arbitrator of the arbitrary

The Free Rider- A Short Story

2011-06-04T08:50:00.000-07:00

Tanya sat at the bar alone. Gushes of men came, flirted and left but none of them caught her fancy. They weren’t rich enough, she thought. All these bastards looking for an easy lay. She loathed them. She bided her time patiently, looking stunning enough to catch every man’s attention in that room.

It was already 9 p.m. and she’d lost all hope to get her man. It was then, when Samar entered. He was merely five seven but his facial features could give any Hollywood actor a run for his money. Dressed casually in a Ralph Lauren T-shirt he strode quickly, as if in a hurry,

He passed by without even looking at Tanya. That’s strange, Tanya thought. An aberration not only for the night, but also for what Tanya had seen throughout her life. Not giving a second look to Tanya was being rude to her; she was so used to it. Even a third was normal, constant stares was also what she was completely accustomed to. But not this. Never.

Samar sat at the bar and ordered his drink. He checked something on his gleaming iPhone while the barman prepared the exotic cocktail he’d ordered. It was already late and Samar seemed the best bet for the night, thought Tanya.

How did the bastard not look at me. Damn you!!

This is not an ego play. It’s a job. She reminded herself, as she got up to a multitude of eyeballs literally assaulting her body.

She went and sat next to him and ordered a scotch. The barman quickly moved his gaze away from under her face to her face. Both were worth to die for he thought, mildly turned on.

“Hey”, she said not wanting to waste any more time.

Startled he looked to his left to find her. He had been too busy with something on his gadget.

“Hey there”, he smiled, unleashing a wave of charm that completely swept over Tanya.

“What is it you’re drinking? Looks a bit funny” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“It’s a long island tea. With only ice in it, it sure does look funny. What are you having?” he asked, ignorant to her loud mouthed declaration of a scotch order to the barman only a couple of minutes back.

“Good ole black label”, she winked as she told him.

“That’s nice.”

“ So what are you doing here in this male infested bar. Waiting for someone?” He asked with the same charming half smile beaming across his face

“Oh! I think he’s here” She winked again, more playfully this time. She turned to the barman exposing Samar to here long flowing tresses and a side view of her perfect figure.

“I’m so drunk” she mumbled loud enough for Samar to hear

It didn’t take long or any sort of intellectual discussion for Samar and Tanya to find them in Samar’s huge Pajero.

“Your place or mine” he asked with a confidence Tanya admired.

“Let’s go to a nearby hotel, houses I not like” she said as she planted a passionate kiss on Samar’s lips.

Without a word Samar put the vehicle in gear and winded to the nearest hotel.

“Taj! Umm I like”, she said again, resting her head on Samar’s broad shoulders letting him inhale all of her own womanly smell mixed generously with her perfume.

He smiled back.

They got out as he handed over the key to an employee there for parking.

Too easy, thought Tanya and her excitement only increased as she saw a lustrous Rolex on his hand.

She waited for him by the main hall, where she envied all the beautiful accessories she wished someday her house would be adorned with. She was admiring the size of the chandelier above when she found Samar standing next to her.

“Let’s go ma’am,” he said

“Yeah let’s go” she smiled and towed him along by putting her arm in his.

The attraction they felt towards each other was extreme, and it was manifested in the lightning quick speed with which they managed to disrobe each other.

Not many words were spoken, as passionate love making ensued. She found Samar to be a good lover. In fact, excellent as she felt waves of ecstasy run through her body every time they made love.

Stick to the job, she reminded herself.

Exhausted, Samar ordered food for both of them. She was the least bit interested in food, as she knew that she wasn’t going to eat it anyways.

iPhone, cash, debit cards, credit cards and if she was quick enough with the valet, may be the Pajero. Summed up to be a fortune, Tanya quickly calculated.

“I need a bath”, she said while they sat cuddling in the bed waiting for food

“And so do you, I think” she winked again

“Ok I’m game” Samar grinned as he got up

“No Mr. Horny, I like my baths alone” she contorted her face to a naughty expression as she purposefully cat walked to the bathroom assuring his gaze was fixed at her

She quickly bathed, admiring her subtlety. It would be the most expensive bath Samar would have ever taken.

She wore a pair of jeans and shirt as she came out. She knew time would not be her luxury once Samar went in, so she was ready for the final act.

Tanya looked around the room, clueless. Neither the prey nor his expensive target accessories were to be found.

All she could see was his purse. She jumped to get hold of it. As she picked it up, there was a small piece of paper with something scribbled across it.

‘Had been visiting the bar for three months now, to meet you. Oh how proud would my friend be today. Don’t worry you robbed him enough to pay for the food and the hotel rent. As for me I am a man of principle. Please find enclosed Rs 500/- which I feel you actually deserve for I am no free rider. Adios’

Ten floors down, Samar was already seated in his Pajero, revving it up with an inflated ego and a satiated libido, dialing a call to Akash, his friend.

The Free Rider- A Short Story

2011-06-04T08:49:00.000-07:00

How did the bastard not look at me. Damn you!!

This is not an ego play. It’s a job. She reminded herself, as she got up to a multitude of eyeballs literally assaulting her body.

She went and sat next to him and ordered a scotch. The barman quickly moved his gaze away from under her face to her face. Both were worth to die for he thought, mildly turned on.

“Hey”, she said not wanting to waste any more time.

Startled he looked to his left to find her. He had been too busy with something on his gadget.

“Hey there”, he smiled, unleashing a wave of charm that completely swept over Tanya.

“What is it you’re drinking? Looks a bit funny” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“Good ole black label”, she winked as she told him.

“That’s nice.”

“ So what are you doing here in this male infested bar. Waiting for someone?” He asked with the same charming half smile beaming across his face

“Oh! I think he’s here” She winked again, more playfully this time. She turned to the barman exposing Samar to here long flowing tresses and a side view of her perfect figure.

“I’m so drunk” she mumbled loud enough for Samar to hear

It didn’t take long or any sort of intellectual discussion for Samar and Tanya to find them in Samar’s huge Pajero.

“Your place or mine” he asked with a confidence Tanya admired.

“Let’s go to a nearby hotel, houses I not like” she said as she planted a passionate kiss on Samar’s lips.

Without a word Samar put the vehicle in gear and winded to the nearest hotel.

“Taj! Umm I like”, she said again, resting her head on Samar’s broad shoulders letting him inhale all of her own womanly smell mixed generously with her perfume.

He smiled back.

They got out as he handed over the key to an employee there for parking.

Too easy, thought Tanya and her excitement only increased as she saw a lustrous Rolex on his hand.

“Let’s go ma’am,” he said

“Yeah let’s go” she smiled and towed him along by putting her arm in his.

The attraction they felt towards each other was extreme, and it was manifested in the lightning quick speed with which they managed to disrobe each other.

Not many words were spoken, as passionate love making ensued. She found Samar to be a good lover. In fact, excellent as she felt waves of ecstasy run through her body every time they made love.

Stick to the job, she reminded herself.

Exhausted, Samar ordered food for both of them. She was the least bit interested in food, as she knew that she wasn’t going to eat it anyways.

iPhone, cash, debit cards, credit cards and if she was quick enough with the valet, may be the Pajero. Summed up to be a fortune, Tanya quickly calculated.

“I need a bath”, she said while they sat cuddling in the bed waiting for food

“And so do you, I think” she winked again

“Ok I’m game” Samar grinned as he got up

“No Mr. Horny, I like my baths alone” she contorted her face to a naughty expression as she purposefully cat walked to the bathroom assuring his gaze was fixed at her

She quickly bathed, admiring her subtlety. It would be the most expensive bath Samar would have ever taken.

She wore a pair of jeans and shirt as she came out. She knew time would not be her luxury once Samar went in, so she was ready for the final act.

Tanya looked around the room, clueless. Neither the prey nor his expensive target accessories were to be found.

All she could see was his purse. She jumped to get hold of the purse. As she picked up the purse, there was a small piece of paper with something scribbled across it.

Ten floors down, Samar was already seated in his Pajero, revving it up with an inflated ego and a satiated libido, dialing a call to Akash, his friend.

Excerpts from the book- Cricket till I die

2011-01-20T12:01:00.000-08:00

The Inception Of The Dream-

“Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready

to pay the price to make them come true.”

– Leon Joseph Cardinal Suenens

A sudden impulse enveloped me as I saw myself taking a

U turn, driving on the wrong side of the lane and entering

the confines of a massive gate. The top of the entrance

supported a semicircular board which read ‘Mohan Meakins

Cricket Club’ in a worn out shade of black, from which layers

of chipped paint hung loosely; ready to drop any moment

and the board at its creakiest best just waiting to give way to

a strong gush of a Delhi thunderstorm.

As I parked my bike on one corner, an old man exemplifying

the age old Indian phrase of ‘one foot in the grave’ confronted

me. He was the guard, as his attire suggested, a timeworn man

in his late sixties it seemed, who could ward off, let alone a

crook or a thief, not even a small puppy dog. In a season that

would fall definitely under the type ‘summers’, he somehow

still managed to sport a flimsy sweater, bespeaking once

again of his age.

“Can’t you read ‘No Parking’,” he grumbled as I saw the

back of his throat through the massive cavities in his mouth

attributed to the last few teeth left dangling by his gums,

which were as fragile as the board at the gate.

I looked around as I saw a parking sign, hung upside down,

lifelessly on a single hinge and I parked my bike in that area.

The quietness of the ground felt really comforting when

contrasted with the hustle filled traffic I was a part of just

moments back.

A small concrete, two room excuse for an office blocked the

parking locale from the main ground. I entered the ground,

crossing the corridor which had a stench as if it hadn’t had

the opportunity to be cleaned for months now. The lush

green ground wasn’t as lush green now as I observed a group

of young boys practicing in the nets as a man, considerably

older than the lot, seemed to be shouting after every small

period of play, seemingly with a lot of suggestions mixed

generously with profanities.

After observing for some good fifteen minutes from a distance

close enough to get a good hang of all the abuses the old

man used, the man, whom I figured would be the coach,

sighted me.

“What are you looking at?? Why are you late?” He asked

shouting at the top of his voice.

Taken aback, after a moment of being at a complete loss as

to what to do, I walked towards him to help him clarify any

misgivings he might have fostered as he squinted hard to

identify any recognisable features on my face.

“Oh!! My damned eyes!! I am sorry”, he said once I was

close enough to him, as he seemed to suffer from some long

distance face recognition issues.

“But anyways, who the hell are you?” He asked.

“Nothing, Sir!! I mean no one! I was just watching,” I said.

“You don’t frikking play??” He asked

“I do sir.” I found myself saying.

“Oye Rakesh asshole. Give him the pads and the helmet, you

dumbfuck, let’s see if he has the balls; you seem to have left

back home today”, he said as he looked seemingly frustrated

by something Rakesh had done.

There are times when you just can’t say no and then there

are times when you don’t want to. This, I do not know, fell

in which category but dressed in a jeans and a shirt I found

myself padding up. With a major disconnect between my

mind and my actions, things seemed to be taking on their

own course, rather than waiting for my mind to give out any

signals for the same.

As I faced the bowler, who was a mild medium pacer, I

defended, drove, pulled and cut with equal poise as the cries

and yells from the coach subsided with each shot I played.

The bowler who had, till now, been tormenting the previous

batsman, now was subjected to the choicest of abuses

The Delhi Daredevils Debacle

2010-04-19T04:14:00.000-07:00

It is sad to see a bunch of supremely talented cricketers bow out so meekly to a clearly weaker bunch of contemporaries, the story of yesterdays DD vs DC match. DD being the better lot (my personal opinion explaining which would entail a whole post in itself) here, comprising of Sehwag ,Dilshan,Warner,Gambhir,Collingwood which I believe is evidently the second strongest batting line up in the IPL after royal challengers(KP ,Kallis,Taylor,white,uthappa,dravid) and a bowling attack that is much better than DC, should have clinched the match with a paltry 145 to chase but failed miserably.
What clearly lacked, was the discipline in batting and if we dig deeper the root cause was the flawed team selection. Discipline is a word which one usually does not associate with Mr sehwag,dilshan and warner, which in turn also makes them uncanny match winners but when these three gentlemen make your opening three the risk you are subjecting yourself to is way too high. These three have the same style of play, and on a given day all three can obliterate the opposition, but their style of play also makes them very vulnerable to early dismissals too. What this does is that it increases the probability of both exceptional/disastrous starts thus subjecting the team to the two extremes of the performance spectrum. This season’s DD team failure was a perfect example of the importance of a balanced team. You can have at max one or two Sehwag’s in a team and a gamut of batsmen with different style’s of play to balance the team.
In a nutshell, the Delhi team took a risk too many by playing all three together (even after seeing the potential consequences in the previous two matches) and with them in the worst of forms, what was feared actually happened, thus leading to the downfall of one of the mammoths of the IPL.

Roy oh Roy

2009-06-05T14:26:00.000-07:00

It beats me!!It does..How god sent talent is wasted,wasted in the intoxication of the inebriating
spirits. Have a look at the likes of jesse ryder,hershelle
gibbs,the master shane warne,they exude talent.Gibbs is a
national level soccer player and symonds aspired to play rugby for australia and the word is he is pretty good at it too.
Not so much of a natural athlete when it comes to warnie,but boy when u can do wat he does by hopping three steps,i swear by almighty,i want to be that way.
Then you have the diligent,who take years honing their game but still, may be,will never match that flowing drive,that ripping leg break.They have to work with whatever little they have.Have a look at anil kumble[with all due respect i can muster in this lifetime],aptly named jumbo,he cannot turn the ball ,so be it,but his untiring,in your face attitude has made him what he is today.A legend , but not the one who will conjure up magic to make me to see the same delivery over and over again with the same unfazed dumbfounded gaze every single time, which i till date do when i have a look at the warnie to gatting delivery.
Juxtapose him with poor ole roy,if talent were the sole criterion he would make the list to the top five without batting an eyelid.Throws a caution to the winds and candy to our eyes when bats,can give the cherry a rip,can bowl medium pace and few are better when it comes to both fielding inside the 30 yards or at the boundary throwing rockets at the wicketkeeper.
But as they say men were not made equal.If talent oozes out,the discipline might wobble.I can never , nor do i think anyone else can explicate this theory.But ryder will keep chugging his fizzed barley syrup , symonds will keep showing the finger to the axioms that define cricket mannersims and warnie will keep scandalizing us with his sexcapades.These are some things which come in packages.Take it or leave it.Well i take it,with both hands open.After all its the bad boys who make the good boys look good ;)

Sunday ho ya err....

2009-06-03T14:04:00.000-07:00

Vicious fires had enveloped me ,I felt suffocated,panting for air, I tried to run but apparently i was no good.what sins had i commited to deserve hell ? Just when i was about to be incinerated to human debris, suddenly a flurry the cacophonic beeps jolted me.After a frantic search operation i saw it was my motorola screaming its batteries out.I opened my eyes trying to embrace the world ,but the poor ones struggled to adjust to the gleaming sunlight and consequently fluttered trying in vain to figure out what exactly was going on.I realised that the makeshift curtain was dangling for its life on the pelmet admitting the most blinding sunlight straight on to my face.The fan hung lifelessly on the cieling as the daily ritual of the 7 a.m power cut 7 had commenced.
I flung my t shirt to one corner and laid bare,trying to teleport my self back to the world of fairies (deepika padukone in my case) again.Just as my eyes shut my brain cells launched an enquiry,why,why did the alarm beep? it signified something,something very morbid.It was the day after sunday.No its got to be a lie ,the heart retaliated , by pounding viciously at my chest from the insides.It was just yesterday,the friday night when i was gyrating in an intoxicated state to "smack that all on the floor ".Duh , Only if saturday and sunday were 48 hours each.Truth had befallen me , my stomach churned, i started feeling sick.The countdown i begin every week had to be reset to 5,the monday morning blues had turned me pale.Resigning to my fate i somehow managed to get the clothes on my zombie like structure with each step demanding a zillion times more enery it demands on friday mornings . To complete the enslavement i put on the leash, a tie which we address as a 'fanda'.
The bike trudged along and i made it a point not to let the speedometer beat the 30 mark.I frequent this activity enroute office,it lets me savour 10 mins of my life but not the embarassement of being late. Not ready to see the piece of celluloid that assigns me work,i decided to dump my self with everything edible available in the food court and at the same time conforming to the chew-your-food-32 times rule.20 minutes and a bloated tummy later i discovered that my misery only got aggravated.Ultimately i convinced myself that there is no more running away and i dragged myself to the hellhole i call my cubicle.
Nerdy rotund masses of flesh were already there smirking , giving me dirty glances reminding me of the sacrilege id commited coming late to their temple.These no-lifes have a pack of cookies and a coffee mug filled up to the brim , eveready on their desk,because may be if they decide to go to the food court , the manager might get hints of their incompetence.They strictly believe doubling the mandatory hours to be clocked is the only way to climb the ladder which is the entry to the managers coveted arse hole.Very smugly yet frivolously one of them mentioned how he had to come both the weekends to finish the work assignedand patiently waited for me to arch both my eyebrows as high as humanely possible symbolizing appreciation coupled with generous scoops of unbelievability satiating him of the superhuman act he had commited.I obliged ,and with a sparkle in his eye,oozing of contentment he got back to beating the dayslights out of the hapless keyborad.
I hesitantly opened the mailbox,fogetting the atheism i preach most of the time and chanting gods name at a rapid rate praying that no work should yet be assigned to me ,after all, like me the rest of the world has also come out from a sunday full of gaiety and are not yet ready to work. Shattering all my self convincing inane beliefs mails demanding the culmination of certain tasks before eod(end of the day)had flooded my mailbox.Umpteen fowarded mails claiming that females wearing the skimpiest of clothings had been captured in them and their degree of beauty till date was unsurpassed .They were begging to be opened , but i persevered,keeping them as a reward once i finished the work assigned.

Update:Its 7 p.m.Lunch was a sad 20 min affair.The pretty females in the mails must be fully clad in nightware ,brutually tired ,waiting for their owner to give them his nod of appreciation, they must be surely asleep by now .The gang of no-lifes are having their 16th coffee break of the day and are in no hurry watsoever to leave,as the last bus leaves at 11 handing them another four hours to complete the work which incidentally, they should have finished the number of times they have had coffee today.I have another couple of hours to freedom and precisly another 12 till my cellphone decides to play the spine tingling beeps again cataplulting me to this world of gruesome reality.

The Butterfly effect

2009-06-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

"The idea that one stroke of butterfly flapping could eventually have a far-reaching ripple effect such as a tornado"
The butterfly effect
I had never known the power of this statement till I realized that it precisely sums up my entire life.It was roughly 8 years back when i had scored handsomely in my tenth board but little did i know thatthe butterfly had flapped.I belonged to the elitists who would go on to study amongst many other things, how current flows through a wire, butalas would never know the current flowing through my spine and the rush of blood to the headfrom a soft feminine touch.I would know the answers to the most flumoxxing puzzles that for ages, haunt,but sadly would never know 'what women want'.
The undertaker had answered,the coffin was ready.Whatever little interaction (read:ogling) i had with pretty damsels , came to the most abrupt end,an anticlimax.In the new science class the only distiction between the two sexes to the naked eye was the donning of a trouser versus a skirt.Majority of the female species were monstrously chested (in the x axis notthe z axis) and the amount of hair on their face and legs could put most boys in our class to shame.
Across the corridor ,in the arts/commerce sections awaited life(not for us :( ).'Sexy' used ten times in succesion defined each one of them indivdually.And it was not justtheir flawless eyebrows, glowing skin and the hypnotizing whiffs of perfume when they passed by ,It was their junior school skirts which not only made the 'one inch above the knees' rule look insanely idiotic but also made some of the einstiens in our class actually believe they were from not very well to do families.To top it all was the legend that made rounds about their very malleablemorals and that they are very obidient, obliging to 'whatever' they were told to do.True Story?? I would neverknow.
Believing every syllable mummy said to the tune of 'work hard beta!! youll get what you want',i did!!only if mummy knew all her son wanted was a peek at the ever elusive female anatomy below the necklineand above the knees.After realising that i was a perennial no-hoper i found solace in the desibabas and the tb6 mokbas and an ocaasional late night sun tvs on mute(comprehending the plot of these moviesnever required sound) where voluptious over weight aunties gave intotheir carnal desires and consequently gave 'it' to tom's dick and then harry.I had no such aunty.I put in a lot of hardwork and "single handedly" catapulted myslef to another scolastic achievement,an admit in an engineering college a la the inception of the storm.The college suffered the fate of all other of its contemporaries with the most dismal beauty beast ratio.(who is the beauty and who the beast is very debatable in an engg college)we wudnt have been aysphyxiayted to death had the beauties ever heard of a pantheons called beauty parlourswhich removed the beacons of manliness from them .Salwaar kammezes teamed with floaters,luminous hair due to bucket loads ofcoconut oil,stern beliefs such as washing hair catalyses baldness and facial hair look best when black were some notions carried and subsequently physically flaunted by the "fairer sex".
The few who indeed had some feminine qualities apart from their anatomy were taken up in a jiffyby the ones who owned a bike and rode it and the girl on it with equal ferocity,the studs who scored notonly in the basketball games but also in the after dark games and the coochikoos who could pull the guitar and the g strings with equal panache.What remained was a highly desperate lot of mes and the only string we could pull was the 'nada' of our pyjamas .(Do not ask me for what!!!)
Occasional trips to the city revived our faith in the almighty.The same sinous 'art girl' eyes,the same pendulum like oscillationg posterior , the covert glances which notice every smile,murmur,sigh and that has been contrived keeping them in mind.They are players indeed, but not on a level playing field.Because the poor ones like us have never played with anything apart from our computers.These eyes ,what they whisper,leave not even a clue in our otherwise high I.Q brains.That eye blink,that suggestive head tilt , that intentionalstrand of hair that has to be put aside time and again, those slowrythmic euphonic sylables numb our mind to the extent that we understand nothing.Nada.Zilch.May be something has been conveyed by sign language,but programming languages are the only kinds we understand.The storm has picked up velocity.
We had heard (sources never came to light) that after college and once your wallet is a little heavy, everyone gets a girl and life is worth living again.So after 4 tiring years of 'nada' pulling , we stepped out of the gates that bound our testosterone for what seemed like eternity.But wise men have reiterated 'once a loser always a loser'.Hopes were only a few light years from reality.Just add a few hundred years,and plenty more pounds to the science girl back in school,bam you get a caricature of my female peers.The eye candy we got from across the corridor and later away from our college in the city has now totally vanished.Any visual contact with the arts/commerce girl has evanesced into thin air for good.There is no going back now,i can only pick the remnants from my reminisces and daydream about it while i bang the keys on my keyborad sitting in my cubicle.The flutter of wings has finally become a tornado and i I am amongst the thousands who have become casualties.
May we all R.I.P.
Amen

P.S:The 'I' here is not me.He is a stereotypical engineering student.
A fictional character :D

Darkly dreaming demented citizen of the deep

2009-06-01T00:08:00.000-07:00

*****This post has been done by a Guest blogger and hence all the appreciation should please
be directed to ichytys@gmail.com******************************************************

this was supposed to be a life's saga .... then was supposed to be a description of transformation...turned out (no fault of mine....jus simple aaraamkhori) to be a blah blah .
and i woke up this morning and got myself a beer...naaaah
and i woke up this morning and got myself a gun.....that works

Gentlemen , we start the touch base...

born like any other,
the same air filling my lungs
sights as horizon for my eyes
for my ears,the tranquil birds sung
relishing a monstrous load,always there on my mind
brooding,blunting my wits ; mary-jane burned for the respite [ hehhhh ;) ]
so close to a perfectly relative life
when i was

born like no other
a bloody air sating me lungs
a discerped corpse before my eyes
in my ears a sonatina shrieking rung

redemption is knocking

another morn comes , laden with conformity
had sealed my fate .now bothers me less by the by
higher calling,moksha,nirvana, vairag et'al (vairag->viagra...awesome philosophical coincidence :) )
listed as today's agenda,a soothing mournful cry
a victim is to be chosen ; i take a trip down the local deli
candidates galore,although i like them sex with the Y (at this pt. almost signed 1 yr hiphop deal with slimshady records)
Oh! my blissful aberration, don't cloud me judgment boy
to buy my way to heaven,this once, i let them slide

redemption is pissed off...summons curiosity

the mirror raises questions now ,
w t f man ?supreme no more? just when you were entertaining the thought
apocalypse required four horsemen and you in a clan.
Go make things right. kill,kill, a trophy ring has to be brought.

the same road , the same deli,the same result , the same 'no comply'
"fckin wuss" , i hear a voice in me head cry
no line to go here,so slick sly on the fly (my rap album went platinum :D )

how are we doing today Inspektor Burbak Bittu . Someone addresses me after curiosity's lambent prescence pooofs....startled...BANG..

a hard fall
an eye gone black
a wake up call
and now the flashback,

a rookie's assignment , a corpse too gory
forays into his fantasy land
goes with no guts ,still for glory
makes a fool,off his own hand
casualty was i , of the seduction of violence
nothing to do with the gray in the mind
the seven sins are enough for me and hencei now leave this all behind.

PS : I am not in jail
PPS : The authenticity of this , if questioned will lead to...fill in the blanks
PPPS : if no understand , plz dont hold it against me. theory of relativity :D
PPPPS : yes i know...i am the man
Kapishhhhhh.....ah
Yours trulyAtyant-hi-vela-insaan Abhinav Sharma

An affair to remember

2009-05-27T13:38:00.000-07:00

Saturday evenings usually beckon very casual gettogethers.People turn up all dressed up and with evening plesantries floating around along with the lip smacking snacks complemented by the inebriating spirits.These evenings usually have all the ingredients to make it a very congenial affair.The men flock the bar and small todlings try to invent new games to keep busy. In this utterly 'casual' affair there is a very complicated clandestine operation going on.Complicated because men will neverunderstand it,clandestine because they never get a clue its happening there,right in front of their very eyes.
Lets call it 'The adventures of the fairer sex'.Deeply engaged in registering what her counterparts are donning, whether it fits the occasion or has it been an absolute fashion catastrophe for this wonderful evening and simultganeouslysmiling sheepishly deep down inside because of the 'thought' that she herself has turned up in the most splendid attire adorned with just the right amount of ornaments.Not an earing less not a necklace more. Ultimately When she is unequivocally convinced that no other in the gathering is remotely nearing the beauty she is emanating today,then does she finally take herfirst breath. Dont be fooled by the nonchalance in her step,every step is precisely calcualted to the scale of millimeters.A bit more than what she's planned and she just might tumble , as she knows being a female is backbreaking not only on the count bringingpeople on earth but also sporting footwear which duly entitles her to a nobel prize in suffering (if there was one) Best partis she'll accept it gladly , after all the 3 inches added to her height are pricesless.
Getting pangs of temporary amnesia ,she forgets the hours(being very conservative here) spent in front of the mirror at home , getting hypnotized by the wooden door which reads 'LADIES'.Sometimes I do wonder that may be this is the biggest conspiracyon planet Earth and that the entire male population has been kept unaware of something mystical that is inside thatroom.Another fifteen minutes and an ego boost later they actually do come out.(Proof that god does exist).
Now commences the part which she doesnt really fancy because the figure flaunting and the new dress in your face phase is over.Oh yes,this is the part where she supposedly mingles around with the lesser mortals. The accent with the oodles of perfume scent is flowing,the fake smile is tiring the corners of her lips and the greets with upping her flawlessly made eyebrows have a silent "damn dint want too see you" message attached.Very few words delicately chosen are spoken(thank you almighty),and the other garrulous ones,umm..err(oops ,ive always filtered them out)lets just say speak.
Then the formality begins,u know the part when she is supposed to put a few morsels of food in her mouth,inviting theo-my-god-ure-dieting-hehe's leaving her with an itch to yell "hey bitch youve left out the no wonder its showing part!!" Anyhow after downing exactly 14 gms of food and giving a cold shoulder to the awaiting dessert the evening finally ends.That is for us who have descended from mars.For the fragile one from venus ,the show still has the finale left.Another selfappeasing session in front of the mirror.The last pose,the last smile and the last walk.A lifetime is then spent washing awayall the colours(they call it make up) that had been applied initially after taking an equally painstaking amount of time in the first place..Finally she puts herself to rest dreaming about the flawlessly wonderful show she had put up a few hours before.

The art of swearing

2009-05-26T10:48:00.000-07:00

Sports incorporate one of the most amusing arts apart from the sport itself.That art has come to be known as sledging.When it comes to cricket, most of us think that sledging has come to the scene onlyrecently.But since time immemorial these skills have been practiced,honed and then pratised some more.Obviously sledging inthe good ole days was light hearted banter which bordered more on the lines of 'oi..look a truck can get through that (the defence)'or 'hey theres a bit of crap on your bat today'...which evolved to become very vicious expressions like questioning the illicit relationships the other persons mother might have had with other men.Some could retort back , some couldnt and some just lettheir cricket do all the talking.Well , here i have compiled some of the best sledges and in some cases very fitting replieswhich are now etched permanently in the memory of cricket fans all around the world.
o Rod Marsh & Ian Botham - When Botham took guard in an Ashes match, Marsh welcomed him to the wicket with the immortal words: "So how's your wife & my kids?" . Botham replied wifes fine but the kids are retarted
o Daryll Cullinan & Shane Warne - As Cullinan was on his way to the wicket, Warne told him he had Been waiting 2 years for another chance to humiliate him. "Looks like you spent it eating," Cullinan retorted.

o Robin Smith & Merv Hughes - During 1989 Lords Test Hughes said to Smith after he played & missed: "You can't fucking bat". Smith to Hughes after he smacked him to the boundary - "Hey Merv, we make a fine pair. I can’t fucking bat & you can't fucking bowl."

o Merv Hughes & Javed Miandad - During 1991 Adelaide Test, Javed called Merv a fat bus conductor. A few balls later Merv dismissed Javed: "Tickets please," Merv called out as he ran past the departing batsman.

o Merv Hughes & Viv Richards - During a test match in the West Indies, Hughes didn't say a word to Viv, but continued to stare at him after deliveries. "This is my island, my culture. Don’t you be staring at me. In my culture we just bowl." Merv didn't reply, but after he dismissed him he announced to the batsman: "In my culture we just say fuck off."

o Glenn McGrath to Ramnaresh Sarwan - "So what does Brian Lara's d*ck taste like?"Sarwan: "I don't know. Ask your wife." McGrath lost it: "If you ever mention my wife again, I'll F***ing rip your F***ing throat out." A supreme example of cricketers not being able to take what they dish out.But mc Grath can be cut sum slack as his wife was suffering from cancer that time.

o Malcolm Marshall was bowling to David Boon who had played and missed a couple of times. Marshall: "Now David, Are you going to get out now or am I going to have to bowl around the wicket and kill you?"
o Ricky Ponting & Shaun Pollock - After going past the outside edge with a couple of deliveries, Pollock told Ponting: "It's red, round & weighs about 5 ounces." Unfortunately for Pollock, the next ball was hammered out of the ground. Ponting to Pollock: "You know what it looks like, now go find it."

o Fred Trueman - While bowling the batsman edges and the ball goes to first slip,and right between Raman Subba Row's legs. Fred doesn't say a word. At the end of the over, Row ambles past Trueman and apologises sheepishly. "I should've kept my legs together, Fred". "So should your mother," he replied.

o And of course you can't forget Ian Healy's legendary comment that was picked up by the Channel 9 microphones when Arjuna Ranatunga called for a runner on a particularly hot night during a one dayer in Sydney... "You don’t get a runner for being an overweight, unfit, fat cunt!!!"

Now this one is my personal favourite :D

o Glenn McGrath asked Eddo Brandes how come he was so fat. Brandes replied "because every time I fuck your wife she gives me a biscuit".

o The batsman on guard had a short temper and the slips were giving him the needle.After he had played and missed for the third time in the over one of the slips said just loudly enogh..."Yeah his wife was telling me in the shower this morning that he has been off his stroke in the bedroom too"The Batsman erupted and rushed the slip waving his bat and turning the air blue. It took a few miniutes for order to be restored!

o Mark Waugh to Jimmy Ormond coming out to bat in an Ashes match: “Mate, what are you doing out here, there’s no way you’re good enough to play for England.” Ormond: “Maybe not, but at least I'm the best player in my family.”

o In one of the tour matches in South Africa, Australia played HansieCronje's province. Cronje was at the non-strikers end. There was a chubby batsman on strike. Ian Healy yelled to the bowler "Bowl a Mars Bar half waydown.We'll get him stumped." The Aussies and Cronje were all in hysterics. The batsman retorted: "Nah, Boonie fielding at short leg will be on to itbefore I can move."
Talk about a sledge coming back and biting you on the ass.Heres one

o Mark Waugh standing at second slip, the new player (Adam Parore) comesto the crease playing & missing the first ball. Mark - "Ohh, I remember youfrom a couple years ago in Australia. You were then, you're fu*kinguseless now".Parore- (Turning around) "Yeah, that's me & when I was there you were goingout with that old, ugly slut & now I hear you've married her. You dumb cunt".

Sadly sledging can also sometimes cross the line:Aparently after Chris Cairns' sister was killed in a train crash in New Zealand, the next time AUS v NZL, when Cairns came out to bat the Australian slip cordon, lead by Mark Waugh made train noises to Cairns.

[The authenticity of this one is disputed as some say a journalist made it up and was denied by cairns himself...but some claim it was the australian crowd]

watever it was, was pretty low.
Anyways thats all i've got guys.Hope you had fun.

Oh crap!!

2009-05-15T23:19:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered the bestest[not a word,just emphasizing the gravity of the situation] ideas have struck you when u are umm...answering to the natures call.If you agree with me only then should you bother to read ahead and if you dont then I feel sorry for you, as any microscopic chances of you ending up having the intellect and ideas of elite ones on the other side of this argument,well are simply gone.I offer with deep regret my condolences.

For those who are still hanging on,Im sorry to break it to you that I do not have any coherent reasoning or any references from any of the outlandish studies that take place(for eg.studies show fat women enjoy sex 47.5 % more than slim ones,so the next time you see a female gorging on chocolate you know what shes upto...ludicrous eh?) to expound this unexlpained ,but

true phenomena.I mean how else could a person with a I.Q 60 (me) solve the most complex problems invloving a pulley,a few weights(all different mind u),a car,a man and certain other quantities he could'nt even fully fathom what they actually meant.But bam i s(h)at down and one after another they all came out,the answers I mean.Also im a very slow reader,it takes me

a complete era to read the newspaper.Till yesterday I thought Mr Vajpayee as still our prime Minister, but then I saw light.I started reading the newspaper u know where and i manage to finish it till the food in body decides its had enough of it.

And as for my path defining,life changing and shackle breaking idea all I can do is sit here(on the porcelain) just like all of us [united we stand err.. sit] and wait for that one day when I will come up with it.Till then keep s(h)itting [I really fancy this (h) :D ]

from his' to yos'

2009-05-14T02:10:00.000-07:00

With chatting taking up a major chunk of a no-good-bum life's time like mine(din intend it to rhyme ,oops i did it again :p) I was thinking of how many assorted greetings one has to offer.Here goes...

Hi:The im-such-a-good-boy/girl greet.Has taken over from hello in a grandiose way.

Hello:May be if ur a purist or If you repudiate the fondling going on with the english language presently,this one is for you.

Helloz/Hellos : This is what the cool wannabes are upto.I fail to comprehend who would consider adding a 'z' or a 's'after a word and then all at once feel this is cool.But I decided to give it a chance, I thought may be i for once am on the other side of this so called generation gap and there must be some cogent logic behing the added s.As googled it up and i was redirected to www.getalife.com,hence , i decided to put my case to rest.

Wassup:With the snoop doggy doggs to the eminems,With the butt crack exposures to the cleavage flashes , also permeated into our 'unstained' culture the wassups,not very surprisingly, from uncle sams motherland.Its essentailly 'what is up??' hammered at both the front and the posterior to make it a short cool slang making the cool sound cooler!!

sup:Well being cooler just din suffice with sms lingo taking over the

computer lingo.So the 'was' was struck out from wassup to make the coolest greet..sup man!!!

Yo:Well this is for the extra terrestrials from far off heavenly objects,like pluto et' al.

You know theyre cooler than the coolest ;)

sports=cricket???

2009-05-13T10:37:00.000-07:00

I Went to play a little basketball today,theres this sports complex just around the corner, here where I stay.Its a pay and play facility.U know with our country men humping at a rate that might make rabbits suffer a severe inferiority complex,there are bound to be certain scarcities,land ,one of the most acceptable amongst them.The connotation of this fact

is ,because we Indians are the cheapest bastards on earth,courtesy:russel peters,(I do subscribe to his views),we want everything fuckin free,so when it comes to shelling out money for a petty thing such as sports only a few do it.

The general physce of Indians is that playing sports(except the world's favourite sport ;) ) is for dim witted morons who do not intend to become a part of this elite indian educated class(read engineer or doctor) and all they want to do is , what we frivolously call "awaragardi". Anyways,i hope i drove the "only those who are either well off or want to make a career in sports (read cricket...why? ill come to that later ..have some patience) will pay for it" point home.

So as I went in,I was startled to say the least.It was shocking,only one poor soul trying to put his spalding into the hoop,only one tennis court out of four had two aspiring federers or may be a nadal(one was left handed) striking the ball aimlessly.The story continued as i entered the comleptely vacant badminton court and on to the tt tables which too shared almost the same fate.

I dint have to go anywhere near the cricket ground to get a glimpse of the future superstars. From a metaphorical mile I could see a bevy ranging from small todlings to tall lanky lads all dressed in white .Three simultaneous mathches were going on , with fielders constantly getting flumoxxed about which of the three red round entities were they supposed to follow.

I might sound like a pussy here but i was scared for those kids.What if one was looking at a certain round entity and the other one decided to knock him out cold.Scary aint it?? Ok ok back to sanity.What irked me was that Why was this happening , even though cricket is a sport which lingers very precariously on the edge of well not being termed as one.Which other sport

can accomodate superhuman athletes like laxman,ganguly,munaf patel and anil kumble in the same formation and still win games.It beats me when i think some of the greatest names(read warne,hughes,ranatunga) in this game have basically been overweight cunts(not my words,ian healy addressed ranatunga with these two words...:)[Groans invited but suck it up,u know it

too!!!]

I mean unless you are bowling[pace] or batting, you are merely standing like a dumbfuck in a green patch for close to four hours or even worse if you are unlucky enough to be a part of a test match ,for may be days altogether.

p.s: This fact doesnt, at the least deter me from loving the game.In by blood.Im Indian.Cliche' eh??

You must be by now saying ya ya ,we know its a blog about the same ole shyte, giving a whole tirade about what the indian govt has or has not done to promote the other sports which have time and again been treated like an illegitimate child of the same father.So I save you the trouble of reading through what would basically be a vent to blow off my steam .

All what i ask is just give it a thought!!

The cricket pundits..Really

2009-05-04T01:30:00.000-07:00

Last time I blogged i eneded up ranting about the quality of commentators these days.More so the Indian lot,barring the god of commentators , the revred Mr Bhogle.That leaves us with the two most prominent Jackasses on the screen today, Mr shastri and Mr gavaskar.Well being biased is one thing and trying to do a phd in ass licking completely another. For years altogether now , they have been going on and on and on, all gung ho about the asesome foursome sourav,sachin,dravid and the very very special laxman [reallly???]. I mean enough is enough!! We know you like them, but expressing your homosexual feelings for them on national television is clearly not on!!There is another team playing too,wonder you have a word of praise for them too??

Evolve,reinvent,think and speak are some things which seem completelety alien to these genlemen.With he deep sighs Mr Shastri takes on screen, it seems he is panting for breath after a session of self mollification.See the IPL,him raising his voice at the toss to supposedly make the

atmosphere 'electrifying' leaves him with no clue how lame he sounds.

The other day I was privilidged to get to see the highlights of one of Sachin's innings back in 1996 in Sharjah (etched in our memories isnt it:D), when he single handedly obliterated the aussies,making two consecutive mammoth hundreds, a collosal effort by a tiny genius .Well guess what??Who was there to poop the party ?The pooper himself,Mr Shastri.Mumbling the same rants he chants today,the same,indistinguishable pieces of unintelligible speeches which can fit into any setting.

A few Quotes:

This period of play is very important.....Is it??

The key to the game is to string a patnership here...Well when wasnt it??

[49th over]..One gets the feeling hes gonna cut loose here...Oh i thought otherwise..

A single after a six/four...Intelligent cricket,verrrrry intelligent,following a six with a single......Screw you Mr,the ball wasnt there to be hit else he would have hit it again

These inane remarks get on to my nerves.Facts which even a fith grader would assimilate.Havnt once these two morons given us any analysis or for that matter an expert opinion for which they are warming their arses there.

If these two are in one league,there is a man,whom we dont get to see much of nowadays may be because he's been hung by his balls by the taliban(at least that is what i pray for) , yes you guessed it right Mr Ramiz Raza.Well if these two are awe-inspiring ass lickers beating jenna jameson at it , i sure can vouch for the fact that mr raza can give the best blow job in the history of cricket . I mean what else can one say when a person is such an extereme partisan that if he had his way, every time Aloo hit the ball to the boundary he would run up

,pull his pants down and then do what he does best.Believe you me , im not exaggerating here.

Enough said , but i feel its time for our sorry asss commentators to rethink what they speak,even if they want to keep holloring the same cliches over and over again, at least revamp them.So , Most honoured sirs , if you cannot even do that i solemnly put forward my words in the most

suave manner possible:'Please' FUCK OFF!!

IPL

2009-05-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

Whats going on with everyone here in the land of snake charmers or rather the slumdogs now(bad citizen :P) apart from the dance of demo'crazy' i.e elections? What has had the unbashed success kicking the sorry arses of the hallowed saas bahu tortoutous 2 hour dramas,well no dimes for guessing, its the brainchild of Mr Lalit Modi(another Jackass) IPL. Why i keep calling him that is simply beyond my comprehension,he's simply one of those creatures whom u just set your sight on and you feel like dropping a telling blow.If all of you can not correlate then i must humbly request a 'my bad' but i can site an example to put foward case .Appam Chutiya :D

a aa Yep now i see a bleak smile on all your faces ,with ghastly nightmares of Mr.Sree flashing in front of your eyes dancing like a maniac who would do anything to get a speck of your attention and all you want to do is pull him out of the 15" CRT or your new L.C.D and slap him at a rate unheard of. Ok enough trying to force my minds upon you.Well its time to reveal my lil secret .I too am a big IPL fan, rooting for saadi dilli.As the daredevilry continues with a few blips every now and then I feel delhi have got their combination a wee bit wrong .I mean playing A.B over Warner(all due respect to AB's 105*) is beyond me.Plus Mc Grath cooling his heels..hmm...some food for thought.Also delhi is too gung ho about their batting line up which i feel wouldnt have won them one match had it not been the heroics of the unlikely Dilshan.Enough expert comments from my side,but with chargers and punjab looking good,and the late surge of the challengers its anyones game as for now.

The highlight of this second edition of craziness for me has undoubtedly been the fakeiplplayer.

Boy the names he addresses players with, this guy for sure got his priorities wrong and should take to writing full time.His wit and caustic humour has me in absolute splits.Name calling is what has never been before and a small peek a boo into the "colourful" life of the cricketers also has my eyes sparkling green with envy.

To sign off I really dont know what prompted me to write this blog,may be my utter dislike for mr modi or my love for the delhi daredevils or may be,just may be listening to the utter gibberish of some commentators(read ravi shastri,sunil gavaskar) who've had the same things to say for years altogether now just swaping the names of the players, i feel i have a better picture to present :D .

And as i do not have the credentials of neither Mr Sunny nor Mr Shastri who still makes it a point to score with his willow(read:below) to compensate for his cricketing day failures with the willow(Fakeipl player fans gimme a nod here :p) so the best medium of venting out my fanboy rants was indeed this.

Asta la vista