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Death by post lunch Powerpoint

October 16, 2011

written on a hang over filled day, during a presentation session immediately after a heavy lunch. Meaningless.

This is neither pain nor pleasure

Neither shortsight nor long;

Two distinct sounds under the skull,

One hardly audible, the other painful;

All the words I wanted to say

all the tasks I wanted to make hay,

flush towards my surreal way.

What a wierd feeling,

sensuous yet senseless;

Feel my spine crumbling,

soul trembling.

As I fall into my chair

mashing all senses, emotions

into one round ball,

Compressing it, smoking it and

blowing it out through the lightly

plugged nose as a snore,

The room bursts into laughter.


par tum Desy ho na !

September 15, 2011

If you haven’t read please do that first. Fill in your time sheets later.  If you get to talk to him @localteaparty , please do talk to him. Gem of a person he is and is extremely funny. Inspired by his style of writing, I gave it a shot here. Of course the original style and wit are irreplaceable. 


Dey NRI. What raa. You are buying my Izzat only. That too in front of all foreign people.  Did I travel all the way via stinking-dubai airport putting up with the smell of people eating sikkan fry with tomato chause and beer and burping on the face without washing mouth at 6 in the morning  in Fly emirates and jump into Europe for this ? What sin I did ? Did I rite TOEFL lyk dis ? All you peoples are going to US karke I came here. Being so few in number, here also you are selling our country only.

In meetings you are asking really stupid questions. You pay , you ask ,Ok. But when everyone laughs why you are telling ki ‘We Indians are like this only’.  Man, 28 year old European girl marry not marry what is your problem ? Why you telling her marry marry marry. You tell her ki ‘in India all girls of your age get married and have kids that go to school’. She asked you is it ? (At 46, Monica Belluci is wearing bikini in movies and doing sex scenes also. Your Indian actress can do that ?) From that time she is embarrassed to talk to Indians only.

In 8th standard if a boy and girl talk to each other too much means we tease them ‘aey aey aey’. Why you doing that here man.  A big Girl and big boy talk , make out , hang out, knock out, worn out hit out whatever out what goes for your father ? why you clapping hands and shouting aey aey aey. These foreign people think ki all Indians are Eunuchs only.

Passing Racist comments itself is wrong. You are teaching the meaning of your racist comments to all white foreign people only. Now I am not able to ask “Khaana Kha-liya” in front of them at all. How many  times you will tell ki ‘except West Indians and South Indians all Indians are white’ and laugh alone. Hearing this all European people are confused ki what is ‘white’. In an International community you are from a big country and have the Shahrukh khan means you will do anything is it ? From Pakistani to Nepali to North East Indians to South Indians to Bangladeshis to Srilankans you are pissing off everyone only. Why you do this God also dunno.

Man, “Dance as if no one’s watching” and all is Ok, but why you want me also to dance with you in all the parties. I don’t dance means I don’t dance. I can sit on couch drink beer and be happy aaram se. But you’re saying ki Iam very serious, not enjoying life at all. Not dancing means no enjoyment who said ? (In your logic, Sreesanth must be the most enjoying person of India.) First of all, you dance like a mad cow only, looking at you only I should become serious.  Second of all two dudes dancing together is totally uncool man. God Promise. Ask your father also. He will tell. You dance till your sweat stink for 8 districts, smooch everyone in dark irrespective of Age, sex, location and finally come back and tell a foreign girl ki In India if girls party like this means RSS, MNS etc will come and beat. This trivia is compulsorily important to tell is it ? Then you tell stories ki you and 10 guy friends always party all night and its not possible for a girl to come in between because you are too cool-rowdy-rockerzzz. Man, seriously, what will anyone of any age will think about us. Already Rahul Gandhi is unmarried, do you want the world to think ki all Indian males are Gay ?

Abbe oye Desi girl, you only. I appreciate ki you are trying hard to talk in foreign people slang. If it doesn’t come, leave it na. What is wrong with our Indian slang.  You make it sound so bad ki these people are asking whether you have some mouth problem or what. Tension is coming to me because you are making fun of other Indian’s slang in front of foreign people, while they are laughing at all of us. With your mouth you are bringing maut to our image. If you keep behaving like this how will anyone put line on you ?

And my dear Sawth ke log, if one project is over means sit simply.  Why are you forcing foreign engineers, professors etc to shout Gumthalakkadi gala gala? Why you tell lies ki it’s a part of Indian culture ? I mean WTF yaar.  They became very urgently angry. And I put a permanent Facepalm. Also please, please stop listening to movie songs loudly in public transport no ? You guys are also doing too much man. Then these Punjabis will make fun of us only no ? Already we have Sauce-Chaas problems with them.

There are so many atrocities you do ki my head goes baap re baap. I keep telling and you keep doing the same means severe problem only. I’m telling you !

A Suicide Note

January 14, 2011

Receiving feedbacks for your writing is a good thing. But, when someone says you write like Chetan Bhagat…well , er,, seriously its embarrassing. I don’t write to flaunt my IIT-IIM degrees (although I don’t have either of them), nor to prove a point that I’m stud enough to have sex with classmate or Professor’s daughter or whatever. And more importantly, I don’t write to preach the world or change the nation like this gentleman. (Read last para)

It so happened that few years ago I was forced to read ‘One night @ the call centre’, mainly because I had literally nothing to do. Lets skip the reviewing part. And sometimes later, I was even forced to watch its Film adaptation – this time mainly to vent out the week’s frustration after working for the Guru bhai’s brat son. Indian film Industry could never get worse than that. An already pointless story made more pointless with logic and fun reduced to atomic levels ran (?) at 25 frames/s non-stop for two and half hours in front my eyes. “Korangu kaiyil poomalai (A garland in the monkey’s hand) is bad. The film was ‘Korangu kaiyil seruppu malai’ (Floaters (aka bathroom chappal) in the hands of a monkey). End result – I wrote this psycho story , throughout that Saturday night.


Shruti has finally gone to the US. “I just wanted to add some meaning to your life and so I did it, after all Sundaram is a kind worker, nothing else” she said when I stood in front of her as a proud man. She was everything to me and she was nothing less than my everything. 8 hours of kabaddi everyday has made my skin and chin rough but it taught me how to concentrate. I concentrated. I made a concentrate of rodent poison with tequila shot. Tequila for me and poison for my love. Looking through my highball glass I see myself. I see my past“Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi” – three men to dodge and the cup is home. Unlike regular kabaddi players I’m fair, normally built and had agreeable looks. My looks weren’t brutal enough to threaten the monsters to touch who was the mission. A few tricky acrobats inside the rectangle and few minutes of traditional ‘pranayama’ and yes she is mine. I could get her all for myself overtaking those geeks that impressed her over years. I concentrated. I concentrate. A thin layer of salt on this tiny lemon slice does all the magic. I have never felt my adrenalin rushing so fast in me. The bar tender looks funny, no lesser does the opponent.

These computer champs have bruised my happiness like anything over years. All she liked was a few codes. It’s so beautiful to get things done with a few mathematical expressions. “It all depends on how you define the object” she often tells her pals. How do I define my love for her, how do I define computer, how do I define this toothpick that held this magical lemon until few seconds back. This bulge in my glass reminds me of Mr. Shankar’s belly. The Shankar in Shruti Shankar. He wanted her to get an MS from the renowned Massachusetts. ‘Kabaddi, Kabaddi, Kabaddi’. I’m concentrating. Very ambitious fellow-this Shankar. He automated and computerized everything in life. He would even develop an Artificial Neural network model for kabaddi, assuming my breathe rate to be constant and using other variables, constants, differentiating and applying Simpson’s rule on a million data to convince himself that ‘it all depends on how you define it’. Here I’m doing the same ‘pranayama’ that he has been doing in the mornings for four decades. He wanted the world for her and I want her as my world. When it comes to ambition or loss, there is no such thing called ‘small’ or ‘big’. A child’s loss of a toy and a king’s loss of his crown are of same magnitude. This Cup is going to get me Shruti. A bronze plated aluminum cup against a Massachusetts Gold Medal. Yes they are of equal magnitude.

Kabaddi, Kabaddi, kabaddi. This fellow is barbaric and he abuses me. He is afraid of defeat and he doesn’t know that even I’m. This defeat will never let me play the game again. She looked anxiously. I hear some strange noises.” Why should I go out? Am I not paying for every drop of intoxication? You bloody…..” Vreeeellllll goes the whistle…Out! This fellow is gone. I pried him out of the box with my legs. Just two more and I’m losing sight. The idlis with Tomato chutney that I had as my breakfast seem to be betraying me. Stamina is draining. I feel like sleeping on this cold floor. No, the sun is hot and the match is on, why do I feel cold ? I could see several suns sticking on to long poles at equa  distances. But I got to win this. Just kick these two fellows. 

I proposed to her. Straight on face once after trying to give her a love letter in a floppy disk. That was the closest computer related stuff that I knew which I thought would impress her. She had something called ‘pen drive’ for her usage and found a floppy disk to be very much outdated. The letter was never opened. Still 5 minutes to go and the whistle will go forever. I’m concentrating and I’m sober. I could feel the heat as she gave a piercing look. She wouldn’t have even dreamt of such a disgusting proposal. For me, saying ‘I love you’ in a sports jersey without any rose or card was cool enough. Now I’m out on the ground with that very cool jersey.

The blue one, my favorite. But I don’t understand what this jean is doing on my lower torso. I don’t feel like wearing it nor do I feel like removing it. I have to concentrate and I have no time to think about it. “You have been fooling around without any aim all these years. I can’t give my life to such an aimless fellow even though I kind of like you”. Now that’s the signal, this studious shy gal cannot bluntly express herself like we kabaddi players. After all she needs some security, some kind of insurance. When a silly two-wheeler comes with insurance, it’s natural to expect a boy friend with some future for him. I got to win my love through something that I always love. Kabaddi. Yes Kabaddi is my weapon and the victory in this National Championship Finals is worthy enough to please Mr. Shankar, my dad’s boss. Just 4 minutes more to reach my destiny.

I have travelled through this many a times and I know the exact time it will take. Whether our child will become a Kabaddi player or a computer expert is not yet decided, but I will never let my child become one like this unkind traffic police. He shouts at me for not having a Head light in my bike while there were so many on the road who dint have the bike itself. My goodness, what a crazy country is this, no wonder Shankar uncle wants my Shruti to go to the US.

My head is banging like anything. The sun is right on my head and my body shivers in spite of this heavy jacket. I think I should slow down, but anything less than 60 is not cool. I’m sweating, my limbs tremble. I’m an expert in handling these slog sessions of kabaddi but still I need an armor to guide me. This is a personal match and I have to be careful. I looked into her anxious eyes. They were rolling like two marbles as usual. Vrooom, what was that? What happened to her eyes, and why one is red and other orange and it’s really strange to have eyes one on top of the other. No, now they are ok. Two nice marbles.

I’m looking at her eyes and eyes alone because I believe in my love; it will take me to the gates of success. They rolled left and right, synchronous to my two opponents’ movements and I moved exactly opposite. That was the best ever dodging this nation had seen in a kabaddi match. Vreeellll… man down and I’m still holding my breath. Cheers got louder and louder until it reached its threshold limit. Now it’s calm and silent. I think I forgot to fetch the key. All I could see was a pale face that would have looked like mine some 20 years ago. “it was so generous of shruti madam to give you a boost up in your life like this, you should fall at her feet rather than expecting her marry you, you fool” said that familiar voice with a tint of grief. I fell down immediately but recovered in a microsecond.

But now the ground is very soft and seemed familiar. I feel ‘at home’. My mission is not yet over. This tiny person has to be finished to fulfill all my dreams. I look back to her eyes. They aren’t moving and she looks younger. She changed her clothes within no time and has got a bouquet in her arms standing still. May be she is waiting for that moment of my success and to wish me with that bouquet. Her unmoving eyes convey that I have to look straight and concentrate. I’m going to choke you little fellow. Hey you are too soft for a last man. But he holds me like lizard and pulsate me here and there; I can’t get rid of him.

The cheering sound start hearing back. The final step is not that easy especially in such ambitious missions. This guy is repressive. The more he holds me the more I start liking him. His aroma, the very exotic aroma that induces more sleep in the mornings. I could sense that I’m in the verge of winning and I want to see shruti show some expression and this guy has literally stuffed my face and its too late to stop him. He is killing me and I jumped at shruti so that she could help. She never came and her eye balls never moved. This tiny fellow is angry that I would cross the line to win when I jumped at shruti. He will never leave until I die. I touched my heart to realize. I’m alive….I’m alive…I was alive. A laminated chart paper fluttered near the window which read “Winner, Mr.Srinivasan s/o Sundaram”.


January 3, 2011
  1. Try not to be a five point someone. Its so un-cool, especially here
  2. Stop worshipping Bollywood. Katrina is an exception of course.
  3. Prove the world that its either ‘mathlab ki’ or ‘Matlab key’. The H factor
  4. Remove all ‘Rajnikanth-jokes-telling-friends’ from Facebook. If Shahrukh khan can catch a scorpio in cycle rickshaw, Rajnikanth can get Idly in Mc-Donald’s.
  5. He was Shakespeare. Shakesphere is a bad word.
  6. Stay away from ‘kool doodes’ and consultants
  7. Should find an apt reply for that UP girl which says “Hey you look like Suriya, I mean Jayasuriya,,,lollzz”
  8. There should be only friends in life. No yaars and abbe yaars.
  9. Prove the world again that Indian men are not anatomically challenged. Russel Peters was only kidding.

Facebook – so unmadHarasi

December 28, 2010

Apart from increasing pollution, ruined weather, spoilt politics and growing beer belly what bothers me these days are the viruses in facebook and the hacked accounts. “This guy must be stoned to death”, “I sent you a smiley”, “360 °C images” and all that. Ku. Ranganathan got the dot(.) between his initial and name removed. Creative hacker, no? Must be some non-linguist, that didn’t like profile names written in regional languages.

Abhishek Jha got a two letters added at the end.

So, I decided to safeguard my dignity and my so-far-virgin Facebook only to find Zuckerberg and some of the IITians working under him are so unmadharasi. The Account protection-security boosting-viral immunizing procedure goes like this –

Step 1: Enter alternate email ID. In case my FB account and the primary email ID both get hacked, FB will send a recovery password, Food pottalam (Food Packet) from Helicopter or something. Why would both get hacked? Hmmm Mark is up to something.

Step 2: Enter alternate mobile number. Sorry. The only one I have been having for years is lying in a corner jobless, ignored and uncharged. I hate it when people call it Manmohan. Option FAIL

Step 3: Now it gets interesting. You have to save an answer to any of the questions listed. No, you can’t have a personalized question. In cases where it is allowed, I have entered “Your name?” as the question.  But Facebook is smarter. Overcoming the exam-fear I went ahead to answer any of them.

Q1. What was the name of your first pet?

Are you kidding? We micro-middle class Tambrahm madHarasis living in 500 sq.ft rented homes near Perungalathur never have pets. They are only for those rasaathie darling-nighty-clad-arrogant daughters of rich landlords appearing in movies. Next kostin.

Q2. What was the last name of your First Grade Teacher?

I forgot to tell something. Just above the drop-down list box it says “Choose a security question that only you can answer”. We madHarasis don’t have this first name, last name funda. Be it teacher or Veerappan or Karunanidhi. I remember one teacher named ‘Jeeva’ or something similar. Not sure if I will remember in future.

Q3. In what city or town was your mother born?

Mathuranthagam. Probability that I will spell it exactly same once again = 1/ 10^large number. Next.

Q4. What are the last five characters of your driver’s license?

Sorry Boss. By mistake I watched Kamal Hassan’s ‘Indian’ and refused to bribe the officer at RTO. The Inspector called me ‘mayirandi’ (A hairy guy) and black listed my name along with some ‘drunk & drive’ criminals and Highway rapists. I wouldn’t get a license in Chennai. When it was between being a madHarasi or drivers’ license, I chose to be a madHarasi.

Q5. What street did you live on when you were 8 years old?

Zucki, let me tell you something interesting about India. Some highly qualified deep fried genius of the 1970s introduced a policy that Bank employees should get transferred to different places once in 3 years. Jushht for fun. Reducing corruption, avoiding monopoly are some of the justifications given for official purposes. When Syndicate Bank was having fun with my dad, I lived more like Ghajini Surya. New things, new places every now and then. So I have studied in 5 schools, lived in 14 houses, had 2456 short term friends and school mates.

Q6. What is the first name of the first boy or girl you kissed?



itzz nt so kewl…

December 20, 2010

“Hey hwzz you” …” z bak in town”,,, “2 mre dayz 4 de holidayzz”…”guyzz v r gonna rock”…

Dear Indiazz wannabe pplzz on de Internet “What does a z achieve that a s can’t” ?

(plagiarised from some tweet)

Adada… Bloggu

December 16, 2010

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