Holy shit holy shit holy shit! The most amazing thing just happened to me. It's almost UNFUCKINGREAL! It was singlehandedly the best feeling I ever remember feeling. It feels like...falling in love; except this feeling is physical, not emotional. Yes, it's the physical equivalent of climaxing and falling in love combined - and on steroids.
But by now you probably have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, hehe. So I think I should maybe take you back a bit.
So what does a bored and amateur writer do when he's awake and bored at 7 a.m?
He reads, of course!
Turns out, he lurked the hallowed realms of internet for the next 5 hours, and came across some mindboggling discoveries.
Anyway, I just realized I don't have a lot of time, and I really can't be arsed spending it on a stupid blog :P
So I'll tell you this: MEDITATION IS AWESOME!!!
I just tried it a few minutes ago, plus some super secret stuff that can't be published on the net, and the results were MINDNUMBING.
I swear to you, I couldn't move my fucking leg. I couldn't move my fucking leg!
And I started sort of...shivering. The best way to explain it would be like an...excited crawling under the skin of my forearm. It was amazing. Absolutely fucking amazing.
I'm going to do it again after lunch just to reinforce. It's going to be awesome!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Hot Pursuit!
Hey guys! I'm back :D
I'm going to be honest here, I didn't really feel up for coming back - what, with the busy life I live these days and all - but hey, beggars can't be choosers, eh? Hehe.
It's been a while. Over the past five weeks, I've been busy pimpin' New York, destroying birthday parties, hurting people at soccer, getting drunk on an empty stomach, and running from the law like the rebel I am, lol.
Last night was pretty wild.
So what does a world-famous blogger like me, do when he's bored? It was 11 p.m, and most of Mumbai's beta males and beta females were just turning in for the night. Hah, losers. I was just climbing out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
A night of adventure awaits.
I called Rushabh and asked if he wanted to hang out. Now this was a rhetorical question, but he invariably has a rhetorical answer.
"I'm talking to my girlfriend."
I wonder how they get along sometimes. His girl is like at least 5 years elder to him, and he has to talk with a hideously try-hard American accent to keep up with her.
But such is love, they say.
Unfortunately, I'm not 'them', so I proceeded to tease the living shit out of my best friend :P This means a no-holds-barred tongue-lashing about cougars, sex predatory, and him being secretly bisexual.
This got him out of his shell a bit, and he finally hung up on his girl, when I unceremoniously told her to "Fuck off."
Yeah, bite me, bitch!
By now, it was 3 a.m.
Perfect time to head out for a drive! So we took out his bike, and raced across town.
It's a strange thrill when you have the wind blowing in your hair. All the peasants and beggars race by in a blur before they ever have a chance to beg you for your next quarter. My favourite part is the lights - how the streetlights whiz past your head, one after the other. It's liberating. It reminds me of taking off in an airplane.
Suddenly, I spot a roadblock, with policemen and a big bad police van and all. I don't think about it - the lights are too distracting :P
Then it hits me.
Me: DUDE! POLICE!
Rushab: What? No...where?
Me: AHEAD OF YOU, DUMBASS!
Rushab: Oh...shit.
By this time, we were about 10 feet away from the policeman, who was signalling us to stop. We were two underage kids, without a licence, without a helmet, and out in a rough part of town at 3 a.m. Good luck explaining that away.
Me: TURN LEFT AND ACCELERATE!!! FAST!!!
Instead, Mr.Rushy yanks it into the opposite lane. Perfect, now we're running into oncoming traffic. Perfect.
By this time, the police guy is hysterical. He's shouting for us to stop, running after us, shouting into his walkie talkie thingee. It was scary stuff; but he didn't stand a chance. At this point, we were flying at about 90 km/hr, and weaving in and out of on coming traffic, like a downhill skier on steroids.
Suddenly, up ahead I spotted another police van. My face flushed and my skin went white. I was so sure we were getting fuckered tonight.
I'd heard of what happens in jails. I wasn't looking forward to having my anal virginity taken. And that by some hairy Maharashtrian dude.
Shit, I thought I was going to piss myself. So we ditched the bike and hid out for sometime, while the coast cleared.
I called my beloved girlfriend in the meanwhile and almost tried to make her promise that if I died she would take care of my pet soft toy Trevor and that she would try to seduce either Bono or Roger Waters one day.
It was cool.
I'm going to be honest here, I didn't really feel up for coming back - what, with the busy life I live these days and all - but hey, beggars can't be choosers, eh? Hehe.
It's been a while. Over the past five weeks, I've been busy pimpin' New York, destroying birthday parties, hurting people at soccer, getting drunk on an empty stomach, and running from the law like the rebel I am, lol.
Last night was pretty wild.
So what does a world-famous blogger like me, do when he's bored? It was 11 p.m, and most of Mumbai's beta males and beta females were just turning in for the night. Hah, losers. I was just climbing out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
A night of adventure awaits.
I called Rushabh and asked if he wanted to hang out. Now this was a rhetorical question, but he invariably has a rhetorical answer.
"I'm talking to my girlfriend."
I wonder how they get along sometimes. His girl is like at least 5 years elder to him, and he has to talk with a hideously try-hard American accent to keep up with her.
But such is love, they say.
Unfortunately, I'm not 'them', so I proceeded to tease the living shit out of my best friend :P This means a no-holds-barred tongue-lashing about cougars, sex predatory, and him being secretly bisexual.
This got him out of his shell a bit, and he finally hung up on his girl, when I unceremoniously told her to "Fuck off."
Yeah, bite me, bitch!
By now, it was 3 a.m.
Perfect time to head out for a drive! So we took out his bike, and raced across town.
It's a strange thrill when you have the wind blowing in your hair. All the peasants and beggars race by in a blur before they ever have a chance to beg you for your next quarter. My favourite part is the lights - how the streetlights whiz past your head, one after the other. It's liberating. It reminds me of taking off in an airplane.
Suddenly, I spot a roadblock, with policemen and a big bad police van and all. I don't think about it - the lights are too distracting :P
Then it hits me.
Me: DUDE! POLICE!
Rushab: What? No...where?
Me: AHEAD OF YOU, DUMBASS!
Rushab: Oh...shit.
By this time, we were about 10 feet away from the policeman, who was signalling us to stop. We were two underage kids, without a licence, without a helmet, and out in a rough part of town at 3 a.m. Good luck explaining that away.
Me: TURN LEFT AND ACCELERATE!!! FAST!!!
Instead, Mr.Rushy yanks it into the opposite lane. Perfect, now we're running into oncoming traffic. Perfect.
By this time, the police guy is hysterical. He's shouting for us to stop, running after us, shouting into his walkie talkie thingee. It was scary stuff; but he didn't stand a chance. At this point, we were flying at about 90 km/hr, and weaving in and out of on coming traffic, like a downhill skier on steroids.
Suddenly, up ahead I spotted another police van. My face flushed and my skin went white. I was so sure we were getting fuckered tonight.
I'd heard of what happens in jails. I wasn't looking forward to having my anal virginity taken. And that by some hairy Maharashtrian dude.
Shit, I thought I was going to piss myself. So we ditched the bike and hid out for sometime, while the coast cleared.
I called my beloved girlfriend in the meanwhile and almost tried to make her promise that if I died she would take care of my pet soft toy Trevor and that she would try to seduce either Bono or Roger Waters one day.
It was cool.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Project Awesomenesski
"Anky, we have to talk."
It was 2 a.m.
The man was out of his mind.
I could have been doing anything a normal person could have been doing at that time –
Sleeping, reading, studying, listening to music – anything.
But I wasn’t.
It was a Friday night.
I could have been doing anything a normal college student could have been doing at that time – Partying, drinking, throwing up on a Resident Advisor’s door, taking a really drunk girl home – anything.
But I wasn’t.
I was playing Star Wars on the Nintendo Wii.
It was my last day in college before I went home for the summer. How dare he interrupt me on this momentous occasion?
On a normal day, I wouldn’t have answered that call at that time. He was more than likely drunk. He was more than likely calling me to mock me for being home on a Friday night. Make fun of my miniscule, negligible existence.
But I answered it anyway. I still don’t know why.
He told me to come over. He sounded excited, but his words betrayed nothing.
On a normal day, I wouldn’t have gone over at that time. His room was not far, but like they say in Spanish, “(How you say I don’t feel like going)” He could have been setting me up for a prank. A legendary prank that would have been – but only because I was such a fool to go.
But I went over anyway. I still don’t know why.
What happened in that fateful O'Connor hall dorm is history, but it may well be the start of a beautiful partnership.
I don't want to talk about anything right now,
And my plane's boarding anyway. But I'll tell you this.
If I can pull this off, then within one year I will have had and done things beyond my wildest dreams.
And I can't wait!
It was 2 a.m.
The man was out of his mind.
I could have been doing anything a normal person could have been doing at that time –
Sleeping, reading, studying, listening to music – anything.
But I wasn’t.
It was a Friday night.
I could have been doing anything a normal college student could have been doing at that time – Partying, drinking, throwing up on a Resident Advisor’s door, taking a really drunk girl home – anything.
But I wasn’t.
I was playing Star Wars on the Nintendo Wii.
It was my last day in college before I went home for the summer. How dare he interrupt me on this momentous occasion?
On a normal day, I wouldn’t have answered that call at that time. He was more than likely drunk. He was more than likely calling me to mock me for being home on a Friday night. Make fun of my miniscule, negligible existence.
But I answered it anyway. I still don’t know why.
He told me to come over. He sounded excited, but his words betrayed nothing.
On a normal day, I wouldn’t have gone over at that time. His room was not far, but like they say in Spanish, “(How you say I don’t feel like going)” He could have been setting me up for a prank. A legendary prank that would have been – but only because I was such a fool to go.
But I went over anyway. I still don’t know why.
What happened in that fateful O'Connor hall dorm is history, but it may well be the start of a beautiful partnership.
I don't want to talk about anything right now,
And my plane's boarding anyway. But I'll tell you this.
If I can pull this off, then within one year I will have had and done things beyond my wildest dreams.
And I can't wait!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The Frustration that is blind - Part I
I'm sick. Oh so very sick. I don't have a thermometer right now, but if I did, it'd probably be as terrifying as a positive pregnancy test.
My life is fucked. From a shitload of homework, to persistent tests, to the fact that the goddamn webcam won't work, to the fact that I'm too sick to do anything about it. FFS. The frustration is building...
Like for my friend Ankush. The other day, we were in the 24-hr computer lab. He's been breaking his head over this one program for the last 3 hours. At least. His hair is graying from the stress. He's just that 1 little step away from crossing the bridge. And then somebody points it out to him. He was using the wrong file all along.
There are outbursts of frustration, and there are outbursts of frustration. This was the latter. The most dangerous, where you don't speak, respond or act. Just stare out into space. Unfortunately, he had promised to help me later doing some Math. We exited the computer lab.
Me: "Hey man, don't take it so hard. It happens to the best of us."
Him: "..."
Me: "You hear me?"
Him: "..."
Me: "Yo...dude...is something wrong?"
Him: "Do you see any security guards around here?"
Me: "No...why? HEY WTF!!! WAIIIIII!!!"
Before I can even finish, he takes his glass bottle from Starbucks, and hurls it to the floor as hard as he can. I don't have time to react, and a piece of glass shoots up and cuts me on the nose, right next to my right eye.
Me: (Writhing in agony on the ground) "AAAAAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAA!! MY EYEEES!"
Him: "OH SHIT DUDE ARE YOU OKAY!!"
Me: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
Him :"Fuck man, did it hit you?"
Me: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH YOU MANIAC!! YOU JUST GAVE ME AIDS!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH"
Him: "SHIT DUDE YOU RE BLEEDING!!!"
Me : "Congratulations on spotting it, genius. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
Him: "Dudeee, I'm gonna call 911!"
Me : "Hahaahhaahahhaha yeah do that"
Him: "fuck you."
--------
Watch out for part II!!!
My life is fucked. From a shitload of homework, to persistent tests, to the fact that the goddamn webcam won't work, to the fact that I'm too sick to do anything about it. FFS. The frustration is building...
Like for my friend Ankush. The other day, we were in the 24-hr computer lab. He's been breaking his head over this one program for the last 3 hours. At least. His hair is graying from the stress. He's just that 1 little step away from crossing the bridge. And then somebody points it out to him. He was using the wrong file all along.
There are outbursts of frustration, and there are outbursts of frustration. This was the latter. The most dangerous, where you don't speak, respond or act. Just stare out into space. Unfortunately, he had promised to help me later doing some Math. We exited the computer lab.
Me: "Hey man, don't take it so hard. It happens to the best of us."
Him: "..."
Me: "You hear me?"
Him: "..."
Me: "Yo...dude...is something wrong?"
Him: "Do you see any security guards around here?"
Me: "No...why? HEY WTF!!! WAIIIIII!!!"
Before I can even finish, he takes his glass bottle from Starbucks, and hurls it to the floor as hard as he can. I don't have time to react, and a piece of glass shoots up and cuts me on the nose, right next to my right eye.
Me: (Writhing in agony on the ground) "AAAAAAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAA!! MY EYEEES!"
Him: "OH SHIT DUDE ARE YOU OKAY!!"
Me: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
Him :"Fuck man, did it hit you?"
Me: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH YOU MANIAC!! YOU JUST GAVE ME AIDS!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH"
Him: "SHIT DUDE YOU RE BLEEDING!!!"
Me : "Congratulations on spotting it, genius. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
Him: "Dudeee, I'm gonna call 911!"
Me : "Hahaahhaahahhaha yeah do that"
Him: "fuck you."
--------
Watch out for part II!!!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
EUREKA!!!!!
Ladies, gents, and those undecided...
I've found it. No, this is not another one of my crazy social experiments where we tell people their loved ones are dying from terminal diseases. (Yes, that would be sick) And no, I'm not talking about my third nipple either - although debates have been raging on about it for quite sometime. (For the record, I DO NOT HAVE A THIRD FUCKING NIPPLE. FUCK YOU SID FOR SPREADING THAT SHIT)
For centuries and generations, we Indians have painted such a fucked up picture of ourselves in the Western world, ranging from our unease to get used to western toilets, to dropping phrases like "There you go!" and "Good fer you!" (With an accent and all, just to sound more American. I'm sorry 'Roger' Patel, it just makes it harder for the rest of us to be taken seriously.
But I digress. I have truly found the root of our bitchiness. The reason we constantly try to get one over our friends, double cross and backstab them repeatedly, and ultimately sleep with their wives.
It is something so deeply ingrained in everything we do and everything we live - an indelible and invisible mark on every single one of us. From the gullies and slums of Dharavi to Shah Rukh Khans bungalow in Bandra (?). Cricket.
Let me explain.
Cricket makes us bitchy.
Yesterday, I played cricket for the first time in about...7 years. Believe it or not, once upon a time, I actually used to be good. (Read 6th grade) But I still played.
I'd almost forgotten how to even hold the bat. I was the last man in; we needed 4 runs to win. The bowler; Anant. He played for his state a few months ago. He has pace like fire. Every ball he releases lands bang on in front of the stumps. They call him the Daytona Express. (LMFAO)
I reluctantly make my way to the pitch. This is like facing hell's wrath for molesting little kittens.
And then - something wonderful happens(arguably). I got superpowers. Powers that I'd left behind a long time ago to become a better man.
"Hey Anant! Does anyone know you have a pink laptop?"
His face flushes. People start poking fun at him; boy is he pissed now. He runs in like the express train that he is. It goes wide.
He's a good friend of mine, so I won't post much of what went on between that, but this one I can't refrain from...
He ran up, and then stopped just before he was about to release the ball. Evidently I'd shaken his confidence. One of his teammates shouts to ask him what's wrong.
I shout back "He's feeling the pressure! Gujarat State Team! Against newbie playing after 7 years! Aaaaah!"
Everyone is in splits. I felt sorry for him after that. So I just let him get me out (tihihi)
Anyway, after that, we all went to grab a bite to eat. This girl from one my classes comes over to talk. I'm telling her why she's a bad girl, when this fucking dumbass wannabe player Indian guy comes up. This guy is about 6'5 tall, and his brain is probably inversely proportional to that.
This is probably what he was thinking - "Tool anky in front of girl - Girl impressed - Thinks of me as prince charming - We run away to Wonderland and get married with her fairy godmother watching over us"
Which sounds reasonable in theory.
So he comes upto me.
Him: "Aey...tu peeche se ladki dikhta hai."
I turn to him and look him over.
Me: "Tu toh aage se bhi ladki dikhta hai...chutiye"
Everyone at the table: "hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha"
Obviously the girl didn't speak hindi, but she got the hint. She isn't going home with him tonight :(
My point is, I'd probably not even have paid attention to the reflexive, systematic psychological rape of another human being 2 days ago. I'd have just ignored the person, and there would be no problem. But Cricket I tells you, is a very potent thing.
I've found it. No, this is not another one of my crazy social experiments where we tell people their loved ones are dying from terminal diseases. (Yes, that would be sick) And no, I'm not talking about my third nipple either - although debates have been raging on about it for quite sometime. (For the record, I DO NOT HAVE A THIRD FUCKING NIPPLE. FUCK YOU SID FOR SPREADING THAT SHIT)
For centuries and generations, we Indians have painted such a fucked up picture of ourselves in the Western world, ranging from our unease to get used to western toilets, to dropping phrases like "There you go!" and "Good fer you!" (With an accent and all, just to sound more American. I'm sorry 'Roger' Patel, it just makes it harder for the rest of us to be taken seriously.
But I digress. I have truly found the root of our bitchiness. The reason we constantly try to get one over our friends, double cross and backstab them repeatedly, and ultimately sleep with their wives.
It is something so deeply ingrained in everything we do and everything we live - an indelible and invisible mark on every single one of us. From the gullies and slums of Dharavi to Shah Rukh Khans bungalow in Bandra (?). Cricket.
Let me explain.
Cricket makes us bitchy.
Yesterday, I played cricket for the first time in about...7 years. Believe it or not, once upon a time, I actually used to be good. (Read 6th grade) But I still played.
I'd almost forgotten how to even hold the bat. I was the last man in; we needed 4 runs to win. The bowler; Anant. He played for his state a few months ago. He has pace like fire. Every ball he releases lands bang on in front of the stumps. They call him the Daytona Express. (LMFAO)
I reluctantly make my way to the pitch. This is like facing hell's wrath for molesting little kittens.
And then - something wonderful happens(arguably). I got superpowers. Powers that I'd left behind a long time ago to become a better man.
"Hey Anant! Does anyone know you have a pink laptop?"
His face flushes. People start poking fun at him; boy is he pissed now. He runs in like the express train that he is. It goes wide.
He's a good friend of mine, so I won't post much of what went on between that, but this one I can't refrain from...
He ran up, and then stopped just before he was about to release the ball. Evidently I'd shaken his confidence. One of his teammates shouts to ask him what's wrong.
I shout back "He's feeling the pressure! Gujarat State Team! Against newbie playing after 7 years! Aaaaah!"
Everyone is in splits. I felt sorry for him after that. So I just let him get me out (tihihi)
Anyway, after that, we all went to grab a bite to eat. This girl from one my classes comes over to talk. I'm telling her why she's a bad girl, when this fucking dumbass wannabe player Indian guy comes up. This guy is about 6'5 tall, and his brain is probably inversely proportional to that.
This is probably what he was thinking - "Tool anky in front of girl - Girl impressed - Thinks of me as prince charming - We run away to Wonderland and get married with her fairy godmother watching over us"
Which sounds reasonable in theory.
So he comes upto me.
Him: "Aey...tu peeche se ladki dikhta hai."
I turn to him and look him over.
Me: "Tu toh aage se bhi ladki dikhta hai...chutiye"
Everyone at the table: "hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha"
Obviously the girl didn't speak hindi, but she got the hint. She isn't going home with him tonight :(
My point is, I'd probably not even have paid attention to the reflexive, systematic psychological rape of another human being 2 days ago. I'd have just ignored the person, and there would be no problem. But Cricket I tells you, is a very potent thing.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Art of The Fart
Since I've got here, more than one person has asked me what the biggest change in my life has been.
Is it the weather?
Is it the women in bikinis?
Is it the 8 lane highways?
Is it the wide open spaces?
Is it the piss-drunk dart-throwing competitions?
Is it the bitchy NRIs?
No.
It's the food.
I've realized for a fact, that the first and final step to becoming a hardcore yank is the food.
I've also realized for a fact that Americans fart about 300 times more than all other nationalities combined.
No ****ing wonder, when they have Taco Bells, Burger Kings, Big Macs and Wendys.
You wouldn't recongnise me if you saw me. If you thought that a guy like me, who couldn't let off enough toxic waste after a Cheese Schezwan Dosa, or a truckful of Maruti's Pav Bhaji, think again.
It's almost like a half-hourly ritual.
Fuck that Fernando. He's leaving and I have to take his math book. Later blogreaders!
Is it the weather?
Is it the women in bikinis?
Is it the 8 lane highways?
Is it the wide open spaces?
Is it the piss-drunk dart-throwing competitions?
Is it the bitchy NRIs?
No.
It's the food.
I've realized for a fact, that the first and final step to becoming a hardcore yank is the food.
I've also realized for a fact that Americans fart about 300 times more than all other nationalities combined.
No ****ing wonder, when they have Taco Bells, Burger Kings, Big Macs and Wendys.
You wouldn't recongnise me if you saw me. If you thought that a guy like me, who couldn't let off enough toxic waste after a Cheese Schezwan Dosa, or a truckful of Maruti's Pav Bhaji, think again.
It's almost like a half-hourly ritual.
Fuck that Fernando. He's leaving and I have to take his math book. Later blogreaders!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
