Here's What Happened

For some odd reason, the Sandman had invited me to go to his function....or rather to SamaBhava's function.

For some even odder reason, and despite many odds like Bhao-guzzling, brittle bones, stoopid bus serivce, extortionist auto-wallahs and Great Indian Chunkubaaz, I went.


Now, being the weirdest and most awesome looking individual at the venue, it was no wonder that the good people wanted to my identity. It also goes without saying that, with the same degree of inevitability as the Great Indian Chunkubaaz's baldness, they all stumbled on my name. After several rounds of parley, they decided on Biswajitji.


Well, I had no problems on Biswajit, but I drew the line at Ji. I complained. I said "Good people, don't call me Ji, I am, after all, the Sandman's classmate."


Looks of utter and complete bewilderment soon descended on the multitude.


So, I had no other option than to explain "You see, good people, I look old, I feel older, but..and this is an important but...the Esteemed Nutters of the Parental Persuasion claim that I am actually not "that old". However, it would be remiss of me not to point out the fact that I am pretty sure that they are liars. I base my theory upon the fact that they claim that I am their son, though all evidence suggests that I was probably exchanged while I was a wee fat baby. There is no other earthly justification to my presence in this family of loonies."


After several minutes of silence, probably to break said silence, one of the multitude enquired about my neck.


"I am glad you asked. You see, good people, over in JaiTelenganaland, there is this Lady whose name is She Who Must Be Obeyed. One day, while discussing the metaphysics of potato, I happened to call her a bourgeois.

So, she threw a chair at me.


Though writhing in pain on the floor, I couldn't help but add that this was the precisely the sort of behaviour that hastened the onset of that Revolution with its ideals of Truth! Justice! Freedom! Reasonable Priced Love! and a Hard Boiled Egg!!


So she hit me with a pressure cooker - and this is the result."


They felt so sorry for me that I got invitations to a swimming pool.

FUCK OFF

Good people, rejoice! exuberate!! jubilate!!! billow!!!! have an ice cream!!!!!


Coz what you have been waiting for a long long loong time is finally coming true.



This fucking blog is coming to an end.



You see I am past caring. And I can't write if I can't care. Right now, the only feeling I have towards humans (and that includes most of you lot) is extreme bitterness and resentment.



I am just sick and tired of you lot.



It speaks volumes for a laddie's mental condition when the only time he has been happy/content/at peace was when he was sitting all alone in a spartan room with only a puppy and a dying dog for company. But that's precisely what happened.


Coz, you know what, that puppy and dying dog were the only ones in a long looong time who genuinely seemed happy to be with me. They didn't care about who I am or what I am, didn't care about how I looked or what I said or how I smelt. They were content and at peace with me, and I was content and finally at peace with them.



And it was then that I realized just how out of fucking place I am in so-called human society. Though am as lonely as that directionally-challenged penguin who ended up in New Zealand, I feel genuinely uncomfortable around people. Its one of the reasons that I felt like an alien in the SamaBhava function (another reason being that I couldn't find sugar for my coffee). I am anyway uncomfortable around rich, upper-class la-di-dah people (and that function was full of them....a few of them might have been nice or pretending to be nice...but they were all fucking rich and fucking la-di-dah).



It was precisely for this reason that I didn't turn up for a party I was recently invited to.....as it would have been full of la-di-dahs (not to mention bhao-guzzling la-di-dahs)



But lately I have been uncomfortable not only around that lot but around everybody....one of the reasons that has led me to realize that talking or interacting with humans is just notworth it...you lot are all fucking selfish hypocritical bastards.


And oh feel free to swear back at me if you feel like it.


I don't give a rat's ass anymore.




But since you should never leave on a sour note, this ain't my last blog. That fucker is coming up in a few hours time, and its funny...at least its funny to me.


Don't give a fuck whether u like it or not.


(A few people are exempted from this rant...you know who you are and thank you for being you)

My Barrel List

For some reason, a list of things to do before you become a memory is called a bucket list. Now since, I am already a highly unpleasant memory for so many people, a bucket list would just not be appropriate.


So here is my barrel list of things I wanna do before someone somewhere does me a favour and helps me to kick the proverbial bucket...coz frankly living my life is pointless, futile and defo not worth it.


Anyway, I decided to break my barrel into 2 - 1 part comprises the things I will try defo to do...the other comprises dreams that probably will remain as dreams

To do

• Wanna learn German
• Wanna wear a Top hat
• Wanna turn vegetarian (but not vegan...the very idea of black coffee shivers me timbers if u know what I mean)
• Wanna visit Syria+Jordan+Israel
• Wanna visit Stamford Bridge and watch a match at Allianz Arena
• Wanna go scuba diving 

Dreams

• Wanna play a didgeridoo or one of them giant trumpets that the Buddhist monks use
• Wanna see a you know who
• Wanna learn fencing
• Wanna play football one last time, preferably against geriatrics (or the Arsenal defense) coz that is the only way I will look Lothar Mattheusesqe.
• Wanna drink alcohol from all around the world
• Wanna get eaten by vultures (preferably after death....the whole Prometheus thingy is not my scene) 

So there you go. Lets see how many of that 1st 6 I can mange withing the next few years before conking.

Going Nuts

Well, can somebody tell me what the fuck dreams are for?


Of course, I am keeping daydreams out of the equation here. Daydreaming about ice creams and football are one of the extremely few rare joys left in my life.


I am talking about the Guusdamn dreams that come to a person once he/she is in the gentle embrace of Morpheus. Dunno about other people, but my dreams are as weird as Arsa players' hairs or Sanchettti's latest Bhao-Gobbling Avatar.



Now bear in mind that usually, when I take pain killers (and I do take quite a lot of them and quite frequently...a Heath Ledgeresque fate probably awaits....without the posthumous Oscar of course...the only things I will receive posthumously would be lots and lots of galis and curses from various peops) I usually get knocked out for arnd 10-12 hours. Critics opine that such a sleep can be described as sleeping like a log (though what research has been done to determine just when and how logs sleep is a matter worth pondering).


But lately (last couple of weeks), and despite guzzling 16 tablets a day (a significant amount of which are painkillers) I have been assailed by some seriously bat-shit crazy dreams.


For example,


One night I dreamt that I have somehow gone to this town where I don't see anyone but see a whole plethora of garishly multi-coloured buildings - all locked. So I went around taking pics and trying to enter but couldn't. So I was stranded on the roads in an empty city.



Next I dreamt that I was in a restaurant eating. But once food was consumed (thankfully there was no bhindi) and bill was paid, I found out that my footwear has gone awol. So I was stuck inside the place with people giving me funny looks.


My next dream took a definite morbid and macabre turn. It involved looking at a ram which has been skinned alive. The ram was grunting in pain and I tried to help it but was as usual completely useless.


Just to complete the weirdness spectrum, my next dream involved a fight between a wee laddie and a camel /llama (the woolly Andean spitting variety, not the bald Himalayan maroon-robed ones) /bull.


The next one is a bona-fide nightmare. In this one I found myself back in college (there were rumours that home-works are back...though I dunno why that worried me, have never done them in my adult life anyway). And then when I went to collect the routines/schedules, the friend accompanying me ran away and I got lost.


So many dreams, and not one of them about football!!!!


So all ye amateur wannabe psychos out there, what do all these dreams mean eh? Am i going nuts...or rather nuttier than ususal?


Analyze away

Jyodessey

You thought that epics are dead didn't you?




Well we still have epic failures like the Indian police, the Indian cricket team, the Arsenal defence, me etc but there is a marked absence of epic tales of heroism.




Not any more.




Here is the tale of our heroic heroine Jyotikus Khullerius (had to be Romanized, making that name Ionian or Hellenic is beyond my limited capabilities) in her epic quest to reach the fabled land of McDonaldland - a beautiful land full of mountains of burgers, valleys of meaty patties and rivers of mustard and ketchup not to mention golden fields of french fries.



So one bright sunny day, with vim, vigour and vanity bag, our heroic heroine left her home and flagged won a passing chariot. She had originally thought of using the ferryman to cross the river but decided against it due to its slowness.



The ferryman was not pleased. He complained to the gods.



The gods in turn got pissed about the complaint since it interrupted their attempt to get pissed while doing the bacchanalia.



They decided to teach our heroic heroine a lesson.



To that end, Hephaestus destroyed her chariot.



But Jyotikus escaped unscathed and undeterred, which pissed off the gods even more. Zeus decided that a spot of thunderstorms and hails would be the correct medicine for the puny human.



So he unleashed a severe hailstorm, and deciding that it is never too much, unleashed a tornado as well.



The sky darkened, the wind blew like a gale, hails the size of olives pounded the earth mercilessly trying to cower our heroine into submission. But our heroine was not to be denied. 



Seeing another passing chariot a little distance away, she braved the hail, thunder etc and ran towards it and hopped on it. Zeus got angrier and increased the pounding.



 The roof of the chariot started cracking in a few places but the chariot kept moving.



Seeing that her husband has gone apoplectic, Hera decided to intervene. She decided to scare and frustrate our heroine in a different manner.



She weaved her magic so that our heroine faced the greatest enemy of mankind - mankind itself. Hera got a particularly annoying ignoramus to interrupt, impede and irritate our heroine with inane and incessant chatter.  Our heroine got distracted, disturbed and dismayed...but only for a little bit. After all she was determined to reach her destination and she was not to be denied.



So she hopped onto another chariot. Seeing both Zeus and Hera fail in stopping Jyotikus, Apollo and Dionysus decided to act together. They hatched a cunning plan and changed all the other occupants of the bus into mighty feral beasts.



But not the driver.



Oh no, it was something much worse.



They turned the driver of the chariot into a luj character Indian.



Our heroine could barely escape the clutches of said creature. She jumped down from the bus and ignoring the hails, tornado etc started running as she could see the fabled land only a wee way away. The beasts pursued with gnashing teeth and barks and howls.



But she kept on running.




And then the Gods turned to Hades. And Hades made the very earth shake.


Panic and pandemonium ensued. Whole buildings started to crumble. It was a scene straight from a Ronald Emmerich/Micheal Bay movie. The religious nutters thought apocalypse was upon them.



Battered, bruised and bleeding, our heroine stumbled on. She could hear the sounds of joy, see the rivers and hills and fields, smell the delicious nectar. And thus she was more determined than ever to not stop.



The gods became worried. They huddled and came up with the master-plan.



From the deepest pits of Tartarus, they released the beast.



The same beast which was responsible for the fall of Troy, for the disappearance of Atlantis, for the eruption of Vesuvius...the beast responsible for the deaths of umpteen men and for turning Hercules mad, the beast responsible for turning Medusa into a Gorgon, the one who made Leonidas commit suicide and the one who turned Darius III and Mark Antony into fucking idiots........all through a constant, incessant, never-ending whine......none other than the harbinger of death, the doomer of civilization - Fat Uncle Cheapo.



Legend has it that the beast first came into this world whining about bhindi and pillows when Pandora opened her box.



Once unleashed, there is no end to the suffering that the beast can cause. And that is why the Gods keep it bound in chains in the deepest pits of Tartarus. But desperate times call for desperate measures.



So they unleashed it.



And immediately our heroine felt the pain. The same Jyotikus who had endured hails, tornadoes, earthquakes, imbeciles, beasts and luj character Indians started quivering with fright and unbearable agony.



But the beast continued whining.



Our heroine was about to become mad and pass out from the pain, when she had a revelation. The spirit of her mentor She Who Must Be Obeyed appeared to her in a vision and gave her strength.



Clutching on the last vestiges of strength and drawing on hitherto untapped determination, she somehow crawled and crawled and crawled........



.....and finally managed to enter the magical realm of the fabled land.















And them la-di-dah post-modernists said that the epics are dead. Well to quote the greatest anti-hero of our era "Eat My Shorts"

Immobility, Incerceration, Injections and Epic Irk

Hullo people

As some of you may know, and some of you may even care, I was in hospital for the last couple of days. Apparently, one of the disks in my spinal cord decided that it wanted to become inflamed or something. Result, humongous pain and more or less complete immobility.


Parts of this post was originally written from the hospital bed on Sunday night, when I was all alone with noone to talk to and nothing to do. I had begged, bugged and cajoled the nurses into giving me a couple of sheets and this post was written on those.


Since the caller switch beside my bed was not working, I had to crotter (between a crawl and a totter) to the nurse's station to do the cajoling etc, and apparently they took bets on who is slower - a decapitated zombie, a snail or Fat Uncle Cheapo.


Here's what happened. Pain started on Wednesday. By Saturday evening I was crawling. By Sunday morning I was immobile. I couldn't move right, left, up down, couldn't get up, couldn't get down... and so it became apparent that I couldn't survive alone. I needed help. But whom to call, was the question. Runa and Abhijit were in Delhi; Sandy and Chunkubaaz in Bangalore; Bera in Calcutta; Biggani Kaka too busy in genocide; Midas in Mumbai; Crybaby too tired 'coz of national issue thing; Sanchetti evolving into an epic la-de-da bhao-eater and as for She Who Must Be Obeyed, well she had already ordered me not to disturb her whenever I felt like it, so I was too scared to call her (well truthfully, the poor girl has way too many probs already without having to worry abt me..and anyway she is always unreachable on the phn).


So Shailaja once again had to be the rescuer. It's funny. Any time anything happens to any of the ex-Quislexians, it's Shailaja and Minakshi to the rescue.


Talking of Quislexians, it's all Shahir's fault. You see, every year he falls sick in August and we take him to the hospital. This year, he didn't. The bugger transferred it to me! So I ended up with fever, leg pain, stroke and now this.

So anyway, I called Shailaja and she immediately came over and carried me to the hospital where somehow I managed to lose my phone. So then, first there was wheelchair, then the emergency ward, then injection, then doctor, then doctor thinking Shailaja was my wife, then transfer from wheelchair to stretcher, admission, more injections, some more injections, MRI and all the nurses in the ward calling me 'uncle'.



Now during the MRI, some nasty pervert starting pulling off my pants.

"Oye, hands off! I'll take off me own pants!"


Suffice to say that there wasn't a single good-looking nurse around at this epochal moment. I was surrounded by pug ugly male orderlies. MRI done, more injections ahoy!


By this time, I became as hungry as a polar bear in May. So I asked them for food. And what do they give me? Fucking idly. So I begged Shailaja and Minakshi to get me something to eat. The sweet, kind people got me chicken sandwich and aloo bonda. Nyum nyum nyum nyum.


Just when I finished my meal, fucking IV. They puncture my hand and pump me full of antibiotics and steroids.


One thing should be mentioned at this point. They don't have hospital gowns of my size. And my ass is pay-per-view. So I kept on wearing my trouser and T-shirt.


Legions of doctors then started coming over and asking me impertinent questions about my height, weight and sexual status. Upon getting the answers, they called me obese and then pointed at me and in a Nelson Muntzesque way said "You are a 30 year old virgin!! You are such a loser!!Haha!"


Then they put me on IV steroids for some reason. But sinister forces were afoot. There were bubbles in the fluid!!! The dark hands of the secret society of heinosity (who must remain unnamed coz of threats of GBH received from She Who Must Be Obeyed) that is hell bent on the extermination and annihilation,not to mention the complete ruination of Fat Uncle Cheapo's reputation (apparently there is a rumour going around that he is a  womanbeater!!!!!


Anyway, to come back to the story, due to the timely intervention of the winsome 2some, crisis was averted and I am still alive (dammit, I can't catch a break). They soon had to leave though.


And crisis for nurses ahoy.


You see, the rule says 1 patient has to be accompanied by1 attendant (the laddie occupying the other cabin in my room had 2 [mom n bro]....plus he had abt 7 diff visitors). I had none. (Shailaja had volunteered but come on I couldn't accept with a clear conscience). So the nurses started pestering me. I told them that look I don't have anyone who can spend the night i na hospital with me so whatcha goona do?


Well, they took their revenge by injecting me with...well 16 injections.


The other laddie tentatively asked me whether the AC could be switched off.  A look of utter disdain soon took care of that...although it prompted the mother to recite the names of about a score of major gods in the Hindu pantheon.


But to come to the main problemo.


You have already heard of idly. Guess what the ygave me for dinner.


Rice, dal, loki, curd and boiled papaya. They also had the impertinence to ask if I wanted a glass of milk!!!!


Next day breakfast...guess what


More fucking idly!!!!!


But what broke the Cheapo's back (apart from the periodic thrashings by She Who Must Be Obeyed) was lunch.

There was bhindi good people.


This is inhumane treatment. Them Geneva convention people need to know of this torture.


I decided there and then that I need to discharge myself.


Epic pain I can live with. It is more or less a constant companion.


But bhindi cannot be tolerated.