No bucket. But a list

It is like sending the naughty child to stand in the corner of the room. My misbehaving little bitch needs some punitive correction. Such been such a naughty girl this Monday! I’m not into the whole BDSM thing, not regularly at the least.

Never read fifty shades of grey. Don’t even know if I’m making the right references here.

But if my little baby were to be sent off to a desert island. She’d need her


That stupid sweater of hers

All her silly stuffed toys

Toilet paper &


Because she cannot do jack to feed herself if I’m not around. The last time she was in the kitchen, she almost made a cake using salt for the flour. I wonder how that would have gone.

Someone Else’s Island


Defining gratitude

The scorching heat in Delhi can get to you faster than a lightning bolt if you are not paying attention and hydrating yourself. If you are a first timer here then this process can get harder while you are looking for directions.

I could not wait to get out of the train that was already late by three hours. I had but a matter of a few hours to spend in Delhi on my first visit there. Before I had to catch an overnight bus to the mountains that night. This had been the longest solo trip of mine yet. A two night long trip from Bangalore had killed my phone and any trace amount of freshness that could be retained with mere deodorants.

What I wanted now was to deposit my big box of camera equipment in a locker. Charge my phone to make 3 maybe 4 calls. See the India Gate and get a beer and some filling quantities of food before it gets too late to get back to the station, pick up my big box and head to the bus station at the other end of the city.

In all this jam packed list of things I had to do. My number one priority was the India Gate. Watching it every year religiously at the Republic Day parade had never been enough for me. I was this close to it. I picked up a rickshaw that would take me there. It was one of those pre-booked rickshaws where the fare was already discussed. For matters of convenience to the driver, two of us with separate destinations were allotted one rickshaw.

The passenger along with me was from my parents’ hometown and it had to be pure coincidence. We struck up a conversation in our native language. The auto driver who had no clear grasp over our language still managed to understand the basics. He got to know that I was here for the first time and that the other guy was a regular to Delhi. He obviously knew we had one too many things in common. Before we could know it, all three of us are in deep conversation about the environment, politics and even choosing wives.

Almost reaching my destination, the driver, summarized our conversation, our little trip, and made a suggestion to the co-passenger about dropping me closer to my destination that previously agreed upon. This would delay both of them by quite some bit. I was surprised that a person with whom I have more in common did not think of this and a complete stranger thought of this. Heck, I did not think of asking this myself.

They politely agreed and dropped me off at a spot where the rickshaw shouldn’t ideally be spending too much time halting. I don’t think I had enough time to thank them enough before the vehicles behind us started honking and the driver made way, waving me goodbye. Leaving me staring at the magnificent India Gate, an ocean of emotions gushing in.

I have a problem with remembering names,  for this one time I wish I didn’t. I want to think these two strangers. Probably the most remembered strangers in all my journeys. I hope to recognize you if I ever spotted you some place and thank you in person.

Thank you.

Also, thanks to small-town girls midnight trains for refreshing this memory in your post.

Never Too Late


noodle surprise

There are some things that are known for the convenience that the bring to our lives. You could not have them any other way. One such invention for convenience is the instant noodles. It comes in a packet. All you need to do is boil it. It has been the quickest breakfast, an instant snack and a quick hunger buster from as many years as I can remember in my life.

There are times when you’ve been stuck in traffic for an extra hour. Times when you boss has been such a jerk, times when your office computer just refused to cooperate. Times when you have been just so tired and all you needed was some food to go down your mouth. A packet of noodles is ideal for these times. A small twist is to add an egg to it just to amplify the mouth feel of it.

To appreciate the little things in life that give us so much pleasure and return the favor, I decided to add a small surprise to this simple recipe.

To show my appreciation to the noodle packet, I present to you, Gooey Noodle Surprise


Shaken and Stirred


It’s time to call bob

Chris scampered to his cupboard to find his little wooden box.

As he tries to open its lock, his bloody hands are shaking. He can feel the blood loss taking away his senses. The world begins to slowly spin, one missed footstep at a time. He can feel one shoe soaking with the blood from the bullet in his thigh and the other one from the one in his hip.

Coming to terms with his condition, he realizes that there is no time to be wasted wondering if this is the right thing to do. If he is in this state, this has to be done. The point of compiling the best interest of everyone has passed. He was the best at his job and that is why he had been given the box. Because, nobody expected him to fail.

In the fight against the corrupt politicians of this city filled with history, the resistance had laid out many traps to stop their atrocities. One such trap was Chris, 32 years old, abandoned at a dead end by the corrupt hands of the law. He was supposed to stand up for the new form of law. The law of the righteous. He was going to bring to light, the dysfunction brought about from having power hungry men representing the people.

Chris had successfully gathered all the evidence that was required to put the king pin in jail. He had been working underground for 7 years now. He had forgotten who he really was. He hasn’t had a girlfriend or even just a girl who hadn’t ended up dead in an alley. Just as he was going to get the tape recorder he put in the king pin’s office, he had been made. They knew he was a spy and that they cannot let him get out.

He had managed to dodge all but the two bullets that have fatally wounded him. He had lost the tape in the struggle. There was only one way to end this now. Time to call uncle Bob. No more of going undercover, sacrificing time or lives of precious people. No more tapes, no more letting someone else serve justice. There aren’t anymore people who can put themselves through what Chris did. Nobody that believes in the same exact methods and values of achieving them like Chris did. He only knows now of the one person who cares exactly enough if not more for the end result, the end of King Pin’s reign.

He opens the box, takes out the little cell phone from it and sends the one word needed for Uncle Bob to fix this, to fix everything “KILL.”  Chris might have never trusted Uncle Bob for his methods or for his beliefs. But Chris knows that he can trust Uncle Bob to do this one thing. Chris had his word that Uncle Bob would avenge him.

Calling Uncle Bob

This is such bull

Wow. ways in which I’d spend an off day. Everyday for almost the last year has been an off day for me. I used to convince myself that I’m fun employed. But the F has been managing to give me another F back. In the light of these events, I’d like to reverse the topic and make today’s post an opposite day.

Yes! I’m an artist and I, like a dumbass, majored in History of Art and and I’d really like a 9-5, or 10-6 or even a 5-1 job at this time. Hurrah to the mental satisfaction you get when you do what you love. But what happens when that love begins to get saturated and so many people just love the same thing you love? You find new ways of making love and staying in love. Given the current place I’m in, which is a bad one. Let us just leave all that aside and let me take you through how much I’d enjoy a day of work right about this time.

It will not be still for anyone’s sake. Let’s assume it is a 10-6 job. I’d wake up at 5AM.

Hang myself on that pull up bar and pump out 10 solid ones.

Go for a nice short fast run.

Stretch out and do my favorite home workout that helps me keep my sanity in the days of joblessness.

Ice cold shower baby!

Milk, egg and sprouted beans for breakfast packed in between two sliced of bread.

Prepare lunch. Today, I shall make some rice and lentils.

Grind out my vegetable juice for a mid office snack.

Pack a few slices and some jam along with lunch for another snack.

Wipe the cycle clean, check the pedals and pedal away to work.

Reach office, change clothes after showing off my butt and legs to that cute chick at work.

Talk to my boss. Find targets, hydrate and get to work like maniac.

Drink vegetable juice. Flip the finger to a colleague for making fun of you for not joining for a smoke break.

Get to work.


Stretch out calf muscle.

Yummmmm. Lunch!


More work. Wait I’m all done? I need to talk to boss again. Let me walk by that cute chick while I’m at it and give her the head nod.

Yay, I have some more work to do. Belt it out, listen to free music. Charge my phone.

Work day almost done. Time for that second snack.


Flip the finger to another colleague for the smoking thing again.

Cute chick comes over and asks for help. She’s playing with her hair. I’m so in there bro!

Brrrring 6PM. Time to leave. Get changed,



Get the cycle out, nod to the pretty chick again and pedal off.

Reach home in record time.

Hot water bath!

Stretch out legs again.

Watch a documentary on the internet

Respond to The Daily Post

Eat some chicken I’ve made for the entire week with a little rice

Go to sleep. Admire biceps while I push my hands under the pillow.

Think of cute chick at work. Wonder if she’s single…

Fall asleep like a baby. Well, babies don’t just fall asleep. Rocks do! Feel asleep like a rock.

This whole thing is just a matter of perspective and huge amounts of imagination skills for the non-existent.

Sparkling or Still

My first love letter


Dearest Angie,

We have been together for almost ten years now. You were my first. I know I wasn’t yours. You know that I love you to paint you myself. Carefully craft you,  white wall tyres. Finger your carburetor forever until you are pleased and I find pleasure in yours. Slow you down for every pothole and speed breaker, so you do not feel rattled. You know that I love you enough to polish you every time I know you are going out some place important. I take pride in you. I show you off. I am proud of every time you have made people check me out. Especially for helping me create that image when we were in college that If I gave a girl a ride on my bike, it is because I deem her worthy enough to sleep with. Every controversy we created back then, every trick up my sleeve and under your seat. You know I loved you more than any of those girls. We had some good times and I promise you greater times ahead.

You also need to know that I hate you. I hate you for all the things you are not. You are not a modern piece of engineering. Your technology is almost 60 years old and you yourself are 34 years old and I am only 27 and I take you for granted because of this. I do not have a professional mechanic take care of you because Your technology is simple. I can do it myself. I sometimes forget to treat you like you still are my first love. Believe me, there are days more than you’d imagine when I eye that hot piece of Austrian or Japanese set of two wheels that the other boys are ripping around in. Sometimes annoyingly so in full motorcycle gear when they’re only going out to get milk from one street away. I have even told myself, I deserve better not this old piece of shit. You give my blisters! On my palms and under my feet when you do not start and I have to keep kicking you like I was possessed. I hate that I have been stuck with you for 10 years now. The only reason I even bought you is because you were the only one I could afford. When all my friends had their dads shell out money to get them scooters, my ego wanted me to buy myself a bike. That is the reason we are stuck together. You are with me because I could only afford to buy you from my first salary. Because I am cheap! But you do not know how much I have spent on parts and don’t even get me started on your drinking problem.

I am too  much of a coward to tell you these things when we have our heart to hearts out on the highway or when you just wont start at the side of it. Because I know these things will upset you and I cannot deal with your wrath afterwards. I might have to walk or worse push your old ass home. That is why I choose to write these things to you and I forbid you from reacting in any form other than writing. Take advantage of being literate for a Day and write back to me how you feel about this and about me and please be done with it. Please do not behave like all the other women who are trained to ferment and argument and deploy it like a strategic strike of daisy cutter.



By heart

By Heart

“Yankee doodle went to town,
riding on his pony…

Stuck a feather in his cap
and called it Macaroni.

Yankee doodle doodle doo, Yankee doodle dandy
All the feathers in his cap were made of sugar candy.”

This is the original short version that I was taught in kindergarten. One drunken night on my way home. A friend who lived near me and was dropping me failed to remember the rhyme from his childhood. He claimed that he was never taught this one, implying that I was way too old to know it in the first place. On the ride home, we made up an obscene version of the rhyme to help him remember for the next time. To date, when I reach certain points of the route home, I remember the drunken night and the verse we were trying to drill into our heads at those points of the route.

Even while typing the poem down now, I was only able to recollect the obscene version better than the original.

For people who can get sensitive to obscenity and gory sexual innuendos. Please do not read further on to the obscene version.

“Yankee doodle went to town…
riding on his pony.

He stuck a finger up its ass
and called it dry humping…

Yankee doodle doodle doo, Yankee doodle dandy
All the fingers on his hands were covered in shit from the horsey”