 PM
To: uday.bhatia
Subject: RE: block

Hi,
This site has 79% sex contents which is not allowed, can you recheck the site and find sex related pics/words etc.

Regards,
R


From: Uday Bhatia (DEL)

Sent: 03 January 2008 12:52
To: RR (MUM/IT)
Subject: RE: block

Dear R,

I find that very tough to believe. It’s just a normal blog. As before, I would urge you to have a look at it. However, if there is nothing you can do, then I appreciate your looking into the matter.

Thanks,
Uday


From: RR (MUM/IT)

Sent: Thursday, January 03, 2008 12:36 PM
To: uday.bhatia
Subject: RE: block


I can see some words like “fuck”.
Time being I have allowed this site but it could be blocked in future again.

Regards,
R

Act III
Me: Hey, listen man, they seem to have blocked the blog at my office. They say its 79% sex. Could you do me a favour and remove the cartoon with the semi-nude girl and the dwarves. May just work.

2 hours later…

Udayan: Ok, its gone. Did it help?
Me: Nope. Damn. What should I do now?
Udayan: Write about it.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

There is a great message in the end

video


Happy New Year

It was New Year's Eve. He sat all by himself. Downing one drink after the other. Drowning his anguish, he drank until he lost count. And lost direction till he had to drag himself to bed. His head spun like a roulette wheel but his stubborn mind managed to somehow apply the brakes and he drifted into slumber. Five minutes later, he shuddered out of it. He put his senses together to figure out that the Haryanvi Jaats living upstairs were creating a ruckus, reveling in the joy of having survived another year in a place that they didn't belong to. 'They belong to hell', was his verdict. He went upstairs, rang the doorbell and out popped a character in a leather jacket embellished by a hundred zippers and a hairstyle that looked like it had been snipped in haste by some timid barber under the shadow of the Jaat's well oiled Lath. He explained the Jaat with all the calm n guts he could gather that he was being rendered sleepless due to their merrymaking. It took him three back to back explanations to get an assurance that they would cut down the volume and confine the mayhem. What he also got was an invite to join in the celebrations but...
He dragged himself to bed again. And tried to get some sleep.
But the Jaats had more obstinacy than alcohol in their blood. The promise was broken.
He locked his apartment and climbed the stairs a second time. And with the help of his jacketed friend, he joined in the celebrations. All the Jaats drank more and more, welcoming the outsider into their home. And he drank more and more, to send the Jaats to hell, to where he thought they actually belonged. He went slit chop split through seven throats with the demeanour of a gunjee & lungee-clad kasaai. Ironically, it was the very music that they were dancing to in their two room barsaati that brought them their death & silenced their screams.
Then he heard a thud. And suddenly felt a throbbing pain at the back of his head. With a dissolving vision, he saw a man with a Lath in hand. The man was drunk and had been lying unconscious in the other room. The man was the grief stricken, timid barber who had just lost seven precious customers on the dawn of a new year!