World’s worst Blog

I am not evil, I was just hungry

Dressed like fairies, they were waiting for the demon to kill them. Usually we wait for our turn, but I am sure they were not. They were actually numb to the surroundings and were just witnessing the sweet slaughter. Moments ago they were caged and now sentenced to death. Like Jews in the Nazi camp they were scared, but had resigned to the fate. If you know that the way you will die is extremely painful and it’s not long left for that, how would you feel? Those were the exact same emotions of the 5 hens standing in the meat shop. Waiting to be transformed into human food.
It was Friday morning. As a proud MBA son of his mother I was getting a royal treatment back home. I was to leave for Chennai in two days. My mother was confused, deciding the food items she’ll cook for me before leaving. I was not used to being treated such royally at home. I guess I was the lucky dog and my day was Friday. The delicacies being cooked for me were all from the top drawer. Chicken and Bheja fry was the delicacy of the day. I was asked to procure the raw material. In the month of May, going out in Indore heat is worth only for home made chicken. The true carnivore was up for the task. Defeating the May heat and Indore traffic, I reached the mutton shop. The butcher was frustrated and busy counting his chickens. Chickens, which were hatched and ready to be slaughtered.
There were five of them alive and at least fifty murdered and rest of them caged. I ordered for a 1.25 kg bird. He opened the cage door. Repulsive to the barbaric clutch they all ran away from the exit. It was all but useless. The butcher had sealed the fate of a poor soul and he was going to get that anyways. She seemed to be fleshiest among them all and also the unluckiest. Before she could shed her cluelessness over why she was chosen she found herself upside down. The demon was holding her firmly by the legs. The authority of the murderer was appreciated by the audience, not with words but with gestures. The victim was witnessing this all but upside down. In a moment she was thrown on the weighing scale. “Yeh dedh kilo ho rhiya hai”, announced the butcher in the typical Indori accent. The bird weighs 1.5 kg is what he said. The extra .5 kg brought a 50% larger smile on the carnivore’s face. But smile was not the only emotion he was going through. There was a mixture of emotions. For a moment I felt that stop, don’t kill the poor bird. I felt like walking out of the store full of blood feathers and the death stench. The battle of good and evil had begun. Good was taking over exponentially. The bad was facing a defeat. For the rescue came the executioner. Before good could do any further damage, bad had got its back up force. The executioner had carried out the execution. He beheaded the chicken. Watching a headless chicken has always been fun, but this time it was different. What was worth noticing was the reaction of those still alive. They were inches close to death, still apathetic to the surroundings. They were not praying neither were they cursing their fate. They were just watching it like a TV show, may be unaware that they were the next to feature. While the blood drained out of the chicken, the executioner picked up another. Chopped off the feet and ripped of the feathers. Like a naked penis, its flesh was exposed to the world. Then suddenly one of the five could not take it anymore. Seeing the brutal and painful death of the fellow traveler made her not want to travel anymore. Rest of them indifferently brushed off the dust off their white coat. The ladies in white continued watching the episode of ‘How I chopped your Chicken?’. The butcher performed his act with immense proficiency. Headless chicken was no more there. Within moments the chopped pieces of the chicken were put in a plastic bag and handed over to me. The battle of good and bad had begun. The vegan clips of animals cruelty floated in front of my eyes. The sounds of angel descended upon my eardrums like a streak of sunshine on a cloudy morning. I said to myself, “Kiti waeet karto apan” (Marathi) i.e. we are so cruel to these creatures (contextually translated). Witnessing the brutal death of an innocent creature had awakened the sleeping human in me. It seemed to be the most decisive moment of my life. I decided to walk the Vegan line. I had made up my mind to return the flesh filled plastic bag. The chicken no more looked like food to me. Usually mind controls the body, but when we rise above all worldly feelings, strange things happen. “Aur thoda kaleji bhi”, (Some pieces of liver) I found myself saying to the butcher. The vegan in me vanished like peace from the world. What stayed were some silent candle light processions by high class pseudo saints residing in some prime locations of my heart. These protests were as usual feeble and gained nothing more than momentary media hype on the TV screen of my mind. I took the bag, picked up my bike and headed back home. The Chicken Slaughter Show was over. The TV station was now showing the cookery show. The gruesome scenes of the Tarantino movie were forgotten. The carnivore too like the butcher performed his act with immense proficiency. Good bye chicken. I shall sure mourn for you someday when I am drunk. I am sure going to miss you. Don’t blame me and if possible forgive me. I am not evil, I was just hungry.

Sania ki Saazish aka Sania the peace dove

Sania and Shoaib’s marriage strengthened the fact that girls don’t have brains, especially when it comes to chosing a life partner. Sania like my stupid ex girl friend is marrying someone whom she doesn’t know well. But this might be a well thought plan rather than the girl next door stupidity. Ever since this news is out in public it has been an issue of national concern. Poora Hindustan is chinta mein hai ki Pakistan hamari beti le gaya (The whole India is worried that their daughter has gone to an a**hole neighbor). Pakistan ki to aadat hi thi hamare tukdo par jeene ki. I guess this time they have got much more than a piece of meat. We gifted you an entire meat factory.

Coming back to the plan, Sania has married a Pakistani cricketer. Marrying Sania is the only useful thing Shoaib Malik has ever done in his life. The loser cricketer is surrounded by all kinds of bans and fines. The only way out for him is to leverage the “Sania” popularity and get into politics. It is not that difficult for a Pakistani cricketer to become a politician (history proves that). If the bugger can manage to marry Sania, then he can manage to do anything. The day is not far when the mofo will be elected as the Prime Minister of Pakistan. As a Pakistani PM Shoaib would either be assassinated or thrown out of the nation. Then comes the poor widow called Sania, looking for revenge. Sania if gives her best shot can get elected as the PM or even the military general. Then comes the day we all are waiting for. Not me but at least people like SRK, the day of peace between India and Pakistan. The efforts made by Atalji, Manmohanji and several others. The failed one sided peace efforts of the nation called India will finally cross the border. Sania as the PM of Pakistan would declare peace between India and Pakistan. By the time all this happens, Pakistan will either be part of Afghanistan or a completely bankrupt nation. Bankrupt not by morals or ethics, but by money. They will have no option but to throw the towel and wave the white flag in peace. Hence Sania is the peace dove, the only hope of for peace between India and Pakistan. Great going Sania, great going Shoaib. Shoaib, cant wait for your assassination.

Dark Side of the Sun

This is 2nd May 2010. This is one hell of a boring Sunday morning. Since my childhood, I had this excitement for the Sunday morning. When I was a little kid, I waited for Jungle book, Alice in wonderland and Ducktales. Not to forget, Ballu and his tales pin. That was the Sunday morning I had grown up watching. The days of Rangoli were for my parents. I only remember some glimpse of it, but yeah it came with a loud announcement, screaming at the top of its voice that Sunday is here. Now its 2010. The times have changed. The excitement for Sunday morning has died out like the love for Santa in the heart of teenager. The focus has now shifted to Friday evening. Sometimes I feel that Friday evening is what I live for.

It marks the beginning of a weekend. The two days when I am the king. The two days, when no one tells this poor creature what to do. On Friday night I have the license to sleep late and skip this whole thing called Saturday morning. Sometimes I feel, why does the Sun even take the pains of rising on a Saturday. No one is there to see him do what he does. If the Sun did not rise on Saturday, there would be no Saturday morning hangovers, cuz the party would never end. We all would have enjoyed the Friday evening to the fullest. The bars wouldn’t have closed that early. They would have kept them open. People would have slept the entire Saturday. The whole world enjoying the darkness in the morning. The sun is nowhere near the civilization and civilization is no where near brightness. There would have been peace everywhere at least for one day of the week or rather one whole day of the weekend. The world seriously needs a day disguised as a night. This day should be Saturday.

What’s in it for the Sun in this????

Sunday is for sun, but only on paper. We have taken sun for granted. The only time the sun gets any sort of importance is after the eclipse. We all care about whether its full moon or not. In case of sun, we know that sun is always full. Sun is like treated like that hard working fellow, who is expected to perform well. The sun gets his some respect only when the clouds cover him or something in short when he is under the weather. Till then, words like “Kitni Dhoop hai” and “Shit its so hot” disappoint our beloved “Soorya Devta”. He reacts further by increasing the temperature. We run in our AC rooms further widening the differences. The divorce between human race and sun is not far away. The bugger has worked hard and deserves some respect. At least a break. Dude, I guess you should rest on a Saturday morning, so that the world realizes on Sunday, that who is the boss. Show us how much we actually need you. Don’t let the humans take you for granted. Show them the dark side of the sun, to make them realize how bright you are.

Journey with weeds….

Life is a mystery, but weeds make it more mysterious. If your life is a journey, weeds are like the strangers, who beautify the same. They board the train and accompany you for a small time. After initial moments of skepticism are washed away, you start trusting these strangers. The strangers are so entertaining that they make you completely forget what journey you are on. Yes you still travel, but in a completely different dimension. Journeys are usually marked with a beginning and destination. The hardcore travelers don’t believe in a destination. But the journey with the weeds is a strange one. Neither does it have a beginning, neither an end. You do not realize when you board the train. Its like one moment you are at the coffee table with your friends, next moment, you are with Cleopatra on a journey to mars. Why mars? No clue. Why Cleopatra? No clue either.Your senses start making sense out of even the nonsensical. The hidden notes of the music come to the front line of the orchestra. The stage of performance shifts from the ears to the heart. Darkness become brightness and brightness turns gloomy. Normal things start acting in a weird funny fashion. As the strangers’ performance reaches the pinnacle of exuberance you get trapped in the chaotic labyrinth. The happy stranger disappears, leaving you entangled in the chains of your own thoughts. Change in the external environment does liberate you from one set of chains, only to get wedged in something far more complex. The struggle for freedom goes on until you succumb to the pressures of expanded periphery of your thinking. Then after some time you suddenly wake up. The scenario resembles that of a bruised soldier gaining consciousness after the battle. You are seated back in your compartment. The stranger is gone, so are all the chains and so is the army your magnified thoughts. Yes, fade pictures of the strangers do flash in your mind, once in a while, but the strangers are gone. You are ready again to get trapped in the the painful chains of habit, comfort, normalcy and struggles of the real world. Waiting for the next station, waiting for another group of strangers, accompanied with newer journeys and stranger undecided destinations.

Globus: Nothing special about it

Never go to a place with expectations, especially a market place. But, when you go to a retail giant like Globus, you do go with certain set of expectations. Else, I would have gone to some road side shop. Isn’t that why firms build a brand?

It was around one in the afternoon. The city of Chennai was quite mild in terms of the weather. The friday morning atmosphere was clearly smearing the colors of joy on the face of few software engineers, who happened to pass by the store. For me it was a joyous and welcome change into civilization. I was enjoying the time, till the moment I entered the Globus T.Nagar store.

When I entered, I saw four manikins staring at me. I thought they were saying welcome. Ignoring them I deposited my bag at the counter and took the token. I exactly don’t remember the number, but I think it was a three digit number inscribed in black color font on a white background. The token was of the size of a pen-drive or rather my hostel rooms ex-keychain. I put the token in the right pocket of my wrangler jeans. As I moved on, the manikins were again staring at me. I guess they were forced to sit and some to stand as a part of the store’s Christmas celebration. Yeah X’Mas in almost next week, but the store didn’t seemed to be prepared for the same. If the decoration I saw was for the festival, then even Santa won’t be able to save them. The main color red was no where near the front row of decoration. So it looked less like a decoration and more like a compulsion.

The second thing that caught my attention was the crappy store music. They were playing some totally unheard Hindi love songs. I guess, with the in-house Globus brands, they must also be promoting the in-house unheard Globus music. I soon realized that the music was not worth my ear time and decided to submit myself to the chaotic chit chat of the store customers.

I am glad that I can use the plural of customer. Still, the number of customers stood no chance against the store staff. If the number of customers was added to the number of manikins in the store and the number of staff was subtracted from the result of the addition, the answer would still be negative. This the doesn’t mean that you would have a huge army waiting for assisting you, but still you have some bots to fill around the store on a dry Friday morning.

I moved to the mens section, which finally had some display of innovative retailing. The shirts which are usually hung by the shoulders were here hung by the sleeves. Don’t expect more, the innovation ended there. Then moving further, there were multiple sub-sections for same brands. For example “VIP Bonus” had two set of shelves. Yes the color of the packages were given special attention, but still it seemed like either they sell too much of VIP bonus”, or they had no other brand to dump the shelf with. Also, one thing that confused me was the special visibility given to “VIP Bonus” over a brand like “Tommy Hilfiger”. Thanks to the “Flying Machine” trial rooms, that injected some life into the mens section. The section of the middle ranged brands such as “Proline” was treated like the ugly little ducking. Neglected, it seemed like the poor kid of the class, who has a very slow writing speed and hence overlooked by the teacher. The ambiance in this part of the store reminded me of the famous “Kapda Bazaar” of Indore, but of course with very less customers.

I moved on to the kids section, which showed some promise from distance. As I climbed the staircase and moved towards the section, the mist was cleared and the reality stood naked in front of me. All the beautiful shelves looked like brain-children of the respective brands and there was nothing “Globus” about the store. When I entered the baby section, I rather felt scared. The section was filled with boredom and staff there lacked excitement. The plastic potties though attractive, were lying on the floor. I walked out of the place with the decision, that I won’t be shopping here for my infant. Whenever he is born.

As I moved out of the section, I tried to look around and take an overview of the store. I realized that the store would rather qualify more as a godown with things somehow kept in sections. Sure with so much floor space, you can keep the stuff, but arranging the same in a customer friendly and attractive manner is far from imagination at Globus. Thanks to the individual brands which gave some POP stands and gondolas, which provide some look to store. Thanks to the two flat screen TVs, which were one of the few attractive spots. Of course one of them was ruined with some stupid Hindi news channel. The other proudly displayed hot and sexy Kareena photoshoot. Apart from that, the store was just another store. Definitely, there was nothing special about it.

Caught by surprise…

Hi,

Ever been caught by surprise??? the answer should be yes otherwise you are living the same old monotonous life, as suggested by your parents. Well! that’s an example of plain exaggeration. You do not need to be on a jungle safari to be always caught by surprise. In fact, a jungle safari is a last place where you can have a rendezvous with our dear friend surprise. You go in a jungle expecting to see a tiger, and if you happen to see it you fake the expression filled with exclamation. When you are back home, you proudly tell your friend, “I went on this safari and saw a tiger”. Well that’s the purpose of going to a safari. If you don’t see a tiger then its just a waste of money, time and worst even the trip. Seeing a tiger on the safari is like seeing a ghost in a horror film. Well coming back to the topic, did you ever have an encounter with astonishment???I did. Not long time back, but moments ago. On one fine evening, after wasting a whole day, I decided to waste some more of it. I decided to watch a movie, suggested by some writer friend of mine. The distance between my bed and the speakers is not far. I could have plugged them and enjoyed the Dolby surround in my room. I didn’t find it worth it to get up and move my ass to do that. Also, I wanted to cut myself off from the world for 1 hour 52 minutes and 13 seconds. So I decided to plug in my headphones and enjoy the solace of isolation. I did that, but I had messed up the sequence. The ideal sequence should have been to get myself in the most comfortable position possible, plug the earphones and then enjoy the movie. I was squatting, which I do not consider the ideal way to watch a movie. But out of eagerness, plugged in the earplugs first. Both of them resting quietly and doing their job like a clerk behind the railway counter. Then suddenly I thought about providing some comfort to my body. So I straightened up my pillow, rested it on the wall and leaned my back on it. While trying to stretch my legs I suddenly realized there was a momentary street fight between right toe and the headphone wire. The fight didn’t last long, but happen to literally rip off the earplugs out of my ears. It reminded me of the jerk you get while driving on a smooth road. The sweet sound of the Warner Bros music was disrupted and I was left with with WB written in golden letters hanging in the sky among the clouds. The peace was gone. Woof!! and I was back in the chaotic real world. I could witness the sadness of a gloomy evening. The state of shock was intense and but didn’t last long. I was out of it in less than a minute, but sure I was caught by surprise.

Pen is mightier that sword and mightier than pen is your Laptop.

lend me a bag full of nicotine…

Hello!

Is there anybody listening to me? The cigarette shop is closed. Can anybody lend me a bag of nicotine?

Please. The devils closed the gate to the heaven. They say to reach heaven your life must go through all possible miseries in the world that claims to be real. I tried my best, but it seems that this road to miseries is never going to end. They also tell me that to reach the heaven you need to be at the top of the list. It seems more like a lottery or those scratch cards accompanying all kinds of chewing gums or bikes or white goods…whatever. You scratch them with the excitement that, ‘yeah boy this is it’.You scratch this, and its all over. The life of a midget is gonna end. From this moment you shall walk like a proud warrior. So you pull out the coin and start scratching. You are not scratching some weird sticky material. What you are scratching is your hope.  That thin layer that separates you from reality. You put the coin to action and start scratching the STUFF. You start seeing some diagonal black lines on the silver surface. The curtain is raising. This is a strange drama staged in your life. The drama that’s gonna end when the curtain raises. In fact you won’t even wait for the curtain to go high and high. You scratch further and you see semi-alphabets. What you gonna make outta dat? Well you try hard. The guessing game begins. ‘A’, ‘G’,'B’…… what have you won? A Merc or a bungalow or an MTB? You scratch further and the mystery unfolds.

‘TRY AGAIN’ is what pops up. Right there. ‘In your face’  go the dreams crashing. You get nothing. Not even the bag of nicotine. You walk back to your home, sad and dejected. Mat be have some sweet sex or masturbate and go to bed. You wake up the next day. You see the useless crap you bought in the name of the lottery offer. The devil is staring at your face. Smiling. Suddenly it says, ‘Dude, they had you man.’ Now u got to look at me every day. You smile back and walk to cigarette shop and ask for a cigarette. You light it, smoke it and puff goes the smoke. Takes away all your miseries into the heaven. The gods get addicted to passive smoking. They are gods, so they cannot smoke and hence they made nicotine. Lazy buggers made man to turn the nicotine to smoke and start smoking. So lord I am just asking for some of your gift. Answer me lord, can you lend me a bag of nicotine?

Edited the first post…

done…

now i’ll start blogging……..