Friday, December 25, 2009

Late Bloomers

I like choices.

I bet we all do. But somehow we seem to take pride in our ability to deny ourselves things.

Iam not getting into the monogamous institute of marriage ( it need not be, depending on where or into what you are born or even what you choose to be). I know you would love to get my foot in the mouth and make me sleep on the couch for the rest of my life but I will refrain.

Take for example food.

I do not understand vegetarians.

Why would anyone choose to be a vegetarian? I don't know. Our dental structure clearly shows that nature never intended us to be that way. We were meant to eat what we get. We were never meant to be choosy but in some weird quirk of evolution, cockroaches lost the battle to supremacy and the mantel of Lord of all that he surveys fell upon us and then some prehistoric monkey developed a taste for vegetables.

I don't get it.

I like those guys who one day gave up meat because they decided on humanitarian grounds not to be part of taking life... but lets face it; Fried chicken is far more tasty than your soul.

What I do have a problem with Vegetarians is something I was discussing with a couple of vegetarian friends of mine. They haven't really helped in the ecological balance of earth, which they could have if they had enlarged their menu. You see, its my earnest belief that we tend to conserve what we think is important to us. We seem, somehow, to have an aversion towards dying.

Now if the vegetarians increased their diet to include the salads made from the nut or leaves of trees from the rain forest or made soups from the root of the cedar, oak or silver wood, we would have had a greener planet. Instead they left it to the meat eaters to protect and breed their meals on legs which now threatens to fart us out of our planet. Vegetarians could have been the saviours of our planet.

I have always maintained that, for wild life to survive we just need to start developing a taste for them.

A tiger steak anyone?

My plan to save our planet is very simple. I have been thinking... Yes, it does occur.

Now we all know that death is a great business. Funeral services are the only business that can claim year long supply of customers. Recession or not, people has to die.

So , my plan is this. When we bury someone why don't we insert a seed of a tree into the corpse's heart before we do so? Think about it. You have one tree per dead person. You replace graveyards with forests. And we can use the cremated ones ashes as fertilizers.

Personally I would like to be the worm food for a banyan tree.

Man, Iam so damn brilliant.

Now all I have to do is create a religion around it so that you will take it seriously. Nothing better than a bit of brimstone and fire and some infidels thrown in to motivate people to do the right thing.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Sun is still in my bum


I like that word. It sounds like what it implies. It sounds correct. Maybe its conditioning but vagina sounds nice. Clean. Medical.Text book. Almost clinical.



See what I mean? Same thing, different words...different imaging.

I taught my son to call his penis Pepe. Don't ask me why. I just did. I regret it. I should have just asked him to call it a penis.We really don't need several words to name the same things. Yet somehow we seem to do it. Its like Gandhi's word Harijan for the untouchables or the low castes. Over time the very word which was supposed to elevate them, give them a sense of pride, became a label. The very word , which meant God's children, became synonymous with being of lower caste. Now its illegal to call anyone Harijan. Its Scheduled Caste. Hopefully in the future we will just call them Indians. Or how about people?

Its the same with Negros who are now called Blacks. Its the same word. Same meaning. Different associations. Different history.Funny when you think about it.

Rose by any other name...

At 40 I have realized only one thing as a certainty. I have no clue. Everything is so confusing. Now we need to gauge every ones reactions prior to any actions. Now you will think twice before you go to comfort a crying child in the playground. Now you will refrain from correcting a misbehaving child. You will watch a husband beat his wife because its none of your business. You will not act because of what others might think. We have become so politically fucking correct that we have become eunuchs. Ooops. I forgot. I cant use that term anymore. Its fucking politically incorrect.

Truth is I don't know anything. Really I don't. Its not everyday you wake up and realize how stupid you are.

The last 30 odd years have been spend accumulating so called knowledge, experiences, cells and fat.

I have spend 30 years becoming a fucking hoarder!

So, during the last few years I have been doing a sort of spring cleaning. Basically cleaning out the attic. Now that almost everything I have accumulated is gone ( the fat remains) , Iam as empty as a retard. Ooops. Cant say that either, can I?

Tell you what I do know.

I exist.

The indention in the shape of my bum, much like the image in the Turin Shroud, on my couch ascertains my existence.

Truth is that's all I really know. I don't know if Iam the only one that exists and that all of you are just figments of my will and imagination. There is also a chance that all of you think the same way too. But Iam not sure. I can only be absolutely sure of my feeling, my pain, my love , my anger, my frustration...your emotions and feelings are concepts. I cannot and do not get a first hand experience of it therefore, it will always remain an empathetic understanding. An outside perspective compared with my own feelings , emotions and actions. No matter what I have read, or heard or been born into in the name of my heritage and culture, I still remain separate. This supposed existence of a unifying mystical formula is beyond my reasoning.

All I feel is : It must be the same for you.

Maybe its our separation that is the common factor. Imagine the fucking irony in that!

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Breaking it down.

If you want to know the nature of time, you need to stand in a lift that is slow and the number of floors it travels to is more than 15. To make it more exciting, you and the bunch of people who takes the lift from the ground floor should not be added by people getting in from different floors. It causes distraction to the discomfort in experiencing time on a first hand basis.

Notice your stance.

You probably will be standing still, erect, looking ahead, almost not breathing. Or you will be looking at your feet or at the numbers on the floor display panel. You will feel the others behind you, like the breath of a spirit and theres almost a guarantee that you will not turn back to look or acknowledge.

When the lift door opens, you step out with almost a relief.

Now imagine getting stuck in one with your girl, just the two of you and not much of clothes between you both.

Time, my dears, hence, is relative.

See? My post is educational. Wasn't that way better than understanding it through some dead unfeeling formula?

This is what I have a problem with. This effort in making the most simplistic of things complicated.

Take life for example.

Now you don't need a PhD to live it. Hell, you don't even need a licence. You just have to be born and viola! you are carried away in its flow. Simple. Along the way, others in similar positions as you will come your way. You will exchange ideas, you will analysis each others methods to live, you will find some lives lived more attractive, then, abandoning your unique life, you will try to ape another life. From there starts your life of disappointment.

My wife disagrees. But I really think that there is no meeting ground in regards to individual. We are different. In every way. Similarity might exist in regards to our physiology, which helps in identifying us, pegging us, marking us as a species or some other such labels but we are different. Our lives are different, our experiences are different. Every emotion that we feel is different. My anger could be different from yours. My love is different from yours. The way we see colors are different. The way we smell the same thing is different. Our deaths will be different.

Then why do we think that there is a single path to a single source?

My enlightenment, if there is such a thing, is bound to be different from yours.

Maybe, just maybe, the Hindus got it partly right by having their 1 million different gods. Which then went on to become a mess.

Why cant we celebrate our uniqueness? Why is there this need to willingly come under a banner of religion, country, race, gender? Why is there this need to believe that my way is better than yours? That its only through my way you will find yours?

Think. Doubt.Question. Break it down. Tear it down. Then rebuild.

Only then , I think, can you call anything your own.

Even yourself.

Faith, without questioning is akin to slavery.

Have a great year ahead.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Facing the 40s

Did you know that Kerala has the highest suicide rate in the country?

"Kerala, the country's first fully literate state, has the highest number of suicides. Some 32 people commit suicide in Kerala every day." -

I don't find that altogether surprising, considering that it is called God's Own Country. We all know that people who are on back slapping terms with the Big Man in the Sky , has a propensity to kill themselves; most of the time taking a whole lot of unwilling people with them for company.

Stupid Fucks.

I killed God sometime back.

Strapped her to a chair in a dark room, with an unshaded light bulb hanging above her.

I then sat across him and worked on its face with my fist.

One thing I have to say about God, its dignified in its silence. I could also sense the danger of being caught up in that dignity I had attributed to her. It was like beating my reflection with all my wannabe traits. He was everything I thought I could be or would be. Now.

Now, I see him more clearly.

He is just a reflection.

I untied her hands and placed the knife into her hands.

It was something my brother had given me as a gift.A fold able bayonet that also served as a handheld fighting knife. Beautiful thing.

He held the knife in both his hands. Looking at at. As if weighing it. Then she looked at me.

I sat back in my chair and lite my cigarette. I inhaled deeply its arid fumes. Filling my lungs. Then I blew it out. Straight into Gods eyes.

There were tears in her eyes.

There were tears in mine too. But hers was because of the smoke.

I told it to finish it.

Her eyes pleaded with mine.

A corner. A spot. You will hardly know Iam there.

I told no.

Recall the times when you needed me. The times I have been there. Guiding you, comforting you, answering you?

I got up to pour myself a drink. These emotional stuffs always tire me.

Lies , I said, without turning back, you were never there, I believed you were there, I hoped you were there, but you were not there,I gave you the credits for all things good and took upon myself the blame for all things bad in my life,I created you from my ever present loneliness, shaped you, gave my breath to you... I was always alone.

I took a sip of my sour mash whiskey.

With the glass in my hand , I returned to my chair. I dragged it closer to her. I looked at it , up close, eye to eye; then I whispered:

Do it.

She tilted her head back, brought the knife to her neck and with a graceful swipe, cut its throat.

God bleeds.

I pushed back the chair.Finished my drink. Then I picked the lite cigarette from the makeshift ashtray which in its previous life was a Horlicks Cap. I leaned on the table and smoked , watching the death of god, feeling lighter.

I had destroyed Its home within me long ago. The cursed dwelling of hers whose walls were made up of scriptures dreamed up and written by dead people. Today I killed its King.

Now Iam alone. Truly alone. No more invisible crutches for a man who has two legs. I have never been more free. I have never been so lost. I have never been so alone. Yet I know that, I wouldn't have it any other way.

I left god there. Dead. Sitting on a chair with its head thrown back, blood coloring the front of her white T-shirt red. I had picked up the knife, wiped the blade clean on his t-shirt , folded it and tucked it into my pant pockets.

I turned 40. A nice age. Good round figure. Easy on the tongue. A great age for new beginnings. From here on its the start of my sheddings. The age of loss begins.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Read my tits

You see that guy who walks down the street carrying the burden of perpetual guilt? Thats me. Guilt is my middle name.

What is the required etiquette when confronted with words like ; Juicy, Angel or Booty printed in bold cursive script on the seat of a tight fitting track pants which is attached to a female form?

Are you allowed to read it?

Will it be deemed lecherous?

Being from the printing industry , I read things. Its kind of an automatic thingy. There are no thought process behind it , its just a conditioning, almost similar to our other curious habit of feeling the grammage of the paper of any magazine that we read.You see that guy who is going orgasmic in that dentist waiting room with that Vogue magazine? Printer.

I read. I cant help it. Then I catch myself looking at the writing and realizing the area of hoarding. Instant guilt.Its worse when Iam with my wife. The chills have given me frostbites.

Then there are those T-shirts.

What do you do, Jack, what do you do?

I read. Then I start blushing.

Thing is I think I offend the wearer when I stop to catch up on my literary fix. This is what I don't understand. What am I supposed to do? Pretend that you don't have something interesting printed on your t-shirt and that your breasts are just incidental?

I asked my wife about this. Yes, Iam suicidal.

There was a drop in temperature and I think some parts of my extremities are cryogenic ally frozen.

Wisest thing to do will be to keep my eyes on the ground.

So I decided on the next best thing.

Dark glasses.

My question is not about why a woman should wear something like this if she doesn't want to be stared at. In fact I think women should be able to walk around naked ,if they want,without having to worry about how shes going to be perceived. The real question is why the fuck am I feeling guilty if Iam only reading?

I have been to a party once where a family friend of ours claimed that girls are asking for it when they wear mini skirts. I had to hold back my wife from ripping that moron to shreds. Question is, why does what a woman wear ,be about men?

You know what I think? Maybe I should keep my eyes on the ground until I learn to read the writing without seeing what its written upon. Then perhaps, they will not be offended and I wont be feeling guilty.

The question , my friend is, do you see words printed across boobs or boobs on which words are printed? Does boobs even figure? Is the boobs even there? See? Its a profound situation; almost religious.

I tried bringing this up with my wife. Yes, Iam persistently suicidal.

She felt that its not helping that Iam going over grounds that has already been overcome and covered. She feels posts like this may evoke some sniggers in some quarters but overall it just pushes back all what women have achieved in the last 100 years. To summarize, she is in fact telling me that Iam back on the couch for the next 2 weeks on the warrior diet; which essentially is how the Spartans ate, only in the night. No wonder the bastards were in a bad mood all the time.

Thing is; my wife is right. I hate to admit that. But once in a few years, she does stumble upon the truth and Iam man enough to give her the credit. Okie, I also like to have my meals on time.

So here is the Tys fact on the issue.

You could wear a abhaya and you will still be gaped at. You could wear nothing and you will still get gaped at. Gaping at women is some sort of evolutionary precondition hotwired into our genes; it has nothing to do with your clothes or lack of it. So you might as well use all that gaping and get the men to read something while they gape.

At least it will be an exercise for both our extremities. In short you make it educational. How else can you get a message across, when all else have failed?

This one kind of tells it all :

* all pictures courtesy of

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Need a lil help from my friends...

If life is measured by the number of friends one has in their life, I will be around 5.

I don't make friends easily. I lose them fairly easily. Its just me, I do stupid things like writing a blog about it which guarantees that I will probably lose the 5 that remains.

Since I seem to be on this mode of making list, here is the Tys' guide to losing your friends.

1. Lend them money. You don't like one of your friend , the best thing you can do to yourself is to lend them some money. You will never see them again. It is weird. Now they are here and then they just disappear off the planet. It is magic.

2. Let them know that their wives talks about their sex problems to you because you are the universal father figure in your friend circle. Must be the grey hair and the air of perplexity that hovers around me, I seem to attract confessions from the fairer sex. Since my memory isn't that great when Iam drunk, which I seem to be perpetually, they think I can keep a secret. Problem is when a memory surfaces like a whale coming up to breathe once in a while and I happen to be around the offending husband aka my friend, which them prompts me to enquire : 'So , you still into wearing her panties to work?'

Silence. Sudden chill in the air and then I never see him again. Magic.

3. Take sides in their marital problems. Listen to this very carefully : You will be the loser in this. Most of the problems a couple has will resolve by itself and when that happens they will one day sit down , cuddling in the couch and talk about that 'silly fight' they had over him wanting a child and she postponing since it will interfere with her career. Then that idiot friend of yours will say , ' You know what ? Tys told me that I should be a man about it and 'forget' to wear the condom...haha..think about that...hes such a jerk..haha...'

Silence. Sudden chill. I never see them again. Then theres this rumour floating around that Iam a real prick. Wonder where that came from.

4. Forget their names. Trust me ,this happens.I have met some of my greatest best friends from my school days (or so they say) and I have no idea who this back slapping guy is. He talks about the time we supposedly sneaked out of the dormitory and stole carrots from the neighbourhood farmers and how Singaparaja was caught and was tied to a pole etc. You recall all this but you cannot for the life of you remember this guy's name. So you go like : ' and you are?'

Silence. Sudden chill. You never see him again.

5. Remember too many details about your friends; and if you do, please , for heavens sake, do not, I repeat, do not tell that as toast at his wedding. Somehow the story about his misadventures with the local lady of the night and the resultant trips to the clinic may seem funny to you but his soon to be wife may not find it very amusing. The resultant pin drop silence as you deliver your punch line should be a fair indication that you are now officially off the list of toast makers in all your friends' weddings and also off the list of friends to be invited to their homes in the future. But the great part is your faux pas will live on and will liven up many parties in the future where your absence will not even be missed.

6. Make commitments that you have no intention of keeping.

Its my firm belief that friendship is probably the only relation apart from being a child where you can treat the other party in the relationship like shit and get away with it. This belief stems from the fact that friendship is not tied down by any preconditions and expectations ( which no matter how great that sounded, it is total bullshit- as my experience has proven).Never say yes to something you have already decided to be a no. If you did, then please don't make a habit of it.

I, my friends, am guilty of this. In my defence I can claim that it was never intentional but I almost never turn up for any dos that I have been invited to. It has reached such a point that if I ever do turn up, the party becomes in honour of that.

I treat my friends badly. I don't keep in touch. If not for my wife, I wouldn't even have the remote sense of social life that I currently have.If its any consolation, I treat my family even worse.

So, today I would like to thank those 5 that still stands. Despite my erratic treatment of them, I think they know that deep inside this callous heart of mine, Iam grateful for their acceptance of me. That in an other week I will still be only 5 years old.... like I have been for the last 15 years.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Tys' guide to surviving marraige

Having been with one woman for 10 years, gives you a perspective that is unequal to any theory based knowledge about relationships. I must , however, confess that even these years, that somehow seemed to have passed by so soon, still does not enlighten me on the subject of what a woman wants. That is a mystery which hopefully will be answered in a flash of light when I breath my last and I truly hope that the answer does not appear to me in a neon lite sign that says : Louis Vuitton Hand Bags!

That would just kill me.

For the sake of the lesser mortals which goes by the name, man, I would like to provide a list of instruction, which hopefully will guide them and enable them to live side by side with a woman, without major damages to his psyche or physique.

1. Do not pretend to understand a woman. You don't. Deal with it. The sad part is they have you figured out pretty well. So the element of mystery or the surprise element are only in your dreams. Since you are in the dark, do what is the most logical, manly way to overcome this problem: Deny.

Deny that you don't understand them.

She :You don't understand me.

You : Of course I do. I understand you more than you think.

See? Simple technique. The last sentence you spoke is actually a brain twister. It is also illogical so it will buy you grace time.

2. When in doubt, say I love you. Women are softies. You knew that the day you had that fever and she treated you as if you were dying of cancer. They are suckers for affirmation. Almost all the crap you do can be brushed aside if you throw that three letter sentence where ever you can.

- Waking up in the morning. You turn towards her and say : I love you . Trust me, she will not bring up the part about you being drunk the previous night and puking on the carpet her mother gave on the day of the wedding. You will even get black coffee and a hug later on if you maintain a vulnerable front.

3. Practice on the vulnerable look. This is important. Borrow a dog and eat your lunch in front of it and then watch it. See that look? That's what you should be aiming for. Trick is not to over do it. Contrary to their appearance, women are smart. They can see through an act but this is where nature has been kind to our gender. We have been blessed with a gene that makes us believe that whatever we say or do is very important and real. So you do that look of hurt and in a second you feel as if you are really hurt.

She : I don't want anything to do with you. Iam going back to my mothers.

You : the vulnerable look. Bordering on tears

She : stands there uncertain. Then comes back and hold you.

You : trying hard to hide that grin.

4. Return the dog.

5. The trick to having your woman love you passionately is to love her a little less. Hold back on over expressing yourself too much. Women don't like men who seem too much in love. You see, that's their department and trust me, you don't want to go there.So you love her but let her see that in doses, when it counts.

So go and whack that guy who dared make a move on her and then pretend as if you didn't really care.

That ought to do the trick.

6. Women don't know what they want. This is the truth. Iam yet to meet a woman who knows what they want. Iam also yet to meet a man who knows what he wants but the difference is that men don't know that they don't know what they want. Women think they know what they want but what they want is really not what they really want, which they realize when they get what they really want. What they want has no defined borders, it doesn't even exist in this dimension.

So if you think they like it when you go ballistic on that guy who tried to buy her a drink in the pub because last night she had said that she doubts if you really loved her because you are not possessive; well, you are in for a rude shock. Now she thinks you are a brute.

So don't try to be anything that you are not just because it seems as if that's what your woman wants. Shes with you right? You are what she wants. Really.

7. Don't lie to her. Seriously. Don't. Its insulting. Moreover they find out sooner or later. God is on their side, so you are fucked anyways. My theory is don't do anything that you have to lie about. This is because liars need a great memory which I don't have. But if you must lie, base it on a truth. Example;

She : Did you love her?

You : No.

See? The question didn't state a time line, therefore in context to the exact moment the question was put forward, it required an answer which need only tally with your immediate circumstance and current emotional state, which in this case is No, because the last thing on your mind when you are asked such a question by your woman is love or her; its your poor vulnerable balls.

8. Make her laugh. A macho guy can make a girl notice him but its the guy who makes her laugh who will win her heart.

Damn. Someone should make a T-shirt with that line. Fuck, Iam in the wrong industry.

Anyways. If you really believe that, then most comedians must be happily married. Well, they are not. That's not because they were not funny but because they need an audience to be funny, preferably ones that buy tickets. The guy who makes his woman laugh is not a comedian. He is not the funny guy with great one liners. He is the chap who will laugh at her jokes and makes her laugh at herself and at him. He is the guy who will help her pick up the dinner she dropped and then make her laugh about it. Avoid laughing when she slips and fall in the shopping mall. That's the kind of things that will take a long time to repair.

9. Learn to say sorry. It doesn't even matter if you are right. Just say sorry. In fact when you wake up in the morning to turn towards her and say I love you as instructed in point 2, just follow it up with Iam sorry. That way you would have covered all angles. Being wrong is part of being a man. Nature only got it right in its second try anyways. Take consolation in that. She crashed the car? Say you are sorry. She wakes up in a bad mood? Say you are sorry. The kids got fever? Say you are sorry. Earthquake? Sorry. End of the world? sorry. Hunger in Africa? Sorry.

Theres a high probability that you are responsible anyway.

10. Don't get smug about the survival of your relationship. Don't pat yourself on your back. Don't take it for granted. Don't get too secure. Don't get too arrogant about it, proud of it. I have seen people being held together only by the legal thread of a marriage but with miles of distance between them. I have seen people drifting apart without even being aware like a unanchored boats in the sea.I have seen people clinging to the other, suffocating, stunting , killing and naming it love. I have seen people being together yet with their heart residing in an other. I have seen people not seeing each other because they are caught up looking else where. I have seen people caught up in themselves that there is no place for another.

Whatever your tale is , know that you are one part of the hands that claps. Dont let her weather it alone.Know your place.You are a man. You are clueless.God help us all.

In your life I hope you get a standing ovation.

Monday, November 2, 2009

In the hands of the gods

You know that you are getting fat, when parts of your body starts having its own climate. Its currently hot around my equator and cold on my poles.

Australia is doing fine thank you.

I really need to join the gym. Since my birthday is coming up, its the best time to do this. Joining the gym is my annual must do thing. I either do it on my birthday or just after the new year. I normally discontinue and get back to my JD and couch lifestyle in about 2 months after that. So technically my body survives due to the effort it is made to go through for 60 days to endure 300 days of abuse. Let me tell you, it works. Iam still alive albeit a little beefy. Which means that theres more of me to go around.

Did I tell you that I went to a Nadi Astrologer when I was down in India? Well I did. Why I didnt tell you earlier was probably because the stars were not aligned.I don't want to sound judgemental or skeptic but what the hell, I will tell you anyway. Captive audience. How I pity you.


So my mother takes me to this place where there are these 2 characters ,with pictures of half a dozen gods and a picture of Mecca and Christ and a statue of the laughing Buddha thrown in for good measure, sitting in a small room.

My younger brother was also with me, which means that if astrology really worked, this was the day these two guys would have taken a vacation or gone to watch a good Shivaji movie. But they didn't, so I had my doubts from the start.

Heres how it works. First go this link and this and this.

Good. Now you know what the fuss is all about. Excited? Unbelievable?

Yep.So is the advertisements for increasing the size of my penis.

Anyways. First our fingerprints are taken. So in the occult society I can be identified. Then my address is taken. My full name, with complete detail of my birth ( not the gross stuff, the date , place and time). Then the guy goes inside to search for my leaf.

Iam thinking : GOOGLE!

Here's the funda, if you have been too fucking lazy to go to the links I had kindly provided.

Apparently 2000 years ago some jobless sanyasi decided to write the details of the lives every man and woman that has been born , are born and will be born. How do you identify yourself from these leaves? Its from your finger print. The whorls in your print gives an idea where the search should begin from. Then they get warmer by asking you questions which you answer and then viola! your leaf is found. Then the fun starts.

So the guy brings some bundles of leaves, which apparently are copies. Think about that! Not only some guy wrote this , now theres some odd guy copying this. Man, people have too much time.

Then the questions start.

You have siblings?






One is a girl.


You are one of 3 brothers.


You are married.


Your wife's name starts with Aaa, Baa, Saa

.... by now Iam onto this guy.

So this goes on. At the end of it, you end up giving him every single information, while his partner feeds all my birth information into some astrology software and you have the ultimate Hindu Scam.

To think this has been going on for 2000 years. Going by the cave drawings the penis enhancer has been there longer.

Half way through the guy giving you back what you have told him , interlaced with some Sanskrit mambo jumbo, he will say that theres this problem in your destiny. Which is always blamed on this poor planet who is in the Hindu bad books since time began; Shani aka Saturn. Of course in order to remove the obstacle, you will have to do a pooja in a temple in Tamilnadu, give clothes, 9 type of fruits, 9 type of sweets etc to the said astrologer. Once these are done, Saturn obediently steps aside for you to go out there and fuck the princess and kill the king. If the corrective steps are not taken then more than you, the people you love around you is going to be fucked. Bummer.

By now, we are onto this guy, mainly because we have seen the pattern. First they had 'read' my mother, then it was me and then my younger brother. So we kind of knew when Saturn is going to be introduced into our life story and how Tamilnadu temples are going to come to our rescue.

I think he kind of realized; something which we mallus say, which when translated means ; that this beans is not going to cook here.

Then he got nasty.

My life from where I stand is now licked by a dog ( mallu saying. Which is not meant to be a nice thing, I mean getting licked my the dog bit). Then he took off on my brother. Now he is more screwed than me. This situation was like taking the snake from a fence and wrapping it around your waist ( another mall saying) , also a lot like giving a stick to get beaten ( I think this is an international saying).

So we came away, laughing our guts out. Apparently mother got calls from there for nearly a month, asking her to do the puja.

I wasn't impressed. Truth is I don't think this is even relevant. Astrology is our means to make sense out of our fear of uncertainty. I have heard the argument that the gravitational pull of planets can have an influence on our body, since we are mostly liquid. If that is the case then the doctor who was the nearest to me probably would have had a stronger pull than Saturn for heavens sake.

Me being fat is probably influencing all of your future.

Look, Iam not a believer neither will I slam something I do not know too much about. But Nadi Astrology is just hogwash.

Even if it isnt, what exactly did you gain by knowing that in your last birth you were a merchant in Karnataka, who is cursed by a woman? Or that you were a Tantric Brahman woman who used your black magic on some innocents?

Man, I can tell you anything I want to fill in the gaps of a memory you don't even have. Which includes your future.

But what I cant tell you is if your penis will increase length in the near future. Now thats something which is best left in the hands of the gods ( no puns intended)

Monday, October 26, 2009

Crazy Lil thing called Lurve.

Have you noticed the amount of crap we say to each other? In fact we really seem to believe most of it because we say it so many times that we tend to fall for our own bullshit.


Anyways. Here goes the list of lies we tell to each other in a relationship and we believe it to be the truth.

I love you just the way you are.

Of course I don't mind if you go out with him/her.

I trust you.

No, I dont think you are being silly.

Theres not a single selfish bone in my body.

I dont know why these things happen to me. I dont deserve this. I have never harmed anybody.

Of course Iam not jealous.

No I really dont mind.

Theres nothing to forgive.

Yes son, there is a god.

Rambo ( the gold fish) is in heaven now. No, it doesnt matter that I flushed him. No shit does not go to god.

Iam not angry.

Not today, I have a headache.

I cant live without you.

Life is meaningless without you.

Iam fine.

I never think of myself. Its always about you.

You complete me.

We are soul mates.

What girl? I wasnt paying attention.

Of course I wasnt looking.

Iam listening.

I have no idea what you are talking about.

I miss you all the time.

You are always on my mind

I dont mean to hurt you, but...

No offence but...

I love you but...

Its not fat, its muscles.

Iam not upset with you, Iam just having a bad day.

I dont lie.

I never lie.


To be honest...

Trust me, ...

No son , it wont hurt.

Nothing bad will happen to you, son, as long as Iam alive.

I will learn to love him/her.

I will never hurt you.

I understand.

If you think life is crazy, all you need to do is listen to the nonsense we tell each other. Isnt love the craziest thing there is? Admit it. We are all guilty of this.

Your turn.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Man-aging Fatherhood

When my son turns 12 , Iam going to encourage him to go in for vasectomy.

Wife has gone to India for a week on some sort of business related thingy; which in my books means, 'away from Tys' time. This leaves the rein of running the household in my hands.

Did I tell you we have a maid from Nepal? Well we do. I don't understand a word she says and I have to resort to miming and dumb charade to get my tea every morning.

1 word. 3 letters. Sounds like :

Then I cup my man boobs.

I don't know how long she is going to stay.

So this is my human resource to handle my 2 kids.

I have , like a good manager, delegated my jobs. Considering that I make 50% of the human resource, I too have some role to play, other than prancing around like a monkey, much to the collective delights of the said children, trying to get the maid to clean the house.

Iam in charge of the sleep time and also the school run of the eldest one.

My son, the Object in Perpetual Motion, is mercifully run down by around 8 pm. This means that I can knock him out with a feather and he will sleep through till 5 am. At 5am I wake him up and he is at this age where he can brush his teeth, do his toilet and dress himself and sit on a chair with the expression of a zombie while I place his breakfast in front of him. At around 6am his school bus comes. At the bus stop downstairs its always the fathers that bring the kids down. So we have a School Bus Stop Dads Community.

Men are strange. When men become dads they are stranger. All of us are dressed in our night clothes. None of us know each others name other than in regard to Angel's Dad, or Jaydon's dad or R's dad. That is our identity. Our conversations are limited to the weather ( its hot/ humid/ getting cooler); to recession ( hows business? Picking up/ Fucked up ), parking woes and traffic. Once our wards are herded off into the bus, we get back into the lift, hit our respective floor buttons and stand in uncomfortable silence till we get off, bidding a parting that always goes ; Have a nice day.

Dads don't have much to say to each other. Unlike mothers. Mothers are a different story all together. My wife when she goes to the park with the kids ( this is her duty, since it involves activity), she comes back with stories about new families who I know will end up becoming close friends in the coming days where I will again be face to face with another dad, where the conversation will start and end on weather, work, parking and traffic.

The in charge of the sleep time for the 1.5 yr old mama's Velcro is a new one for me. Every morning when I get up I see my wife is already up and the 1.5 is on the divan with a milk bottle in her mouth. Every morning I cheerfully wish my wife a great morning and is replied with a wane smile and when asked , she will respond that Velcro has been giving her trouble in the night.

I do the necessary sympathetic gestures and get on with the day.

How much trouble can a 1.5 yr old girl give you!

A lot.

I found out the hard way and its only been one night. I have another 7 more to go.

She wakes up 4 times every night. The woken state is accompanied by loud howling which can only be abated by walking her around in my arms. The howling will in time (around 20 minutes) reduce in volume to a whimper and then to a slight snore. This is when I will try to put her back on the bed. Which will wake her up again and I go back to step 1.

4 times a night.

Iam seriously considering spiking her milk in the night.

I sometimes doubt the intelligence of a god who would make things the way he has made it. Now if it was left to me, children would have been born 21, with their own apartment.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Men tal

How does a man respond to a question posed to you by a woman about the looks of another man?

Coming a close second to ,' Do you think I look fat in this?' is the query ' Is he good looking?'

How the fuck do you expect me to answer that?

I have no clue.

If he owns a beat up truck, throws back 5 pegs of JD after a hard days work, is comfortable in jeans and t shirt, stands up for his friends in their absence and doesn't hit on his friend's wife or sister, is in my book, a great looking guy.

Hell, I would marry him.

You might see a balding, going fat dude but I will see a real man.

In tribute to the dying breed of real men, I would like to dedicate this post to such men. The ones you will miss once you have gotten over the excuse of a man who you have to hide your make up from. The man you have created in your image. The man who is the stand in for your girlfriends.

The metro sexual man. The joke in the tree of our ancestry.

To a Man, his house is his castle and the couch is his throne. He rules the roost from it, he eats sitting in it, is entertained within it and most of the time he also sleeps in it.

In fact to a real man the only friend he has is his couch.

A real man is a mans man. In the midst of his friends, a real man will have a skill that is appreciated by his peers.The spitting champion, the furthest pissing champion, the loudest burp blaster... There will fables about him. Songs will be sung about him. In the midst of his friends, all real men are heroes.

A real man doesn't cry. His lips might tremble but no tears will spill when his cat dies. He will be a rock of solitude when a dear one passes way. Pinching the corners of his eyes with his index finger and thumb to prevent a drop from spilling. Men don't cry.

They only cry for good reasons. Like when their team losses a match or when someone spills a beer.

Men do ask direction. I don't know from where this myth originated that we don't ask direction. We ask directions all the time. We don't ask you for direction. That's because you are more lost than us and moreover if you do know the way, we will never hear the end of it. So we choose to be lost and sane than be found and insane.

Men like being men. They wouldn't have it any other way.Truth is even an inkling of curiosity to be a woman has been killed off by your horror stories of being a woman. I personally would have loved to see how I looked with boobs .


People who knows me always wonder how I walk since I have my foot in my mouth all the time.

My latest exploits involved the below :

This was in Kerala at the IISE. I was talking to Sabriye and an old friend of hers. Both are visually impaired. I was regaling them with a story about the time when I was in Delhi and I offered my seat in the bus to a girl who in turn turned on me as if I had insulted her . So Sabreye enquires : Was she blind? and I say : 'Nah, she was normal.'


Another incident. Same venue. My younger brother tells Sabriye that I had blogged about her institute. So she asks me what I wrote about. I tell her that I have been really nasty and have written that she runs a tight ship and is called Hitler in campus.

Oh, did I mention she is German?

Someone should just take a gun and put me out of my misery. I doubt if I will ever get invited back there again.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Man dated BC.

Theres a whole school of thought out there regarding marriages in general. But my favourite will still remain the statement made by a famous Malayalam literary giant at a party at my mother's place, where in answer to my brothers query, he replied that marriage is an institution that has outlived its purpose and will not survive in its current form in the future. He gave it a life span of about 100 years max.

According to him man has progressed in all the spheres around him in regards to his life, comfort, ethics, laws etc but marriage still remains rooted to the past without any changes to accommodate the new thinking man and woman. He goes on to state that all the evils that you see around you in some ways are contributed by this unnatural coexistence.


Don't you love this guy?

I wanted to give him a standing ovation but my wife beat me to it.

Personally I dont mind being married. Its not the perfect environment considering that theres a certain level of adjustments required for its smooth sailing but Iam kind of okay with it since Iam not fixated with this loss of my individuality thingy.

What is this individuality we keep harping about? When did we ever have it? We are moulded from the time we became aware. This individuality is nothing but an imitation. So my take is what you dont have you cant loose. You can of course pretend you had it and then go on a search for it but since the very act of searching means you never had it will bring you back to my initial conclusion.

The real problem with marriages is none of these, its the unspoken ground rule that governs it. It is called ownership.

Marriage works for men. It used to work for women but that was because we had created an environment where it was difficult for a woman to sustain or survive without a man by her side. Women of today can do without husbands.

Sometimes I feel sorry for the men of today. The ones that suffers for the sins of their fathers. If we are possessive, we are uncouth brutes that lives in barbaric times, if we are not, we are uncaring. The men of today have been rendered speechless lest they appear primitive.If they feel insecure, it is a selfish need to control, if they become passionate, they think with their dick, if they appear jealous, its their lack of broad mindedness.

And you blame us for our lack of emotional IQ. It seems to be best seen only in movies,crappy fictions, other women's husband and the old childhood flame. I have seen women crying watching those movies where a situation similar to their life is unfolding in front of them , blissfully unaware that the only difference is that their husband does not look like Clark Gabel.

Today's man cant win. And the bastards who have created this situation we find ourselves in, are now random atoms floating in ether awaiting bonding to become ; hopefully; turd.

Apparently the way to render woman power is by bashing men. Most men finds this okay.Even justified.

But this man begs to differ.

Its funny when the joke is on the man. Really. Men are funny. Any species that looks absurd naked is funny. But those " typical male" statements are really tiring and a tad bit boring.

Iam a man and Iam not about to say sorry for what my previous generation did to your grandma. Deal with it. Iam truly glad that you are making a stand and not backing down . Iam proud when you send pink panties to those who beat you when you drank in a pub. I love your devil may care attitude, I love the way you are comfortable in your skin, I love the fact that you are respected for your work and I love the way you broke the glass ceiling. I love it when you become a mother and sometimes decide to go by it alone. I like it that you can do without us and that you sometimes wants to be with us only because you want to. I like it.

But you hit me, I will hit you back.

Equality is a bitch.

And if this makes me a male chauvinist, which in today's world means any man who begs to differ from a women's point of view, then please make sure you spell mine in capital.

When did feminism become anti-men? I dont get it but I do appreciate your anger considering that its a man who invented a bra. I would personally put men on spikes after that.

I have friends who are of the fairer sex who are more men than men. Somehow in this drive to be treated equal, they chose to become the perpetuater. Imitation is the highest level of flattery and if that's the case, then you are rewarding the cause of your misery.

But here's my take. You can stone me afterwards and I promise not to unleash Fan of Tys.

All these men were sons first.

Which means that the first imprint he had would have been from his mother, who incidentally is a woman. Where did this guy go wrong? And if he did, what was his mother doing?

For arguments sake, lets blame the father. But honestly, how important is the father's role in a child's life until he turns 6, by which his personality is to a large extent set?

Lets now blame the society. Iam for this. I like blaming society for everything including the estranged sock in my laundry. But society is a collective group of individuals. That means you, me and the rest.

I think; I could be completely wrong here, but chances are Iam right, like always; that a man could have been conditioned to see no difference between the genders beyond the obvious biological ones if you wanted.

The argument I throw to you is this : How much are you responsible for the shit that floats around?

Now while you figure this out and go about changing the future men , my request to you is to let the already damaged men out there do what we do best :

Switch on the TV, puff up the couch cushions ,open the beer can and stay out of your way.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The art of dislodging your head.

So my brother in all his juvenile wisdom , had heard about my dark phase and then decided to bring me down to this place.

For your information, next time you want to kill yourself, please don't inform your mother about it . It just kills the purpose.

But it did get me a free holiday. Man, I should have tried this earlier. Hmmm

Amma, I feel like killing myself, totally depressed, life is not having any meaning, so goodbye. By the way, I heard Paris is great at this time of the year.

So I have been here for about 3 days now and I should be really depressed.

Trust me, its not easy to get your head out of your arse once you have managed to put it there.

Thing is this place is doing something to encourage young people who have gone through some terrible events in their life, survived through it and now wants to give something back to the society. Man, Iam just depressed typing that.

Now hear their stories.

There is a young guy from Tibet, blind, who was sold off to be beggar when he was a child. He was rescued later on by an NGO. Now he wants to start a Braille Library and a Braille printing unit in Tibet.

There is this lovely girl from Kenya who is an albino. In Kenya, albinos are considered lucky. So lucky in fact that they are normally murdered and their body parts are harvested as lucky charms. It gets worse during the election, when the budding politicians wants to have lady luck by their side, even if its a piece of her. She wants to go back and start an awareness programme back in Kenya about people with her condition.

There is a guy from Liberia who when he was a kid, watched his family being murdered by the rebels during the civil war and was made to watch the rape of his sister and then was made to drink her blood. He wants to go back and start a center for rehabilitating the war orphans.

There is a guy from Sierra Leon, whose family had to escape to the bush to avoid being killed by the rebels. They survived in the bush , coming to the town to forge for food in the night. One such night they are captured. His sister was dragged away. He escaped. He later on learned that she was raped and then killed. He wants to go back and set up a center that can give micro loans to war widows so that they can sustain themselves.

There is a young blind girl from Tibet, where blind are considered as bad omens. Their condition is thought to be the result of their evil deeds in their past births. People cross the streets to avoid them and to reinforce their intention , spit on the ground. She grew up along with her blind twin younger brothers and a blind father in that surroundings. Only her mother was sighted. She grew up friendless. She wants to start a kindergarten in her village in Tibet, where blind and sighted children can come to.

There are more. Victims of human trafficking; victims of mine explosions, of war, of human violence.

I sit in the corner of their class, away from everybody, absorbing. Iam just here to heal. They are here to prepare themselves to go out there and realize their dreams. Their experiences are going to be their sales pitch to some potential funders.

This is the world we live in. In an ideal world, they shouldn't be here.

I can see the worst side of humans in their tales. Which kind of men would throw all the children of a village in a well and seal it? Where one can hear their cries for three days before it dies out? What kind of men asks a pregnant woman to predict what sex her child will be and then verify it by cutting open her stomach to pull out the foetus?

Then you see these bunch.

From situations that can destroy souls, these came out stronger. They see no need to let the situations overcome them, they overcome it by raising above them. They do something about it. They are all going back to the same situation that made them. This time they are going to fight back.They are going to save as many as they can.

They are warriors in training.

If this cant get my head back where it belongs, ie on my shoulders, I dont know what will.

I think I will go swim in the lake at the campus and pretend to be a hippo for a while.

That always cheers me up.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Mallukutti Days

Why do people look at the content of their handkerchief after they have blown their nose in it?

What do they hope to find?

Oh, there you are ! I was wondering where you went.

Why do they do that?

I was in a party some time back and there was this person who sneezed into her handkerchief and then looked at it before folding it and pocketing it.

What the fuck!

What do you expect to come out of your nose? Your brains?

People are funny. You cant help but like them. Even if they are just viruses. (yep its not virii; that just sounds plain stupid)

My favorite specimen as you know are the mallus. I cant help it, they are just too adorable.

Iam in Kerala right now. Healing.

If you want to get out of a self induced depression go to Kerala.Its the most funniest place ever. There are no depressed Keralites in Kerala; they have all killed themselves. It has the highest suicide rate in the whole of India. Now there only remains happy mallus.

Come on , you cant take a place that is named after coconut tree serious!

Ever noticed a mallu on a mobile phone?

Iam sure you have.

By now you along with all the people in 3 miles radius from him will know that his father is going through a by pass and that gopalettan, his brother in law, is a drunkard and that he is much better after his piles operation.

My younger brother says that America has its CIA, the Russians their KGB, the Chinese their Kang Sheng and India has Mallus.

You want information , ask a Mallu.

They know everything.

What your father did in 1947 to your favorite sexual position.Which is funny since, if you have ever had the misfortune to watch mallu porn, you will notice that apart from the missionary position and the accompanied breast kneading, mallus dont seem to have any other positions.

I have been told once that the term Mallu is very degrading. Buddy , Nigger is degrading, Mallu is an upgrade. I mean , you would rather be called a Keralite, which in reality means a Coconut Head? I dont know pal; I think I will stick to Mallu. It sounds more appropriate.

We hold hands.

I recall once my sister in law, who is a German, came down to Kerala and thought that we are all gay.

You see two guys walking down the street holding hands, its natural that you will assume this. But this is Kerala. In malluland we hold hands and we are 'just friends'. Really. This is also why, if you are a Mallu and gay, you have to resort to acting like a girl.

The hand holding was already taken.

It is uncomfortable to watch a man with a mustache acting like a girl.

On second thoughts, I think I will retract that statement, since mallu girls have mustache. Some of them even have a beard. I think this is why when they travel by the local buses the mallu men feel them up.I think they are just confirming.

Mallu men has also been unjustly termed as the worst eve teasers in India. I beg to differ. I think eve teasing is a national phenomenon but Mallus are the most unimaginative ones.

Correct me if Iam wrong. Which woman out there finds a man, who gives a wolf whistle as you walk by and then makes a comparison of a body part of yours to some vegetable, attractive?


I didnt think so. Then why in fucks name do they always do that? Where did this evolve from? Did it ever work? Was that the mating ritual when we were in the coconut trees before we climbed down and started growing them?

And for heavens sake, whats with this breast kneading?

Today a European guy was asking me if it is considered impolite to look at a mallu girl in the eye. I told him that she will just be surprised.

They are so used to being looked at anywhere but their eyes.

Apparently this chap read in some tourist info booklet in Europe that if a Mallu girl looks a man in the eye then that means she wants to sleep with him.


They knew this is in Europe and we were wasting our time looking everywhere else.

I want to meet the publisher of this guide to Kerala.

Iam telling you, its hard to be depressed in Kerala. One day here and Iam already cracking up.

Just ignore the pun.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Kill Joy.

Do you know how impossible it is to kill yourself if you are in the UAE? Well, just take my word for it.

Now India is a different story all together. If you are planning on snuffing out yourself, India is the place to be. Almost all the drug stores will sell you any number of sleeping pills you want and they might even throw in a paracetamol for free. Personaly I think killing yourself using sleeping pills is way too gay.If you are planning on extinguishing probably your only chance of existence, then I say you need to get creative.

Ever tried hanging ? Its impossible in this country. There are just no fans in any of the flats here and its silly to even try hanging from the airconditioner. I dont think it will even hold. Where do you tie the knot? How will you kick off the chair? Where will you place the chair? Should you keep the AC on while you do the deed?The whole thing is way too complicated.

Shooting yourself seems like a great idea. There is something very manly about sitting behind a large walnut desk, with a shot of JD in a crystal glass .Its late evening, the whole room is dimly lite by your desk lamp and you have this loaded gun on the desk in front of you. Very decisively you gulp down the JD, pick up the gun , put the nuzzle under your chin and pull the trigger.

Now if that paragraph doesnt make all of you jump into the car and head for the local gun shop, I dont know what will.

Thing is, this is the SandCity. I dont even know where one goes to get a gun here. I probably will have to steal it from a police guy who will probably put me out of my misery for all the trouble. Hmmm, now thats a thought.

Long ago a friend of mine had tried to kill himself by slitting his vien and lying in a bath tub. The only problem was that he didnt have a bathtub. He realized that after he had slit his vien. So in order to salvage an already bad situation, he opened the tap in the wash basin and held his wrists under the warm flowing water. We found him thus, the determined would be suicider trying his best not to faint from the loss of blood standing with his two wrists under the tap.

We havent let him forget it 15 years later. The cause of his turmoil was of course a girl who probably would have just died laughing if she heard of this.

Now if you are the sort who is not afraid of heights, then jumping off a building is the best way to end your miserable life in this country. Infact apart from driving to work, jumping off a building is the prefered mode of untimely demise in this country. This country is filled with skyscrapers. If you need a long descent where by you have all the time to have your life flashing by in your head before you become a splat on the side walk , you only need to go to Sheik Zayed Road. The choices are fantastic. You can select from 'you hit the bottom before you can complete Geronimo' to the long haul ' fall asleep by the time you hit the street' ones

Now all you need to do is find a balcony.

This is the problem. Its like going to the red light district near Dam square in Amsterdam. The mouth watering wares , in this instance the long way down, can be viewed from behind a glass barricade and thats about it. There are no balconies here. The only balconies you can use belongs to residence apartments and I dont think they take very kindly to strangers who ring their door bells asking them permission to the use of their balconies.

Forget trying to crash your car. With the kind of traffic jams here, you will be lucky if you get a whip lash injury. If you are lucky, you have more chances being run over by a teenage arab kid driving his father's 4WD while trying to cross the road.

Infact the only way you can hope to kill yourself in this country is to cross the road. Do it at the zebra crossing. Cars here speed up when they see someone using a zebra crossing.

If you sit back and then look at the situation , you will realize that killing yourself is a stupid idea. Truth be told , it is highly unlikely you will survive your death. You didnt even exist prior to your birth. So to kill yourself with the hope that it will mean an end to all your problem , means that you will not be there to face any problem. You got to really hate living to want to kill yourself.

Left alone people dont kill themselves. They seem to do so only when they come in close contact with others.Like I always said, you dont kill yourself, others do. In my case I dont really value my existence , I think its the curiosity that keeps me alive. Wondering what the next day will bring.

Thats when it struck me; in order to die, all you have to do is keep living. It is bound to get you in the end.

Monday, September 28, 2009