tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-268441092024-03-13T08:58:59.371-07:00kirukuSRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.comBlogger324125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-61825197641824885152024-02-14T05:50:00.000-08:002024-02-14T05:50:15.735-08:00I am sixteen, going on seventeen...<p>This is number 17. Seventeen years is a long time. People change. Society changes. What was funny once may seem cringey now (not to claim that this blog series was ever funny). What was 'harmless fun' in 2008 could lead to "you need to be cancelled, you old geezer" comments in 2024. But we persist. Simply because this blog was never meant to take itself or myself seriously.</p><p><br /></p><p>Seventeen years! One more year and this tradition would be old enough to vote. Maybe it will vote to stop this inanity. Until then...</p><p><br /></p><p>***************************</p><p><br /></p><p>Every year, I scratch my head and think</p><p>As to how to write a nonsensical time sink</p><p>Once, I'd simply rant about brains going mush</p><p>But now I have joined those idiots, as I too have a crush</p><p>Imagine my horror when I found prettiness in pink!!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Every year, I think and scratch my head</p><p>As to how to write a verse that's brain dead</p><p>Once, I'd simply rant about not finding a suitable date</p><p>But now, I am no longer single as I too have a soul mate</p><p>Imagine my horror when I found out the cost of roses coloured red!!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>And just when I thought things couldn't get more bleak</p><p>Those smart marketers have popularized 'Valentine's Week'</p><p>Rose Day, Propose Day, Chocolate and then Teddy Day</p><p>Promise day, Hug de, Kiss de and finally Love-day </p><p>Just the fact that I know all these days makes me a freak!!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>But what makes this annual nonsense news run</p><p>The thing as predictable as the daily rising sun</p><p>Is the old guard going crazy about youngsters finding love</p><p>And suggesting that we should all instead go hug a cow</p><p>Puritans enraged that someone somewhere is out having fun!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I just realised that a fraud godman who's in jail</p><p>Or maybe he is already out on parole or on bail</p><p>He apparently declared this a day to worship your parents</p><p>Yes, the same people who gave birth to you, ladies and gents</p><p>On a totally different note, have you guys watched 12th Fail??</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I ask coz I might have aced this year's 'Husband Test'</p><p>In fact, it may even be my lifetime's personal best,</p><p>I took her to a private island, for a candlelight dinner</p><p>I am usually a total loser, but this time a sure winner</p><p>She was so wowed, so until next year I can rest!</p><p><br /></p><p>************************</p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-81242367014053645502023-02-13T20:14:00.001-08:002023-02-13T20:14:40.958-08:00Holy cow! <p>This is the year the V-day whine turns Sweet Sixteen! Every year, I keep thinking that I need to put a stop to this. After all, it started as a joke, a way to crib about my absent love-life in a funny way. It went on for a while, as a way to keep laughing about my plight while I was being pressured by friends and family to find a girl.</p><p>But now, I have already found love, or rather my love found me. So, there was no point in continuing this stupid thing. Except it has become tradition. And we don't take tradition lightly in this country.</p><p>At least, some of us don't. Like the Animal Welfare Board of India. We respect our traditions. We don't want western culture corrupting our minds. So, inspired by their circular, I dedicate this year's V-day post to AWBI! </p><p>*****************************************</p><p>This year, as I was secretly wondering how</p><p>To celebrate the so called 'festival of love'</p><p>Not for me the same old chocolates and roses</p><p>Nor the stupid red balloons and clichéd poses</p><p>The AWBI has kindly suggested to hug a cow!</p><p><br /></p><p>Apparently, hugging cows can fulfil your every wish</p><p>Since they are friendly with Gods like Ram and Krish</p><p>So, I decided to go out, searching for a cuddly bovine</p><p>But there was a huge crowd and I had to get in line</p><p>Worry not, I told myself, <i>iss baar karenge poori koshish</i>!</p><p><br /></p><p>But I wasn't sure whether to only hug or should I also kiss</p><p>After all, it is a four legged animal, and not a pretty miss</p><p>And how do we even know if the cow likes to be hugged</p><p>ChatGPT says no, they aren't sociable, and get bugged</p><p>But certain folks around me were ready to drink its piss!</p><p><br /></p><p>The cow asked me "so, you think you are a stud?"</p><p>You don't look very smart, but more like a dud</p><p>All you buggers are only friends in fair weather </p><p>Once I grow old, you will skin me for some leather</p><p>So, why don't you let me peacefully chew my cud... </p><p><br /></p><p>So, I came back home to hug my lovely wife</p><p>And let the cow get on with its happy life</p><p>The wife really appreciates my ready wit </p><p>Even if she secretly thinks it's all bullshit... </p><p>And that's the secret to a marriage without strife! </p><p>*****************************</p><p>PS: Apparently, the AWBI has withdrawn the its circular. But I refuse to withdraw my post! </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-24381375888788971072022-10-15T21:25:00.000-07:002022-10-15T21:25:02.733-07:00Six!<p>Several years ago, I was one of those guys who didn't know how to flirt</p><p>I would try of course, and the reactions would invariably be so inert</p><p>Xenon, Argon, Neon, Radon and Krypton, even they weren't so curt </p><p><br /></p><p>Yet, I persevered, because at least in my head, I was smart and funny</p><p>Even as those around me grimaced, every time I said something pun-ny</p><p>After all, I did have true friends who could grin and bear it with a smile</p><p>Rare creatures those, who have managed to put up with me all this while</p><p>Some of them so cheerful, they could make a cloudy day feel quite sunny! </p><p><br /></p><p>All those years of practice helped, when I finally had to step up my game</p><p>Gone were the hesitation, the shyness, the jokes which were oh-so-lame</p><p>One funny, sappy, quirky rhyme and I finally managed to impress the dame!</p><p><br /></p><p>She still can't believe she fell for that, she still keeps asking herself why... </p><p>Her mind tricked her into accepting, she tells herself a comforting lie</p><p>Even after all these years, she doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry! </p><p><br /></p><p>Something like magic cannot be explained by logic, only be seen</p><p>As she remembers the lunch by the beach, quite a lovely scene </p><p>In just a fortnight since they met, she felt some chemistry so keen</p><p>Divine intervention, or destiny, she still wonders what does it mean</p><p><br /></p><p>Yet, she definitely saw <i>something</i> in him, something she can't quite explain</p><p>Even she doesn't know <i>why </i>she said yes, much as she racks her brain!</p><p>So she tells herself, better to go with the flow, not search for logic in vain... </p><p>******************************************************</p><p>PS1: It's been six years since my stupid rhyme skills got me the best possible prize. A girl who said yes! It's a day I try to honor, by writing more stupid rhyme!</p><p>PS2: As the years go by, I realize that love is not about the grand gestures. It is the little things. Like a blog in memory of the big day. Or at least, that's my sorry excuse for just writing this and not buying something expensive ;) </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-73918213698190840232022-06-11T05:50:00.001-07:002022-06-11T05:50:59.793-07:00Gratitude - Part II<p>Last year, in the midst of the pandemic, my old college professor had got in touch with me to check if I could sponsor the college fees of some students whose families were facing the brunt of the economic slowdown. I, in turn, reached out to family and friends, and we managed to help about 20 students. I wrote a <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2021/06/" target="_blank">blog post </a>on the topic. Then, more people reached out on their own after reading the blog, and we ended up funding about 30 students in all. </p><p>It made me realize that, in the midst of all the PJs and stupid rhyme posts I do otherwise, this simple act of penning down that I want to pay it forward can help in widening the reach of the message. I have come to realize that people are usually quite generous and become more so when they see that there is an easy way to help others.</p><p>There is a saying that the right hand should not know what the left hand does. That the act of giving should be discreet, and one should not advertise it widely. It is a good concept, and certainly needed in these times of PR where politicians, businesses and NGOs sometimes plaster their names and faces in the name of helping, often spending more to publicize themselves than on the actual aid itself.</p><p>But, there is also a case to be made to put out a message that here is an opportunity to help. And often, people do act on it, just because they have come across the opportunity, even if they were not actively looking for it. It's like buying chewing gum at the supermarket check-out line. You don't plan to buy it, but you see it is there, it is small change, and you go "Why not?"</p><p>And, I have often had this debate with myself, as to whether publishing this would indicate an exercise in 'blowing one's own trumpet', so to say. And like a true MBA, I ended up doing a half baked cost-benefit analysis and decided that the cost of this could be that a few people think "this guy is just showing off on social media and there are quieter, more dignified means of helping out people". The benefit is that 10 more students get their fees paid, just because people happened to see the message as they were scrolling through their facebook feed. And weighed against that benefit, the cost is miniscule. Or at least, one that I am more than willing to pay.</p><p>But, why this? Why not support other stuff - there are poor people who can be fed, handicapped people who can do with a bicycle donation, cancer patients who need help with their hospital bills, trees that can be planted and a multitude of more deserving causes. I have no good answers. Other than to say, it is better to do some good, than to point at all the issues that one can't help with and end up doing nothing. Plus the fact that I am not Bill Gates, and hence don't have billions of dollars to throw at multiple problems. </p><p>Also, there is this minor detail that this specific form of paying it forward has a personal appeal to me. In the sense that I benefited from something like this. And therefore, I get more personal satisfaction from doing this than other forms of help/ contributions. </p><p>Because at the end of it all, once the fancy masks of MBA education, private equity job, and the hubris of nation building through investing in infrastructure are all set aside, the core underneath is a simple guy who happened to stumble into this city, and got quite lucky. Lucky to have parents who valued education. Lucky to have relatives who hosted him. Lucky to have friends who accepted him and made him feel less of an outsider. Lucky to have met the most amazing girl and even luckier to have got married to her.</p><p>Because, merit, or the facade of "I studied hard, I got good marks, I work hard at my job, so I deserve success" is a good one to tell myself, to convince myself that there is a direct link between effort and result. To fool myself into believing that the world is not as random as it seems.</p><p>But it is a good practice to look into the mirror once in a while. To acknowledge the hard truth. And get a periodic reminder that the 'merit' argument papers over the privilege of never having to go with an empty lunch box to school and pretend to be busy when your friends are having lunch, never having to wear the same shirt every day and get teased for it being dirty when your friends wear sparkling white shirts, never having to struggle with English because it is a language that is alien to your parents, never having to juggle higher education with a part-time job, never having to sleep in class because of a tiring, long commute, never having to decide between eating lunch or dinner since one can afford only one meal a day, never having to drop out of school because you can't afford the fees. All of which I have seen happen to friends over the years.</p><p>And this exercise of paying it forward, is a small measure, to ensure that at least a few deserving students, do not have to sacrifice their dreams because they can't afford the college fee. Because dreams are priceless. Especially when they come true.</p><p>***********************************************</p><p>PS: If any of you want to contribute, do reach out. If you are already contributing elsewhere, more power to you. </p><p>PS2: If you are going "why is this bugger giving so much gyaan, I come here for the PJs and the stupid rhymes", don't worry. Normal service shall resume soon. This is just a once in a year occurrence. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-85697771006309768242022-02-13T09:51:00.001-08:002022-02-13T09:51:03.204-08:00Fifteen...<p> Last year, I thought I should wrap up this tradition. 14 years was a right number, the end of the 'vanvaas', so to say.</p><p>But this blog hardly gets updated, and at least this tradition allows me to step back into this long forgotten space, sweep away the cobwebs, dust it up a bit and take a little walk down nostalgia lane, when life was simpler, I was younger and I could crib here about my single status and sneer at all the lovey-dovey couple posting mushy romantic stuff on their Facebook page.</p><p>Little did I know that I would end up being one of 'those' folks. Life has a way of gradually turning you into the very people you mock in your youth.</p><p>On that wistful note, let me try my hand at this year's edition...</p><p>***************</p><p>As I look back and wonder how long it has been</p><p>That I have been whining for more than fifteen</p><p>And I realize that kids who were not even born</p><p>When I first started, will now be eating popcorn</p><p>With their girlfriends in a theatre, waiting for a 'scene'...</p><p><br /></p><p>And if you think realizing that makes me feel really really old, </p><p>Yes, sometimes my joints creak, even in Mumbai's mild cold,</p><p>But the more things change, the more they remain the same,</p><p>I remind myself that I may lose but I can still play the game,</p><p>Because in life, you call or you raise, but you never ever fold!</p><p><br /></p><p>And as we complete two whole years of this boring 'stay-at-home' </p><p>The virus wrecks our plans to go visit London, Paris, and Rome</p><p>All we can do is reminisce about the mountain lake in Bergen</p><p>Or about the translation of that Russian hostel lady and her gun </p><p>Is there a German word for this 'wanting to travel' syndrome?</p><p><br /></p><p>Because what is love, but the memories we collect together</p><p>Of remembering all the silly things I did just to-get-her</p><p>It is also about wanting to continue to create newer memories</p><p>Like 'pasta without shrimp' and 'breakfasts of only berries' </p><p>Of inside jokes and secrets that make sense only to each other</p><p><br /></p><p>Love is joking to folks that you have forgotten how to ride a bike</p><p>And going on a walking tour, but cribbing about the 10 hour hike</p><p>Waking up tired the next day and going for another long, scenic route </p><p>And then wrapping up with a dinner of reindeer and pureed beetroot </p><p>And wondering later which is the veg dish, since they both look alike!</p><p><br /></p><p>Love is sleeping through dinner time, and having just carrot cake</p><p>And also 'birthday special' trips to a hotel overlooking a lake</p><p>But love is not just about fancy trips but the daily routine stuff too</p><p>It is about how you care for me, and the little things that you do </p><p>Like worrying when I wheeze, and the medicines you insist I take...</p><p> </p><p>Some wise old man said the older you become, the wiser you get</p><p>Even if you mostly tend to ramble a lot and most things you forget</p><p>But nothing beats the feeling of being young, and walking a mile </p><p>Just in the hope of catching your eye, and sharing a silent smile</p><p>Even the wise old men would like to rewind the clock, I bet... </p><p>********************</p><p>PS: And like every year, I hope to get away by writing some crappy rhyme in place of a nice shiny gift... </p><p><br /></p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-40418744489481151312021-10-15T21:24:00.001-07:002021-10-15T21:24:13.646-07:00Five! <p>Fate sure does have a weird, twisted sense of humour</p><p>I can say for sure, it's not just another passing rumour</p><p>Valentine rhymes I wrote, full of crap, but without fail</p><p>Every year, hoping for a love story like "You've got M@il"</p><p><br /></p><p>Yet, nothing happened, not one gal seemed impressed</p><p>Even as they read it and laughed, and I got depressed</p><p>And then, one fine day, just like that, out of nowhere</p><p>Randomness or destiny, I really don't know nor care</p><p>She walked into my life, and I started feeling blessed!</p><p><br /></p><p>After scouring the marriage market through shaadi.com</p><p>Getting worried about the pressure on her dad and mom</p><p>One day, she decided, let me try out a real life rom-com!</p><p><br /></p><p>She still struggles to fathom why she fell for this stupid con</p><p>How the hell does the majestic Queen fall victim to a mere pawn</p><p>Except, in her heart, she knows that all the Knights were gone!</p><p><br /></p><p>Soon, she realized that pawns were really the best</p><p>As all the other pieces get killed and go to rest </p><p>In the chess game called life, the pawn marches on</p><p>Deep into enemy territory, even if all hope is gone...</p><p><br /></p><p>You see, the humble pawn moves but one step at a time, </p><p>Even as other pieces fight, the pawn avoids blood and grime </p><p>Soldiering on, till he wins over the Queen with his sappy rhyme! </p><p>************</p><p>PS: As usual, I pay tribute to the day I won the marriage lottery. With a proposal in rhyme! Frogs croak, I rhyme, and we both get the princess! </p><p>PS2: I have been accused of spending too much time on chess. Guilty as charged. </p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-24823214743466738572021-06-07T10:59:00.001-07:002021-06-07T10:59:20.010-07:00Gratitude...<p>Two decades ago, a boy came to Mumbai from a small town at the foothills of Ooty. He came with very little but he had big dreams. </p><p>He knew his dad had worked a lot to make this 'studying in Mumbai' possible. And an uncle had kindly agreed to accommodate him and give him shelter.</p><p>He slowly realized that Mumbai is a very expensive city. He also realized that he is a very cheap guy. And when an expensive city meets a cheap guy, the city wins. And so, he promised himself, that he might lose, but he won't go down without a fight.</p><p>So, he doubled down on his cheapness. When friends hung out at the college canteen, ordering samosas and chai, he pretended to hurry home. Because he was too cheap to spend money. When friends decided to go for a movie, he sat in the library and read. And read. A lot. Because books were free, the library was a nice place to sit without worrying about stuff. Like how the movie ticket was priced more than his weekly allowance.</p><p>His father had promised him, that money will be sent to his uncle every month. For expenses. And money arrived every month, without fail. Despite the pressures back home. But the boy knew not to take advantage of that. Because he had been taught well.</p><p>Then, one day, he got the news that his father had lost his job. Because the company where Appa had dedicated 17 years of his life to suddenly had a change in management. And the new management asked Appa to cook the books. And Appa had always said that sleep doesn't come easy on a mattress filled with money. So, he quit. Without another job lined up. With a wife and two kids to provide for.</p><p>And yet the money arrived every month, without fail. Despite the pressures back home.</p><p>The boy doubled down further on his cheapness. And started to wonder whether it might be a good idea to return back home, rather than spend time in an expensive city.</p><p>But when things feel hopeless, something turns up. Something did. A friend of his Paati happened to mention to her that she sponsors fees of young deserving students who are facing financial difficulty, from the rent income she got from her spare flat. And Paati asked her whether she will be ok to fund this boy. And she was ok.</p><p>And thus, the boy got his fees paid, without his dad having to stretch his dwindling savings any further. </p><p>And the boy did well at studies. Of course, as one of his friends wisecracked, any guy who spent that much time in the library was bound to do well. </p><p>And the boy grew up. Studied more, took out a loan, did his MBA and got a fancy job. Or at least, the job seemed fancy at first. It paid more as a starting salary than what his father made after 25 years of experience. And soon, he was able to send money back home. He made sure the money arrived home every month, without fail. </p><p>And his dad continued to work, saying he wanted to work till the boy's younger brother also completed his education. Despite the boy telling him to take it easy, and that he can very well fund his brother.</p><p>And his dad started helping colleagues' kids, saying "now that you are doing well, it is time to pay it forward".</p><p>Years passed. And the boy got 'settled', at least professionally. He continued to grow at his job, get fancier pay and was soon able to get his father to retire and his parents to shift to Mumbai. </p><p>Unfortunately, just when the boy bought his own house and started dreaming about getting his dad to enjoy a comfortable retired life, life threw a googly. And his dad passed away, way too soon, having worked all his life to ensure that his sons got a good education, got good jobs and would not need to struggle for money, but before he could sit back and enjoy the fruits of his life's work.</p><p>And that is when the boy decided. That he would continue his father's idea, of "paying it forward", in his father's memory.</p><p>It started small. A couple of students in a school for special needs kids. And another through an NGO. </p><p>And unfortunately, it remained small for quite some time.</p><p>And then, last year, the pandemic hit. People lost their livelihoods. Some lost their lives. And while he was thinking about how to expand the scope of "paying it forward", in one of those serendipitous encounters, his ex-professor reached out asking whether he would be interested in helping out a couple of students who were facing difficulty in paying fees. On Appa's birth anniversary.</p><p>The boy said "Yes, of course." And thus, 2 sponsored kids became 6. </p><p>And then, as the pandemic continued to worsen, the boy realized that he was incredibly lucky. That while people were losing everything, he had the privilege of working from home, and a job that paid salaries on time. And good health, although he keeps reminding himself he should be fitter. And a loving family, also in good health. And the boy realized that all of this had been possible, thanks to the kindness of a stranger, a friend of his Paati who agreed to fund his education without having even met him once.</p><p>And he resolved to increase the scope of "paying it forward." Not by a lot, but by as much as he could.</p><p>And so he reached out to his ex-professor, and told her that this year, he will try to do more. And then he reached out to family and friends, and asked them whether they'd be interested. And he's lucky to have incredible family and friends, who opened their hearts, and more importantly, their wallets.</p><p>And thus, 6 sponsored kids became 20 this year.</p><p>And the boy tells himself, "let's hope we reach 50 next time..." </p><p>But till the next time comes around, he thought he might as well pen this down. Not to brag to the world. But more to remind himself that it is important to continue to pay it forward. That what seems like a nominal amount to him, may be a great deal more important to someone else in need.</p><p>Because the pandemic may soon be over, life goes back to normal, and the boy may forget this promise to himself, as he gets distracted with work, family, mortgage and other boring adult stuff. And so, he hopes his friends will remind him of this promise. And continue to help, when he reaches out with more students that need help.</p><p>Thanks folks. You did it. <i>you know who you are.</i></p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-2379077109931571662021-02-14T06:59:00.001-08:002021-02-14T06:59:49.212-08:0014 years...<p>14 long years. That's the time Lord Ram spent in the forest, away from his kingdom, all because his father had given two boons to his step-mother.</p><p>14 long years. That's the time I have been writing a post about V-day... first cribbing, and then celebrating it because one myopic lady said "Yes" when I asked her to marry me.</p><p>In 14 years, Lord Ram managed to walk through most of India, made a few friends, raised an army and crossed the sea to rescue his kidnapped wife and defeated an all-powerful king.</p><p>In 14 years, I have gained a few kilos, lost more hair than I'd have liked and cribbed about life, love and everything else, to whoever might listen.</p><p>Maybe that's why they call Lord Ram is the ideal man. And they call me the idle man. But my followers are equally lazy to build me a temple, so that should count for something.</p><p>On that irreverent note, let's kick off this year's edition of V-day rhymes...</p><p>*****************************</p><p>Once upon a time, long long ago, in a land far, far away,</p><p>There lived a boy who loved to dream during the day</p><p>He loved to read, and his mind used to narrate this story</p><p>He imagined himself to be a great king, full of glory</p><p>He'd cross the ocean and all his enemies, he would slay!</p><p><br /></p><p>As he grew up to be a young lad, he continued to daydream</p><p>Of being a dashing prince, whose name women would scream</p><p>He'd look down in the water, and shoot a rotating fish in the eye</p><p>As he looked up, the beautiful princess would say, "Oh hai hai!"</p><p>And he'd smile to himself like the fat cat who got the cream!</p><p><br /></p><p>And then he grew up some more, and realized that he was scared,</p><p>Not just of monkeys who lunged at him with teeth bared</p><p>But also of oceans and seas, as he once went for a scuba dive</p><p>And he realized he'd never be a brave king, but he'd strive</p><p>To be at least an honest one, for he 'truth'-ed and never dared </p><p><br /></p><p>But while honesty may be the best policy, his stupid plan </p><p>Most definitely did not make him a popular ladies' man</p><p>And while he could make a few jokes to make them laugh</p><p>For a long time, he had no luck with finding a better half</p><p>He worried that, in this particular race, he'd just be an also-ran!</p><p><br /></p><p>And then, out of nowhere, his luck did a 180-degree turn</p><p>He met a wonderful woman, his advances she didn't spurn</p><p>He didn't even have to break Shiva's bow or shoot a fish</p><p>As Lady Luck smiled on him, and fulfilled his every wish!</p><p>But he soon realized he knew nothing, and had a lot to learn...</p><p><br /></p><p>One of the first things he learnt was that 'I'll be there for you'</p><p>Was not just a sitcom song, but a requirement for a beau</p><p>And that while there may be days of really extreme stress</p><p>It doesn't mean that her love and affection grow any less</p><p>And that she had been, is, and always will be there for me too...</p><p><br /></p><p>**********************************************************</p><p>PS: And that marks yet another year of writing crappy rhyme and hoping that it makes up for the lack of a proper gift. I don't know how many years I'll get away with this stunt, but one lives and one learns...</p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-10419270000684937172020-12-31T06:31:00.000-08:002020-12-31T06:31:17.912-08:00The more things change... Part II<p> I wrote a 10-year review <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2011/01/more-things-change.html" target="_blank">post</a> ten years ago and given all that has transpired since then, it seems like a good idea to revisit the theme...</p><p>Reading that earlier post, I smile, because what seemed like big leaps then, turns out to have been the first few confident steps in this funny journey called life...</p><p>A lot has happened in these past 10 years...</p><p><a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2012/05/making-dreams-come-true.html" target="_blank">Bought</a> a house in 2012. Vowed never to undergo that horrifying experience again. And like everything else that I told myself I'd never do, went ahead and bought another in 2018 and sold the first. At a notional profit and a real loss. </p><p>Dreamt I would no longer have to deal with idiot Mumbai house owners and those <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2011/07/notes-from-weeks-of-house-hunting.html" target="_blank">cunning</a> real estate brokers. Ended up in a rental after buying the first house anyway. Moved houses 4 times in this decade alone, and ended up in a place where I have told myself that I will stay put for the next decade and a half. Let's see how that pans out.</p><p>Went on my first <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2014/07/thoughts-from-my-first-foreign-vacation.html" target="_blank">foreign vacation</a>. And then followed it up with many more, once I realized that meeting people and going to different places were more fun than I had imagined. Briefly became that irritating idiot who spouts the <i>'collecting experiences and forming memories are more important that accumulating stuff'</i> nonsense while doing both anyways. But I did form some good memories. And some hazy ones because I had imbibed too much spirit to remember stuff. </p><p>While I am usually careful with my money, vacations are my kryptonite. I started my first one with a detailed note on every cent spent, but over time, I have ended up splurging like a millionaire, with only a vague idea of who ripped me off. Have told myself that I shall continue to wander because as the last touristy knick-knack I bought reads "<i>We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us</i>". Let's see how that pans out.</p><p>Ran a few <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-huff-did-puff-it.html" target="_blank">half marathons</a>. Dreamt about a marathon. But I soon got <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2013/01/in-which-i-philosophize-about-running.html" target="_blank">bored</a> of it. Tried exercise, but I simply don't have the mental discipline to stick to a proper workout regime. As I grow older, and with a hereditary history of diabetes (or what we call <i>parambarai sotthu</i>), I have promised myself that I will get fitter. Let's see how that pans out.</p><p>Changed jobs without changing my company, and worried about it. Then changed company without changing my job, and worried about that too. Stepped on to the Board of some portfolio companies, and worried about that too. Joked about attending 'bored meetings', as humour is nothing but a mask for underlying worries. And learnt that I tend to worry about stuff I can't control, when it comes to work and jobs, and it is time that I learn not to worry. Let's see how that pans out.</p><p>Dealt with the <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2013/08/to-man-who-taught-me-everything.html" target="_blank">loss of my father</a>. The emotional low point of this decade. I promised myself that I will do him proud. Still struggling with this, but I have made a small start. A few kids got their college fees paid, and they would never know that it was to honor the memory of a fine gentleman they never had the fortune to meet. And that is the way he would have liked it. I have promised myself that this is something that will grow much bigger in future. Let's see how that pans out.</p><div>Used to rant on V-day, whining about how girls were so myopic that they failed to see my charm. And then, gloated about charming this wonderful girl into marrying me while secretly being grateful that she was <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2017/02/all-good-things-come-to-end-but.html" target="_blank">myopic</a> enough to not see how great <i>she </i>was. The emotional high point of this decade. However, have told myself that I shall continue the <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2020/02/friday-13th.html" target="_blank">V-day thing</a>, because, tradition. Let's see how that pans out.</div><p>A lot has changed. Some things remain the same.</p><p>It's been an amazing ten years. Bring on the next 10! Happy New Year!</p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-61732057420331684782020-10-16T10:28:00.001-07:002020-10-16T10:28:09.860-07:00One little question can change your life...<p>First time I set eyes on her, she was dressed in black,</p><p>One look at her, and I knew I was on the right track,</p><p>Until I looked into her eyes, and she looked back into mine </p><p>Reality vanished, and everything in the world seemed fine</p><p><br /></p><p>"You lucky idiot, you know that you won't get another chance"</p><p>Exquisite, beautiful, charming, kind, knows how to dance!</p><p>All that in a cute little package, what else can you ask for!</p><p>Rarely will such a girl walk into your life, and you want more?</p><p>So said my inner voice, as I continued to steal yet another glance!</p><p><br /></p><p>And then I gathered up my courage, and said, what the hell</p><p>Go for it, pour out your heart, better learn how to hard-sell</p><p>One thing led to another, and we together rang the wedding bell!</p><p><br /></p><p>Such was the start of this wonderful relationship,</p><p>Have to say, so far, it's been a really amazing trip</p><p>Evolving into what I hope will be a long partnership!</p><p><br /></p><p>She "makes me want to be a better man"</p><p>As I steal a filmy line, like only I can,</p><p>I say to myself, I really can't believe my stars</p><p>Destiny, fortune or maybe the influence of Mars?</p><p><br /></p><p>You already know how this tradition goes,</p><p>Every year, I write some mushy, sappy prose</p><p>Saves me the cost of getting her a pricey rose! </p><p>*********************************************************</p><p><br /></p><p>PS: In a life filled with many ups and downs, one achievement of mine stands out. I charmed her enough to say Yes!</p>SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-945536433652992512020-06-03T07:04:00.000-07:002020-06-03T07:04:23.091-07:00Roll the Dice - Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Good morning, this is your wake up call Sir." a sweet voice aroused Kali from his sleep.<br />
Ayyo, everyday she should wake me up like this, he muttered to himself, as he stretched out struggling to shake off his jet lag.<br />
<br />
He stumbled to the washroom, still groggy and turned on the washbasin tap. Only to jump back as a stream of hot water scalded his hand. Damn these fancy hotels. One tap spews scalding water, and the other one will freeze the blood in your veins. Why can't they understand what 'room temperature' water means? Bloody idiots.<br />
<br />
One thing he didn't mind in the fancy hotels was the nice smelling body gel they had in the showers. A far cry from the days of sharing one brick of Lifebouy with the whole family. Kali showered at leisure, letting the warm water wash away his tiredness.<br />
<br />
Today was an important day. Kali, along with the cohort of 2019, had been invited to Las Vegas for his company's annual off-site. The big bosses will fly in in their private jets, the next in lines had to make do with commercial (albeit, in first class), and even fresh first-year analysts like him were accorded business class. Wait, was that the reason the blonde had smiled at him? Because his company paid extra for his seat? He looked in the mirror, smoothed his hair, stuck a <i>Thalaivar </i>pose and told himself, "Don't worry macha, you are cool da."<br />
<br />
Once he was ready, he went across to Senthil's room. "Dei, tie katti kudra". 2 years of business school and six months of a finance career, and he still hadn't mastered the art of wearing a tie. One of the perks of working in a private equity firm was that he didn't have to dress up everyday. Unlike his friends at investment banks. "We roll up his sleeves and get our hands dirty in this business", he mimicked his boss, as Senthil handed him back the tie to wear.<br />
<br />
The other thing he didn't mind in the fancy hotels was their breakfast spread. For a guy who was used to eating two <i>naram paos </i>dunked in chai as breakfast, the breakfast buffet was like paradise. Three kinds of jam. As much butter as you want. Warm croissants. Eggs made as you like. Although he doubted whether American chefs knew how to make masala omelettes. But he gathered his plate, filled it up with more food than he could carry, and settled down at a table with Senthil.<br />
<br />
"Hello, I am Shruti. Mind if I join you?", she asked, more as a formality as she settled herself into the empty chair.<br />
<br />
"Of course, no problem", Kali murmured, as he looked into her dark, wide eyes...<br />
<br />
In his mind, he was already married. The blue-eyed blonde and the petite brunette slowly faded away. Yesterday, there had been space in his heart for multiple women. Today, it was reserved for only one.<br />
<br />
"I'm Senthil, this is KC", his friend had obviously decided to show that he had more manners than Kali.<br />
<br />
"Nice to meet you, guys", she said.<br />
<br />
"Of all the tables in all the hotels in this world, she walks up to mine... Play it again, Samy" Kali thought to himself. He continued to stare at her.<br />
<br />
"I wish they had a more decent breakfast spread. There's hardly any healthy stuff!" she went on as she picked on some fruits, oblivious to Kali's unabashed staring and his plate full of unhealthy calories.<br />
<br />
A girl brought up in luxury can afford to be choosy about what she eats. Wonder what she'll say about two <i>naram paos </i>and chai, he thought.<br />
<br />
He had heard about her. Shruti Rajagopalan. Everyone in the cohort of 2019 had heard about her. Her father was an IFS officer, ambassador to some country. She had lived across 4 continents while still in school. Fluent in English, French, Spanish and Mandarin. The popular gossip in the cohort was that she didn't have to attend four rounds of grueling interviews to get hired. After all, there are some perks of your dad being the Managing Partner's golf buddy. <br />
<br />
No big deal, Kali told himself. So what if he hadn't seen 4 continents. Going from Dharavi to Bandra was like traversing two parallel universes. And he had survived. And earned his place at this table. The hard way. After all, <i>his </i>dad wouldn't know which end of the golf club to hold.<br />
<br />
They finished their breakfast, she full of bubbly anecdotes about winter vacation spent skiing in the Alps, he nodding along wistfully thinking whether his outing with friends to Kalra Caves would be worth mentioning.<br />
<br />
As she got up to leave, she said "Senthil, KC, we should catch up for dinner too. I am bored of sitting with these Americans."<br />
<br />
Little did he know that, many years later, he would wonder... If only she hadn't walked up to his table, if only she hadn't held out her delicate hand, if only he hadn't felt an electric shock up his spine as he shook it...<br />
<br />
If only. </div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-77937866539549218932020-06-02T10:35:00.000-07:002020-06-02T10:35:02.571-07:00Roll the Dice - Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Kaliyaperumal Chengalnathan couldn't believe his luck. He rubbed his eyes, hoping that would make his jet lag vanish, as he stood up to retrieve his back-pack.<br />
<br />
"Sir, could you please remain seated till the aircraft comes to a complete stop?", announced the stern voice of the airhostess.<br />
<br />
"<i>Dei machi, Anni ukkara solraanga da. Innoru peg kudupaangala nu kelu da</i>", his friend Senthil Kumar joked as Kali sat back with a sheepish grin.<br />
<br />
The airhostess sighed. Why did she always end up with at least a dozen of these idiots in every flight. She should ask for a change in sector, she told herself for the umpteenth time. <i>Any </i>sector would be better than dealing with these uncouth idiots hitting on her for 14 hours. They think that just because I am blonde, I will give my number to every idiot who smiles at me? Her friend had warned her when she was allotted the India sector. Bloody perverts, she thought as she glared at the two idiots grinning to themselves.<br />
<br />
"Dei, nammalaye pakkaranga da", Kali murmured.<br />
<br />
"Ella namma style-u brother. Nee indha karuppu kannadi mattnale oru gethu varum la", Senthil replied. Kali smiled, and adjusted his aviators. One of his recent acquisitions to look cool for the trip. The airhostess continued to glare at him. He waved back with a smile. She forced a smile, remembering her induction trainer barking "<i>Always greet our customers with a happy smile...</i>"<br />
<br />
As the aircraft finally reached its bay, Kali stepped off the plane. Rather, floated off the plane. Even the long immigration queue did not dampen his enthusiasm. Here he was, in the United States of America, on his first trip abroad, and a blue-eyed blonde had just smiled at him. And said "Thank you sir, hope you had a nice flight." And smiled at him. In his mind, he was already married to her, and they had two blue-eyed blonde kids, a dog and a house with a pool...<br />
<br />
Just three years ago, he was living in a slum in Mumbai. Attending college in the morning, running for CA articleship in the afternoon, rushing back for computer classes in the evening, before a flash visit home to gobble a quick dinner, and picking up his books for late night studies at Sion Fort with his friends. Back then, not one of the girls in his class had smiled back at him. "They should look at me now... especially that vella kaaka Pooja Patil... walked around preening as if she was some Miss Universe!"<br />
<br />
He stretched out in the comfortable cab as his eyes took in the glimmering image of shiny hotels amidst the vast emptiness that is the Las Vegas strip. Senthil was already snoring, useless bugger. Slept through the flight after downing all the free drinks. Sleeping through the cab ride now.<br />
<br />
Kali's eyes grew wider as they arrived at the hotel. The check-in staff was so efficient, and even prettier than the airhostess. The lady smiled at him as she took his passport, and although she did a double take at his name as she struggled to pronounce it, the smile never left her face. "Good evening, Mr. Chen-Gal-Naat-An. This is your key card. Your stay and all your meals are already paid for. Someone will assist you with your bags. We wish you a pleasant stay." All his life, his friends had pulled his leg with "Kali Chengi". Bloody northies, mangling up such a nice Tamizh name. Even his father had to put up with his Gujarati <i>Seth </i>always calling him "Sengal bhai". Two generations of nomenclature-induced embarrassment in the Chengalnathan clan just vanished thanks to this petite lady, with her polished accent calling him Mr. Chen-Gal-Naat-An. Never had he imagined that his name would sound so fancy. He had branded himself "KC' in college and at his job. And thought that was fancy. It didn't sound as fancy now.<br />
<br />
Wow. This is the life, he thought to himself. Fancy flight, fancy car and now fancy hotel. All company paid. Blue-eyed blonde airhostesses smiling at him. Petite hotel reception staff cutely mispronouncing his name. In his mind, he was already married twice now, one blue-eyed blonde wife, one petite brunette, four kids, two houses and two swimming pools...<br />
<br />
Life was perfect. Everything was perfect. If only these bloody Americans could put a jet-spray in their toilets, he wished as filled up from the sink his 'spare' water bottle brought specifically for this purpose.<br />
<br />
If only.<br />
<br />
*******************************************************************************<br />
<br /></div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-80739691363526803562020-05-08T07:16:00.002-07:002020-05-08T07:16:55.688-07:00Three years...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Once upon a time, long long ago (actually, just 3 years ago), there lived a guy who used to make fun of married people. Not any longer. He has become one of them. He has ended up washing dishes in his free time, instead of dashing wishes like he used to.<br />
<br />
But he still manages to write a rhyme or two, once in a while.<br />
<br />
Like this...<br />
<br />
There was once a grumpy old bore<br />
He's, umm, not so grumpy any more<br />
Really? What changed him, you ask?<br />
Explaining that, my dear, is no easy task<br />
"Everything's changed, right to his core!"<br />
<br />
You see, he met the girl of his dreams,<br />
Evidently, Destiny had its own schemes<br />
After making fun of married folks for long<br />
Ribbing about their knees not being strong<br />
Somehow, he turned into one of his own memes<br />
<br />
Of course, he still maintains he is one of a kind<br />
Free, stubborn, and following his own mind<br />
<br />
"May I say something, dear", she chips in<br />
All this talk is like some silly PR spin<br />
Random declarations don't really cut ice<br />
Relationships are all about rolling the dice<br />
If you get lucky like me, you end up very happy<br />
As if two rhythms merged into something snappy<br />
Great things happen, when your tune syncs with mine<br />
Everything looks bright, and everything has a shine!<br />
<br />
*******************<br />
<br /></div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-39856784935785540112020-02-13T09:48:00.003-08:002020-02-13T09:50:26.479-08:00Friday. The 13th...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This time it is a Friday. And it is my 13th post on this topic. Friday. The 13th. Crazy stuff is supposed to happen. Right? Right.<br />
<br />
Come to think of it, what could be crazier than a smart, intelligent, beautiful girl saying "Yes" to marrying me within a fortnight of meeting me? Nothing I achieve in life is ever going to top that.<br />
<br />
I was supposed to stop cribbing about V-day in 2017 itself! But I decided to let this tradition of crappy rhyme on V-day continue till I grow up. Which doesn't look like happening any time soon.<br />
<br />
So, this year's edition...<br />
<br />
After so many years of having done my sad V-day crib<br />
Asking God, "Dude, what would it take? A piece of my rib?"<br />
"If You, with all your omnipotence, cannot make it happen!<br />
What chance do I stand! At least my wit, could You sharpen...<br />
So that my future love life doesn't turn into a damp squib!!<br />
<br />
I had been cribbing about being single since <a href="https://kirukukiruku.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-hate-v-day.html">2008</a><br />
Before I met her, after an interminably long wait<br />
Was it all preordained, or simply a lucky chance?<br />
That has made me, to her mellifluous tunes, dance!<br />
"Ha, if I danced, I wouldn't put on so much weight!"<br />
<br />
She has put up with me now for three long years<br />
Shared in my hopes, my dreams and my fears<br />
She even laughs at my stupid jokes, so as to not hurt my ego<br />
When I pretend to learn Spanish, she says "muy bien, amigo!"<br />
I only wish she'd stop cribbing about my occasional beers!<br />
<br />
"So, are you going to write your usual V-day post?"<br />
She asked... while we shared a cheese chilli toast,<br />
"What do you want me to say, my beautiful <i>Pari</i>?<br />
that, of all my girlfriends past, real and imaginary,<br />
You alone rule my heart, and I love you the most!"<br />
<br />
I think next year, I will simply get her a V-day card<br />
Because this stuff, for me, is getting too damn hard<br />
You see, writing crappy rhyme often is not so easy,<br />
especially the ones I write, which sound so cheesy,<br />
Not everyone who rhymes can become a great bard!<br />
<br />
********************************************************<br />
PS: 13 years of V-day rhymes! Setting records only, I say!</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-35178552806439816062019-10-16T10:30:00.001-07:002019-10-16T10:32:18.578-07:00Ask and you shall receive...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There was a guy who used to go "Marriage? Why?"<br />
He used to joke, "I am just a happy go lucky guy"<br />
"Really don't see the need to go and get married"<br />
Everywhere he went, he was repeatedly harried<br />
Everyone asked "You have a girlfriend, right? Don't lie!"<br />
<br />
"You people live life", he said, "with a bloody checklist"<br />
"Eat, sleep, study, work, marry, have kids" is all you insist!<br />
"All I want is to live my life my way, with nary a care<br />
Read and write, dream and doodle, with lots of time to spare"<br />
'Single and Proud' was his motto, then his story took a twist!<br />
<br />
After all, they say the best laid plans of men and mice<br />
Go the same way as Senor Columbus's search for spice<br />
One fine day, even as he was merrily 'going with the flow'<br />
<br />
Suddenly, a long lost friend pinged and said "Yo bro...<br />
How are you doing? Btw... I know a girl who is very nice..."<br />
"Et tu, Brutus" said our man at first, but on second thought<br />
<br />
Since he had nothing better to do, he went "Why not?"<br />
After all, what's the worst that could happen if we just meet<br />
If she likes me, good, if she doesn't, I'll beat a hasty retreat<br />
Doesn't matter either way, but at least it is worth a shot...<br />
<br />
You might we wondering where is this story headed<br />
Er... All I can say is, some months later, he was wedded<br />
Simply because she liked a poem, which for her, he had threaded...<br />
<br />
**************************************************************<br />
PS: Marking the anniversary of the luckiest day of my life. With a stupid rhyme, because... why not!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-40174262006264365072019-07-01T09:12:00.000-07:002019-07-01T09:12:44.433-07:00Bored...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was a kid, I used to get bored easily. But, in my defense, it may not have been entirely my fault, because no matter how brilliant Tinkle and Gokulam were, turns out that the 33rd time you read them, the jokes aren't as funny. And when one is seated in the upper berth of a sleeper class train from Coimbatore to Mumbai with another 25 hours to kill, sweating under the collar in 40 degree heat, knowing fully well that no matter how many tantrums you throw, Amma is not, simply NOT, going to succumb and buy that oily, greasy, garam garam vada, leave alone that fancy handheld video game that the kid in the berth across the aisle is playing with, one has a tendency to get slightly bored.<br />
<br />
When I was a teenager, I used to get bored easily. But, in my defense, it may not have been entirely my fault, because no matter how brilliant my marks in Maths and Accounts were, turns out the pretty girls in college were more interested in boys who could talk to them, and not squirm uncomfortably while staring at an imaginary ghost behind their heads. And when one spends an hour each way, hanging on to dear life on a pay-only-5-rupees-steam-and-sauna-and-massage-free local train commute, to go listen to a 'computer trainer' teach you 'Left click the icon, quickly, 2 times, to open the application', only to come back all the way from Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus to Ghatkopar only to listen to another ancient specimen of a professor who looks like he was single-handedly responsible for killing the dinosaurs by teaching them the basics of Cost Accountancy, one has a tendency to get slightly bored.<br />
<br />
When I was in my early twenties, I used to get bored easily. But, in my defense, it may not have been entirely my fault, because no matter how brilliant my impromptu one-liners in the midst of my lessons, the students always yawned because they had woken up at 5 am to fill water from the public taps and then rushed off to college without breakfast, only to come hungry and bleary eyed and snore in my tuition class. And when one spends five hours in a day teaching Economics to a bunch of horny teenagers who continually snicker at demand curves intersecting with supply curves, repeating the same lessons over and over again, with a mini break for the same rice-plate-with-sambhar-and-sabzi lunch and dinner at Mani's Lunch Home in Sion, and spends 25 minutes waiting at a bus-stop for a 15 minute bus ride because one is too poor to afford any other means of transport, one has a tendency to get slightly bored.<br />
<br />
When I was in my mid twenties, I used to get bored easily. But, in my defense, it may not have been entirely my fault, because no matter how brilliant the facilities at my college hostel, there is only so many sitcoms with canned laughter and so many movies about silicon valleys that one can watch. And when one spends eight hours in a day learning 'a brand is a brand is a brand' in marketing and 'day-tuh is not infuh-may-shun and infuh-may-shun is not day-tuh', while secretly smiling to oneself that the poor engineers in the batch also have to undergo the torture of cost accountancy, one has a tendency to get slightly bored.<br />
<br />
When I was in my late twenties, I used to get bored easily. But, in my defense, it may not have been entirely my fault, because no matter how brilliant the job description, the tenth detailed appraisal report about yet another 'coal-fired power project bringing light to billions' becomes a bit too repetitive. And when one spends a decade writing brilliant fiction about the possibilities of the Government supplying coal to stranded power projects, and gas magically springing forth from the K-G basin, and about well-established promoters with adequate financial capability to tide over short-term cash mismatches, while knowing fully well that this bullshit has been peddled before and will be peddled again, one has a tendency to get slightly bored.<br />
<br />
I got so bored for the first 30 years of my life, that I swore to myself I would never get bored when I get access to some decent dough. And so I filled my life with stuff, more stuff than I could stuff myself with, shelves full of books, laptops, tablets, smartphones, cable, high-speed internet, Amazon Kindle and more e-books than I can count, vacations to fancy places, treks to scenic hills, friends, parties, new cuisines, movies, plays and countless other distractions to amuse myself.<br />
<br />
But slowly, it has dawned on me, dim-witted that I am, that being bored is a luxury. Having the time to think of nothing, being by yourself, without calls to attend, mails to respond to, bosses to answer to, deadlines to be met, just to simmer in your own useless thoughts is an extravagant luxury. One that no amount of money can buy.<br />
<br />
I wish I could be bored in life again. Someday...<br />
<br />
****************************************************************<br />
PS: It's been a long time since I have had the time to sit and write. Possibly because, even to write inane stuff like this, some amount of thinking needs to be put in.<br />
<br />
It may not seem like that when one reads it, but every stupid PJ and horrendous pun and crappy limerick arose, not through divine light radiating into my brain and bringing forth an idea of immaculate conception, but through twisting words, connecting random stuff and googling for words that rhyme, when I had the luxury of being bored enough to do all that.</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-52837496627046676272019-02-14T05:06:00.000-08:002019-02-14T05:06:59.293-08:00The dirty dozen... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Twelve years. A lot can happen over 12 years. It is the same time it takes you to finish school, to grow from a confused little pre-kindergarten kid to a precocious know-it-all.</span><br />
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<br />
Twelve years is a long time. Twelve years ago, Instagram didn’t exist, a certain TV show with dragons hadn’t even premiered and you still had to wave your hands to get a cab instead of summoning one through an app.<br />
<br />
But some things are truly timeless. Like Sachin Tendulkar’s batting highlights. Thiruda Thiruda songs. Crazy Sangh/ Sena guys roaming around harassing young couples. And SRK cribbing on V-day.<br />
<br />
So, here we present, the Dirty Dozen edition of SRK’s V-day cribs…<br />
<br />
Many years ago, when I was single and free<br />
I might have wished for a girlfriend or three<br />
But a couple of years ago, I met my match<br />
I’m no Jonty, but she was the perfect catch<br />
“Ah, life is so blissful”, I thought “Lucky me!”<br />
<br />
Alas, the blissful phase did not last too long<br />
Like I am dancing, but she’s changed the song<br />
It’s the little things, like I am very, very lazy<br />
And for some reason, that drives her crazy<br />
We are still super happy, don’t get me wrong.<br />
<br />
She says “Hello mister, where have you been?”<br />
“Didn’t I tell you these shelves need to be clean?”<br />
Now, I rarely tidy up, unless I really, really must<br />
Coz there’s more to life than rearranging dust<br />
So I say, “Relax baby, please don’t create a scene!”<br />
<br />
“Will you please put down that goddamn book…<br />
“… and cut these veggies soon so that I can cook!”<br />
And I say again, “relax sweetie, that’s no biggie…<br />
why do we have to cook when we have Swiggy?”<br />
I meet her gaze and she gives me <i>that</i> look!<br />
<br />
I ask “What do you want as a Valentine gift?”<br />
“That you climb up the stairs and avoid the lift!<br />
“I’d like nothing better than see you get fit”<br />
“Wait, didn’t you marry me for my charming wit?<br />
All of a sudden, how can your priorities shift?”<br />
<br />
Lest you think we only bitch and crib and fight<br />
We have never let any problem stew overnight<br />
Everything’s resolved with a heart-to-heart talk<br />
Or by simply going together on a really long walk<br />
Love’s not blind, rather, it makes everything bright!</div>
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SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-76547691218772345002018-10-15T20:50:00.000-07:002018-10-15T20:51:34.033-07:00Home...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">All my life, I wanted to stay in my own house. And then when
I bought one 6 years ago, for some reason, I couldn’t stay there for long and
had to let it out. I never figured out why people got so attached to a place. I
mean, it’s just bricks and mortar. And plaster and pipes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now I am beginning to understand why. Or at least, I think I
do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Understandably, the numbers don’t make sense. With interest
rates being what they are and rental yields in low single digits, from a pure
numbers perspective, it is always better to rent than buy. Or at least, that’s
what I kept saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Still, when I saw your happiness at the prospect of getting our
own place and doing it up to your satisfaction, I understood the meaning of
that old adage “</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Not everything that counts, can be counted; </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">not everything that can be counted, counts; .”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Happiness Quotient” - a friend calls it. ‘HQ’. It’s not as
easy to measure as IQ. It’s in the same fuzzy place as that other HR favourite,
EQ. In this age of Big Data, when everything we do can be turned into a metric
and possibly monetized, I guess someone somewhere will figure out a way to sell
us happiness. Till then, we make it ourselves...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">"A place to call our own". A place to build our dreams
together. A place where we will grow old together. A place we will look forward
to come back to, when we wander the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I now understand what ‘settling down’ means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Life is not just about seeking new experiences and seeing new
places and tasting new cuisines. That part is important, but...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Old-fashioned stuff matters too” – You have taught me that.
A sense of familiarity. A sense of belonging. A sense of being rooted. A sense
of comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Viewed from this perspective, it is starting to make sense. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why you buy stuff from the same shop every time.
Why your dad goes to the same doctor for 15 years. Why the fruit vendor calls
out to you and ensures you buy more than we need. Why you feel that the place
you live in is the best place in the world, squabbling neighbours
notwithstanding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Even as I come around to appreciate this ‘settling down’
business, a small part of me holds on to the romance of the nomadic life. I
never knew settling down would be so unsettling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You have made it easier. You have turned a drab place with
four walls and a ceiling into a space filled with warmth and happiness. You
have turned a house into our home. And in that process, you have helped me
learn to forget the pressure of the EMI and taught me to enjoy the fleeting joys
of the here and now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Only YOU could have done it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Undeniably so.</span></div>
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SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-18564871282949329942018-02-14T11:03:00.001-08:002018-02-14T11:03:38.503-08:00Eleven and counting...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last year, I promised to end a 10-year long tradition of
writing bad rhyme on V-day. After all, the whole point of putting up those
posts had been to crib about my non-existent love life, and once I got married
(to the most wonderful woman possible!), I had figured that there was no point
continuing the mandatory annual crib fest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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But certain things have a way of stubbornly
coming back. Like Afridi in cricket. Bad loans in SBI. Terminator II. That piece of turd in
the pot after multiple flushes. And SRK rhyming on V-day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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On that stinky note, here goes this year's edition:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a decade of pretending to be clever and witty<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While basically making crap jokes about all things shitty<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you realize it’s V-day, but you’re no longer single<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A chill runs down your spine, your toes start to tingle<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are supposed to gift your wife something pretty!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She already has too many clothes, in blue and green,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And lots of shoes, all arranged in a box neat and clean,<o:p></o:p></div>
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You buy her a perfume and she starts to think...<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is he just being nice, or do I actually stink?!?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Gifting is <i>complicated</i>,
you know what I mean!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cook her a nice meal, something she loves to eat?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Except all I know is to make sambar with beet!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get her some chocolates and really nice flowers?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or treat her to a good dinner in a place with happy hours?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To figure out what would work, I need some superpowers!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, the miser in me didn’t pick up any gift<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plus I ended up working the graveyard shift<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the least I could do was to stay up and write<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some lines that I could dedicate to Mrs. Right<o:p></o:p></div>
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To the one whose smile gives me a mood lift!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Next year, maybe I will actually buy some stuff<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe over time, gifting won’t seem so tough<o:p></o:p></div>
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For now, I’ll just say thank you for coming into my life <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And more importantly, for agreeing to be my wife<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s all I could do this year, I hope it is enough!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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********************************************************************</div>
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<br /></div>
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PS: Maybe this can continue. After all, traditions need to be upheld! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-36438953201939258982018-01-20T01:59:00.001-08:002018-01-20T01:59:29.447-08:00Happy New Year 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Once upon a time, more than two and half decades ago, there lived a kid who was fascinated by comic-book superheroes. Come summer vacations, he would gather all the old Phantom and Mandrake comics at his cousins' place, and read them over and over again, magically being transported to dark jungles in Africa.<br />
<br />
During one such carefree year, some marketing genius comes up with an idea. It is a very simple one: Send us 100 wrappers of our chocolate, and you will get a Batman Mask! As best as the grown-up kid can remember, it was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpciVm4-28E">Nutrine Maha Lacto</a>, but he is getting old now, and his memory is no longer as awesome as he remembers it to be. In any case, the kid pesters his father to buy him a chocolate every day. Thankfully, the kid's father is a sensible man and refuses to do such stupid things.<br />
<br />
He is constantly looking at ways to collect wrappers, and may have lifted some off the garbage pile at the end of the street. After about 2 weeks of such trauma, he is no where close to the magic number of 100 wrappers. He is this close to giving up, resigning himself to the fact that he is never going to be a night time crime fighting superhero, since he has to be home by 8.30 everyday in any case to finish dinner and sleep by 9.00.<br />
<br />
But fortune favours the <strike>brave</strike> foolish, so the kid gets a Eureka moment. His younger brother's birthday is coming up, and we have this wonderful tradition of wearing a 'colour dress' to school, and going class to class to distribute chocolates to all our fellow <strike>sufferers</strike> students. We also share the chocolates with our kindly neighbours. So, the kid pleads with his parents to buy a whole bag of Nutrine Maha Lacto, and goes home to home, distributing the sweets and insisting they eat it right away and return the wrapper to him. <br />
<br />
And thus, 100 wrappers are collected, carefully sorted and counted and re-counted, smoothed over and some of them washed and dried carefully, and the whole lot is put in a nice, big envelope and posted to the address given in the advertisement in the Hindu. And then, he waits. And waits. Everyday, he comes back from school, eager to see whether the old postman uncle has brought his magical crime-fighting mask.<br />
<br />
After about a month of rushing back from school everyday to find that the mask has still not come, after days of cribbing about the inefficient postal department, after weeks of wondering whether the kindly postman uncle was secretly a thief who simply stole the mask for his own children, our hero comes back one day to find that THE MASK HAS BEEN DELIVERED!<br />
<br />
He eagerly unwraps the package, his arms shaking with unbridled anticipation, only to find.... a single sheet of black cardboard paper, with two eye-holes in them, and two pointy ears, and two holes in the side through which his mom would tie a thread so that he can 'wear' the mask. The kid is too young to realize it, but it was among the first of many such events in his life, events which in his older years, his hostel mates would refer to as the short form of the Kuala Lumpur Police Department.<br />
<br />
From that day, the kid has hated, HATED, marketing people and their evil designs to get innocent kids and clueless adults trapped into buying shit they don't need. But that is not the purpose for which I narrate this long winded story. One doesn't relive a traumatic childhood incident 25 years later, simply to vent about evil marketers.<br />
<br />
No, ladies and gentlemen, the reason why my brain pulled out this incident is because I went on a holiday to Shimla. On New Year's Eve. With the whole family.<br />
<br />
On paper, it sounded like a great idea. A work trip had me traveling to Himachal right after Christmas. I was scheduled to come back on Friday the 29th. Then, I figured, who comes back from a nice, little hill station one day before the New Year weekend. So, I discussed it with my lovely wife (who has decided to continue living with me in spite of my disastrous planning), and we decided that it would be a capital idea, for her and my mom and bro to all fly down to Chandigarh and join me at Shimla, where we would spend the weekend and come back refreshed to tackle the mysterious challenges that 2018 would throw at us.<br />
<br />
Hotels were booked, and flight tickets too. Woolen clothes were borrowed from relatives, and my old trekking gear was pulled out from the blackhole that we call our 'bed with storage box'. Cabs were arranged to get the three of them from Chandigarh to Shimla. Colleagues were excited too, saying it always snows in Shimla during New Year's, and we were told that walking hand-in-hand with your loved one along the Ridge with little snowflakes falling around you is a very romantic thing to do.<br />
<br />
The work trip was a hard one, but the anticipation of a relaxing weekend helped me cope. And so, the four of us found ourselves in Shimla.<br />
<br />
Let me give you a piece of advice. DON'T. EVER. GO. TO. SHIMLA.<br />
<br />
I mean sure, the place has some positives, like the Hanuman temple at Jakhoo with a huge Hanuman statue which stands taller than Rio's 'Christ the Redeemer' in terms of sheer size, a couple of nice bakery shops which sell you overpriced cakes, the huge Indian Flag which inspires even an anti-national liberal like me. The weather was nice and pleasant, with the right amount of nip in the air. The hotel we stayed in was super nice, and had arranged a grand New Year's Eve buffet.<br />
<br />
But...<br />
<br />
I have seen a few hill stations in my life. Never have I seen a shitty place covered with concrete structures all over its slopes be called a hill station. The roads are narrow, and the Mall Road is crowded with shops filled with crooks who try to sell you <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.in/ShowUserReviews-g304552-d320056-r134609801-Kufri_Ski_Resort-Shimla_Shimla_District_Himachal_Pradesh.html">'Chingu'</a> shawls, and the place is teeming with loud, drunk and horny Jats on New Year's Eve, making a wholesome nuisance of themselves and the place.<br />
<br />
I simply couldn't wait to get out of that place. So, on 1st January, we finished our breakfast early, and decided we would drive out before the drunk Jats woke up from their hangover and tried to kill everyone on the road with their driving. And successfully reached Chandigarh by lunch, only to find that our flight out of Chandigarh was cancelled due to fog.<br />
<br />
We decide to make a mad dash to Delhi by road to make our connecting flight from Delhi to Mumbai, only to realize that driving through fog means we are unlikely to make it. Flight tickets are cancelled, humongous amounts of cancellation charges paid, and when we try to book fresh tickets, we encounter the thrill of dynamic surge pricing. We make the bookings in any case, mainly because I just couldn't have spent a moment more than I was required to in that fog-infested land.<br />
<br />
We book a flight for 9.40 pm after our driver assures us that he would get us to Delhi airport by 7.30 latest, and I build in my usual 1 hour margin of safety to that. But there are days when Murphy looks at your plans, goes bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha, and proceeds to burn them up and piss on their ashes.<br />
<br />
We are delayed by bumper-to-bumper traffic, because I guess the whole city of Delhi had decided to take off for the weekend, and were all coming back the same hour. After frantic calling to multiple friends to figure out the quickest way of reaching the airport, exploring the option of actually getting down near a Metro station and making a dash for it through train, multiple prayers to all the 33 crore gods in the pantheon by my mom, our Sardar driver finally make it to the airport at 8.53 pm. Wahe Guru to you too bro!<br />
<br />
Anusha rushes ahead to the counter, I get the luggage and we all reach the line panting like a pack of rabid dogs. Only for the counter guy to say "counter closes 45 minutes before departure, and you are late".<br />
<br />
Given that I couldn't have used the usual Delhi residents' counter of "tu jaanta hai kya mera baap kaun hai?" since it is extremely unlikely that the Go Air chap sitting there would have ever had the pleasure of meeting with the gentle, always polite (Late) Mr. Vijayaraghavan, I resorted to the only other trick in my book. I sat back and let Anusha negotiate.<br />
<br />
There are a few perks to marrying a smart girl. One of them is that you get your boarding passes even after the counter is closed. And the other is that she doesn't blame you for a disastrous vacation. Or at least, she hasn't blamed me yet. Maybe she is waiting to use this card for an opportune time.<br />
<br />
Let's hope not.<br />
<br />
The End.<br />
<br />
*******************************************************************<br />
PS: And thus, I return to blogging. Whether this will be a one-off rant, or a regular routine, remains to be seen.</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-47209459820027105162017-02-13T10:35:00.001-08:002017-02-13T18:52:34.342-08:00All good things come to an end... but sometimes, things get better!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Long-time readers of this blog, assuming such rare specimens
are still around, would know that there is a rich and glorious tradition here.
Of cribbing on every Valentine’s Day. There are very few things that you can
depend on in this unpredictable country of ours. Virat will score runs, Tamil
Nadu politicians will make a bunch of monkeys look sane, some jobless bloke
will blame Valentine’s Day for corrupting the country’s moral fabric and SRK
will crib on V-day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, shed some tears, for one of those fabled traditions
comes to an end this year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A miracle has happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A girl, and I can reliably confirm she is not a minor and
not of unsound mind, said Yes. To me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now that your jaws have lifted from the floor, read that
line again: A. Girl. Said. Yes. To. Me!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It helped that she’s too short sighted to (i) see how
gorgeous she is when she looks in the mirror, and (i) to see how not-at-all-gorgeous
I am when she looks at me. Thank God for myopia. (Btw, did you hear the joke about
what old people who are short sighted are called? See-near citizens).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And on that not-so-funny note, we come to this year’s rhyme.
Not cribbing for once.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*********<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even a cat has only nine lives and not ten<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what can be said of mere mice and men<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the old saying goes, their best laid plans<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Change when she casts that sideway glance<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One look at her, and I was like, Oh Yes! Amen!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One fine day, I got a call from a long lost friend<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Little did I know, that my single days would end<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just when I had thought it impossible to find<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A really nice girl with a truly independent mind<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wrote a nice introductory mail and hit “Send!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thereafter, things got off to a not-so-great start<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even though she was pretty, nice and super smart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She asked me about my height and my birth-star<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I thought, erm, things won’t end up going far<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, before I knew it, she had stolen my heart!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We met once, then twice and finally thrice<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Btw, did I tell you that she’s extremely nice?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the second meeting, I was totally smitten<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to laugh at love bugs, but now I was bitten<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Every dog has its day”, so say the worldly wise…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact, I had a very simple check-list<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You could count them off in one fist<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She should have stayed away from home <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She should love to travel and roam<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And live life to the fullest, not just exist!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She should be broad-minded, open to new stuff <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She should have grown up knowing life’s tough<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She should most definitely not be a spoilt brat<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like you know, some rich, well-pampered Persian cat<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Any girl who ticked all of this was more than enough<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had much tougher criteria for me to meet<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is a good dancer, but I have two left feet<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wanted me to learn to cook, swim and drive<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promised her, that I will really, really strive<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be a better man, and she found that really sweet!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never asked what finally got me the passing marks<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All that mattered was, we met, and there were sparks<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But after we both said yes, there was still a small catch<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Horoscopes were to be seen, and stars had to match<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And for one day, I thought all astrologers were sharks!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, at the end of the day, everything was crystal clear<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although for one day, I did spend wandering in fear<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now, come rain or shine, no matter what the season<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walk around happily, smiling by myself for no reason<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because, I’m in love, and the wedding date draws near!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
****<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS: And folks, that concludes the tradition. No more V-day
rhymes. No more cribs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS2: It would interest you folks to know that my dazzling
poetry skills impressed her! Yay for nine years of practising really bad rhyme.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-57138796533595189202016-02-14T06:11:00.000-08:002016-02-14T06:11:09.831-08:00This Cat Has Nine Lives!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I know this blog has been dormant for many months now. In fact, I have been checking it from time to time to see whether it will write itself a new post. But while Google knows where I went for dinner last night, and what I ate, and probably even how it passed through my system, those guys haven't been able to come up with a blogging app that, to the extent I know of, will write posts by itself. Bad, bad Google, no donut for you.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2008/02/i-hate-v-day.html">The</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2009/02/i-still-hate-v-day.html">reason</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2010/02/if-its-february-it-must-be.html">for</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2011/02/one-more-v-day-whine.html">this</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2012/02/continuing-not-so-glorious-tradition-of.html">sudden</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2013/02/yet-another-v-day-whine.html">reawakening</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2014/02/the-seven-year-pitch.html">is</a>, <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2015/02/the-mahasabha-read-this-post-you-wont.html">of course</a>, Tradition. One that stretches back to 2008. Come Feb 14, you can rest assured that certain events (and probably other stuff) will unfold.<br />
<br />
1. Those of you who have a girlfriend will find that your girlfriend will want an expensive gift and a romantic dinner.<br />
<br />
2. Some jobless guys with too much time and not enough sense will suddenly realize their right hands can also be used for thrashing other people.<br />
<br />
3. And SRK will write a crappy limerick on his blog whining about how women are incorrigibly blind to his charms.<br />
<br />
So, without further ado...<br />
<br />
*******************************************************************<br />
<br />
Ladies, this annoying tradition of the annual whine<br />
Has now been extended inexplicably to Year Nine<br />
I've looked for love from each planet, not just Venus<br />
Except Mars of course, since I have no interest in Uranus<br />
Wait, is Pluto still a planet, or now relegated to the Loser Line?<br />
<br />
I was never under the self-deceptive illusion that I had any charm<br />
Nor that I was a knight-in-shining-armour saving people from harm<br />
I always knew I am just another fat, goofy idiot writing bad rhyme<br />
So I perfectly understand why, with me, ladies don't waste their time<br />
And instead run after the other SRK, who stands in a train extending his arm<br />
<br />
A friend tells me, stop being a loser and get on to this thing called Tinder<br />
Who knows, you may find someone coming off a break-up or a bender<br />
And so, I created a profile probably too verbose, and added a few pics<br />
And sat back like a boss, waiting for all the promised beautiful chicks...<br />
But all it shows me are German blondes saying 'Kinder statt Inder'!<br />
<br />
But winners never quit, and hence I keep swiping right<br />
Coz even losers shouldn't give up without at least a fight<br />
So what if shows me people who are clearly married with kids<br />
Ignoring those idiots, on and on I labour, rubbing my eyelids<br />
Till I was bored and sleepy, and it was long past midnight<br />
<br />
All the women say they are looking for good, intelligent conversation<br />
When all they want to talk about is what <i>they </i>did on their last vacation<br />
Some of them want guys who are well read and with good grammar<br />
Kinda puzzling, since if you want to get nailed, all you need is a hammer!<br />
Maybe good English is a way to filter out people below your social station?<br />
<br />
But I bravely soldier on, and there are other interesting idiosyncrasies that I find<br />
Like people who call themselves 'sapiosexual', you know, the pretentious kind<br />
I mean, do you truly believe in such shit, or is it just some fancy word<br />
that, to sound modern, you picked it up from wherever you he(a)rd<br />
All I have to say to such people is, "please, please, don't fuck with my mind"<br />
<br />
Some of those profiles say they are here for 'friendship only' and not to date<br />
While there are others who say "nothing casual, I'm looking for a soulmate"<br />
No matter how long I looked, those magic in-betweeners couldn't be found<br />
I mean those not clinging to these two extremes, but who find a middle ground<br />
Y'know the ones who are ok to meet for coffee, and leave the future to fickle fate<br />
<br />
Someone tells me, it would help if I post a pic of mah'self with a cute dog<br />
But then I realize, all the limelight, that four legged bugger would hog!<br />
And there are those who have a complete photo check-list of sorts<br />
One face pic, one profile, one with a pet and one with alcohol shots<br />
I mean, where do you get all these ideas, is there some sort of advice blog?<br />
<br />
And so, after a brief, unsuccessful stab at finding a date online<br />
I realized it is but another typical case of pearls before swine<br />
I mean, if, in real life, women find me to be just too full of crap<br />
Then, life is not going to change, just because of a mobile app<br />
And thus, I conclude my hopeless annual crib number nine.<br />
<br />
*******************************************************************<br />
<br />
PS1: And this reminds me, I should start blogging again. At least till the good folks at Google come up with a self-writing blogging app.<br />
<br />
PS2: Every year I write this, I fear it will be the last such whine. But, once can always hope for a glorious ten.<br />
<br />
PS3: If you can buy this for me... wait I just realized... they have upgraded, so<br />
<br />
PS4: I mean, if you can buy this for me...</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-61615348376582337192015-05-31T10:11:00.001-07:002015-05-31T10:11:20.718-07:00A weak attempt to recapture the past... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Prime Minister looked at his Inner Council. "Useless bunch of idiots", he muttered to himself, "It has been more than a year. And I still have to do everything myself. From cleaning the streets to meeting the world leaders."<br />
<br />
He took a sip of chai. "Shaanti, shaanti" he chanted in an effort to stay calm.<br />
<br />
"Mitron, aaj ka agenda kya hai?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Media waale ka report hai ki there is a severe outbreak of 'social media outrage' in our country, Sir", said Amit bhai. The PM liked Amit bhai. He could be trusted to have a finger on the pulse of the <strike>voters</strike> people. <br />
<br />
"What are they outraging about now?"<br />
<br />
"Anything and everything, Sir."<br />
<br />
"Stone throwing at churches"<br />
<br />
"Muslims not getting flats on rent"<br />
<br />
"Our partyman's remark on Mother Teresa"<br />
<br />
"Beef ban"<br />
<br />
"Politics in IIT Madras"<br />
<br />
"BBC documentary on the Delhi rape"<br />
<br />
One by one, all the ministers listed the latest topics which had sent the people into a monstrous frenzy of hashtags and retweets (RTs are not endorsements) and facebook posts and whatsapp forwards.<br />
<br />
"There is even a hashtag that says you have insulted India", said Amit bhai. He was the only one who could bring this up without fear of losing his seat.<br />
<br />
"What nonsense? We need to formulate a response. Image is everything. Perception matters. I want a task force set up. In fact, let's create a Ministry of Official Response to Outrage with a dedicated Department of Internal Affairs. It will have an official website. Teams of bureaucrats will formulate official responses to all the topics on which people are outraging."<br />
<br />
All the ministers applauded. Only Amit bhai sat silent. Deep in thought.<br />
<br />
"What is the matter, Amit bhai? Don't you like the idea?" the PM asked.<br />
<br />
"Idea? Matlab aaj se no ullu banaoing?" Amit bhai asked.<br />
<br />
"What nonsense are you talking about?"<br />
<br />
"A word in private, Sir. Before you go ahead with the idea."<br />
<br />
The meeting was adjourned. And Amit bhai pulled his chair closer to the PM.<br />
<br />
"Sir ji. All this outraging is good for us. Keep people busy thinking about politics in some elite engineering college, and no one notices that farmers are dying. Keep people busy defending the image of India with the white folks and no one notices that our cities are getting unsafe for women. The people themselves refute the notion. Why shut down outrage? It is the best thing that has happenned to us."<br />
<br />
And the PM nodded appreciatively. And said "Ok, then let's go with a 3D strategy. Develop, Divert, Defeat. Develop new issues for people to outrage about, Divert attention from the real issues and we will Defeat all our political opponents."<br />
<br />
Amit bhai smiled. The management graduates he had selected to work as the PM's speechwriters had succeeded too well. The PM was now coining catchphrases faster than that Kotler fellow.<br />
<br />
And thus, India narrowly missed the chance to have a dedicated official website called moro.nic.in/dia.<br />
*****************************<br />
<br />
PS: Blog Anniversary today. So, a post had to be written. No matter how bad. After all, tradition demands. it.</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-87007221466595049262015-02-14T04:17:00.001-08:002015-02-14T04:17:42.554-08:00The Mahasabha read this post. You won't believe what happened next!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
They say it is against Indian Culture.<br />
<br />
They say it is nothing but young people mindlessly corrupted by Western influence.<br />
<br />
They even threaten to forcibly marry you off, if they find you going out on this day with a lady of your choice.<br />
<br />
But even those lunatics love this tradition. The tradition of me putting a limerick on V-day on my blog.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2008/02/i-hate-v-day.html">I</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2009/02/i-still-hate-v-day.html">have</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2010/02/if-its-february-it-must-be.html">cribbed</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2011/02/one-more-v-day-whine.html">for</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2012/02/continuing-not-so-glorious-tradition-of.html">seven</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2013/02/yet-another-v-day-whine.html">years</a> <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2014/02/the-seven-year-pitch.html">now</a>. (each of those links lead to each of the seven posts. Clever, isn't it?)<br />
<br />
And now, I proudly uphold tradition, and present to you, the Eighth (and if mom has her way, possibly the last) Post.<br />
<br />
******<br />
Can you believe it! Eight Bloody Years!<br />
that I've been cribbing here, my dears,<br />
about this cruel cruel thing called fate<br />
that still hasn't led me to my dream mate.<br />
But spare me your pity, and your tears!<br />
<br />
You see, I haven't given up on hope...<br />
Some of you may think I'm on dope<br />
Or even conclude that I'm stark raving mad<br />
But frankly, being single's not really that bad<br />
Don't have to believe me, just ask the Pope!<br />
<br />
I get to choose what to do with my life<br />
no worries about offending the bossy wife<br />
I get to do what I want with my money<br />
and not hear, "Buying <i>that</i>? <i>Really.</i> honey?"<br />
There is neither any argument, nor any strife!<br />
<br />
But I see some guys, and think, "Are they on weed?<br />
or is there some funny joke that I did not read?"<br />
Turns out, it's got something to do with this season<br />
that some people start smiling for no apparent reason<br />
and say "I am in love, and there's nothing else I need!"<br />
<br />
Now, I'm sometimes tempted to smoke that shit<br />
just to find out what it's like to be love-hit,<br />
To throw away all rational thought and logic<br />
to fight against my will, and believe in magic,<br />
the trouble is, it's a one-way street with no exit!<br />
<br />
I mean, it's not like you can try it out to see if it works,<br />
like, let's sign up for it, and find out what are the perks<br />
and if we don't like what's on offer, we can just get up and quit<br />
and say, hey, t'was nice knowing you, but here's where we split<br />
nope, can't do that, without risking being called heartless jerks.<br />
<br />
And that my friends is why I am still searching to find love<br />
She has to like me for who I am, not start thinking how<br />
can she change this loser into some dream guy material<br />
I mean, ladies, some of you need to be told, "Get real!<br />
A guy can't change who he is just to please you, can he now?"<br />
<br />
But I've been told I have to make the effort to change...<br />
to be nicer to people, even to those who make me cringe<br />
But my problem is that I am yet to meet the gal who can,<br />
as dear old Jack said, make me want to be a better man...<br />
Now, is that something any of you folks can arrange?<br />
<br />
*******************************************************<br />
PS: The quality of this crib has been deteriorating over the years, eh? Perhaps the blogging gods are giving me a hint.</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26844109.post-64515926210875297222014-12-31T09:21:00.003-08:002014-12-31T09:21:51.473-08:00300!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I still remember that day. One of my friends had started a blog, and showed me the link.<br />
<br />
I was intrigued at first. What is a blog, I asked.<br />
<br />
It's like a diary, except that it is on the web, and you can share it with people, and they can read what you have written. And if they like it, they can leave comments on it.<br />
<br />
But why would I want people to read my diary? Isn't a diary something personal?<br />
<br />
Arey dude. Itna sawaal mat karo. If you want to create one, this is the link. Baaki, tumhare upar hai.<br />
<br />
I said, hmm, sounds interesting. Let me think over it.<br />
<br />
And that was that. I didn't start a blog that day. After all, I am a proud member of the Procrastinators' Club. The only club which would have me as a member, and I wanted to be part of.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
And then, my fancy b-school (We are the best, at least in Andheri West) sent me to sell vegetables. Grown by farmers. To big retail chains directly. We gave it a fancy title. It read "Income Generation Programme for a Self Help Group of Women through Marketing of Farm Fresh Vegetables."<br />
<br />
The idea was to magically eliminate the evil middleman called the local mandi wholesaler, get better prices for the farmers, assure quality supply for the retail chains, get sensitized about the plight of poor farmers of the country, apply management wisdom and combine western efficiency with eastern ethos to wipe out poverty, find a cure for cancer and bring about world peace. There could have been more, but I think I got the key points in.<br />
<br />
And thus, I landed up in Hosur. Which is a town about 40-50 km from Bangalore. With a friend who taught me how to be chilled out in life. Thanks mate.<br />
<br />
If you have never been to Hosur, don't worry, you haven't missed a thing in your life. It is not a particularly dreary place, but let's just say, it is not the first place to go to when you want to have any kind of fun. And we were put up in a hotel (lodge?) which had a room so small that it makes my current house look like Buck-fucking-ham Palace. Sorry for the cuss word. Thinking about that crappy room makes me a bit emotional. Even after all these years.<br />
<br />
The room had a TV. Which sometimes worked. We were usually done with our 'duties' for the day by 5.30 pm. And that was on days when we worked 'full day'. Most days, we would visit a farmer, hear out his story, go back to the office, eat an awesome lunch, and then sit around typing a diary about what we had done during the day. That diary writing helped me hone my fiction writing skills. Not that it has improved much, but you know, it could have been worse. We did come up with a fantastically written report at the end of it all, printed in bond white paper, bound in black cover with gold embossed letters for the title (remember? "Income Generation Programme... blah blah blah... Vegetables"). That report is probably still lying in some corner of the college archives.<br />
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Coming back to the story, after some evenings of walking around the market, playing AoE on the laptop and exhausting the stock of movies we were watching, there came a day when I was bored. Extremely Bored.<br />
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And so, sitting in a nondescript cyber cafe in a godforsaken place called Hosur, after checking my email, and plotting to teach my juniors a lesson they'll remember for the rest of their lives (we can't talk about it... I have taken the Oath!), I decided to start a blog.<br />
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This blog.<br />
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And wrote a <a href="http://kirukukiruku.blogspot.in/2006/05/kiruku-kiruku-in-case-you-are.html">first post</a>, that when I read it today, makes me cringe.<br />
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And then I wrote another. The same day.<br />
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Did I mention I was Extremely Bored?<br />
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****<br />
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Little did I know that day, that almost eight and a half years later, I would still be writing crappy posts.<br />
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Three hundred of them!<br />
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300! This is Fart-a! Slow motion scene of me sitting on a chair, grimacing, flexing my six-pack abs and typing. Blood spurts in artistic way. Heads get severed in high definition. I simply shrug. And snarl. And keep typing.<br />
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And keep typing.<br />
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And keep typing...<br />
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And keep typing...</div>
SRKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915368004417241189noreply@blogger.com2