Baki sab bakwas.

"What boys want?". A never asked, un-clever question. It isn't that stupid, take my word for that and we read along we are going to ponder over and also instruct you into the fine art of cube -jokey.

Crap, it's all crap. The advice last week sucks big time. Nobody rations the stomach and doing that to impress chicks is an, and even hinting towards is an absolute no. I was all this pussy wasn't I, dictating etiquette. Forgive me, it is all this metro-sexual fad which was sublimely darted into my head and the result of all the festering by guys from fair and handsome. Answering questions which I never thought existed.

Eat, drink, be merry and throw all your empty chip packets, fruit juice cartons, into your friends dust bin. Practice this habit for a guilt-free, happy life. Things are as bad or as right as we think they are. So don't thunk.

After you vacuum out the entire tropicana carton into into cheeks, appreciate the burping sound it makes and let all the girls in vicinity take notice. Thats it brothers. Now some of may be furious who had read my last blog entry and had plans of morphing into cube-jockeies and all the matter here is contrary to their expectations.

Thats it for drink only sprite baki all bakwas.

A good entry

People who know me know the fact that i appreciate eating and the fact that I am very much into food and I cultivate it as hobby whenever i get spare time. Sometimes providence is that just yummy and as contented as one is after a hearty meal and obliges a smiles on you, you find yourself in workplace which encourages your hobby, you fell in love with it, (the food there). Let me spread the gospel of my hobby err workplace.

I joined this terrific place, Yodlee. Good food and variety of snacks (all on company) makes working here all that extra fulfilling. Flat hierarchy and evening time snacks, appreciable mangers - sweet and soft as sweet kachori and badam milk. Work - challenging and engaging as Hakka noodles with chopsticks, makes this an stimulating place. All this help, I don't feel tired as I leave and that I think is a good sign for everybody and especially certifies the fruit juices are really nature fresh.

Bored of this food stuff and what to know what Yodlee and my work is, please google search. For in this entry I am all but going to rant about the food and its beneficial effects on living. ha ha.

(if you are not a fat ass, go to next para and not here !!!!)
Not so fast, no fancy banners. 'Live to eat' I know you all fat asses. Left to you, this world will become more as tasty as rice cooked without salt. But ha ha, As long people like me are alive people would ever be doubtful of you. Die fat ass die.

Now I am not promoting gluttony. Period. Eat a packet of chips and feel the difference to your mood, is all. You would be cheerful and cheerful people have a higher basic metabolism rate and never get fat. So grab that chocolate fudge. Eating needs to practised as any other activity. You need to gently push the system, demand more from it and you would see the results. Challenge to eat as many biryaies you can eat in a week, and see if they can come out with solid dump, every day of the week. And with practice you can even challenge my good friend 'abbu' who holds the current record 12.

Coming back to workplace, Yodlee, err the fridge at the workplace. It is your assured food source. This is subconsciously very important. For we humans are hunters-gathers and our bodies are hardwired to associate physical activity with food, life and females. If all you do through out the day is sit at desk and hardly move. You are subconsciously idling away to starvation and death and our intelligent bodes fell uneasy. So see eating isn't gluttony but soothing your primal instincts and taking your subconscious mind from surviver mode into philosopher mode. This is also the case at Google, Thoughtworks, Microsoft etc. But then not many workplaces understand or appreciate this strategy and worse hovering long at the fridge is not a going to attract suitable females. So you need to have a strategy chalked out as you open it.

What distinguishes a clueless moron from an silent and effective fridge raider? What to eat when to eat how much to eat? All this and much more next week. Till then I leave you to your instinct,but be fast and never stand long across a open fridge for long.

WES farewell

Hi people,
This is going to be my last post form HP, from the company provided laptop nc6230. None of my posts so far had anything to do it HP, except the fact that I used the above said piece liberally for my own end. I have an hard disk filled full with unorganized data. Google desktop used to do an good job, now I have to take an back up on few dvds and catalog it all manually.

Since yesterday I have been running around everywhere to get final clearances and stealthily snapping photos, lots of them. Tomorrow I would be in some other company and this great campus sized building in electronic city will have to do with my aura entering it. I feel sad and i click one more snap.

I had taken a complete backup of data, some of it was duplicate and some of it was so crazy that i had it at 4-5 places, but i still burned it dutifully, wishing to create a replica of the (soon to be formatted) hard disk. Now I have 4 dvds and 3 cds filled with data, which i may never use again. It has a lots of redundancy but it is soothing for my mind you see.

The mad photographer and archiver which I have suddenly become today, makes me question the working of this mind and peace and what the philosophers always yearn for. I have got lots of snap and all the data, I have got no great friends here and the workplace heart rob has resigned few months ago , in short nothing to feel bad but still i feel senti and void and happy and left with an shrinking heart.

The workplace crushes and its perils are for a next time, the hottie and her habit of getting seated in prime numbered cubicles would be blogged later, this time, i have only time for once a post written in under 10 mins sans msword.

Bye Bye, HP, Bye Bye WES and the crush who was a prime.

Thought on an interview.

Though interview,
Smart asses at work;
karela juice for health .

My first attempt at haiku, though really unbecoming, a start it is.In case I had made it to Thoughtworks it would have been.

Codes asked for.
Taurian’s rarely oblige.
For a change, once.

I really should have done a lot more homework, but WIDID. The HR in their contorted way gave a reason which was as specific as object class. The interview was a good experience though. a wake up call. But i cant help myslef from mumuring "Fuck you bastards, when you kill my entire day I would appreciate a straight rebuttal."

I am going to delete some messed up tech blog called 'tech401ch' and start a new when I feel like.

When was it last, last time?

It was six months ago and I had just returned form cochin. The general feeling around was of an nat-geo survivor. I blogged and passed out. During my hibernation, many cataclysmic events happened and promises were made for which all I was a mute spectator.

Fighting this numbing stupor was tough, (I had trysts with another blog as well). I for fact dont rue these lost six, for i realized that just as you can never forget your first love, you can never abandon your second blog, (first is just a teaser). I have decided to come back and I hope this time it would be like second coming of Christ, eternal.

Cochin _ Travelouge

Holy shit I was on a trip. A very compelling motive to accumulate more that 1000 kms under the butt and boast the accomplishment the rest of life, made the trip conceivable and Cochin just became an object towards the 1000km goal. In addition there was the synagogue and chance to see some jews in real. Gabbar and Rishi were to partners in expedition. My bike was to carry the luggage and rishis one gabber.

Cochin has a small jewish community, though not the azrakanic jews, they have been India for so long and before the last of them emigrates to Israel I wanted to pay them a homage. The Chinese fishing nets and yadayada. Cochin beckons.

I am none the wiser
The confrontation with the elemental power of nature came as a rude awakening, I cracked. The steady downpour, narrow slippery road, rash and threatening traffic especially those red buses, high beams and the added pressure of keeping up with rishi’s snapped all my energies and gnawed at my spirit, I still made it through, 600 plus one and a half kilometer in all.
This trip I had to experience torrential rainfall, add to punctures, all night driving and sleep deprivation I had endured, had I got any wiser.

Wisdom contextually can be defined as being cognizant of danger, to skip and to avoid it. Though forewarned of torrential rain was and having faced punctures, all night driving and sleep deprivation in my previous trips, I still undertake the harrowing trip just for that 1000km milestone. I am neither wise nor happy but I am still happy for I am humbled now. And for the next trip I would respect rain and every meter of the journey.

Half of a battle is less than half of a battle.
The first 220kms were zipped in little over 4 hours. It was good going, it was and so we thought the next 360 looked would be an easy game. But when rain can play havoc with your calculations it would. Every next meter was tougher than the previous. than last you need to better know the exponential graphs well.

Rain rain go away, please let my balls be little gay.
Rain and shine are like pain and pleasure, to appreciate pleasure you need to know pain. I thought I got more than my fair share of rain, I was longing for shine. I heard the morning azan somewhere near Mysore, it was refreshing, though I had forsaken muzzein call to prayers, it was the sun which would comes shortly after that azan call. But it was not to be my undies were wet and manhood shriveled into a corner. It needed sun to be gay and got none.

Edakal cave and the cavorting girls.
Eda – center and kal – cave. Edakal cave a simple name but an very significant archaeological cave. It was here on some big moutian top some pre historic humanoid dwelt and subsequently many a men had scribbled some strange writing in palin, in Dravidian tamil on the great wall in the cave. There was a jeep to take us to the highest motorable point that way towards the cave, we were in luck the jeeps seats seven we were three. One of the reason which I look for most of time while I am driving is the thought of meeting some sultry amazon. We are three the Jeep would take seven and there were girls waiting. It felt as if sometime when fate conspires to consulate you. I try to strike a conversation and am left cursing myself for a long time. Statutory Warning, crocking when the girl janta are speaking among themselves especially when they got boy friends around is never gonna get you that girl.

Water fall and the smallish fall.
Actually in fact here, I have nothing to write, it is just that after 4 long painfully hours in rain, I felt like a wet sparrow. I halted near a petrol for fuel needs and I could not hold the bike still on little gradient between the tarmac and the loose soil. The bike goes down and I lay there shivering.

Mario stage 3 –iceland.
Sparrow is a bird, so is roc. Roc is big, I am big, Big is stout sparrow is supple, I am stout and supple. I am jack sparrow and I trudge along. Well when the ground beneath your wheels is shivering slippery and rain is draining your reasoning faster and faster. Nonsense is a very good bank, it can always make itself an bigger worry. Truly you can worry about nonsense and forget all about. Nonsense can fill everything as only nonsense can. And it was nonsense which came to my rescue when I was as confident as playing the slippery stage in Mario first time and the nonsense was Israel vacating the Golan heights, employing a large gang of palestines to build the worlds largest reclamation somewhere in dead sea. It even helped me driving in absolute darkness against blinding highbeams.


Glad to be alive.
“I have breathed life into you and I shall take it”, some god said. I am safe in rishis sister house.
For the creater had not destined time to just yet. Slyly a thought strikes, it pays to be vile, for the creator wont want you anywhere near you sooner and you get a long time to be as vicious as you can be. Cheers.

Abbu the pedagogue.
My experience with my two nephews 8 and 7, both male or in many words simple straight self centered scheming adorable kids, is straight forward. They ask things I buy then afterwards they are nowhere to the seen. In cochin are two sweet sweet girls, who look genuinely happy seeing me. I am floored and decide that I want a girl for my first baby. And I go about teaching them paper tricks and maths for I don’t know anyother to play and to see how long it would take to mould them like Judit Polgar.


The Gladdest moment.
I am in cochin and it is day two. The creeks and crevices of the overhead tank above the apartment had been my only sight seeing so far. Still I am happy. Gabbar, the third guy had clearly stated his intention of lodging a complaint against rishis for attempting man slaughter.
He was returning by bus. Two bikes, two guys rain and 600km more, a horrendous thought. Should I drive back? Should I send my bike and risk my life for the other bike? Why chrono travel real? How could I betray rishi?

I conspire and the next we are booking three tickets and two bikes. I had not done an iota of sight seeing. But still the gladdest moment.


A jew at last.
Jews call them the eternal people, Islam calls them people of book, an aunt calls them adamant conspiring enemies of Islam. Disjunct I think they are in real. Separated they were from Egypt, separated from Palestine, separated from Europe. They don’t understand that an absence of 1600 years had robbed them their right of Promised Land. Historically they stayed longer in Egypt than in Palestine. In 60 years I agree they have earned the right to live where they are living now. I wont deny them that, nobody can. I hope they understand and learn to mix with rest this time.(This is a travelogue, analysis about the Jewish nation later).

I meet this two light colored jews. A ripe old man who avoided me, for he figured that behind my innocent inquisitiveness lay a tough nut. The other was a girl. Gaun-ki-gori, English style, librarian like, great lips and eyes and modest red polka dress. I was sure she was not happy that way and more nonsense followed my brain till the Chinese fishing nets.

Major Saab – how can you be shit.
Rain was to be our constant companion all the time. Finally we find ourselves snuggly into a Bangalore bound bus, bike with some travel agency. Every muscle in my body was relishing every minute in the bus. Major Saab was playing on the tv. I had watched that movie a longtime back, but back then the shiftiness’ of the movie was not that apparent.

There is lot more to say, but I am holding it back, if you had read me this long, you deserve more of this. Do you?

Tshirts and fright

The other day I was biking back home, when I see a hot chick, across whose chest was written “I was born intelligent but education ruined me”. It is a common habit among everyone of us, techies to, just let the eyes wander over the area for the briefest time required to legitimately read the text written over there. Comprehension of the wisdom put there on display usually takes place in the room with the rest of our brethren. It is both sensible and prudent, as you all, will agree. Sometimes those pearly wisdom are insulting, but since our verbal skills aren’t exactly highly developed we are seldomly offended and we take it in our stride for our.* Besides whats in a slogan, the display with any other slogan would nonetheless be a display. (As in a rose by any name is a rose)

This time I knew those lines by heart; I slyly pretend to read that slogan. To my surprise subconsciously I am saying, “oh that is just pure shit, education did not ruin her, she is in fact more intelligent then now then she was when she was born, for education widens our perspectives and blah blah”. I felt disgusted when I come back to senses for at 24 you shouldn’t reflect upon the esoteric gyan what should matter is that tight cheast.

I spend the rest of the day in total fright, apprehension and confusion. Should I tell this thing to my roomies? Would I ever be able to relish, err read any other slogan without prejudice? Why am not sure about the colore? Was it pink or sheer white? Did it rain there? Why did not it rain there? And I collapse into bed.

Omkara -A

Eighteen Sikhs lining to watch an ‘A’ rated movie is an very regular joke. So when I heard the mouthful dialogue then I looked around expecting to found a rowful of then in Urvasi theater. Thankfully none were there, but I saw a battalion from some school and lot kids around. How were they allowed i cried out jealously. The poster outside, spoke out loud that the movie under presently under exhibition had an ‘A’ rating and here there were many spectator not eighteen and still many were here sitting nonchalantly. When I, a decade was once in a similar kind of situation, remember sweating profusely, fearing any of any dear distant acquantiance.

Ok, the dialogues were not adhering to rules of grammer, but grammer other than being a compulsory subject in school, doesn’t matter more. Langada, kesu, omi though a bit lenient on sentence structure lucidly put their thoughts and emotions across. MC/BC`s is this lingo right, is it required. And at an more fundamental level are we humans wired to speak. I am not sure. Adios.

Injury time.

I am sitting on a mat, back slanting on a wall, laptop placed intentionally as far form groin as possible. My last post has something bout breaking rumer bone. I think rumer is that, big bone which we have in legs.

“wiggle you little toe, wiggle”. These were some words which “The bride: KILL BILL” spoke to lull her unresponsive feet from coma into motion. I was forced into an accident yesterday. Forced is right for I did all I could to not get involved. A moronic car driver felt violated by a guy on overload 80 cc tvs. Enraged and to give that guy an earful, he presses the hydraulic break without a thought to people behind him. Just like that it comes to a stop. I manage to halt the bike a millimiter from the car. The guy behind felt that he could curve past and only brushes against my left leg.

Now here it is, my leg lying on a mat, no great injury or fracture, just the calf is swollen to twice the original and the little fingers decide not to move. The AC felt colder and my trysts to my favorite paanwaala are taking little longer.

Pain and pain, it is the constant thing in life. It is hidden most of time but once in a while to some and constantly for others it keeps reminding things, which we would love to forget. I have a left leg and five toes on it, the nail on the smallest toe has turned black, not because of injury hygiene I guesss. Whats the state of your small toe?

Blood has colligated at a point. An area smaller than a key of keyboard, can say about 60%. 15 inches below the knee and 8 inches from the palm of feet centered exactly when the leg is left at its natural tilt. A violent red big bindi .There is no other visible abrasions on skin. This should mean that the origin, the staring axes of pain is there, that bindi very much defined. But I am not pretty sure, the pain seems radiating it from everywhere and sometimes incredibly from outside the leg. But still it is ok, enjoyable sort of pain, otherwise I wont be blogging.

“wiggle my little toe!”, ok, I wont bother you anymore today. The left foot it is. It is warmer than the uninjured right one. I felt it when I cross them. Now both the legs are now completely out of view, hidden like pain behind the screen. Still the pain is very much there. Since I no longer can see, when I concentrate, it seems to stem from somewhere, I don’t know from where, but surely not form my leg but some where form behind the screen,

I find myself in a postion now, which is a challenge to put in words. The neck has taken a rare break, the head, it is held pressed between the knees. Quite a challenging postion and should I ever again find myself in it, I would jot the peculiarities of it. But then I sure don’t want to sit like that anytime again.

Actually I am liking this injury, for it is innocuous and definitely not life threatening and nor is it affecting my work. Added, it gave an excuse to postpone regular jogging by a week plus something to blog.

Now finally let me thank those guys from HCL ulsoor road who helped me back on feet. Thank you guys.

P.S: I wanted there to be chapter 3: Opal. But feelings like this warm iodex rubbed on skin are to be cherished and chronicled.

Chapter 2: Opal

This blog is second in the Opal series. My position vis-a-vis Opal is yet unclear. I wish to explore it via this series. For unlike dubya I believe the world has many shades of gray. Let me milk till the last drop.

Other than Zahir, Opal blah blah happens to be the only other novel which got better of my mindless determination, irrespecting and uncaring of any issues to see every books end. Zahir heavy boring stuff. Whereas Opal Mehta is in klingion I say and squeaky. I couldn`t comprehend her nor hold myself against those soggy sobbing words.

Before mehta thing happened, I was positive. The smooth sexy me was sure of handling any women. I was so confident that I decided that I would give patient listening to only chicks with long hair and nice boobs (and with patient ear I fantasized that I would fiddle my hand to her bossom,err to her heart). Over confidence sprouting from reading Men are from mars at an young age. I never been in a relationship and if women really turn out to from furs, aka venus l. I am in real need of a horrible reality check.

But sure did Opal Mehta put a hard stinging slap across my face. I was shown the truth. My literary diet, which entirely consisted of pips of Great Expectations and Human Bondagae. Or that Raskolnikov elk and sweet little harry once in a while, was unprepared for anything Mehta served. Really I wonder, women why are you so uncomfortable with your unhappiness. Now let me rant the reasons why I gave up opal around page 40.

1. Opal is sad and hopeless and so were all the above three mentioned characters, I read to enjoy pain no other way around.
2. If somebody asks, who are your best two friends? Ya moron I would be dumbstruck, so would you. Ofcourse I have really good beer guzzling asses for buddies, but I would give them up rather the 20 bucks I lost in a pool game. Infact if any one asks such private questions, that person is surely gay and is fantasying you in bed, avoid him. Break your rumer bone rather than going to any coorg trip with him.
3. You commented on your best friends boobs, what should I comment on, penis. We are proud sons and husbands of bharathi. “hum indira key patti betay hi”. I don’t go to western style lockers and any talk bout your mr.junior talk is strictly illegal.

Opal again

I happened to glance at “How Opel mehata blah blah” laying on payment across bata showroom in jayanagar. I bought it. The palagarization charges upping its appeal a few notches extra and on cover , those high heals and long trecess maketh it an unavoidable buy. Seriously to say, those Xeroxing charges maketh none difference for we lot in Bangalore. For I being none the wiser of any other chick flick, each and every passage of it would sound as fresh as fresh as fresh can be.

“300 odd pages, the book could be mopped clean by midnight”. Hubris, it was. It is simple matter to read LOTR, stretching your involuntary reflexes till death. For few quick bites and you are revived. Sympathizing page after page with opal, be warned tortures your mental faculties, upsets your stomach, and makes you uncomfortably think bout yourself rather than rooneys less England. 40 pages down I had a promotion of calamity I calmly shoved that book among my roommtees clothes and allowed myslelf a weird smile, For in that corner great many things have been lost for oblivion.

After a cold shower, I was back to normal. Master planning propogation of genes and interrupted by fleeting thoughts of the greatness of oncoming posterity. In circa 2121 it struck, what if by chance my grandson is the only one holding the only paper back of something so nauseating left in this world. Sure some Bill's great grand daughter heir would want it desperately in orginal print. She would willingly pays a quarter of her fortune. Now i had second thoughts and i rummaged my way through roomies stock. But shit! how could I forget that everthing into sohails mess is one way. To be true, the copy which I had was a pirated one and heir of gates would more probably pack the kid to goals.

But still the book could attract cease and destroy ruling, and only one world wide which could escape that incretion is the one that is hidden in that trove of clothing. But first thing first I am busy recuperting after that wreathing and strenuous read, it is only kayya that can soothe me to sleep guys.

“For it is the only the one who hurts you the most can comfort you the most”[source: Madonna’s that graphic book with naoimi cambell in it.]

Orkut has a way.

Howz Orkut? Good.
Orkut would be subject matter of discussion toady.
Why? Cause its good.

Orkut was once upon a time invented for something, and as it happen, it was quickly put to varied uses. Our hero first found this from some sapna who loved to be told exactly “baby you are sexy I would like to *** you” and nothing more.

Back here the day before yesterdays was this guys birthday,(People! wish me). Many long lost buddies rang him and one such rare diaper buddy(langotia yaar) wanted the birth day boy in his Orkut list. Our hero obliged his wish but the next day did he again got curious of Orkut varied prospects and this time he got curious of all girls out there.

He unintentionally commits a grave sin, and also misses the rebirth of a Nation.

Nepalese people busy in cracking a perfect constituion forget heros birthday and he in turn was busy at perfect Bday mail. The people in Himalayas cradle were blasting crackers and shouting that theirs, theirs could only now to on to become an accountable democracy. The hero here was distributing sweets and gravely conspiring starategies to get sexier as he can and rightly should.

Neither the hero nor the intellgencia, knew each other, both unaware that both could go on to be let downs. He none the sexier /smoother and their roads none any wider/smother.


Never has any poor democracy been a blameless democracy and 24 years of empirical data shows that our hero as such has no record of getting sexier as he had gone matured. Enough of this Rasidisque, midnight copying, but -kya karoo- me as that girl vishwanth of opel Mehta fame, am intensly influenced by good old Rashidie.

Joke: How would Salman Rashidie meet his end ?
1:50  die of asphyxiation cause, Padma.
1:500 ETA contracts to piss of rashidie for the money on his head.
1:5000 Rashidie dies of rash driving.

Sinse MAD is no longer in publication, why polish the effort.

But people first things first, I have a confession but I am not yet sorry enough to confess it.

Before I sign out, my next blog would be on why I left out chameli from the list of my favorite movies my profile , and why does every body mostly listen to English music only in orkut, and now relearn your mother tounge. Do we need English, do I need it to pen my thoughts.

Deadth and kicking alive

Fundamentally when you realize that you are nothing but only probability of matter most of your problems are solved. Rajkumar died today and the theory of probability has triumphed again. The lattice of hard and soft tissues which tell date, by their regular predectve structure defied the unchallengable theory of probality, are exposed to be just one more sham.

Sick of rajkumar, I don’t even know that guy, but just that, the conditons came together to a blogging probility and will in few minutes give birth, oops it isn`t birth but according to probability, some eletrons in the blogger database randomly exiting themselves for an unrandom duration, that’s it. But first things first, I felt let down, let down, let down today, I cant tell what it is, for basically I don’t keep telling strangers.

Sick of probability equals to gawd. I don’t even know that guy, gawd, just that I was reading about that fellow these days and I came to a conclusion that I am no longer an atheist, that doesn’t mean I don’t stop irrespecting of god, some fellow somewhere calls himself free-thinker and I join his bandwagon, that’s it but first things first, my heart is beating , beating, beating, beating, It is so fast, so fast, so fast, I don’t want it to stop.

Sick of that thing which used to make the heart beat, beat and stop and beat and stop and beat so fast and suddenly skid to a halt, that’s the thing it is, and I know that guy,*** not a guy ***., that gal.

Love is a dish best enjoyed cold, due regards to bride –Abbu.

St Cains Day.

(Note:I meant to write about Cains day. I wrote but when i reread i was confused. This is why i am adding this note. This story is about a forgotten and a balmed historical character called Cain, whose progeny is the true holy grail. This peice is written to hit back at the age-old conspiracy and a day runious day named after Valentine. For that hence forth Feb 14 shoudl be called St Cains day after that great historical figure. )

It can be unquestionably stated that St Valentine, is undoubtedly from the creed which followed Abraham, and as it suits that line everyone is forced to silently uphold the tampered Abrahamic virtues, How unnatural when one can chooses his career in trade, deceit, clergy or peasantry, as to his personal inclinations and pleasures. But at social level is to be ashamed of his manly instincts.

Who is Cain? Why is he not spoken around? Cain was the first, the first of Abrahams progeny who stood for himself and showed the rest the way. He was the superstar of yesteryears. A super-father who, every son can be proud.

Though we find no mention of his, other than the involvement in homicide and subsequent banishment nor any mention of his progeny. The saga of Cain is not irrefutably documented, Bring him into light that I think will balance the skewd way a society forces man to be. The unspoken historical facts if verified, shout out loud that virtues and chivalry are unnatural and we men are right in the natural way we behave.

Tell me, what chivalry is, what feminism is. If you ponder deeply isn’t it a lie to enslave mankind.(we men are taxed because of men,- professional tax is waived for women). Who is more dangerous a murder or a nagging women.

How can we go back to our days of hunters, harems and games? What if he had led a normal life, what if there lay clocked a hidden line of Cain.

The real story –

It so happens, that Gawd took some time to ascertain that Cain ended his brother’s life unnaturally, then after he was banished or probably killed. It is this interval - which is of interest. Though no documented record of Cain impregnating women-folk is available, someone with such a bent of mind and possibly atheistic better looking in his folk, could have tempted any women to bite into 'pine'apple again.It further took Gawd took half moon -time or 15 days to track cain, which coincidently is enough for hormonal mood swing in an fertile women.

This fact was suppressed sinse the rise of mankind on earth. There is not a mention of this, This originally was the holy grail, which the Templar knights took upon to preserve. Until the time the world is ready to accept the real truth. They were crushed by depraved popes and queens before they could complete their endeavor. And Cain till date has been bereft of any glories. We are infact proud sons of Cain.

Are we to trust those who popes? Those who sermoned that ones chances increase by singing in church choir rather than in slinging a sword or riding a horse. Now we have volumes of modern psychological study and we can deduce that it is and was to contrary. A study of any human sample group would show a lot of similarities with cain, this clearly that the dominate percentage of men are decedents of Cain. And we should proudly say that we are sons of cain.

We no more have to fear the papal quarter. Sermons are no longer heeded, and their authenticity is as sound as virginity of Mary holds. Then who, it is those who kill us, who turn us into what we are not. Make us unnatural. The meterosexuals, feminists and gays controlling the print, radio and television. Concepts of one-women-man, foreplay, candle-lit dinners and cards aren’t they unnatural to of cains brood.

But as the saying goes repeting a lie often turns it into true, and they in cohesion with capitalists are on to kill enslave man-kind.

We wont be enslaved, we should no longer heed their rantings. our freedom is at stake and everyone of us, pledge this day that Feb 14 would be chersihed as cains day.

P.S: The postings are to continue till I liberate my fellow brethren, but if you want more go to my last years V-day blog.
Femkind: You will find the last years V-day blog to your liking, to find how I was before this revelation which dawned upon at the feet of BahuBali.

The Writer's Cain

Print has its own charisma; it supplements and adds value to An written piece. It makes it a more compelling read, alas blogs!!. But as a profession it could be very demading the pressure to come up with the 100 lines everyday could wreck havoc to any gifted pen. This is the case mostimes, with the coulums in dailies, weeklies, and many magazines. Sidin, who i follow a lot, will join that rarified field, he has made that decision and he gets the privilege, to spew out anything and guaranteed a read. I wishfully pray that he does not turn into one, but up there anything can happen.

P.S: The title has nothing to do with the piece, just some dear murdering which many columnists do, using Self confusing titles as like as self descriptive method names.

Goa- Travelogue - 2005

Traveling adds another vector to your scale, as you motor along, it will suddenly strike - ‘time’. That time or what we call ‘change’, can be measured on many scales. Kilometers can serve, as good as conventional hours. 630 kms demands -16 hours from bike and patience from you. Somewhere along the way you need to stop counting and appreciate infinity.

This time we missed Milind and many guys who we wished were there. Again rishies road sense pulled the trip along fine and put me back at my door in Bangalore full self.
And the trip- bagalore-hubli-karwar-panjim-baga-panjim-londa-dharwad/hubli-bangalore.
1630 kms in short. Change measured in distance, time relegated.

'Fnal destination' kya?
The signs were all along.
A few days before the trip, on my way to nellore, I wake with a ‘sudden start and blood’ the bus has rammed into a truck, cutting many a chins noses and few major bones.- A light cut on my left brow.
A speeding auto trips rams into Rishi from behind, throwing him onto the road. The ‘auto repair karcha’ had to be shelled out for no reason. – A scarred right elbow.
We feigned ignorant bout the signs and continued.

Signs are missed again.
NH4is barren. After Tumkur, the 120 kms to chitradurga teaches patience, and the further 200ksm to hubli, is for you to appreciate infinity, like it or not, like it for better. There are no road signs to keep the hope alive and the bumps keep you reminding. The signs were most missed on that stretch.

Karwar, the lost beach.India is building a deep port in Karwar, on Arabian sea. It is to become to Indian navy, what Bombay was, in addition more safer and farther then Karachi. Pakistan is also building a deep port in Gwadar on the Arabian Sea, it is to become to Pakistani navy, what Karachi was, and more safer and farther then Bomaby.

Karwar and gadwar,
See the symmetry, lost beaches and oil slicks.
Hindustan and Pakistan,
See the symmetry, why wage war.

Phooo.
The beach was croweded. There were women, chicks, aunties, each variety of many kinds, humble, arrogant, flashy, bikined, topfree adocatees. They were women, we saw women and Rishi said ‘seeing is believing’, I agreed. ”We went we saw we believed”, and then we said in unsion ‘phooo’. The best time though was spent in a shack lining the beaches, the time just flew. Red bull, whiskey on the rock, tuna and tiger fish, I think in normal case are not supposed to last so long.[Beach PhOOO.] Still we went there every night, but then again women don’t pose as good as churches and they don’t wait for you set your tripods, and Rishi absolutely hates to hurry through photography.


Velha Goa
Goa was once upon a time, planned to be the capital of Christian world in the orient. Portugese no more but culture lingers on. Velha means old, that is the place history to see live, there roads are paved, people play football, cobblers move tucked in, fisherwomen wear HMT watches and Paulo is a common name. Churches though deserted are big, time stand stll. If you want to see that culture you watch some Micheal Jackson vedios, shot in latin America.

The rest.
Vasco port, railway station, gaon breakfast, the one which, had we born in goa, would have taken. St Andrews church, aguada fort, vijay mallys masion, the properaiter at the lodge who mistook for students, someone who showed us the way to Konkani library, the barber in Paingin, who was more than happy to get photographed, the old man who needed a tripod to be cajoled into the photograph, goa heraled, inqilab urdu paper. Soda limes > (On the rocks + redbulls). Tuna, king fish, prompret, shellfish, prawns. That’s the rest.

Happy new year.
5,4,3,2,1 happy new year, fireworks, claps and shouts, ample flesh to ogle, good food but there is still something better? Onto bike we cruised to marimar beaches, blazers and full suits and women wearing dresses, marimar beach, where goan people celebrate the new year, as i think their fathers did. We did not capture them on lens, but such a scene to cherish

Butt abuse.
We rode.

New years eve in goa is hyper, but 1600+ kms under my arse is infinitely better.

The year That was

Most of us would not have already felt coming to an end of 2005, it is not even Christmas yet. But I was wary of this lethargy, which I let gradually ceded to. I knew that if I did not chronicle the year at least a day before boxing day. The chances of this entry seeking its destiny to the place where blogge allocated bytes very much slim.

Is it time to hold court with you janus, oh no, not yet, yes there are still more than a million secs. Oops well it is tenth of a million, a lakh. Oops again I am still of target by maybe again a tenth, minus 10%.

Jan, feb, march go go go, april my birth day, the biggest damage, party out 18 guys, nimra guys eat only gost, face plastered with cake and a wallet for a gift, with a beautifully story attached. May june, resignation and joining afresh, july , trip to kottayam, aug, sep, dear two friends – the puncture trip, oct, nov,dec, I am writing.

Lalu disloged - people happy, godhra forgotten - people happy. Happy me for I am for away from every thing that. Tube bombings - israili barricade - republican guard and predator drones. Tsunami proof and on stable( level 2) land mass. Away from Kids touching live wire (in Bangalore), ranvir sena roits,maoists - jehanabad`s Bastille falls, Beurs riots, paris burning - away from girls electrocuted(in paris). Happy me for I grown up wont poke my hands into live wires. GDP china four - PPP India four, ICC standings china nowhere India last - IOC standings china two India nowhere. Sania mirza thighs not good, but ranking better than any Chinese around. Chandrababu out, nellore corporation, elections postponed, roads forgotten. Sethusundaram, theri drowns, Chennai challenges cherrapunji but Mumbai steals the record. IIPM advertises, sabnis protests.

Politics, strife, environment, economy, sports and local. compressed into few broken hyphenated sentences, I don’t need to articulate on each and every verily, for verily each and every above had been dissected, cut, washed, ironed, distilled, verified, stinged and finally anesthetized, by competent editors, anchors, copy writers and makeup artists and stock holders. An even unbiased view for every angle and for every group, possible!.

I am away from kids who play around live electiic and illegal immigrants who lack sense and cant make out un-grounded and un-insulated shelters. My kids wont never light their feet around such un-insulated surroundings, I am not a father yet but I know. Nor would they/I/you am dishonorable to play hide & seek from french state police. When onto work, nobody whisks or friskes me, for I can job-hop, and don’t need a C4 laden belt around around my waist as those not-good-for-life arabs around gaza. Predator drones frighten me but cheers the cost arbitrage I provide by drolling out software to their gadgets, assure me. IOC and ICC I don’t concern myself with, chandrababu and beur riots I can dismiss them in same single breath. It rained here till it wetted the undies, here how wont cherrapunji matter. So bye bye and I if there’s anything lift to bade you farewell dear old year, I have still a tenth of a million seconds left.

Ah I forgot, I reread the alchemist again.- and this time I read that fate tests us severely after beginners luck, and this year you made me realize that its true.

Rain and me.

Bangalore had the wettest of 50 years. I find riding fun, the 40 km a day demanded by my second job could only be addressed via either a cab or a bike. The four wheel option is horrendously slow on hosur rode, sum it up with integral timings and restrictive pick-ups, the alternative biking is truly a prudent and pleasure filled choice. Infact snaking between cars and trucks, zooming on the footpaths, detours on service roads leaving the traffic struck for its own good is peace in itself. The heaviest traffic jams and slushy raods were paid in full for with just few specks of mud on visor, jacket and soiled pants.

I knew exactly where to jump lanes, raise the throttle or clutch and go down the gears. I had had driven the hosur road and its adjoining service roads in all combinations, till the driving became an activity of rote. Then some day, the ride lost all its sheen. It was just like playing the first few stages if Mario where a accomplished player can blindly jump over all the obstacles and catch the flag at its tallest point in a go. Here even though I wanted it very much wanted to ride blind, it was not to be so for hosur road never gives you 1-ups.

Most of the times the ride is like the first stage in Mario, accelerate, break, wait, trample, jump ahead. and when it rains it is like the slippery ice stage. When sometimes rarely I got struck in traffic, waiting was like waiting you do for the two devils( who throw axes at you), jump higher platforms so that you can sneek through. But the fun was diminishing with each ride finally it felt like that thing which happens when you jump over the flag. You keep running and running no obstacles and no fun, only running to do till the times rolls over and your character pops out of the screen.

But still there was flexibility and it the petrol bill roughly equaled cab charges.

Then it came oct 25, rains and rains the days before, but more vitally that date contained the night which leads to light of 26 and to a buddies birthday. The rains before and rains that day jailed me where I was with a battery zero. I had to wait for another oct 25 to wish my buddy “happy birthday” in the dead of night. I wished him the next day though but still I know I will have a lot of convincing to do, the thought sends a shudder and freezes my heart, which the people who have chanced to meet the dear friend would readily agree. That night at the electronic cites threw an option before me. I would move my two suitcases, one big and other not so big and my heavy duty bag and start living there. Bangalore, don’t worry I will come visiting every weekend and maybe more.
But the respective merits are still being evaluated.

P.S: I started out to criticize the weather; it was horrible the full week. .Let the lakes lay where they laid.

Three guys three bikes.

At 2:30 Milind applied brakes to park his bike besides the feiro, waiting at jaynagar. After a quick chat we joined Rishi at Kempagowda petrol bunk. It was going to be my first road trip, the smooth surfaces which we are seeing around these days, made me feel confident bout 800+ km of cruising. The trip started with slight drizzle and good roads, 15mts later the drizzle started to bite on exposed skin. The cracked visor on milinds bike was unable to stop a deviant drop from hitting the head light, the halogen lamp went out with a crinkling burst, the first sacrifice.

We braved rains, bad roads, damp undies, a night ride with one head light less, socked socks, fictious tigers, snaking ghats, three punctures, two of them in wilderness.

But why did we go? Curtly it could be answered, cause there was a road, but screw you man, there was no road in our case, it was pebbles and dirt, held sometimes at the sides by ***suppostabe tar.

The plan was Bangalore –Mysore – Margadi – Mangalore –Bangalore, 800kms of cruise was what we were ready for. The rains and the absent roads cut that down to 680kms of spine stirring experience through Bangalore- Mysore – Kushalnagar – Namdoyling monstry – Hognagal Dam- Bisle Ghats – Kuke – Shirdi ghats – Sakelspur - Hassan- Bangalore.

Chapters follow.

It rains at bidadi
Rishi shot ahead, I was keeping along with Milind. We had driven for nearly 8 kms in heavy downpour, drenched till undies, we better thought stop. While I was sipping hot tea and contemplating Milind future. Rishi called and conveyed that he was 4 kms ahead at bidai and will wait When we three united again near wondela, Rishi was in full gloom. The Journey had staked its next sacrifice, Rishis cell, and the Milind`s headlight change had to wait.

½ lane or ¼ lane (half or quarter)
The roads were disappointing and worse still we had not planned for them. Manglaore still appeared feasible, the roads thinned to 2 lane, then to one and finally on some stretch, it was half a lane for twin stream of traffic, divided it became a quarter lane road. Mangalore forgotten, the road though admonished in pure tongue did not turn good. The average speed was 25-30 but we were still intrepid on Mangalore.

The Unspoken fear
The jouney had taken a headlight and a cell, what will it claim from me. There was a steady drizzle all along, we had taken a wrong turn and were taking a detour on a kachha road, I feared a puncture or a breakdown. But there were to be no more mishaps that stretch, after Tea at khusalnagar, we were climbing on our way to Margadi, Suddenly my rear tyre started to wobble and at 4am, Mangalore and Margadi were abandoned, we turned back to kushalnagar to mechanic and rest. Milind wry frame took over my Ferio and me his pulsar and we trudged back to Khusalnagr. After 4 hour dreamless sleep, we were ready to hit the road again.

Newer and smoother Route?
The puncture had denied us Mangalore. We went to Namdolying monastry and Harangi dam the next best alternatives. Now it was the time to return, going the same way back sounded more like hara-kiri. Milind had taken NH48 on better days, we were all aye to the detour. Shirdi ghats fall on way, 28 kms of 3rd or 2nd gear ride. The road was shitteir than anything and negotiating it on night would have been most exiting, only if your butt was not complaining. I had moved into boxers, but still.

Human physiology
Shirdi ghats fall on the way and guys 300 kms of riding had brought to my light, parts which I never knew existed. The shoulder and neck muscles, the left arm all started gently reminding themselves to me. I coaxed the muscles on, by rotating the group and other novel moments. Butt, which I am proud to say is one of the most silent and dignified muscle takes a lot of abuse, a workhorse and never complains. But this trip in damp undies had cooked it on light flame for 9 hours, it got tender and thence I started noticing the milestones. It complained the harshest. There was supposed to be wildlife on that way and I secretly hoped that a tigress would attack us. If it had happed then the feline would have relished the tender butt.

Kukke, the punctures and the Monkey cap
Milind wanted to salute subramanya swamy, men have to go topless inside the holy sanctum. I was wearing 5 layers of clothing and the temple priest got tired seeing me strip. I wanted a monkey cap,
“So I called up the man across the counter”
“please give me my cap”. he said
“we do not had that cap type since 1989”.
I could vividly recall 1989, the year when ever one fought against that monkey cap. I fought both dad and mom, 1 on 2, against wearing that cap even to fajr .
“such a lovely cap, such a lovely cap”
tyre gets punctured again
“a mechanics shop, what a nice surprise”
“such a lovely place, such a lovely place”.

Sum of punctures.
Summing up averages is supposed to give a fair picture. The same sum had ruled out Mangalore to let us be in Bangalore by 1am Monday. The godly average finally let us in Bangalore at little over 9:30 am, when the traffic was at its peak. The godly average never accounts for T, P breaks. The average does not even care for punctures and other contingencies.

Expert help
Now finally let me introduce the man who let this trip happen, Rishi Chowdary, two wheelers doctor Bihari, 90.someone, Road trip veteran, ace photographer. He carried a spare head light, extra tool kit and a lot of road sense. My bike started to misfire near shirdi ghats, Rishi tucks in the loose wire and presto the bike zooms again, 5 kms from Bangalore, ala the key hole contact get shorted, he pulls some wires winds then together and the bike starts to run again without keys. In Mysore he might have replaced Milinds Headlamp only had he got box spanner. Now how many of you know a. what a box spanner is, b. can start a bike without keys. Now guys when you plan sometrip like this be sure to have a man who knows bikes and roads. Milind it was very good time with you man. Truly a peoples person Three cheers to dil chahta hi company.

Back to Bed.
Saturday I slept 4 hrs and on Sunday managed a princely 18 mts. The water heater was on, I was chewing some dates, Milind has already taken leave, I was in some sort transcendal state, the world around felt wavery, feet move but the body fails to keep up. I call up Rishi, he is firm on going. Abbu was challenged, in 15 mts I bath and dress, the world around is still wavery, but I reach for helmet. The next moment the ground around has stabilized. When the butt felt the seat again, I could fell the nerves firing up, signals raceing to the brain. I road-king had never kept myself awake any night. I used to think only a special night can keep me awake. Here was me in full control riding again on hosur road. I reach office proudly take seat before Rishi does. When only with full concentration and 3rd try that I finally key in the right password, I knew that something is right and my mind is no longer in death avoidance mode. I head to bed in office.


How to be a Sensitive man!
I remember the last time I cried was when I told Sudhakar in straight tongue that he is fat. The blow flat and cross on the left temple would have been deadlier now cause back in early 90ies I did not wear specs. Then on failures, betrayals, more flops and more failures dried all my tears. These days whatever, tears refused to roll down the cheeks. I feared that lobe responsible for emotional processing has ceased activity. A few hours later when I trek back clumsily to my desk again. A female voice resonates my ear drums, the voice is feeble but I could make it out clearly. “Are u crying?”. Damm man!!! Damm it I could cry or at least look like crying. Now guys some girls demand the guys to be extra sensitive. For many of our sex, blessed with stoic blank faces failing to look that extra vulnerable was the biggest undoing. Not any more, drive these kilometers, but never admit, shrug her away and if she persists tell her that you will tell her tomorrow, and we our on our way fullfilling ***** dreams.( Fill in what ever you link, 5 stars are all yours).


I want to keep on typing, the pages want to know about the three ponged yin-yang, the wayside villages with their circular village centers, prohibition of photography in the days of google earth, the hidden tigers, how i started seeing kilometers rather than seconds on X-cordinate. Now back in civilization I am forced to stop for time has started to count again.

Grand chef abbu.

We decided it is high time for us to take control of our diets, and presto our already cramped abode had to make room for a kitchen. Now I am to say unwary of ways of a kitchen, but I sometimes felt a calling, something inside me wanting to be a chef, to hog asparagus and food of those sorts. When I once laid my eyes on a tin of shelled calms, I knew what my existence lacked; a kitchen.

Stove we got from a friend; it was the collateral requirements which burnt our pockets. I needed the list; rang my mom. She gave me a list of essentials; pans, vessels, spoons, knifes, storages boxes etc, then the topic moved on to cooker, the requirements here was of a 3.5 ltrs modest cooker, ample for two souls who wished to flatten the tyres around the tummies. But mom threw her weight behind 6 ltr, wide base, multi purpose one costing twice as much as the 3.5 ltr deluxe variety. She won’t relent, she spoke to the sales guy and I carried the cooker out. Later I got this inside info from sis that my mom owns the following 3.5, 5, 10 and 15 ltr cookers. (and on my way back, I found myself humming. ”all that she lacked is another baby, baby”).

Suhail was more than happy to inaugurate the kitchen and served me a great dish of chicken korma. The next morning, I don’t know how, I got up earlier than him and was apprehended, to get a packet of milk. When he poured the milk in indalium vessel, I realized to my amusement, that milk and curd packets are both moon white and the 500 ml of the both come in equal size packets and cost nearly the same and are tricky to distinguish when kept side by side. He was not amused and even chastised me about how to spread jam.

But I redeemed myself the same night, roties was decided to be the spread for the night. Suhail no matter how hard he tried could not roll chapathi right. I offered to help, but my frivolous smile cheated him, then after a umpteenth try I finally got to hold the ‘baalen’. and round and even chapathi were the surprising result.

Well I was never allowed into the kitchen when I was kid, cause I was accused of knocking things around and was sidelined to dinner table, and far from the environs of kitchen, rolling of chapaties was the activity where I crafted a niche for myself.

That’s it for now, but before I quit let me give few lesson to the intrepid cook.

Lessons for the intrepid cook:

1. There is always steam still left to bite in a cooker.
2. even chicken contain fat, and the butcher is not your best friend.
3. curd packet and milk packet are absolutely undistinguishable (unless you are a jerk who reads fine print).
4. so are salt and sugar..
5. salted chocolate drink is palatable
6. don’t boil dal in a vessel earmarked for otherstuffs.
7. “dal galti nahi”, has profound meanings (if you add sugar it will never).
8. A chef, is hence forth declared uncool.
9. boiled eggs spoil the next morning.
10. no matter what u do, a onion is a onion..
11. You spread jam over a slice by skating the spoon around, any other way u might have tried is wrong.