Con-gress

What do you do when your laptop catches virus? You kill it. Do you realise what their death could mean? They could influence few of your files and can continue giving pains even while they are gone. You kill it anyways, Do not you? You don’t take two and a half years to investigate the files it has killed and to ponder about the circumstances after its deletion. You do it because you trust your operating system, you know it is genuine. Moreover, you believe that nothing could be as hurtful as the virus’ presence. And if still it has left its mark, you simply reboot the system. It takes time but all ends well.

But what if your operating system is corrupt? You don’t worry about the virus then, do you? Virus hardly bothers you. You become helpless and don’t find ways. Every bit inside your laptop under the corruption fails to perform. You reboot again and again only to find it futile. At last, you format. Those who have lost data while doing so know that formatting is not easy but they do it anyways.

Now let me end this insanity!

P.S: My laptop is just like my country, only difference is it has got a better operating system.

Soak no more

I always wanted a costly hospital, my place of landing on earth

But amid some women holding sarees, you executed my birth

My childhood need was ‘real toys’, like an aeroplane that can fly

Not that plastic man who on inclinations closes and opens eye

I wished a driver of my dad’s car would take me daily to school

Not that bus with crowds of children and mixed smell of the pool

Joke no more, God, poke no more

Give a goddamn life

Please, soak no more

I desired to be a bold playboy, who does with one or two or many

And not the king of silent lovers, whose love never gave a penny

I craved for marks enough to be seemed as I’m academically good

But it was always the bottom of the list where I shamelessly stood

I dreamt of an air conditioned cabin where I could peacefully work

You gave me a single window and made me a government clerk

Joke no more, God, poke no more

Give a goddamn life

Please, soak no more

I thought I would have a wife, a wife with a perfect zero figure

And you delivered a big heavy gun, with quite a loose trigger

All those dimes I spent on you, all those time I devoted in prayer

My dreams coming true is still a sight, a sight that is awfully rare

Now all I need is a platform, higher enough to take me to the fore

In front of friends, Romans and countrymen, where I could roar

Joke no more, God, poke no more

Give a Goddamn life

Please, soak no more

Marriage: 'A love miscarriage'

He studies in school which broadly has two sections divided by a virtual wall of some unsaid rules and strict unlikeness. He wants to get old soon to jump the wall, for the other side looks more lenient to him. When he does so, he thinks he is big enough. He finds a girl. He deeply, madly and terribly falls in love with her. He never talks to her actually because once he falls in love with her, he thinks he is even bigger and a big boy when talks to a big girl, people make stories. He works a lot on his hairstyle. He thinks his hairstyle is the only catalyst to make her fall in love with him. At the age of him, erotic movies are less accessible to her, family is stricter towards her and hence such feelings are less likely to rise in her. She only makes friend. She is a 

good actress too. She acts friendship well.

He, although never talks but always keeps an eye on her. The day she talks to him, he becomes horribly happy. He comes home and listen music. The day he finds her talking to other male potential competitor, he becomes severely sad. He comes home and listen lyrics. The next day, he also does a Tollywood and gathers comfortable number of his other heroic friends and asks him to leave his way.

In analogous heroism, he eventually passes school. He goes east she goes west. He enters college. He finds more girls. He finds them more beautiful, more perfumed, more attractive, more erotic, much experienced with adult contents and easily accessible. Although a bit late, but by the time she reaches college, she considers herself grown. She doesn’t find boys though. She allows them to find her. He, experienced and well learned from his earlier mistakes, makes one of them to allow him to get her.

They become lovers. They look for better telephone operator in search of a suitable plan. They go for movies. They go for lunch. Few of the lucky ones go for dinner. They talk a lot. They talk about their future. They eventually talk about their past. They say, love teaches many things. They are right. By the time they reach the topic of their past, they are well learnt about each other. They are so much well taught about each other that they know that he/she is not the right one.

This gives rise to two kinds of lovers. One, who are well learnt about what not to do when living with the opposite gender and decides to quit the love and lives happily ever after with the one they get married. And the other, who are well learnt about what not to do when living with the opposite gender but carries their filmy heroism and get married to the same person only to let go all their lessons, waste.

Devoted towards the same operation for nine to ten years, most of them get wise enough to re-rise in the form of first kind of lover adding to the success stories of Indian marriages. The other, although less in number gives rise to topics like ‘Arranged marriages versus Love marriages’.

Disclaimer : The post is for the blog contest http://www.facebook.com/LoveYaArrange

A laugh a bit

Try reading the title in one go. I mean without spaces. No, that will not do! You need more speed. Is it coming? It is sounding like ‘alphabet’, isn’t it? No? Never mind!

What we call as alphabet is termed as character in computers. Now character is something, I am more interested in. It suggests, that alphabets are not the basic or smallest building blocks of language, they do have a story instead. They possess a characteristic. Each and every one of them! For example A is like that shy and talented kid from the neighbourhood, whose presence is realized only with his absence! Alone, he doesn’t even worth a penny, but when properly directed, can even run a nation! Now you are relating it to Manmohan Singh on your own! Please stop!

Now what does B stands for? B looks like breasts when it sleeps, I don’t know why it stands at all!

C is the con among alphabets! You can never trust it! Sometimes it’s nice, at times it is cute! There are few others who seconds the path of C, for example G, but C still is in the lead in its’ tricks and has acquired the third spot in the list of characters. G on the other hand is my personal favourite for once when it goes in lowercase; you’ll find some nice curves and figure. g- see! It’s the most beautiful of all!

D and E are Hit-men, I suppose. Whenever you want to kill something and make it past, you call ED. I mean, generally!

F? Don’t talk about it. There was a time when F was seen in companies of good words! But it’s fine, people do get fucked up at times.

Now, if I really feel pity about a character, it’s H. Shome shay, H has went sho nonshense over time, that no matter how much H you use in a word, it mean the bloody same! That is a fatal shame!

And yes, don’t go on the slimness and thinness of I and J. No matter how much bag of bones they appear, they are the only ones, who have got balls!

K has some real jacks! SRK, Karan, and Ekta are few of them. I don’t know if it’s the jack or something, but K has delivered some absolute results over the period of time. It has almost dominated Kiran and has snatched Calcutta form C, entirely! It also has shown a great impact over Franz Kafka and high-class Indian urban mothers, who name their kids as K or KK, however, in this regard W tops the chart! I bet you’ll find around fifty thousand kids in India, named W.

L,M and N are like those Indian urban kids, who are being named without caring about its’ consequences in rural India. However hard they may try, rural people call them ‘Yul’, ‘Yum’ and ‘Yun’.

And please don’t care about what does O stands for! Whether it stands or sleeps or sit or whatever, it’s mysterious.

P,Q, R and S owe a lot to the quadrilaterals. If it weren’t for their geometry, P, Q, R and S would have been mere bumbling fools! The story goes further painful for R. If R should stand for something, it should be Rahul Dravid! You see, always there, but seldom acknowledged! However, with H losing reputation rapidly over time, R surely would have cashed in on some relief. Not so different is the case with X,Y and Z! They exist for algebra exists!

I feel T stands for showing its sheer excellence over balancing act. Hats off!

Among all the alphabets, I believe, A, B, C and D have been provided with higher statuses. They are the representatives of all other characters. When an uncle asks a kid whether he or she knows ABCD, he actually means to address all those 26 characters. The saga is so hurtful for XY and Z, that when a kid successfully reaches the 23^rd character, listener takes the last three for granted and finishes it off himself! You see, what degree of respect they have for algebra? Anyways, it’s not only our country’s democracy which is a flawed system, but even within this small system of characters, we have got four representatives, among which one is a con, one is a hit-man, you have already related one to Manmohan Singh, and following it further I’ll relate B to Rahul Gandhi, whom no one wants to stand!

And among all this, it’s really bad of you of not caring about UV, the guy is suffering from cancer after all!

P.S: If feeling erotic about g's curves, please switch to 'Times New Roman'.

Technicolor Taj Mahal

Mumtaj’s soul rests on Friday. Saturday is full of diversity. It is obvious. Friday’s rest makes weekend more troublesome. If you don’t have a camera, Taj is not a place for you. And yes, you must have someone to accompany, who can click an illusive picture of yours while you can stand stupidly posturing one of your hands holding the tip of Taj. The second hand!? Who cares? I assure you, at that very moment, if someone borrows your other hand for a lifetime, you’ll not even ask for a penny. All you do is stand mindlessly in a hope that the photographer will merge you intelligently with the Taj, and will make your pose look intelligent.

Now on a serious note, what will you do without a camera? All you want to have is a witness. A creative witness, more so! The intellectuality of the purpose behind the visit to the Taj is directly proportional to how far you have come from.

Local guys do well without cameras. They don’t want witnesses. They just want no witness about the fact that they were searching for solitary and they were with someone. Yes, Taj Mahal is in Agra and Agra is in Uttar Pradesh. Anyways, what can be a better place for romance? I guarantee, not even a single girl would have spared her boyfriend, with the question- “Will you build something of this sort for me?” And the guys generally would be responding with a sense of responsibility dissolved with shyness and smile-“Why not?” I say tourism department should nourish these loves, you never know when one such lover might get serious.

North Indians, excluding the inhabitants of Agra, visit Taj Mahal with a pride. They come with a feeling of possession. You’ll hear stuffs like “It’s one of the wonders of the world, it’s wonderful. It’s ours. Take a picture Pinky.” Even when they queue up for the tickets, they keep on discussing “Why are we being charged? It is our national heritage!”, until they buy the tickets. Anyways, they generally come to see the beauty. They don’t hire guides. Before reaching the guides, they already happen to buy tickets for Taj. They don’t want to spend much on their own national heritage. It’s their own. People from Delhi are dudes, they don’t want photographs. You’ll see local photographers there “Color-photo, Color-photo, Color-photo, Sir, you want color photo?” And people from Delhi- “No, no! It’s fine. We are dudes.”

South Indians are the craftsmen of poses. They hug the pillars, sleep on floors, lift a leg, watch the sky, turn into Natraj and leave them there alone, I am sure they’ll lick the walls. They don’t let any pose escape. It’s probably because, they aren’t much habitual of seeing white stuffs, and that too in enormity. Guides don’t attract them too. But they carefully follow the guides hired by some foreigner, whenever they get time from their photography.

Guides earn money through foreigners. Foreigners believe, they are in a foreign country and they ought to not know something, no matter how much research they have done before coming. And the guides there are so trained, that they snatch the word ‘WOW’, no matter how strictly a foreigner beheld his praises.

“Sir, it is one of the wonders of the world.”

“Okay.”

“It is completely built out of marbles!”

“Oh.”

“You see, they carved the marbles too very beautifully!!”

“Oh yes.”

“It was built in 17^th century!!!”

“Okay.”

“There wasn’t even computer that time to design the architect!!!!”

“Is it?”

“Sir, there really wasn’t any computer!!!!!”

“Oh.”

“It was really a very difficult task for that time. It took over 3 decades!!!!!!”

“Oho.”

“Sir Mumtaj was unquestionably beautiful. She indeed was the sexiest lady of that time!”

“WOW!!”

“Let’s move Sir.”

You see? If diversity united at a place is what one is looking for, Taj Mahal is that. Not less than people from 15 different states of India and 10 different countries of this world together crowd the place. Although not interacting, not troubling, just clicking and posing and romancing and duding and still coloring the place with their presence. I happened to visit it last Saturday. And what I found was a Technicolor Taj.